CHAPTER 47: CHAPTER 47: THE WARMTH OF A STRANGER

The broth was simple but hot, and the bread a little stale, yet nobody complained. They ate slowly, trading light remarks about the day. Even Zephyra, in her calm and measured tone, added occasional reactions when Nyra teased her about how she sniffed at every doorway before entering.

The old woman listened, her eyes softening at times, until one story led into another and her smile faded.

"I... had a son," she began quietly, hands folding on the table. "He was my joy. Lively, hard-working. His instructors called him a genius in the making."

Arden kept his gaze on her, saying nothing.

"But at his awakening, he... he had two affinities." Her voice trembled, and tears welled as she spoke. "That was the day everything changed. The praise stopped, and the town whispered.

Then the beatings came, losing it whenever he tried to defend himself. Eventually they pushed him into the Outlands... and I never saw him again."

The silence was heavy. Nyra rose and stepped around the table, wrapping her arms around the woman. She broke then, sobbing openly against Nyra’s shoulder.

No one asked more. The reason she’d taken them in was clear.

When the tears finally eased, the woman looked at Nyra with tired pride. "You’re still trying... even after they cast you out. That’s brave. But the road ahead will not be kind."

She turned her gaze to Arden and Rael. "And you... I hope the three of you stay standing together."

Arden inclined his head. "We plan to."

The words were simple, but his tone left no room for doubt.

They thanked her for the meal and her kindness, and though the food had been modest, it left them with the rare warmth that came from someone choosing to believe in you.

Arden let the others remain, knowing they could offer her company, while he excused himself. "I’ll check the mission site before it gets too late," he said, slipping on his mask again.

The streets were quieter now. He followed the narrow road toward the Three Mugs, the tavern’s sign swaying faintly in the wind.

Inside, the noise dipped for a moment as he walked past, the stares quick to follow. The murmurs started almost immediately.

The masked stranger with a beast companion. The outcasts no one wanted. Greyhold had plenty to say.

He reached the counter and the receptionist smiled faintly. "Looking for Boro, right? Word is a strange party finally took that job. I’ll call him. He’s been waiting for you."

Arden gave a short nod. "Then let’s not keep him waiting."

It didn’t take long before Boro appeared. He was a slim, older man with a long beard that trailed down his chest. Arden’s eyes ran over him the moment he walked in.

The man’s aura was faint, probably mid-stage Vein Bloom, the realm just above Vein Surge, but Arden didn’t dismiss him. His steps were too measured, his eyes too sharp.

When they shook hands, the grip was firm on both sides.

"Boro," the man said.

"Arden."

It was a brief exchange, but they’d already measured each other up. Boro could tell Arden wasn’t just some wandering battle mage, and Arden could see the man was used to sizing people for more than their coin.

The silence stretched until Arden broke it. "I’ve accepted the mission. But this isn’t about any ordinary herb. What’s the real catch?"

Boro’s mouth twitched into a faint smile. "Straightforward. I like that." The smile faded as his tone grew heavier. "The catch depends on whether we get it at all. Your pay depends on speed... and on whether we make it back alive. And we’re already behind on time."

Arden didn’t need more explanation. A gamble. Bigger risk, bigger pay, and the stake was your life.

"Alright. We’ll take it," he said without hesitation.

Boro chuckled. "Didn’t even think it over. You’re either brave... or just chasing the thrill."

"Maybe both." Arden’s eyes narrowed slightly. "Speed matters. So let’s not waste any."

The older man gave a short laugh. "Interesting young man."

Arden’s mind was already racing ahead to the second zone. Whatever the target was, there could be more out there, valuable things. Dangerous zones meant dangerous beasts, and that meant resources most people couldn’t touch. That was a goldmine waiting to be claimed.

Boro waved to a pair of his men. They returned with a heavy bag and placed it on the counter.

"Two thousand Sen upfront," he said, sliding it across. "We meet at Greyhold’s gate before noon."

Arden picked it up without checking the weight. "Then let’s work together."

They shook hands again, then Arden turned and walked out.

The receptionist, one of Boro’s men, waited until the door closed before leaning closer. "Think we can trust him?"

Boro crossed one leg over the other and took a slow sip from the wine just poured for him. He didn’t answer right away.

Finally, he said, "He’s no ordinary boy. I’m looking forward to working with him."

Arden made his way back through the quiet street toward the elderly woman’s house. Halfway there, a sudden pull in the threads of his senses stopped him cold.

The life tags he had placed on Nyra and Rael flared in his awareness, sharp and urgent.

He didn’t know what they were up against, but it was enough to make his pace break into a full sprint. His boots hit the cobbles hard as he cut through the narrow lanes.

Then shadows moved in.

Figures stepped out from both ends of the street, masks hiding their faces. More closed in from the alleys, ten at least, maybe more.

Arden slowed, scanning them without a hint of panic. "Over ten men just for me? I should be flattered."

It was a smart play. Split him from his party, box them in, and crush them both at the same time. He could respect the planning.

But then a faint grin tugged at his lips. "You think I’m the only one worth worrying about? You’ve made a mistake."

Meanwhile, at the elderly woman’s home, the air shifted. Zephyra’s head snapped toward the door, ears twitching. A deep growl rumbled from her throat, low enough to vibrate the table.

Nyra frowned. "What is it?"

Zephyra didn’t answer, she stepped forward, tail stiff, the fur along her spine bristling.

The first blast came a heartbeat later. Fire slammed against the wooden door, shattering it into burning splinters. The flames lit up the room, and through the smoke, masked men poured in.

A/N:

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