Jaless moved carefully through the crowded outer skirts, Gareth's weight pressing against his back, every step echoing against the cracked stone streets.
The faint red-blue glow of the sky washed over the town, casting long, wavering shadows that danced between the wooden walls and smoldering forges.
Warriors passed by, arms full of weapons or drinks, voices clashing in drunken banter, yet none dared to step into Jaless's path—he was known here, even if feared.
Inside one tavern, laughter erupted like cannon fire, mugs slamming, insults volleyed, and occasional cheers for a near-fatal fight outside, the air thick with smoke and the metallic tang of spilled blood.
Jaless kept his head low, eyes scanning every corner, weaving between the bantering warriors.
"Almost there… almost there," he muttered, voice low, fingers tightening around Gareth as if he could shield him from the heat, the eyes, the danger.
Jaless finally set Gareth down on a quiet ledge just off the main path, brushing dust from the boy's cloak.
Jaless's fingers traced the mask in his hands, eyes widening as he took it in.
It was crescent-shaped, blacker than the deepest obsidian, edges flowing like smoke or liquid shadow.
The hollow eye sockets seemed to breathe, faint silver tendrils curling and twisting from within, while ever-shifting arcane glyphs glowed subtly along its edges.
Shadows slithered beneath its surface, faint, distorted faces reflected in the moving blackness, radiating an aura of silent authority and mysterious menace that bent the light around it, ghostly and unreal.
Jaless grumbled under his breath, irritation flashing across his face. "Great… now I have to spend coin on a house just to let him rest."
He glanced at Gareth, the crescent-shaped mask pressed to his face, shadows curling over the hollow eye sockets, and worry tightened his chest. "What have you gotten yourself into…"
Sighing, Jaless strode to the nearest tavern, coins clinking as he paid for a small room, muttering curses under his breath about wasted money and stubborn boys.
A short while later, he returned, lifting Gareth's unconscious body once more onto his back, muscles straining slightly under the weight.
The tavern's patrons—warriors and locals, mugs raised and voices loud—fell silent as they saw him.
Their eyes tracked the boy, the mask, and Jaless's determined gait, murmurs spreading like wildfire: "What… what is that? Is that the boy from the outer forest?"
Another muttered, "The corrupted… they just keep increasing these days. Haven't seen the like of this before."
A few laughed nervously, shaking their heads, while others leaned closer to watch, the air thick with tension, suspicion, and fascination as Jaless passed through, carrying Gareth toward the room that would finally give him a moment's respite.
As Jaless struggled with Gareth's unconscious weight, a waiter stepped forward, bowing slightly. "Sir, allow me to carry him for you. It will be easier."
Jaless hesitated for a moment, then nodded, carefully handing Gareth over. "Fine… just don't drop him."
They walked down a long, wide corridor, the tavern's interior sprawling like a small city, hundreds of rooms lining each side, the floors polished dark wood reflecting flickering torchlight.
The waiter gestured along the path as he moved. "You know, the currency we use here is… unique. Lord Toravon himself created it."
Jaless raised an eyebrow. "Toravon? The one everyone fears?"
"Exactly," the waiter replied, voice matter-of-fact. "He designed this coin to strengthen the West Tribe's economy. It worked, remarkably well."
He held up a hand, showing the coin. "There's only one type.
A black ring, forged from a rare metal by Toravon himself. It circulates once a year, and we call it the Bloodrings."
The faint glint of the coin caught the torchlight as they continued walking.
Jaless let out a long, weary sigh as they arrived at a small apartment on the roof level, the air warm and still around them.
The waiter gave him an apologetic look, eyes flicking toward Jaless's pocket, silently hoping for a tip.
Jaless sighed again, fished a single coin from his pocket, and handed it over without a word.
The waiter tilted his head, curiosity sparking. "Why don't you store it in your Veil, sir?"
"Leave already," Jaless muttered sharply, voice low and tired.
The waiter nodded carefully, then gently handed Gareth's unconscious form back into Jaless's arms, steadying him as if handling a fragile artifact.
"I won't ask questions about that mask in his head," the waiter said quietly, voice tinged with awe, "but… it's strange."
He stepped back, a small smile tugging at his lips as he watched the coin in his hand dissolve into fine dust, drifting upward before vanishing into his Veil.
Jaless set Gareth gently on the small apartment floor, kneeling beside him with a furrowed brow.
"Come on… wake up, damn it," he muttered, shaking Gareth's shoulders lightly.
When there was no response, he slapped him sharply across the cheek, frustration flashing in his eyes.
Still nothing.
Grabbing a nearby jug of water, Jaless poured it over Gareth's mask, the cold shock splashing across him, but his body remained limp, utterly unresponsive.
Jaless leaned back slightly, running a hand over his face, voice quiet and raw. "I'm… tired. Tired of being chased, tired of carrying him everywhere."
He looked down at Gareth's still form, the mask pressed to his face, and muttered under his breath, "Why am I doing this much… for this bastard?"
For a long moment, he just stared, tension easing slightly as his eyes traced the dark curves and silver tendrils of the mask.
Then, against his better judgment, a small, reluctant smile tugged at his lips.
He shook his head slightly, still smiling. "I swear… you're impossible."
Jaless's gaze hardened as he reached out, fingers curling around the edges of the mask.
"Hold still, damn it," he muttered, tugging carefully, trying to lift it from Gareth's face.
The mask clung stubbornly, almost as if it were fused to the boy's skin, shadows writhing along its edges.
He pulled harder, muscles straining, but it didn't budge an inch.
Jaless let out a sharp, frustrated growl, leaning back and gripping Gareth tighter, realizing this was no ordinary mask—it was alive, and it wasn't letting go.
Jaless exhaled sharply and let a thin stream of Veil energy flow into his hands, letting it swirl and hum around his fingers.
He reached forward, letting the Veil wrap around the mask, trying to pull it free from Gareth's face.
The moment he made contact, the mask shivered violently, shadows twisting and writhing like a living thing.
Then, in an instant, it disappeared, dissolving into the air as if it had never existed.
Jaless blinked, and for the first time, he saw Gareth's face beneath it—pale, trembling, and unmistakably human, yet with an aura of something darker beginning to linger.
Gareth's eyes fluttered open with the pale light of morning, blinking against the glow of the small apartment. "Jaless! , Jaless! are you here?" he asked, voice still hoarse.
He noticed Jaless sleeping on a chair nearby and couldn't help but give a small, relieved smile.
Shaking him gently, Gareth nudged Jaless awake. "Wake up, man! Where are we? And… you saved me, man. Thanks and where did the mask go?"
Jaless rubbed his eyes, voice still rough with sleep. "hey take a deep breath and listen the mask It… disappeared. Gone."
Gareth sat up slowly, letting the weight of the morning settle in. "Hmm… I wanted to study the mask a bit more… but… anyways. Where are we ?"
Jaless glanced around, taking in the familiar, rough-hewn buildings of the outer skirts. "We're in Town Magma?"
Gareth nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
Gareth stretched slightly, rubbing his eyes, then looked at Jaless. "Why… why did you decide to come here, to the outer skirts?"
Jaless's gaze was sharp, voice calm but firm. "It's obvious. If we had stayed anywhere else, Toravon's goons would have found us in an instant. This place… it's crowded, chaotic. Easier to blend in."
Gareth nodded slowly, brow furrowed, mind wandering. "I… I don't seem to remember much about the fight. Nothing, really."
He paused, voice dropping almost to a whisper. "I only remember… falling."
Jaless glanced at him, expression unreadable, but his hand tightened slightly over the edge of the table. "Falling right , most people remember when they survive something like that."
Gareth let out a slow breath, the memory—or lack of it—weighing heavily on him, the emptiness of the past hours pressing into his chest.
Gareth's gaze lingered on Jaless, curiosity and something softer flickering in his eyes. "Why… why go so far for me?"
Jaless shrugged slightly, voice quiet, almost distant. "I don't know. I… just did it."
He ran a hand through his hair, sighing, then glanced toward the small window. "And now because of that were poor and … if we don't start earning money soon, we'll be homeless."
Gareth nodded slowly, letting the weight of Jaless's words settle, the faint morning light catching on the edges of the apartment, shadows stretching across the floor.
Jaless leaned back, exhaling, the tension of the night before still lingering in his shoulders, both of them silent for a moment as reality pressed in.
Gareth let out a small, amused smile, eyes flicking toward Jaless. "Alright… explain the money the people here use. I want to understand it."
Jaless leaned back, voice patient but firm.
"It's simple, really. Lord Toravon created the currency to strengthen the West Tribe's economy. There's only one type—the Bloodrings. They're black rings forged from rare metal by Toravon himself, and they circulate just once a year. People rely on them entirely for trade, work, and survival."
He let the words hang for a moment, watching Gareth absorb the explanation.
Gareth's lips curved into a mischievous grin. "Hmm… I think I have a plan."
Jaless raised an eyebrow, a mix of curiosity and wariness. "A plan, huh? This should be interesting…"
Gareth's grin widened, eyes glinting with mischief. "Then… we replicate the rings."
Jaless let out a sharp, incredulous laugh, shaking his head. "Replicate them? That's nigh impossible."
He leaned back, voice serious now. "Toravon's work is an absolute masterpiece. There's no way to fuse Veil energy to a ring —it would just shatter instantly."
He paused, gesturing at the empty air.
"Plus, each Bloodring dissolves after circulation, entering the user's body. Once it's gone… it's gone in it can't be removed except by the user ... Making even one… is a nigh impossible challenge."
Jaless's eyes flicked to Gareth, a mix of disbelief and grudging admiration. "You've got guts, I'll give you that… but don't underestimate how carefully this thing was made."
Gareth straightened, eyes glinting with determination, and pointed upward. "Give me a day or two… I'll come up with a solution."
Jaless stared at him for a long moment, a mixture of disbelief and reluctant admiration in his eyes.
"You're insane," he muttered, shaking his head, though a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
"But… alright. I'll bite. Let's see what you come up with."
Gareth just nodded , expression unreadable, already turning his mind inward to the possibilities and the challenge ahead.