The chill of evening deepened as Hugo jogged down the narrow street, his breath forming faint clouds in the cold air.
The roads were still wet from a light drizzle earlier, and every footstep splashed faintly against the cracked pavement.
Neon signs hummed quietly above him — some flickering, others already dead — painting patches of red and green light over his jacket as he passed.
After a few more turns, he slowed to a walk. Ahead stood the modest store where he had worked for nearly two years.
Its faded sign, once bright blue, now hung slightly crooked, a corner held up by wire. The glass door was still intact, though it carried the greasy smudges of countless hands.
The warm orange light from inside spilled faintly onto the street — a quiet, inviting glow that almost made him forget how many nights he'd trudged here half-asleep after long shifts, dreaming of something better.
He pushed open the door.
The bell above gave its familiar, tired jingle.
Inside, the air smelled faintly of detergent and instant coffee.
Rows of stocked shelves stood neat but sparse — candy, boxed meals, noodles, a few canned drinks.
Behind the counter leaned Lily.
Normally, she would've been the first thing anyone noticed — her laugh was bright enough to draw eyes from across the store, and she had a way of making every customer feel like a regular.
But tonight, for some reason that brightness was gone.
She stood quietly, shoulders slumped, her hair tied in a messy knot. There were dark shadows under her eyes, and her lips were pressed together as if holding back something heavy. Her gaze was distant, unfocused, locked somewhere far beyond the register.
For a long moment, Hugo just watched her, confused.
He'd seen Lily tired before — they'd both worked ridiculous hours — but never like this.
She looked… fragile.
He stepped up to the counter, boots squeaking faintly on the old floor tiles, but she didn't notice.
"Hey," he said softly.
She flinched — just slightly — her head snapping up.
Her eyes widened when she saw him, then softened again, though her attempt at a smile faltered halfway.
"Hugo. You finally came in," she said, voice hoarse and thin, the sound scraping like sandpaper.
"Yeah," he replied slowly. "I came to resign."
The words felt strange leaving his mouth. That store had been his world for so long — the smell, the hum, the soft chatter of customers — and now he was leaving it behind like it was nothing.
"Oh… resign?" she repeated, blinking as if trying to refocus. "What happened?"
Her tone was neutral, but she avoided his gaze, fingers fiddling with a stack of receipts on the counter.
"Well," he said, leaning slightly against the counter, "turns out you were right. I did get something good. I'll be heading to the Keep tomorrow."
At that, her head jerked up slightly. "The Keep?"
He nodded. "Got recruited."
For a moment, the exhaustion on her face cracked, revealing a flash of genuine surprise. Then — just for an instant — the old Lily returned, the one with the bright grin and the teasing spark in her eyes.
"See?" she said, smiling faintly. "Told you something good would happen. You just needed to stop doubting yourself."
"Yeah." He smiled back, though his eyes lingered on her face. That spark faded as quickly as it came. The forced brightness in her voice didn't match the quiet tremor behind it. "Are you okay?" he asked again.
"I'm fine."
She said it too quickly.
"Lily?"
She hesitated, looking down. Her fingers clenched and unclenched against the counter. "Just… had a long night, that's all."
Her eyes shimmered faintly in the light. Not enough to cry, but enough to betray what she was holding in.
He didn't push.
He honestly wanted to — every instinct told him something was wrong — but Lily wasn't someone you could force open. When she didn't want to talk, she'd just smile and change the subject until you gave up.
"Well," she said, breaking the silence, "good luck at the Keep. Don't forget about us when you become some big-shot Vanguard, alright?"
Her smile this time reached a little farther, brushing the edge of real warmth.
Hugo exhaled slowly. "I'll try not to."
"I'll tell the boss about your resignation," she added quickly, as if wanting to end the conversation before it drifted into heavier territory.
"Thanks," Hugo muttered. He gave her one last glance — the girl who always managed to brighten up even the worst days — now standing there with tired eyes and a brittle smile.
"Take care, Lily."
"Yeah," she said softly. "You too."
He pushed open the door, the bell above giving another lonely jingle.
Outside, the cold hit him immediately. He shoved his hands back into his jacket pockets and started walking, the sound of the closing door fading behind him.
For a few steps, the image of Lily's exhausted face kept flashing in his mind.
She wasn't fine. He knew that much. Something had happened. Maybe it wasn't his place to pry, but it gnawed at him anyway.
Randalf's voice echoed faintly in his mind.
"You seem troubled, master."
Hugo frowned. "Just… someone I know looked like they'd been through hell."
"Humans are curious creatures," Randalf said quietly. "They hide pain as if it were shameful. In my world, sorrow is treated like fever — temporary, visible, and tended to before it festers."
Hugo gave a dry laugh. "We don't really do that here."
"So I've observed."
He didn't respond. There wasn't much else to say.
The rest of the walk home passed in silence.
The night sky was clouded, the stars hidden — but he didn't mind.
When he reached home, his mother was already asleep. The house was dark except for the faint blue glow of the holo-clock on the wall.
He crept downstairs to his room. The moment he closed the door behind him, the world outside seemed to vanish — replaced by the soft hum of silence that always made him feel oddly safe.
Randalf materialized on his desk, flickering faintly like a small constellation taking shape.
"So, master," he said, curling his tail neatly around himself, "are you ready to cultivate?"
Hugo sat on the edge of the bed, stretching his fingers. "Yeah. I've been waiting all day."
"You sound eager."
"Wouldn't you be?"
Randalf chuckled softly, the sound like rustling parchment. "Indeed. But do not mistake eagerness for control. Many cultivators rush their growth and end up crippling their soul."
"I know," Hugo said, standing and moving to the center of the room. "That's why I want to do this right."
He knelt down, legs crossed, hands resting on his knees.
Then, like before, the world shifted.
He found himself standing in the void again — Randalf's subspace.
It was endless. The air shimmered with faint motes of light, drifting lazily like dust caught in sunbeams. The ground beneath his feet was fluid, reflecting starlight, though it held firm when he stepped.
Randalf's form grew brighter here, his eyes like twin lanterns in the dark. "Welcome back, master."
Hugo smiled faintly. "Feels like coming home, somehow."
"That's because this space mirrors your inner world," Randalf said. "As your cultivation grows, this place will change — expand, evolve, reflect the strength of your soul."
"Then I guess I'll see how far I can push it."