Elara stepped into the tent, letting the flap fall shut behind her. The outside chill clung to her skin for a moment before the warmth inside wrapped around her.

  At the table in the center, Lana sat with her head bowed, her fingers deftly working a needle through dark fabric. She didn’t look up, her attention entirely on the material stretched between her hands. The needle flashed in the lantern light, gliding in and out, pulling the thread taut before moving on to the next.

  Elara’s gaze drifted across the table. Pieces of armor and cloth lay scattered across the surface—some neatly folded, others spread out in various states of repair. She recognized her own gear—her black shirt with a fresh tear along the hem, her leather armor with a deep gash at the side. A pang of realization struck her—she had wondered where her clothing had gone, but in the exhaustion after waking, she hadn’t given it much thought.

  “You’re patching them up?” she asked, stepping closer.

  Lana finally glanced up, just for a moment, then returned her focus to the stitches. “Someone has to.”

  There was no irritation in her voice, only the steady calm of someone used to getting things done. The thread yielded to her touch, her fingers pulling the thread with the steady rhythm of someone who had done this many times before. The flickering light of a candle played across her face, highlighting the furrow of concentration in her brow.

  Elara hesitated for a moment, then pulled out a chair and sat beside her. She watched as Lana worked, following the path of the needle, the slow but sure mending of the fabric. There was something methodical, almost calming about it.

  “Thank you, Lana,” she said, her voice softer now.

  Lana didn’t stop her work, but a faint hum of acknowledgment left her lips. “Try not to tear it up again so soon.”

  A small smile tugged at the corner of Elara’s mouth. “No promises.”

  Lana huffed, shaking her head slightly as she continued stitching, the quiet companionship settling between them like a familiar warmth. Lana pulled the thread taut one last time and bit it off cleanly with a small knife. She set the finished piece aside and reached for the next—a section of Elara’s leather armor, the edges of the gash already reinforced with new stitching.

  “I don’t expect you to pay me for this,” Lana said, her tone light but firm. She didn’t look up, but the edge in her voice caught Elara’s attention. “Think of it as an investment.”

  Elara raised an eyebrow. “An investment?”

  Lana nodded, threading her needle again with fingers that moved steady but tight, each pull a little sharper than it needed to be. “You seem to be taking this dungeon business seriously. Really pushing yourself.” She glanced at Elara then, eyes sharp but unreadable. “I can’t even see your level anymore.”

  She looked back down at her work, but her hands didn’t relax. Her fingers gripped the needle too hard, knuckles pale with the effort of holding something back.

  “Does that bother you?” Elara asked, wary.

  Lana let out a short breath, something closer to a laugh but stripped of humor. “Wouldn’t it bother you?”

  Elara stayed quiet, letting the weight of it settle.

  “I can only level when people use my gear, my buffs, my enhancements,” Lana continued, her voice steady but strained at the edges. “I can work until my hands are raw, make something flawless—and none of it matters unless someone else is out there fighting, growing, gaining from what I provide.”

  She shook her head, eyes narrowing at the armor in her lap. “Meanwhile, you’re in the thick of it, getting stronger with every battle.”

  Elara said nothing. She had never really considered how different the growth paths were for someone with an Artisan class.

  Lana exhaled and forced a small smile, but it flattened before it could reach her eyes. “It’s fine. I knew what I was signing up for. Doesn’t mean I can’t be jealous sometimes.”

  Elara leaned back slightly, studying her. “Jealous, huh?”

  Lana gave a shrug. “Maybe. Maybe just frustrated. But like I said—it’s an investment. If I make sure your gear holds up, if I help you stay in the fight longer, then I’m growing too. Even if it’s just a little.”

  She went back to the stitching, but the way her shoulders stayed tense told Elara the conversation hadn’t really ended.

  Elara watched her work, noticing the stiff set of her jaw, the way her thumb pressed too hard against the fabric every time the needle pierced through.

  The lantern flickered. The soft slide of the needle through fabric filled the silence.

  Then Elara spoke, her voice steady. “Then I’ll make sure your investment pays off.”

  Lana paused mid-stitch, then let out a soft chuckle. “You’d better.”

  Elara glanced down at herself before looking back at Lana. “Did you change me?”

  Lana’s eyes flicked to her, then back to her stitching. “Yeah.”

  Elara tensed slightly, not out of anger, but out of the sheer unfamiliarity of the situation. She wasn’t used to people handling her things, much less… well, handling her.

  Lana’s tone remained casual. “Your armor needed fixing, and you were covered in spores. I wiped down your face and arms too, just to be safe.”

  Elara exhaled, shifting her weight. It was practical—Lana was nothing if not efficient—but it still felt strange knowing she’d been handled while unconscious.

  Still, she nodded. “Thanks.”

  Lana hummed in acknowledgment, focused on her stitching.

  Elara stood, running her fingers along the smooth fabric draping over her. The material was soft yet sturdy, far from anything she would have chosen for herself but undeniably comfortable. “It’s comfortable,” she admitted. “I like it.”

  Lana smirked faintly. “Good. I didn’t have many clothes to offer.”

  Elara huffed a small laugh, lifting her arm to inspect the embroidery along the sleeve. “I doubt you travel with spare dresses.”

  Lana’s smirk deepened. “No, but I make do.” She nodded toward the stitching in her hands. “Besides, you ruined your clothes quite a bit. Figured you’d need something durable.”

  Elara glanced at her, catching the flicker of amusement in Lana’s expression. There was no teasing bite to her words, just a simple observation.

  She dropped her arm. “Well, I appreciate it.”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  Lana gave a lazy shrug. “Like I said before—investment.”

  She glanced at Elara’s outfit before returning her focus to the needle and thread in her hands. “It’s a long tunic,“ she explained. “Something you can wear under your armor. It’ll hold up better than that shirt and pants you are destroying.”

  Elara raised an eyebrow. “Destroying?”

  Lana snorted softly, not looking up. “You know exactly what I mean.” She flicked her gaze to the torn fabric in her lap before lifting it slightly, as if presenting the evidence. “These are high quality, no doubt about that. But fine clothes like this weren’t made for fighting. Definitely not for crawling around on the ground.”

  Elara crossed her arms, a smirk tugging at her lips. “I don’t crawl.”

  Lana let out a dry chuckle, finally meeting her eyes. “Right. You ‘tactically reposition.’”

  Elara couldn’t help but laugh at that.

  Lana shook her head, amused. “Point is, that tunic should last longer. It’s reinforced—not as much as armor, but better than what you had before.”

  Lana gestured vaguely at Elara. “Go on, move around a bit. See if anything feels wrong or restrictive.”

  Elara hesitated before rolling her shoulders, shifting her stance. The tunic didn’t pull anywhere uncomfortably, and when she lifted her arms, the fabric moved smoothly without resistance. She stepped forward, testing her stride, and only then did she notice the short slits on each side, allowing for better mobility.

  “Feels fine,” she admitted, though she eyed the garment with mild skepticism. “But… isn’t this a bit much like a dress to fight in?”

  Lana snorted, setting her needle down momentarily. “If you ever fight someone actually wearing a dress, run the other way.”

  Elara blinked. “What?”

  Lana leaned back slightly, smirking. “Dresses—especially fancy ones—more often than not hide nasty surprises. Ever seen a mage wearing robes covered in embroidery? Odds are, those aren’t just for decoration. I heard glyphs are a pain to inscribe on leather or metal, but cloth? Perfect for weaving in all sorts of enchantments.”

  Elara frowned, considering that. It made sense.

  “So what you’re saying is…” she mused, tugging at her sleeve.

  “That if someone shows up in full robes and looks defenseless,” Lana said, picking up her needle again, “assume they can turn you into ash before you can blink.”

  Elara traced a finger along the silver embroidery on her sleeve, then glanced at Lana. “How common is it to use glyphs?” she asked.

  Lana paused in her stitching, eyebrows rising slightly. “It is not something you see every day.” She considered for a moment before continuing, her tone thoughtful. “Glyphwrights are highly sought after. The ability to create and understand glyphs isn’t common, and those who can do it well are in high demand.”

  She tied off a thread and set the needle down before adding, “You can find people who inscribe glyphs in the Maker’s Guild. It’s one of the few places where that kind of knowledge is openly practiced. But outside of that?” She shook her head. “I wouldn’t know where to find someone who actually understands the deeper workings of glyphs. It’s not exactly a skill you can just learn.”

  Elara forced herself to stay still, but a prickle of unease settled in her stomach. She had gained her Novice Glyph Insight skill just by staring at a Glyph.

  “But how do people learn Glyph relevant skills in the first place?” She asked, her voice light despite the unease that had taken root in her stomach.

  Lana shrugged. “I couldn’t say. You’d probably join the Maker’s Guild. Find someone who already knows and hope they’ll teach you. Or maybe there’s a book somewhere, a dusty tome in some forgotten library with some scribblings on glyphs. But I honestly don’t have a clue.”

  Elara frowned, “are those kinds of books…common?”

  Lana hummed. “People have written books about all sorts of skills. About what they are, how to unlock them, that kind of thing. Some more valuable than another. But they’re rare, you know? The interesting ones, at least.” She paused, stitching a small hole in the fabric.

  “Interesting?” Elara prompted, tilting her head.

  Lana met her gaze, a faint glint in her eye. “The books that lay out the paths to rare skills, the ones that aren’t easily unlocked or overlooked. They’re pretty sought after. Especially by guilds and rich folks who want a leg up.”

  Elara hummed. “Interesting.” A book with information about skills? That sounded exactly like the thing she wanted. Even if those types of books were rare, she was wanted to get one.

  “Do you know where I could find such books?” she asked, keeping her tone light, as if the answer didn’t matter too much.

  Lana’s gaze flickered upward, a glimmer of amusement in her sharp eyes. “No clue. Mostly in private libraries or auction houses.”

  Elara exhaled through her nose, disappointment settling in her chest. Not exactly the easiest places to access. Private libraries must mean they belonged to important people, and auction houses required wealth she didn’t have. Still, it was something to keep in mind.

  Lana tapped her finger softly against the table, drawing Elara’s attention back to her. “It’s getting late. You should get some rest.”

  “I will,” Elara said, though she remained standing for a moment longer, her fingers absentmindedly brushing over the smooth fabric of her tunic.

  Lana didn’t press the issue. She simply nodded and returned to her stitching, the soft pull of thread through the cloth filling the space between them. The gentle rhythm was oddly calming, but Elara knew she couldn’t stand there all night.

  With a quiet sigh, she pushed herself to her feet, rolling her shoulders to shake off the lingering tension. The day had been long—physically and mentally—and she could feel the weight of exhaustion creeping up on her now that she allowed herself to acknowledge it.

  She crossed the tent to her bedroll, lowering herself onto it with a quiet exhale. The blanket was cool against her skin as she pulled it over herself, and she shifted until she found a comfortable position. Sleep came faster than she expected, dragging her down into its depths before she had time to think.

  When she woke, the muted glow of dawn was seeping through the fabric of the tent, painting the interior in soft hues of gold and gray. For a moment, she simply lay there, staring at the ceiling.

  She sat up slowly, rubbing the lingering traces of sleep from her eyes before rising to her feet. She ran a hand over the repaired sections of her armor, appreciating the skillful stitching and reinforced patches. Lana had done a good job—it felt sturdy, almost as if the damage had never been there.

  Slipping into her armor, she adjusted the straps, rolling her shoulders to make sure everything sat properly. The tunic underneath was smooth against her skin, offering an extra layer of comfort beneath the worn leather.

  Satisfied, she stepped outside, the crisp morning air greeting her with a sharp chill. She wrapped her arms around herself for a moment before stretching, working out the stiffness in her limbs.

  Like the past few mornings, she made her way to the familiar spot where she and Darius had been meeting at dawn. They hadn’t explicitly agreed to meet today. Even so, she found herself there, standing in the quiet stillness of the morning, waiting. Waiting for him. Elara exhaled, playing with the straps of her armor as she waited.

  “Early again?”

  She turned at the voice, finding Alaric Valemont approaching with his usual easy confidence. He carried himself like someone who belonged everywhere he stepped, his golden eyes studying her even as his smile remained light.

  “Good morning,” Elara said, keeping her tone neutral.

  Alaric stopped a few paces away, hands resting easily at his sides. “It is a good habit to have. Though, I imagine after going as deep as you two have, you’d want an early start to the day.”

  She didn’t answer, shifting her weight slightly.

  Alaric chuckled, tilting his head. “He’s been making good progress, hasn’t he? Always was the type to push further than most.”

  Elara kept her expression composed, but the way his gaze lingered made her uneasy.

  Alaric continued, voice casual. “I’ve been trying to push further in myself, but progress has been... slower than I’d like. You understand.” He let the words hang between them before adding, “Anything interesting down there? Something that might help the rest of us move forward?”

  She didn’t react immediately. There was an expectation in his tone, subtle but unmistakable.

  She crossed her arms, keeping her voice even. “You’d have to ask Darius. I just follow his lead.”

  Alaric’s smile didn’t falter, but something in his expression shifted, just for a moment. “Ah, but he’s not the easiest person to ask, is he?” He let out a light chuckle. “I wouldn’t have minded working together again, but, well… things don’t always go the way we plan.”

  She stayed silent. She wasn’t about to involve herself in the tension that lay between them.

  Alaric exhaled, shaking his head as if brushing the thought aside. “I suppose you’re waiting for him?”

  Elara didn’t confirm or deny it. Alaric studied her for a beat longer before stepping back. “Well, I won’t keep you. Good luck.”

  She nodded slightly, watching as he turned and walked off. Only once he was gone did she let out a slow breath. The encounter left an uneasy feeling in her chest, but she pushed it aside. The sun had crept over the horizon. Darius should arrive soon.

  The familiar sound of boots caught her awareness. She turned just as Darius approached. He slowed slightly as he neared, his usual confidence tempered by something almost… hesitant.

  “Morning,” he greeted, his voice steady but lacking its usual ease. His gaze flickered over her before settling somewhere near her shoulder. “Uh… how are you feeling?”

  She blinked, surprised by the question.

  A smile tugged at her lips as enthusiasm bubbled up. “I’m fine,” she said, warmth in her tone. “Well-rested. Ready to go.”

  He shifted, clearing his throat. He gave a slow nod, his expression unreadable for a moment before he exhaled. “Good.” A pause.

  “Because today, I plan to pick up the pace. If you’re up for it.”

  Her eyes lit up, excitement flaring in her chest. “Absolutely.”

  A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Figured as much.”

  He turned toward the path. Elara followed without hesitation, anticipating the new opponents ahead.