Morning sunlight streamed through the window, casting a warm glow across the room. The protagonist lay blissfully cocooned in his legendary blanket, the epitome of comfort that radiated a warmth deeper than just fabric alone. He barely registered the insistent knock on his door, his mind halfway in a dream and hoping whoever it was might give up and let him sleep.

The knocking escalated to a determined thump, followed by the door swinging open. Kael, the Thunder Mage, strolled in with a grin as sharp as the glint in his golden eyes. He didn’t waste a beat.

“Awake already?” Kael smirked, crossing his arms as he appraised the scene. “I half expected you to sleep through this whole day. We’ve got a dungeon lined up, and I’m not leaving until you come with me.”

The protagonist groaned, burying himself deeper under layers of legendary warmth. “Why should I?” he muttered, voice muffled. “You S-ranks are more than capable of handling these things yourselves. I’m just ‘living gear’ at this point.”

“Oh, don’t sell yourself short.” Kael’s grin grew. “You’re legendary gear. Besides, I know you love the attention.” He gave a pointed look, daring his friend to argue.

Moments later, a second figure strode in, his shadow falling over the room. Alaric, the swordsman with flames hotter than most volcanoes, leaned casually against the doorway, his sleek ponytail swaying slightly. He took in the sight of his floating friend with a mildly amused look.

“I see Kael got to you first this time,” Alaric said, glancing sidelong at the Thunder Mage. “But seriously, you’re going to bring that blanket along again?”

“Oh, I am dressed,” the protagonist said with a languid stretch, letting himself drift upward until he floated, blanket and all, a few inches off the ground. “In legendary style.”

Kael sighed, resigned. “Fine. Just keep that blessing skill up and running, alright? I’ve seen how fast my rank’s gone up since we started dragging you along. Besides,” he gave Alaric a smug look, “someone needs to protect our fiery friend here from himself.”

Alaric rolled his eyes, muttering something about “impossible teammates,” but he couldn’t hide the small grin tugging at his lips. With little left to protest, the trio left the room and ventured out into the bustling city.

They wandered through the district, the protagonist floating just behind, wrapped in his prized blanket. His two wolf familiars, Skoll and Hati, flanked him as they made their way through the crowded streets, casting wary glances at anyone who wandered too close. A few pedestrians did a double-take at the sight, whispering behind their hands about the lazy figure wrapped in what looked like a mythic artifact.

As they passed a barbershop with wide glass windows displaying gleaming scissors and polished mirrors, the protagonist’s gaze flicked to Alaric’s ponytail. He clicked his tongue, clearly entertained.

“Alaric,” he began in an almost scholarly tone, “didn’t realize you’d gone for the whole ‘stylish warrior’ thing. You aren’t worried that’ll get in the way when you start swinging that sword of yours?”

Alaric shot him an unamused look, reaching up to run a hand through his dark hair. “Trust me, I’ve been meaning to cut it. But every time I’ve got a spare moment, you two rope me into something.”

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Kael slapped him on the back, grinning. “It does make you look rather… regal, though. Maybe ‘The Crimson Prince’ could be your new title. Think of the branding!”

Rolling his eyes, Alaric glanced over his shoulder. “I’ll pass, thanks. I’d rather not turn myself into a walking poster for melodrama.”

The protagonist floated a little closer, pulling his blanket tighter as he eyed the ponytail with feigned judgment. “You could lean into it, you know. ‘The tragic swordsman with a dark past’ aesthetic. If nothing else, it might distract people long enough for Kael to fry them.”

“Sure,” Alaric muttered dryly, voice heavy with sarcasm. “Or maybe I’ll start reciting poetry in the dungeons, really complete the look.”

“Now that I’d pay to see,” Kael laughed, though he threw a sidelong glance to their floating friend. “Some of us like looking intimidating. Speaking of which,” he eyed the blanket, “you planning to keep that thing draped over you the entire time?”

The protagonist shrugged, floating a few inches higher with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Intimidation is about aura, not accessories.” He glanced down at his wolves, Skoll and Hati, who were watching Alaric and Kael with keen eyes. Skoll seemed to fix Alaric with a particularly judgy look, as if even the wolf was unimpressed with his choice of hairstyle.

“Oh, don’t you start,” Alaric groaned, pretending to address the wolf. “I swear, your master’s rubbing off on you.”

With a shared grin, they continued on, passing curious onlookers as they approached the outskirts of the city. Alaric and Kael took their positions at the dungeon’s entrance, sparking with anticipation. But just as they turned to check if their companion was ready, they caught him adjusting his blanket, clearly more concerned with achieving the perfect cocooned state than anything remotely battle-related.

Kael shook his head, sighing in resignation. “You’re really going to float in there wrapped in that thing, aren’t you?”

The protagonist’s smirk deepened. “If you didn’t want me to, you should’ve considered hiring a healer.” He stifled a yawn, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Besides, this thing’s got frost resistance like you wouldn’t believe.”

Alaric chuckled, tapping the hilt of his sword. “Let’s just hope it’s enough. This time, I’m not covering for you if you get too cozy.”

With that, the trio—and their wolf escorts—stepped inside, shadows disappearing into the flickering darkness, one contently wrapped in legendary warmth and daring anyone—or anything—foolish enough to disturb him.

As they emerged from the dungeon, dust and frost clinging to their clothes, Alaric was scowling. His freshly cut hair was short, a few strands falling just above his shoulders, a marked difference from the sleek ponytail he’d been sporting only hours before. But Kael and the protagonist hadn’t stopped ribbing him about it since he walked out of the barbershop. Now, as they crossed paths with an A-rank hunter—a tall, intimidating figure with hair that flowed well past his shoulders, glinting in the sun like liquid silver—Alaric’s scowl deepened.

The hunter gave them a nod in passing, and Kael, ever the conversationalist, shot him a compliment. “Gotta say, man, love the look. Long hair makes a statement in the field.”

The hunter chuckled, brushing a hand through his mane with a self-assured grin. “Appreciate it. Keeps the weak at bay and the ladies interested.” He strolled past, sparing a small, approving glance at Alaric’s freshly cut hair. “Nice cut, by the way. Short hair suits some people.” With a wink, he vanished into the crowd.

Kael and the protagonist both looked at Alaric, who looked like he was about to explode. He threw up his hands, pointing a finger back in the direction of the A-rank hunter. “That guy’s got hair like a mythological creature, and nobody says a word about it!” He glared at his friends. “But the second I let mine get past regulation length, it’s all ‘oh, you’re the Crimson Prince now’ or ‘watch out, Alaric might get his hair caught in a door.’ What gives?”

Kael couldn’t contain his laughter. “It’s all about the vibe, my man. That guy? He’s got the air of a seasoned warrior. You, on the other hand, looked like a lost noble who’d just wandered into a battlefield.”

The protagonist floated lazily beside them, wrapped in his blanket as usual, looking deeply amused. “Besides, Alaric, maybe it’s about embracing the role. He looks like he belongs in a legend with that hair. You… you just looked like you were auditioning for a different part.”

Alaric threw his hands up in exasperation. “Maybe I was trying to bring a little flair to the group! It’s not my fault you two don’t appreciate aesthetics. And it’s definitely not my fault everyone in the guild seems fine with him looking like some mystic drifter.” He jabbed a thumb at the protagonist, still wrapped in legendary warmth and floating a few inches above the ground.

The protagonist shrugged, utterly unconcerned. “Jealousy is unbecoming, Alaric. Besides, the only reason I keep the blanket is because it works. People look at me and they see confidence, style… legendary gear.”

Kael clapped Alaric on the shoulder. “Just accept it, man. You’re cursed to always be the practical one, the grounded swordsman among us.”

Alaric grumbled, tugging at a stubborn lock that still fell near his eyes. “Fine. But next time, you’re both getting dragged into whatever style experiment I decide on.”

The protagonist smirked. “Good luck with that. I’m sticking to the classics.” With a lazy flick of his wrist, he resumed his slow drift forward, still cocooned in his blanket as he floated, impervious to the world’s demands.

Alaric muttered under his breath as they continued on, Kael barely containing his laughter.