The night ended quietly.
After the food was finished and the plates cleared, they returned to the inn without much talk. Tyke fell asleep almost instantly, stretched sideways across his bed like he'd claimed it in battle. Lyla removed her armor piece by piece, setting it neatly by the wall before sitting on the edge of her bed, staring at nothing for a long time and after a while began to sleep.
Laxyie stayed awake the longest, lying flat on his back, eyes open, listening to the muted sounds of Selam outside the window.
Elisa's words echoed in his head.
Cohen City.
Bridges stacked over rivers. City of great strature and high rising houses. A rich city where others migrate to search for a living.Assassins who moved like shadows stitched into the city itself. And techniques used openly enough that someone like Elisa had heard of it.
By the time sleep took him, his mind was already far from Selam.
Morning came with noise.
Selam was alive early—merchants shouting, carts rattling over stone, the smell of bread and smoke drifting through the streets. Downstairs, Lyla was already dressed, seated at a rough wooden table with a cup in her hand. Laxyie joined her, still tying the strap at his wrist.
She looked up. "So."
He raised an eyebrow. "So?"
"What now?" she asked. No edge to her voice. Just curiosity.
Laxyie didn't answer immediately. He looked past her, through the open door, watching people pass by—travelers, guards, traders heading out of the city. Then he said, "I'm intrigued by Cohen City."
Lyla blinked once. Then smiled.
"Well," she said, standing and draining her cup, "that settles it. We're going to Cohen City."
Laxyie actually stopped moving.
"…That fast?" he asked.
She shrugged. "Why not?"
"You're not planning to stay in Selam?" Laxyie asked.
She paused, then turned to face him fully. "I can't go back to Pyoin," she said, plainly. "You know that. Exile means exile. But it also means I'm free to go anywhere else I want."
Her gaze didn't waver. "And staying still isn't my thing."
Laxyie studied her for a moment, then nodded once. He understood that kind of restlessness.
Tyke came down the stairs mid-conversation, rubbing his eyes. "Go where?"
"Cohen City," Lyla said.
Tyke froze. "How far?"
Laxyie answered before Lyla could. "About five days. I checked last night."
Tyke's eyes widened. "Five days?" Then—without hesitation—"I wanna go."
Laxyie looked at him. "You sure?"
Tyke straightened, chest puffed out. "You're like my older brother now. So I gotta go wherever you go."
Silence.
Laxyie stared at him.
"…When did I ever become your brother, lameass?" he muttered and frowned.
Tyke grinned.
Lyla laughed, loud and unrestrained. "You heard him. Can't escape family now."
Laxyie sighed, but there was no real heat in it. "Fine. Then we pack."
Tyke pumped a fist. "Yes!"
By noon, preparations were underway. Supplies, food, water skins, repairs to gear. Selam faded behind them piece by piece, not with ceremony, but with inevitability. None of them said it out loud, but all three felt it—the sense that this wasn't just another job.
This was a step outward.
Toward something bigger.
Toward something unknown to them.
Far away.
So far that Selam would have seemed like a rumor.
The city of Blore stood under a gray sky, its stone streets colder, sharper, heavier with power than anywhere in Stronar. Tall structures crowded close together, casting long shadows even at midday. Guards moved with purpose. So did everyone else.
In a quiet upper chamber overlooking the city, a man stood at an open window.
Aîiurh.
A report lay open on the table behind him, its seal broken. He didn't need to read it again. He already knew the contents by heart.
Mount Eron.
A beast named Mû.
A young assassin.
Survived.
Adapted.
He smiled faintly.
"So you've really grown up, you Ashborn" he murmured.
The name tasted familiar on his tongue.
Outside, the wind stirred the banners of Blore, carrying whispers across stone and steel. Aîiurh turned away from the window, fingers brushing the edge of the report.
"I'll try to meet you again," he said softly, almost fondly. "If time allows."
He extinguished the candle.
And far beyond Blore's walls, three figures prepared to walk straight into a city that would not forgive weakness.
The road to Cohen had opened.