The sun in Drillsoran City rose slow and warm, spilling gold across the rooftops and slipping into every crack of the Drills Inn. Morning light touched every room differently, but it always seemed to settle on Orin first—almost as if the dawn recognized him.
At seventeen, he had grown into his height and then some. Bronze skin kissed by sunlight, sharp silver-blue eyes, and curls that still refused to obey even Sarah's sternest attempts at grooming. His shoulders had broadened; his stance had settled into something calm but alert. He looked more like a young fighter than a boy sweeping floors.
But the broom in his hands said otherwise.
"Orin," Sarah called from the doorway, "you missed a spot."
He swept the missed spot before she finished the sentence.
"And another," she said, pointing vaguely.
He swept that one too.
Sarah squinted. "How do you always know exactly where I'm pointing?"
Orin shrugged. "You move your shoulder before your hand."
Sarah blinked once, then simply shook her head. "Well… stop doing that. It makes me feel predictable."
Orin smiled faintly.
Footsteps approached behind him—two sets, light but purposeful. Lisa and Vice had returned from morning drills, both of them covered in a sheen of sweat. Lisa's metal-shard whip twitched at her hip until she pressed her palm lightly to still its magnetic pull. Vice moved more quietly, the serpent-blood in him settling into an easy rhythm now that training was done.
Lisa leaned against the doorframe. "You're up early."
"I'm always up early," Orin said.
Vice smirked. "He was probably waiting for us to get back so he could ask…"
Orin didn't let him finish.
"I want to join you today."
There it was.
Lisa's expression softened, but she didn't answer right away. She walked over to a table, sat down, and pulled a canteen from her belt. She took a drink, watching Orin over the rim.
Vice crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. "He's been practicing how to say that all morning."
"I have not," Orin muttered.
Sarah passed behind him, carrying a tray of bread. "He's been practicing for months."
Orin shot her a betrayed look.
She smiled sweetly and kept walking.
Lisa set her canteen down. "Orin… you know we're heading out for a hunt. Not a patrol. Not a supply run. A hunt."
"I know."
"It's dangerous."
"It's always dangerous," Orin countered. "You've said that my whole life. I still want to go."
Vice tilted his head. "Want or need?"
Orin hesitated.
"I don't know," he admitted. "But I can feel something pulling at me every time you leave. Something telling me I should be there with you. Not watching from the window."
His hands tightened around the broom handle.
"Every time you come home covered in bruises and blood, I feel like…" He searched for the right words. "Like I should've been there to help."
Lisa and Vice exchanged a long look. Not a fearful one—just thoughtful, complicated, and a little pained.
"Orin," Lisa said gently, "you're strong. Stronger than most kids your age. Stronger than some adults. And you're sharper than all of us put together."
Vice nodded with a small grin. "Which is rude, honestly."
"But strength isn't the only thing," Lisa continued. "Experience matters. Instinct matters. Teamwork matters."
"I have instincts," Orin said quietly. "And I've watched your teamwork since I could walk."
"It's not the same," she said.
"Then let me learn the same."
Vice opened his mouth to add something—then froze as heavy footsteps echoed from the hall.
Sonny emerged, tying his hair back. He looked more awake now, the faint warmth of his fire blessing still drifting between his fingers as he tested his reflexes. His scars were older, but he wore them the way leaders wore loyalty.
He stopped the moment he saw them all standing together.
"What'd I miss?" Sonny asked, though the answer was written all over Orin's face.
Orin drew a breath. "I want to come with you today."
Sonny rubbed his chin. "I had a feeling you'd say that."
Lisa raised her brows. "You knew?"
"Been waiting for it," Sonny replied.
Orin blinked. "You have?"
"Of course," Sonny said. "You're not exactly subtle."
Vice snorted. "Finally, someone said it."
Sonny walked forward until he stood right in front of Orin. He looked him up and down—not skeptical, not fearful, just evaluating like a mentor sizing up a student.
"Alright," Sonny said.
Orin froze. "Alright?"
"You can come."
Lisa blinked. "Sonny—"
"He's seventeen," Sonny said calmly. "He's been training for years. And I've watched him study us, mirror us, learn from us even when we didn't know he was paying attention."
Vice nodded grudgingly. "He is annoyingly good at that."
Sonny put a hand on Orin's shoulder. "We can't keep him caged forever. He's one of us."
Orin felt something inside him crack open—like a door he'd been knocking on for years had finally swung wide.
"But," Sonny added, raising one finger, "this is a test run. A simple mission. You stay close. You follow orders. You do not run ahead or try to impress anyone."
Orin nodded quickly. "Understood."
"And if things get dangerous," Sonny said, "you get behind me."
Orin frowned. "Behind you? But I can—"
Sonny's tone softened. "Orin. Let me protect you the way I always have. Strength is one thing. Knowing when to use it is another."
Orin looked away, wrestling pride and gratitude.
"Okay," he said quietly.
Sonny squeezed his shoulder. "Good."
Lisa clapped once. "Then it's settled."
Vice grinned. "Welcome to the team, kid."
Orin exhaled a breath he'd been holding for years.
Sarah poked her head out from behind the counter. "Just don't break anything important out there."
"Define important," Vice said.
"Anything I'll have to pay for," she answered.
Vice winced. "Right. That's everything."
Orin laughed—softly, but genuinely.
He had waited his whole life to hear what Sonny had said today.
He had waited his whole life to feel like he was stepping where he belonged.
He didn't know the mission would change everything.
He didn't know what lay beyond the city walls.
He only knew one thing:
He was ready to walk beside the people who raised him.