Kevarith was quiet in the mornings.
The town woke slow, with shutters opening one by one, and smoke creeping from clay chimneys.
Kael liked that part of the day best. No merchants calling, no carts in the streets—just the sound of wind running over rooftops.
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It made it easier to think.
Because Kael had been thinking a lot since the Branch adventurers limped home three days ago.
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It wasn't just that they'd been hurt.
It was that even though they were hurt, they came back.
They finished the job.
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And now Kael wanted to know what it would take to be like that.
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While Mira chopped vegetables that morning, Kael carried a water jug outside. They set it down and, instead of just coming back in, started running—small loops around the alley between their house and the fence.
At first, they only made it twice around before their legs started to ache. By the time Mira called them back inside, they were out of breath and red-faced.
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"You were gone a while," Mira said.
"Water's heavy," Kael said, trying not to pant.
She narrowed her eyes, but didn't press.
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The next day, they carried a little more water, made a few more loops.
It became a routine. Carry. Run. Carry. Run.
No one noticed.
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In the afternoons, they still went to the river with Alren.
"You've been fidgety," Alren said one day, tossing a flat stone across the water. "Even for you."
"I'm trying to get stronger," Kael said honestly.
"Why?"
"So I can do things when I'm older," Kael said, and skipped a stone. It bounced three times.
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Alren snorted. "Like join the Guild?"
Kael glanced at him. "Would that be bad?"
"No," Alren said after a moment. "Just… big."
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The sky was pale blue, with long white clouds dragging across it.
Kael asked, "Do you think I could do it?"
"You? Probably," Alren said. "You're weird enough."
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They both laughed, but the question stayed with Kael long after they left the river.
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The next morning, Mira sent Kael to the market for lentils.
On the way back, Kael passed the Annex.
A man stood at the board, his green Guild cloak flapping around his knees. He had a tag around his neck—Trunk—and two others with him, both Branch adventurers.
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The scribe came out, holding a rolled sheet.
"Another posting?" one of the Branches asked.
"Yes. Something is taking sheep in the eastern pastures. Farmers are losing their flocks."
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"Level?" the Trunk asked.
"Trunk," the scribe said. "If you take it, your Branches can help you. It might be wolves. Or something worse."
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The Trunk nodded. "We'll take it."
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Kael lingered by the corner, pretending to adjust the basket strap, but listening.
It was different seeing a Trunk in person—calm, steady, and unbothered by the words something worse.
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When they walked away, Kael couldn't help but imagine following them out of the gate, just to see where they were going.
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"Kael!" Mira's voice pulled them back to reality when they got home.
"Sorry," Kael said quickly.
"You stopped by the Annex again, didn't you?"
"…Yes."
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She sighed and pushed the hair out of her face.
"You can watch," she said softly, "but remember: those paths don't forgive mistakes. You think it looks like freedom, but there are graves along those roads."
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Kael looked down at the basket. "I just want to know how it all works."
"I know," Mira said, softer now. "Curiosity isn't bad. But don't run faster than you can walk."
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That night, Kael didn't sleep right away.
They sat at the small table in their room, staring at their hands.
"Sprout," they whispered to themself. "Then Branch. Then Trunk. One step at a time."
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The next morning, Kael's quiet practice started to change.
Instead of only running, they started climbing the fences behind their house, just to see if they could. First slowly, then faster. Balancing on the narrow beams until their legs trembled.
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By the end of the week, their hands were blistered, their shins bruised, and their breath came easier when they ran.
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Alren noticed.
"You're going to break your neck," he said as Kael hopped off a fence, brushing dust from their pants.
"I'm not," Kael said. "I'm practicing."
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"For what?"
"For later."
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Alren shook his head. "You know, most people just sit and wait to grow up."
"Most people don't want to leave," Kael said.
"And you do?"
"Yes."
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They walked to the river, and Kael asked, "Do you think there are ruins out there?"
"Probably," Alren said.
"And monsters?"
"Definitely."
"And cities?"
"Bigger than here."
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Kael closed their eyes and listened to the river.
Someday, they thought.
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That afternoon, as they headed home, they passed the gate again.
The Trunk adventurer and his two Branch partners were coming back. Their boots were muddy. Their cloaks torn.
The Trunk's arm was bandaged, a deep cut showing through the cloth.
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Kael froze.
This was the same person who'd walked out of the gate like the job was nothing.
Now, they looked tired.
But there was something else in their face—satisfaction.
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The scribe met them in the doorway, and the Branch with the bow pulled a small, blood-stained pouch from her bag.
"Wolf pelts," she said. "And one skull."
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Kael's chest tightened as they handed over their proof and stepped inside.
It was dangerous, even for a Trunk.
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That night, Kael lay awake, staring at the dark ceiling.
They whispered their glow spell, watching the faint light bloom in their hands and fade away again.
I need to be strong enough to make it back, they thought. Not just strong enough to leave.
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By the end of the week, Kael was adding new things to their morning runs: carrying heavier water, balancing longer, trying to land softer when they jumped.
No one saw. No one needed to.
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Because one day, when they finally walked through that gate, they didn't want to be the one limping home.