The sky above was dull and overcast, painted in pale tones of ash and light smoke—almost like it mimicked his name.
Ashen walked the stone-laid streets with quiet footsteps, the wind brushing against the loose fabric of his worn robes.
His blindfold was gone, torn during the skirmish with the beasts near the eastern wall.
His eyes—faintly a mix of Gold and Black shimmer3d with a subtle, unnatural glow—drew glances wherever he passed.
Some stopped what they were doing entirely to watch him, as if witnessing a spirit walk among them.
He ignored them.
Whispers floated through the air, soft as fog.
"...Isn't that him?" "The one from the wall?" "I saw him.
Flames around him, and he didn't scream."
A child tugged at her mother's sleeve. "Mama, his eyes look like glass."
The mother hushed her and pulled her close.
Ashen neither flinched nor frowned. He walked through it all like a ghost drifting across a stage.
Not because he wanted to be seen as one—but because he no longer knew how to be anything else.
He turned off the main road, his boots crunching softly against gravel and patches of flattened grass.
He remembered something.
A cloth bag filled with herbs—he had left it near the bushes when the beasts attacked.
His hands had been full with blood and blade, and the scent of crushed wildroots had faded from his thoughts until now.
He reached the spot a few minutes later.
It was still there, mostly intact, though a few stems had been chewed by insects or flattened by panicked foot traffic.
He picked it up, slung it over his shoulder, and started back toward the town's center.
But with every step, a simple truth whispered louder in his mind.
He was broke.
He stopped at a nearby wall plastered with paper.
Most were torn or sun-bleached.
Notices for jobs, missing items, missing pets, and the occasional "Wanted" bounty with sketched faces that looked less like people and more like rushed caricatures.
He scanned the posters:
"Escort needed to southern tradepost. Must be able to lift crates."
"Sparring partner wanted. Daily pay.
No whining."
"Night guard at Milestone Inn. Two shifts open. Bring your own lantern."
Ashen took mental notes.
Nothing screamed danger, but nothing screamed promise either.
He walked again.
People still stared. Even without the blindfold, he moved like someone who didn't belong—too quiet, too focused, too still.
His gaze seemed to pierce, not out of malice, but as if it saw something the rest had forgotten
It made the air around him feel thinner.
And yet, solitude never bothered him. Not anymore.
It had long ago become a second skin.
He paused at a nearby fountain, letting the sound of trickling water fill the silence in his head.
The bag of herbs weighed softly against his back.
Then, a memory surfaced like a whisper from the fog.
"That guy... Ryven," he murmured. "He left behind something."
"What was it...?"
He reached into his inner sleeve and pulled out a small folded scrap of parchment.
The ink was modern—no calligraphy, no flare. Just digits, straight and sharp.
A phone number.
Phones… He'd heard of them.
Glowing rectangles people spoke into, stared at, or tapped repeatedly like they were spellbooks.
He sighed and looked around.
A few shops lined the street—tailors, potion vendors, noodle stalls, and tucked between two lamp posts, a glass-walled store buzzing faintly with fluorescent light
A glowing sign overhead:
"GigaTech - Communication & Crystal Storage Devices"
He entered.
The blast of cold air hit first, followed by the sterile scent of plastic and ozone.
Inside, dozens of devices were displayed behind clear cases.
Screens shimmered with icons, backgrounds moved subtly like living paintings.
A tall man with a bright red vest stood behind the counter, chewing something loudly.
"Welcome!" the man chirped, eyes scanning Ashen's robes and expression.
"Looking for a phone, mage-sir?"
"I need a phone," Ashen replied plainly.
"Sure, sure! What model, brand, or OS version?"
Ashen blinked. "...What?"
The man chuckled awkwardly, clearly used to this sort of customer.
"Like Android or iOS? Samsung or Pixel?"
"Do you want a flagship phone, or something more budget?"
Ashen tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly.
"Give me the strongest. The best of the best."
"Alrighty! That'd be the Ravon V24 Ultra CorePlus.
Crystal-clear screen, triple-core magic booster, voice command, reinforced glass, and it comes with a free... uh, dragon wallpaper.
That'll be 100 silver coins. Or one gold."
Ashen stared blankly.
He had three copper coins and a leaf.
He turned around and left.
The shopkeeper blinked as the door shut. "They never want the dragon wallpaper…"
Back on the street, the wind teased the loose strands of Ashen's hair.
He thought for a moment.
"Do phones… work through others?"
His eyes scanned the crowd until he found a short man carrying a bag of groceries and a slightly confused look.
Ashen approached him with calm steps.
"May I borrow your phone?" he asked.
The man looked up nervously. "Uhh… sure?"
He pulled out a sleek device and handed it over, watching carefully as Ashen examined it like it might explode.
Ashen tapped the screen. Nothing.
The man pointed. "That green one. Then the numbers."
Ashen nodded, inputting the digits with the grace of someone disarming a trap.
It rang.
Then clicked.
"Yo," came a familiar voice. "You actually called."
"I need money," Ashen said plainly.
A pause.
"You don't waste time, huh? Figures. Alright. I can recommend you for some jobs.
Local merc boards. Guard shifts. Sparring work."
Ashen didn't respond, but Ryven knew that silence.
He continued.
"Also, there's a tournament. Open bracket. Fighters from all over."
"Decent cash if you climb up. Finalists get offers from major guilds, sometimes royalty."
Ashen glanced up at the sky.
The clouds were still a pale gray, the light diffused, the town still wary of him.
But something stirred. Not excitement. Not pride.
Direction.
"Yes," he said quietly.
Ryven laughed on the other end.
"Knew you'd say that. Alright. Come by my shop tomorrow. I'll get your name on the list."
Click.
Ashen handed the phone back to the stranger, who looked both impressed and a little intimidated.
"…Thanks," Ashen added after a beat.
He continued walking, boots brushing the gravel again.
The scent of herbs clung to him, as did the quiet—his familiar companion.
He was no longer just drifting.
He had a next step.
A fight.
And in this new world where fire and steel weren't enough…
Maybe, just maybe, he'd find something more than survival.
More than Wandering....
Maybe he'd find purpose.