Chapter 3 – The Mission at Midnight

1
The storm hadn’t ended so much as run out of enthusiasm.
Rain turned from vengeful spirit to half-hearted drizzle. The air smelled like wet dirt and regret.

Ryn tugged her cloak tighter and pointed downhill. “The quest’s this way.”

“Quest?” I blinked. Apparently my new—accidental partner collected those like other people collected spoons.

“The one I was doing before you wandered into my storm.” She kicked a rock, tail flicking behind her. “Technically it’s a sub-quest of another sub-quest that cancelled itself. Still pays two gold and a muffin.”

“A muffin?”

“It was two before the ghost stole one. Long story.”

I sighed and followed. Somewhere beneath my ribs, that strange warmth—the faint awareness of her heartbeat beside mine—stirred again. No glowing runes, no hum; just the Shine, quiet as a string you can feel more than hear whenever I thought of her.

The valley road cut between dripping fields and scattered stones. Mist hung low, curling like lazy smoke around our boots. Somewhere ahead, an owl regretted its life choices.

“So,” I said, “what exactly are we walking into?”

Ryn flicked her tail like punctuation. “A haunted shrine. Probably minor. Maybe talkative.”

“Talkative.”

“Last one offered relationship advice,” she said. “I exorcised it politely.”

“I can’t tell if that makes me more or less worried.”

She grinned sideways. “Less. Probably.”

Lightning muttered far away. The world glowed blue for half a heartbeat. I stole a glance at her—long hair drying in streaks, horns gone, tail swaying lazily. Every now and then her wings gave a half-twitch under the cloak, like they didn’t want to stay hidden.

She noticed me looking. “Eyes forward, bakery boy.”

“Just checking for ghosts.”

“Sure you were.”

2
We reached the shrine by moonlight: a crooked gate, half-collapsed roof, air thick with damp incense. The old stone steps shone slick with moss. A lantern hung from a broken beam, still burning a stubborn blue.

Ryn unrolled her quest slip. “Dispel lingering spirit. Do not anger. Return proof of calm. Easy.”

“Easy,” I echoed, which the universe immediately took as a dare.

The lantern flickered. Then flared. Then howled.

“WHO DARES INTERRUPT MY ETERNAL BROODING?”

Ryn froze mid-chant. “Oh, good. A dramatic one.”

I stepped forward carefully. “Evening! We come in peace and mild curiosity.”

The spirit’s face twisted in the smoke. “Did you bring offerings?”

Ryn rummaged through her bag. “Uh. I’ve got herbs. And emergency jam.”

The ghost leaned closer. “Jam…?”

I handed over half a honey bun from the bakery. “Holy sugar content. Might cleanse your mood.”

The ghost sniffed it. “Hmm. Acceptable.” Then, louder: “DEPART, MORTALS. I SHALL ENJOY THIS MUFFIN IN SILENCE.”

The lantern went out. The shrine went quiet.

We both stood there dripping for a full five seconds.

Ryn blinked. “Did we just bribe a ghost with baked goods?”

“Efficient diplomacy,” I said. “Mum would approve.”

We checked the shrine anyway, because professionalism—or stupidity. Ryn waved a charm stick at random walls. I held the lantern, which immediately reignited in purple.

“Uh, Ryn—”

She turned just as it popped like fireworks. The gust flipped her hood, a single horn flickered into being and vanished again, and her tail smacked me in the face.

“Sorry!” she squeaked.

“It’s fine!” I said, blinking sparks. “Delighted by your surprise pyrotechnics!”

The lantern fizzled back to normal blue, as if it had judged us and moved on.

Ryn dusted herself off. “See? No problem. Purified.”

“I’m not convinced purification should include slapstick.”

“Don’t question results.”

3
We sat on the shrine steps afterward, boots steaming near a small fire. The rain had thinned to mist, whispering through the trees.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Ryn said. “No explosions, no curses, no unpaid invoices.”

“Yet.”

She kicked my boot. “You’re pessimistic.”

“I’m realistic. The pattern says you’re due another disaster by dawn.”

Her smile crooked. “Then stay awake and stop it.”

“I’m only one man.”

“Technically one… teammate.”

“Temporary field position.”

“Keep saying that.”

She laughed—small but real, the kind that hides between sentences. That faint link between us fluttered once, calm and steady. Contentment, maybe hers, maybe mine. Hard to tell the difference.

Silence settled—the good kind. I told her about the bakery: the smell of bread that never leaves the walls, Dad’s creative pricing, Mum feeding strangers, and Hana scribbling insults in icing.

Ryn rested her chin on her knees. “You sound like you miss it.”

“Every loaf.”

Her eyes softened. “Maybe I’ll visit one day.”

“Great. We offer discounts to cursed customers.”

Her tail flicked in amusement. “That’s a dangerous business model.”

“Pays better than exorcising muffins.”

She snorted, covering her mouth too late. “You’re impossible.”

Later, we made camp near the shrine, fire crackling low. She stretched out beside me, cloak pulled to her shoulders.

“You sleep,” she said. “I’ll keep watch.”

“You sure?”

“I’m half-succubus. Night owl by species.”

“Right. If anything attacks, wake me before running.”

“Such confidence in your partner-in-chaos.”

“I meant to say ‘partner in temporary crisis.’”

“Keep saying that, bakery boy.”

I smiled and closed my eyes. The rain finally stopped. The world exhaled. That quiet thread under my ribs pulsed once—steady, warm, protective.

4
Ryn watched me for a while, chin in hand. “You really trust people too fast,” she whispered.

The feeling in her chest answered softly, a mirrored warmth from mine. Curiosity tugged at her; she touched her heart.

The world flipped.

She stood in colourless space, air humming like glass about to sing.
Mountains burned. Chains rattled. Wings beat through a red sky.
Three figures appeared ahead: an elf reaching through fire, a dragonkin bound by light, and a shadow watching from a black throne.

Then I turned in the dream, eyes wide. “Ryn? Why are you in my head?”

“Professional curiosity,” Ryn shouted over the howling dream-wind, gripping my hand as fire and chains twisted around us. “Also maybe a magical accident!”

The vision shattered in silver shards.

We jolted awake.

Rain had stopped. Soft gold light filtered through the leaves.

That invisible tug between us hummed — not pulling, not hurting. Just there. Quiet. Real.

Ryn exhaled slowly, hand over her chest. “So it wasn’t just my dream this time. You really pulled me into yours.”

“Looks that way,” I said. “And we saw the same three visions.”

She nodded — mountains, chains, flames — her expression no longer teasing, but thoughtful. “I’ve crossed the northern ranges before. Those peaks… I recognise them.”

“Then that’s our trail,” I said. “Dream logic or not — someone needs help.”

She stared at me, unreadable for a moment. “You choose that path fast.”

“Choosing to help is never the dangerous part,” I said. “It’s hesitating that gets people hurt.”

She groaned. “I swear, you were handcrafted by fate to give me a conscience.”

“Someone has to balance the chaos.”

She rolled her eyes and stood, brushing dew from her cloak. “Fine. I’ll follow your ridiculous optimism. But if destiny throws a sub-quest at us, I’m blaming you.”

“Deal.”

We started walking, side by side.

After a minute, she spoke again — softer this time. “For the record… I did recognise you. From the rain dream. I just didn’t know if you’d really show up. People don’t normally walk out of my dreams and into my cave.”

I blinked. “So you were waiting?”

She scoffed — too fast, too defensive. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I just don’t like being wrong about people.”

“That’s not denying it.”

“Be quiet,” she muttered, ears pink.

I chuckled. “There were others in that dream too — a chained girl, an elven city on fire. Whoever they are, they need help.”

Ryn smirked, mask snapping back into place. “So, we’re collecting damsels now? Should I alphabetise the rescues?”

“Please don’t.”

She bumped my shoulder lightly. “Relax. I’m not running. Not from this. And not from you.”

The road curved ahead, wet grass glittering in the sun — like the world was laughing with us, or at us. Possibly both.

Ryn walked beside me in thoughtful silence for a moment, then clicked her tongue. “All right. Since we’re sharing dream secrets, I should probably confess something too.”

“That sounds ominous,” I said. “Should I sit down first?”

“No. Standing is fine. Easier to run if you yell.” She folded her arms, then glanced away. “When I got flustered earlier in the cave… my magic spilled a little. Succubus side. Instinct stuff.”

“Spilled?” I repeated. “Like—on the floor? Should I be worried?”

She groaned. “Not that kind of spill. A Shine. It makes you… noticeable. To people who already liked something about you. It just nudges the spark they already had.”

I stopped walking. “So I’m a walking attraction hazard now?”

Ryn winced. “Tiny hazard. Harmless. Think of it as encouragement.”

“For chaos,” I deadpanned.

“Exactly,” she said, proud of herself. “And you’ll obviously need me to manage it.”

I stared at her, half exhausted, half amused. “My last dream led me straight into a storm, and now the storm’s walking beside me.”

Her expression softened — just a little. “Then maybe the storm’s on your side.”

I sighed, defeated by a smile. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“You’re impossible,” she muttered, tail flicking in reluctant fondness.

“Practically my defining trait.”

We walked on as the road curved ahead, rain-sparkled grass glowing behind us — like the world had just applauded two idiots for surviving another night.