Ash's eyes swept over me in one slow pass—my sling, the bandages, the bruising that had already turned dull and ugly.
He clicked his tongue like an older brother who'd found his little brother trying to cook and set the kitchen on fire.
"…What did you do this time, Trey?" he sighed, stepping closer. "Come here. Don't make me drag you inside."
Something in my chest loosened so suddenly it almost hurt.
Because I hadn't realized how badly I needed to see someone who felt real.
"I didn't—" I started, then winced as my side pulled with the motion.
Ash's expression hardened for a blink. Not anger. The kind of concern that looks sharp because it doesn't know how to be soft.
He gently—carefully—tapped the edge of my sling with two fingers. "Left arm."
I nodded.
"What happened?"
I swallowed. My mind tried to open like a door.
I can tell him. Ash would help. Ash would—
Heat flickered over my heart, subtle but immediate, like a warning ember pressed under my ribs.
I froze.
Ash noticed. Of course he did.
His gaze sharpened slightly. "Trey."
I forced my face neutral and kept my answer small, safe, harmless.
"An accident," I said. "It got… caught. I'm fine."
Ash's eyes didn't buy it.
He leaned in a fraction, voice lowering like he didn't want the street to hear. "That's not an answer."
"I said I'm fine," I insisted, too fast.
Ash stared at me for a long beat.
Then, unexpectedly, he shrugged like he'd decided this wasn't a battle he could win right now.
"…Alright," he said, but the word was loaded. Not alright. Not forgotten.
He nodded toward my doorway. "You can stand?"
"Yes," I said quickly.
Ash stepped back and jerked his chin toward the street. "Good. Because we're going somewhere."
I blinked. "Now?"
"Now," he repeated.
I hesitated, then asked the obvious. "Do you… want to come inside?"
Ash huffed out a short laugh. "Inside that dust-trap? No. I want to get you out of here."
I didn't know what to say to that.
He continued as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "Can you walk?"
"Yes," I said again, and this time there was a small spark of excitement behind it. "Where?"
Ash looked at me with something that almost resembled amusement. "Over the wall."
My breath caught.
"Outside the city?" I blurted.
Ash nodded once. "Outside the city."
I had never gone outside the wall before. Not once. The wall had always been… the edge of my world. A line in stories. A thing adults talked about with serious voices. A place where monsters existed in the same sentence as weather.
"You're serious?" I asked.
"I don't joke about leaving the city," Ash said. Then, after a beat, he added, "Much."
My excitement spiked anyway.
Ash's expression softened a fraction as he watched me. "You okay with that? It's a walk."
"I'm okay," I said immediately. "I want to see it."
Ash nodded. "Then lock up."
I turned back to my door, closed it, and slid the key into the stubborn lock. The metal scraped. The latch caught. It took more force than it should've.
When it finally clicked, I exhaled and looked at the little house like it might disappear if I blinked.
Ash was already moving.
"Come on," he said, like he was pulling me out of a bad dream by the wrist.
I fell into step beside him.
And as we started walking, my eyes flicked back once more toward my home—toward the quiet room, the dust, the ghosts—
Toward Myrina.
I wondered, suddenly, what it had been like for her. If she had walked roads like this every time she went out on a quest, seeing the city with a calmness I never had.
The thought made my awe feel strangely bittersweet.
Then Ash's voice cut through it.
"Eyes forward, Trey," he said lightly. "You'll trip."
I snapped my gaze back and hurried to match his pace.
The main road of Azuris was wider than anything near my house.
Grey stone stretched forward in a clean, broad river that carts and carriages flowed through like water. Most of them looked like they'd come from the docks—heavy crates, damp wood, ropes coiled like snakes. Merchants shouted, guards barked orders, and somewhere a bell rang as if the city kept time with noise.
On the sides, a sidewalk of white stone ran like a neat border. There were benches placed along it, polished enough to reflect light. Tall poles rose every few steps, and on top of each pole a crystal sat like a frozen star—glinting faintly even in daylight.
I stared too long.
Ash noticed.
His mouth twitched. "You've never been on the main road."
I tried to pretend I was normal. "I have."
Ash glanced at me. "You have not."
"I—" I started, then gave up. "Okay. I haven't."
Ash chuckled quietly, the sound warm. "It's just a road."
"It's not just a road," I muttered. "It's… everything."
Ash gave me a sideways look. "You're adorable."
"I'm not adorable."
"You're ten," Ash said, like that explained everything.
My cheeks warmed. "I'm not a baby."
"I didn't say baby," Ash replied. "I said adorable."
I glared at him.
He looked pleased, like he'd succeeded in distracting me from whatever was chewing my mind earlier.
We walked with the flow of people for a while, and the city's heart beat around us. Every time I had to weave past a cart wheel or sidestep a merchant's overhanging load, my side tugged painfully.
Ash didn't slow down, but he adjusted his pace in tiny ways—shorter steps, slightly more pauses, pretending it was nothing.
It was exactly the kind of care that made me feel both safe and annoyed.
"So," Ash said after a while, "the guild master told me you're not training with me anymore."
My steps faltered.
Ash didn't look at me as he spoke, like he didn't want to corner me.
"He told you that?" I asked.
Ash hummed. "I asked him why."
My throat tightened.
"And?" I said carefully.
Ash's tone stayed casual, but his eyes narrowed faintly. "He didn't answer."
That sentence felt heavier than it should've.
"He just told me," Ash continued, "to come meet you instead."
I swallowed.
So Theopard had… sent Ash.
Not to pry.
To make sure I didn't collapse alone in that dusty house.
My chest squeezed.
Ash bumped my shoulder lightly with his own. "Don't make that face."
"What face?"
"The one where you look like you're about to apologize for existing."
I shut my mouth.
Ash's voice softened. "Whatever happened… I'm here now."
My heart warmed—dangerously close to that warning heat—but this time it didn't sting. Not because the oath allowed comfort, but because Ash's words didn't ask me to doubt anyone.
They just asked me to stay alive.
I nodded once. "Okay."
Ash let the topic drop like a man who knew when to stop pushing.
Then he changed direction—literally and conversationally.
"What do you think adventurers do on this road all day?" he asked, stepping around a slow cart.
"Fight monsters?" I guessed.
Ash snorted. "Most of the time? Walk. Sweat. Carry. Replace things that keep people alive."
"Replace what?"
Ash glanced at me like he'd been waiting for the question. "Anti-miasma devices."
My ears perked.
I remembered the expedition team from before. The big devices. Heavy frames. Containers that looked like they could swallow a person.
"Those huge ones?" I asked. "How do you carry those?"
Ash laughed. "We don't carry the whole device, Trey. We replace the container."
"The container?" I echoed.
He nodded. "It's smaller than the frame. Still heavy. Still annoying."
"How heavy?"
Ash tilted his head. "Heavy enough that you don't want to carry it alone. Heavy enough that if you drop it, you'll regret it."
"Why?"
Ash's expression shifted slightly—more serious.
"Because the miasma inside is dense," he said. "Thick. Concentrated."
He held up a hand as if weighing an invisible object. "It smells like metal and rot. The air feels wrong around it. Like it's pressing on your skin."
I swallowed.
"And monsters can sense it," Ash continued. "They're drawn to it. Like sharks to blood."
"So you go with a party," I said, piecing it together.
Ash nodded. "Always. One carries. One watches. One keeps the route clear. And one makes sure nobody gets stupid."
I glanced at him. "You mean you."
"I mean everyone," Ash said, but his mouth twitched again.
"And those devices need replacing… often?"
"Every so often," Ash confirmed. "To keep the city's edges safe. To keep the outer roads usable. To keep the miasma from creeping where people live."
That made my skin prickle.
Azuris wasn't just protected by walls.
It was protected by work.
Ugly, tiring, thankless work.
"And what kind of quest is that?" I asked. "Does it pay well?"
Ash's laugh came out dry. "No."
"No?"
"Fifty copper max," Ash said, shrugging. "Split with a party. Ten copper each, if you're lucky."
Ten copper.
My brain did the math immediately.
Ten copper could feed me for a day.
Maybe more if I was careful.
Maybe enough to survive without begging.
My stomach tightened at the thought.
Ash continued casually, as if he hadn't just dropped the value of survival into my hands.
"And if you're going into miasma areas," he added, "you need a filter mask."
"A mask?" I asked.
He nodded. "With a small anti-miasma device inside. Tiny compared to the city ones, but it keeps the air breathable. Filters have limited use. You change them or you die."
The last word made my spine go stiff.
"What happens," I asked slowly, "if someone… run out of filters?"
Ash's steps didn't slow, but his voice did.
"They inhale raw miasma," he said. "Their body stops listening to them. They lose control. They break down."
He glanced at me, eyes sharp. "And eventually… they turn."
My mouth went dry. "Turn into what?"
Ash's tone was flat now. Not dramatic. Just real.
"Undead," he said. "Ghouls."
A shiver ran down my spine so hard my shoulders jerked.
I pictured Myrina on floor forty-three.
Thick miasma.
No supplies.
I clamped the thought down like it was a blade near my throat.
Too terrifying.
Too easy to spiral into.
Ash saw my expression and softened his voice again. "Hey."
I forced myself to breathe.
In. Out.
Ash patted my back once, not too hard. "Don't borrow nightmares you can't pay for."
I stared at him. "That was… weird."
Ash shrugged. "It works."
It did.
It made my fear step back just enough for me to keep walking.
The city wall appeared slowly, like a mountain rising out of the streets.
I had always heard it was tall.
That word didn't do it justice.
It was a massive stretch of stone, pale and bright, with an azure-blue accent running along parts of it like the sky had been pressed into the wall's face. When I looked up, my neck protested and my vision climbed and climbed and still didn't find the top easily.
A gate sat in the center—wide enough for multiple carts to pass side by side. Thick wood reinforced with metal bands. Guards stationed like teeth.
And in the side of the wide gate, there was a smaller entrance—an organized checkpoint where people lined up to be verified.
The whole area bustled with movement.
Merchants arguing.
Carts creaking.
Adventurers adjusting gear.
Guards calling out instructions.
I stood for half a second too long, stunned.
Ash tapped my back. "Come on."
"This is bigger than I imagined," I blurted.
Ash chuckled. "I know, right?"
We moved toward one of the smaller checkpoint lines. A handful of adventurers stood ahead of us, waiting patiently while guards processed badges and stamped papers.
As we got closer, I noticed the device on the counter.
A box.
Not exactly like the telenvelope booth—smaller, portable—but clearly the same kind of magic-tech design. Smooth casing, a faint glow in the seams, a slot where something could be placed.
A verification box.
My stomach tightened slightly at the memory of another box swallowing my badge and changing the world around me.
Ash noticed my gaze. "Similar to the courier booths," he said casually. "It logs who goes in and out. City likes records."
"Of course it does," I muttered.
Ash glanced at me. "You've got opinions today."
"I'm learning," I said.
Ash hummed like he approved.