The streets of Dämmerburg pulsed with life, a chaotic blend of merchants shouting their wares, children weaving through the crowds, and the scent of sizzling meats carried on the crisp morning air. Stalls lined the cobblestone paths, boasting everything from fine silks to rusted trinkets, but it was the aroma of food that had Harriet's full attention.

"Here, try this!" A vendor grinned as he handed Harriet a skewer of thick, glistening sausage, its surface slightly charred from the open flame.

Harriet took a bite, his golden eyes widening at the burst of rich, smoky flavor. "This… is amazing." He barely finished chewing before taking another.

"Of course it is!" The vendor laughed, wiping his hands on his apron. "Dämmerburg's famous for its sausages—none better in all the land!"

While Harriet indulged in his new discovery, Geschicht weaved through the merchants, keeping a firm grip on the bundle of owlbear fur gifted by the Kopflos. The thick pelt was a prize in itself—warm, durable, and from a beast rarely hunted. If traded wisely, it could fetch enough Doh to last them a good month.

"You're selling that?" A gruff voice called out from one of the nearby stalls. The merchant, a stout man with a thick beard and keen eyes, leaned over his counter. "Owlbear fur, real good quality too… Might be willing to take it off your hands—for the right price."

Geschicht stepped closer. "How much are you willing to trade for it?"

Geschicht stood firm, arms crossed, as the merchant ran his fingers over the owlbear fur, inspecting it with sharp, calculating eyes.

“High quality,” the man admitted. “Thick, warm, and undamaged—but see these edges? Not properly trimmed. And the scent—still got the wild on it. I can give you 800 Doh.”

Geschicht narrowed his eyes. “800? For a prime owlbear pelt?” He scoffed. “This fur is rare. Sturdy, warm, and a status symbol in the right hands. I won’t part with it for anything less than 2,000 Doh.”

The merchant sucked in a breath through his teeth. “That’s steep, boy.”

“But fair,” Geschicht countered. “You know the nobility would pay even more for a coat made of this.”

The merchant hesitated, drumming his fingers on the wooden counter.

As the two haggled back and forth, Harriet, finishing off his second sausage, let his gaze wander. He wasn’t particularly interested in the art of bargaining, so he let his feet carry him down the lively streets, the scent of grilled meats and fresh bread filling the air.

That was when he noticed it—a small, worn-down building tucked between two taller shops. Unlike the rest of the city’s structures, which stood proud and refined, this one looked older, its wooden sign swaying slightly in the breeze. The letters, though faded, spelled out:

"Kindnest Orphanage."

Harriet tilted his head. An orphanage?

He stepped closer, drawn in by the sounds of children’s laughter spilling from the open courtyard. Inside, a handful of kids ran around, their clothes patched and slightly oversized, but their faces bright with joy. A woman, likely the caretaker, clapped her hands to gather them in a loose circle.

Harriet lingered at the entrance. He wasn’t sure why he felt compelled to stop, but something about the place tugged at him. Maybe it was the way the children played so freely, despite the clear signs of hardship.

“Hey, who’re you?”

Harriet turned to see a small boy staring up at him, his dark eyes filled with curiosity. His clothes were worn but clean, and he clutched a wooden toy soldier in his hands.

Harriet offered a small smile. “Just passing by.”

The boy squinted. “You wanna play with us?”

Harriet blinked. “...Huh?”

Before Harriet could react, the boy grabbed the back of his coat and tugged him forward with surprising strength.

“Come on!” the kid insisted, pulling him through the entrance of the orphanage’s playground.

Harriet stumbled slightly but didn’t resist, letting himself be dragged along. The courtyard was a simple dirt lot, surrounded by a wooden fence that had clearly seen better days. A few makeshift toys—wooden blocks, rope swings, and a rusted metal hoop—were scattered about, but the children played with them as if they were treasures.

A girl, slightly older than the boy who had pulled Harriet in, turned toward them with a curious tilt of her head. “Who’s that?”

“Dunno, but he looked bored, so I brought him,” the boy declared proudly.

Harriet let out a chuckle. “You didn’t really give me a choice.”

The other children gathered around, some eyeing him with interest, others with excitement. One particularly bold girl pointed at his gloves. “What’s wrong with your hands?”

Harriet tensed for a brief moment before quickly stuffing his hands into his coat pockets. “Nothing.”

The kids didn’t seem to dwell on it, their attention shifting as the first boy grabbed a battered ball. “We’re playing chase-ball! You wanna join?”

Harriet hesitated. But as he looked around at their expectant faces, something inside him softened.

“Alright,” he said, rolling his shoulders. “How do you play?”

The children erupted in cheers, immediately bombarding him with explanations. Harriet listened, a small smile tugging at his lips. Maybe he could stay for just a little while.

As the children ran around, their laughter filling the air, a tall woman stepped through the orphanage gate. She wasn’t clad in armor or anything extravagant—just a simple, well-worn linen blouse tucked into sturdy trousers, a dark vest over it, and a long, slightly faded coat draped over her shoulders. Despite the modesty of her attire, she carried herself with the kind of presence that couldn’t be ignored.

One of the children noticed her first and gasped excitedly. “Miss Flux is here!”

At once, the game came to a halt. The children rushed toward her, their small hands reaching for her coat and sleeves, clinging to her with bright, eager faces.

"Miss Flux! Did you bring more of those apples?"

"I won the race today!"

"Are you gonna teach us sword swings again?"

Barbel Flux let out a soft, composed hum, her sharp blue eyes scanning the group before settling on the child who had spoken last. “You won the race?” she asked, a hint of approval in her voice. “Good. You are improving.”

The boy grinned with pride, puffing out his chest.

She reached into a cloth satchel slung across her shoulder and pulled out a handful of small, ripe apples. With a smooth, practiced motion, she tossed them toward the eager hands reaching up for them. The children giggled as they caught the fruit, biting into them with enthusiasm.

Harriet, who had paused mid-step in their game, observed her silently. She didn’t seem like the type of person he’d expect to frequent an orphanage. From her poised stance to the way she barely needed to raise her voice to command attention, she carried herself like someone used to leading people. Yet… the children adored her.

Barbel’s gaze flickered toward Harriet, assessing him in a single glance. “A new face,” she noted, her voice calm and even.

One of the children tugged at her sleeve. “We found him, Miss Flux! He’s fun!”

Barbel arched a brow, then gave a slow nod, accepting this fact as if it were an undeniable truth. “Then I trust you all have made him feel welcome.”

The children nodded eagerly.

She reached down, ruffling one of their heads with a rare, almost imperceptible softness. Then she turned her gaze back to Harriet.

Harriet swallowed his initial instinct to be defensive. Something about her demanded directness. “I’m just passing through,”

Barbel studied him for a few moments, then gave the slightest nod. “As long as you are here, be sure to keep up with them. They do not slow down for anyone.”

The children laughed in agreement, and before Harriet could respond, one of them tugged at his coat. “Come on! We’re still playing!”

Harriet hesitated, but Barbel merely gestured subtly with her fingers—go on.

And so, with one last glance at the enigmatic woman, Harriet allowed himself to be pulled back into the game. Behind him, Barbel watched, a flicker of something unreadable in her gaze before she turned her attention back to the rest of the children, speaking to them in the same firm yet fond tone.

After what felt like an eternity of chasing, dodging, lifting, and being used as a makeshift climbing structure, Harriet finally let out a breathless laugh and collapsed onto the worn wooden bench at the edge of the playground. His golden hair was slightly disheveled, his sleeves a little dirt-streaked from being tackled into the grass one too many times. He leaned back, catching his breath as he wiped a bit of sweat from his brow.

"Those kids sure are energetic," he muttered, exhaling deeply.

"They sure are," came a calm voice beside him. "And I hope they stay that way."

Harriet turned his head to see Barbel standing a short distance away, her long coat draped over her shoulders as she watched the children with quiet fondness. In front of her, a group of kids were practicing with handmade wooden swords, swinging clumsily but with visible determination. She had one hand resting on the pommel of her own massive blade—one she hadn't unsheathed but carried like an extension of herself.

She stepped forward, correcting a boy’s stance with a slight nudge to his elbow. “Lower your shoulders,” she instructed, her voice even yet firm. “You’re wasting energy keeping them so stiff.”

The boy nodded quickly, adjusting his posture.

Harriet watched the scene unfold, curiosity creeping into his mind. Barbel’s presence was something difficult to pin down. She wasn’t overly affectionate with the children, nor did she shower them with kind words. But there was care in her actions, in the way she adjusted their grips and patiently repeated instructions without a hint of frustration. The kids listened—really listened—to her, hanging onto every word as they tried to mimic her movements.

She was strict, but not harsh.

"Do you do this often?" Harriet asked, tilting his head as he observed her.

"Whenever I can," Barbel replied simply. She glanced at the wooden swords, watching the children strike at imaginary opponents. “They need strength, not just to fight, but to push forward.”

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Harriet leaned back against the bench, folding his hands behind his head. "Push forward, huh? Even kids need to think about things like that?"

Barbel's gaze did not waver. "Everyone does."

Harriet blinked at her unwavering certainty. She wasn't saying it to sound wise or profound. She believed it, as though it were an undeniable truth.

Before he could respond, one of the kids ran up to her, tugging at the edge of her coat.

"Miss Flux! Miss Flux! Look! I can do it now!" The little girl excitedly raised her wooden sword and performed a slightly better, though still wobbly, swing.

Barbel watched her carefully before nodding in approval. "Good. Keep improving at it."

The girl beamed and ran back to her group, eager to keep practicing.

Harriet chuckled under his breath. "You're pretty good with them."

Barbel exhaled slowly, her expression unreadable. "They deserve to be prepared. The world won't always be kind to them."

Harriet studied her for a moment. There was something layered beneath her words—something that made him feel like she wasn’t just speaking about the children.

But before he could ask anything, another wave of laughter erupted as the kids resumed their games, and Barbel turned her attention back to them, as composed and steady as ever.

As the children ran back to their games, their laughter ringing through the orphanage playground, Barbel shifted her gaze toward Harriet, her piercing eyes studying him with quiet curiosity.

"You," she said suddenly. "What's your name?"

Harriet, who had just started to relax, straightened up slightly at the question. He hadn't expected her to ask.

"Harriet," he answered simply.

Barbel nodded, as if turning the name over in her mind. "Harriet," she repeated, testing it on her tongue. "You're not from around here."

Harriet chuckled, glancing at the rowdy group of kids attempting to climb the wooden fence. "That obvious?"

"You stand out." She crossed her arms, still watching the children. "Not just in appearance, but in the way you move. You don’t seem lost, yet you don’t belong."

Harriet smirked. "That sounds poetic."

"It’s just an observation."

Before he could reply, a small boy ran up to him, holding up a wooden sword that was nearly the same size as his body. "Harriet! Harriet! Try holding this!"

Harriet blinked. "Me?"

The boy nodded eagerly. "Yeah! You were really good at tag, so maybe you're good at swords too!"

Harriet glanced at Barbel, who raised an eyebrow as if waiting to see what he would do.

"Alright, alright," Harriet relented, reaching out his unseen spectral hands to grasp the sword. Of course, the child couldn't see the ghostly appendages, so from an outsider's perspective, the wooden sword seemed to float in the air on its own.

A few kids gasped in awe. "Whoa! How did you do that?"

Harriet grinned, giving the sword a playful twirl before setting it back down. "Singularität," he said with a wink.

The children erupted into excited chatter, some begging him to show them more tricks.

Barbel watched the scene unfold, her sharp eyes lingering on Harriet longer than necessary. "You handle them well," she remarked.

Harriet shrugged. "They're fun."

Barbel hummed, then turned back to the group. "If you're staying in Dämmerburg for a while, you should come back."

Harriet tilted his head. "You're inviting me?"

"You kept them entertained, and they like you," she stated plainly. "That's enough reason."

Harriet leaned back, considering her words. He hadn't expected this woman—who carried herself with such strict authority—to be so openly welcoming.

"Maybe I will," he said finally.

Barbel gave a small nod, then turned her attention back to the children, offering corrections to their stances as they practiced with their wooden swords.

Harriet smiled to himself.

"There you are!"

Harriet turned to see Geschicht standing by the gate, a hand on his hips, looking mildly exasperated.

"I've been looking everywhere for you," Geschicht said as he approached. "How do you just disappear like that?"

Harriet grinned and stretched. "I got kidnapped by tiny, energetic criminals." He motioned toward the children, who were still play-fighting with their wooden swords.

Geschicht sighed, shaking his head. "Figures." Then, with a triumphant smile, he pulled a small pouch from his belt and tossed it in the air before catching it. "Anyway, good news. I sold the owlbear fur and got 2,500 Doh for it."

Harriet whistled. "That's more than expected."

"Yeah, the merchant was really into the quality. Said it was rare to get a clean-cut owlbear pelt," Geschicht said, tucking the pouch away. "Now, come on. We should get moving before we attract any more tiny urchins."

Harriet chuckled before standing up. He turned back to the children, who had gathered around Barbel for their next round of practice.

"Guess I'm heading off," he said. "I'll see you all around."

A chorus of disappointed "aws" rose from the children. "Will you come back?" one of them asked, tugging at his sleeve.

Harriet glanced at Barbel, who watched him with her usual calm expression, arms crossed.

"Maybe," Harriet said with a grin. "If I survive the next few days."

"Then you better not die!" one of the kids shouted, making the others laugh.

Barbel gave him a small nod. "You're welcome here anytime."

Harriet nodded back, then turned to leave with Geschicht. As they walked out of the orphanage and back onto the crowded streets of Dämmerburg, the sounds of playful laughter faded into the city's usual hum of merchants calling out their wares and people bustling about.

"So, what now?" Harriet asked as he adjusted his gloves.

Meanwhile, Geschicht scanned the bustling streets, considering their next move.

"First, let’s figure out where we’re staying long-term," he said. "Then, we should start gathering information about this place. Something tells me there’s more to Dämmerburg than meets the eye."

Harriet hummed in agreement, letting his eyes wander across the various storefronts and posters plastered on walls and wooden boards. His gaze landed on a large parchment pinned to a post near a small crowd of people. The bold letters at the top caught his attention.

"HIRING EXPLORERS! SEEKING STRONG INDIVIDUALS FOR A DELVING EXPEDITION!"

"Hey, look at that," Harriet nudged Geschicht, nodding toward the sign. "Might be worth checking out."

Geschicht followed his gaze, adjusting his satchel. "Ruins exploration, huh? Sounds like it could be dangerous."

"Which means it'll probably pay well," Harriet pointed out with a smirk.

Intrigued, they made their way toward the group gathered around the hiring post. A few men and women stood discussing the details, while a recruiter barked instructions to those interested. The closer they got, the more familiar some of the figures seemed.

Standing near the front, overseeing the recruitment, were none other than Jelle, Hauke, Uwe, and Liselotte—the Kopflos.

Harriet blinked. "Well, I'll be damned."

Geschicht sighed. "Why am I not surprised?"

Jelle, upon noticing them, grinned and waved them over. "Ah, you two again! Perfect timing! Interested in a little underground adventure?"

Geschicht crossed his arms and raised a brow. "Weren’t you the one who warned us about how unstable that place is? Something about wild magic and artifacts running loose?"

Hauke, who had been checking over his sword, glanced at him and let out a short huff. "Yeah, well, every clue about the missing people keeps leading back there. That tunnel's hiding something, and we don’t have the luxury of ignoring it."

Jelle grinned and clapped Geschicht on the back. "So, how about it? You two up for a little spelunking? Could use some extra hands."

Harriet exchanged a glance with Geschicht before smirking. "Depends. What’s the pay?"

Uwe stretched his arms with a lazy grin. "Plenty, if things go well. But if this turns out to be a dead end, well... let’s just say we won’t be rolling in much of anything."

Geschicht narrowed his eyes. "And how many people have you hired so far?"

Jelle and Hauke exchanged looks before Uwe chuckled. "None."

Geschicht blinked. "None?"

"None," Hauke confirmed, completely unfazed. "Not many are eager to walk into a place known for swallowing people whole."

Harriet crossed his arms. "So, basically, we’d be the first fools to sign up?"

Jelle grinned. "Pretty much."

Liselotte, who had been quietly listening, suddenly blurted out, "Harriet and Geschicht aren’t fools!"

Silence followed.

Harriet raised an eyebrow. "Uh… thanks?"

Geschicht scratched his cheek. "I think that was supposed to be reassuring, but—"

Jelle burst out laughing. "Oh no, that was adorable."

Uwe smirked. "Liselotte defending them like a proud mother hen? Now, that’s a sight."

Hauke sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, but even he couldn't hide the small twitch of amusement on his lips.

Realizing that everyone was looking at her, Liselotte’s face turned bright red. She quickly pulled her hood up and tried to make herself small, mumbling, "I-I was just stating a fact…"

Jelle ruffled her hair. "Facts can be cute too, you know?"

Harriet chuckled. "Well, at least someone believes in us."

Geschicht shook his head with a grin. "Not sure if that makes us feel better or just more awkward."

Geschicht crossed his arms and looked at Jelle. "Alright, so how do we sign up?"

Jelle grinned, tilting her head toward a worn-out training dummy standing a few meters away. "Simple. You just have to hit that dummy hard enough to impress at least one of us."

Harriet glanced at the dummy, then back at Jelle. "That’s it?"

Jelle raised a finger. "Ah, but one more thing—if you break anything too much, Uwe has to pay for the damage."

Uwe, who had been lounging casually, snapped his head toward Jelle. "Excuse me? Since when was that part of the deal?"

Jelle shrugged. "Since now."

Uwe groaned, rubbing his forehead.

Harriet smirked, stepping forward. "Well, no point holding back, then."

He raised his gloved hand and, without taking another step, simply flicked his fingers.

A powerful force erupted from the air around him. Within an instant, the training dummy was shredded apart, its wooden limbs twisting and snapping like brittle twigs. The straw that made up its body burst into the air, scattering across the ground in a messy heap.

Silence.

Geschicht blinked. "Uh—"

Uwe let out a long sigh. "Great. Just great."

Jelle clapped her hands together. "Impressive! And costly."

Hauke, arms crossed, gave a small nod. "Efficient."

Liselotte peeked from behind Jelle. "W-We can… fix it?"

Harriet dusted off his sleeves. "So, do I qualify?"

Jelle grinned. "Oh, you more than qualify. Welcome aboard."

Geschicht stepped forward, rolling his shoulders as he exhaled. "Well, since Harriet completely annihilated the dummy, I guess I’ll have to show off some other way."

He flipped open his journal with a practiced motion, the pages fluttering as if caught in an invisible breeze. A faint glow emanated from the parchment as intricate symbols and scribbles shifted and rearranged themselves. Then, in a single moment, a sword burst forth from the pages, materializing into his grip as if pulled from the depths of a forgotten story.

The blade shimmered under the sunlight, its steel reflecting a glint of deep blue, almost like ink mixed with metal. It was elegant, slender, yet undeniably sharp—like something straight out of a legend.

Jelle whistled. "Now that’s a neat trick."

Uwe raised an eyebrow. "You just… pulled a sword out of a book?"

Geschicht smirked, giving the blade a casual twirl before resting it against his shoulder. "More like I wrote it into existence."

Hauke observed him with mild interest. "How stable is it?"

"Stable enough to cut." Geschicht took a quick stance, then swung the blade down in a smooth motion. Though there was no dummy left, the force of his strike kicked up a sudden gust of wind, scattering the remnants of Harriet’s earlier destruction. The displaced straw and splintered wood flew a short distance before settling again.

Liselotte clapped her hands together softly. "T-That was cool..."

Harriet crossed his arms, nodding approvingly. "Showy. But I respect it."

Jelle placed her hands on her hips, grinning. "Well, I was already convinced, but now I’m extra sure—both of you are coming with us."

Uwe sighed, staring at what was left of the training area. "At this rate, I should just set aside a repair budget."

Geschicht and Harriet both let out a sigh before picking up the quill and signing their names on the completely empty recruitment list. The ink barely had time to dry before Jelle clapped her hands together, looking entirely satisfied.

"Alright, that's settled! Welcome aboard, you two!" she said, grinning. Then, without missing a beat, she turned to Uwe. "Now, go buy a new dummy."

Uwe groaned, rubbing his forehead. "Why is it always me?"

"Because you’re the only one with money to spare," Jelle answered smoothly.

Hauke smirked. "Or at least, money that you haven't gambled away yet."

Uwe shot him a glare. "That was one time!"

Liselotte, standing quietly at the side, hesitated before speaking up. "…It was actually three times."

The group turned to her, momentarily surprised that she chimed in. She fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve before adding, "And… I’ve only been in this House for a few weeks."

There was a beat of silence before Jelle burst out laughing. Hauke smirked, while Geschicht and Harriet exchanged amused glances.

Uwe, on the other hand, groaned dramatically. "Even the newbie is keeping count? Unbelievable."

Liselotte tilted her head. "It's not hard. You complain every time."

Jelle wiped a tear from her eye. "Alright, alright, enough picking on Uwe. Go get the dummy before we lose daylight."

Muttering under his breath, Uwe stomped off, leaving the rest of the group chuckling.

Harriet leaned toward Geschicht and whispered, "So… do we get paid in advance, or…?"

Geschicht shrugged. "Let’s hope."