V2C9 - Whispers Beneath the Branches

Late Morning – Falridge Guild Hall

Lucen skimmed the quest board with a faint crease between his brows, arms folded as Nyari stood beside him, arms lazily draped behind her head.

“You’re not seriously considering the mushroom gathering one,” she muttered.

“It pays,” Lucen said.

“So does cleaning stables.”

He sighed. His eyes landed on a new parchment posted with fresh ink.

Quest: Whispers Beneath the Branches

Type: Monster Elimination

Location: Virelith Timberline – South Trail

Report: Livestock deaths, corrupted vermin activity

Details: Suspected Fellmice Nest. Eliminate threat.

Rank: Copper or above

Reward: 5 silver + bonus for confirmed nest clearance

“Fellmice?” he read aloud.

Nyari leaned in over his shoulder. “Haven’t seen one of those since I was a kid. Creepy little things.”

“Dangerous?”

“They’re nothing solo. But if there’s a full nest… and it’s old…” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “Could be good practice.”

Lucen pulled the parchment free and turned toward the receptionist’s desk.

Eyla was there, already watching with a smirk.

“Trying your luck with rats now?” she asked sweetly.

Lucen handed over the quest sheet. “Trying to get field experience. Any advice?”

She stamped the form with her sigil seal. “Watch your footing. Fellmice like to swarm ankles. And if they’ve nested deep, light magic will help—just don’t blind your partner.”

“Noted,” he said dryly.

Eyla leaned forward slightly. “Also… you may want to invest in a magic bag. If you bring back proof from all those little pests, it adds up quick.”

Lucen glanced toward Nyari, who was casually flipping a dagger behind her back.

“She’s got one.”

“Lucky you,” Eyla said. “Try not to die, hmm?”

Afternoon – South Trail, Just Outside the Virelith Timberline

The forest here was quieter than the usual hunting trails. Thicker underbrush. Fewer birds. The kind of silence that made Lucen’s skin crawl.

“This place reeks of rot,” Nyari muttered, crouching low to inspect a gnawed branch. “They’ve definitely nested nearby.”

Lucen rolled his shoulders, letting the wind flow gently around his feet. He’d practiced all morning. He could feel the element waiting beneath the surface—eager, but no longer wild.

“Ready?” he asked.

Nyari grinned, baring a fang.

“Let’s dance, sword boy.”

Mid-Afternoon – Deeper Within the Virelith Timberline

The forest darkened as they moved deeper, thick roots clawing up from the earth like bones. Lucen held his palm out, casting a soft Lumen spell. A glowing orb hovered above his hand, illuminating the gnarled underbrush ahead.

Nyari sniffed once and muttered, “Yeah. They’re close.”

A low chittering sound echoed from beneath a collapsed tree stump up ahead. The moss-covered roots were hollowed out—burrowed, even. Dozens of tiny scratch marks covered the bark.

“That’s the nest,” Nyari said, crouching low, daggers already in hand.

Lucen’s grip tightened on his sword. Wind whispered at his ankles.

They stepped closer, cautiously—

And the first creature lunged from the shadows.

It was small, barely the size of a rabbit—but its body was swollen with grayened fur, eyes glowing red, and fangs far too large for something so rodent-like.

Lucen swung on instinct, catching it mid-air with a sharp slice.

“One—”

But five more followed.

“Too many!”

Nyari blurred forward, her form darting in and out of shadows. Windstep Mirage activated in a flash—she zipped through two of them, daggers flashing.

Lucen tried to follow, but misjudged a root and tripped sideways, barely rolling in time to avoid a pair of snapping jaws.

“Lucen, left!”

He twisted, wind gathering beneath his feet. A sudden push launched him back upright. He swept his blade low, catching another Fellmouse by its tail and slamming it against the trunk.

They fought together—chaotic at first.

But step by step, it started to sync.

Lucen drew attention, parried their strikes. Nyari weaved through their flanks, cutting down stragglers and calling out warnings. After the first minute, it stopped feeling like a scramble—and started feeling like a rhythm.

Finally, the last one shrieked and tried to flee—but Lucen hit it with a burst of wind-assisted speed, slicing it cleanly as it bolted.

Silence returned.

Breathing hard, Lucen turned to Nyari.

“You good?”

She gave him a grin, ears twitching. “Not bad, sword boy. You’re getting faster.”

He smirked. “And you still hit like a hurricane.”

Early Evening – Back at the Guild

Lucen handed over the pouch filled with small corrupted teeth to Eyla, who raised a brow.

“All this from just two of you?”

“They were tougher than they looked,” Lucen said. “But the nest’s cleared.”

Eyla gave a slow nod, inspecting the teeth with her mana lens before sealing the bag.

“Well done. Payment will be sent to your glyphs by morning.”

As Lucen turned to leave, she added with a slight smirk:

“You’re starting to rack up completions, Lucen. If I didn’t know better…”

He turned back.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing.” She waved. “Just keep it up, and you might see a different color on that badge of yours soon.”

Lucen blinked.

Then—just for a second—he smiled.

Later That Evening – Karrûn’s Hollow Tavern

The scent of roasted meat, spiced potatoes, and honey-baked bread hit Lucen the moment he stepped through the door. Warm lanternlight flickered along the walls, casting dancing shadows over thick oak beams and a deep stone hearth. Laughter bubbled from the back corner—adventurers swapping stories, some already halfway to drunk.

Nyari nudged his shoulder as they entered.

“You look like someone who hasn’t had a proper meal in days.”

“I’ve been training nonstop and fighting rat monsters,” Lucen muttered. “I deserve two.”

Borik Stonejaw, the tavern’s stout dwarf owner with a leg of living stone, caught sight of them from behind the bar and gave a brief nod—his way of saying “sit anywhere.”

They took a booth tucked into a quiet corner, just far enough to hear the hum of the room without being swallowed by it.

A waitress dropped off two tankards of chilled cider without a word—Borik’s doing, probably.

Nyari took a long sip and leaned back, one boot propped on the bench. “Not a bad day.”

“You call getting swarmed by glowing rat-beasts ‘not bad’?”

She grinned, tail swaying lazily beside her. “Compared to the time I once spent a whole day hiding in a barrel to escape bandits? Yeah. Not bad.”

Lucen raised an eyebrow. “You’re joking.”

“Wish I was.” She shuddered slightly. “Smelled like fish oil for a week.”

He chuckled. “You’re something else, Nyari.”

She glanced at him then, eyes soft but unreadable in the amber light.

“You’re not bad either, sword boy.” A pause. Then a smirk. “Still a bit slow. But less of a liability now.”

Lucen narrowed his eyes. “That was almost a compliment.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

Their meals arrived—grilled pheasant with buttery greens and thick bread slices. Nyari immediately claimed Lucen’s extra roll with a shameless, “You weren’t gonna eat that, were you?”

“I was.”

“Too slow.”

They ate in a companionable quiet. The tavern buzzed around them, but it all faded beneath the soft flicker of firelight and the clink of cutlery.

At one point, Lucen caught Nyari watching him—just briefly. Her eyes flicked away the moment he noticed.

Neither said anything.

But when they left the tavern that night—full, a little tired, and warm from the cider—Nyari walked closer than usual. Their arms brushed once. She didn’t move away.

The Next Morning – Hearthlight Inn

Lucen stirred awake to soft light cutting through the window slats and the warm, quiet hum of the inn below. The room smelled faintly of herbs, toasted bread, and something… not stew.

He sat up slowly, rubbing at his eyes.

“Please don’t be porridge again.”

Downstairs, the tavern floor was calm—only a few early risers sipping tea or reading parchment. Marella spotted him the moment he descended and waved him to a familiar corner table by the hearth.

“Morning, dear,” she said, her voice warm and cheerful. “Still breathing after last night’s outing, I see.”

Lucen slid into the booth with a tired grin.

“The rats lost.”

“Good.” She set a plate in front of him—crispy eggs, herbed potatoes, a thick slice of bread, and a strip of sausage that still sizzled faintly.

“You’ve earned a real meal. No porridge this time.”

Lucen blinked.

“This… might be the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

Marella chuckled as she poured him a cup of spiced tea.

“Enjoy it before your shadow steals it.”

“What shad—”

“’Morning.”

Nyari’s voice cut in as she padded down the stairs, her hair still damp from a rinse. She plopped into the seat across from Lucen, wearing the same gear from the night before, minus her scarf. Her tail flicked once behind her as she reached across the table and snatched a roasted potato from his plate.

Lucen raised an eyebrow.

“There’s a menu, you know.”

She leaned back, completely unfazed.

“Ordering takes too long.” She popped the potato into her mouth and chewed with a satisfied smirk.

“Yours was closer.”

Lucen gave her a flat look.

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re too slow.”

Later That Morning – Path to Veyren’s Cottage

The trail leading to Veyren’s cottage wound through the outer ridge of Falridge, just beyond the last line of stone houses and moss-covered fences. The air smelled like wet pine and old earth, still damp from the night’s fog. Sunlight spilled between tall trees, dappling the path in shifting patches of gold and green.

Lucen adjusted the strap on his shoulder as they walked, still feeling the warm weight of a full breakfast in his gut.

“I don’t think I’ve had that much food in days.”

Nyari stretched beside him, arms overhead, tail swaying lazily.

“See? I told you the inn’s worth it when Marella likes you.”

“She didn’t like me when I first got here.”

“That’s because you walked in like a lost puppy and ordered plain stew three nights in a row.”

Lucen rolled his eyes. “Some of us were recovering from boar bruises and fire misfires, thanks.”

They rounded the bend to the small clearing where Veyren’s crooked cottage sat nestled among twisted roots and ivy-draped stone. The place looked like it had been swallowed by the forest and spit back out again—peaceful, but worn.

The front door creaked open before they could knock.

“You’re late,” Veyren called from inside, already moving around the cluttered main room. “Wind waits for no one.”

Nyari smirked. “Good morning to you too, old man.”

“Hmph.” The mage waved a hand, motioning for Lucen to enter. “Come on. Let’s see if yesterday’s airhead fire-slinger can manage to move with the wind instead of stumbling through it.”

Lucen stepped inside, exhaling slowly.

Today was wind magic.

And if Nyari had anything to say about it, he was about to get outsped and outsnarked every step of the way.

Veyren’s Clearing – Late Morning

The trees surrounding Veyren’s cottage swayed gently in the wind, tall pines groaning as gusts swept through the branches. The clearing behind the cottage had been carved out long ago, leaving packed dirt, scattered stones, and old boot scuffs etched into the earth from dozens—maybe hundreds—of past trainees. Faint arcane scorch marks lingered here and there—the ghosts of failed spells.

Lucen stood at the center of the clearing, sweat already forming along his collar despite the chill in the air. His breathing slowed as he focused, hands slightly raised, palms open to the breeze.

Across from him, Veyren paced a slow circle, his cloak flaring with each gust.

“Wind is different from fire,” he said. “Fire listens to your drive. Wind listens to your rhythm.”

Lucen nodded slowly, concentrating on the feel of air against his skin—the soft pressure brushing across his knuckles, the rustling of grass at his boots.

“So it’s more about control.”

“Control, yes. But also timing. Wind isn’t about power. It’s about movement. Anticipation. You don’t bend it. You ride it.” Veyren stopped behind him. “Close your eyes.”

Lucen obeyed.

“Breathe. Don’t push mana—let it flow.”

He inhaled. Exhaled.

And something stirred. A subtle sensation up his arms, like cold air brushing against the surface of his mana. The wind around him shifted. Whispered.

But before he could shape it, a sharp gust slammed into his side, sending him stumbling half a step backward.

“What the hell?!” Lucen’s eyes snapped open.

“You lost the flow,” Veyren said, unmoved. “Your body stiffened. Wind punished you for it.” He gestured calmly. “Again.”

From the edge of the clearing, Nyari sat watching with an amused glint in her eye, perched atop a sun-warmed boulder. Her tail swayed idly as she spoke.

“Don’t tense up, sword-boy. You’re not trying to punch the wind—you’re dancing with it.”

Lucen shot her a sideways glance.

“Yeah, well… some of us didn’t grow up chasing gusts barefoot across rooftops.”

She smirked.

“Some of us didn’t fall on our face six times either.”

Lucen grunted. “Lucky you.”

“Talented, actually.”

Then she hopped down lightly, boots barely making a sound as she joined him in the clearing. She drew a single dagger and twirled it lazily.

“Watch.”

With a smooth exhale and a flick of mana, the air shimmered around her legs. Then she vanished—blurring into a blur of motion before reappearing a few feet to the left.

“Windstep,” she said, straightening. “Short burst. Controlled. You don’t force the wind—you lean into it.”

Lucen exhaled, mimicking the motion. He let his mana unfurl—not as a strike, but a current. He stepped.

A rush of air caught his feet, sliding him across the dirt—only a foot or two, but enough. Enough to feel it.

He stumbled, but didn’t fall.

“Hey,” Nyari said with an arched brow. “Not bad.”

Lucen grinned. “I’ll take that as high praise.”

The next hour blurred into repetition—small dashes, rebalancing stances, refining flow. The wind magic didn’t surge like fire. It rolled, coiled, resisted when he tried to force it. But when he moved with it, something clicked.

Nyari occasionally joined him—not just watching, but sparring. She darted in with rapid slashes and retreated in flashes of air. He missed most of her feints, but he was getting faster.

“Too slow,” she called as he misread her footwork.

“You said that last time.”

“And I’ll keep saying it until it’s not true.”

Even Veyren, leaning against the porch railing now, gave a slight nod.

“You’re listening. Finally.”

Veyren’s Clearing – Noon Sun

Lucen dropped onto a patch of grass near the edge of the clearing, breathing heavily, his shirt clinging to him with sweat. He leaned back on his palms, letting the wind that had tormented him all morning now cool his skin.

Across from him, Nyari flopped down beside a shaded rock and let out a long, exaggerated sigh.

“Gods, your footing’s better—but you’re still swinging like you’re in molasses.”

Lucen shot her a half-glare, half-laugh.

“And you’re still vanishing like a wind-blessed mosquito.”

She flashed him a sharp grin.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He chuckled softly, then grabbed the canteen beside him and took a long drink. After a pause, he held it out to her.

“Here.”

“About time,” she said, taking it and tipping it back. Water trailed down her neck, glinting in the sun before she wiped it away with the back of her glove.

They sat there in silence for a bit, the breeze whispering gently around them, rustling the tall grass and pine needles. Veyren was nowhere to be seen now—likely inside, letting them rest. Or deliberately giving them space.

Lucen leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You’re fast. I mean—I knew you were quick, but when we spar… it’s like you disappear.”

Nyari’s ears twitched lightly at the praise, her tone more subdued. “Wind helps. But I trained myself to be light on my feet before I even knew how to use it.”

Lucen nodded. “Where’d you learn?”

She paused, then shrugged.

“Out of necessity. Being small makes you an easy target. So I made it harder for people to hit me. Worked out, I guess.”

Lucen studied her for a second, then smiled faintly. “Worked out very well.”

She gave him a sideways look, mock-suspicious.

“Careful, sword-boy. That sounded like flattery.”

He smirked. “Just being honest.”

Her tail curled slightly behind her, and she stretched her arms overhead with a quiet yawn. The motion pulled her shirt up just enough to reveal a lean stretch of her waist, but Lucen quickly looked away—only for Nyari to catch his glance and smirk.

“Caught you,” she said.

“I wasn’t—”

“You were.”

He groaned. “You’re insufferable.”

“I know. You’ll get used to it.”

A gust of wind rolled through the clearing, lifting strands of her hair. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Nyari leaned back, one arm behind her for support, her eyes half-lidded.

“You’re getting better though. Your wind control—it’s not raw anymore. You’re starting to feel it, not force it.”

Lucen tilted his head slightly.

“That means a lot coming from you.”

She looked over at him, ears twitching once more, but said nothing. Her expression softened, almost fond—then turned sharply smug again.

“Don’t get cocky. I’m still way faster than you.”

He chuckled. “For now.”