V2C5 - The First Step Toward Two

The morning came quietly.

No urgent knocks. No flaring sunlight. Just the soft rustle of wind brushing the wooden walls of the Hearthlight Inn and the scent of warm bread drifting from below.

Lucen stirred beneath the blanket and stretched, every muscle still sore from the day before. The sparring drills, the sword swings, even just walking home after eating—everything had stacked up.

But… it felt good.

He sat up, dressed slowly, and slung his bag over one shoulder.

Downstairs, Marella greeted him with a warm smile and a bowl of stew she insisted would “clear the fog from any adventurer’s head.” Lucen didn’t argue. He ate quickly, thanked her, and set his dishes aside.

Before heading to the guild, he stopped at the small rune panel set near the inn’s wall—linked to the guild’s mana network. With a focused tap against his glyph, he transferred a portion of his balance into silver coin and tucked it into his pouch.

Just in case.

Then he stepped outside—into morning sun, stone streets, and the rhythm of Falridge already in motion.

The city was already alive—Falridge’s usual rhythm of clinking metal, quiet chatter, and boots on stone.

When he stepped into the guild hall, it smelled like ink, parchment, and sweat—same as always.

Eyla looked up from the counter. “Oh look, Copper Boy’s still breathing.”

Lucen raised an eyebrow. “Barely.”

She leaned on her elbow. “So? You looking for another boar to lose a fight to, or just here to loiter?”

“I’m pacing myself.”

Eyla gave a mock-sigh. “Pity. Thought we’d get another dramatic entrance.”

Lucen stepped a little closer. “Just checking in. Didn’t want Rivvy hunting me down if something went wrong with the payment.”

She waved it off. “Already handled. The guild forwarded her cut from your last quest. You’re in the clear—for now.”

Lucen nodded. “Good. I like my ribs uncracked.”

Eyla smirked. “Keep training. You’ll need ’em.”

Before Lucen could respond—

“Oi. Copper.”

A voice behind him.

Lucen turned.

Nyari stood a few paces back, arms crossed, a toothpick between her lips, golden eyes gleaming with lazy amusement.

“You still practicing that overhead swing, or did your arms finally fall off nya?”

Lucen blinked. “You stalking me now?”

“Tch. Please.” Nyari stepped beside him, tail swaying casually. “I came to see if you were still breathing after yesterday. Didn’t expect you to show up looking less like a corpse.”

He gave her a sidelong glance. “And here I thought I was making progress.”

“You are. Just not in the way you think.” Her ears twitched once as she eyed the quest board. “Anyway…”

She reached out and plucked a parchment from the center column—one labeled [Scouting Request – Eastern Ridge Ruins].

Lucen tilted his head. “That one’s for two people.”

“I can read, thanks.” She handed it to Eyla with a flick of her wrist.

Lucen’s brow furrowed. “Are you… inviting me?”

Nyari turned toward him, clearly amused. “I’m saying I don’t feel like dying of boredom today. And you’re decent enough not to slow me down. Much.”

“You’re really selling this partnership,” Lucen muttered.

Eyla took the slip without missing a beat. “Well, well. You two teaming up already? That’s faster than most rookie pairings.”

Nyari smirked. “It’s not a pairing. It’s an experiment.”

Lucen folded his arms. “One that might go wrong?”

“Probably. But if it doesn’t,” she said with a flash of fang, “you might just learn something.”

“About?”

“About working with someone who doesn’t flail.”

Lucen gave a soft exhale, half a laugh. “Fine. Let’s scout some ruins.”

Eyla stamped the quest and handed it back. “It’s a simple one. Check out the area, mark any signs of monsters or old traps, then report back. You’ll get hazard pay if the terrain’s nasty.”

Nyari tucked the slip into her vest. “Got it.”

Lucen adjusted the strap of his bag, then glanced at her. “We heading now?”

She stretched her arms behind her head, tail swaying behind her. “Give me ten. I want to grab some smoked meat from Karrûn’s before we go. You’re welcome to carry my bag if you’re feeling useful nya.”

Lucen groaned. “It begins…”

She grinned without looking back and headed for the door.

And just like that—they were a team.

Sort of.

Lucen caught up with her just outside the guild doors, his boots crunching lightly over the cobblestone.

“You serious about the smoked meat?”

Nyari didn’t even glance back. “Dead serious. I don’t hike on an empty stomach.”

They weaved through the market lane, the smell of herbs, leather, and baked roots drifting through the air. Stalls lined the streets—some manned by merchants, others by old adventurers selling off gear with too many dents.

Nyari stopped in front of a small food stall tucked beside a smith’s outpost. The owner—a wiry man with a scar over one brow—nodded at her like they were old friends.

“Same as usual?” he asked.

“Extra salt,” she replied. “And warm, not burnt this time.”

She pulled a few silver coins from her pouch and handed them over.

Lucen raised a brow. “You don’t use your glyph for this stuff?”

“Nah. I save that for guild-run vendors. Locals prefer coins. Fewer questions.”

He nodded slowly, then glanced down at his own sigil. “Makes sense.”

She tore a bite from the meat and chewed contentedly, ears twitching. “You’re not getting any.”

“I figured.”

They headed next to the general store—Mirra’s Goods & General, a small shop wedged between an herbalist and a weapons stand. The sign hung crooked, and the bell above the door jingled like it had a cough.

Inside, it was cramped but packed with everything from thread to trail kits. Wooden shelves curved inward, weighed down by bundles of rope, bedrolls, cooking sets, and glowing glass spheres.

Lucen eyed one shelf. “Glow orbs?”

Nyari leaned in beside him. “You’ll want one. Trust me.”

The shopkeeper—a short woman with sharp glasses and a sharper tone—gave them both a once-over. “Supplies for the ridge?”

“We’re scouting,” Lucen said. “Light travel.”

“You’ll want clean water, two meals’ worth of rations, bandages, and a glow orb. Especially if you’re poking around in ruins.”

Lucen quietly reached into his pouch and pulled out a couple silvers, following Nyari’s lead.

The shopkeeper nodded. “Smart lad.”

They stepped back outside a few minutes later with a fresh supply kit between them and sunlight warming the road again.

Lucen glanced over. “You really do this all the time, huh?”

Nyari gave a lazy stretch and shouldered her gear. “Yup. But this is the first time I’ve done it with company.”

She walked ahead.

Lucen blinked.

And quietly smiled.

Eastern Ridge – En Route

The road east of Falridge curved gently uphill, flanked by thickets of leafbrush and the occasional worn stone marker jutting from the ground like old bones. The air grew quieter the farther they walked, the bustle of the city falling away behind them until only wind and birdsong remained.

Lucen adjusted the strap across his chest. “So these ruins… anyone know what they used to be?”

“Old outpost, maybe,” Nyari said, walking a few paces ahead. “The guild didn’t say. Could’ve been a temple, fort, or just someone’s oversized crypt. No one’s come back with anything conclusive.”

“Or they just didn’t come back.”

She grinned. “That too.”

The dirt path narrowed as they moved deeper into the trees. Roots broke through the trail like gnarled fingers, and the light dimmed under the canopy’s shifting leaves. Nyari’s tail flicked lightly as she moved—alert, cautious, but not tense.

Lucen glanced sideways at her. “You’ve done a lot of these.”

“Mm. Enough.”

“You always scout ahead?”

“Usually.” She turned to glance at him. “But this time I’ve got company.”

He blinked. “You’re not scouting alone because you trust me?”

“No,” she said, smirking. “Because if something’s waiting up there, I’d rather it hit you first.”

Lucen laughed under his breath. “Right.”

They moved in silence for a while, the soft crunch of boots on dirt the only sound between them.

Then Nyari spoke, quieter this time. “Keep an eye out for sudden drops. Parts of the trail up here collapsed during last season’s rain. Looks stable now, but… don’t trust it.”

Lucen nodded. “Got it.”

The ruins weren’t visible yet, but the forest began to change—less undergrowth, more stones buried in moss. The air smelled faintly different too. Older.

“Feels off,” Nyari murmured, ears twitching.

“Yeah.”

They didn’t speak again.

The wind had stopped.

And the deeper they went, the quieter the world became—like the trees themselves were holding their breath.

The road curved into untamed hills, narrowing as the forest pressed in around them. Thicker trees. Wilder underbrush. The kind of quiet that made even birdsong sound distant.

Lucen stepped over a moss-covered root, eyes scanning ahead. “This trail’s rougher than I expected.”

Nyari walked just ahead, her tail flicking lazily behind her. “Most adventurers avoid it. Steeper terrain. Weird stories.”

“Weird like… monsters?”

“Weird like people hearing whispers and never coming back.”

Lucen let that sink in. “Charming.”

They came to a short slope where the path dipped into a shallow ravine. Fallen branches and tangled vines blocked most of the trail.

Nyari crouched low, inspected the vines, then slipped a small scroll case from her belt. Without pause, she unlatched a pouch—flat and stitched with faint runes—and casually dropped the scroll case inside.

Then the half-eaten strip of meat. Then a folded cloth and a small bundle of herbs.

Lucen blinked. “You just… fit all that in there?”

“Magic bag,” she replied, brushing off her hands. “Got it from Mirra’s. Cost me, but worth it.”

He glanced down at his own satchel—already packed with rope, food, water, and a glow orb. The strap dug slightly into his shoulder. “…Yeah. I can see that.”

Nyari smirked as she hopped lightly over a stone. “You’ll learn. Eventually.”

Eastern Ridge Ruins – Outer Wall

The trees thinned suddenly.

What had been dense woodland just moments before gave way to a clearing—unnaturally still, as if the wind refused to cross it.

Moss-covered stone jutted from the ground in crooked angles, forming a crumbled perimeter wall. Vines clung to it like veins, threading between cracks and curling over the edges.

Lucen stepped beside Nyari, squinting at the half-buried archway ahead. It wasn’t tall—barely six feet—and part of the right column had collapsed, leaving the entrance crooked.

“These the ruins?” he asked, voice low.

Nyari nodded once, ears twitching. “No doubt. Feel that?”

He did.

The air was thicker here. Not heavy, not suffocating—just… old. Like the stillness of a forgotten attic, or the moment right before a thunderclap.

Lucen stepped closer and ran a hand along the outer wall. The stone was smoother than he expected—almost polished beneath the grime. He caught faint carvings along the edge. Circular. Layered.

Nyari crouched near the base of the arch and brushed away the loose dirt with the back of her glove. “Symbols. Nothing I recognize.”

“Think it’s safe?”

“Of course not.”

She stood, adjusted her daggers, and tapped her pouch. “Light orbs ready?”

Lucen nodded and reached into his bag, pulling out a small crystalline sphere. With a gentle press, it pulsed to life—glowing pale gold, just enough to push back the gloom.

Nyari lit hers as well, but tucked it deeper into her belt to keep the light low.

“Stick close,” she murmured. “And if anything moves… don’t ask questions. Just run or stab.”

“Comforting.”

Together, they stepped beneath the arch—and into the dark.

Eastern Ridge Ruins – Interior

The air changed the moment they stepped inside.

Cooler. Staler. Each breath tasted faintly of stone and time. Dust danced in the glow of their orbs—slow and deliberate, like even gravity moved cautiously here.

Lucen walked just behind Nyari, his boots scraping lightly against the cracked stone floor. The passage was narrow at first, barely wide enough for them to walk shoulder to shoulder, with roots splitting the walls like veins of old wood.

“Smells like a damp grave,” he muttered.

“You’ve been in many graves?”

“Only the ones I crawl out of after sparring.”

Nyari snorted under her breath. “That last parry was pitiful.”

They passed a faded carving on the wall—barely visible beneath grime and scratches. Some kind of symbol. A circle within a triangle, split in half.

Lucen slowed. “You see that?”

Nyari stopped beside him. “Yeah. Looks… religious? Or maybe arcane.”

“You think this was a temple?”

She shook her head. “Could be anything. Guild said it’s never been fully explored. Most who came this way either bailed or stopped reporting.”

“That’s… encouraging.”

They pressed on.

Nyari moved ahead lightly, weaving between leaning columns and crumbled stone without slowing down. Lucen followed a step behind, watching her carefully.

That wasn’t just speed—her balance, the way she timed each stride… it felt too clean. Too deliberate.

Wind magic?

He couldn’t be sure. But if she was using it, she wasn’t advertising it.

Typical.

The corridor opened into a small chamber—square-shaped, with a broken pedestal in the center. One side had caved in, rubble half-burying what looked like a sealed stone door.

Nyari crouched near the pedestal and tapped the edge with her dagger. “Could’ve held something.”

Lucen walked a slow circle around the room, inspecting the carvings on the walls. “Whatever this place was, it wasn’t built cheap. The stonework’s better than most nobles’ cellars.”

Nyari turned her head slightly. “Hear that?”

Lucen stopped.

Silence.

Then—a faint drip. Slow and distant.

“Back tunnel’s sloped,” she said, pointing past the rubble. “Sound’s coming from that direction.”

Lucen squinted into the dark. “You always go toward unsettling noises?”

“Only when I’m bored.”

She stood, adjusted her daggers, and stepped forward without hesitation. Lucen followed, tightening his grip on the hilt at his side.

The corridor narrowed again, the walls sweating with moisture, and the dripping grew louder—slow, methodical, like water echoing in a forgotten chamber.

Lucen exhaled quietly. “This better not be some cursed underground frog god.”

Nyari gave a quiet laugh. “If it is, you’re negotiating.”

Just before the passage curved again, Nyari froze.

Lucen nearly bumped into her. “What is it?”

She crouched near the wall, brushing away grime with the back of her glove. “Another carving…”

Lucen stepped closer.

It was faint—almost erased by time—but still visible under the layer of moss and dust. A symbol.

Not like the others.

This one looked newer. Sharper. Etched with something stronger than time.

Three curved lines interlocked in a jagged spiral. At the center, a single eye.

Lucen’s stomach tightened.

“That wasn’t made by the original builders,” Nyari muttered.

He nodded slowly, his voice low. “Someone else has been here.”

And recently.

Nyari stood a little longer, staring at the symbol like it was watching her back.

“Let’s mark this and head back,” she said at last, her voice lower than usual. “We’ll file it with the guild. They’ll probably send a better team.”

Lucen gave one last glance at the spiral eye before nodding. “Yeah. This place is giving me the creeps.”

They turned and walked back toward the surface—neither of them noticing the faint hum of mana still pulsing beneath the stone.

They didn’t speak much on the way out.

Even with the ruins behind them and sunlight brushing through the trees again, the symbol lingered in Lucen’s thoughts—etched not just in stone, but deep in his mind. Every time he blinked, he could still see the spiral. That eye.

Watching.

By the time they reached the edge of Falridge, dusk was settling in. The breeze felt colder. But neither of them said it.