Ashton chewed slowly, savoring the charred skin of the grilled Aurus, its oily crispness cutting through the blandness of the boiled greens. Across the tavern, the three young paladins had gone silent, their conversation now a muted buzz of utensils on plates and anxious glances.
"So the Church of Golah had whispers of demons in their dungeons. And dreams, no less."
"A demon who speaks through dreams…" Ashton stirred the vegetables with his fork, watching the steam curl upward like smoke from a fading fire.
He took a sip from the watered-down ale. Ronald finally relented to give him a mere splash of bitter froth in a chipped mug. Ashton leaned back in his chair, the wood creaked beneath him.
"Ronald," Ashton said, voice casual, "this Church of Golah… where is it exactly?"
The old innkeeper glanced up from behind the bar, polishing the same tankard he'd been working on for the last ten minutes. "East end of the city," he replied. "You'll know you're close when people stop looking you in the eye."
Ashton chuckled. "Friendly bunch, I take it?"
Ronald snorted. "If 'friendly' means preaching damnation while their swords gleam in the sun, then aye, the friendliest around." He paused, his tone dropping slightly. "Watch yourself. The ones in robes ain't the only ones listening near the Church."
Ashton asked, "Robes?"
Ronald, after a brief silence, responded, "It's not just the priests you need to watch out for. The ones in robes got their hands in everything, but it's the ones with swords that make the streets a bit… more dangerous."
Ashton nodded, setting down his fork. "Duly noted."
As Ashton continues eating, he notices a freshly bread basket near Ronald.
"Hey Ronald," Asked Ashton.
"Yeah, what do you need?' Replied Ronald, who was about to go back and fix the tankard.
"Could I get some fresh bread and pieces of Aurus as a snack?" smiled Ashton.
With a tired tone, Ronald said, "Just grabbed some from there." Ronald pointed to the freshly-baked basket, and continued, "For the pieces of Aurus. I think I still have some leftovers." Ronald went back to the kitchen for a bit, then came out.
"Oh? And you're giving me all of this for free?" asked Asthon with a grin.
"Hah. You wish, kid." Said Ronald, "It's 4 Copper."
"Ughh.. Sure," Groaned Ashton.
He finished the last bite of Aurus, stood, gave Ronald the four copper, and took a small basket with the snack in it. He pulled his hood up and began to go out.
The warmth of the tavern faded behind him as he stepped outside into the morning light. The city was stirring, vendors setting up carts, guards pacing street corners, and carriages rattling across the uneven cobbles. The air smelled of bread and smoke, tinged with the distant salt of the sea.
East. Toward the place where even the sun didn't quite reach.
Ashton tightened his hood and, without another word, slipped into the current of the city.
On the way to the Church, Ashton walked by a few vendors and carts. Some were interesting, whilst the rest were boring. He then momentarily stopped and closed his eyes. When he reopened his eyes, one of them had changed to a soft light blue with a purple iris.
He then fixed his hood to cover his head completely and began walking again, through his enhanced eye, he could see every thing that has mana in it.
He saw an old vendor loudly peddling "magical" items, none of which carried even a trace of mana.
Ashton moved on, weaving through the growing crowd. More carts, more sellers. Eventually, he found himself in the heart of the city, the Market Square.
It was louder here. Busier.
Vendors shouted over one another, hawking food, drinks, weapons, and trinkets. The clash of metal and the scent of spices filled the air. People pushed past in every direction, their voices blending into a constant hum.
The Market was alive and chaotic, almost theatrical.
But Ashton barely glanced around.
He wasn't here to buy.
With a slow breath, he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he had reverted his eyes to normal.
He adjusted his hood, hiding the change, and turned east, toward the far edge of the marketplace.
Step by step, the noise thinned. The crowd began to fade. The air felt different here.
Quieter. Rougher.
Then, he stopped.
A flicker of something pulled at his senses, sharp, focused, and far too familiar.
A Mana Stone.
His stomach churned.
He knew that taste, that hum. After all, in the past, he often used it for research until the mere presence of condensed mana made him sick.
But now?
He needed it more than ever.
His circuits were cracking again.
The blue pills could only delay the pain and not the solution.
He found that one of the solutions to his problem was the lack of external Mana.
He turned toward the pull.
A dim alley, tucked between broken brick and shadow. A small figure, hunched under a ragged cloth, barely moving.
Ashton changed course.
The church could wait.
He stepped into the dark, narrowing world of the alleyway. His boots crunched on damp stone. He closed his eyes once more, breathing out, then opened them, and both eyes shimmered with unnatural light. Both of his eyes turned into soft light blue with purple-violet irises.
Revelaris.His special sight.
Through it, the world unraveled into patterns of mana-threads, glows, and pulses. The child glowed faintly, but nestled against her chest pulsed a dense core of blue.
A Mana Stone. Just one. But real.
Ashton's breath caught.
He stepped closer, voice calm.
"My, my… You look cold. Hungry, even." He forced a small smile. "I know a place with warm food and soft beds."
He was already preparing his next move was distract, disarm, and take it.
But then he saw her face.
A child. Crying.
The girl looked up, eyes wide, cheeks wet, trembling beneath the ragged cloth. A turtle half-beast. Young. Barely older than twelve.
He remembered the rumors. The Helson Party. The massacre. The one that got away.
And in her small, shaking hands, she clutched the source of his salvation.
She met his eyes and froze.
To her, Ashton's gaze was monstrous. Both eyes were glowing. A stare filled with desperation, pain, and something far colder.
Her own memories returned.
Blood in the grass, the rain, her parents' screams. The merchant wagon. The freezing nights. The stolen toys. The blue gem she now clutched for comfort.
And now this.. another predator, she thought, come to take everything once more.
Ashton saw it all in her expression.
And for the first time in days, something cracked inside him.
He saw his sister in her.
Her small, trembling hands reminded him of his sister, the one whom he left behind, who had already grown past the age Elma was now.
The usual cries and demands of her, the kid who used to request to be taught magic by him, the spoiled little sister he dearly loved.
His hand, halfway toward the amulet, stopped.
"…Are you okay, kid?" he asked again, quieter this time, no longer a calculated ploy, but something genuine, almost pained.
Something human.
No responses.
"Kid?" Ashton asked worriedly.
The child flinched at his voice.
She clutched the amulet tighter, her small green fingers trembling around the gem. Her eyes, wide and watery, locked onto his glowing ones, and she shrank back.
She was scared.
Terrified.
Ashton saw it plainly now, the quivering lip, the trembling hands, the subtle pull of her knees inward as if to vanish entirely. Her little body shivered not just from the cold, but from something deeper: the instinctual fear of being seen and known.
And he was glowing.
His eyes, still lit by Revelaris, cast eerie reflections along the damp stone walls of the alley. He saw how his presence twisted in her view, just another monster looming in the dark.
His heart sank.
"…Shit."
He blinked rapidly and dispelled the mana vision. His eyes dulled, the glow retreating into shadow.
"I didn't mean to scare you," he murmured, kneeling slowly, palms open. "It's okay."
He looked at her, really looked.
Tears stained her dirt-caked cheeks. Her tiny shell was barely visible beneath the filthy cloth wrapped around her back. She couldn't have been older than his sister had been when he left the family.
His chest tightened.
She's just a kid.
Ashton lowered his voice again, softer this time.
"You're safe now. I'm not going to hurt you.
Ashton stayed kneeling, not daring to move any closer.
"I'm sorry," he said again, his voice almost a whisper now. "I didn't mean to scare you. I just…"
He hesitated, eyes flicking to the amulet still clutched in her small hand. The mana within it still pulsed faintly, but right now, it didn't matter.
Right now, she mattered more.
He reached into the folds of his cloak and pulled out a small cloth-wrapped bundle of bread and a strip of dried Aurus meat he had pocketed from Ronald for a snack. Simple, but warm.
"Here," he said gently, setting it down between them. "It's not much, but it's warm. You can have it. No tricks."
The child didn't move. Her eyes darted from his face to the food, then back again. Her breathing was shallow, unsure.
Ashton tilted his head and tried something else.
He extended one hand and slowly opened his palm. A faint shimmer gathered in the air above it, harmless and playful.
From the glowing dust, a small orb formed, then slowly shifted into the shape of a tiny turtle, wobbling slightly as it took form. Its shell shimmered with soft blue hues, and its eyes blinked in a slow, curious rhythm. It was no more than a conjured illusion, a trick of Revelaris, but one Ashton had mastered for quiet moments like this.
The turtle floated gently toward the child and settled on the ground near her foot. It blinked up at her and made a tiny, curious chirp.
Ashton smiled faintly. "He doesn't bite. You can pet him if you want."
The child stared first at the turtle, then at Ashton.
Her fingers twitched.
Slowly, cautiously, she reached out and touched the turtle's shell.
Her fingers brushed the turtle's shell, hesitant, like she was testing the waters for danger.
But after a while, she began slowly caressing the turtle. Her shoulders eased, just slightly. The fear hadn't vanished, but it cracked, if only for a moment.
"That's better," Ashton said softly. "See? Not everything that glows has to be scary."
The girl blinked, her fear easing just slightly. Enough to make her sit up a little straighter.
"I'm Ashton," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "What's your name?"
A long pause.
"...Elma," she murmured, barely audible.
"Elma, huh?" He smiled gently. "That's a lovely name."
She blinked again, tears still clinging to her cheeks.
"I'm not here to hurt you. I know the city's cold. People here can be… worse than the cold. But you're not alone anymore, alright?"
He extended the bun a little closer.
"You don't have to talk if you don't want to. Just eat. Rest. I'll stay right here."
She looked down at the bun, her hands trembling.
And slowly, carefully, she reached for it.
Elma nibbled at the bread, small bites as if expecting it to vanish at any moment. Her eyes stayed on Ashton, wide and wary, never letting him out of sight.
He sat a few feet away, cross-legged, watching the alley's entrance instead of her, giving her space, not forcing her trust. The little illusion turtle still floated near her foot, gently circling.
Ashton spoke softly, "There's an inn not far from here. Decent place. Has a fireplace… and a door that locks."
Elma flinched.
He noticed and softened his tone. "I'm not saying you have to come. I just… think you shouldn't be out here when the sun goes down. Not alone."
Elma looked away.
He hesitated. Then, as if speaking more to himself than to her, he added, "You ever see how cities change at night?" He looked at her eyes, and followed up, "Streets go quiet, but the monsters get loud. Not the kind with horns or claws." He hesitated a bit and then continued, "The kind that smile before they take something."
Silence. The child's chewing slowed.
"I'm not asking you to trust me," Ashton continued, his gaze still on the alley mouth. "Just asking you to walk where it's warm. Eat more than some crusts. Sit somewhere that doesn't smell like piss and blood."
Elma's small hands clutched the bread.
Still, she didn't answer.
He stood slowly, brushing off his cloak, then bent slightly to meet her gaze, careful not to get too close or tower over her.
"I'm leaving in a few minutes," he said gently. "If you want to follow, I'll walk ahead. But if you need some time to think about it, just stay here."
With a small, reassuring smile, Ashton added, "I'll come back for you later. After that, we'll go to the inn I mentioned."
Elma stared at him, her expression torn between instinct and hunger, fear and a flicker of need.
"You know," he continued, his voice softer, "not all people are good. But not all of them are monsters, either. Just... try walking behind one for a while. Just to see."
He turned.
And walked.
One step, then another. The soft tread of his boots on wet stone echoed in the stillness.
He didn't look back.
Ashton stepped back into the bustle of the street, the noise and movement jarring after the stillness of the alley. The sun hung high, casting long beams across the uneven stones, but the warmth barely touched him.
Then, without warning, a sharp pain lanced through his skull and down his spine.
His knees gave out.
He staggered into the side of a building, one hand catching the rough wall, the other clutching his chest. His breath hitched. Blood surged up his throat and spilled from his lips, dark and bitter.
He dropped to the ground, coughing violently.
More blood.
The world blurred, spinning. His vision dimmed at the edges as cold sweat soaked through his shirt.
The backlash.
Revelaris.
He had used too much again. Too soon. With circuits already splintered and no new mana, his body had reached its limit.
Then came the sound.
Faint at first. A child's cry.
But not from the street.
From his mind.
"Ashton…"
A soft, familiar voice. His sister's voice.
"Ashton, where did you go? Why did you leave me?"
He pressed trembling fingers to his temples, squeezing his eyes shut. "No… no…"
But the voice only grew louder.
"You said you'd teach me magic. You said we'd walk the cliffs together again."
His breath broke into shallow gasps, his body curling inward. The pain wasn't just physical anymore. It clawed at his mind, memory, and guilt, tearing through him like glass.
"You never came back, Ashton. Why didn't you come back?"
He fumbled in his coat, hands slick with sweat, until his fingers closed around the small silver vial. The pills.
"Where are you..?"
He popped one into his mouth, swallowing dry.
Still, the voice lingered.
"I.. really miss you.. Brother."
Another pill. His hand shook as he pressed it to his tongue.
The hallucination began to fade, but it left something worse in its place.
His own voice.
He didn't mean to make the sound. But it escaped anyway, hoarse, trembling.
A sob.
Then another.
Ashton hunched forward, arms wrapped around his knees, and cried.
Not the restrained, buried kind he'd grown used to, this was raw and shattering. The kind that came from a soul stretched thin, from years of silence and pain and pretending.
He didn't care that he was in the street.
He didn't care who might see.
Because at that moment, Ashton wasn't a cloaked stranger or a broken mage. He was just a boy again, a boy who had run too far and lost too much.
He cried until the wave of pain passed.
And behind him, unseen to all but the shadows, Elma watched.
She hadn't followed him, not fully. But she had crept to the edge of the alley, drawn by something she didn't understand, a thread of warmth in a cold world.
And there, hidden beneath the hanging cloth and broken stones, she saw the one who had frightened her, the glowing-eyed man with soft bread and softer words, collapse under the weight of something bigger than magic.
She didn't understand what she felt.
But in her chest, something shifted.
A silence shared.
A thread pulled taut.
She didn't move. Not yet.
Elma's fingers still clutched the crust of bread, now half-eaten, but her eyes never left Ashton. The man who had offered warmth but now trembled in the open, vulnerable and broken.
He was supposed to be strong. He lookedstrong.
But now he looked small. Smaller even than she had felt in the alley.
His sobs echoed between stone walls, each one like a quiet confession. Elma had heard people cry before, in the slums, in the ruins, in the camps, but never like this. Never from someone who had tried to smile.
She thought of running again.
Of hiding, slipping back into the dark where the world forgot her.
But her legs didn't move.
Instead, she stood there, silent and watching. And, for the first time since the Helson Party, her fear… wavered.
He wasn't a monster.
Monsters didn't cry.
Elma looked down at the glowing turtle illusion still faintly shimmering beside her foot. It flickered now, unstable without Ashton's focus, and finally winked out like a dying ember.
She made a choice.
She took a step.
Then another.
She crept toward him, slow and careful, like approaching a wounded animal. Not to touch, not to speak, but to simply be there. Just in case.
Ashton didn't look up. He couldn't.
He just sat there, arms tight around himself, broken pieces exposed to the world.
But then, he felt it.
A small presence. Bare feet on the stone. The gentle tug of a child's warmth beside him, even without contact.
And something soft brushed against his side, a folded cloth, gently placed.
The same one Elma had used to wrap herself in.
Her blanket.
She offered it to him.
Not as a trade, not out of fear.
But because, in her own quiet way, she understood.
Sometimes, you didn't need to be saved.
Sometimes, you just need to know someone stayed.