The morning sun spilled golden light across Elloria City, warming its winding cobblestone streets and bustling market squares. Arven and Lila walked side by side through the lively crowd, colors and sounds pressing in from all directions. Banners snapped overhead in the gentle breeze, merchants called out their wares, and the mingled scents of fresh bread, spices, and river water drifted through the air.
Arven's shirt was plain and well-worn, the faded fabric softened by travel but sturdy enough not to draw attention. He adjusted the collar absentmindedly, his eyes flicking toward the narrow alleys branching off the main street.
Lila's gaze sparkled with quiet curiosity as she took in the vibrant scene—the bright stalls, laughing children, and merchants busily unpacking crates.
Skele trotted happily alongside them, his skeletal paws clicking softly against the stones. Occasionally, he darted a few steps ahead, sniffing the air with a curious tilt of his skull, before circling back to stay close.
"Keep an eye out," Arven said, lowering his voice so only Lila could hear."Look for a pair of siblings—two kids holding hands. Probably from the slums."
Lila blinked, a slight frown tugging at her lips. "That's... really vague," she murmured, soft but teasing. "What if I start following every pair holding hands? I'd be busy all day."
Arven smiled gently. "The slums are where whispers spread fastest. If they move, someone's watching. We need eyes and ears everywhere—even in places no one bothers to look."
Lila nodded slowly, biting her lower lip. "Okay... I'll try my best. But if I get lost chasing shadows, don't blame me."
She glanced up at him with a faint, playful glint in her eyes. "Meet you at the guild hall tonight?"
"Good." He returned her smile. "I need to stop by Kellan's Smithy first."
They parted ways. Arven slipped through the throng toward the forge district, leaving Lila to begin her watch.
* * *
Kellan's Smithy sat nestled between two narrow streets, its wide doors thrown open to the warm morning air. The steady clang of hammer on anvil rang through the forge district—a heartbeat of steel that blended with the city's bustle outside.
Inside, the air was thick with smoke and the sharp tang of molten metal. Rows of weapons and armor lined the walls, their surfaces dulled by use but maintained with quiet pride. Master Kellan wiped sweat from his brow, fixing Arven with a sharp, appraising look.
Not far from Arven's side, Skele had settled onto the warm stone floor. His empty sockets glowed faintly in the forge's light as he sniffed the air, catching hints of smoke and heated metal. Every so often, his head twitched toward the door, then back to Arven—as if waiting for something unseen to begin.
Kellan's eyes narrowed. Not many can hold a hammer like that, he thought. Most lads swing wild—brute force, no finesse. But this one… there's something different.
Arven lifted a battered sword from a nearby anvil, turning the cold, scarred steel carefully in his hands. City guard issue, Kellan guessed. Chipped, dull… wouldn't last another patrol. Needs proper work.
"I'll do what I can," Arven said softly.
He set the blade to heat and began hammering with a rhythm neither rushed nor hesitant—every strike deliberate, timed to the breath and the steel's subtle song beneath his hands.
"He's not just beating it into shape", Kellan realized. "He's listening… coaxing it."
Then his gaze caught the faint glow of a rune—a flickering sigil of Kenaz shimmering on the blade's surface.
The forge's shadows wavered as the rune's light bled outward, gilding Arven's face in warm gold. The glow deepened into a steady flame tracing the sword's edge—woven thread by thread, stroke by stroke.
Kellan's lips tugged into a rare smile. This isn't just skill—it's artistry. Patience. Persistence.
Around them, faint golden symbols flickered in the air—glowing runes dancing like sparks born of magic itself. The light pulsed and thickened, slowly igniting into a warm, flickering flame that wrapped the forge in an amber glow. It wasn't mere illumination; the fire carried the rune's ancient strength, tempering the blade with elemental heat and arcane energy.
Arven's eyes gleamed softly, the rune's light mirrored in his steady focus as hammer met steel in perfect rhythm, each strike weaving magic and metal into something stronger.
When the last hammer strike rang out, steam hissed sharply as Arven quenched the blade. A quiet warmth settled in his chest—a steady, unyielding resolve hardening within him. The forge's glow seemed to pulse in time with his heartbeat.
[You have gained stat — Persistence.]
Near the forge, Skele watched intently, his hollow eye sockets flickering faintly with reflected firelight. The skeleton dog tilted his head slightly, silent but alert, as if sensing the weight of the moment.
Kellan stepped forward, inspecting the sword closely. The edge gleamed clean and true; the old scars smoothed away.
"Sharp. Honest work," Kellan said with approval. "The city could use a man like this—someone with both the craft and the grit to back it up."
He gave a single nod. "I'll put your name forward to the Elloria mayor."
* * *
Kellan saw Arven off with a firm nod."Tell him I sent you," the blacksmith said, wiping his hands on a rag. "And take Harl with you—he knows the way."
The helper fell into step beside Arven as they crossed the cobbled streets toward the city offices.
On the way, Arven's mind wandered to the mayor.
In the game, the man's dialogue had been little more than background chatter—livelihood updates, guild notices. The first big questline he appeared in was during the bandit invasion, handing out titles and stat boosts like candy after the battle. Nothing deep.
The second time was far more dramatic: the Bandit King, Red Axe Morgan, returned for revenge and took the mayor hostage. That choice still stuck in Arven's memory—save him for a useless Medal of Honor, or sacrifice him for a massive EXP boost.
Arven decided to wait and see if things here would play out the same.
They reached the city office. Inside, the air felt colder, purposeful—the place where Elloria's welfare was decided.
"Arven is brought here," Harl announced.
The man behind the desk didn't notice him at first. He finished signing a page, then set the pen aside. His composure was absolute.
"Young master of Elmwald," he said carefully. "What brings you to Elloria today?"
"I came here to share my sightings, Mayor Gareth," Arven replied. "On the road here, we caught sight of bandits. They were handling firearms in the woods."
"We are aware," the mayor said without surprise. "But I am more concerned about you, young master."
That earned a faint crease in Arven's brow. The mayor seemed utterly unmoved by news of armed bandits—yet his attention shifted to Arven himself?
A knock sounded on the door.
"Come in," Mayor Gareth called.
A man entered, draped in layered green cloth trimmed with gold thread. The fabric was travel-worn, but the cut spoke of wealth. A merchant's satchel hung from one shoulder, bulging with rolled parchments and sealed packets.
The man greeted the mayor warmly, but when his gaze slid to Arven, it lingered—steady, unreadable. As he moved closer, the fabric of his collar shifted, revealing a glimpse of ink curling up his neck. A flame—black at the base, tapering into crimson licks—half-hidden beneath the cloth.
Arven kept his face still, but filed it away. He didn't know what the mark meant yet, but it wasn't decorative.
"Mayor Gareth," the merchant said at last, "might I request a private word?"
The mayor glanced at Arven. "If you don't mind waiting a moment."
"Of course," Arven said easily, even as his thoughts brushed against Veylith. Mark him. I want his trail kept warm.
"As you wish," came the quiet reply in his head.
They passed a few more pleasantries—light talk about supply routes and trade—before Arven took his leave.
Outside, Lila was waiting, twisting a strand of hair. Her cheeks warmed when she saw him.
"Keep watch for anything odd," he murmured, then told her what happened inside—the mayor's lack of reaction, and the merchant in green with the flame tattoo who clearly had more to hide than he let on.
* * *
Later that afternoon, Arven found a quiet moment to ask about the siblings.
"I found them," Lila said quietly, glancing toward a group of children playing near a street corner. "They seem careful... like they don't want to be noticed." She hesitated, then looked at Arven. "Should we watch them?"
Arven reached into his pack and pulled out a small handguard—lightweight but sturdy. He handed it to her with a small smile. "For you. From Kellan's. Thought it might help."
Lila's eyes widened slightly as she took the handguard, slipping it onto her wrist. She flexed her fingers uncertainly, then gave him a soft, grateful smile. "Thank you. I'll be more ready now."
She paused, then added with a shy laugh, "Now if only I could make sure you don't get into trouble."
Arven nodded, the weight of the day settling around them. Together, they turned back toward the merchants, knowing the city's secrets would reveal themselves only to those who watched close enough.
As they walked, Arven glanced at Lila and lowered his voice. "Tonight, we're going to play the role of the 'boogeyman.'"
Lila blinked, tilting her head with a curious look. "Boogeyman?"
Arven smirked slightly. "Exactly. It's a nighttime story which appears under the bed of naughty children."
"Will we need to hide under the bed?"
"There's a merchant we suspect of bad dealings. So we're going to lightly punish him." Arven chuckled.
Lila's cheeks tinted pink, a mix of excitement and nerves flickering in her eyes. "I... I hope I don't scare too much."
"You'll be fine," Arven said with a reassuring nod. "Besides, I'll be right there with you."
The sun dipped lower, shadows stretching longer across Elloria's streets. The quiet before the storm had settled in, and the night promised to be one full of secrets.