The forest no longer followed them.
As they moved farther from the Dark Vern Woods, the oppressive silence that once clung to every step slowly began to fade, replaced by the distant hum of life beyond its borders. The air felt lighter, easier to breathe, and the tension that had gripped the group since their encounter with Asura gradually loosened though not completely.
Because he was still there.
Walking among them.
Not as an enemy.
Not yet as an ally.
But something in between.
Asura had not forced his way into the group.
He had asked.
It had been simple, almost casual, the way he approached it like someone requesting to walk alongside travelers on a long road. Yet behind that request was something less obvious, something quieter.
Something human.
Solarynth had noticed it.
He did not fully understand what he felt in that moment, but it lingered within him as something unfamiliar. It wasn't curiosity alone. It wasn't caution either.
It was… something closer to sympathy.
And that was new.
So he allowed it.
For now.
The journey back toward the smith village passed without incident. The path opened wider as the trees thinned, and eventually, the familiar sights of the dwarven settlement came into view. Smoke rose steadily from chimneys, the rhythmic clang of metal echoed through the air, and the scent of fire and forged steel carried across the wind.
It felt grounded, its alive.
By the time they entered, the sun had begun its slow descent, casting long shadows across the stone pathways. The group moved through the village without much attention, though a few glances lingered on Asura his presence was not something easily ignored.
At the center of the settlement, just as before, stood Steel Beard.
He was exactly as they had left him—hammer in hand, working a heated piece of metal with steady, practiced strikes. Sparks scattered with each impact, briefly illuminating his rugged features before fading into the air.
Solarynth stepped forward, reaching into his pack and placing two secured containers onto the workbench beside him.
"The ingredients," he said.
Steel Beard didn't stop immediately. He gave the metal one final strike before setting the hammer aside and leaning forward to inspect what had been brought.
He opened one container, glancing at the Burst Frog within, then the other, examining the carefully gathered silk. A low grunt of approval followed.
"Didn't mess it up," he muttered. "Good."
Then his gaze shifted.
Slowly.
Directly toward Asura.
The moment stretched for a second longer than necessary before Steel Beard spoke, his tone blunt and unfiltered.
"…Who the hell are you?"
There was no hostility in it.
Just pure, honest confusion.
Asura blinked once before letting out a small breath.
"Ran into them in the woods," he replied casually, gesturing faintly toward the group. "Things got a little… complicated."
Steel Beard narrowed his eyes slightly, clearly unimpressed by the lack of detail.
"Complicated usually means trouble," he said flatly.
"…Fair," Asura admitted.
Steel Beard stared at him for another moment, as if deciding whether to press further or simply ignore it. In the end, he chose the latter, turning back to his workbench with a dismissive grunt.
"Not my problem," he muttered.
The matter, for him, was settled.
The sky darkened quickly after that.
By the time the last light of the sun dipped below the horizon, the village had quieted, though the glow of furnaces and scattered lanterns kept the area alive with a steady warmth.
Steel Beard wiped his hands against a cloth before glancing back at them.
"You lot staying or wandering off in the dark?" he asked.
"Staying," Louis answered.
"Good," the dwarf replied. "Set up camp near the stall. Don't get in the way."
It wasn't an invitation.
But it was enough.
Soon, a small camp began to take shape just beside Steel Beard's workshop. Bedrolls were laid out, supplies organized, and a modest fire was built to push back the cool air settling over the village.
Nearby, Steel Beard had already begun preparing food for himself, casually grilling thick cuts of meat over an open flame. The scent carried easily, rich and savory, blending with the ever-present smell of iron and smoke.
He didn't offer any.
But he didn't stop them from staying either.
The group settled in gradually.
Grace adjusted her equipment, still visibly irritated, though the edge of her frustration had dulled slightly with time. Omen remained watchful, his eyes occasionally drifting toward Asura, while Rook stood nearby in quiet vigilance. Louis kept his usual composure, observing everything without saying much.
And Asura…
For once, he wasn't moving.
He sat on a worn wooden chair near the fire, leaning back slightly, one arm resting lazily against the side. The usual sharpness in his presence had softened, replaced by something quieter, more distant as he watched the flames flicker.
Solarynth sat beside him, not too close, not too far.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
The fire crackled softly between them, its light reflecting faintly in Solarynth's eyes as he observed the shifting glow.
Then, after a moment, he turned slightly.
His gaze settled on Asura and he spoke.
"Care to tell your story?"
"Heh… figures you'd ask that."
He tilted his head slightly, eyes still on the flames.
"…Well," he muttered, voice quieter now, "since I was born."
The world shifted.
A dim chamber carved from stone and ancient roots came into view, faintly glowing symbols lining the walls like veins of soft light. The air was thick with magic—alive, breathing, moving through everything.
A newborn's cry broke the silence.
A woman sat alone, holding the child close to her chest, gently rocking him despite the exhaustion in her eyes. Her hand brushed softly against his cheek as she smiled faintly.
"There you are…" she whispered. "You took your time, didn't you?"
She chuckled weakly to herself, pressing her forehead lightly against his.
"No father to greet you… just me, huh?"
Her voice didn't carry sadness.
Only warmth.
"I guess that's enough," she murmured.
The clan outside lived differently.
They were precise. Controlled. Perfect.
Magic flowed through every member like a second heartbeat. It defined them, shaped them, guided everything they became. Children were raised with discipline from the very beginning, taught to feel that flow, to control it, to become one with it.
But as the years passed, it became clear—
Asura had none of it.
At five years old, he stood among the other children in the training grounds, his small frame lined up with the rest. Trainers watched from above, their expressions calm, expectant.
"Focus," one elder instructed, his voice steady. "Feel the flow within you. Do not force it. Let it guide you."
The other children nodded, closing their eyes as they followed the instruction. One by one, their bodies began to shift—hands morphing slightly, faces adjusting, forms changing in small but controlled ways.
"Good… maintain that control," another trainer said.
Asura stood there still.
Nothing happened, he clenched his fists slightly.
"…Come on…" he whispered under his breath.
He closed his eyes tighter, trying to feel something—anything.
But there was nothing.
No warmth, no movement.
A boy beside him glanced over, whispering quietly.
"Why isn't he changing?"
"I don't think he can…" another replied.
"Is he even one of us?"
Asura's jaw tightened.
He ignored them tried again.
Nothing.
"Again," the elder said calmly.
The others obeyed.
Magic flowed forms shifted.
Asura didn't.
Later that day, he sat alone near the edge of the training grounds, staring down at his hands. They looked normal. Too normal.
"…Why won't it work?" he muttered.
A soft voice answered.
"Because you're trying too hard."
He looked up.
His mother stood there, smiling gently as she walked over and sat beside him.
"I'm doing exactly what they said," Asura replied, frustrated. "I focus… I try to feel it… but there's nothing there."
She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she took his hand in hers.
"…Then maybe," she said softly, "you don't need to do it their way."
Asura frowned. "What do you mean?"
She tapped his forehead lightly.
"You're always watching, aren't you? Always thinking."
"…Yeah."
"Then trust that," she said with a small smile. "Not everyone has to follow the same path."
That stayed with him..
The next day, during training, Asura didn't close his eyes.
He watched carefully.
Every movement, Every shift, Every detail.
"If you cannot feel the flow," the elder said, "then you must quiet your mind until it comes."
Asura didn't quiet his mind.
He sharpened it.
"…If I can't feel it…" he whispered to himself, staring at the others, "…then I'll just do it without it."
He raised his arm slowly focused.
Not on magic but on structure.
At first, nothing happened.
Then—
A sharp crack.
His arm twisted unnaturally, the shape shifting in a way that made even him flinch slightly. It wasn't smooth like the others. It wasn't controlled.
But it changed.
The entire training ground went silent.
"…What did he just do?" someone whispered.
"That's not—"
"That's not magic—"
Asura stared at his arm, breathing unevenly.
"…I did it…" he muttered, eyes wide.
He looked up, a small grin forming.
"I did it!"
But the elders weren't smiling.
"That is not the proper method," one of them said sharply.
"You forced the transformation," another added, eyes narrowing. "That is unstable. Incorrect."
Asura's smile faded slightly.
"…But it worked."
They didn't respond, Years passed.
At seven, Asura had gone further.
He no longer tried to follow their way.
He built his own.
"Watch this!" he called out one afternoon, running toward his mother with excitement in his voice in public training.
She turned, smiling. "What did you do now?"
"Look!"
His arm shifted—
But this time, it didn't just change shape.
It evolved.
Bone extended outward, forming sharp, curved claws that gleamed under the light. They weren't perfect, but they were deadly.
His mother's eyes widened slightly.
"Asura…"
"It's cool, right?" he said, grinning. "I didn't copy anything this time—I made it myself!"
He swung it lightly through the air, slicing cleanly through a nearby wooden post.
"See?! I can make anything now!"
She hesitated.
"…It's impressive," she said carefully.
"But…?"
"…Be careful," she added softly.
Asura didn't understand why.
The others did.
"He's going too far…"
"That's not shapeshifting…"
And "That's something else…"
The elders watched and judged.
One evening, everything changed.
Asura was grabbed from behind before he could react, his arms forced down as restraints locked into place. He struggled instantly.
"Hey—what are you doing?!"
A metal device snapped over his mouth, silencing him completely.
His eyes widened in shock.
"Subject secured," one man said coldly.
Asura thrashed violently, trying to break free.
Then he saw her.
"Mom—!"
She was being held.
"Her actions have violated the laws of this clan," an elder declared before the gathered crowd.
"She chose to unite with one outside our kind," another added. "She introduced impurity into our bloodline."
Asura shook his head violently, struggling harder.
"No—! That's not—!"
But no sound came out.
"This child," the elder continued, gesturing toward Asura, "is the result of that violation."
His mother remained silent but her eyes found his.
Three years passed at ten years old— They ended it.
The crowd was loud, ruel, rotten food struck against him as he was forced to his knees.
He ignored all of it.
He only saw her.
"Mom..?"
She was brought onto the stage.
Their eyes met, asura struggled
harder than ever before.
The restraints dug into his skin, blood starting to form—but he didn't stop.
He didn't care.
"Stop—! Please—! STOP—!"
Nothing came out.
"Mom—!!"
She smiled through tears.
"Asura…" she whispered softly
The executioner raised the axe.
"Be strong."
The blade fell.
And Asura's world shattered, his heartbeat beating fast seeing her mother fall infront of him..
He wanted to scream, he couldn't.