The city was alive.
Not just with people—but with motion, sound, and pulse.
From the moment Arin and Ronan entered Valenreach, it felt as if the world had multiplied tenfold. Carts clattered over rune-etched stones, hawkers shouted in overlapping pitches, and lights—tiny floating crystals—drifted through the streets like lazy fireflies.
Arin followed Ronan through the market square, his eyes wide but cautious. Every stall glowed faintly; bread loaves baked with warmth magic, trinkets hummed with faint mana. Somewhere nearby, a blacksmith swung a hammer that sparked blue instead of red.
Ronan laughed quietly, watching Arin's stunned silence.
"Feels like you walked into another world, huh?"
Arin nodded slowly. "It doesn't feel real."
"Valenreach never does at first," Ronan replied, adjusting his satchel. "You'll get used to it… or you'll leave before it eats you."
They stopped at a food stand where the smell of roasted herbs filled the air. Ronan ordered two skewers of seasoned meat, handing one to Arin.
"Eat. It's better than bark and berries."
Arin hesitated only a moment before taking a bite. It was simple, salty, hot—and it hit harder than any meal he'd had in weeks. For a few seconds, he forgot everything else.
Across from them, two soldiers leaned against a stone post, talking low. Arin caught fragments between mouthfuls.
"…near the border—swear it was him…"
"…Rudra's back? You think that's true?"
"…commander said it himself. Man walked straight through a Hazard-class zone. Alone."
The words slipped under Arin's skin before he even realized he was listening.
Rudra. Again.
He turned slightly. The soldiers were still talking, their armor gleaming faintly under mana lamps.
One laughed nervously. "If he's really back, nobles are going to lose sleep for months."
The other nodded. "After what happened last time? I would too."
Arin looked down at his food. The name lingered in his mind like a shadow he couldn't quite see.
Ronan noticed his expression. "You've got that look again," he said.
"What look?"
"The one people get when they realize the world's bigger and meaner than they thought." He grinned faintly. "Rudra's a story around here. Soldier gone rogue. Killed a noble, vanished. Now people say he's back. Maybe he is, maybe not. Either way—someone that strong doesn't stay quiet forever."
Arin thought for a long moment before speaking. "You think he was wrong?"
Ronan shrugged. "Depends what the noble did. Power makes monsters out of both kinds of men—the ones who use it and the ones who bow to it." He stood, brushing his hands. "Come on. You'll see what I mean soon enough."
They moved through the crowded lanes again. Near the edge of the plaza stood a notice board packed with parchment—job postings, bounty requests, recruitment seals. Arin's eyes moved across the papers until one caught his attention:
"Valenreach Military Recruitment — High Pay, Guaranteed Shelter, Advancement by Merit."
He stared for a long time.
Ronan noticed. "Thinking about joining?"
Arin didn't answer immediately. "If I want to earn money… or stay hidden for a while, it's an option."
"You sure you're the soldier type?"
Arin's lips twitched faintly. "Not sure. But I want to test myself. See how far I can go without… those powers."
Ronan nodded approvingly. "Then that's reason enough." He reached into his pouch, pulled out a few silver coins, and handed them to him. "You'll need a place to sleep first. Inns near the barracks are safe—mostly."
Arin accepted them hesitantly. "You've already done too much."
Ronan grinned. "I'm a merchant, kid. I'm supposed to invest in potential." He winked. "Pay me back when you're a big hero."
Arin smiled despite himself. "I doubt that."
"That's what heroes always say before something stupid happens," Ronan replied, waving as he turned toward the trade quarter. "Try not to die before breakfast!"
Arin shook his head slightly, watching him disappear into the crowd. Then he turned toward the street of inns.
The afternoon dimmed into gold as he walked. Vendors packed up; the smell of sweet bread drifted in the cooling air. Somewhere in the distance, bells chimed—a soft, melodic tone marking the shift to evening.
He passed a group of children chasing a glowing sphere, soldiers laughing over mugs of ale, a musician playing a flute that made the air shimmer faintly with color. Magic wasn't spectacle here—it was woven into everything. Ordinary. Alive.
Eventually, he found a modest inn tucked between taller buildings: The Silver Ember. Its sign creaked softly in the wind. Inside, the air was warm and filled with the scent of wood and stew.
The innkeeper, a round woman with sharp eyes, looked him up and down. "Room?"
"Yes," Arin said. "For one night."
"Two silvers," she replied.
He placed the coins on the counter. She slid him a small brass key. "Upstairs, third door on the left. Bath's down the hall—don't flood it like the last guest."
"...I'll try not to," Arin said.
She gave a faint smile. "You look half-dead, boy. Eat something and rest. The city doesn't wait for anyone."
Arin nodded, then climbed the narrow stairs.
The room was small—bare walls, a single bed, a candle, a window showing the city's glowing veins. But it was quiet. Safe.
He dropped his satchel near the wall and sat on the bed. The mattress creaked but held. For a while, he simply breathed. The world outside buzzed softly, but in here, everything slowed.
He looked at his hands—scarred, faintly trembling. They didn't feel like weapons anymore. Just hands.
Then he thought of Perin. Of Vayushri. Of Shivani's voice.
He wondered if they were safe. If they still thought about him.
He exhaled shakily. "I'll come back," he murmured. "I'll find you."
Outside, the city lights shimmered like stars—distant, unreachable.
Arin lay back, the blanket rough against his skin, eyes half-closed. The hum of mana lines under the streets was steady and faint, almost like a heartbeat beneath the world.
Sleep crept in slowly, pulling him away from the noise, from the ache, from everything he couldn't yet face.
His last thought before darkness took him was simple—
a promise to no one but himself.
Tomorrow… I start again.
The morning light crept through the narrow window of the small inn, touching the edge of Arin's bed. He blinked awake to the city's rhythm — carts rolling, vendors shouting, the faint toll of the dawn bells echoing from far towers.
He washed quickly and stepped out into the street. The air tasted faintly of metal and spice, and a soft mist curled above the cobblestones. He moved through the crowd, following the signs painted with glowing runes until the towering spires of the Valenreach Recruitment Hall came into view.
Inside, the place buzzed with noise — armor clinking, clerks calling names, the scent of ink and oil mixing with the hum of enchantment. Behind a polished counter sat a young woman, hair tied back neatly, filling form after form with practiced ease.
When Arin approached, she looked up and smiled.
"Name?"
"Arin," he said.
She glanced over his clothes — worn but clean — and raised an eyebrow, though her tone stayed kind. "Age?"
"Seventeen."
"Any experience in combat?"
Arin hesitated. "…Enough to survive."
That made her pause. She didn't pry, only nodded and stamped a glowing seal onto the parchment. "You're lucky today," she said, handing him the slip. "Sir Johan himself is here to oversee the test — along with Commander Serah. They don't usually waste time on new applicants, so whatever happens, make it count."
Arin tilted his head slightly. "Johan?"
Her eyes widened as if surprised he didn't know. "He's one of Valenreach's strongest. People say even beasts bow when he walks past. Try not to faint when he looks at you."
A faint, uncertain smile tugged at Arin's lips. "I'll try."
She laughed softly. "Good luck."
The testing hall was vast — sunlight cutting through high windows, banners shifting faintly in the draft. Six other candidates stood in formation, each fidgeting or whispering nervously.
At the far end, a man sat in quiet stillness. His posture alone commanded attention. Broad-shouldered, silver-haired, eyes sharp as drawn steel — this was Sir Johan. When he finally turned his head, his gaze found Arin immediately.
Something changed in the air.
The man rose slowly, boots echoing against the stone. His expression stayed calm, but a flicker of unease crossed his eyes, gone as fast as it came. He studied Arin with the quiet intensity of a predator recognizing another of its kind.
Arin stopped a few paces from the line, unsure whether to speak.
"Sir?" he said finally.
Johan's eyes narrowed — not in anger, but curiosity. "Your name?"
"Arin."
Johan's voice lowered. "…Interesting."
He turned away, yet his hand brushed his forehead for an instant, wiping sweat that hadn't been there before. He didn't understand why the boy's presence felt so heavy. For one heartbeat, every instinct in him had screamed danger — ancient, silent, absolute.
The candidates exchanged confused glances, whispering as Arin joined them in line.
One boy muttered, "Did you see how Sir Johan looked at him?"
Another smirked. "Probably saw his clothes. Looks like he came from the gutters."
Arin ignored them, his focus steady. He wasn't here to argue; he just wanted to move forward.
From the doorway, another figure entered — Commander Serah. Her armor gleamed faintly under the light, long coat trailing behind her. The noise in the hall died instantly.
She nodded to Johan. "All recruits assembled, sir."
"Good," Johan said. His voice filled the hall with quiet authority. "Today's test isn't about strength. It's about control. Strength without restraint destroys its master."
The words hit Arin harder than he expected. He lowered his gaze, remembering blood, silence, the forest, and the monster he almost became.
Johan continued, pacing before them. "You will demonstrate basic combat instinct, endurance, and spiritual focus. Nothing more, nothing less."
He stopped again in front of Arin — close enough that the light caught the faint tremor in his fingers. The unease returned; Johan could almost feel something under the boy's skin, like a sealed storm pressing against glass.
He cleared his throat sharply and stepped back. "Begin with stance drills!"
The six recruits snapped into motion, drawing wooden blades from the racks. Arin followed their lead, movements smooth but simple.
Johan's eyes kept drifting toward him. The others swung hard, eager to impress — but Arin moved differently. No flash, no arrogance. Every strike was quiet, deliberate, balanced. When his blade struck the air, it hummed with control, not fury.
Commander Serah leaned toward Johan, voice low. "That one. The quiet boy. He's holding back."
Johan's jaw tensed. "I know."
He couldn't explain it — but every motion from that boy made his instincts recoil, as if power far beyond comprehension slept just beneath the surface.
The exercise ended. Sweat gleamed on every forehead except Arin's. He stood calm, breathing evenly, eyes steady.
"Next," Johan ordered. "Focus test."
Each recruit stepped forward to channel their spiritual aura into a rune crystal. One by one, faint glows appeared — green, yellow, blue. When Arin's turn came, the crystal flickered once, dim, almost lifeless.
The soldiers near the wall snickered. "Guess the poor kid's empty."
But Johan frowned. The crystal wasn't dim because there was no power. It was dim because something else had swallowed the reading entirely — like light vanishing into a black hole.
He looked at the boy, expression unreadable. "…Interesting," he said again, quieter this time.
When the test ended, Serah began marking results. The others relaxed, whispering excitedly. Johan, however, stayed still — gaze fixed on Arin, who simply bowed and returned to the line.
He didn't show pride or fear, only calm. As if this, too, was just another step along a long road.
That evening, as the recruits filed out, Johan lingered behind. He stared at the rune crystal Arin had touched — the one that had gone completely dark. His reflection in its surface looked twisted, distorted.
He exhaled slowly.
"Who are you, boy?" he murmured.
Outside, Arin walked down the quiet street, the city lights shimmering in pools of gold and silver around him. He still didn't know what tomorrow would bring. Only that, for the first time since leaving the forest, his path had begun to take shape.
As he passed the entrance counter again, the same clerk from the morning waved him over with a grin. "Hey, you made it through the first round!" Arin paused. "There are more?"
She laughed softly and leaned forward, tapping her quill against her notes.
"Five in total," she said. "Physical first, then mental endurance, situational awareness, theoretical assessment, and finally — the interview with the commander himself."
Arin nodded slowly. "Sounds like a long week." "Maybe," she said with a teasing smile. "But if you keep that calm face, you might just survive all five." He gave a faint, polite smile in return before stepping back into the evening crowd — his silhouette fading beneath the glow of Valenreach's floating lights.