Chapter 21:
Legends of the Aether
Lucen woke to the faintest glow slipping through the Hearthlight Inn window—soft golden rays spilling across the wooden floorboards like melted honey.
He groaned quietly and sat up, muscles protesting the motion. Every inch of him ached from yesterday’s haul, butcher work, and that glorious soak at Mistveil Springs. His arms felt heavier than usual, but there was a strange satisfaction in the soreness.
Like he’d earned it.
He dressed quickly, tugging on the lighter armor he’d picked up from Rivvy—simple reinforced leather with a soft-gray shoulder guard and adjustable straps. Not flashy, but it fit well. Familiar. Balanced.
After a quick bite of dry bread and honey left on his table—probably Marella again—he stepped out into the crisp morning air of Falridge.
The town was still quiet. Market stalls hadn’t opened yet. Crows perched on rooftops, watching idly. A cool breeze passed through the eastern streets, rustling banners hanging from the training yard gates.
Lucen made his way there.
He wasn’t meeting anyone.
He just wanted to swing his sword a few times.
The training yard sat behind the guild hall, nestled between a stone wall and a wide sparring field lined with weapon racks and practice dummies. Several adventurers were already there—some stretching, others sparring lightly. Most ignored him.
Lucen found an empty corner.
He drew his sword.
The weight was familiar now. Not second nature—but no longer foreign. His grip steadied as he exhaled and took a stance.
Dawnbresk Style.
He stepped forward.
One strike.
Then another.
Flow.
Breathe.
See the opening.
Slash.
He repeated the form. Again. Again. Muscles burning, sweat already rising at his collar. Not perfect, but improving. His blade didn’t wobble this time. His footing held.
He swung wide—and stopped.
Someone was watching him.
From the far side of the training field, half-hidden by the edge of the wooden fence, a figure stood with arms crossed—lean, poised, and still.
Cat ears.
He wasn’t good.
Not yet.
But he wasn’t hopeless either.
Nyari leaned silently against the edge of the fence, one arm draped lazily over the top rail. Her eyes tracked the boy in the yard—sword drawn, sweat dripping down his temple, breathing sharp but steady.
His stance was off. Too stiff in the shoulders. Too focused on precision, not enough on instinct.
But…
That last swing?
Clean.
She tilted her head slightly, ears twitching with every thud of his boots in the dirt. He hadn’t noticed her yet. Most people didn’t until she wanted them to.
Typical human.
But there was something… different about him.
Not in how he looked—though, fine, he was kind of cute in that ‘trying too hard to look serious’ way—but in how he moved. There was weight behind every strike. Like he was chasing something. Or running from it.
Copper rank, huh?
Her ears twitched again. Not surprising, but I’ve seen rookies with more grace than that swing.
Most adventurers started there—lowest of the low. But this one? He swung like someone who didn’t want to stay there long.
She narrowed her eyes.
He wasn’t coasting. That much was obvious. He looked like someone earning every inch of progress the hard way.
Nyari’s tail flicked behind her, slow and deliberate.
She didn’t know his name.
Didn’t care. Not yet.
But maybe she’d stick around a bit longer.
Just to watch.
Obviously.
Lucen lowered his sword, breath steadying as the burn in his shoulders settled into a dull throb. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his arm and let out a slow breath.
Not bad.
Better than yesterday, at least.
The training yard had mostly cleared. A few rookies were still grumbling near the spear rack, but Lucen paid them no mind. He reached for his waterskin near the bench—then stopped.
A shift in the air.
Someone was watching him.
He turned.
A girl approached—quiet, smooth, like the breeze had just decided to walk. She had short, dark hair that fell messily around sharp golden eyes, and perched atop her head—
Cat ears.
Twitching.
She stopped a few paces away and tilted her head.
“You swing that thing like it’s got feelings,” she said, eyes flicking to his sword.
Lucen hesitated, then gave a faint smile. “It might.”
“Hmph.” Her gaze lingered. “Could’ve fooled me. You were about two stumbles away from dropping it—nya.”
Lucen blinked.
Did she just say… ‘nya’?
His brain stalled for half a second. Between the cat ears, the golden eyes, and now the little vocal quirk—it was a lot.
Definitely not something he was used to.
…But honestly?
It was kind of cute.
He cleared his throat, trying not to let it show on his face. “You fight?”
She shrugged. “Only when I feel like it. Or when someone pays me.”
Lucen nodded. “Lucen.”
She raised a brow like she was only mildly impressed he could speak. “Nyari.”
There was a pause—brief, but not awkward.
Then she added, “You’re the Copper-ranked one, right? The one who dragged a whole boar through the guild like a lost farmhand?”
Lucen sighed. “That’s the one.”
Her tail flicked once. “You’re not terrible,” she said. “For a rookie. Try not to trip over your own feet next time, nya.”
Lucen gave a small chuckle. “I’ll work on that.”
She didn’t walk away.
She just stood there, tail moving in slow rhythm, eyes still on him.
Watching.
Curious.
Lucen shifted, adjusting the grip on his sword. He could still feel her eyes on him—measuring, maybe even waiting for something.
He opened his mouth to say something else—maybe ask what her weapon of choice was—but she spoke first.
“Draw again,” she said.
He blinked. “What?”
She nodded toward the practice area. “Go on. Let’s see it. That overhead swing of yours was cute, but I want to see what you do when someone’s watching on purpose, nya.”
Lucen raised an eyebrow. “You asking to spar?”
“Pfft. Please.” She smirked. “If I sparred every Copper with a sword and something to prove, I’d die of boredom. Just swing. I’ll know if you’re worth my time.”
Lucen huffed quietly, amused. “Alright then.”
He stepped back toward the center of the yard, rolled his shoulders once, then drew his sword in a smooth arc.
Dawnbresk stance.
He closed his eyes for a breath. Then moved.
A clean horizontal slash. Pivot. Follow-up to vertical.
Step back. Quick rebound. Guard up.
He let his body move on instinct—muscle memory kicking in from the last few days of repetition, corrections, and bruises.
When he stopped, breath short but steady, she was leaning against the fence post again—arms crossed.
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
“…You’re still stiff in the shoulders,” she said. “But your timing’s not bad.”
“That a compliment?”
“Mm. More like a weak nod of approval.”
Lucen grinned faintly. “I’ll take it.”
Nyari tilted her head again. “You’ll get better. As long as you don’t die first.”
“Thanks. That’s… reassuring.”
“You’ll need more than sword swings to survive out there, nya.” Her tone softened just a little—not warm, but not biting either. “Still. I’ve seen worse.”
She turned, tail flicking once behind her as she began to walk away.
Then paused.
“Oh—and maybe don’t train so close to lunch next time.” She glanced back over her shoulder. “You look like you’re about to collapse.”
Lucen chuckled under his breath. “Duly noted.”
She offered one last smirk before vanishing behind the training yard gate—silent as a shadow, gone like she’d never been there at all.
But somehow…
Lucen had a feeling that wouldn’t be the last time he saw her.
A little while later, Lucen slung his bag over his shoulder and made his way toward the guild. His stomach growled as the scent of roasted meat drifted in from the main street.
The afternoon sun bathed the cobblestone in warm light. The hum of voices returned as more adventurers filtered in from quests and errands. Some laughed outside the guild. Others nursed bruises and slouched near the quest board like they’d aged a decade in a day.
Lucen passed them, heading just a bit farther down the street.
The sign above the door creaked in the breeze—Karrûn’s Hollow, carved deep into dark oak with curling runes along the border. Lucen had passed it a few times before, always catching the scent of something rich and smoky from inside.
Today, he finally stepped in.
The tavern’s warmth hit him like a blanket. The scent of grilled fish, woodsmoke, and ale drifted through the air as voices blended into a steady hum. Lanterns swung gently from thick iron beams, casting flickering light across the stone hearth and worn floorboards.
It was louder than he expected. Livelier, too.
Not rowdy—but lived-in. Like the kind of place where people came to exist, not just eat.
A few adventurers were already inside—mostly Silver ranks or higher. Lucen spotted the usual corner where a pair of older mages bickered over rune theory with half-finished drinks.
Behind the counter, a stout figure moved with a heavy limp—his petrified stone leg thudding with every step.
Borik Stonejaw looked up and gave a half-grunt. “Well, well. If it isn’t the Copper kid with a sword too big for his arms.”
Lucen managed a tired grin. “I made it back alive.”
“Barely, from the look of you.” Borik reached behind the bar and grabbed a plate. “Sit. You look like you need food more than words.”
Lucen slid into a seat near the bar as Borik slammed down a tray with roasted boar slices—charred just enough to taste—and a thick chunk of rye bread.
He didn’t even ask how much. The guild often covered a first quest meal—or at least part of it. And Borik was known to be lenient toward rookies who showed up battered but standing.
Lucen took a bite.
Warm. Hearty. Sharp with spice.
He didn’t know why it hit harder today.
Maybe it was the aching muscles.
Maybe it was the quiet approval from a girl with golden eyes and sharp instincts.
Or maybe… it was just starting to feel like he belonged.
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