In the span of a single month, Aiven Roan had nearly died twice.
He had faced giant monsters that nearly tore him apart, a handsome vampire who thought of him as a lowlife, and a dwarf girl who used him as a convenient lab rat; all while a beautiful elf, the self-proclaimed strongest mage, tried her best to help.
By this point, Aiven had lost more than he had ever thought possible.
And he was beginning to wonder if choosing the life of an adventurer had been a mistake.
But he couldn't turn back now.
Not when turning back would cost him even more.
1 month ago
The quill scratched steadily across the ledger.
Aiven had long since learned the rhythm of it—dip, write, pause, turn the page. The motions were automatic, practiced to the point where his hands worked even while his thoughts drifted elsewhere.
Cargo manifests. Weight calculations. Delivery routes between floating islands, adjusted for wind streams and mana currents.
It was honest work. Necessary work.
Not exciting work.
"Row twenty-three… confirmed," Aiven muttered softly, stamping the document with the logistics company's insignia.
Around him, the office hummed with subdued life. Clerks shuffled parchment, the faint glow of mana-lamps illuminating neat rows of desks. Through the wide crystal windows, Aerilis stretched endlessly. Countless islands suspended in an infinite sky, airships gliding along invisible routes like lazy birds.
Aiven glanced up just long enough to watch one pass.
Then he looked back down.
He was a clerk now.
Born on a small island village at the edge of mapped routes, Aiven had grown up staring at the sky, dreaming of guild badges and dungeon cores, of becoming someone whose name was spoken with awe. But reality had a way of weighing dreams down.
His mana pool was shallow. Barely enough for basic spells.
His physique? Average. No prodigy strength, no special lineage.
Training could help, but training took time. Years of it.
And dreams didn't pay rent.
So he had folded those ambitions carefully away, like an old map kept at the bottom of a drawer, and taken a job that promised stability instead.
A steady life.
An ordinary one.
"Hey, Aiven!" a familiar voice called out. "Your delivery's boarding now. To Hearthport, right?"
Aiven looked up to see a fellow clerk leaning casually against a desk, grinning.
"That's the one," Aiven replied, standing and slinging his satchel over his shoulder.
The clerk leaned closer, lowering his voice. "I can swap your return shift. You'll have… let's say, a little extra time there."
Aiven blinked. Then his ears warmed.
"…You're sure?"
The grin widened. "Wouldn't dream of stopping you."
"Thanks," Aiven said sincerely. "I owe you."
"Oh, I know," the clerk laughed. "Say hi to her for me."
Aiven pretended not to hear that last part as he hurried off.
The airship hummed beneath his feet, its mana-engines thrumming softly as it cut through the sky. The wind tugged at his jacket as the vessel approached a familiar mid-sized island—one he'd visited countless times before.
Hearthport.
Home to markets, workshops… and a small shop run by a family he knew very well.
Aiven stepped off the gangplank, his boots hitting the familiar cobblestones of Hearthport. The air was thick with the scent of freshly baked bread, spiced meats sizzling on open grills, and the salty tang of the sea drifting in from the far side of the island.
The market square was alive with motion, as it always was; stalls draped in colorful fabrics, vendors shouting out the day's specials, and the occasional bark of a dog chasing after a cartwheel. Aiven barely had to look around to know where he was. He'd walked these streets countless times, but each time, they felt just a little more alive, a little more crowded.
To his left, a group of children ran past, playing some game involving a ball that bounced higher than was physically possible. Aiven chuckled, shaking his head. Kids and their strange games. To his right, a blacksmith's hammer rang out, hitting an anvil with a satisfying clang, sparks flying from the molten iron as it took shape. The rhythmic sound was like a heartbeat, setting the pulse of the island.
Above it all, the massive, sprawling airship docks loomed like a steel and wood forest; rigging lines creaking in the wind, and the soft whir of engines adjusting altitude as ships came and went.
Aiven delivered the cargo with practiced efficiency; signatures acquired, boxes handed off, documents stamped. The moment his duties were complete, he bowed politely, turned, and broke into a light run.
Down winding paths, past floating platforms and hanging lanterns, until a familiar storefront came into view.
And there she was.
Lyra Skysong stood outside her parents' shop, sleeves rolled up, sunlight catching in her honey-blonde hair as she arranged goods with quick, energetic movements. A light scarf fluttered behind her, dancing as if the wind itself was playing with it.
"Aiven!"
She spotted him instantly, face lighting up as she waved both arms, nearly knocking over a crate in the process.
"Careful," Aiven laughed, stepping in to steady the stack of books. "You'll scare away all the customers."
"Worth it," Lyra grinned, her eyes dancing with mischief. "Besides, you came earlier than usual. That deserves a little celebration, don't you think?"
Aiven raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a teasing smile. "Celebration, huh? I don't think I've earned that yet."
"Oh, please," Lyra rolled her eyes, picking up a jar of herbs with exaggerated care. "I'll give you celebration once you stop being such a grump. You always act like you're interrupting me."
Aiven shifted uneasily, his hands adjusting the strap of his satchel. "Well, you look busy. I don't want to keep you if you've got work to do…"
Lyra shot him a quick glance, her brow arched in mock disbelief. "Oh? So I'm not allowed to have visitors during business hours?"
"No, no! Of course not," Aiven stammered, a little flustered. "Just, you know, I don't want to be a bother."
She shrugged nonchalantly, flipping a jar lid with a quick twist. "Bothering me would be if you stood there silently and stared at the ceiling like a weirdo. But you're not doing that. Yet."
Aiven chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his neck. "Good to know I'm still in the clear, then."
Lyra shot him a playful smile as she rearranged a set of jars. "Oh, don't worry, you're safe for now."
Aiven cleared his throat, glancing around the shop. "Seriously though, if you need help with anything—like lifting boxes, or, you know, arranging those…" He gestured toward a shelf of delicate glass vials, their intricate designs catching the light. "I'm happy to lend a hand."
Lyra leaned over the counter, tapping her chin with a dramatic expression. "Mmm, lifting boxes? I don't know… You might be more useful standing there, pretending to look busy."
"I—" Aiven gave her an incredulous look. "Hey! I can lift boxes. I promise, I'm more than just an average face!"
"Oh really?" Lyra raised a brow, smirking. "Well, if you're so strong, I'll let you take care of the jar shelf. It's got those delicate vials I don't trust anyone else with."
Aiven blinked, eyes wide. "Wait—delicate vials? You're sure you want me to—"
"Too late," she said, pointing to the shelf with a wink. "All yours. If you break anything, I'll just tell your mom."
"Why are you like this?" Aiven groaned, but there was no bite to it. He was already reaching for the vials.
"Because I'm fun," Lyra quipped, grinning like a little devil. "Go ahead, impress me with your box-lifting skills. But remember, I'll be watching you carefully."
With a sigh and a chuckle, Aiven set to work, trying his best to look more competent than he felt. Lyra's watchful gaze didn't help his nerves, but it did make the task... a little more entertaining.
They talked while working. Light teasing, shared laughter, small moments that felt easy and familiar. It felt... right.
At one point, Lyra leaned against the counter, studying him with a thoughtful tilt of her head.
"So," she said casually, a little too casually. "When are you going on a real adventure again?"
The question hit harder than it sounded.
Aiven exhaled slowly. "Lyra… I've told you. I've buried that dream."
She didn't interrupt.
"I'm not cut out for it," he continued. "My mana's low. My body's nothing special. Even if I started training seriously now, it'd take years. Too long." He smiled faintly. "I need to pay the bills now."
Lyra crossed her arms, eyes narrowing—not angry, but concerned.
"And working as a clerk," she said gently, "do you see a bright future there?"
Aiven fell silent.
The sky seemed wider suddenly.
Lyra softened, her shoulders drooping. "Sorry. That was blunt."
She looked past him, toward the open air. "Do you remember when we were younger? Sneaking onto airships? Getting yelled at by dock guards?"
Aiven chuckled despite himself.
"And exploring the wilderness," she continued, smiling wistfully. "Fighting slimes and calling it a 'life-or-death battle.'"
"We almost died," Aiven said.
"Almost," she agreed brightly. "But it felt amazing. That feeling—like the world was open to us."
She looked back at him, her eyes alight with something deeper than just affection; a quiet intensity that took Aiven by surprise.
"I want that again," she said, her voice soft but unwavering. "I want to go on adventures with you. I've seen the way you light up when you talk about it. The way your eyes sparkle like you're dreaming big. I want to see it, Aiven. I want to be there beside you, wherever it takes us."
Aiven's chest tightened at her words, and for a moment, he didn't know what to say.
Lyra took a step closer, her expression softening, but still filled with that quiet, undeniable yearning. "You've always had the spark, Aiven. Even if you buried it, even if you told yourself it was too much, I could always see it there—hidden behind the stacks of paperwork and the humdrum of daily life. You're meant for more than just this, you know? You always have been."
Aiven swallowed hard. Her words hit closer to the truth than he was ready for.
"I'll think about it," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "For real this time. Promise"
Lyra smiled, but there was a gentleness to it; an understanding that spoke volumes more than any words could. "That's enough. As long as it's what you really want."
Her fingers brushed lightly against his chest, just above where his heart was beating a little faster than usual. "Just don't give up on your dreams because you're afraid," she said, the sincerity in her voice making his breath catch. "I promise I'll always be here, cheering for you. But you have to believe it too."
The words sank deep into Aiven's heart, lingering there long after he walked away. It wasn't just a promise she was making. It was a quiet, unspoken vow to stand by him, to be the one who believed in him even when he didn't believe in himself.
As Aiven walked through the bustling streets of Hearthport, the weight of the sky above Aerilis felt heavier than before, like the vastness of it mirrored the pressure settling on his chest. And somewhere deep inside, something he thought long buried stirred—quiet, but insistent, like a spark threatening to catch flame.