"Sometimes lies protect us. Sometimes they build cages."
---
Dawn in the Ash Ring was always slow to arrive.
Gray light filtered down like guilt through cracked rooftops and shifting fog. The smell of damp stone, rust, and burnt spell-oil clung to everything. Elric sat just outside the flap of Rin's hidden tent, sharpening a bent fork into a crude dagger. He didn't trust the quiet. Quiet, in Velden, was always followed by fire.
Inside the tent, Rin was humming softly as she repacked her gear—her sword sheathed, armor plates neatly folded, gloved fingers moving with trained elegance.
> Too precise for a mercenary.
Too calm for a traveler.
Too... careful.
They'd both survived the night. But the silence between them wasn't peace.
It was suspicion.
And secrets.
---
"So," Rin said finally, crouching across from him. "You never did tell me what you were doing in that alley."
Elric gave her a tired smile.
"I told you. Running."
"From what?"
"Guards. Enforcers. Bad deals."
"Why?"
Elric shrugged.
"I'm a thief. Pickpocket, mostly. Steal from mages, sell trinkets. Usual Crestless work."
A lie. Clean. Simple. Believable.
He said it with the same face he used when lying to slum guards or bread merchants. Eyes just tired enough. Voice just firm enough.
Rin raised a brow.
"That so?"
"Yeah."
Another silence.
"And you?" he said. "Why's a wandering sellsword camping in the slums with rune-forged sabers and highborn boots?"
She smiled faintly. "Luck. Bad contracts. Long road."
Another lie.
Her mask, her blade, her posture—none of it matched the tale. She was too well-fed, too well-read, and too trained. Elric had seen dozens of real mercenaries. They didn't hum lullabies while boiling soup. They didn't sleep with one hand curled like they were still holding a scepter.
But he played along.
"Where'd you train?"
"North. Private tutor."
"Name?"
She smirked. "Dead now."
"How tragic."
He expected a snarky comeback, but instead, Rin grew serious.
"Names are dangerous in Velden," she said. "You give the wrong one to the wrong mage, they can summon your blood through spellbinding."
"Cute bedtime story."
"It's real. That's why most nobles use veils when they travel."
He froze.
She didn't notice—or pretended not to.
---
Later that afternoon, Elric stepped out of the tent and wandered to the upper edge of the slum ruins, where an old canal wall gave a full view of the city skyline.
From here, the city of Velden looked almost holy.
Spire after spire of gleaming mana-stone, banners rippling from mage academies and noble towers. Spell-lights danced in the sky. Flying coaches zipped past floating checkpoints. And near the heart of it all—Solvault Keep, the bastion of the Arcane Order, surrounded by shimmering wards and aerial knights on patrol.
He touched his chest through the tunic, feeling the faint heat of the Demon Crest pulsing beneath.
Somewhere up there, nobles passed judgment on people like him.
Somewhere up there… someone might know what the Codex truly was.
But here, in the dirt and fog, he was just Elric—the liar, the survivor, the Crestless nobody pretending not to burn.
---
He returned to the tent near dusk.
Rin wasn't there.
Her satchel was gone.
For a moment, panic flared. Had she run? Had she betrayed him? Had she—
Then he spotted the illusion.
A faint shimmer around the corner.
He walked toward it, hand cautious near his belt dagger.
And that's when he saw it.
A small hanging charm.
It shimmered once—then dispelled.
A ward of secrecy.
Inside the hidden alcove, behind a loose wall panel, sat Rin. She was crouched by a makeshift shrine, whispering.
Elric didn't mean to eavesdrop. But her voice...
It had changed.
Higher.
Softer.
Refined.
"…Father, I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't have left the manor, but they're hunting crestless like dogs now. You always said a blade must know its edge before it's worthy. I think... I think I'm starting to understand."
A pause.
"I can't come back yet. Not until I know who I am without the House."
Elric stepped on a loose stone.
She spun instantly—blade half-drawn.
He raised both hands.
"I didn't mean to spy."
She glared, then sighed.
"You heard everything?"
"Just enough."
A long silence.
Then she took a deep breath—and removed the illusion around her left hand.
There, on her ring finger, gleamed a sigil of House Aurelith: two wings crossing over a scepter of stars. One of the Ten Great Houses of Velden.
She was nobility.
High nobility.
"You're Rin Aurelith," Elric said slowly. "The missing daughter."
"That's not my name," she whispered.
"It is."
"Not anymore."
---
They sat by the fire.
Neither speaking for a while.
Then Elric said quietly:
"So you lied."
"So did you."
He smiled faintly. "Yeah."
Rin looked at him seriously. "What's your real secret?"
He said nothing.
But she stared at him for a long time. Like she already knew. Like she saw past the soot and cuts and slouch and straight into the void behind his crest.
"You're not just Crestless," she said.
"No," he admitted.
Silence again.
"But I'm not evil."
She looked at the fire. "Neither am I. And yet, here we are."
---
That night, both lay beneath the tarp roof once more.
Not enemies.
Not friends.
Two liars in a dying city.
Each hiding something so dangerous it could collapse an empire.
Elric stared at the stars peeking through the holes in the ceiling and whispered:
> "What happens when the truth comes out?"
Rin's voice, low and calm, replied:
> "Then we'll stop lying."
---