Nestled just a few valleys south of the bustling town of Alpime, buried in the rugged sprawl of the Wild Veins Route, stood Tropico Outpost, Western III.
It was not the kind of guildhall one would find in painted storybooks—no grand hall with hearthfires roaring, no warm laughter echoing off timber beams. Instead, Western III resembled a fortress built for endurance rather than comfort.
Its squared watchtowers loomed over rocky terrain, flags snapping violently against the sharp valley winds with the faint rustle of olive-green banners.
At the heart of each banner, the Tropico Guild insignia stood bold—a ripe mango resting over the silhouette of a palm tree, framed by olive borders and set against a field of stark white. A symbol of vitality, trade, and global dominance. Yet here, beneath the gloomy autumn sky, it looked more like a reminder: this is not home. This is duty.
It was a place meant to discipline, to refine. To remind.
And in one of its humble dormitories, Mina Ferrer Orlean stirred awake.The first thing Mina
Ferrer Orlean felt that morning was not warmth.Not the pleasant sort that made you want to curl deeper under the sheets.
It was the other kind—the kind that made you realize, with sudden dread, that you had once again forgotten to shut your window.
"…Ugh." Mina groaned, her voice muffled as she pushed herself upright.
Her coral-red hair was a mess, strands falling into her eyes as a sharp draft cut across the room. A scatter of orange leaves had claimed her floor overnight, twirling in from the valley winds that never stopped howling through the outpost.
For a long moment, she sat at the edge of the bed, rubbing her eyes with balled fists. Then, with the kind of reluctant responsibility only a sixteen-year-old could muster, she sighed and got to her feet.
Her room was small—cozy, in its own chaotic way. A stack of sparring gloves half-fell out of a corner basket, a few dried ink pens poked out from beneath a pile of mission reports she had promised to file last week, and her guild-issued jacket lay crumpled over a chair like a sleeping cat.
Still, compared to how it had looked two days ago, Mina was proud. No dust stung her nose this morning. She had actually cleaned. Spectacularly, in fact, she thought, recalling how Ashe's jaw had dropped when he first saw her sweeping.
"…Yeah, laugh at me now, bookworm," Mina muttered to no one, sweeping up the trespassing leaves and tossing them back out the window. "See how you feel when your room smells like old socks and failure."
With the binders secured, she finally shut the window tight. The chill lessened immediately, though the faint bite of autumn remained.
She stretched her arms high, yawning wide enough to squeak, before pulling off her wrinkled sleepwear. A quick change into a brown long-sleeved shirt and dark sweatpants did the trick. It wasn't glamorous, but this was her day off—no heavy armor, no dungeon grime. Just comfort.
She combed through her coral hair with deliberate strokes, taming the stubborn bedhead. Then, on second thought, pulled on her guild jacket from the chair. The weather might not yet be winter, but autumn in the Wild Veins Route had its own sharp bite.
Before stepping out, her eyes caught the old clock on the wall. The bronze hands pointed just shy of six.
"5:58, huh?" Mina whispered, her grin blooming mischievously.
Plenty of time. Just enough to ruin Ashe's morning before his alarm could.
She slipped out into the hallway, her boots soft against the wooden boards. The barracks smelled faintly of oil lamps and parchment—evidence of the scholars who shared quarters with fighters like her. Not that she cared.
Mina adjusted her jacket, smirk tugging her lips.
"Alright, Ashe," she muttered under her breath, pacing toward the boy's room, "time to pay rent for all that smug lecturing you call 'advice.'"
The wind outside howled again, rattling the shutters of the barracks. But inside, Mina's footsteps carried a steady, determined rhythm.
The hunt had begun.
Ashe slept peacefully.
Half of his head was buried beneath a pillow, the other half angled just enough to reveal the faint parting of his lips. He wasn't the type to snore. His breathing came slow, steady, the kind of rhythm that could lull anyone else back to sleep if they listened long enough.
His room was a study in contrast to Mina's earlier chaos. Where her window had been wide open to the world, Ashe's was shut tight—well, almost. A sliver, the barest crack, let in a thin gleam of morning light. That faint, stubborn strip of dawn crawled across the floorboards and up toward his desk, where tomes and quills were stacked in perfect order.
And it was in that tranquil quiet that Mina intruded.
Her figure slid into the room like a mischievous shadow, coral hair catching the dim light as she tiptoed past his desk. The grin tugging at her lips was unmistakable.
Too perfect, she thought, eyeing the ticking contraption on his bedside.
The clock's faint hum came from the little crystal chamber latched inside it—the mana battery that would make it chime right at six. Ashe always woke with it. Ashe always depended on it.
Mina crouched, her grin widening. With a practiced flick of her thumb, she snapped the chamber loose. The light inside the crystal winked out, leaving the clock a useless husk.
"Good morning, Mr. Discipline," she whispered to herself, satisfied.
Tucking the mana chamber into her vest pocket, she slipped onto the edge of his bed, the mattress dipping slightly under her weight. Ashe stirred, though faintly, and rolled onto his side, the pillow nearly swallowing his face.
For a moment, Mina just watched.
Something in her chest softened as her grin faded, replaced with something quieter, something gentler. Her mind pulled backward—six years, to the alleys of Elynthi's capital. Back when the world was harsher, colder, when the two of them scraped and fought like feral animals just to survive.
She shook her head, biting her lip.
"Nope. Not today," she muttered under her breath. She wasn't going to wallow. Not on her day off.
Instead, she reached forward and pinched his nose.
At first, Ashe didn't react. His brow twitched, his lips parting further as if trying to draw in more air. Then his head jerked, and his eyes cracked open, sluggish and heavy-lidded, fixing on the blurry outline of Mina hovering over him.
"…Mina," he rasped, voice thick with sleep. "Why."
"Why?" she echoed, smirking down at him. "Because it's funny. And because you'd never wake up on your own without me."
His hand moved sluggishly to push hers away, but she only pinched harder. His lips twitched—not into a smile, but into that exasperated half-frown she'd seen a hundred times before.
Finally, he sat up, catching her wrist and tugging it off his face. His white hair stuck in awkward tufts, one side plastered from sleep.
"You uh sabotaged my clock again, didn't you?" His voice was flat, but his eyes—still bleary—carried the accusation well enough.
Mina blinked innocently, feigning offense. "What? Me? Sabotage? Never. Your precious little mana-battery just… mysteriously vanished."
He groaned, rubbing his forehead. "You're impossible."
"And you're boring," she shot back, grinning as she tossed back the battery from her pocket into Ashe's hands.
"It's my—well our day off. And since you'd probably waste yours reading or helping out doing paper work, I've decided you're coming with me."
Ashe gave her a long look. The kind that carried the weight of six years of putting up with this exact behavior.
"…Breakfast first," he muttered at last.
Mina's grin widened. "Deal."
The stone spiral staircase of Western III's main tower creaked faintly under their steps as Mina and Ashe descended, the air carrying that distinct scent of morning chill and ink—the smell of paper logs, musty parchment, and cold stone baked into the guild's bones.
Ashe rubbed his hands together for warmth, his shoulders hunched as if that might preserve what little heat he had. "So," he muttered, half to himself, "breakfast out… dinner out…" He narrowed his eyes at her. "Why's lunch not included?"
Mina glanced at him, her coral hair bouncing with every step. "Because I don't eat lunch, duh."
"You don't—" Ashe stopped mid-step, incredulous. "What do you mean you don't eat lunch? That's a whole meal, Mina."
She shrugged, utterly unbothered. "Lunch is for people who don't know how to pace themselves. I just do a big breakfast and a big dinner. Problem solved."
"That's not solving anything," Ashe muttered, tugging his collar higher over his mouth like it could shield him from her nonsense.
Mina smirked. "Worked for me so far. Well I do occasionally just eat crackers" Then she snapped her fingers. "Oh right—don't even think about Joe making food this morning."
Ashe blinked, slightly more awake now. "He's not up?"
"It's Monday," Mina reminded, throwing her arms behind her head in a casual stretch. "Off-day for almost everyone who works mornings. Joe doesn't waste a batch of food for, like, three people crawling out of bed at dawn. So no breakfast rations in the mess hall today."
"Perfect," Ashe muttered into his collar miserably.
"That's what friends are for," Mina said sweetly.
They reached the bottom of the tower, pushing through the heavy double doors that led out into the courtyard. The banners of Tropico flapped overhead, mango and palm tree crest snapping in the wind. A handful of guilders were scattered across the square: some leaning lazily against the stone benches, others sparring halfheartedly in the practice rings, more than one simply lying on their backs, staring at the cloudy morning sky as though willing it to rain.
Western III always had this atmosphere on Mondays—less a fortress, more a den of loafers.
At the main gate, leaning casually against a spear taller than himself, stood Colt. His blond hair was tied back in a loose tail, his lean frame draped in an olive guild uniform that looked more for show than real fighting today. Green eyes brightened when he spotted them, and his grin spread wide.
"Heeey, my juniors~," Colt sang out, dragging the word just to annoy them. He slapped the shaft of his spear against the dirt in mock salute. "Where ya headed? And y'know the drill."
He gestured lazily with his chin at the thick logbook mounted on the wall beside the gate. The desk carved into the stone was scarred with ink stains and knife scratches, the book itself fat with years of names, times, and destinations.
Mina sighed, peeling away from Ashe—who kept both hands stuffed in his pockets and his mouth buried deep in the collar of his jacket, trying to take in the heat of his own breath.
She grabbed the quill, leaned over the log and took a quick look at the pocket watch beside it.
"Mornin', Colt," she said, her tone casual but not unfriendly. "We're just headed out. Probably back by sundown."
The quill scratched against the page, her handwriting quick but neat:
[ Mina, O. & Ashe, V. – 6:19 – Out into Alpime ]
Colt peered at the entry, nodding as though the scribbles were a sacred oath.
"Alpime, huh? Treat yourselves. Don't forget to bring me something sweet if you find Erica's stall."
Mina shot him a wry look. "What happened to 'reserve duty' meaning 'no freeloading'?"
Colt only winked, waving his free hand like a lazy flag. "Perks of being your senior, kiddo."
Mina rolled her eyes but smiled despite herself. She rejoined Ashe, who had only managed a half-hearted nod in Colt's direction. Together they stepped out onto the dirt road that stretched from the gate, the distant outline of Alpime just beyond the swells of the valley.
The sky hung low with clouds, a patchwork of grays that swallowed most of the morning light. The air smelled faintly of wet soil, the kind that promised rain before long.
Mina tilted her head up, squinting at the sky. "Looks like September's really here. Summer heat's over… guess it's rain season again."
Ashe tugged his jacket tighter, muttering through the collar. "Great. My favorite."
Mina grinned, hands laced behind her head as they walked. "Don't worry. I'll buy you a proper umbrella in town."
"Wait really?," Ashe replied with hopes.
"...Nah," Mina said, laughing under her breath.
The dirt road wound lazily between valleys, grass brushing against the path like green waves. The clouds thickened overhead, a gray ceiling pressing lower by the minute. Ashe and Mina walked side by side, their steps in rhythm but their moods tugging opposite ways—Mina lighthearted with her hands tucked behind her head, Ashe thoughtful with his hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets.
Ashe's mind wandered to the weight of his coin pouch. Eight hundred notes from Harlen's little bribe. Well… more like seven hundred now. Mina couldn't keep her hands off that candied chestnut stand last week. He exhaled slowly, lips pursed. Might as well spend a bit more today before she makes me blow it all on something stupid.
"Uhm," he began, hesitant like he was trying to test the waters, "what about the pizzeria?"
Mina's head snapped toward him, coral-red hair swaying with the motion. She stopped dead in her tracks. "Ashe. Ashe." She jabbed a finger at his chest. "You know I don't even like pizza. Why would you bring it up?!"
"I dunno, I was just—"
"It's messy! Greasy! And—ugh!—for breakfast?!" She flung her arms upward like the sky itself was guilty. "Come on, recommend me somewhere with Southern Cuisine~!"
Her sing-song lilt was half demand, half theatrical plea. Ashe blinked, unimpressed. "Southern? You mean Lipadiyan food?"
"Yes!" Mina beamed, pointing at him like he finally got something right.
Ashe sighed, rubbing his temple. "Mina, that's… not really popular in the Western Regions."
Her jaw dropped as if he had confessed a crime. "Whaaaat?! Are you for real?!"
"I'm serious," Ashe muttered.
"No, no, no. Nira told me all about it!" Mina pressed on, eyes bright. "She said there's beef that looks kind of gross but is unexpectedly so tender and juicy you just melt on the spot. Pork fried until it becomes chips—actual chips! And purple sludge that's yam! Purple yam, Ashe! Doesn't that sound amazing?!"
Ashe made a face like he wasn't sure if he was hungry or nauseous. "You just described beef mush, pork rocks, and… slime."
"Don't you dare insult yam." Mina gasped, clutching her chest like he'd wounded her personally.
"Fine, fine." Ashe raised his hands in surrender. "How about something normal then? Yoterland's Breakfast Shop? Or maybe Novelist Resto?"
Mina put on an exaggerated thinking face, her lips pursed, finger tapping her chin. "Hmmmmm… Yoterland's." She snapped her fingers. "Yep. I'm feeling adventurous today. I'll try something new for a change instead of my usual eggs, buttered veggies, sausage, and bread."
"Wow," Ashe deadpanned. "So daring."
"You hush," Mina said, though the corners of her lips curled.
Ashe only shook his head, though he looked faintly amused. His eyes trailed down to his own feet—tan running shoes, the ones he wore almost every day. He glanced at Mina's short leather boots and knew, in the pit of his stomach, that autumn would betray him before long.
Sure enough, as if summoned by his dread, the first droplets began to fall. A sprinkle at first, then a steady patter as rain swept over the valley.
"Of course," Ashe muttered, pulling his jacket tighter around himself.
The pair hurried down the road, their pace breaking into a jog as mud splashed underfoot. Luckily, Alpime's wooden gates loomed close, and within minutes they ducked beneath the town's eaves, their breath fogging in the cool air.
Mina gave an exasperated groan, tugging off her jacket with a shake. She glanced down, only mildly damp. "Hah. Not too bad. Guess I timed that right."
She glanced sideways at Ashe—and smirked.
His jacket had kept him dry enough from the waist up, but his shoes… oh, his poor shoes. The tan fabric was soaked through, darkened by mud and water, his socks squishing audibly with every step.
Mina leaned back on the bench under the awning, crossing her arms with smug satisfaction. "Hah! 'Great. My Favorite.' You said?."
Ashe glared at her, wringing the hem of his sock between two fingers. "Shut up."
"No, no, no. You gotta admit you should've gotten boots instead of shoes~."
Mina leaned closer, her grin wicked. "Say Mina was right. Say boots beat shoes."
Ashe buried his face in his collar. "Never."
"Squish, squish, squish," Mina teased, wiggling her fingers like she was mimicking the sound. "Your feet're gonna smell like swamp the whole day."
Ashe groaned, dragging his hands down his face. "This is punishment for existing."
Mina only laughed, tilting her head back to watch the rain roll off the rooftops.
Ashe exhaled through his nose, steadying his pulse as he flexed his fingers. The mana-heart at his chest pulsed faintly—like the rhythm of blood, but warmer, deeper. He whispered low enough that only Mina, close by, might hear:
"Ignia; Heat Reservoir."
A shimmer of heat coursed through his legs, pooling at his ankles, then spreading outward. The puddle-damp cold that had sunk into his socks hissed and evaporated into wisps of steam. He slipped the socks into his fist, muttering the same practical weave, letting the warmth soak them through until they were almost dry.
Mina tilted her head, watching the little wisps curl upward. "Handy~," she said, her tone half impressed, half mocking. "Seriously, Ashe, you're like… a walking clothes dryer. Why don't you ever use that trick when I complain about being cold?"
Ashe slipped the socks back on, slipping his feet into his shoes again without looking at her. "Because you don't complain," he said flatly. "You declare war on the weather. Big difference."
Mina gasped. "What's that supposed to mean?!"
"Exactly what I said," Ashe replied, tugging his collar back up around his mouth to hide his smirk.
She narrowed her eyes, but instead of throwing a retort, she bent down and picked up the old umbrella leaning against the bench. Rust flaked on her fingers when she snapped it open. The fabric sagged at one corner, and the release button at the bottom refused to catch.
"…No wonder this was abandoned." Mina sighed, though she still pulled it over them anyway, pressing closer to Ashe's side as they stepped back onto the street. "Guess it's better than nothing."
"Is it?" Ashe muttered, glancing at the squeaky joints. "Pretty sure it's worse. This thing might collapse and stab one of us."
"Then I'll shield you with my body." Mina grinned. "Heroic sacrifice, Ashe. Remember me fondly."
He gave her a side-eye so sharp it could cut. "You're not dying to an umbrella, Mina."
The streets of Alpime glistened under the light drizzle, cobblestones slick and shining. Shops along Juliss Road had already opened, their wooden signs creaking as the morning wind tugged them. The smell of fresh bread drifted from a baker's stall, blending with the faint iron tang of wet stone. Adventurers—guilders—loitered beneath awnings, leaning on walls with mugs of steaming coffee in hand. Some eyed Ashe and Mina's umbrella-sharing with raised brows, but most were too caught in their own chatter.
It wasn't long before they reached Yoterland's Breakfast Joint. Unlike most shops in Alpime that stuck with sturdy wood or iron shutters, Yoterland's boasted glass pane doors—gleaming, inviting, fragile. Risky for a town that saw its fair share of brawls, but the kind of risk that felt welcoming, even bold.
The moment Mina pushed the door open, warmth wrapped around them—along with the hearty smell of butter, sizzling meat, and brewed tea.
"Morning, Mina! Ashe!" The familiar voice of Yorn called from behind the counter. The man, tall and broad-shouldered, wore his gray hair tied back. His apron was smudged from years of flour and oil, his smile carrying the kind of warmth only a man who had long left adventuring behind could muster.
Behind him, the sound of clattering pans hinted that his wife, Terra, was already busy preparing the morning's meals.
"Usual Monday order?" Yorn asked, already reaching for the quill and order slate.
Mina shook her head quickly, coral hair bouncing as she waved her hand. "Not today! We're changing it up. Surprise, right? We're craving something different."
Yorn chuckled, scratching his stubbled chin. "Well, well. What's gotten into you, eh? Change of heart?"
"Something like that," Mina grinned, leaning against Ashe's shoulder. "Ashe and I decided we'd actually look at the menu for once."
Ashe grumbled quietly, "She decided," but didn't protest further.
"Well then," Yorn said with a knowing smile, "menu it is."
He gestured them toward their usual booth—number three, tucked near the window. The glass overlooked Juliss Road, where wagons rolled by, their wheels leaving dark tracks on the wet cobblestones.
Yorn set down two cups of water with a clink, sliding the menus across the polished wood table before heading back toward the kitchen. "Take your time, kids. Don't overthink it—it's just breakfast!"
Mina leaned forward immediately, menu spread wide like a treasure map. "Ashe. Ashe. Do you see this? They have southern-style pork strips. Like chips! This is fate."
Ashe lifted his menu lazily, eyes scanning without much urgency. "Or you could get… toast."
"Toast?" Mina lowered her menu slowly, unimpressed. "What are you, eighty?"
"I'm practical," Ashe replied, leaning his chin on his palm. "Toast doesn't betray you."
"Toast is betrayal in bread form." Mina puffed her cheeks, jabbing at the page. "I'm going southern."
Ashe sighed, lips twitching into the faintest smile as the light rain continued to patter against the glass.
Ashe finally surrendered the argument with a low exhale through his nose.
"Fine. But I'm not getting anything fried."
Mina grinned triumphantly, though she hid it behind her menu as though she hadn't been pushing his buttons for the past five minutes.
After a short back-and-forth with Yorn, Ashe settled on something unfamiliar: Særlig Tarts—a multilayered, laminated sweet pastry that gleamed under the light when Yorn described it. The tart came stuffed with alternating ribbons of strawberry, blueberry, and raspberry jam, finished with a thick foundation of cream cheese at the bottom. Yorn paired it with a steaming cup of coffee… though seeing Ashe's wary frown, he chuckled.
"First time, eh? Don't make that face, boy. Try the mixed one—chocolate blended in. Makes the bitterness tame."
Ashe accepted the cup with a quiet nod.
Meanwhile, Mina's eyes had already turned starry. "And me! The new thing on the menu!"
"Ah, the Southern-style pork," Yorn said, tapping the order slate with his quill.
"Picked that up from a traveling fellow from Lipadiya. He called it 'Lechon Kawali.' Simple to say, not so simple to cook. Took me three ruined pans to get it right."
He gave a proud laugh.
Not long after, the table filled with clinking dishes. Mina's plate arrived first: golden-brown squares of pork belly that glistened with their own oil, the edges crisped and crackling. Steam curled from the meat, joined by the soft yellow of salted scrambled eggs on the side.
Mina's jaw dropped. "Oh gods above… Yorn, I think I might love you."
"Tell that to my wife," Yorn shot back with a laugh, retreating toward the kitchen.
Ashe's tart followed—layers of delicate pastry sheets stacked like a tower, glistening jams peeking from the folds. The sweet, fruity scent filled the air between them.
Mina stabbed her fork into the pork before Ashe could even adjust his plate. She let out a long, theatrical hum after the first bite. "Mmm~… crispy, salty, soft inside… Ashe, you're missing out."
"I'm fine," Ashe replied, tearing into the tart with clean precision. His fork cut through pastry and cream cheese in a single bite. Sweetness and tang spread across his tongue, balanced by the richness beneath. His brows furrowed slightly—he wasn't used to food layering flavor like this.
He tried the coffee next, cautious, taking only a sip. The bitterness struck first, sharp and smoky—but the chocolate swept in after, smoothing the edge.
Mina tilted her head. "So? Verdict?"
Ashe put the cup down slowly. "…It tastes like someone brewed the ashes of woodfire, then decided it was drinkable."
Mina burst out laughing, nearly choking on pork belly. "Pfft—y-you mean coffee?"
"…I didn't say it was bad."
"You don't have to! Your face says it all!" Mina giggled, snatching another piece of pork.
Despite himself, Ashe smirked faintly and returned to his tart, letting the sweetness wash down the bitter edges.
The booth felt warm, filled with the rhythm of clinking forks and casual chatter. Outside, rain streaked against the glass, each drop catching the morning light as if Alpime itself glittered. Mina was too absorbed in her food to care about much else.
But Ashe noticed it. The shift.
The clamor of dull footsteps that broke the steady drizzle. The sharp snap of boots against wet cobblestone. Voices rising—not laughter, not market chatter, but barked orders that cut through Juliss Road.
He set down his fork, leaning slightly to peer through the window. A crowd was gathering down the street, a disturbance swelling like a wave. Through the glass, he caught sight of uniforms—olive and beige—moving in formation.
The Tropico Guild. The same one they're apart of.
Their presence pressed heavy on the street, even from a distance.
Ashe's brows drew together, his focus narrowing. Whatever was happening, it wasn't small.
Mina, still chewing, didn't notice. She hummed happily to herself, dipping another piece of pork into her eggs.
"Hey, Ashe," she said between bites, "you're not gonna take any of mine, right? Good, 'cause I'm not sharing."
But Ashe's gaze stayed fixed outside, the fork resting forgotten in his hand as the commotion grew louder.