An hour after they’d gone, the house felt hollow.

Ludger sat at the kitchen table with a cooling mug of tea, staring at the faint rings their cups had left in the wood. Sunlight slanted through the window, catching the floating motes of dust. No clatter of boots in the hallway, no quiet rustle of Luna moving about, no sudden questions or complaints from the next room.

The silence pressed against his ears.

His half-sister and her maid had made the house feel like a training ground and a marketplace rolled into one. Most of it was Viola—her voice, her footsteps, her sword clanking against the doorframe, her endless questions. She never stopped once she woke up, bouncing from practice to errands to teasing him to pestering Arslan, a perpetual-motion machine disguised as an eleven-year-old with a blade.

Luna had been the cool water to that heat, smoothing edges, picking up after her, making sure the chaos never tipped over. Together they’d filled every corner with movement.

Now the rooms were still, just the ticking of the wall clock and the faint creak of the house settling. Ludger rubbed the bridge of his nose, a ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth despite himself. Weird how quiet normal can feel after months of noise.

He stood, pushing the chair back with a soft scrape, and for the first time since returning home the place felt almost too big around him.

Ludger rinsed out his mug and set it upside down on the counter. The quiet still gnawed at him, so he stepped out into the yard, thinking about dropping by Aronia’s place to catch up. A few hours with the healer would clear his head. He didn’t make it to the gate.

The steady thock-thock-thock of blows on wood pulled his eyes toward the training yard. There was Arslan, stripped down to a sleeveless tunic, sweat glistening on his arms as he drove a practice sword through a brutal series of drills. Each swing cut the air with a sound like tearing cloth. Dust kicked up under his boots, his breath a low growl in rhythm with the strikes.

Ludger leaned on the fence, a grin creeping onto his face. “You know,” he called over the rhythm of blows, “people usually rest the morning after a spar.”

Arslan didn’t slow. “Rest is for people without gaps in their guard.”

“Uh-huh,” Ludger said, smirking. “Looks more like someone almost lost to his daughter and is panicking about it. Were you weaker than her when you were her age?”

Arslan’s form faltered for just a heartbeat and he groaned, half in exertion, half in annoyance. “You little—” He swung again, harder, the crack of wood echoing. “Go bother Aronia with that mouth of yours before I make you hold a shield for this next drill.”

Ludger laughed and pushed off the fence, hands up. “Alright, alright. Just making sure the man of the house isn’t slipping.”

Arslan shot him a glare over his shoulder but couldn’t quite hide the grudging smile tugging at his lips.

Ludger left the yard with a lazy wave and slipped back into the city streets. The morning air was warm already, full of market smells and clatter. His boots found their way toward a quieter quarter, past rows of shuttered shops and narrow side lanes until he reached the alley where Aronia lived.

It was cleaner than the first time he’d come here. No overturned crates, no damp refuse piled in the corners. Someone—maybe the neighbors, maybe Aronia herself—had swept the stones. The faint smell of herbs floated out from the little window above her door instead of the usual sour stink.

He paused, hands in his pockets, and scanned the alley. Still clean. No one’s littering anymore. That alone said something about her reputation now.

And yet, even with the work she’d been doing for Viola’s grandfather—tending fighters, making potions, healing at the front—she was still here. Still in a cramped room above a crooked stairwell instead of one of the tidy houses closer to the guild quarter.

She should have enough money by now to live wherever she wants, he thought, brow furrowing. So why stay here? Habit? Secrets? Something else entirely?

He exhaled through his nose, stepping toward her door, the faint scent of dried roots and alchemical smoke teasing his senses as he raised a hand to knock.

The door opened before he could knock a second time. Aronia stood there in her work apron, a streak of pale green salve on one wrist, her dark hair pinned up messily. She blinked once at him, then a small smile tugged at her mouth.

“Ludger,” she said. “You’re back.”

“Just got in yesterday,” he replied, stepping inside. The little room smelled of dried herbs, alcohol, and faint ozone from recent spellwork. Shelves lined the walls with jars, bandages, and neatly bundled plants. It was tidy, but still small and tucked into the shadows of the alley.

He glanced around, brow furrowing. “This place is still spotless. Even the alley’s clean now. You’ve got enough coin from working for Viola’s grandfather to live somewhere nicer. Why stay here?”

Aronia moved past him to a counter, wiping her hands on a cloth. “Because nicer means crowded,” she said simply. “New neighbors, curious eyes, people knocking on the door every hour. I’m not interested in attention right now.”

She shrugged, still facing the jars. “Here, no one bothers me. I can work, rest, and disappear if I need to.”

Ludger leaned against the doorframe, studying her profile. Makes sense, he thought. Not everyone wants to be seen climbing the ladder.

Aronia finally turned, a faint smile returning. “Besides, it’s easier for you to find me here, isn’t it?”

He chuckled, the sound dry. “Fair enough.”

The room felt calmer than the streets outside, the faint hum of healing magic weaving through the scent of herbs. For a moment Ludger let himself relax, the noise of the labyrinth and the road slipping away.

Aronia set the cloth aside and leaned a hip against the counter, folding her arms. “Two months with no visits,” she said, eyebrow arching. “What have you been up to, Ludger?”

He gave a small shrug, pushing off the doorframe to wander toward a shelf of dried herbs. “Learning to throw rocks around, mostly.”

Her mouth quirked. “You always did undersell yourself. Start at the beginning.”

Ludger exhaled and, for once, didn’t dress it up. He told her about leaving with Viola and Luna for Meira City, training under Gaius at the collapsed Iron Vein Guild. How he’d learned some geomancer skills, picked up [Earth Manipulation] and [Stone Grip], and spent weeks shaping stone and sand until it obeyed without a thought. He sketched their progress through the labyrinth—the second zone’s elementals, Viola’s “Crimson Horn” thrust, Luna’s Overdrive—and finally the ambush with the cloaked figures.

Aronia listened without interrupting, her expression shifting from mild curiosity to something sharper as he described the coordinated elementals and the fake walls. When he finished she let out a low breath.

“Sounds like more than ‘throwing rocks,’” she said. “You’ve been building yourself into a geomancer while dodging assassins.”

Ludger gave a faint, dry smile. “Something like that. Keeps me busy.”

Aronia tilted her head, studying him. “And you’re still standing.”

“Mostly.” He glanced at the jars, then back at her. “Figured it was time to check in before we head out again. Make sure you’re still here, still working. You always had a way of keeping people stitched together.”

Her eyes softened at that. “I’m glad you did.”

The little room felt warmer now, quiet but not empty. The noise and danger of the labyrinth seemed a world away in her tidy, herb-scented shop.

Aronia tapped a finger against her arm, eyes flicking to the faint cracks in the plaster near her shelves. “All that talk about earth magic,” she said, half-teasing, “and I haven’t seen a single pebble move. Show me.”

Ludger raised an eyebrow. “Here? In your workshop?”

She gestured at the wall. “It’s already cracked. If you break it worse, you can fix it after.”

He chuckled under his breath and stepped over. “Alright. Watch closely.”

He laid one palm flat against the wall, letting a thin ribbon of mana seep into the stone. The crack quivered, dust sifting down, and then the fissure knit itself closed like clay smoothed under a craftsman’s thumb. A second pulse spread out in a fan, filling small gaps and evening the surface until the whole section looked freshly plastered.

Aronia blinked, straightening from her lean. “You—how can you pick up spells like that left and right?” She sounded more dumbfounded than angry.

Ludger brushed the dust from his hands, expression neutral. “Good masters,” he said simply. “And a lot of practice.”

She shook her head, still staring at the flawless wall. “That’s not just practice.”

He gave a faint, dry smile. “You asked for a demonstration.”

Aronia laughed softly, the sound tinged with disbelief. “I did. Guess I got one.”

The little shop smelled of herbs and fresh stone now, and for a moment the labyrinth’s noise felt very far away.

Ludger dusted his palms off on his trousers and leaned against the counter again. The smell of fresh plaster and herbs hung between them. For a moment he was quiet, then his tone shifted, drier, more deliberate.

“Aronia… what do you know about underworld guilds?”

She blinked, the question wiping the faint smile from her face. “That’s not something people usually ask me.” Her brows knit as she studied him. “Not many will share those kinds of secrets with a half-dryad. We’re supposed to be healers, not informants.”

“I’m not asking for names,” Ludger said evenly. “Just what you’ve heard.”

Aronia sighed and crossed her arms, leaning back against the shelves. “On the battlefield a few months ago I heard things. Whispers more than facts. Some soldiers claimed the barbarians fighting on the border were stronger, faster—because of something alchemists in those guilds were making. Drugs. Stimulants, painkillers, berserker brews. They said the underworld guilds were selling them to whoever would pay.”

Her eyes flicked to this. “That’s about all I’ve got. Rumors from men bleeding out in the mud. But if half of it’s true…” she shook her head. “It explains how some groups fight the way they do.”

Ludger absorbed the words in silence, jaw tightening slightly. “Drugs and alchemists,” he murmured. “Fits the pattern.”

Aronia tilted her head. “You’re poking your nose into dark corners, Ludger. Be careful. Even knowing about those guilds puts a mark on you.”

He gave her a faint, humorless smile. “Story of my life.”

The little shop felt suddenly cooler, the scent of herbs sharper. Outside, a cart rumbled past, and for a moment it sounded like distant thunder.

Aronia watched him for a long moment, the green flecks in her eyes catching the lamplight. “You know,” she said finally, “you’re not a normal kid, Ludger.”

He gave a little shrug. “Never claimed to be.”

She stepped closer, wiping her hands on a cloth as she spoke. “That’s exactly why I’m telling you this. The kind of people who run those guilds eat bright young fighters alive. You’re already ahead of most adults I’ve treated, but it doesn’t mean you should carry every ugly thing you hear.”

Ludger raised an eyebrow. “You’re saying ignore it?”

“I’m saying don’t drown in it,” she replied, voice softer now. “You’re still young. You’ve already bled in a labyrinth, learned more magic in months than most apprentices manage in years. Enjoy that. Laugh. Train. Make mistakes that don’t get you killed. Don’t make the underworld your hobby.”

He looked away, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “That easy, huh?”

“No.” She reached out and touched his arm briefly. “But you deserve at least a little time to be a boy before you’re whatever else you’re going to be.”

Ludger let out a dry chuckle. “Sounds like you’re giving me a prescription.”

“Maybe I am,” Aronia said. “And unlike my potions, it’s free.”

For a moment the shop was quiet except for the faint hum of magic from her shelves. Outside, the city bustled, but in here it felt almost safe.

Ludger finally nodded. “I’ll…think about it.”

“Good.” Aronia’s smile returned, small but genuine. “Now, are you going to stay for tea, or do you need to be somewhere?”

Ludger dropped into the small wooden chair by Aronia’s worktable, the one that always wobbled a little on the uneven floor. “Tea sounds good,” he said. “Been living off dungeon water and ration bars for too long.”

Aronia poured two cups from a clay pot on the warmer. The scent was sharp and green, a mix of dried leaves and something sweeter underneath. She handed him one and took the other for herself, leaning back against the counter.

For a few minutes they drank in silence, the steam curling between them, the noise of the city a distant murmur. Ludger let the warmth seep into his hands and felt his pulse slow a notch.

Then, because he couldn’t help himself, he set the cup down and said, “By the way… think you can set aside a supply of mana potions for me? Decent price. I need to push my earth magic further, and I’m going to burn through what I’ve got.”

Aronia let out a long, theatrical sigh, the kind that steamed up her cup. “You really don’t know the meaning of ‘take it easy,’ do you?” she muttered.

Ludger smirked over the rim of his cup. “I took a day off. That counts.”

She gave him a flat look but there was a flicker of fondness in her eyes. “I’ll see what I can do. But I’m not fueling you into mana exhaustion every week. Practice smarter, not just harder.”

“Deal,” he said, sipping his tea again.

Aronia shook her head, smiling despite herself. “You’re going to drive yourself into the ground one of these days.”

“Maybe,” Ludger said dryly. “But I’ll be very good at moving the ground by then.”

The shop filled with the smell of herbs and tea, the edge of their earlier conversation softening into something almost normal.

Ludger cradled the warm cup between his hands, letting the steam curl up into his face. Across the table, Aronia was fussing with a jar of dried leaves, pretending not to watch him. The little shop smelled of tea, herbs, and fresh plaster from where he’d fixed her wall.

He couldn’t help a small, crooked smile. She’s changed, he thought. When I first knocked on this door, she barely wanted to let me inside. Half-dryad healer tucked away in a dirty alley, eyes cold, voice clipped.

Now she was pouring him tea and sighing at his jokes like an older sister. The cracks in her walls were fixed; even the alley was clean. And she’d started to laugh again.

Is that me? he wondered. Did I do that?

The idea felt strange in his chest. He was used to breaking things, killing monsters, finding shortcuts through systems. Not used to leaving places better than he found them. But here was Aronia, calmer, sharper, a little freer than before.

He took another sip, the tea’s bitterness grounding him. Maybe it’s her own growth, he thought. Or maybe I nudged her along. He tilted the cup, watching the leaves swirl. If I did, maybe I should take some pride in that. Making the world a little less grim, one alley at a time.

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