The roof of the bar was old, slanted, and clearly not a place meant for anyone who valued a long life.
That was exactly why Eiran liked it.
He sat there with his legs dangling over the edge, his back resting against the wooden chimney, staring at the towering walls of Loxra in the distance. The morning sun had only climbed halfway, stretching the shadows of the walls long and heavy—like they were pressing down on the city from afar.
The breeze carried the scent of damp wood, lingering smoke from the night before, and the faint bitterness of cheap alcohol that never truly left the bar.
"EIRAN!"
The shout came from below, sharp and impatient.
"Get down here right now before you fall and die like an idiot!"
Eiran leaned forward and looked down. Helder stood in front of the bar with his arms crossed, his face already prepared to scold whoever dared to challenge his morning.
Eiran grinned.
"Relax," he called back. "If I fall, I fall onto the bar. That's my home."
"That's exactly the problem!" Helder snapped. "I don't want to start my day finding a dead orphan smashed into my wine barrels!"
Eiran stood, stepped carefully, then slid down from the roof with the ease of someone who had done it far too many times. He landed in a small cloud of dust.
Helder let out a long sigh.
"I don't understand you," he muttered. "Why can't you sit on any other roof?"
"There's no roof better than this one," Eiran replied lightly.
Helder clicked his tongue, but the corner of his mouth twitched. He turned and went back inside, Eiran following him in.
The bar was quiet. Tables lined up neatly, the floor cleaned just enough to pass, and thin morning light slipped through narrow windows. It wasn't opening time yet, but Eiran liked the bar like this—when it felt more like a home than a stopover.
Helder wiped down a table, then paused as if remembering something.
"Oh," he said. "Almost forgot."
He opened a wooden drawer behind the counter and pulled out a letter. The paper was worn, neatly folded, clearly carried a long way.
Eiran's heartbeat picked up.
"From Kael," Helder said.
Just the name made the air feel heavier.
Eiran stepped closer and took the letter carefully.
"He passed through a few days ago," Helder continued. "Didn't stay long. Didn't drink. Just left this."
"How did he look?" Eiran asked quietly.
Helder thought for a moment.
"Like always. Standing too straight for someone who should've been tired."
Eiran smiled faintly. That sounded exactly like Kael.
He unfolded the letter.
Eiran,
I don't know when you'll read this.
But if this letter reaches you, it means I've already gone too far to turn back for a visit.
Don't stop training.
Not because you must become strong,
but because the world won't stop testing you.
Keep your feet on the ground.
And remember—
surviving is the first victory.
—Kael
No long farewell.
No explanations.
Eiran folded the letter and slipped it into the inner pocket of his jacket.
"He always leaves without saying goodbye," he muttered.
"That's how he makes sure people don't rely on him," Helder replied.
Eiran nodded slowly.
"I'll train today."
"Like usual?"
"Longer."
Helder didn't ask anything else.
Eiran didn't head straight for the edge of the city.
Instead, he turned into a narrow alley behind the morning market—where the sound of coins, rough laughter, and quiet curses mixed freely.
The moment he appeared, several heads turned.
"Oh hell," someone muttered.
"The bar kid's here."
Eiran lifted a hand slightly.
"Morning."
"Don't tell me you're playing again," said a man in a worn hat at the center of the circle. "I was finally winning."
"Wins don't count before I arrive," Eiran replied casually.
The game began. Wooden cups moved fast. Coins shifted.
Eiran didn't watch the cups.
He watched the hands.
"Left," he said.
A coin.
Second round.
"Middle."
A coin.
Murmurs filled the alley.
"Enough," the gambler grumbled, tossing two coins toward Eiran. "Take it and go."
Eiran caught them.
"Train your hands," he said lightly. "You think too much."
Some laughed. Some didn't.
As Eiran walked away, someone muttered,
"That kid's going to die for being too clever."
Another replied,
"Or live longer than all of us."
Eiran slipped the coins into his pocket.
"Surviving," he murmured, remembering Kael's words.
At the edge of the forest, Eiran slowed.
This path was usually safe—too close to the city for anything dangerous. But this morning felt wrong. Too quiet. No birds. No insects.
Between the trees stood a white, woolly sheep.
"Since when do sheep come this far in?" Eiran muttered.
He took a step into the forest.
The shape shifted.
Its legs stretched. Its back rose. The white wool peeled away like a thin disguise.
A long snout full of teeth opened wide.
A wolf monster.
Eiran's heart slammed against his ribs. He stepped back, slipped, and fell. His iron rod slipped from his grip and landed on the ground between him and the creature.
The monster growled low.
"O-okay," Eiran said quickly, his voice shaking despite the forced smile.
"We can talk about this, right?"
He reached for the rod, fingers scraping dirt.
"I'm serious," he added, half-laughing. "I'm bitter. Skinny. Barely any meat."
The monster stepped closer.
"And… are you really sure," he whispered,
"you want to eat a kid who hasn't even had breakfast?"
The wolf monster leapt.
"HEY!"
"ARE YOU TRYING TO DIE, EIRAN?!"
Ruen burst out from between the trees.
The fight was messy. Ugly. Shouts, metal striking flesh, bodies tumbling through dirt. Until finally, the massive body collapsed with a heavy thud.
Eiran lay flat on his back, gasping.
"If I hadn't shown up," Ruen said,
"you'd be dead."
"And if I wasn't here," Eiran replied weakly,
"you'd have no story."
Ruen lightly smacked his head.
"Idiot."
Eiran sat up slowly, staring at the corpse.
His expression hardened.
"This shouldn't be here," he said.
Ruen nodded.
"If this spreads, people in the village will die."
Eiran stood and looked back toward the city.
"We take it with us," he said firmly.
"We report this to the Baron."
For the first time that morning,
Eiran didn't sound like a reckless kid.
He sounded ready.