We didn't rush back.
Not because we had time—Ash kept glancing at the sky like he could measure sunset with his eyes—but because my body simply refused to move like it used to. Every step tugged at my stitched side, and my left arm—wrapped and slung—felt like it belonged to someone else.
Ash walked beside me anyway. Not in front. Not behind.
Beside.
Todd and Milo were a few paces ahead, the two of them weaving along the path like they were too excited to walk straight.
Milo kept turning his head back to make sure we were still following. His cheeks were flushed from the flower field, from the secret tunnel, from the whole day feeling like it had been stolen from a storybook.
Todd kept correcting him like it was his job.
"You're stepping on the stems."
"They'll forgive me!"
"Flowers don't forgive."
"They're flowers."
"They're important flowers."
Milo huffed. "You're acting like a hero of gardening."
Todd snapped, "Better than being a hero of whining."
They were still bickering when the path narrowed and the forest wrapped around us again, the light turning warmer, softer—like the sun was lowering itself into the world slowly.
I should've been happy.
I was happy.
And yet my chest felt too tight, because there was one thing Ash hadn't said.
He'd said he had a message.
He'd said Myrina left something.
And then he'd led us to the tunnel, to the field, to the herbs… like he was trying to make my heart steady first before he handed me whatever could shake it again.
I watched him from the corner of my eye.
Ash looked… normal. As normal as Ash ever looked. Hair a little messy, clothes dusty from the day, arms heavily bandaged, a pack on his back with straps that had seen too many walks like this. He was only fifteen, but sometimes he carried himself like someone older. Not in the noble way. In the "I've seen enough" way.
And he kept matching my pace without saying it.
My throat felt dry.
"Ash," I said.
He didn't look at me right away. "Mm?"
"You said…" My tongue stuck. I forced it to move. "You said Myrina left you a message."
His steps slowed.
Not enough that Todd and Milo noticed. Just enough that my words wouldn't have to chase him.
"Yeah," he said.
I waited. My heart thumped like it was trying to climb out of my ribs.
Ash exhaled and finally glanced down at me. "Don't make that face."
"What face?"
"The one that says you're going to explode if I don't talk fast."
"I'm not going to explode," I lied.
Ash snorted. "You're ten. You explode over bread."
"That was one time!"
"It was two."
I opened my mouth to argue, then realized he was doing it on purpose. Making it light. Keeping me from twisting myself into knots.
Ash slowed more and veered off the path to a flat stone near a tree, like he'd picked it on the way here. He set his pack down and sat on the edge of the stone.
Todd noticed the stop and called back, annoyed. "Why are we stopping? We're gonna miss dinner."
Ash waved him off without looking. "Go ten steps ahead and pretend you're scouting like a hero."
Todd puffed up instantly. "Finally."
Milo brightened. "Scouting mission!"
They rushed forward, whispering loudly about formation and danger and how heroes totally don't get lost.
Ash waited until they were just far enough that they weren't listening properly.
Then he unfastened a small pouch from his belt.
My breath caught.
He pulled out two things.
A folded note—small, plain.
And a sheet of paper.
The paper looked… completely normal.
Blank. Slightly off-white. Like something you'd wrap snacks in if you were poor and careful.
Ash placed both in his palm and held them out to me.
"This is it," he said.
I stared.
"That's the message?"
"Read the note first."
My fingers fumbled a little because my left arm was useless, and my right hand was still not as steady as I wanted. I unfolded the note carefully.
The handwriting wasn't Ash's.
I knew that immediately.
Myrina's writing always looked like she was in a hurry, even when she wasn't. A little slanted. A little sharp. Like her words were trying to outrun paper.
The note was short.
So short it made my stomach twist.
Teach Trey everything.And give this to him.
That was all.
No "I'm sorry."
No "I'll come back."
No "I'm okay."
Just… instructions.
Just Myrina being Myrina.
My eyes stung before I could stop them.
I blinked hard and looked down at the blank paper, forcing myself to focus on something that wasn't the ache in my chest.
"This…?" I asked. "It's empty."
Ash nodded. "It's supposed to be."
I frowned harder. "So she left you… an empty paper."
"It's not just paper," Ash said, and his voice shifted—not heavy, but serious. Like he was stepping into "teach mode."
I looked back at him. "Then what is it?"
Ash tapped the blank sheet gently with his finger. "It's a magic device."
I blinked. "A magic device? This looks like—like—"
"Like nothing," Ash finished. "That's why it's valuable."
I swallowed. "How does it work?"
Ash leaned back slightly, eyes half-lidded like he was trying to explain something complicated to a kid without making my brain melt.
"This paper bonds to whoever feeds it mana," he said. "Once it bonds, it starts storing terrain."
"…Terrain?"
"Places you walk," Ash clarified. "Paths. Turns. Slopes. Rivers. Open fields. Corridors. The shape of the world around you."
I stared at the blank paper again.
"So… it's a map?"
Ash nodded. "A map that makes itself. But only after you activate it."
My brows pulled together. "Activate it how?"
"With mana," Ash said, like that was obvious.
I stared at him.
He stared back.
I opened my mouth, then closed it. Then opened it again.
"I can't use mana," I said quietly.
Ash's expression didn't change. "Not properly."
"I can't use it at all," I insisted, panic creeping in. "I don't even know how."
Ash shrugged. "You will."
My chest tightened. "So it's useless right now."
Ash shook his head. "No. It's empty right now. That's different."
I didn't like how calm he was about it. Like he was talking about tying shoes.
I lifted the note again, staring at Myrina's words.
Teach Trey everything.
Give this to him.
My fingers curled around the blank sheet a little tighter.
"If it stores places," I asked, "does it… store places from before? Like… your old routes?"
"No," Ash said immediately. "It doesn't record anything until it's bonded and activated. That's why it was blank."
I stared. "So it won't show… where Myrina went."
"No," Ash repeated, gentler.
My throat tightened again. That little spark of hope I didn't even realize I had… snuffed out.
But Ash didn't let the silence linger.
He reached into his pouch again and pulled out another sheet.
It looked the same.
Blank.
He held it up between two fingers. "Mine."
I blinked. "Yours is blank too."
"It's blank until I tell it not to be."
He placed his fingers on the paper and closed his eyes for a second.
I felt it—not like heat, not like wind, but like something quiet shifting in the air.
Then ink bloomed across the page.
Not in random stains.
In lines.
Clean, precise black-and-white shapes forming like a drawing being born in fast motion.
A winding curve—our path.
A thick stretch—riverbank.
Clusters of small shapes—the flower field.
Dark patches—forest edges.
It wasn't artistic. It was accurate.
It wasn't pretty. It was useful.
My mouth opened without permission.
"Whoa…"
Milo's voice drifted from ahead. "Whoa what?"
Todd's voice snapped back. "Shut up, Milo, we're scouting!"
Milo whispered loudly. "I'm scouting your attitude."
Todd whispered louder. "I'll scout your face."
Ash ignored them and held the paper closer to my eyes.
"See?" he said. "It's been recording where we walked today."
I stared so hard my eyes almost hurt. "It drew that… just because you…?"
"Just because I fed it mana," Ash confirmed.
I glanced between his map and the blank paper in my lap.
"That's…" My voice came out small. "That's like the telenvelope paper."
Ash nodded. "Same family of magical device. But this is more advanced."
"How?"
Ash tapped his map lightly. "Telenvelope paper is meant to only carry and transmit words. This is meant to store."
I swallowed. "So it remembers the world."
"Exactly," Ash said. "As long as you've been there."
I stared at the lines again, then at him. "Wait. If it stores everywhere you've been… can you… choose what to look at?"
Ash's mouth twitched like he'd been waiting for me to ask.
"Yeah," he said. "That's the best part."
He lifted the paper and held it steady. "Think about the flower field."
I blinked. "What?"
"Just think about it," Ash repeated. "The exit. The river. The flowers."
I did, confused, picturing the open sky and the pale blossoms and the river's shine.
The ink shifted.
Not slowly.
Like the page understood the thought and obeyed.
The map redrew itself—zooming, sliding, tightening until the flower field sat in the center with the river curve perfectly placed.
My jaw dropped so hard my side stung because I inhaled too fast.
"Oh—!"
Ash caught the paper before my hands could jerk and wrinkle it. "Careful."
"That's—!" I sputtered. "It moved!"
Ash nodded like this was normal. "You can pull up any location you've visited. Just by thinking about it. It redraws itself."
Milo's voice floated again, closer now. "That's definitely hero magic."
Todd's voice: "It's not hero magic. It's smart magic."
Milo: "Smart heroes exist!"
Todd: "Not you."
Ash lowered the paper and looked at me again, more direct now.
"Trey," he said, "this kind of map is how people survive in the dungeon."
My throat went tight. "The dungeon…"
Ash nodded. "The Great Abyss isn't like a forest path. It's not even like a tunnel like today. It's layers. Twists. Old structures built over older structures. If you go in without navigation, you don't just 'get lost.' You get erased."
My fingers curled around the blank sheet again, suddenly afraid to even bend it.
"This paper," Ash continued, "is the difference between finding your way back and wandering until you don't have water."
I swallowed. "Everyone has one of these?"
Ash laughed once—short and humorless. "No."
He shook his head, looking almost annoyed at the world. "It's rare. Expensive. Most teams can't afford it."
"Then how do they—?"
"Cheap substitutes," Ash answered. "Hand-drawn maps. Partial copies. Shared papers in a team. Some people borrow one and copy what they can."
My mind flashed to Expedition 43. To the stories. To the losses. To Garrand—barely alive, body ruined, still managing to return.
"And Expedition Forty-Three?" I asked quietly. "Did… did they have this?"
Ash's gaze sharpened. "Most of them? No."
My chest tightened.
"But the commander might have," Ash added. "Or someone close to him. That's probably one reason they could crawl back out of that mess at all."
I remembered the way people talked about Garrand Vox Myrmidon—how he came back like a ghost wearing a living body, fatally wounded but still breathing.
"…So that's how," I whispered.
Ash didn't confirm it like it was a fact. He just said, "It would make sense."
I stared at the blank sheet in my lap like it weighed more than any weapon.
Then something hit me.
"If it bonds to mana," I asked, "and I can't use mana… how am I supposed to—?"
Ash leaned forward and flicked my forehead lightly. Not hard. Just enough to snap me out of spiraling.
"Ow!"
"You can use mana," Ash said. "You just don't know how yet."
I glared at him. "That's the same thing."
Ash's mouth twitched. "No, it's not."
He paused, then added, quieter, "And I'm going to teach you. Like she told me to."
Ash's gaze flicked to the blank sheet in my hands.
"Put it down," he said.
"Huh?"
"On the stone. Flat."
I did it carefully, smoothing the paper on the cold surface like it might tear just from my nerves. Ash crouched beside it.
"Now," he said, "put your hand on top."
My right hand hovered for a second. Then I pressed my palm down.
Ash's voice lowered, not dramatic—just focused. "Keep your eyes open. Don't try to force anything. Just… pay attention."
"To what?" I whispered.
"Your hand," he replied. "The paper. The feeling between them. Focus there."
I swallowed. My heart thumped once, hard. I tried to do what he said—staring at my own fingers, at the edge of the sheet, at the spot beneath my palm like I could see something invisible if I stared long enough.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then—faintly—light bloomed under my hand.
A thin, pale blue glow seeped out from beneath my palm, soft and quiet like moonlight trapped under paper. It didn't flash. It didn't burst. It just… appeared, and then pulsed once, as if the sheet had taken a breath.
My stomach flipped.
The glow dimmed slowly until it vanished, leaving the paper looking ordinary again.
Ash straightened and nodded once, satisfied. "Congratulations. It's activated. Bonded to you."
I lifted my hand like I expected it to be burned.
Nothing.
I blinked at the paper. "That's it?"
Ash's mouth twitched. "That's it."
"That was… that easy?"
He gave me a look like I'd just answered my own question. "See? You can use mana."
I stared at my hand, then at him. "But I didn't— I didn't feel anything."
"You did," Ash said calmly. "You just don't know what you're feeling yet."
My throat tightened hard.
I didn't look at him for a second because if I did, I might actually cry.
So I looked down at the note again and forced my voice to work.
"Thank you," I said.
Ash scratched his cheek like the words bothered him. "Thank your sister. I'm just the delivery guy."
I stared at his map again, the ink still alive and crisp.
"And Altes made this too?" I asked.
Ash nodded. "Yep."
Milo and Todd had drifted back closer now, "scouting" apparently done.
Milo peeked at the map, eyes huge. "Can it show where the Dark Lord sleeps?"
Ash stared at him. "It shows dirt, Milo."
Milo blinked. "So… yes?"
Todd leaned in and squinted. "Can I have one?"
Ash's answer was instant. "No."
Todd's face tightened. "Why not?"
"Because you'd try to map your ego and run out of paper."
Milo laughed.
Todd clicked his tongue like he was offended, but his ears turned slightly red.
I held Myrina's paper carefully, almost afraid to breathe on it.
Ash reached out and tapped the edge of my sheet. "Keep it safe. Bring it everywhere."
"Everywhere?" I echoed.
"Everywhere you can," Ash said. "This isn't a trophy. It's a tool."
He stood and shouldered his pack again. "Come on. We still have to get home before the gate gets annoying."
Todd sighed dramatically. "The gate is always annoying."
Milo nodded. "The gate is the final boss."
Ash snorted. "You're both ten years away from being funny."
Todd snapped, "I'm fifteen!"
Ash replied without missing a beat, "Exactly."
***
The city gate was busy even this late, lantern light and crystal poles glowing along the road. Carts rolled in slow lines. Merchants argued softly. Guards stood with that bored-stern look they always had—like they'd seen every kind of trouble and already hated the next one.
We joined the line at the smaller counter, the one for people on foot.
I stayed close to Ash, keeping my usual clothes plain, my hood low. I didn't want attention. I didn't want questions.
The only thing that probably stood out was my bandages and the sling.
A guard's eyes flicked to my arm and then away, like he'd seen worse today.
When it was our turn, Ash handed over our guild emblems.
The guard slid them into a familiar box set into the counter—metal, with a faint rune glow, like the verification devices I'd seen in other places.
The box hummed softly, then clicked.
The guard nodded. "Purpose?"
Ash replied casually, "Gathering quest. Returning."
The guard's gaze flicked to me again. "Kid looks rough."
Ash didn't even blink. "Kid got unlucky."
I stiffened, ready for more.
The guard just grunted. "Try not to get more unlucky outside the wall."
Milo immediately saluted like a soldier. "Yes sir!"
Todd rolled his eyes so hard I thought they'd fall out.
I mumbled, "Thank you."
The guard waved us through.
Inside the wall, the city felt… louder. Warmer. Familiar.
And my body finally realized it was exhausted.