Ten PM.

  Just as I’m about to fall asleep, my phone vibrates.

  Cantheris.

  I answer immediately.

  Her voice isn’t steady.

  It isn’t crying either.

  It’s worse.

  It’s empty.

  “Colt is dead.”

  The words don’t echo. They don’t crack.

  They just fall.

  I don’t ask how.

  I don’t ask why.

  I grab my jacket and leave.

  The road feels longer than usual.

  My hands are tight on the wheel.

  The night air is cold through the half-open window, but I barely feel it.

  We weren’t close.

  Colt and I.

  But that doesn’t matter.

  Because this changes everything.

  Now she has no party.

  I swallow.

  “She won’t have protection,” I mutter to myself. “Not like I gave her.”

  The thought sounds selfish the moment it leaves my mouth.

  Protection.

  Is that what she saw it as?

  Or control?

  The memory of the stairs comes back.

  The argument.

  The tension.

  If I invite her now—

  Would it look like I was waiting for this?

  Would she think I changed my stance just because it became convenient?

  “She’ll think I don’t stand by my words,” I whisper.

  All the talk in the stairs about finding job would be meaningless

  I know that means abandoning everything I said about finding stable work. About not risking my life recklessly.

  But I can’t help imagining it.

  Fighting monsters together.

  Growing stronger together.

  One day laughing about near-death experiences instead of mourning them.

  I rub the back of my head, frustrated.

  But If I get the job…

  That changes the balance too.

  Someone else will take her in.

  —---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  When I enter the hospital, I head straight for Colt’s room.

  My footsteps echo too loudly down the corridor. Nurses glance up as I pass.

  Cantheris is there.

  Leaning against her mother.

  She looks smaller than usual.

  “What happened?” I ask.

  She tries to speak.

  Nothing comes out.

  Then she breaks.

  “They won’t let us see him,” she whispers, her voice collapsing. Her mother presses a napkin into her shaking hands.

  My stomach drops.

  “What do you mean they won’t let you see him?”

  A nurse steps forward, posture stiff.

  “Excuse me. And you are?”

  “I’m Colt’s friend. What happened?”

  She folds her hands together.

  “I’m sorry. He passed away this morning due to complications from the coma.”

  I look past her.

  The bed is made.

  Perfect.

  Sheets tight. Pillows fluffed.

  No sign someone fought for breath there hours ago.

  Too clean.

  Too empty.

  “Where’s the body?” I ask.

  “He was transferred to the morgue earlier today. We attempted to contact his parents. There was no response.”

  Cantheris lifts her head.

  “I’m listed as his emergency contact. Why didn’t I get called immediately?”

  “Miss, we contact immediate family first. We reached out to you once procedures allowed but this morning was extremely busy.”

  “So he just dies out of nowhere?” I say, my voice rising. “Last time we visited, the doctor said he was stable. Improving. I want to speak to the doctor.”

  The nurse hesitates.

  “Doctor Carlos was transferred to another city yesterday.”

  Transferred.

  Yesterday.

  My jaw tightens.

  Cantheris’ mother gently touches my shoulder, grounding me before I say something reckless.

  She steps forward instead.

  “Can you at least tell us where the morgue is? My daughter deserves to say goodbye.”

  Before the nurse can answer—

  A shadow falls across us.

  A man approaches, composed, measured.

  His badge catches the fluorescent light.

  Chief Medical Officer.

  He offers a controlled, professional smile.

  “I understand this is a difficult time,” he says calmly. “I’m Dr. Valen. How can I assist you?”

  His eyes move from Cantheris…

  To me.

  And linger there a second too long.

  Something in my chest tightens.

  The hallway suddenly feels colder.

  The nurses lean in, whispering into the doctor’s ear.

  He nods once before facing us again.

  “I’m sorry,” he says firmly, “but hospital policy allows only immediate family members to view the deceased.”

  “But she’s the emergency contact,” I argue.

  “That does not override next-of-kin rights,” he replies smoothly. “We cannot release confidential information to non-family members.”

  His tone cools by a degree.

  “I must also ask you to lower your voices. You are disturbing other patients.”

  His lips curve faintly.

  Not a smile.

  Something thinner.

  “I apologize for the misunderstanding but visiting hours are over.”

  Two security guards appear at the end of the hallway.

  Not aggressive.

  Just present.

  I press my knuckles together until they turn pale.

  Cantheris’ mother squeezes my shoulder.

  Don’t.

  I swallow whatever was about to come out of my mouth.

  We leave.

  The drive to her house is quiet.

  The kind of quiet that presses against your ears.

  When we arrive, Cantheris unlocks the door without looking at me.

  Her movements are mechanical.

  Her mother turns to me.

  “Do you want to come in?”

  I hesitate.

  “No… I think she wants to be alone.”

  Cantheris freezes mid-step.

  Her mother's cheeks puff out in frustration — not cute, not playful — just a reflex she can’t suppress when she’s overwhelmed.

  “You don’t really know what she wants,” her mother says sharply.

  She points a finger at my chest.

  “She can say many things. She can act distant. But you don’t really know her.”

  Her voice softens, but it doesn’t lose its edge.

  “If you truly knew her, you would understand this is when she needs someone beside her the most.”

  She looks toward the doorway where Cantheris stands stiffly.

  “She pretends to be strong.”

  A pause.

  “But she is just a girl.”

  Without much left to say I nod to the invitation.

  All of us enter to the house

  Cantheris doesn’t argue.

  She doesn’t look at me.

  She just walks past us and disappears into her room.

  The door closes.

  Not slammed.

  Just… shut.

  Her mother steps closer.

  And something changes.

  The warmth she usually carries — the teasing smile, the playful tone — is gone.

  Her posture straightens.

  Her eyes sharpen.

  “Now,” she says quietly, “you’re going to tell me what’s really going on.”

  So that’s why she insisted I come inside.

  For answers.

  I feel it immediately.

  Cornered.

  Persuaded.

  Handled.

  I’m stuck between betraying Cantheris’ trust…

  Or lying to her mother.

  “Colt’s last mission—”

  I hesitate.

  I can’t complete the sentence.

  She closes her eyes before I can finish.

  “So something did happen during that mission,” she says softly. “That sprain… it didn’t look minor when I saw it. I can’t imagine what it was before I arrived.”

  I look away.

  “Yes,” I admit. “Something happened. But she should be the one to tell you.”

  Her eyebrow lifts.

  “Man up and speak.”

  I open my mouth.

  “It’s not my place,” I say finally. “I can’t tell you. She has to. She’s your daughter.”

  She exhales slowly.

  “I don’t think she will.”

  Silence fills the space between us.

  “Adventurers are always in danger,” she continues, voice quieter now. “We know that when they choose this path. But knowing doesn’t stop a parent from worrying.”

  She reaches forward and takes my hands.

  Her grip is firm.

  Grounded.

  Not fragile at all.

  “You both still have a long way to go in understanding each other,” she says. “But I can see something.”

  She studies me carefully.

  “You are not a bad young man.”

  The words settle heavily in my chest.

  “So please,” she continues, her voice lowering, “don’t let anything happen to my daughter.”

  There’s no accusation there.

  Only fear.

  “She’s reckless,” she says softly. “She believes she can carry everything alone. She moves by instinct, by emotion… she doesn’t see the full cost of reality.”

  I can feel how deeply she means it.

  The weight of years behind those words.

  All I can do is nod.

  She watches me for a moment longer.

  Then she exhales, almost relieved.

  “Listen… I’m leaving tomorrow morning.”

  The statement hangs there.

  Not casual.

  Not random.

  Intentional.

  “What? Why?”

  She chuckles lightly.

  “The transport ticket says tomorrow at 7 a.m.”

  I hold the ticket, registering.

  “Oh. But—”

  I want to offer to buy another ticket, but seeing the price, it’s quite expensive.

  She winks.

  “I was an adventurer myself. I know the feeling of loss when someone you know dies, and she might learn a couple of things herself.” She touches her forehead. “Besides, I won’t always be around. It could be a good experience for her.”

  For a second, I don’t know what to say.

  “I should be more worried, shouldn’t I?” she says. “But… I think she’s in good hands.”

  My chest tightens at that.

  She reaches into her coat and pulls out a small pouch, tied with a thin cord.

  “Medicinal herbs. For her sprain. She’s healing quickly — I can see the improvement — but if the pain returns, prepare this for her.”

  She presses it into my palm.

  It feels heavier than it should.

  I swallow.

  “She’ll kill me.”

  The mother smiles knowingly.

  “Maybe.”

  Then her eyes sharpen slightly.

  “But if she doesn’t… then enjoy.”

  It takes me a second to understand what she means.

  I look away.

  “I don’t know how to answer that.”

  “You don’t have to,” she says softly.

  She steps back toward the hallway.

  “Just don’t run when things get difficult.”

  —---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  The next morning, Cantheris wakes up late.

  The first thing she does is pour water into a kettle.

  She doesn’t look devastated.

  She looks exhausted.

  Her eyes hang half-open, dark circles bruising the skin beneath them. There’s a faint, dry line along her chin — the quiet evidence of restless sleep. Her hair falls unevenly over her face, unbothered, untouched.

  “Hey… good morning,” I say.

  She sits across from me.

  No response.

  I wave a hand slowly in front of her face.

  “Good morning, sleepy angel.”

  She turns her head.

  Slowly.

  Very slowly.

  Her expression is flat.

  “Where is my mom?”

  “She left this morning.”

  “Huh… right”

  The kettle begins to boil.

  She slides her cup toward me.

  “Coffee.”

  “What?”

  “Co-fee.”

  She says it in syllables

  I prepare it and place it back in her hands.

  She doesn’t add sugar.

  She drinks immediately.

  Too fast.

  Too hot.

  A little spills from the corner of her mouth.

  She doesn’t put the effort to clean herself.

  It is like her eyes are looking to the empty space.

  She doesn’t react.

  A faint click sounds as she works moisture into her mouth.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes… I’m just tired.”

  “I see-”

  “So what are you going to do today?”

  “Sleep.”

  My palm hits the table harder than I mean it to.

  “I know Colt’s gone. But we can’t just stop.”

  “Whatever…”

  She lets her forehead drop to the table.

  Not dramatic.

  Not loud.

  Just… empty.

  I sigh.

  “Listen. I’ll go buy some things for lunch. You don’t mind if I use your kitchen?”

  “Whatever.”

  —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  The road out of her house stretches through open fields. Rural. Quiet.

  Stores around the center are cheaper.

  I drive towards it.

  If I can’t fix what happened… I can at least cook.

  Inside the store, I grab what I need.

  “Carrots… tomatoes…”

  I hesitate.

  “Right. Onions.”

  In the meat section, I glance at the prices.

  Affordable.

  Relief loosens something in my chest.

  Cooking for both of us is cheaper.

  And simpler.

  As I head toward the rice aisle, I notice him.

  A man sweeping near the shelves.

  At first glance, normal.

  Then he turns slightly.

  Dog ears.

  Real.

  Not a headband. Not fake.

  My grip tightens on the bag.

  Right. Miyu.

  One problem at a time.

  I approached him.

  “Hey.”

  He looks up, surprised, then nods politely.

  “Morning.”

  His voice is calm.

  I scratch the back of my head.

  “This might sound weird… but have you seen a girl around here? Rat ears. Half-human.”

  He studies me carefully.

  “No. “

  “Oh I see-”

  “But half-humans usually gather in the lower market.”

  “Lower market?”

  “A place where we trade among ourselves.” He pulls a sticky note from his pocket and writes something down. “If she’s nearby, she might be there.”

  He hands it to me.

  I drive back, thoughts racing.

  After cooking, I’ll go to the lower market.

  Forgive me, Cantheris. One problem at a time.

  Miyu.

  Why now?

  I grip the steering wheel tighter.

  “You couldn’t pick a worse moment,” I mutter.

  My forehead presses briefly against the wheel at a red light.

  “I fed you. I looked after you. So why disappear?”

  The light turns green.

  I drive the rest of the way in silence.

  I start thinking about the reason she left.

  —-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  Cantheris place is too quiet when I step inside.

  “Cantheris?”

  Nothing.

  Her room sits empty, bed a mess but her books are organized.

  A cold weight settles in my gut.

  “No…”

  I shut my eyes for a second. One problem at a time. But the problems never wait in line.

  I jump back in the car and drive, scanning sidewalks, scanning the small gatherings under streetlights, until I spot her.

  She is swaying near the curb, steps unsteady like the ground keeps shifting under her.

  “What the—?”

  I pull over fast, tires scraping. Get out.

  “Cantheris.”

  I reach for her shoulder. My hand barely makes contact before her palm cracks across my cheek—sharp, stinging.

  “Don’t—” hic “—touch me, blue-hair stranger.”

  The words run together, thick and loose. Her eyes are glassy, unfocused.

  “Cantheris?” I freeze. “It’s me. Daryn. What the hell happens to you?”

  Then the smell hits me—sharp, unmistakable. Alcohol, cheap and heavy on her breath.

  I can notice her holding a bottle.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  I cover my nose instinctively. “Are you drunk?”

  “No!” She waves her arms like they aren’t attached properly, body wobbling. “I just… take a sip. Colt’s favorite. The one he always orders at the bar.” Another hiccup punches through. “That’s all.”

  “Cantheris, we need to go home.” I reach for her wrist, gentle.

  “DON’T TOUCH ME!” She jerks back, smacking my hand away harder this time. “I’m fine. So just… go back to your place or whatever. Leave me alone!” She lifts the bottle again, defiant then she runs as fast as she can but only for a couple of meters.

  I easily walk up to her.

  “Stop following me, stalker,” she says, waving her hands like she’s trying to push the air between us, even though I’m not that close.

  “Pass me the bottle.”

  “What did you say? Want to cuddle? Dude,” she says proudly, swaying. “I am a beautiful blond elf of the village of the elves, defender. I know I might be a goddess to your eyes since you—” hic “—work in dirt. I bet you are just following because you need feminine affection.” She points at me. “But I would never—” She gets lost in her words, confused. “What was I saying?” She puts a finger in her mouth, then looks at me and randomly throws it out—“Dirty miner.” She sticks her tongue out in mockery.

  That’s it. My blood boils.

  I snatch it from her fingers in one swift motion.

  “Hey, that’s mine!”

  “Damn it—this is like drinking fire, Cantheris.”

  “SHUT UP!”

  Heads turn. A couple nearby pause, murmuring. She lurches forward, trying to grab it back, pressing right up against me in the struggle. Her chest brushes mine, body heat cutting through the night air, close enough to make my pulse jump despite everything.

  For a split second I falter.

  She doesn’t.

  Her knee drives up—fast, vicious—straight into my groin.

  Pain explodes white-hot. I double over, air gone, world tilting.

  “You—” The word chokes out in a wheeze.

  She yanks the bottle free, tilts it back—empty. A few sad drops slide down her chin.

  “It’s… over?” she whispers, staring at it like it has betrayed her.

  She looks small suddenly, lost under the streetlight, swaying like she might fall any second.

  I stay crouched, breathing through the nausea, watching her.

  This isn’t just drinking. This is grief wearing Colt’s ghost like a second skin.

  Then she just falls slowly.

  I pick her up in time.

  —-------------------

  I half-carry, half-drag Cantheris through the stairs and into her bedroom. She is limp one second, fighting the next, muttering nonsense about Colt and empty bottles. I get her onto the bed, pull off her shoes, toss a blanket over her. She curls immediately, face buried in the pillow like she can hide from the room spinning.

  I leave her there and go to the kitchen.

  The grocery bag is still on the counter—carrots, onions, celery, a sad-looking potato. Vegetable soup. Something simple, something warm, something that might settle her stomach if she ever stops hating the world long enough to eat.

  I start chopping. The knife thuds against the board in a steady rhythm.

  From the bedroom, a low groan rolls out—long, miserable, loud enough to cut through the quiet house.

  “Almost done…” I call, not sure if she can even hear me.

  My own stomach growls in answer. I haven’t eaten since morning either.

  Then—footsteps. Fast, unsteady. Cantheris bursts out of the bedroom, hair wild, eyes wide and panicked.

  “Cantheris—”

  I step toward her. She barrels past like a freight train, shoulder-checking me hard enough to knock me sideways. The bathroom door slams open.

  I follow.

  The sounds hit first: wet, heaving retches, the slap of vomit against porcelain. Over and over.

  I crouch beside her. Strands of blue hair hang in her face, dangling dangerously close to the mess.

  “You okay?” I ask from the doorway, useless.

  She doesn’t answer—just keeps going, smaller bursts now, the worst of it passing.

  “Help me… my hair…” she rasps between gasps.

  I reach, gather the damp strands in my fist—yeah, damp, sticky in places I don’t want to think about. I hold it back, trying not to gag at the smell, the sight, the sheer grossness of it all.

  “Gross—” I mutter under my breath.

  She lifts her head just enough to glare at me, cheeks streaked, eyes red.

  “You’re gross,” she spits. “And disgusting. And stupid.”

  The words land like slaps, sharper than the one she gave me earlier on the street.

  “Hey. Relax.” I keep my voice even, even though part of me wants to snap back. “I’m the one holding your hair out of your own puke. You’re welcome.”

  She leans over the bowl again, dry-heaves once more, then slumps against the cool tile wall. Her breathing comes in shaky bursts.

  Just the drip of the faucet. The faint smell of vomit and cheap whiskey lingering in the air.

  I finally let her hair go—slowly, carefully—and flush the toilet. She doesn’t move.

  “You done?” I ask.

  She nods once, small and defeated.

  After she cleans, we sit at the table and eat the vegetable soup.

  She doesn’t speak, neither do I.

  Then she goes back to sleep.

  —---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  Morning light sliced through.

  Cantheris shuffled in, hair a tangled mess, wearing the same clothes from last night. She looked… mostly elf again.

  “Good morning,” I say, already at the table with two bowls of reheated soup.

  She squints at me like the sun is personally offending her. “What… happened?”

  I shrug, casual. “Hmm. Nothing.”

  She stares a second longer, then drops into the chair across from me. “Okay…”

  “There’s soup. Eat. Then I’m out.”

  She pauses mid-reach for the spoon. “Wait—”

  “What?”

  A small, sly smile tugs at her mouth, sarcasm sliding back into place like armor she never truly takes off.

  “You owe me a ride, remember?” she says lightly. “And if you keep hovering like this, you’ll owe me a whole fleet.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “One ride. Take it or leave it.”

  “Fine,” she replies, dragging the word out as she reaches for her bowl. “But we’re going after eating.”

  She scoops up a spoonful, blows on it slowly, watching the steam curl away.

  “Today?” I frown. “You should rest.”

  “No way.” She takes the bite, barely reacting to the heat. “The pain is gone from the sprain.”

  The words don’t sound dramatic. Just stubborn. Set.

  I can only stare at her for a moment, unsure whether to argue again or let it go.

  She glances up, catching my hesitation.

  “What are you waiting for?” she says, tapping her spoon lightly against the bowl. “Let’s eat.”

  We eat in near-silence for a minute, spoons clinking against ceramic. The soup is simple—carrots, celery, a little salt—but it tastes like survival.

  She breaks first. “What did my mom tell you?”

  I keep my eyes on my bowl. “She asked about… you know what.”

  “And?” Her voice goes quieter, careful. “What did you tell her?”

  “The truth.” I pause. “Well. Almost.”

  She sets her spoon down. “What do you mean, almost?”

  I meet her eyes. “I don’t know. It’s like she reads my face. I try to play it cool, but she’s got that mom-radar thing.”

  Cantheris sighs, long and defeated, rubbing her forehead again. “That’s weird.” She stares at the table, voice dropping. “I didn’t want to tell her much. If I did, she’d overreact, drag me back to the village, lock me in a room until I ‘sorted myself out.’”

  She glances up at me, expression shifting—half grateful, half wary. “Either way… changing the topic. What are you even doing here? And yesterday—”

  I cut in quick, before she can finish the sentence. “I’m here because you called me to go to the hospital. You kind of begged, actually.” I let a teasing grin slip in. “Pretty pathetic, if you ask me.”

  Her face flushes crimson—anger, embarrassment, pride all crashing together. She opens her mouth, closes it, then jabs a finger at me.

  “No—” She stops, cheeks burning brighter. “No. I was trying to call to—to—”

  She falters, words tangling. The blush deepens, and she looks away fast, suddenly very interested in stirring her soup.

  —----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  As we drive, my curiosity gets the better of me.

  “What is so special about a potion store?”

  It’s not like she’s ignoring me, but something has clearly caught her attention. She’s staring out the window.

  “I really want to buy those earrings.”

  I almost offer to take her right now, but the gas in my car is draining fast, and I don’t have money to waste. Being the ride guy isn’t helping my wallet either.

  “I can take you,” I say carefully, “but after I find my job.”

  “Seems good.”

  “But you know what?”

  “What?”

  “I can help you learn how to drive if you want.”

  “I don’t know… I’ve never driven,” she says nervously.

  “Don’t worry. I wasn’t perfect either, trust me. I got a lot of tickets in my previous life,” I say without thinking.

  “Previous life?”

  I gulp. “I mean my life as a delinquent. You know, before working as a miner, I was a delinquent,” I say, trying to cover the lie.

  “You don’t look like a bad person. It’s really hard to believe that.” She raises an eyebrow.

  “Instead of judging me, answer me,” I say, trying to avoid the topic.

  She relaxes back in the seat.

  “I don’t have a car.”

  “You can borrow mine.”

  Her eyes shine, and she doesn’t answer.

  “Hello?”

  “Thanks,” she says shortly.

  From the glance I steal, I can tell she’s thinking about what to say next, but it’s like the words just won’t come.

  “No problem.” I glance at her. “Now, about what I asked earlier—what’s so special about a potion store?”

  “Right, potion stores aren’t cheap, but they’re precise. They work fast and save more time than getting my stuff from a human store. For example—”

  She pauses, thinking deeply. “Like—wait…” Then she hums softly. “It’s better if I show you when we get there.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “Yeah. Once, I was walking by and found one where the prices were normal. And when I got a call saying they were opening nearby, I knew I couldn’t lose the opportunity.”

  “I also interested, lets see what await us”

  —-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  As we enter through the door, the bell jingles.

  A person behind the cashier register smiles and greets us.

  “Good morning,” she says, her smile amused, almost knowing.

  “Good morning,” Cantheris replies flatly, trying to pass through without pause.

  My eyes widen when I focus on the figure behind the register.

  Gods… where do I even begin?

  She’s like a model—towering at nearly two meters tall with dark hair. Her neck, long and elegant, is striking in a way that feels almost unreal, as if sculptors had studied perfection and stopped there. Every movement she makes is graceful, precise, controlled.

  Oversized, wide-brimmed teal/blue witch-hat style hood integrated into the cloak. The brim is very large and floppy, giving a dramatic sorceress silhouette. It draws the eye upward—first to the elegant sweep of her long, pointed ears rising through the dark spill of her hair, then inevitably downward.

  The way she dresses is almost obscene—not in vulgarity, but in how boldly it defies expectation. I hesitate to even call it clothing. It’s more like a single flowing piece of fabric, reminiscent of ancient Greek tunics of color magenta-rose, yet cut as a Sleeveless Halter Neck Lightweight Low Cut Deep V Neck.

  The fabric wraps around and ties behind her neck, leaving her shoulders, upper back, and most of her chest completely bare down to just above the navel. What keeps it from tipping fully into scandal is the second piece: another layer of the same rose hue, cut as a simple, flowing over-robe or cape. It drapes from that wide turquoise hood. The cape spills over her shoulders, trails down her arms, and flutters behind her in lazy waves. It brushes teasingly against the sides of her bare torso, occasionally drifting across the plunging neckline when she moves. It pretends to offer modesty. It fails spectacularly. Every accidental brush of the cape only draws the eye harder to what it’s failing to hide, turning token coverage into the most effective kind of tease.

  Her arms are bare, smooth and unguarded, save for delicate golden bracelets stacked halfway up her forearms. Tiny charms—crescent moons and blooming roses—dangle from them, chiming softly with each unhurried gesture.

  The neckline isn’t a neckline.

  It’s an act of aggression.

  A perfect, heart-arresting V slices from the delicate hollow of her throat straight down past her sternum—deep enough that shadow pools beneath the full, unconfined swell of her breasts.

  No underwear lines. None. The dress flows and clings in ways that make it very clear there’s nothing underneath but more of her. One careless gust of wind and it will show heavens.

  Her back is arched in that unconscious, predatory way some bodies carry themselves—lumbar lordosis carved by nature or long habit. It lifts her chest forward, accentuates the flare of her hips, turns every line of her into a quiet invitation and quiet threat at once.

  She’s barefoot. Of course she’s barefoot. Her toes are painted the same rose as the dress.

  And she is smiling. She knows exactly what she’s doing. She knows I’m cataloging every inch of her like I’m trying to max out an observation skill.

  My mouth is dry.

  My pulse is somewhere in my throat.

  “Try not to drool too much.”

  The disgust in Cantheris’ voice snaps me back to reality.

  I quickly turn away from the dangerously attractive store owner and focus very hard on the shelves in front of me.

  “Ummm… why is she wearing, you know… practically nothing?”

  “Huh? Oh. Right.” Cantheris waves it off. “Long story. I’ll explain at home.”

  —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  As I pretend to inspect a row of glowing bottles, I can feel it.

  The stare.

  The elf’s eyes are on me.

  This is becoming deeply awkward.

  “Daryn.”

  Cantheris calls me over.

  “Look. This is an example.”

  I step closer cautiously. “Are you sure you’re allowed to open that?”

  “This section is for testing. Free samples.” She smirks. “Now come here.”

  I barely lean in—

  And she pours something into her palm before smearing it straight into my hair.

  “What— what are you doing?!”

  A tingling sensation spreads across my scalp.

  I blink.

  A loose strand falls into my vision.

  Except… it’s standing up.

  I rush to a nearby mirror.

  My hair has transformed into a sharp, ridiculous mohawk.

  “What the hell?!”

  She laughs.

  “It’s a Style-Type potion. Mohawk variant. Normally you’d waste money at a barber and hours of your life. This? Instant.”

  “So I’m just supposed to live like this now?!”

  “Relax. It’s a test sample. It’ll wear off in a few days.”

  “…Days?”

  I swallow hard.

  “Anyway,” I mutter, adjusting to my new life as a walking fashion disaster, “what potion are you actually looking for?”

  She freezes.

  A faint red creeps up her cheeks.

  “It doesn’t involve you.”

  “What? You asked me to help you.”

  “No.” She suddenly raises her voice. “You owe me the ride, remember? So you— go look around. Maybe you’ll find something interesting.”

  She steps closer.

  Close enough that I can see the seriousness behind her nervousness.

  She points a finger at my chest.

  “Don’t you dare follow me. Okay?”

  The tone is firm.

  But there’s something fragile under it.

  Like she’s embarrassed.

  Or hiding something.

  I give an awkward chuckle.

  “Sure.”

  She walks away toward a more private section of the shop.

  The hanging bead curtain parts softly as she slips through, the faint clinking sound lingering after her.

  I’m alone.

  Or… mostly.

  Looking around, I notice shelves packed with potions of every imaginable size and shape. Some glow faintly. Others swirl like liquid galaxies trapped in glass. A few release subtle fragrances — floral, sweet, spicy, even metallic.

  My eyes drift to a wooden sign carved with delicate lettering:

  LOVE SECTION

  I hesitate.

  Then I step inside.

  Rows of pink and red bottles line the shelves. Labels shimmer slightly as if embarrassed by their own contents.

  I pick one up.

  Roses Potion

  Pour some of this liquid onto any seed. In less than an hour, the plant will bloom into roses.

  Roses.

  Right now she only sees me as the “ride guy.”

  Just the transportation.

  Without Colt… she doesn’t really have a party anymore.

  Maybe I could ask her to form one with me.

  The thought tightens my chest.

  But for now… roses will be enough.

  Her wound still fresh.

  The roses are only to send her a message.

  “Good”

  I check the price.

  It’s affordable.

  I count my coins twice.

  If I only buy this one… I’ll survive the week.

  I walk to the register.

  The owner is waiting.

  She sees me then she chuckles

  As I give her the product she smiles gently, like she already knows.

  “Buying something for Cantheris?”

  I freeze.

  She glances at the bottle.

  Her expression shifts — not mockery, not amusement.

  Pity.

  She makes a soft clicking sound with her tongue.

  “Tch, tch… you’re really just buying anything, aren’t you?”

  My pride stings. “Excuse me?”

  She leans forward slightly.

  “Miltonia orchid.”

  “…What?”

  “Miltonia orchid is her favorite flower.”

  The words land heavier than they should.

  Not roses.

  Not something generic.

  Something specific.

  Something chosen.

  The owner studies me quietly.

  “If you’re going to give someone flowers,” she continues softly, “at least give them the ones that make their eyes light up.”

  I glance down at the bottle in my hand.

  Roses suddenly feel… cheap.

  Not in price.

  In meaning.

  “Why are you telling me this?” I ask carefully.

  She smiles again — different this time.

  Not teasing.

  Knowing.

  “Because,” she says, sliding the roses potion gently back toward me, “it is my duty to help customers.”

  The shop feels warmer.

  Or maybe that’s just me.

  “Fine. Thanks for the advice.”

  She chuckles softly. “I can see you’ve really grown up, kid.”

  I blink. “Sorry… have we met before?”

  “Not exactly.” She places a finger lightly against her chin, as if thinking — though her eyes never leave mine. “You met my sister. I believe you were asking her about a map?”

  My mind flashes back.

  A woman with sharp features and silver hair.

  “You look similar,” I admit slowly. “But… it’s hard to believe you’re sisters.”

  She laughs lightly.

  “We’re technically step-sisters.” She gestures lazily around the shop. “Thanks to her, I saved enough to expand the family business.”

  “Sisters, huh…” I murmur.

  The bell above the door rings again.

  Another elf enters.

  She’s quite pretty too—but nothing compared to the woman behind the register. Where the owner commands the room effortlessly, this one feels almost ordinary in contrast.

  The moment she steps inside, her eyes lock onto us.

  Her expression changes instantly.

  Her lips curl. Disgust. Sharp and unmistakable.

  Without a word, she turns and walks right back out. The bell rings again as the door shuts behind her.

  A silence lingers.

  “Is it because I’m human?” I ask.

  “No,” she says, smiling.

  And somehow, the way she smiles makes the answer feel far more complicated than the word itself.

  “Either way,” she says smoothly, “you should focus and find the orchid potion, don’t you think?”

  “Right.”

  I head back toward the Love Section.

  Except… it’s gone.

  I pass the same shelves I swear I’ve already passed—rows of glowing pink vials that pulse like slow heartbeats, heart-shaped bottles catching lantern light in crimson flickers, jars of shimmering powders that swirl on their own like trapped stardust. The aisles feel longer now. Wider.

  “Maybe it’s around the next corner…” I mutter, mostly to convince myself.

  I keep walking.

  The deeper I go, the more the store seems to stretch. Shelves tower higher, brushing the rafters where shadows pool like ink. The air thickens—warmer, sweeter, heavy with rose and something muskier, like skin after a long bath. Lanterns sway overhead, their flames dipping low then flaring bright, throwing everything into unsteady gold and rose. Familiar corners look unfamiliar. A bottle I just glanced at now sits on a different shelf, winking at me.

  I turn left. Then right. Then left again.

  The path loops. Or maybe it never was a path.

  Okay.

  I am definitely lost.

  Since I can’t find the orchid section, I start picking up random bottles, reading labels quickly.

  “Let’s see…”

  “Charm— no.”

  “Confidence— too weird.”

  “Youth—”

  “What are you doing here?”

  Cantheris’ voice explodes behind me.

  I jump.

  The flask slips from my hand.

  Time slows.

  It flips once.

  Twice.

  Then—

  Crack.

  It hits my head like an egg.

  The glass shatters, and cool liquid pours down my hair, soaking my scalp and dripping down my face and collar.

  Cantheris stares.

  “…Unbelievable.”

  I wipe my eyes. “It was an accident!”

  Then I feel it.

  A strange tingling.

  Not just on my head.

  Everywhere.

  “What— what the hell…”

  My sleeves suddenly feel longer.

  My boots feel loose.

  My hands—

  My hands look smaller.

  My arms shrink before my eyes. My clothes sag awkwardly as my body rapidly reduces in size. My voice cracks mid-sentence.

  Cantheris blinks.

  Then slowly…

  Very slowly…

  She starts to grin.

  Then she bursts out laughing.

  “You got smaller!”

  “I did not— I’m still me!” I squeak.

  No.

  That was not my normal voice.

  I look up.

  She’s towering over me now. I barely reach her shoulder.

  “What did I just pour on myself?!”

  She grabs my sleeve — which now dangles ridiculously past my hands — and drags me toward the register.

  We stumble up to the counter.

  The owner looks down at me.

  And smiles.

  “Oh dear.”

  “What happened to him?!” Cantheris demands, barely holding back laughter.

  “That,” she says calmly, “was a Youth Potion.”

  I freeze.

  “It’s normally applied to small areas of the skin to rejuvenate specific spots,” she continues smoothly. “Wrinkles. Scars. Minor aging.”

  Her eyes scan my completely soaked clothes.

  “But since you decided to bathe in it…”

  She gestures vaguely at my now child-sized body.

  “…it removed several years at once.”

  “How many years?!” I shout.

  She tilts her head, examining me like a curious specimen.

  “Hmm. I would estimate you’ve regressed about… ten years.”

  “Ten?!”

  Cantheris leans down, trying very hard not to laugh.

  “This is priceless.”

  “This is not priceless! I look like a beginner-level!”

  The elf smiles faintly.

  “Don’t worry. The effects will wear off.”

  “When?!” I demand.

  She taps ash into her tray.

  “Two weeks perhaps.”

  “TWO WHOLE WEEKS?!”

  Cantheris wipes a tear from her eye.

  “I can’t believe this… I leave you alone for five minutes and now you look like my little brother.” She sighs. “At least your hair is back to normal.”

  “Can you stop?”

  She straightens.

  For about three seconds.

  Then, when I let my guard down, she mutters under her breath—

  “Tiny.”

  These two weeks are going to be a pain.

  “I hope you’ll come by more often.” she says as we leave.

  In the car, reality hits again.

  My arms are shorter. My legs barely reach the pedals.

  I have to slide the seat forward using the lever underneath, pushing it so close to the steering wheel that my chest almost touches it.

  “This is humiliating…”

  What’s worse

  Paying for that bottle cost me what I would pay for the orchids.

  From the passenger seat, I feel it.

  The stare.

  The suppressed chuckle.

  “What?” I snap.

  She immediately covers her mouth. “No—nothing.”

  I adjust the mirrors three times before driving.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the bottle she bought from the shop resting in her lap. I can’t quite see the label.

  “So… what did you buy?”

  She stiffens.

  “Nothing.”

  The bottle nearly slips from her hands.

  “That didn’t look like nothing.”

  “I said it’s nothing!”

  Her ears turn slightly red.

  “Fine. If you don’t want to tell me.”

  I narrow my eyes at the road.

  Indirectly telling her to tell me.

  The silence stretches. Thick. Awkward.

  Then she clears her throat.

  “Hey. Remember? You wanted to know why the owner barely wears clothes, right?”

  I nearly rear-end the carriage in front of us.

  “I mean— it was just a question out of curiosity!”

  “Yes. I understand.”

  She says with teasing

  “Elves live very long lives,” she begins. “The average elf lives thousands of years.” She pauses. “It’s hard to know her exact age, but based on my mother’s age appearance, she could easily be a couple thousand years old.”

  “A couple thousand—”

  “In older times,” she continues, “most elves wore clothes made of leaves. Barely covering anything. Some even saw clothing as optional.”

  I lightly slam the brakes at a crossroads.

  “What? Naked?”

  “Is that the part you care about?”

  “No—” I cough. “Please continue.”

  “Fine. But when humans and elves began integrating, some elves resisted cultural changes. They leaned heavily into nature traditions. Minimal clothing. Living closer to the elements. It was a statement about identity.”

  “Statement, huh.”

  “Yes. Some believed wearing too much fabric separated them from the forest. So they kept to very light attire.”

  “…So she’s just traditional?”

  “Yes. That’s an ancient custom, so don’t misunderstand. Most elves today dress normally—especially in human cities. But someone as old as her? She probably just doesn’t care about human standards.”

  I process that.

  I glance at the road, then back at her.

  “Since we’re talking about her…”

  “Of course. Like you can talk about anything else,” she says with a punch of sarcasm.

  “Hey, I don’t focus only on those things, you know,” I say, embarrassed.

  “Wow. So that drool was just an act?” she says. “Your own face wasn’t snitching on you then?”

  “Well—”

  “And you’re still a kid. That size perfectly matches who you are.”

  “You know I really hate being called a kid,” I say, exhausted. “Besides, you’re not that mature either. Look at your—”

  I almost say body.

  She raises an eyebrow.

  “You’re actually proving my point,” she says with a proud hum. “I won’t let physical attraction blind me like you.”

  “But I wasn't going to talk about the owner’s body!”

  “ What was the question then?”

  “Is something that caught my attention since you told me marvels about the store. If her potions are cheaper, why was the store kind of empty?”

  “Well, humans don’t usually go there,” she explains. “They prefer traditional human apothecaries. Clean signs. Familiar faces. Predictable brands.”

  “And elves?”

  “We tend to prefer our own rustic magic shops. Places that feel… closer to old traditions.”

  “That doesn’t explain why I barely saw any elves either,” I press. “I even saw one walk in and immediately walk back out.”

  Cantheris exhales slowly.

  “Oh. That is—” She pauses. “I swear, sometimes I feel like I’m your teacher in elven history.”

  “Tuition’s expensive.”

  She ignores that.

  “It’s complicated. Some elves value purity of lineage more than they admit. Long lifespans make traditions harder to let go of.”

  I frown. “What does that have to do with her?”

  She hesitates before answering.

  “The owner… she’s mixed. Half-human. Half-elf.”

  I blink.

  “Her black hair gives it away. Full-blooded high elves are almost always fair-haired. Silver. Gold. Pale tones. When an elf is born with darker features, people know.”

  “And that’s a problem?”

  “For some,” she says quietly. “Yes.”

  The carriage rolls forward through a quieter street now.

  “In the past,” she continues, “marriages between humans and elves were rare. Not forbidden. Just… frowned upon. Some still see it as weakening bloodlines. Diluting tradition.”

  “That sounds like discrimination.”

  She doesn’t argue.

  “I guess it is.”

  I glance at her.

  “And is that why you don’t talk to her much?”

  She stiffens slightly.

  “It’s not that I dislike her,” she says carefully. “She’s talented. Smart. Her potions are good.”

  “But?”

  She looks out the window.

  “It’s just… the way things are. You grow up hearing certain things. Seeing certain reactions. Even if you don’t fully agree, they stay with you.”

  The bottle in her lap reflects faint light from outside.

  “Do you agree with it?” I ask.

  She doesn’t answer right away.

  The silence stretches.

  “…I don’t know,” she finally admits.

  And somehow, that feels more honest than any confident answer could have been.

  “I’ll drop you at your home.”

  “Can we pass by the hamburger place?”

  “Maybe another day. I’m really frustrated about this transformation.”

  She slumps dramatically in her seat. “Ohhh, how I would love a hamburger right now…”

  “Listen, I have to go somewhere else. I can’t take you.”

  “Where?”

  “It’s… a half-human market.”

  Her eyes widen.

  “Let’s go then.”

  “What? No.”

  “I can’t let my little brother go alone.” She says while touching and making a mess out of my hair.

  “Stop calling me little brother.”

  She groans. “Fine. But I’m still going with you.”

  "Listen, It will not take long. You don't have to come"

  She holds her hair then for a second she looks sad "I don't really want to go home"

  I groan “If that’s what it takes to stop calling me little brother, then let’s go.”

  She smiles "deal" then she tilts her head. “And why are we going there in the first place?”

  “I have to find someone.”

  She nudges my arm with her elbow, teasing. “Half-human, huh?” She smirks, “ I’ve heard they can be pretty cute.”

  “Stop. I’m driving.”

  She laughs softly, like it’s harmless.

  But her words linger.

  They don’t feel harmless.

  Each one lands heavier than the last.

  It feels like she’s indirectly telling me something.

  —----------------------------------------------------------------------------

  We slip through the stalls until we reach a narrow door guarded by a broad-shouldered man that leads down to the basement.

  “What—” Cantheris starts.

  I raise a hand. “Excuse me. I heard there’s a half-human gathering downstairs—convention, market, whatever. I’m looking for a friend. Mind if I go in?”

  The guard crosses his arms. “Password.”

  “Right… password.” I pat my pockets like it might magically appear. “Uh—”

  “No password, no entry.”

  Before I can think better of it, my fist cracks against his chin. He drops like wet cement.

  Cantheris’s eyes widens. “Why did you do that?! Are you crazy?”

  I laugh a little. “I always wanted to knock a guard down with a single punch.” I lower my head in apology.

  “Sit if you need to,” I tell her. “I’ll be quick. Promise.”

  “And leaving you all the fun? No way.”

  “It’s something I have to do alone. My friend… she’s quite sensitive, so it’s preferable if I go by myself.”

  She doesn’t answer. Instead, she moves and sits, offering me a normal smile as I head down.

  —---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  I descended the stairs and open the door.

  The air grows thick and warm the deeper I go—blood, smoke, wet fur, iron. At the bottom the space opens into a sprawling underground market: low canopies stretch over long tables, lanterns swing, voices low and guttural.

  Half-humans everywhere. Half-wolfs walk around. Half-rabbit sort herbs. Half-chicken feathers ruffle as one argues price. The floor is packed dirt, stained dark in places.

  I move toward a butcher’s stall. The owner—a broad half-pig, bristled snout, apron smeared red—looks up as I approach. His small eyes narrow.

  On the table in front of him: raw pork cuts, trotters, ribs. Fresh. Too fresh.

  He notices me staring.

  “Wanna buy or what?”

  “No, I just—”

  “Then get out. Customer’s waitin’.”

  A heavy presence looms behind me. Hot, sticky warmth drips into my hair and slides down my neck.

  I turn.

  A half-lion stands there—massive, golden mane streaked with crimson, claws already out, lips peeled back over yellowed fangs.

  He smiles, slow and wet.

  His enormous tongue drags across his fangs, leaving them slick and shining.

  “What is a human doing here alone?” His golden eyes rake over my body, intense, predatory.

  The height difference is incredible—he looms like a wall of muscle and fur.

  “I was just passing by,” I say, already turning and letting myself drift deeper into the market. I can still feel the half-lion’s stare burning holes into my back.

  The deeper I go, the more the space opens: stalls pile with sacks of beans, then an open weaponry area. Claw armors glint under lanterns, bows strung with taut, weapons and armor of dried beast skin.

  The smell of sweating fur hit harder—thick, animal, sour. It makes my stomach turn.

  “Damn… this place smells,” I mutter.

  Then a bright voice cut through.

  “Ey!”

  A half-dog—floppy ears, tail thumping—grin wide when he see me.

  “A human!! Woof!”

  “Ey—why—what—uh, sorry, I don’t even know how to start.”

  “This is what we call our marketplace for half-humans.”

  “I know. It seems… quite… good, I guess.”

  “So, woof, what do you wanna buy, human? Woof!” His tongue roll out. “We have these special minerals!”

  “Hmm…” I peer at them.

  They are rare ores, unlike anything I’d seen in the mines.

  “I’m really not looking to buy anything,” I say.

  He gives me his puppy eyes. Somehow, instead of being cute, it is more cringe—an oversized dog with human features trying to act innocent.

  “I’m searching for someone called Miyu.”

  He tilts his head, thinking. “Miyu… I’m not sure. Never heard that name before. Maybe she’s not from this city—otherwise I’d remember. But you can check the corner and see Elthian. He’s a half-elephant. He might know something about her.”

  Suddenly, he grabs my arm, voice dropping low. “I’ll give you advice—stay low and don’t attract attention. Didn’t you see the sign on the door?”

  “Umm… no?”

  “It said ‘Enter at your own risk.’ There are powerful half-humans here. A weak human sticking out… be careful.”

  “Thanks.”

  I stick to the edges, moving quietly through the crowd until I find him.

  The elephant man isn’t what I expected. No massive trunk, no towering bulk. Just normal-looking except for those ears—bigger than a human’s.

  “Hello?” he asks, voice calm and deep.

  “Yes—ey, my name is Daryn. I’m searching for a half-human called Miyu.”

  “Miyu, huh? A rat girl?”

  “Yes, yes.”

  “Oh yes, yes, yes.” He pauses, nodding slowly. “She actually got a job here. She’s in the basement.”

  “Basement inside another basement?”

  “Yes. There’s the direction. Just follow the signs”

  I follow where he points. Down a narrow gate, more stairs, colder air. At the bottom: a large storage room—crates, shadows, dim light. Empty.

  “It’s quite a big room but there is no Miyu.”

  Then a savage kick slams into my back.

  “So you’re the stupid human treating poor Miyu like that.”

  The stomp is perfect—it sends me flying. My cheek hit the cold stone floor.

  “Why me…” I mutter.

  “How can you be so crude, with a poor girl?”

  I push myself up, brushing dirt off my clothes.

  “Ey, I don’t really want trouble.”

  “You have one now.”

  He shoves me hard.

  “And what makes my blood boil is that the only one she can think about is you.”

  He winds up for a big swing punch—taking a full step back, putting his whole body into it. Novice form, but with that momentum one clean hit would knock me out cold.

  By a hair I duck.

  “Relax—we can talk about this. I’m just here for Miyu.”

  He isn’t listening. His breaths come in loud, ragged gasps now—he is tiring fast.

  Why is he coming at me so abruptly?

  “Sorry for this.” I snap a clean, perfect uppercut to his chin—meant to put him to sleep.

  But he doesn’t black out.

  It is like hitting a brick wall.

  “What—?” I touch his face, his cheeks. “Are you still conscious?”

  His expression twists in confusion.

  Then he throws a wild hook. It catches me across the jaw, momentum spinning me. I flip, head cracking against the ground.

  “What the hell—”

  Everything goes dark for a second.

  “Bruh—” I shake my head hard, trying to clear the spin. “I’m pretty sure I can take this guy, but—”

  Why does everything feel so dizzy? Becoming younger really makes me weaker?

  I pull up the status quick.

  Elthian – Level 8

  Nothing impressive. Manageable.

  I push myself to my feet, wiping blood from my lip.

  “Now, we can talk, or we can fight with our—”

  He swings mid-sentence, fist cracking straight into my face.

  “Auch—”

  Blood pours from my nose, hot and coppery.

  “Now you really made me angry.”

  He lunges again. I spin around his back, slipping into his blind spot. In one fluid motion I summon the pickaxe—handle first—and hook it behind his ankle, yanking hard.

  “What—?”

  His balance breaks. Legs fly out. Before he hit the ground I twist, putting my full momentum into a punch that snaps across his jaw.

  I drop on top of him, grab his shirt collar.

  “Now—you are—”

  He buckles like a bull, hurling me off like I weigh nothing. I skid across the stone.

  “Right… I’m not as heavy as before.”

  I roll to my feet, pickaxe up in a guard, point aimed at his throat.

  “Listen—we don’t have—”

  The door creaks open slowly.

  “Huh?”

  Elthian turns toward the sound. The door pauses for half a heartbeat.

  We both freeze, staring, confused.

  Then it explodes inward.

  A massive kick slam into Elthian’s chest. He flies like a rag doll, crashing into crates with a splintering crack.

  “Having fun without me, Elthian”

  The door slam shut behind the intruder.

  The half-lion steps into the dim light—mane wild, claws flexing, eyes burning gold.

  I check his status fast.

  Level 15.

  This is bad. Really bad.

  The half-lion—Leo—chuckles low in his throat, the sound rumbling like distant thunder.

  “Human tools are so pathetic,” he says, flexing his claws. They catch the lantern light, razor-sharp and gleaming. “Relying on something else because you’re weak.”

  He spread his fingers wider, showing off the natural weapons.

  “They are not gifted like we are.”

  Elthian struggles to his feet, one hand pressed to his stomach, blood seeping between his fingers.

  “Leo… we don’t kill,” he rasps.

  I cough, tasting copper. “I know you both have something against me, but Elthian—you wanted to kill me just now!”

  “No.” He coughs again, dark blood flecking his lips. “I just wanted to protect Miyu.”

  “Protect her from who?”

  “From you, you heartless beast.”

  “Whatever you two are discussing, I don’t care,” Leo cut in, voice lazy and dangerous. “But I’m hungry.”

  Elthian’s hand finds my shoulder—weak, trembling.

  “Leo is a savage half-human.”

  “Savage half-human?”

  “Born outside the cities. He’s only been trying to live here for a year. He’s still adapting. His animal instincts… they overpower his rationality.”

  “Elthian,” Leo growls, “shut it. If humans treat us like trash whenever they feel like it, then they should expect a bite back.” He drags his tongue slowly along his forearm, tasting the air. “I’ll make sure you look like Thiara.”

  Then he lunges—like a lion dropping onto a boar.

  Claws slash forward. I duck under the arc, feeling the wind of them pass over my head. I roll, scramble back, and bolt for the door.

  I burst out of the storage room. Behind me, Leo’s roar echo off the stone.

  Four meters of distance. Not enough.

  I sprint through the market, heart hammering. Tables, stalls, half-humans—everything blur. I vault over crates, duck under low-hanging canopies, trying to lose him in the crowd.

  He doesn’t slow. Doesn’t care.

  He shoves people aside like they are nothing—half-wolf sent sprawling, half-rabbit yelping as she hit the ground. Merciless. Predatory. A hunter who’d already chosen his prey.

  “Where the hell is the exit!!!” I yell, voice cracking as I shove through the crowd.

  The market seems endless—lanterns swinging wildly, voices spiking into shouts of alarm, the thick stink of fear now mingling with wet fur and blood. Leo’s footsteps thunder behind me, claws scraping stone like knives on flint.

  There—finally—a door at the far end, sunlight bleeding around its edges.

  Its locked

  There is at least now less than three meters distance.

  I think fast.

  “That’s it!”

  Leo leap. I drop flat. His massive body sails over me and slam into the door instead—metal splintering, floorboards cracking under the impact as he punches a jagged hole through the planks.

  “Thanks, dude,” I mutter, scrambling up.

  I bolt through the ruined doorway. Sunlight hit my face like a slap—bright, blinding, clean. Fresh air floods my lungs.

  “Did you find what you needed?”

  “Cantheris—” I gasp, doubling over. “Yeah.”

  Behind me, the ruined doorframe shudders. Leo is coming.

  “Please—use your shield!”

  “What?”

  “Do it!”

  She starts chanting, low and urgent, hands glowing soft green.

  Leo burst out into the daylight, mane wild, eyes blazing.

  “You—”

  “Wow,” I cut in, hands raised. “You’re not gonna attack me out here, right? We can call it even and I will buy you some food I promise.”

  His lip curls in fury. “It’s not just about food.”

  He lunges—claws flashing in a vicious zigzag, then his full weight crashing forward. I twist at the last second. His fangs snap shut inches from my throat.

  “This is for Thiara!”

  He dives again, jaws wide.

  I am done.

  Then the shield blooms—an emerald dome bursting into existence around me. It flare like living glass. Leo’s bite strikes it with a metallic crack. The impact ring out across the clearing.

  He staggers back, stunned.

  “Humans and their magic,” he growls, eyes shifting past me—locking onto Cantheris.

  “I will kill you all.”

  He pivots sharply and launches a brutal roundhouse. Cantheris try to redirect the shield, her hands snapping through a hurried sigil—but she is too slow.

  The kick connects.

  The force hurls her sideways, skidding across the dirt. She hit hard, breath ripping from her lungs in a sharp gasp.

  “Wait—!”

  Leo spit into the dust, stalking toward her.

  “An elf…” he mutters, staring down at her as if disappointed.

  His lip curls.

  “Not what I wanted.”

  He pauses, grin widening into something manic and jagged. “I must kill a human.”

  I summon the pickaxe again, gripping it tight. “I will not forgive you for this.”

  “Forgive, huh?” His crazy grin stretch wider. “Don’t make me laugh.”

  Shouts rise around us—people scattering, some yelling for the knights. Footsteps pound in the distance.

  “I guess I have only a few hours then,” Leo says, cracking his neck. “But I will kill as many as possible.”

  He moves—faster than before.

  One swipe and my pickaxe shatter. Wooden splinters and metal shards spray across my face. The sheer force of the blow staggers me backward.

  He doesn’t pause.

  Another claw strike comes in a silver blur. I swing wildly to block—manage to keep my head attached, but the talons rip through my shirt like paper. Fabric tears away in ribbons. Hot lines of fire open across my chest—blood well instantly, soaking what is left of the cloth, dripping warm down my ribs.

  Then, from behind, Cantheris lunges.

  Her arms snake under Leo’s, locking tight around his shoulders in a full nelson. She plant her feet, leaning back with surprising strength, pinning his massive frame.

  “Someone call the knights!” she shouts over the growing crowd.

  “What—what are you doing, elf!” Leo snarls, thrashing. Muscles bunch under fur, claws scraping air, but Cantheris holds firm—her grip iron, breath steady despite the strain.

  Even as he twists and roars, she doesn’t budge.

  I stand there, chest heaving, blood running down my stomach, weaponless. Pickaxe gone. No moves left.

  We should wait for the knights. She has him under control.

  A wrong move and we both end up in a hospital.

  Then a shadow drops from above—fast, silent—landing light between us.

  “I can’t believe you’re letting her do all the work, Daryn!”

  “Miyu—”

  She seems taller than the last time we saw each other. Her proportions are telling she was well fed even better than the food I supplied to her while we live together.

  Still caught me off guard those rat whiskers.

  My expressions seems to show a slight repulsion but I try to fade it away at this moment.

  “Miyu—”

  “Daryn, what happened?” She glances at my torn chest, the blood. “It’s like you lost all your will to fight.” She says curiously

  “Is not like that, is just know my limits”

  she touch my hair “I never expected the word limits coming out your mouth”

  She yelps “Daryn you become smaller!”

  “Guys—” Cantheris grunt, voice tight with effort as Leo buck again. “I know it might be a beautiful reunion, but—” She sucks in a breath. “I AM DOING ALL THE WORK HERE! A LITTLE HELP, PLEASE!”

  Leo’s roar shakes the street. “Let—go—elf!”

  Miyu cracks her knuckles. “Hold him steady. I’ve got this.”

  She spins—fast, almost a blur. The air itself seems to bend around her leg, a visible arc of wind trailing like a blade of compressed air.

  “You—”

  She’d mastered it. No long wind-up like before. One fluid rotation and the gust solidify, coiling tight around her raised leg like a living whip. She balances perfectly—standing on one foot, the other cocked back, wind howling softly around her ankle.

  “This will hurt,” she says lightly, almost silly, “I just don’t use it much.”

  Then she kicks.

  The wind-gust slices forward in a clean crescent. It strikes Leo’s right arm first—clean cut through muscle and fur. No spray of blood; the wound instantly cauterizes, edges blackened and smoking like meat on a hot grill.

  Leo roars.

  Before he can recover, Miyu spins again. The second kick takes his left arm—same searing precision. The cuts burn shut, flesh sealed in an instant.

  Cantheris heave. With a grunt she releases the lock and hurl Leo forward. He crashes to the dirt, arms useless at his sides, screaming through clenched fangs.

  “New skill,” Miyu says lightly, lowering her leg with a casual flick. The wind she’d summoned unravels in a soft whoosh, scattering dust like it had never been there.

  “Wow—”

  My shoulders sag. A shaky breath slips out of me.

  The street has fallen silent. The crowd stands frozen in place, eyes wide. Somewhere in the distance, the clank of knight armor echos closer—but they aren’t here yet.

  Miyu turns to me suddenly, eyes bright, almost sparkling with adrenaline. Before I can brace, she grabs my hand and spins me in a quick circle.

  “Miyu—”

  She laughs, breathless and wild.

  “I’m bigger than you now!”

  Then she put me on the floor

  “Now what, does anybody else want to mock me about my height?”

  I relax for half a second.

  Then Leo explodes upward—teeth bared, jaws aimed straight for my throat.

  No time to think. I twist—barely—his fangs snapping shut an inch from my neck.

  But before he can clamp down, something slam him sideways.

  I know who is the only person capable of doing something like this.

  “Lars…”