The sun was slipping behind the towers of Braston when they first saw the city walls—white stone veined with blue mana lines, banners fluttering high in the breeze. It was larger than anything they had passed since Dust Ruin, alive with voices and scent: baked bread, oil, smoke, and perfume from market stalls spilling beyond the gates.
But Haco didn't look up.
He leaned against a broken post just short of the city entrance, his breath uneven. The wound from Vaelis's strike hadn't closed; faint silver light still pulsed beneath the bandages. When Elira reached to steady him, he brushed her hand aside.
"I said I'm fine."
"You're not," Nakea cut in. Her tone left no room for argument. "You move another step, I'll burn your tails off."
He smirked faintly. "Romantic."
"Not a joke."
They stopped at the shell of an old watchtower a short walk from the northern gate. Nakea set down her pack and forced him to sit while she brewed a faint blue salve that hissed when it touched his skin. Haco hissed louder.
"You three," she said to Elira, Mira, and Kael, "go. Bring medicine, potions, anything for mana fractures. And no trouble."
Mira saluted mockingly. "We'll try not to overthrow the city."
Braston's inner streets gleamed under sunset light. Crowds moved like rivers between bridges; mages lit crystal lamps overhead. For a moment, they could almost forget the road behind them.
Kael paused at a blacksmith's window. "These forges look clean. Might find something decent."
Mira tugged his arm. "We're buying medicine, not new toys."
Elira smiled faintly, scanning a stall of blades. None resonated. The hilts felt hollow, the balance wrong. "They're all asleep," she murmured.
"What?"
"Nothing."
She turned to go—and that's when a boy ran into her.
He was no older than ten, clothes torn, eyes wide with tears. "Please—help me! My sister's hurt—trapped near the canal!"
Elira bent down instantly. "Where?"
He pointed down a narrow lane. Kael frowned. "Smells like a setup."
Mira sighed. "Everything smells like a setup to you."
"And I'm always right."
But Elira was already moving. "If he's lying, we'll deal with it. If he's not—"
Kael groaned. "—we're saving another stranger. Fine."
They followed.
The alleys grew narrower, light dimming. At the third corner, the boy vanished.
A chain clattered down behind them.
Shutters slammed.
Shapes moved from doorways—rough men with blades, rusted armor, half-covered faces.
"Told you," Kael muttered.
Their leader grinned. "Travelers. Easy pickings. The Guild pays good coin for live ones."
Elira stepped forward. "We don't want a fight."
"That's cute," one sneered, raising a club. "Neither do we."
He swung.
Kael blocked with his forearm, sparks snapping. "You sure?"
Mira flicked her wrists, steam curling from her rings. "I swear, if one of you ruins my coat—"
They fought without killing. Kael's blows were blunt, Mira's fire muted, Elira's sword deflecting rather than cutting. But the street kept shrinking, more men pressing in. The wall hit Elira's back.
"Mira," Kael warned. "We're running out of space."
"I noticed!"
Then, a flash.
A throwing knife whistled through the air—and froze mid-flight, suspended in blue light.
Three figures dropped from the rooftops in near silence.
The first landed lightly, twin curved blades crossing in an arc of golden sparks—female, feline ears flicking under short hair. The second, an elf with pale-silver hair, swung a rune-etched staff that erupted with kinetic force. The third, a dwarf no taller than Mira's shoulder, crashed down with a hammer that changed shape mid-impact, shattering the ground beneath two bandits' feet.
In seconds, the alley was quiet.
Weapons clattered to stone. The surviving men bolted into the dark.
Elira straightened, breathing hard. "Who are—"
"Not enemies," the elf said calmly. His eyes glowed faint blue as the runes dimmed. "That's enough introduction for now."
The feline girl sheathed her blades, her tone brisk but not unkind. "You shouldn't wander in these streets. They've changed."
Kael eyed the dwarf's weapon. "That thing just… shifted."
The dwarf grinned. "Smart hammer. Smarter than most people I meet."
Mira stared. "You three look like kids."
The feline smirked. "And you fight like tourists."
Before Elira could answer, the elf glanced toward the northern gate. "Someone waits for you outside, yes? You should go. He's hurt worse than you think."
That froze them.
They followed the three strangers through the winding alleys until the city noise faded behind them. The watchtower came into view—Nakea kneeling beside Haco, whose breathing was shallow and uneven.
When she saw the newcomers, her hand flew to her sword.
"Peace," said the elf, stepping forward and lifting his staff slightly. The runes on it glowed the same calm blue as Haco's wound.
Haco stirred, blinking up. "Drael…?"
The elf smiled faintly. "Still alive, fox."
The feline girl crossed her arms. "Barely. You look awful."
"Faerin," Haco exhaled, half-smiling. "Still rude."
The dwarf gave a deep laugh. "Berric at your service, though you never deserved it."
Elira, Mira, and Kael stood frozen.
"You know them?" Mira whispered.
Nakea's expression was unreadable. "Know them? I've spent a century trying not to."
Drael knelt beside Haco, placing a glowing hand over his chest. "Mana fracture, third layer. You shouldn't even be conscious."
"Missed you too," Haco rasped.
Faerin crouched next to Nakea, flicking her tail. "Still cold as frost. You ever smile these days?"
"Only when you disappear."
Berric barked another laugh, setting down his hammer. "Same old demons, new generation watching. You two never change."
Then, as if it slipped without thought, he added:
"After eighty years, it's about time you stopped sulking."
The words fell like stones into silence.
Elira blinked. "Eighty… years?"
Kael frowned. "You mean—you've known each other for eighty years?"
Mira looked between them all. "You're not even wrinkled."
Nakea shot Berric a warning glare sharp enough to cut stone. "Watch your mouth."
The dwarf winced. "Right. Bad timing."
Drael finished the healing and stood. "We can discuss centuries later. For now, he needs rest."
They built a small fire near the watchtower's broken wall. The moon rose pale and high, throwing silver light across the field.
Berric worked on the flame, the hammer at his side shifting faintly like a living thing. Faerin sat sharpening her blades, humming a low tune that might've been older than the city itself. Drael traced runes in the dirt—protective barriers, steady and silent.
Elira sat beside Haco, watching the faint gold of his eyes reflect the fire.
"You've known them that long?" she asked quietly.
He didn't answer right away. "Time's different for us," he said at last. "It bends. It forgets."
"But eighty years…"
He gave a soft laugh. "That's only when someone's counting."
She fell silent, staring into the flames. The others were laughing softly now—old voices mixing with young ones, the sound of time refusing to separate.
Haco's gaze drifted toward the firelight. "Some friendships," he said softly, "don't know how to die."
The wind shifted through the ruins, carrying that line into the night—half memory, half promise.