Morning came later than usual.
Not because the day had changed—
but because he had.
Arin woke to a quiet room, the light already settled across the floor through the wide glass window. For a brief moment, he stayed where he was, staring at the ceiling, letting the stillness linger just a little longer than he normally would have allowed.
No training ground waiting.
No routine calling him outside.
A new place.
A different rhythm.
He exhaled and sat up.
"…Can't get lazy already," he muttered under his breath.
There wasn't much space, but it was enough.
Arin stepped to the center of the room, rolled his shoulders once, and began—slow, controlled squats, his breathing steady, measured. The floor creaked faintly beneath him, but he didn't pay it any attention. His focus turned inward, as it always did when his body moved.
One motion after another. Consistent and grounded.
But his mind didn't stay still. It rarely did.
Before going to Lord Sylvaris Theron…
The thought surfaced again, clearer now than it had been the night before.
He knew that path was inevitable. Learning the language of runes wasn't optional—not if he wanted to move forward. Not if he wanted to understand the things his mother had left behind. The mechanical doll, the unfinished work, the knowledge buried within it…
That wasn't something he could ignore.
And he wouldn't.
But—
Arin shifted into push-ups, lowering himself slowly, then pushing back up with controlled force.
—before that, he needed something else.
Experience.
Real, practical experience.
Fighting. Movement. Decision-making under pressure. Understanding how this world actually worked beyond theory and fragments of memory.
Adventuring.
It was the fastest way forward.
"…And I'm not exactly starting from nothing," he thought.
He had something most beginners didn't.
The merit badge.
The memory of that fight flickered briefly—goblin blood, the tension, the first real taste of danger in this world.
With that, getting into the guild wouldn't be difficult.
Arin pushed himself up one last time and held there for a second, arms steady.
"…Good," he murmured.
The plan was forming now.
Clearer.
Step by step.
First—the guild.
Then the work.
Then everything else.
He stood up slowly, rolling his shoulders once more as the last of the stiffness left his body.
Outside, the city was already awake.
And this time, he was ready to step into it.
—————-
By the time Arin stepped down to the ground floor, the tavern had already come to life.
The low murmur of voices filled the space—adventurers finishing their meals, a few early drinkers already settled in, and the steady rhythm of work moving behind the counter. The scent of cooked meat and fresh bread lingered in the air, blending with something stronger.
Tea.
Arin's gaze shifted toward the counter—
—and paused.
Helgarth stood there, one hand resting casually against the wood, the other holding what could only be described as an absurdly large glass. Steam rose steadily from it.
It looked less like tea… and more like something meant for a man twice her size.
"…That's a mug?" Arin muttered under his breath.
Helgarth glanced at him—and smiled.
"Morning," she said. "Sleep well?"
Arin stepped closer, a faint, dry smile tugging at his lips.
"It was… better than expected," he replied. "The room's good. I'll be staying a while."
He reached into his pouch and placed a small stack of coins on the counter.
"Ten silvers for now. I'll settle the rest as the days go."
Helgarth didn't even look at the coins immediately. Her eyes stayed on him for a moment longer, as if measuring something unspoken.
Then she nodded.
"Fair enough."
The coins disappeared into her palm without ceremony.
Before the moment could stretch further—
a voice slipped in from the side.
"Breakfast?"
Arin turned slightly.
Kira stood there, tray in hand, her expression calm but attentive. Unlike her sister, there was no exaggerated reaction—just a quiet, direct presence.
Arin shook his head lightly.
"Not today. Just coffee."
There was a brief pause.
Then—
"Coming right up."
She turned without another word.
Arin watched her go for a second, then leaned slightly against the counter.
"…You serve coffee here?" he asked, glancing back at Helgarth.
She raised a brow.
"Of course we do. What kind of place do you think this is?"
"Fair point."
A few minutes later, Kira returned, setting the cup down in front of him with quiet precision. A thin layer of foam rested on top, the aroma rising warm and familiar.
Beside it—two small cookies.
Arin blinked once.
"…I didn't order those."
"Didn't charge you either," Kira replied simply.
And just like that, she was gone again.
Arin let out a faint breath through his nose and picked up the cup, moving toward one of the corner tables. It was quieter there, away from most of the noise, just enough space to think.
He took a sip.
Warm. Slightly bitter. Strong enough.
"…Not bad."
"Good, isn't it?"
Helgarth's voice came from behind him as she walked over, her heavy steps surprisingly controlled for someone her size. She stopped near the table, arms folding loosely.
"What are you planning to do here?" she asked.
No hesitation. No roundabout talk.
Arin set the cup down.
"…Work," he said. "Adventuring."
Helgarth's gaze sharpened just slightly.
"You?"
There was no mockery in it.
Just assessment.
"You're young," she continued. "And you don't look equipped for it. No armor. No shield. No proper gear."
Her eyes flicked briefly to his side, then back to his face.
"You go out like that, you won't last long."
Arin didn't react immediately. He took another sip instead, as if considering her words properly.
"I'll manage," he said.
Helgarth held his gaze for a second longer.
Then—
"If you're serious," she said, "I can introduce you to someone."
Arin looked up.
"A dwarf. Blacksmith. Works nearby."
"He's useless in most things," she added flatly, "but he knows how to make something that won't break in your hands."
There was the faintest hint of something behind that line.
Familiarity.
Arin caught it—but didn't press.
"…I'll keep that in mind," he said. "Thank you, Miss Helgarth."
She snorted softly.
"Don't thank me yet."
Her expression didn't change, but her tone did—just slightly.
"He doesn't come cheap."
Arin's response came just as dry.
"…I figured."
Then Helgarth gave a short nod and turned away, heading back toward the counter as if the conversation had already served its purpose.
Arin leaned back slightly in his chair, the cup still warm in his hand.
Outside, the day had fully begun.
And for the first time since arriving—
he wasn't just thinking about what came next.
He was about to step into it.
—————-
After finishing his coffee, Arin didn't linger.
The warmth of it still settled in his chest as he stepped out of the tavern and into the open street, the morning now fully alive around him. The air carried a different energy here—sharper, heavier, filled with purpose. Steel clinked against steel somewhere in the distance. Boots moved with intent.
This wasn't the part of the city that drifted.
This part moved.
Arin adjusted his pace slightly, the merit badge tucked safely with him as he made his way toward the guild.
He didn't get far.
Something ahead caught his attention—not by sight alone, but by sound.
Voices. Too many of them, layered over each other. Not loud enough to be chaos, but dense enough to pull focus.
Arin slowed.
Then stopped.
A shop stood along the side of the street, its front secured with thick iron grills. No one stepped inside. Instead, people gathered outside—ten, maybe twelve adventurers clustered around the counter, some leaning in, others waiting their turn.
Weapons everywhere.
Swords. Spears. Shields strapped to backs. Daggers at the waist.
Even among them—women, no less prepared than the rest.
This wasn't a casual crowd.
Curiosity pulled him closer.
Arin slipped through the edge of the group, not pushing, not forcing—just enough to get a look past shoulders and steel.
And then he saw it.
Small glass vials.
Clear. Sealed with wooden stoppers.
Neatly arranged behind the counter.
Healing potions.
Behind the shopkeeper, a wooden board displayed the prices in bold, unmistakable strokes:
Low-grade healing potion — 10 silver
Mid-grade healing potion — 50 silver
High-grade (pure) healing potion — 1 gold
Arin's eyes stilled on the last line.
One gold.
For a moment, the noise around him faded—not gone, but distant, like it no longer mattered.
His hand moved instinctively.
Not outward.
Inward.
Toward the dagger at his side.
He didn't draw it.
Didn't even touch it fully.
Just… hovered close enough to feel its presence.
Then his gaze shifted.
Around him—adventurers exchanging coins without hesitation, handing over silver, gold, whatever was needed. No bargaining. No argument.
Because they knew.
Out there—
this meant survival.
Arin stepped back, slipping out of the crowd as quietly as he had entered.
The noise returned.
The world settled back into place.
But his thoughts didn't.
"…So that's how it is," he murmured under his breath.
Healing.
Something people paid gold for.
Something they needed.
Something he could—
make.
Not endlessly.
He knew that.
Even now, he could feel it—his limits. The strain it places on him. The way his mind dulls every time he pushes too far with the dagger to create holy healing water, the faint pressure that lingers behind his eyes after repeated use.
There was a cost.
There would always be a cost.
But even with that—
This was an opportunity. A real opportunity.
Arin exhaled slowly, his gaze lowering slightly as the next thought followed naturally.
"…And that means…"
Danger.
If something that valuable could be created—
then the one who created it would be just as valuable.
Or worse.
Targeted.
His hand finally dropped away from the dagger.
"…I'm not strong enough yet," he thought.
Not to protect it.
Not to protect himself.
Not if people started looking too closely.
That settled it.
If he wanted to use this—
then Arin couldn't be the one using it.
He straightened slightly, his eyes sharpening just a fraction.
"I need another identity."
The words formed cleanly in his mind.
No hesitation.
No doubt.
A different name, a different face with no connection to Arin.
His gaze shifted across the street, scanning the nearby stalls and shops with a new kind of focus.
"…First step…"
A cloak.
Something that broke his outline, hid his form.
And—
A mask.
Something that made sure no one would ever see who stood behind it.
Arin turned away from the potion shop, his path no longer leading straight to the guild.
Not yet.
Now he had something else to find.