Graaswell City glowed under the golden sunset, its massive gates standing tall like some kind of dream.
I stopped in my tracks, just staring.
It was really there.
After forty days stuck in that dungeon, I didn't think I'd ever see this place again.
It was a little after 4 PM, I guessed. Hard to be sure. Time doesn't mean much when you're trapped underground fighting goblins and praying you don't die in your sleep. So yeah—standing here, breathing fresh air, seeing people, hearing voices… it all felt weird. Too normal.
Too alive.
But something didn't sit right.
Where were the guards?
For a city this big, the front gate should've been crawling with security. Instead, it was wide open. No checkpoints. No weapons drawn. Just... air.
Then I saw them.
Watson and Amiria.
Two familiar idiots leaning against the gate wall, chatting like they were on break from a summer job—not assigned to protect one of the busiest entrances in the country.
I limped closer, my gear still covered in dirt and blood. My hair? A disaster. My body? Basically broken. My smell? Absolutely criminal.
They didn't notice me yet.
"She's still trailing him everywhere?" Amiria asked.
"Yep," Watson replied, chewing on something. "Kid's what—six? Seven? And she's basically glued to him like a stalker."
"She acts all sweet," Amiria added, "but give her a few years and I swear she's gonna full-on snap if anyone gets near him."
I blinked.
Oh. They were talking about the prince and his little sister.
The girl was a walking contradiction—cute and clingy, but way too intense. She was the kind of kid who'd trip over her own feet trying to follow you around, but also give death glares to anyone who came too close.
Meanwhile, the prince looked like he wanted to disappear every time she showed up.
"Watson," Amiria suddenly said, nose scrunched. "Did you fart?"
"What?! No way!"
"Then what's that smell?!"
I cleared my throat.
They both turned.
"Alexandra?!" Amiria's eyes went wide. "You're alive?!"
"We thought you were dead!" Watson added, looking like he'd seen a ghost.
I gave them a tired smile. "Yeah. Still breathing. Barely. And apparently, I smell like a literal dumpster fire."
Watson stepped back. "No joke, you smell like something died, came back to life, then died again."
Honestly? Not wrong.
Forty days without a proper shower. No soap. No supplies. Just whatever cold water I could find and the occasional river to rinse off.
I smelled like a mix of sweat, dirt, old blood, and regret.
Basically, trauma in scent form.
I was about to make a joke when Amiria suddenly stood straight like she just remembered she was supposed to be working.
That look on her face? Same one you get when the teacher catches you passing notes in class.
I raised an eyebrow. "You guys do remember you're on guard duty, right?"
They froze.
"If something dangerous had followed me here," I added, "you two would've been the first ones dead."
I started walking past them.
"Don't worry, I'm not here to babysit," I said over my shoulder. "Figure it out."
And just like that, I stepped through the gates.
The city hit me all at once.
The noise. The colors. The smells. Street vendors shouting, kids running around, music drifting through the alleys.
After everything I'd been through, it was almost too much.
This was supposed to be the start of something new.
A clean slate.
But deep down, I could feel it.
Something was off. Something was coming.
Was this my fresh start... or just the next disaster waiting to happen?
Whatever it was, one thing was clear—life in Graaswell wasn't going to be peaceful. Not even close.