The night had settled over the town like a thick blanket, but the streets were anything but asleep. Magic lamps flickered overhead, casting a pale glow that stretched across the cobbled roads and reflected off the damp stones. It wasn’t quiet. No, the place was alive in a way that felt almost mocking, considering what they’d just left behind. Laughter echoed from the taverns, the smell of roasted meat filled the air, and vendors hawked their wares as if the world hadn’t just ended for some people.
Einar, though, was far from impressed. The town, bustling and alive, felt more like a cruel joke—mocking the death and destruction that still clung to his thoughts like mud on his boots.
"How is this still a town?" he muttered under his breath, taking in the tall stone buildings that lined the streets, their sturdy frames showing no signs of wear or hardship. It was all too pristine, too indifferent. The village he left behind felt like it existed on a different planet.
Rina, walking beside him, glanced his way, her lips quirking in a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Don’t let it fool you. All this?” She gestured to the crowded streets, the glowing lamps, the distant laughter. “It’s just a pretty face. The ugliness is still there if you know where to look.”
His stomach growled at the scent of grilling meat from a nearby stall. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until now, but of course, the universe had other plans. Rina caught his glance toward the food and snorted. "Don’t start drooling yet. We’ll eat when we get to the inn. Assuming this place hasn’t lost all its charm.”
He shot her a sidelong look, lips curling just a fraction. “You think I’m drooling over street meat? I’ve got standards.”
"Sure you do," she deadpanned, rolling her eyes as they pushed their way through the busy streets. The banter was forced, a distraction from the real weight hanging between them.
Eventually, they reached the Merchant Guild. It loomed above them, an impressive two-story building with grand windows and a polished stone facade that screamed wealth. The kind of place that made Einar feel even dirtier than he already was.
Loran, the old merchant who had been their traveling companion, hopped down from the cart with a grunt. His face was tired, lines etched deep from years of hard work and—more recently—loss. “Thanks for the escort,” he muttered, passing a pouch of coins to Taron. "Not that things went smooth, but you did your jobs."
Taron took the pouch without a word, though his usual grin was notably absent. No one really had anything left to smile about today.
Loran’s gaze shifted to Einar, softening in the way people’s faces do when they’re about to offer condolences. “I knew your village well,” he said quietly, the sympathy in his voice like nails on a chalkboard. "A lot of good people were lost. Stay strong, boy."
Einar swallowed hard, giving a stiff nod. He was getting real tired of hearing that. Stay strong. What the hell did that even mean anymore?
As if reading the tension in the air, Loran rummaged in his cart, pulling out a bundle of clothes. “One of the lads back in the village asked me to bring these. He didn’t… make it. You should take them. Looks like you could use something clean.”
Einar stared at the bundle in Loran’s hands for a moment, feeling the weight of everything that had been lost pressing in on him again. He hadn’t just lost people; he’d lost every part of who he used to be. The clothes he was wearing still smelled faintly of smoke and blood. His mother’s blood.
He took the bundle with a quiet, “Thank you.” It wasn’t just fabric in his hands; it was another reminder of the life that had slipped away.
Rina stepped up, breaking the moment. “I’ll hold onto that for now,” she said, reaching for the bundle. "Your arms are full enough already." Her tone was light, but her eyes were sharp, knowing.
They left Loran behind, moving through the winding streets toward the Adventurers Guild on the other side of town. As they passed the Tharvold’s manor—an imposing structure surrounded by iron gates—Einar shot it a glance. He’d be paying a visit there soon enough, but not tonight. Right now, his body felt like it was made of lead, and his mind was dangerously close to shutting down entirely. The day had been long, too long.
When they finally reached the Adventurers Guild, Einar wasn’t sure what he’d expected. The building was simpler than the Merchant Guild, its wooden beams weathered, the sign above the door faded but still readable. The sword-and-staff emblem hung over the entrance, swaying in the night breeze. Light spilled out from the windows, and the muffled sound of laughter and chatter echoed from inside. It felt more like a tavern than a place where warriors and mages gathered for work.
Taron chuckled as they stepped through the doors. “Looks like a party tonight.”
The room was buzzing with life. Adventurers of all kinds filled the tables, mugs of ale in hand, laughter and conversation bouncing off the walls. The air smelled of roasted meat and fresh bread, a contrast to the gloom Einar had been carrying with him all day. It was like stepping into another world.
“Well, this is a far cry from where we’ve been,” Daevor remarked, grinning as he elbowed Taron. “What do you think? A couple of pints before bed?”
“You read my mind,” Taron replied, raising an imaginary mug. “To better days, my friend.”
Rina rolled her eyes. “You two go ahead and grab a table. I’ll take Einar to get registered.” She shot Einar a quick look. “Let’s get this over with.”
The two of them made their way to the counter, where a beast folk girl was finishing up with an adventurer. Fox-like ears twitched as they approached, and she turned, a bright smile lighting up her face when she saw Rina.
“Well, if it isn’t the troublemaker herself,” the fox girl teased, tail flicking playfully behind her. “Back so soon?”
Rina smirked. “You know me, Calia. I just can’t stay away from you.”
Calia rolled her eyes, though her grin remained. “What do you need this time?”
Rina nodded toward Einar. “He needs to register. New recruit.”
Calia’s sharp eyes drifted over to Einar, her gaze sweeping over his tattered, bloodstained clothes. "New, huh?" she said, her tone dipping into something a little darker, though her smile didn’t fade. “You’re a bit rough around the edges. But don’t worry, we like that here.”
Einar’s lips quirked slightly, but he said nothing. He was too tired for witty comebacks.
“Got the form?” Rina asked, bringing the conversation back to business.
Calia nodded, pulling out a registration form from beneath the counter and sliding it over. “Fill this out. Simple stuff.”
Einar glanced at the form, the words swimming before his eyes as exhaustion threatened to drag him under. Name, Family Name, Age, Magic… His hand hovered over the field for Magic Element before he left it blank. No way he was going to dig into that mess right now.
As for the family name, he goes with Emberheart, from the time he left the village, he have been thinking about his family and his goals, and for the path he have to walk will not be a peaceful one, if he really wants to achieve what he want, the power he want, that can only be possible if he accept himself, his past.
With new resolve and determination, he finished, he handed the form back, and Calia’s eyes caught the empty space. "Haven’t awakened your magic?" she asked, raising a brow.
“Not yet,” Einar lied smoothly, though Rina’s glance told him she wasn’t buying it.
Calia shrugged and pulled out a mana orb, placing it in front of him. "Standard procedure. Just a little mana to register your signature.”
For a moment, Einar hesitated, wondering if this orb could see more than he wanted it to. But he pressed his hand to the orb, letting the mana flow out, just a little. The orb glowed softly, nothing out of the ordinary.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
“All good,” Calia said, stowing the orb back beneath the counter. "No dark mana in there. You’re clean.”
The corner of Einar’s mouth twitched. “For now.”
Calia gave a dark chuckle, the kind that told him she’d heard worse. “Well, let’s hope it stays that way. Now, go get something to eat. You look like you could drop any second.”
“Thanks for the concern,” Einar muttered, already turning toward the table where Taron and Daevor had settled in, mugs of ale already in hand. As he approached, the weight of the day started to press down even harder, but at least for tonight, he could pretend everything wasn’t falling apart.
***
The Guild was alive with noise, a raucous symphony of clinking mugs, laughter, and the low murmur of a hundred conversations. Einar moved through the crowd like a ghost, his eyes scanning the room with the detached disinterest of someone who felt too much and nothing at the same time. Taron waved him over to a corner table where he and Daevor were already seated, their mugs filled with frothy ale.
“Einar, over here!” Taron’s voice boomed above the din, cheerful, like a man who had no idea how quickly life could turn upside down. Or maybe he did. Maybe that’s why he was so damn cheerful.
Einar dropped into the seat across from them with a weary sigh. “You two not eating?” His stomach growled, the faint scent of roasting meat only making him more aware of how empty it felt.
Taron laughed, raising his mug in a mock toast. “Don’t worry, we were waiting for you. Thought it rude to stuff our faces without the guest of honor.”
Daevor grinned over the rim of his drink. “Want an ale, lad? Something to drown the sorrows?” His smile was a little too wide, a little too knowing. Like they all shared the same dark joke, and Einar was the punchline.
Einar hesitated. “Why not?” What was one drink compared to everything else that had already gone wrong today?
Daevor didn’t waste time. “More ale, boy!” he shouted to a passing server, his voice carrying through the hall. The server nodded, vanishing into the crowd.
The guild hall was a stark contrast to the emptiness Einar carried with him. Adventurers lounged around, some leaning back in their chairs with easy grins, others throwing back drinks like they didn’t have a care in the world. It all felt so far away, like he was watching through a window, separate from it all. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he didn’t belong here. Not anymore.
Taron must have noticed. “You look like someone who’s just seen the world end.” He chuckled. “You’ll get used to it, kid. Life doesn’t stop just because it sucks.”
Einar’s lips twitched in the ghost of a smile. “Crowds aren’t my thing.”
Taron shrugged. “Then make the wilds your thing. Trust me, you’ll miss the crowds once you’ve spent a few days in the forest with nothing but monsters for company.”
Einar nodded, though his mind was already elsewhere. “How does this whole adventurer thing work anyway?”
Taron leaned back, tipping his chair slightly, motioning toward the large quest board near the entrance. “Simple. You take a quest, you kill whatever needs killing, or you fetch whatever needs fetching. Jobs are ranked by difficulty: F is for the newbies; S is for the suicidal.”
“S-rank?” Einar repeated, eyes following Taron’s gesture toward the board. "Does anyone even survive those?"
“Barely,” Daevor chimed in, grin still firmly in place. “That’s why they’re stuff of legends. The kind of jobs you hear about but rarely see. Good news is, you're starting at the bottom. No death wishes required just yet.”
Einar let the information sink in, though the system was foreign to him. Things were different back when... He didn’t finish the thought. It was better not to dwell on how much had changed since he’d died.
The server returned, placing mugs of ale in front of them. Daevor raised his drink. “Your first ale, huh?”
Einar eyed the mug, the light amber liquid reflecting the warm glow of the guild’s lamps. He took a sip, the sweetness catching him off guard. “It’s… not what I expected.”
“Sweet, right?” Daevor laughed, already halfway through his own. “Next time, we’ll get you something bitter enough to make you forget you ever had taste buds.”
“I’ll pass on that,” Einar said, taking another drink, the unfamiliar taste slowly growing on him.
A familiar voice interrupted them. “You two already corrupting him?” Rina appeared at the table, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as she took in the scene.
Taron grinned, raising his mug. “He’s a man now. Just one ale to mark the occasion.”
“Right,” Rina said, unimpressed as she dropped into a chair next to Einar. “You’d better eat something before you end up with more ale than sense.”
Taron waved her off, standing. “I’ll handle that.” He sauntered toward the counter to place the order, leaving the three of them at the table.
Rina leaned in, her voice low. “You should stay here tonight. Rest. The Lord can wait until morning.”
Einar nodded, grateful for the suggestion. He wasn’t in any shape to handle anything more tonight. “That was my plan. Thanks.”
Taron returned soon after, the server trailing behind with a tray of plates. The smell of cooked meat and herbs filled the air, setting Einar’s stomach off again. Taron set down a plate in front of him with a flourish. “Ram steak. Best thing you’ll eat in this town, and my treat.”
Einar nodded his thanks, though when he bit into the meat, the taste brought a flood of unwanted memories. His mother’s cooking. The meals shared in a home that no longer existed. The flavor was fine, but it wasn’t home. Nothing would be again.
The table grew quieter as they ate, the lively atmosphere of the guild a distant hum in Einar’s ears. His mind was already wandering back to the burnt remains of his village, to the faces he’d never see again.
When the meal was done, Einar pushed back from the table, exhaustion finally catching up with him. “Are you staying here tonight?”
Rina stretched her arms above her head. “Yeah. Get some rest, Einar. You need it. Talk to Calia about a room.”
Before he could head for the desk, Rina reached into her bag and pulled out the clothes Loran had given him earlier. “Here, before I forget.”
Einar took them, nodding. “Thanks. For everything.”
Taron waved him off, his usual grin back in place. “You can thank us with a good meal next time. Payback’s a bitch, pal.”
Einar managed a small smile. “Deal.”
Einar made his way to the front desk, where Calia stood waiting. She was already holding a silver badge in her hand, the light catching its polished surface as she handed it to him.
“Einar, your badge is ready,” she said, her fox-like ears twitching slightly, as though she could sense the exhaustion beneath his calm exterior. The badge was cold in his hand, small but heavier than it looked. His name and age were engraved on the front, neat and precise. On the back, a tiny emblem—something resembling a personal sigil—was etched into the metal.
“Pour some mana into it,” Calia instructed, her voice calm, as if this was routine.
Einar pressed his hand to the badge, letting a trickle of mana pulse into it. The badge responded immediately, lighting up for a brief moment before a small star appeared in the top-left corner.
"What’s the star for?" Einar asked, his brow furrowing slightly as he examined the symbol.
Calia leaned on the counter, her tail swaying behind her in an idle rhythm. “That’s your rank,” she explained. “You’re starting at F-rank—the bottom of the food chain. You rank up by completing quests, but don’t get too excited. It’s a slog. Expect to haul a lot of pig shit and fight things smaller than your boots for a while.”
Einar’s lips twitched into a brief smirk. “Great. Exactly what I signed up for.”
She grinned, showing just a hint of fangs. "You’ll live. There’s a small fee for the badge, though—two teks. You can pay now or after your first quest."
He reached into his pouch and fished out two coins, the faint clink of metal sounding louder than it should. He already felt the weight of his pouch growing lighter with every coin that left his hand. "I'll pay now," he said, handing over the money.
Calia pocketed the coins with a quick, practiced flick of her hand and gave him a polite smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Efficient. I like that. And the room?” She raised an eyebrow, her ears perking up again. “two teks per night. That’s for the basics—bed, food, maybe a hot bath if you’re lucky.”
Without a word, Einar pulled another coin from his pouch, placing it on the counter. The brief sound of metal on wood felt like another nail in the coffin of his dwindling funds.
“Two teks for the room.” He repeated it almost to himself, trying not to think too hard about how quickly his money was disappearing.
Calia slid the coin into a drawer, glancing down at the bloodstains that marred his clothes and skin. “Room R05,” she said, nodding toward the stairs. “Head upstairs, turn right, and you’ll find it. There’s a bathtub in the room, so... you know.” Her eyes flicked to his bloodied appearance again. “Might want to make use of it before you scare off the other adventurers.”
Einar chuckled darkly. “Yeah, I’ll need that.”
Calia raised an eyebrow, her expression hovering somewhere between amusement and sympathy. “You’ll fit right in,” she said with a shrug. “We’re all bleeding for one thing or another around here.”
Einar nodded, already feeling the weight of the day pressing down on him as he climbed the stairs. The corridor was dimly lit, the warm glow of the magic lanterns giving it a cozy, if slightly eerie, atmosphere.
His room was small but more than enough. The bathtub, already filled with warm water, called to his aching muscles. He peeled off his blood-stained clothes, fingers lingering on the fabric for a moment before letting them fall to the floor. Mother’s blood.
Stepping into the bath, the heat washed over him, loosening the knots in his body but doing little for the ones in his mind. His hand drifted to the pendant hanging around his neck, fingers brushing against its familiar surface.
“Celestia... where are you?” he whispered into the empty room, his voice low and rough. "Can you sense our bond? I will embrace my past, I will accept my past, even if I do not remember it yet, I can’t run from it. Mother wanted that, more than anything."
Even before knowing the truth about himself, Einar deep down has always had a connection with Celestia, though he cannot name that connection of his with her. But now, after that, he knew who he was, and accepted his past self. His desire for her, love for her, that was already there, was growing even faster rate, more than ever.
The pendant remained warm against his skin, as though her magic still lingered, faint but there. It wasn’t much, but it was all he had left.
After washing up, he slipped into the new clothes Loran had given him. They fit well, the black tunic and silver embroidery feeling too clean for the mess he was. He collapsed onto the bed, his body sinking into the mattress as exhaustion finally claimed him.
“Wait for me, just a little longer” he whispered, the ceiling above him blurring as sleep tugged at the edges of his consciousness.
The answer, if it came at all, stayed buried deep in the silence as he drifted off, leaving the weight of the day behind—if only for a little while.