The morning broke over Western III with the same rhythm as always—bells tolling faintly from the central tower, the muffled sound of boots and chatter filtering through the stone dormitories, and the faint haze of hearth-smoke that clung to the guild outpost like a shawl.
On the left wing of the dormitories, Mina stirred before dawn. By 5:30, she was already awake, her coral-red hair tied in a rough tail as she moved through her stretches. Push-ups. Squats. Shadow sparring. The kind of regimen she kept not because anyone demanded it, but because she had nothing else to sharpen but herself.
Only when the clock ticked past 6:00 did she finally step out of her room, her body warmed, her breath steady.
The mess hall was alive now. Clattering pans, steaming pots, the sharp scent of fried onions and salted broth filled the air. Behind the counter stood Joeson Swaynet—Joe to everyone—whose arms were as thick as the ladles he wielded. He was halfway through a stack of sizzling bread when he spotted Mina darting toward the serving line.
"Early again, Orlean," Joe rumbled, his grin hidden under a thick black mustache. "You'll burn the kitchen fire brighter than me one of these days."
Mina gave him her usual lopsided grin and slid two trays forward. "You know the drill, Joe. Double rations. One for me, one for the sleepyhead."
Joe winked knowingly. With deft hands, he loaded the trays with portions—smoked fish, egg mash, buttered bread. Then, before she could turn, he plucked an apple from a crate and polished it against his apron.
"On the house," he said, slipping it onto her tray. "Split it with him. Sweet one this morning."
Mina raised an eyebrow. "You trying to fatten us up for the next dungeon, or just playing matchmaker?"
Joe's only response was a hearty laugh that shook the ladles on the wall.
With a shrug, Mina carried the trays to her usual corner—the first-row table tucked beside the double doors, where the morning light always spilled in. From here, she could watch the entire hall come to life. Guilders filed in groups, loud with banter, trading gossip about dungeon postings, or griping about Dejoyye's new round of quotas.
Mina set the trays down, tapping the apple with her knuckles. For a moment, she stared at it, her golden eyes softening.
Share it with Ashe, huh? she thought, brushing back her damp bangs. If only things were that simple…
But she shook it off, resting her chin on her palm.
He'd be down soon. He always was—like clockwork, five minutes later, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and carrying whatever book or paper he'd been up with the night before.
And as the chatter of the mess hall swelled, Mina allowed herself a small smile.
Another day of Dungeon Cleaning. Another day with Ashe.
Routine. Steady. Safe.
And yet, deep inside, she knew it was only the calm before everything else.
The mess hall had swelled with the sound of cutlery and chatter by the time Ashe appeared, drifting toward their usual corner like a ghost half-shaken from a dream. His hair stuck up at impossible angles, his eyes half-lidded as if he'd wrestled the night itself instead of a pillow. He slumped into the chair opposite Mina without so much as a glance at the mirror-polished trays.
Mina tilted her head, smirking. "Hey. You oughta wash your face first, Illusory boy."
Ashe blinked once. Twice. "…What?"
"You've got a bedhead, silly boy. And you look terrible."
She leaned across the table and ruffled his already chaotic white hair, flattening it down only for it to spring back up the moment she lifted her hand. It flicked into its old shape like the strands remembered rebellion better than order. Mina stifled a laugh behind her fist, her shoulders trembling.
Ashe gave her a deadpan stare. "It's not my fault it does this."
"Sure it isn't." She grinned, satisfied. "Your hair's got more personality than you do in the morning."
He exhaled slowly, ignoring her jab as his eyes fell on the tray between them. Or rather, the apple sitting on it—bitten neatly halfway through. "Is the other half for me?"
"Of course," Mina said with a proud nod, as though presenting him a royal feast.
He picked it up with a sigh. "You didn't even have the decency to cut it in half? Always like this…"
"It tastes better this way," Mina teased, chin in hand. "Besides, Joe gave it to me. I'm being generous."
Ashe took a bite anyway, letting the crisp sweetness wake him. The act of chewing seemed to stir him to life at last. He grabbed the wash bowl at the corner of the table and splashed water over his face, rubbing his eyes until they cleared. When he finally sat up straighter and turned to his tray, he found the day's meal waiting: smoked fish, egg mash, and buttered bread.
With meticulous patience, he plucked the bones from the fish fillet and layered everything neatly into a sandwich. He took one bite, then paused mid-chew, frowning. His gaze darted to Mina's tray.
Her fish was flawless. Boneless. Clean.
"You've got to be kidding me," Ashe muttered.
Mina blinked innocently, lifting her fork to pluck at her fillet. "What?"
"Yours doesn't have any bones."
She leaned back, a sly grin tugging her lips. "Maybe Joeson favors me more."
"Or maybe you stole the good cut."
Mina pointed at her own nose with mock pride. "Guilty. First come, first served. That's what happens when you sleep in, Illusory boy. If you'd woken up as early as me, you could've claimed your tray with mine."
He groaned, pressing his sandwich down like it might compact the injustice away. "So this is my punishment for liking sleep."
"Nope." Mina winked. "This is the natural order."
Her laughter spilled into the noise of the hall, light and warm, while Ashe shook his head, chewing his bony fish sandwich with the kind of quiet dignity only a perpetually outmatched sixteen-year-old could muster.
Tuesdays in Western III were never days of adventure—at least not the kind that involved swords swinging and monsters roaring. For Dungeon Cleaners like Mina and Ashe, Tuesdays meant routine: briefings, paperwork, and the tedious-but-essential task of checking and preparing equipment. It was the Outpost's way of resetting the pieces before sending them back into the board from Wednesday onward.
Every Party had its rhythm. For Party 5, Tuesday mornings meant gathering behind the storage warehouse where a lone tree stood, overlooking the calm waters of the pond outside the outpost's fences. It was their unofficial meeting spot, away from the noise of the barracks, the clang of smiths, and the bustle of supply runners.
Ashe and Mina made their way there right after finishing breakfast, trays handed back to Joeson with quick thanks. Mina walked briskly, almost bouncing with energy after her apple-and-fish meal, while Ashe trailed a step behind, still rubbing the water from his hair and trying to tame the stubborn strands.
When they arrived at the tree, Mina placed her hands on her hips. "First ones here again," she said, a note of triumph in her voice.
"Or so you think."
The voice came from above, cool and detached, like a whisper that didn't care if you heard it or not. Ashe and Mina looked up—and blinked.
There, half-hidden in the canopy, was a couch. A full, weather-worn couch wedged firmly across the thicker branches like some bizarre fruit of the tree. And sprawled across it under a thick blanket was Nira, looking as if she'd been born there.
Mina gawked. "Crap. I forgot about that."
Ashe squinted. "Oh yeah, the one Harlen threw."
The story was infamous around Western III. Months ago, when the dormitories got their furniture replaced, Harlen—being Harlen—decided to see just how far he could mana-hurl one of the discarded couches. His throw was so reinforced with raw mana that instead of crashing into the pond as intended, the couch sailed, twisted, and somehow got itself wedged perfectly in the branches of the old tree. No one had ever bothered to remove it.
And now, apparently, it had a resident.
"Yes," Nira answered, voice muffled under her blanket. She tugged it closer around her shoulders, eyes barely peeking out. "It's insulated from the wind. The grass gets damp in the mornings. Up here's better."
Mina puffed her cheeks. "Ugh Nira that thing's probably so damp, smelly, & dirty from this year's summer rain."
"Not quite," Nira said flatly. "I've been doing some upgrades on it. Better view, better cover." Her eyes flicked toward the pond, then back down. "Besides, you two talk too loud when you walk. I heard you from across the yard."
Mina turned to Ashe, affronted. "I don't talk that loud."
"You do," Ashe said, deadpan.
She smacked his arm. "Traitor."
From her perch, Nira gave a faint, almost invisible smile before burying herself deeper in the blanket. "You'll both wake the others eventually. Might as well enjoy the quiet before the rest of them show."
The pond rippled faintly in the distance, and for a moment, silence reclaimed the spot—save for the occasional caw of crows beyond the fences. Mina flopped onto the stone ridge, stretching her legs out, while Ashe leaned against the wall of the storage warehouse.
Another Tuesday had begun, the prelude to another week of cleaning dungeons. And for Party 5, it started, as always, under the tree—beneath Nira's "couch in the sky."
The quiet didn't last long. Footsteps pattered across the dirt path, lighter than most, quick but not hurried. A moment later, Lotha Mireyer rounded the corner of the storage house—petite, blonde, and practically glowing with her usual morning radiance. The former Priest, now a freshly promoted Paladin, always carried herself with a kind of sunshine Mina secretly envied.
"Morning!" Lotha chimed, raising a hand as she spotted Mina and Ashe beneath the tree. "Looks like I'm not the first one here this time."
"You'd think," Ashe murmured, thumb jerking upward.
Lotha blinked, followed his gesture, and her smile faltered. "...Is that—Nira?"
Nira was still wrapped up on her precarious tree-couch, blanket snug around her shoulders. Only her dark hair and pale eyes peeked through. She gave no wave, no greeting.
Lotha's expression snapped into a frown. "Nira Hollows! Get down from there this instant! That couch has been sitting through months of rain. Damp, dirty, smelly—do you ever think about hygiene?"
Mina's ears perked up immediately. She raised her hand like a schoolgirl with the right answer. "Oh! That's exactly what I said earlier~"
"Déjà vu, huh?" Ashe muttered, arms crossed.
From above came a sharp tch, irritation made sound. Nira sat up slowly, blanket slipping off her shoulders. For a moment, she looked like she might just burrow back into her nest and ignore them all. But then—sighing through her nose—she swung her legs over the branch and hopped lightly down, landing beside Lotha with practiced grace.
"There," Nira said flatly, brushing her hair back from her face. "Satisfied?"
Lotha folded her arms. "For now."
Ashe, lips twitching, piped up: "Or, and hear me out—you could just drag the couch down here. We'll slap a roof over it. Maybe build a whole shed for our meetings. No more arguments, everyone's happy."
Mina laughed at the image of a shed-treehouse hybrid, while Nira gave him a sidelong glance that could only mean idiot.
But Lotha actually looked intrigued. She tapped her chin with one finger. "You know… that's not a bad idea. A proper shelter would be nice. I'll bring it up to Trevus when he arrives. He'll listen."
Mina leaned toward Ashe, whispering just loud enough for Nira to hear, "See? That's how you influence people. Throw out something ridiculous and let Lotha polish it up for you."
Nira muttered something under her breath—whether it was "ridiculous" or "predictable" no one quite caught—but she didn't leave. She stayed beside Lotha, waiting with the rest of them, her blanket now tucked neatly under her arm.
The pond rippled again with the morning breeze, and the space beneath the tree slowly filled with a sense of expectancy. Their little group was coming together, piece by piece. Soon, the others would arrive. Soon, the briefing would begin.
Soon enough, the last of Party 5 began to filter in, completing the circle beneath the crooked tree and its infamous couch.
Party 5, Unit 5 of Western III— one of twelve armed detachments assigned to the outpost. Not the strongest, not the weakest, but a unit with its own reputation: reliable, adaptable, and unusually tight-knit compared to most.
Trevus Regulus – Leader, Front – Blade Dancer.Tall and broad-shouldered, his presence carried the quiet gravity of command. At only twenty-seven, Trevus already bore the marks of a veteran. A defector from the Barryl Legion, he spoke little of his past, but the scars on his arms and the discipline in his stance told enough. Tan-skinned and black-haired, he didn't draw the same whispers that followed Elynthia's white- and black-haired prodigies like Ashe or Nira. He was simply Trevus—solid, serious, and unshakable. An A-rank adventurer, young by such standards, but already a pillar.
Harlen Sprieggen – Vice Leader, Front – Blade Dancer.If Trevus was stone, Harlen was fire. Born into a family of swordsmen, he had abandoned home in search of glory, laughter, and the kind of stories that got sung in taverns. Brash, loud, and far too aware of his own charm, Harlen was the "handsome trash" of Party 5. Yet his skill was undeniable—equal to Trevus, always at his flank in battle, their blades striking as one. He swaggered into the meeting spot, still grinning at his own joke about couch-throwing from a year ago.
Camylle Aurburst – Front – Martial/Battle Mage.The daughter of bakers, from the pastry empire of Burst-Company, Camylle carried the smell of flour and sugar in her memories but flame in her veins. Quick-witted and brash, she molded fire into fists and blades, plunging them deep into whatever monsters barred her path. She was as fiery in personality as in combat—often clashing with Harlen in word as much as in blade. Their "secret" relationship fooled no one anymore. When she arrived, she smacked Harlen in the arm before he could make another boast, muttering, "You'll embarrass us in front of the pond, idiot."
Lotha Mireyer – Back – Paladin.Already seated with the others, her presence was a balm and a shield. Bright-haired, petite, a defender in both spirit and steel. If Nira was shadow, Lotha was sunlight, and the two orbited each other like contradictions made whole.
Nira Hollows – Back – Rogue.Already down from her perch, she stood quiet and distant, dark-haired eyes half-lidded. Where Lotha scolded, Nira only smirked or muttered. Her silence was a language all its own, and though she irritated her teammates endlessly, none denied her worth.
Ashe Vaxille – Back – Dungeon Cleaner.White-haired, quiet, carrying the reputation of a fading discipline. Illusion magic had been a dying art before him, but his peculiar technique gave it new teeth. Reserved, still half-awake from breakfast, Ashe leaned against the tree with his arms folded, eyes sharp despite his drowsiness.
Mina Ferrer Orlean – Back – Dungeon Cleaner.The Null with endless energy. Coral-haired, golden-eyed, and far stronger than she looked. A girl cast out of nobility, but no one in Party 5 saw her as anything but their loudest heartbeat.
Together, they formed Party 5—a patchwork of pasts, temperaments, and talents. Some bound by friendship, some by rivalry, some by sheer circumstance.
As Trevus finally crossed the space and stood before them, his voice cut through the chatter like a blade through cloth.
"Alright," he said simply, his tone low and steady. "Party 5, ready yourselves. The briefing starts in five. Let's not waste the day."
Harlen rolled his shoulders, flashing a grin at Camylle. "Finally. Thought we'd be stuck talking about furniture all morning."
Camylle rolled her eyes. "If you throw another couch, I'm setting you on fire."
Lotha sighed. Nira smirked faintly. Mina snickered into her hand.
Ashe just muttered, "Déjà vu."
And with that, the morning calm dissolved into the rhythm of another Tuesday. The unit was whole.
The five minutes ticked down, and once silence settled, Trevus planted himself on the weathered wooden stool that served as his unofficial podium. It was plain, scuffed from years of use, but entirely appropriate. He leaned forward, flipping through a stack of notes before looking up at his team.
"Alright," he began, voice carrying the steady weight of command. "It's time we get back to work."
He didn't need to say more—everyone knew what he meant.
Two weeks ago, Dungeon #21E had erupted into chaos. An Overflow event—nearly a thousand undead spilling out into the world. All twelve units of Western III had been dispatched, including Party 5. Mina and Ashe remembered vividly the smoke, the stench of rot, and the endless clash of steel against bone. The guild responsible for maintaining the dungeon's barrier had been dissolved in disgrace. The cost in manpower had been high, but the outpost survived.
Since then, the cleaners and fighters alike had been given a rare reprieve. A full week of recovery.
"You've all been idle since then," Trevus continued. "Tomorrow, that ends."
Harlen groaned, flopping back against the tree trunk with a dramatic sigh. "There goes the best vacation of my life."
Thwack!
Camylle smacked the back of his head with practiced precision. "Idiot. You call one week off a vacation? I'm dying to get back into a dungeon."
Her eyes glimmered with fire, half metaphor, half literal.
Trevus cracked the faintest smile. "Good. Hold on to that excitement, Camylle. You'll need it. Our next assignment is Dungeon #89J."
Camylle straightened, eager. Mina perked up beside her. Ashe blinked once, finally shaking off the last traces of drowsiness.
"A medium-sized dungeon," Trevus went on. "Estimated two days to clear. Classification: Guardian, Rotating, Trap-type."
That pulled a reaction.
Lotha tilted her head. "Square difficulty…"
"Exactly." Trevus nodded. "Not the worst, but not forgiving either. Square ranks are where mistakes get punished hard. We'll be dealing with mechanical traps, mana-fed puzzles, and a guardian that won't go down easy."
Camylle's smile faltered, just slightly. "So, no squishy targets to punch."
"Afraid not," Trevus said dryly. "You'll be dealing with constructs. Golems. Possibly even animated armaments."
Harlen leaned forward, grinning despite himself. "Sounds like fun. Break their steel with my steel."
Nira, lounging back in her usual detached manner, muttered, "Or break your head with their head."
That earned her a chuckle from Mina, who quickly tried to stifle it with her hand.
But Trevus pressed on. "This time, we'll also be relying on support from our cleaners. Mina, your endurance will serve us well in drawn-out engagements. But most of all…" His gaze shifted to Ashe. "…this dungeon's layout plays to your strength."
Ashe raised a brow. "Illusions?"
"Not just illusions," Trevus clarified. "Illusions paired with your mana-perception. I know you've developed a way to pulse your surroundings, haven't you? Like echolocation. If you can feed that into your magic, you should be able to map the dungeon in real time. Even make walls transparent for the team."
Nira's eyes narrowed slightly in interest. Harlen whistled low.
"A dungeon made of traps and hidden pathways…" Lotha mused, folding her hands.
"That ability might save all of us."
Ashe shifted uncomfortably under the sudden weight of expectation.
"I'll… try. No promises."
Mina leaned across the table, grinning.
"You'll do it. I'll drag you through it myself if I have to."
Her confidence was enough to draw a faint smile from him.
"Then it's settled," Trevus concluded, stacking the papers together with a firm tap.
"We rest today. Tomorrow, we move at dawn. Please prepare anything for tomorrow & sign up to borrow equipment from the warehouse as quickly as now. I'll prepare the rest such as camping equipment, one caravan, food & supplies."
The pond rippled quietly behind them, catching the morning light. A week of calm had passed. Now, Party 5 would return to the dark.