No matter how many times I walked through this place, I didn't think I'd ever be able to call it 'home'.

With a heavy heart, I trudged up the steps from the warm basement I used as my workshop, leaving it behind for the rest of my parents' house. It was a land of respite, one that let me relax for a while and forget my problems, but now it was time to go to work.

Unlike the warmth of the basement, the house was cold. It wasn't that the house was 'bad' in a structural sense. It wasn't in shambles or dilapidated. It was crafted with 'proper' Selvanian wood, well insulated and crafted by a skilled [Builder's] hand. It was in a nice neighbourhood, and I had no complaints about the people that lived around us. We all kept to ourselves for the most part, but… that was fine. We had no issues between us, and that was enough.

No matter what, this place always seemed to have that 'new house smell'. My parents loved it. I think it reminded them of how far they've come, that they could afford to come here and get such a nice place based on their accomplishments alone. They saw the move here as a fresh start. As something new and exciting. The smell had never grown on me, though. We'd been here little over a year now, but I still hadn't gotten used to it. I didn't think I ever would.

I didn't want to leave my team waiting too long, so I quickened my pace. Lifting my tail to ensure it didn't drag against the steps, I moved through the empty corridor and up the silent stairs, pushing open the door to the room I was looking for.

It was my room, really, but I couldn't ever bring myself to think of it that way. The room wasn't a pretty sight either. I cringed at the view, but took a deep breath and stepped inside.

I woke here every morning and slept here every night, but it had never really felt like 'mine'. It wasn't like I hadn't tried to make it work.

Posters of great warriors, both real and fictional, lined the walls. Some were adorned in armor crafted from the hides of magical beasts, while others sported glowing full plate armor. Those from fictional series, like 'Adventures of the Six' and 'Aetherman' stood out more than others, but not even their presence could brighten the room up.

The wood of the walls lurked just behind the posters, hidden between the gaps. Some of them were beginning to peel off. I didn't want to leave them hanging there, but I'd been losing the enthusiasm to try and keep them up after they'd fallen down over and over again. They didn't seem to want to stay up, despite my best efforts.

I waded through the jumble of assorted comics, bags, and boxes on the floor, trudging to my bedside. I got down on my hands and knees after pushing against the clutter, trying to make some space on the floor around me before reaching under the bed.

I squinted, peering into the darkness as I reached underneath, groping for the objects I was looking for. My hand met dry, flaky scales, and I recoiled from the touch, pulling my hand back with a yelp. I shook my hand with a shiver, watching as the flakes fell to the floor. With my tail, I brushed them away towards the far end of the bed.

I had a habit of getting rid of scales I shed during my sleep in the fastest way possible, by brushing them off the side of the bed. It wasn't hygienic, I know, but I'd get around to it eventually. It was a bad habit, but one I knew I could stop if I put my mind to it. I just… always found better things to do.

My claws wrapped around cold steel. With a heave, I pulled a weighty gadget from under the bed. It was a grappling hook, as cobbled together as it was. The gadget was one of my earlier works, although maybe a little clunkier than it could have been if I'd remade it today.

Still, I was proud of how the leather straps had come out, since I hadn't had much practice with applying them before starting the project. The firing mechanism had been rewarding to get right, even if getting to the point of success had been a pain in the tail. I wasn't interested in the family business, but being the daughter of a pair of [Blacksmiths] had its perks.

My parents had gotten me interested in the craft not long after my fifth birthday. It was something I'd always been fascinated with as a kid. The sound of my dad hammering out metal and the heat of the forge had always been comforting backdrops to reading tales of adventure. Maybe it was silly, but the memory of imagining weapons slashing monsters in time with my father's hammer striking a blade had always stuck with me.

After my parents tried to get me into it, I learned pretty quickly that smithing was much harder to do than it was to watch. More than once, I'd dropped bits of heated metal, or struck a blade or gauntlet too much or in the wrong spot, bending them out of shape. The shape had always been the hardest part to get right. Although I loved watching my parents perform their craft, doing it myself was another story.

I knew they wanted me to get the Class and be a [Blacksmith] like them, but my heart just wasn't in it. I liked to smith, but not the way they did. Making blade after blade, tool after tool, helmet after helmet. That wasn't what I wanted. I wanted to experiment, to try making something a little different and new. But it was more than that, too. I wanted it to be a hobby, something I did for the love of the craft, not a job I had to do day in and day out just to get by. 'Different doesn't sell', they'd say, but I didn't want to sell my projects.

I wanted my projects to be for me, and me alone. That was what had led me to gain the [Tinkerer] Class, instead.

I flung the hook up onto the bed as it flopped onto the mattress, reaching underneath once again, grasping for more. I always kept a mental list of things to bring with me. It wasn't hard for me to keep everything in mind so long as I was focused. I barely even needed it anymore, but it was satisfying to work through. I felt a real sense of accomplishment when I worked my way through the list step by step. It was silly, really, since I hadn't ever forgotten to bring anything anyway. I always made sure to double check I'd had everything I needed. Still, it felt nice to keep track of. It was reassuring, in a way.

I didn't want to get my team hurt because I'd forgotten something either. They relied on me to be the prepared one, the person who made sure everyone had what they needed before we set out to hunt or gather. Besides, it helped to keep my mind occupied.

From under the bed, I began to pull out object after object. The leather scabbards of two daggers. A belt covered in pouches. A near-empty metal flask containing water that sloshed quietly in my hands. I methodically brushed the scales off of each object, making sure each was cleaned and ready to use.

To complete the set, I grabbed my metal gauntlet, hauling it out from underneath the bed. I made it to fit my clawed fingers. The artefact fit snugly onto my hand as I slipped it on, flexing the fingers with a satisfied smile. While I placed it on my hand, I caught the words that had been sloppily etched into the inside of the wrist.

'Property of Yuri Scalesmith, Varani [Tinkerer] of Addersbrook'.

It had been my latest foray into smithing, and the project I was most proud of. On the palm of the hand was an indent, formed in the shape of a Dragon's head, its mouth closed and its eyes locked on the viewer. It was the latest of my magical achievements. Mental Magic and Runecraft weren't the flashiest types of magic to have, but nothing had beaten the joy of testing it out for the first time. They had been the first types of magic I'd found that had 'clicked'. The first that had resonated with my 'identity'. Even if it wasn't active, the rune filled me with satisfaction. I was certain that if I wanted to, I could sit here all afternoon to admire it.

But I couldn't. I had work to do.

I climbed back up off the floor, picking up the assorted bits and pieces I'd retrieved from under the bed. I began the process of preparing myself, slipping on a protective leather vest, a belt with pouches on it, and a carving knife strapped around my waist, ensuring everything was in its place. The caltrops within the pouches jangled with the movement, a sign that everything was accounted for. I checked my pocket out of reflex to ensure my Adventurer's Guild license was in there. A bronze rectangle of metal with some information relevant to the craft. I knew it would be there, given that it was Soulbound, and would reappear in my pocket if it got too far away from me, but old habits died hard.

I sat down on the bed, strapping the grappling hook to my other arm to complete the set. Idly, I pushed the boxes and bags away with my boots as I fiddled with the leather latches.

The floor was littered with old wrappers and bags. Despite how it looked, I didn't think of myself as a messy person by nature. I didn't let all this build up out of laziness. The room needed to feel lived in if I wanted it to have any chance of changing from just another room to my room. Even if the feeling hadn't come yet.

I got to my feet, making sure everything was secured in place. I pushed another comic out of the way before moving. I glanced down to look at it as my hands worked on their own. It was an issue of 'Adventures of the Six'. A smile found its way onto my face.

The cover was goofy looking, with a group of Humans that were buff beyond the norm, to the point where they were almost outlandishly huge. They stood in front of a gigantic Wolf with a snarling, drooling maw, and glowing red eyes. A steel collar and chain hung from its neck. It gave off a real sense of strength, despite the colourful and playful art style. The size might have been what gave it the effect, since the buff Humans were small in comparison. Bigger monsters tended to be more frightening by default, I had found, even if the Wolf itself didn't frighten me.

It was issue 217. I'd read all of these a thousand times, but it never seemed to lose its luster. The Wolf monster, Fenrir, wasn't too memorable. Neither was the arc, actually. It was a pretty standard 'beat the bad guy' kind of story. Cut and dry, one lacking in any real depth. No lengthly strategy or heavy narrative stakes. Just some dumb fun, an 'in-between' to ramp up tension before the next big fight.

Despite lacking in depth, it made for a good warm-up arc before the introduction of Deathstreak, who was a real villain. I could tell he was written really, really well, even if I couldn't put myself in his shoes. I wasn't a giant gold Dragon, even if I too had scales. His problems were hard to comprehend living with, but he was still captivating to read about. Charismatic and collected. He just had so much… presence.

I was grinning like an idiot. I couldn't help it, and I didn't try to stop the warm feeling that took root in my chest. It was a long running comic, and one I'd been thoroughly invested in over the years. Through thick and thin, it had been a constant companion. It had its ups and downs, and some of it was really cliche, but it was fun above all else, even when it took a dark turn, sometimes.

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It was one of the first comic series I'd ever picked up, and had helped to spark my love for adventuring in the first place. Some people had their gripes with it, but I'd never been one to care about the whole religious controversy stuff. Thankfully, my parents didn't care much for it either. They were more invested in Primordial worship than praising the Six.

I left the comic on my bed, placing it atop my pillow. Maybe I'd read it again later, before going to bed. Leaning forward, I reached for a small pin clipped onto a leather ring around my bedframe. With ginger care, I unclasped it from its resting spot, instead fastening it to the collar of my clothes. It was a red rose, one framed by green leaves and a golden trim. It wasn't anything expensive, but it was precious. A gift from a friend. One of the last true reminders I had of home. I rose to my feet, knowing I needed to move before the pang in my chest set deep roots that choked out all motivation to go forward.

I could've kept all of my equipment in the basement, but… I needed some reason to come back to my room during the day. If I didn't return there, then it would never 'stick' as mine.

I skipped out of the room, feeling the fire in my chest fade a little as I left the comics and the mess behind. I kept my eyes forward and focused as I walked down the stairs, past the grandfather clock and over the carpet.

The house was still, silent and cold. There was a lit fire in the hearth, which crackled quietly to my right. It flickered and fought to keep going, but it was nearing the end of its life, slowly dying down.

To my left, I heard the grandfather clock, its heavy arm swaying back and forth for agonisingly long seconds. The last of the sounds I heard was that of my steady heartbeat. My parents were still at work, so I had free reign of the house.

Not that I wanted that free reign anyway.

Without taking that thought any further before it caused problems, I dashed out the door, leaving it behind. My eyes squinted, expecting light that never came. It wasn't dark out, but I couldn't see the sun past the thick treeline and foliage above me either. The leafy cover stopped any of the sun's rays from getting in my eyes, even if beams of light peered through the trees around the forest.

My heart sank again, and I forced myself to stop moving, to stop thinking. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and focused on the good things. Everything I had to look forward to.

My work. My friends. My memories. My magic. My future.

My patches of hair stood on end, but I pushed down the lump in my throat. The squinting had been reflexive, a habit from home I'd never been able to shake off. It was as much a part of me as my Soul or my tail.

Someone had left a newspaper by the door. Even with a casual glance down, I could see the words on the front cover. More complaints about the Pagonia/Scander conflicts further north, people disappearing from their houses due to strangely coordinated Wraith attacks, and a smattering of Chimera sightings further south. The usual stuff.

I opened the door slightly, leaving the newspaper on a small stand next to the door, one with a collection of small towels and scrubbing brushes for our scales.

Leaving the thoughts welling up within me behind, I closed the door and strolled away down the cobblestone path. The neighbourhood around me was leaning into the woods, teeming with wooden bungalows and townhouses much like ours, spaced out irregularly along the winding path. I saw nobody on my walk, bar an old woman knitting in a rocking chair. I didn't know her name, but she was one of the few Humans living out this far from the town. I nodded to her, but I didn't think she saw me, because she didn't nod back.

The path wound all through the densely forested neighbourhood. There wasn't as much light here, but most folk didn't need it. The Humans who weren't as accustomed to the darkness lived further out, near the public roads.

At a fork in the path, I took a left, swerving away from the woods and towards the rest of the town. The metal in my pouches jangled rhythmically as I walked. It was a soothing sound, one that helped to take my mind off the house. Focusing on the noise helped my legs get into a rhythm too, until I was making a steady jog through the shade-blanketed woods, my mind on nothing but the rhythm. The distraction.

The ground gently dipped downward ahead of me. I stopped for a moment as I passed by a small clearing between a copse of trees. I stood at the edge of the woods now, further down the path, and far away from the house. From here, I could see it all.

The light of the evening sun shone down on the town of Addersbrook, bathing it in a warm orange hue. I couldn't hear the noise of the town from up here, but looking down on it was relaxing. The town seemed much smaller from here. Less daunting and unfamiliar. More manageable. Being able to see it all from the comfort of the hill was almost reassuring. From here, it wasn't the sprawling, foreign place my mind sometimes made it out to be.

As much as part of me wanted to, I couldn't spend all afternoon looking down at it. I didn't want to keep my team waiting any longer than they had to. I went down the hill at a slower pace, one I hadn't had on the walk here. People had gotten hurt running down this hill before. I hadn't ever seen anything like that happen, but Sigura told me someone had once dislocated their shoulder after trying to make it to the bottom of the hill in a wheelbarrow. It was always a story she retold with a wide grin, but I didn't want to end up like that and hurt myself, so I made sure not to go too fast.

I passed by a pair of [Guardsmen] in leather armor, chatting to one another at a narrow opening of the town's second layer of walls. A pair of young Humans. The heavy wooden gates were wide open as I walked inside, as they always were between the outskirts and the town proper.

I gave them a nod as I passed, and the younger of the two waved back with a smile. I hadn't seen that guard before, but everyone in the Watch knew who I was. Not just because I was an adventurer who had occasionally helped with mending their damaged equipment or clearing out pests they would rather not deal with, but because of my parent's involvement with the forging of their weapons and armor. They were pivotal in keeping the Watch armed, and it was a job that kept them very busy.

The streets of Addersbrook Town were well lit, both from the evening sun and the lampposts dimly lit above. Nothing on the street had caught my eye. I tried to keep the sound of the jangling metal in my pockets to a minimum, burying the niggling feeling that I didn't fit in as I saw people passing by. I would have worn some ribbons or lighter clothes to help seem less… strict, but I was here in an adventuring capacity, and needed to look the part. Prim, proper, and dependable. The only thing that caught my interest were the lights above me.

The lights were not formed of a torch's flame, but with magic.

The lampposts would get brighter as night crept in, given that the enchantment on the glass reacted to darkness. The darker the world became, the greater the intensity of the [Light] Spell affixed to them.

It was a smart way of handling it, but it always made me wonder what that said about whoever made them. Were they someone who was afraid of the dark? That sounded like the easy answer, but magic was rarely that simple. I knew from personal experience that it could be that simple sometimes, but when it came to long lasting enchantments like the lampposts, it had to have been something deeper. Something more ingrained in who they were. It was difficult to guess at the intricacies without knowing the nature of the person who made the enchantments, but part of the fun was in the guessing and speculation.

I looked down, becoming acutely aware that I'd been standing in the middle of the street, staring up at a lamppost. With a start, I noticed people were staring at me now too. A pair of Humans that had been passing through were starting to throw me weird glances.

My scales shook in place as I shivered at the quizzical looks. Was it because I'd been staring up at the lamppost, or because of what I was? My hands reflexively went to cover the skin under my forearms, unprotected by scales, and I changed.

I became transparent, my skin and scales changing to match the cobblestone under my boots and the wood of the buildings behind me. Even my clothes seemed to change colour to match.

They couldn't see me, but I still felt like their eyes were on me, so I kept going. Walking with this Skill active was treacherous. People couldn't see me, but that didn't mean I wasn't there. I had to be extra cautious, keeping my tail tucked behind me as I swerved around the people passing by. I didn't want to bump into someone, or have a heavy boot land on my tail by accident.

I waited until I was a few streets away before I slipped into an unoccupied alley. I pressed a hand to my cheek, annoyed at myself. I could feel the telltale warmth of embarrassment beneath my palm, a problem my parents would never need to face.

I tapped my feet over and over, taking a long, deep breath. I kept my thoughts focused on logic. On my goal. Mentally, I squashed all my useless feelings and worries into a ball, focusing them in one place.

Once my chest felt full to bursting, I exhaled. I could feel a chill run through my body, as though the air I released had trapped all the heat and lingering embarrassment I was feeling. My body and mind felt clear again. The heat in my cheeks died down, and I disabled my [Camouflage].

Once again, I'd acquired a [Silent Heart].

It was at times like these that I wish I was more like my parents. If I was fullblooded, this wouldn't be a problem at all. I could be focused on my goal and work towards it, without feeling so many… feelings. It felt like I had to work around so many more hurdles than them, all because of a stupid genetic quirk. I wasn't a proper Varani, or… 'Lizardfolk', as the townspeople called us, but I had at least inherited some of my people's Racial Skills, albeit in an… incomplete form.

I rubbed at my fleshy cheeks with clawed hands, feeling for heat. The embarrassment evident in my face was long gone, but I still felt a moment of apprehension when it came to leaving the alleyway. What were the chances those two people were still there? What if they'd been moving in the same direction as me? Maybe they'd had some way of tracking me.

The thoughts were beginning to annoy me, so I pushed myself forward and out of the alley, burying the pang of worry that accompanied it. Drifting forward into the loose crowd of Humans and Tierakin, or 'Beastfolk', helped. The sound of idle chatter and conversation helped to bury my doubts as I lost myself in the crowd. Some of the ease returned to my step, and I felt much better as the worries began to drift away. Irrational emotions like that never stayed long provided I was following a list and on my feet.

The market was… boring, really. Most of the stalls were manned by [Farmers] that lived nearby, selling their produce. I recognised some of them, since my team and I regularly got work hunting Giant Rats and Bogworms from their fields, whenever clearing out pests became too big a job for a spray, a torch, or a pitchfork. It wasn't difficult work, now that we'd gotten the hang of it, but it served to give us some Experience, both in the literal and arcane sense. I didn't get much for it, since my Class wasn't inherently designed for combat, nor were the tasks especially difficult or fraught with risk, but I still learned from the encounters. The coin we earned didn't hurt either.

Leaving the [Farmers] behind, I got to a section of the market I was much more invested in. It was a smaller, much more niche part of the market. It was one I'd first visited with my parents, even if I came here nowadays for very different reasons.

All around me, I was surrounded by stalls selling metal.

[Hoarders] that had gathered pieces of scrap that could be repurposed cheaply. [Welders] that combined pieces of metal to be easily used in other works. There were others too, like those people who made horseshoes, or [Jewellers] that used metal to forge chains for bracelets and necklaces.

In other words, it was paradise for a [Tinkerer] like me. Most of my share from the jobs we did was poured into this place. I practically lived here in my off time, whenever I wasn't forging something new, messing with designs, or reading back at the house. As sad as it might have sounded, this may be the place I felt the most at 'home', other than my workshop.

Without thinking, my eyes darted left and right, spotting pieces of glinting metal. It was thanks to my [Honed Vision] that I could see material suitable for my work so easily. It was one of the first Skills I'd gotten when I first acquired the [Tinkerer] Class, after all. Sometimes it was a nuisance, since it made my eyes wander when I wasn't focused, but on the other hand, it was a reminder of what I'd done, and what I could do in the future.

My magic wasn't flashy, but I was proud of it all the same. Sure, it would be nice to have something easy and visible like throwing [Fireballs] or flying through the air, but magic like mine was gratifying when it actually worked. I felt a real sense of achievement when I crafted something new with the help of magic, something I doubted other Casters felt. I hadn't talked to the others much about how they'd gotten their own magic. It was a thought I'd had a few times, but I'd never really gotten around to it. I didn't hang around with my team when we weren't off doing missions, so it just… kept slipping my mind, I guess.

If we got our job done earlier than expected today, maybe I'd bring it up. Magic was an interesting topic, even more so if I could use it to further my own-

"EVERYBODY OUT!" a man roared, not far from me. My eyes whipped towards him, a hand instinctively dipping into my pouch. He was a Human in leather garb, a member of the Watch. His leather vest hid the chainmail beneath, but I saw the town emblem, a hissing snake wrapped around a log facing a little to the side, emblazoned with a darker brown on his shoulder.

"GET OUT! HEAD TO THE SUBURBS! MONSTER ATTACK!"

People were already beginning to run, grabbing their bags or picking up children before bolting away. Signs listing merchandise and prices formed of coloured light hovering in the air flickered out of existence from above the stalls as their [Merchants] abandoned their posts. I saw guards further ahead armed with pikes and swords, stabbing at an imposing figure in a trenchcoat. They were humanoid, but they were far from Human.

Although most of their body was hidden behind their coat, I could see the pale blue-grey flesh of his meaty hands and face. His mouth was twisted into a wicked snarl as he cocked his head to the side. One of the pikes snagged his ear, and he reached up, grabbing the wooden length of the weapon. He wrenched his hand to the side, snapping the weapon in half. A ripped off chunk of ear came with it, but his face showed no signs of pain, and his body no signs of bleeding.

The stub of ear and torn flesh began to bubble and deform, expanding outwards to fill in for the skin he'd lost. The monster had piercing gold eyes and a wispy blue mist around his neck. It billowed out in a thick cloud like a collar, dissipating before it got too far from his body. His brown bowler hat was knocked from his head in the scuffle, revealing a mop of messy blond hair swept to one side. His eyes scanned the market, intently scouring the area for something. When his eyes stopped and his face contorted in hatred, I knew he'd found what he was looking for.

"YOUUUUUUU!" he bellowed, the sound easily drowning out that of the now screaming civilians. His voice had a strange quality to it, echoing on its own in the afternoon air, as though he were shouting through a tube. Without delay, he charged forward, barreling through the guards. I heard the snapping of bone as several were crushed underfoot, powerless to stop him. I followed his gaze, locking onto the face of a Human.

They were much smaller, thinner, yet wearing a similar brown coat to the monster. He had dark hair, a brownish red colour, like the dying ashes of a campfire. His expression seemed unconcerned, despite the danger he was in. He stumbled backwards in fear, an action that looked out of place after the assessment of his face. I wasn't used to reading the expressions of Humans intimately, but it seemed wrong. Wrong in a way I couldn't piece together.

I looked to the guards who'd been bellowing at people to evacuate as more civilians fled the scene. They were talking frantically with someone now, a Human man with light leather armor. Plates of metal covered his shoulders and vitals, each adorned with pieces of a dark blue creature's shell for added protection.

He said something I didn't hear, but the guard nodded, turning to face the monster, pike extended. The man stood to attention, and those that accompanied him followed suit. Three Humans and a Satyr drew their weapons, their sights set on the monster. One broadsword, a rapier, a pair of daggers, and a staff. I could tell what they were in an instant.

Without thinking, I reached into my own pocket, my cold, clawed fingers wrapping around the hilt of a dagger.

They were adventurers, and so was I. In a situation like this, nothing more needed to be said.