Chapter 4 - Operational Report
November 1st, 1186
The day following the reclamation of Fort Haden
The reports had been arriving since dawn.
They came in stacks, carried by couriers who knocked twice and left without waiting for acknowledgement as they had learned, over time, that Division Captain Ferris Orlean
A pale, weathered hand moved through them steadily.
Ferris did not rush. He had never been a man who rushed through documents, not because he lacked urgency, but because he had learned early that the difference between a problem and a crisis was almost always something someone had written down and nobody had bothered to read carefully enough. He turned each page with the unhurried thoroughness of a man who had signed too many condolence notices to ever skim a report again.
He paused.
The insignia in the upper corner belonged to Squad Five. More specifically, the handwriting below it belonged to Harlen Sprieggen, identifiable less by signature than by the particular slant of someone who had learned to write in a hurry and never fully unlearned it. Ferris adjusted his grip on the document. His amber eyes, slit and predatory beneath heavy grey brows, moved through the lines slowly at first, then with increasing stillness.
He read the relevant annotations twice. Then a third time. His expression did not change dramatically, no sudden anger, no sharp intake of breath. Just a gradual tightening along his jaw, the faint press of fang against the inside of his lip, the particular quality of quiet that settled over him when his mind was working hard enough that his face had stopped bothering to keep up.
"What the hell," he muttered, the words aimed at no one. Low, almost conversational in tone. The voice of a man who had suspected something like this for long enough that confirmation felt less like a shock and more like a debt finally coming due. He set the report down without releasing it.
"These fools are getting out of hand." His thumb traced the edge of the page. "Even I can't tell if this reeks of Grille's meddling... or the Dotore Fakshyun's."
Across the desk, Trevus Regulus had not moved.
He sat straight-backed in the chair opposite, the posture of a man who had spent years in a military that treated slouching as a character defect. Fatigue still lived in the set of his shoulders, not the visible, sagging kind, but the deeper variety that came from a night spent fighting and a morning spent debriefing and an afternoon not yet begun, though nothing about his bearing acknowledged it. He waited until Ferris looked up before he spoke.
"We can't be certain of that yet, sir." His voice was measured. Respectful, but not deferential. "We've questioned all four of the garrison survivors. None of them could provide anything conclusive. No unusual figures in the days prior, no visible tampering, nothing they could point to as a clear sign before the seal failed."
He paused briefly, weighing what came next.
"That said, my squad will be conducting a full forensic analysis of the fort. We'll begin at noon."
Ferris studied him for a moment. The anger in his expression didn't dissolve so much as reorganize itself into something more considered. The shift of a man reclassifying a problem from urgent to serious, which in his experience was the more dangerous category. He exhaled slowly through his nose, then gave a single, approving nod.
"I'll count on you for that, Trevus."
He leaned back in his chair, the old wood protesting faintly beneath his weight. A beat passed. The quiet that followed stretched longer than business required. Trevus had read the pause correctly, the meeting was concluding, the next task already forming in his mind and was preparing to stand when Ferris snapped his dismissive fingers. A single, unhurried snap. The kind that meant something had just been remembered that both of them already knew.
"By the way." Ferris clasped both hands together, elbows finding the desk as he leaned forward, the joined knuckles resting just below his nose so that only his eyes remained fully visible above them quietly amused. "Isn't today about time we fulfill the deal with Jill Kilmann?"
"That could be arranged for another time—"
"May I remind you," Ferris said, cutting through the sentence without raising his voice, "that I didn't authorize your squad to conduct a forensic analysis of the fort. That was your own decision. Done out of free will, or what not. I only accepted it since no one else was up for the job."
He let that land before continuing.
"But let me also remind you that the agreement between Westerne and Jill Kilmann is to be fulfilled. Isn't this our main priority? You've already bought what she wanted with your own funds — that I'd have already paid you back this week, of course." A pause, deliberately brief. "That makes me wonder. Are you procrastinating, Trevus?"
Trevus's gaze dropped to his lap.
It was a small thing. Barely a movement. But Ferris noticed it the way he noticed most things quietly, completely, and without announcing that he had. His eyes narrowed slightly above his folded hands.
"Wow." The word came out slow, almost wondering. "I can't believe it. Are you going back to your Legion roots, boy?"
He stood as he said it, one fist coming down flat against the desk, not a strike, just a placement, deliberate enough to draw the eye.
Trevus shook his head. "N-no sir... It isn't a matter of that."
"Hmph. Yeah, yeah, I know." Ferris waved a hand once before he sat back down again, the gesture erasing the accusation as quickly as he'd raised it. He almost smiled. "Just messing with ya. Never would I ever consider you soft." He tilted his head slightly. "Despite what I've heard… You've gained a connection with that woman, yes?"
A long second passed.
"Yes," Trevus said.
The word arrived without elaboration. Ferris looked at him for a moment longer than necessary, reading the space around it rather than the word itself. Then he exhaled and lowered himself back into his chair.
"Fine." He folded his hands again, the decision already made before he said it aloud. "You and Squad Five will conduct the independent forensic analysis of Fort Haden back at Mount Speth. However, leave Mina and Ashe behind. It's my suggestion, but it's your call to make. Give them the task I left you with."
Trevus was quiet for a moment. His fingers moved to the bridge of his nose, pinching lightly, the small gesture of a man recalibrating something internal.
"That sounds... more plausible," he said. "I'll consider it."
Ferris studied him—the slight tension at the brow, the way his gaze had gone inward rather than forward. The disappointment there wasn't directed outward. It rarely was, with Trevus. The man had a particular talent for turning dissatisfaction inward before anyone else could see it, which in Ferris's long experience meant it had usually been sitting there for a while already.
He said nothing about it. Some things landed better when left unaddressed.
"Dismissed," Ferris said simply, and reached for the next report.
* * *
The northern wing was never quiet during working hours.
Trevus moved through it at a measured pace, clipboard in hand, the full folder of squad reports tucked under his opposite arm. Around him the hallway carried its usual controlled rhythm with handlers crossing paths with couriers, administrators stationed at intervals along the walls, crates of stored equipment stacked neatly beside doorways. Nobody stopped him. Nobody needed to. His presence in these corridors was routine enough that people simply adjusted their paths and continued moving.
He looked down at the clipboard.
The top page detailed Westerne's agreement with Jill Kilmann in full, consisting of terms, timelines, the exclusivity clause, the figure he had spent acquiring her cooperation. He had read it enough times to recite it. He read it again anyway, because reading it was easier than thinking about what delivering it actually required.
He turned a corner.
He stopped the thought before it finished forming. That in itself was unusual enough to notice. He noticed it anyway, which made it worse.
He passed a window. The glass was old, slightly warped in the way of most of Westerne's original construction, and his reflection moved with him briefly, long enough for him to catch the faint, traitorous color at the edges of his face before he looked away.
, he thought flatly as he kept walking.
The forensic work at Fort Haden was straightforward. His squad could handle it without him micromanaging every step as they were competent, they knew the site, and Trevus had already written the structural outline of what to look for. His presence there was useful but not strictly necessary for every hour of it.
, he thought, more firmly this time, as if firmness made it a decision rather than an avoidance.
The idea had been forming since he'd left Ferris's office. It wasn't dishonest but Mina and Ashe are capable enough for a delivery errand, more than capable, and the forensic work at Fort Haden genuinely required the rest of the squad. Leaving them behind was logistically sound. Ferris had even suggested it himself. That made it practical, not convenient.
It was reasonable. He was being reasonable.
He pushed through the door at the end of the wing and stepped out into the courtyard, the morning air cooler than the building had been. He paused long enough to straighten his coat collar, then crossed to the bench at the far corner—the one set back from the main foot traffic, half-shaded, used by anyone who needed a moment to think without the hallway watching them do it.
He sat. Uncapped the pen from his inner pocket. Turned to the next blank page of the clipboard. For a moment he simply held the pen above the paper, looking at nothing in particular across the courtyard. Then he pressed the nib down and began to write.
* * *
The knock landed hard enough to pull her back from sleep.
An arm slid off the edge of the mattress. Her brows drew together before her eyes did, lashes pressing against the pillow for one more stubborn second before she gave in and let them open. Reddish-pink strands fell across her face, half-caught in the pale morning light filtering through the curtains.
The knocking continued, his voice came from the other side of the door muffled.
Ashe. Of course it was Ashe. She pushed herself upright with the particular effort of someone whose body had not yet agreed to be awake, white sheets pooling around her as she sat there, blinking slowly at the opposite wall.
"You can stop it now, Ashe." Her voice came out rougher than intended. "I'm awake."
His footsteps followed immediately after—quick, already retreating down the hallway before she could respond to either instruction.
She stared at the door for a moment. She thought to herself with frustration.
"I just got back last night," she muttered to no one, pressing both hands over her face, "and there's a new task already?" A short, pained sound escaped her. "Guh..."
She dropped her hands. Sat still for exactly two more seconds before she got up.
The wardrobe doors swung open, and her own reflection looked back at her from the mirror mounted inside—bed hair launched upward at an angle that defied reasonable explanation, sleep lines pressed into one cheek, eyes still carrying the particular vacancy of someone whose body was present but whose mind was still negotiating. She observed this without expression.
The bowl on the bedside cabinet was still covered. She pulled the cloth off, dipped both hands in, and brought the water up to her face in one smooth motion as it was cold enough to matter, she repeated until the sleep lines faded and her eyes stopped feeling like they were weighted. She worked her fingers through her hair until it lay where it was supposed to.
She looked at the uniform hanging in the wardrobe as it looked back in return.
A while later, white shoes pressed against the floorboards in a steady, purposeful rhythm. Her hair sat properly. Her face was clear. The guild uniform was on and buttoned correctly, which was more than could be said for most early mornings.
She licked her lips as she moved down the hallway, already thinking about warm chocolate, the kind the mess hall kept on the stove through the cold autumn mornings, thick enough to be worth the walk. That, at least, was something to look forward to.
* * *
The western wing was always easier to navigate by smell than by memory. It stored equipment and tool oil carried a particular sharpness that gave way, further down, to the warmer registers of the mess hall was bread, something savory on the stove, and this morning, underneath everything else, the faint sweetness of chocolate.
Mina followed it down the spiral stairwell, stepping around a pair of guild personnel moving in the opposite direction before pushing through into the western corridor. The mess hall opened up ahead, already carrying the low murmur of early risers.
She spotted Ashe's white hair first sitting at their usual table, the one beside the veranda that looked out toward the courtyard. She was already moving toward it when she registered the second figure sitting across from him, and her step faltered slightly.
Trevus looked up the moment she entered. He lifted one hand, two fingers raised in a brief, unhurried acknowledgment.
"Mina."
She nodded and crossed the remaining distance, sliding into the seat beside Ashe. The two of them exchanged a glance. It was small, automatic, the kind that carried no particular meaning beyond yes, this is unexpected—before she settled her hands between her knees and turned her attention to Trevus.
He set a clipboard on the table and slid it toward them. Guild documents, several pages deep, and clipped to one of them, then a grey portrait photograph of a woman she didn't recognize.
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
"I know this may come as a shock," Trevus said. "An assignment right after an operation ended only a night ago. I can tell you're both still tired & fatigued. But this one is of utmost importance to Westerne and our influence over the region."
Mina exhaled through her nose. "Yeah, tell me about it."
Ashe's elbow connected with her shoulder. "Watch it. He's still our superior."
"It's okay, Ashe." Trevus didn't look bothered. "You two went through hell yesterday and I understand where Mina is coming from. But listen closely."
They both leaned in slightly without being asked.
"Squad Five, myself included will be conducting a forensic effort back at Fort Haden. Given your current capabilities, I can't bring you two along for that." He paused, letting that land without apology. "But I have one more thing for you to do."
He tapped the clipboard.
"The details are here. This is confidential information, so read it from prying eyes on your own time and read it carefully. What I need from you is straightforward: there is a package waiting at 010 Brunge Street in the city of Alpime, held under my name. You two are to claim it on my behalf." He placed an identification card on top of the documents. "This expired a year ago, but it's still valid enough to serve as proof. Show it if they ask for further evidence."
Ashe picked it up briefly, glanced at it, set it back down.
"After you've retrieved the package," Trevus continued, "you'll deliver it to this woman." He pressed a finger to the portrait clipped to the page. "This is Jill Kilmann."
Ashe straightened slightly. "Kilmann? As in the Kilmann Estate? On the other side of the forest surrounding Westerne?"
"Yes. That farm belongs to her and she runs it alone." Trevus folded his hands on the table. "Here is what you need to understand about this arrangement. In return for Jill Kilmann exclusively selling her exports to Westerne and additionally to Alpime City. The package you'll be retrieving is something she requested. It's the condition she placed on signing the agreement. Without it, there will be no deal."
He let a moment pass before he continued, and when he did, his voice shifted. Not softer, but more deliberate.
"When you arrive at the estate, Jill will most likely test you. Not openly. She won't announce it or tell you what she's watching for. She'll simply observe your conduct, your composure, how you handle yourselves when the expectation isn't spelled out." He looked between them evenly. "If she finds you lacking, the agreement ends there. So I need you both to be professional. Composed. Whatever you think of the situation privately, keep it there." A brief pause. "Even if it seems small. Especially because it seems small."
"Just how important?" Mina asked.
"Very important. And I mean that entirely." He settled back slightly. "Westerne has been sourcing organic goods from multiple farms across the region for the better part of a decade. What's happened over time is that they noticed our dependency—our pattern—and they've begun exploiting it. Prices raised without warning, terms renegotiated mid-contract, supply withheld when it suits them. One by one, they've turned it into leverage against us."
He let that sit for a moment before continuing.
"Jill Kilmann is the only supplier left that Westerne still trusts. And unlike the others, she negotiates honestly. If she ever wants to raise her prices, she'll say so directly and she'll sit down to discuss it. That kind of supplier doesn't come around often." His eyes moved between them. "We need a singular, reliable source for our organic goods. She's it. Is that understood?"
"Yes sir," Mina and Ashe said together, the mess hall's ambient noise carrying on indifferently around them.
Trevus nodded once. "I've written my full instructions on one of the pages inside the folder. But I'll say it again, read everything. Study it. There are additional notes on Jill as well from observations we've gathered over time. Don't just skim them."
He pushed back from the table and stood, reaching for the folder. Then he paused, looking down at them both with an expression that landed somewhere between mild confusion and quiet amusement.
"Why are you two already in uniform?"
Trevus says as neither of them answered immediately.
"You have the full day. The assignment has no fixed hour as long as it's fulfilled before the end of day but obviously be in uniform before you head out, but there's no reason to be dressed now." He picked up the clipboard. "Read the files first and take your time." A brief look between them. "We'll be departing for Fort Haden in an hour. Good luck."
He turned and walked, threading through the mess hall without looking back.
Mina watched him go before she then turned to Ashe. Her brow furrowed. Her tongue clicked against her teeth. She brought her shoulder into his with a firm bump.
"Bastard. Why did you tell me to put my uniform on already?"
"Sorry! I just—I thought we'd be sent out immediately!" Ashe brought both arms up in a loose guard, which did very little against the series of short punches she aimed at his shoulder. "It was a reasonable assumption!"
"It wasn't!" Another punch. "It really wasn't."
She stopped. Dropped her hand. Exhaled with the particular weight of someone recalculating a loss.
"I wanted to wear that new sweater this morning," she said flatly.
A beat of silence.
"...I'm sorry about the sweater," Ashe offered.
Mina pulled the clipboard toward her across the table and flipped it open to the first page.
"You should be."
Mina skimmed the first page—Westerne's full terms with Jill Kilmann, dense with clauses and figures then set the clipboard aside without comment. She'd read it properly later, when she had food in front of her and something warm to drink. For now she rested her cheek against a closed fist and looked sideways at Ashe, who was rubbing the back of his head with the particular energy of someone still quietly apologizing without using words.
"Hey," she said. "You want to eat now?"
He looked at her. The tension in his shoulders eased. "Yeah. Let's go."
They both stood. Mina popped the buttons of her coat and shrugged it off, folding it once and laying it across the table to hold their spot—an old habit, reliable enough that neither of them thought about it anymore. Beneath it she had on the standard black undershirt, which was comfortable enough to stand in a queue in.
They joined the short line at the front, picking up their usual trays and sliding them along the counter rail in the unhurried way of people who had done it enough times to stop paying attention to the motion. The mess hall carried its familiar morning sounds around them—the low scrape of chairs, overlapping conversations, the occasional clatter from somewhere behind the kitchen partition.
Mina scanned the counter. The chocolate was still on the stove, a deep, dark pour of it that steamed faintly in the cold air drifting from the veranda.
She held her cup out without a word.
* * *
After a while, Mina curled both hands around her metal mug and took a long sip, steam rising in a thin curl against her face. The sound she made afterward was small and involuntary, a quiet exhale of satisfaction, the kind that escaped before a person could decide whether it was appropriate. She set the mug down with the particular ease of someone who had just received exactly what they'd been waiting for since the moment they woke up. Her tray, which had arrived at the table loaded with the same spread as Ashe's, was already entirely clear.
Ashe looked at it, then at her, then back at his own food. He worked a forkful of omelette loose with the unhurried patience he brought to most things. "You inhaled through it again."
"Obviously, because it's delicious."
She exhaled once more for emphasis, then reached for the thin pot sitting between their trays and tipped it over her mug, filling it roughly halfway. Ashe watched this happen with a flat expression, not quite judgment, not quite resignation, something comfortably between the two as Mina caught it immediately.
"Hah—don't worry, there's still more inside." She slid the pot across toward his side of the table with two fingers. "Obviously."
He accepted this without comment, returning to his omelette. He ate the way he did most things, methodically, without rush, giving each forkful a moment before the next one. It was the kind of eating that drew no attention from anyone who didn't know him, but to Mina, who had sat across from him at enough tables by now to have catalogued the entire rhythm of it, it was thoroughly recognizable.
"Y'know, ever since we got here, you've been eating painfully slow," she said, crossing her arms loosely over the table. "Like a noble. Have you ever noticed that?"
Ashe chewed once, deliberately. "Well. I just like to savor my food. Treat each bite as if it were the best part of the meal."
Mina considered this with a slow nod, the kind that meant she was already building toward something. "Mm. Fair enough, I suppose." She tilted her head. "Seems like you're one of those with food kinks, huh?"
Ashe stopped mid-chew. He looked at her with the expression of a person encountering a phrase that shouldn't exist. "What the hell is a food kink?"
"Perhaps I should call it a food habit instead." She waved a hand lightly. "Y'know like how some people have rituals while eating. Little things they always do without realizing." She reached over and picked up a clean spoon from beside her empty tray, turning it once in her fingers. "For you, it goes a bit like this."
What followed was a performance of quiet precision. She brought the spoon up at the exact angle Ashe favored, letting her jaw move in the same long, measured chew—slow, thorough, the brief press of the tongue against the inside of the cheek before the next one began. She had clearly been watching for longer than he had realized, because the accuracy was uncomfortable.
Ashe said nothing. He watched. She continued, utterly committed to the imitation, adding the particular way his eyes went slightly distant between bites, as though each forkful genuinely warranted a moment of private reflection.
"Okay." He set his fork down. "Okay, enough. I get it."
Mina let the spoon drop and laughed, short and quiet, the sound escaping before she fully decided to let it. She leaned back in her chair, satisfied.
* * *
The courtyard bench had become theirs by habit, the one tucked into the far corner, half-shaded in the morning and far enough from the main foot traffic that no one wandered over without a reason. They'd settled there without discussing it, white coats draped over the back of the bench, both of them in their black long-sleeve undershirts with the files spread between them.
Ashe held the clipboard across his knees, working through the full terms of Westerne's agreement with Jill Kilmann at the same deliberate pace he brought to everything written. It was a dense reading of clauses, supply quotas, contingency terms but the detail that gave him pause was buried midway through the acquisition notes. The package they would be transporting was listed plainly as a cursed artifact, purchased at auction. He read the line twice, parsing it for any qualifier that softened the description, and found none. He made a mental note to return to that section once he'd finished building the broader picture of the arrangement.
Beside him, Mina sat cross-legged with Trevus's handwritten instruction page in one hand, the next page already waiting, a full sheet of observed notes on Jill Kilmann compiled from what Westerne had gathered over time. She read with the focused, forward-leaning attention she reserved for things that actually mattered, chin slightly dipped, one finger tracing the margin without quite touching the ink.
A laugh broke across the courtyard. Loud, unguarded, the kind that didn't bother checking whether the space welcomed it.
Ashe lifted his head. Across the open yard, a small cluster of young women in standard guild uniforms of white coats, black trousers, seems like they’re clearly new to wearing them as they were gathered near the far wall. The tallest among them was a tan-skinned girl with dark hair, and she and the two beside her were passing something between themselves, their attention fixed on it as another round of laughter spilled out. Whatever the object was, it emitted a faint, steady glow.
Mina had already looked up.
"Those are the new interns," she said, her eyes drifting back to the page after a moment. "Probably here to fulfill a school requirement." A brief pause. "Damn, they've got Light Scrolls?"
"Light Scrolls?" Ashe asked.
"Those rectangular pads that emit light. I've heard they run anywhere from six to nine thousand Crowns depending on the make." She turned to the next page of observations. "It’s been popular these last few years or so. I don't really know what the appeal is, but apparently everyone wants one."
Ashe watched the group for another second, then looked back at the clipboard. "We should probably avoid drawing their attention. If they spot us sitting out here they'll assume we're available and find a way to push something onto us."
Mina made a sound of firm agreement without looking up. "Agreed. Last year we got tricked."
It had been a straightforward enough scheme in retrospect. A pair of interns had approached them with the confident air of people passing along a superior's instructions, cited Trevus by name, and handed off a full afternoon's worth of administrative filing. It was only afterward when Mina had thought to verify and found no record of any such task, that the picture became clear. The work they had fulfilled had been the interns' own assignment. They had simply identified two people who looked obliging and acted before anyone could ask questions. Mina and Ashe had filed a report the same evening. The interns were dismissed from Westerne within the week.
The memory settled between them with the quiet solidarity of a shared grievance that had long since become something closer to a joke.
"Not again," Ashe said simply.
"Never again," Mina confirmed, and turned the page.
* * *
After a few hours of their extensive study of the files the two had headed out, by the time the front gates of Westerne had shrunk behind them, the sun had climbed close enough to noon that the dirt path was warm underfoot, the cold of the early morning burned off entirely. The Wild Veins Highway was a reasonable walk from the gates, long enough to be useful, short enough that neither of them had thought to arrange transport from inside. They'd catch a motorized carriage at the roadstop if the timing was reasonable.
"Let's test ourselves while we walk," Ashe said, adjusting the strap of his bag. "Run through what we know."
Mina fell into step beside him, hands loose at her sides. "Alright." She thought for a moment. "So… Jill Kilmann is originally from the Hollows Region. Her family used to work a farm there before relocating to Alpinato. Parents eventually settled in Jullisso, she stayed behind and took over the estate herself—"
"Her history isn't what matters here," Ashe said. "We don't need her background. What we need is her personality. How she operates, what she responds to."
"Okay, okay." Mina tilted her head, recalling the observation pages. "From what I read, towards strangers, she is genuinely warm. Kind, polite, the sort of person who makes you feel like you've known her longer than you have. But the notes from people who've dealt with her more than once paint a different picture. Once you're no longer new to her, she starts pushing. Testing boundaries. Expecting more without necessarily explaining what more looks like." She paused. "There was even a note about Harlen, where apparently she mocked him at some point. Directly."
Ashe absorbed this with a slow nod. "Which means for today, we're still on the favorable side of that threshold. She won't know us. We'll get the polite version." He hesitated. "But here's the problem—she's probably going to be expecting Trevus. He's the one who bought the artifact in the first place, even if Ferris paid him back afterward. From her perspective, this is a personal arrangement as much as a professional one. Walking up to her door as two people she's never seen before, delivering something that was supposed to come from him—"
"She might be displeased," Mina said, landing on it herself. "Not openly, maybe, but it'll register." She pressed a hand under her chin, working through it. "So how do we handle that?"
"Carefully," Ashe said. "There was a note on the last observation page, it was something she said to Trevus directly. Apparently she told him, and I'm quoting here: I look forward to our meetings." He said it plainly, without embellishment.
Mina was quiet for exactly one second.
Then she grinned. "I think missus has a crush on him."
Ashe made a sound somewhere between a cough and a protest. "Let's not… We shouldn't assume—"
"I'm just saying what the evidence suggests~"
"It's a professional statement. People say things like that professionally."
"Do they say it like that?" She gave the phrase the same weight Ashe had, drawing it out slightly. "I look forward to our meetings, Trevus."
"Can you imagine Trevus with someone?" Ashe said, pivoting entirely, which was as good as a concession.
Mina considered this with genuine thoughtfulness rather than continued teasing. "Yes, actually. I mean look at him. He's well-built, he's reliable, he actually listens when people talk. He just has that face that makes new people nervous before they figure out he's not going to bite them." She shrugged. "Someone who can see past the exterior would do fine."
"Anyway—" Ashe said, "There's one more thing that needs addressing." He glanced at her sideways. "The artifact we're retrieving is listed as a Tier IV cursed object."
Mina looked at him. "Okay."
"You're going to be the one carrying it."
"Huh? Me?"
"Listen—" He raised a hand before she could continue. "Don't take it as an insult. The issue is purely practical. Tier IV cursed artifacts operate through magical affliction—they need a conduit or something to latch onto and spread through. Mana pathways are the primary vector. As a Null, you don't have them, which means the artifact has almost nothing to work with if you're the one handling it. The effect on you would be negligible compared to what it would do to me."
"Resistant," Mina said firmly. "Nulls are resistant to magical curses and afflictions. Not immune. There's a meaningful difference."
"You're still the least dangerous option by a significant margin," Ashe said. "I'm not dismissing the risk. I'm saying the risk will be lower with you holding it than with me holding it, and lower is what we have to work with."
Mina held his gaze for a moment, clearly weighing whether the argument had sufficient holes to argue through. It didn't, and she knew it. She exhaled through her nose, a sound that managed to convey both acceptance and mild grievance simultaneously.
"Fine." She looked up. "Oh we're here."
* * *
A few minutes passed in comfortable quiet before Mina glanced over at him, crossing one leg over the other. "How much crowns do you have on you? I've only got around four hundred."
Ashe reached into his interior coat pocket and pulled out his wallet, flipping it open. The notes inside ran the familiar gradient of Elynthian currency of rugged blues fading into deep purples at the higher denominations, a few coins settled in the fold. He counted quickly. "About a thousand left. Why?"
"Oh, nothing serious." She looked out toward the road, the question arriving with the particular casualness she used when she actually wanted something. "I was just thinking, since we'll already be in Alpime. Maybe we can eat out for lunch while we're there." A beat. "We never really get to eat at noon. It's always just breakfast, then dinner, then whatever happened in between."
Ashe considered this for approximately half a second. "Sure. Between the two of us we've got more than enough for a decent meal somewhere." He paused, then added, "As long as you're not already planning where."
Mina said nothing, which was its own kind of answer.
Before he could follow up on that, Ashe caught movement down the highway, a shape resolving out of the road's vanishing point, growing steadily larger and moving at a pace that no horse-drawn vehicle could match. The motorized carriage ran smooth and fast along the pale road, its engine a low, steady hum that arrived before the vehicle itself did. He nodded toward it. "Bus is here."
Mina turned left and was already on her feet by the time he'd finished the sentence. They both stepped up beside the stop sign as the carriage pulled in and slowed with a mechanical exhale, its side door swinging open in the same unhurried motion it always did. Mina went in first as Ashe stepped aside without thinking about it, the same way he always did as he followed, pausing at the coin slot beside the driver long enough to drop in the fare. The mechanism took a moment to register, then let out a short beep accompanied by a green light. The driver gave a brief nod. Ashe moved down the aisle and dropped into the seat beside Mina.
The cabin was warm in the way of enclosed spaces that had been running long enough to hold heat but not stifling, just settled. Against it, the autumn air coming through the open windows made for something close to perfect, cool without being sharp, the kind of temperature that invited stillness. Mina leaned back into her seat and let herself feel it, the warmth at her back and the moving air across her face, her shoulders dropping by degrees as the tension of the morning began to loosen its hold.
Ashe looked at her briefly just long enough to register that she was fine, that the quiet was the comfortable kind and offered a small smile before turning to face forward. Neither of them spoke. There was nothing that needed saying right now, and they had both learned, somewhere along the years, to tell the difference between a silence that wanted filling and one that didn't.
The bus found its rhythm on the highway, engine settling into a steady cruise as the road carried them out of the tree line and into the open expanse of the Wild Veins. The landscape shifted around them as the dense press of the forest gave way to wide, rolling plain land, pale and gold under the noon light. And there, threading through the hills and breaking the surface of the earth at irregular intervals, the Land Diamond formations caught the sun and scattered it in every direction, blue and violet and deep amethyst glinting against the dry grass like something the land itself had decided to wear.
Mina watched it pass through the window without quite focusing on any of it, her elbow resting on the sill, the cold air moving through her hair. Ashe sat beside her, unhurried, already thinking about whatever came next.
The city of Alpime waited somewhere ahead, past the plain and the diamonds and the long smooth road, and for now there was nothing to do but let the bus carry them toward it.
