Mina and Ashe followed the cobbled street downward, its stones slick with morning dew and scattered with curled red leaves. The slope carried them toward the plaza at the heart of Jullisso, where smoke from food stalls mingled with the sharper tang of smithy fire.
Ashe slowed his pace, his eyes drinking in the town. The rows of houses—painted in hues of ochre, rust, and amber—glowed against the autumn light. It felt deliberate, as if Jullisso itself had dressed for the season. More than that, he noticed the lamps lining the road: slender posts of iron, each crowned with a shimmering stone. A soft flame pulsed inside, steady and warm, not flickering like normal fire.
"Ignia: Graceful Flame," Ashe murmured, half to himself. "A practical enchantment. Produces heat without smoke."
His lips curved faintly. "This place… it's warmer. Feels more alive than Alpime."
Mina tilted her head, smiling at his rare note of wonder. "I know what you mean. Alpime's all grit and hard work. Jullisso feels like a place where you could—" she stretched her arms wide, tugging her brown long sleeves taut, "—actually sprawl around without care."
Then her smile faltered as she rubbed at her bare arms. "Though without my guild coat, I feel half-dressed. Like I'm walking naked through someone else's house."
Ashe glanced at her sidelong. "You? Naked? You'd scare half the town." His joke came out awkward, his voice cracking at the end, and he immediately looked away.
Before Mina could tease him for it, a gust of wind carried a ripple of black-and-orange fabric across the street. Both of them looked up.
A banner—bold, sharp-edged, proud—hung above a stone arch. The emblem of the Grille Guild.
Ashe's throat tightened. He'd read enough history to recognize it. "Grille Guild," he muttered. "One of the Seven Guilds that once tried to choke Tropico out, eighty years ago. They fell, and Tropico rose on their ashes. Guess not everyone's forgotten…"
His words earned him a quick tug on the arm. Mina leaned close, her whisper half-chiding, half-amused.
"Don't say that here. You'll make yourself sound like a walking history lecture—and maybe get us gutted by some proud Grille sympathizer."
She chuckled, low and bright, though her eyes flicked around to check if anyone had overheard.
Ashe sighed, tugging his collar. "Fine. No history lessons."
"Good," Mina said with a grin. "Leave the boring parts to Trevus."
They shared a quick laugh, though both felt the weight of the banner above them as they pressed deeper into the plaza.
Mina and Ashe reached the plaza, the cobbled road widening into a great circular square rimmed with stalls, shops, and guild banners that swayed lazily in the autumn wind. The air was alive with smells—fresh bread, roasting chestnuts, sharp tangs of iron from smithies, and the faint sweetness of beeswax candles from a vendor two doors down.
Mina tucked a lock of coral-red hair behind her ear as she turned to Ashe, her brown long sleeves brushing against the pouch tied at her hip. "We'll need to make rounds," she reminded him, counting off on her fingers. "Tallow or beeswax candles, charcoal, whetstones, rope coils, iron pitons. Essentials only. Don't get distracted."
Ashe blinked at her and pointed toward the heavy leather satchel at her waist. "You actually made a list."
"Of course I did," Mina said, smirking. "Unlike you, I don't keep everything locked up in my head hoping I won't forget." She pulled the satchel open and tapped the folded parchment. "Two thousand seven hundred Central Notes. More than enough if we're smart about it."
Ashe slipped his hands into the pockets of his gray longsleeves, his white hair catching the sun as he tilted his head.
"More than enough to get cheated if we're not careful," he muttered. His pale eyes scanned the ring of shops, each with its own bold signage—candles carved into wood, blackened anvils, coils of rope dangling above painted doors. "This plaza… it looks like the sort of place where each shop sells one thing only. Efficient, but easy to corner buyers."
Mina chuckled. "Spoken like someone's already suspicious." She gave his sleeve a tug. "Good. You'll handle the glaring, I'll handle the smiling. That way we don't pay triple."
A sharp metallic clang cut through their banter, followed by the steady rhythm of hammer on steel. Ashe's ears pricked. "There," he said, pointing toward a shop front with its door open wide, smoke curling from the chimney. The sign above bore the image of a whetstone pressed against a blade. The sound of sharpening rang out as if calling them.
Mina grinned. "Perfect. First shop for whetstones."
Together they stepped toward the smithy, the noise and heat of the forge already spilling into the autumn air, promising the first step of their errand had led them true.
Mina and Ashe stepped through the threshold of the smithy, the air inside heavy with the scent of iron, soot, and faint oil. The walls, painted red long ago, were now smudged with years of blackened coal dust. Outside, the steady whoosh of the furnace flared brighter as the broad-shouldered blond man on the porch stoked it. Inside, the heat clung to their skin like a blanket.
Behind the counter slumped a youth with messy curls of orange hair. His arms were folded on the desk, his cheek pressed into the crook, mouth hanging slightly ajar with a droplet of drool gleaming in the firelight.
"Umm… hello?" Ashe ventured, unsure if he was speaking to a corpse.
Mina smirked. "Is he dead?" she quipped, leaning forward to poke the boy's head with her finger.
A sharp clang rang from the forge room behind, followed by the thunder of heavy boots. A bald, round man in a sweat-drenched apron and soot-streaked goggles stormed in, brandishing a pair of hot tongs. Without hesitation, he smacked the sleeper across the crown of his head.
"OW! The hell, Dad! That's hot!" the boy yelped, clutching at his scalp.
"Well, we got customers, you maggot! Didn't you beg me for work? Then work!" the bald smith roared, already turning back toward the forge.
Mina and Ashe exchanged a glance, neither fazed. The air of a family business gone slightly sideways hung over the shop.
The boy straightened sluggishly, rubbing his head, muttering curses under his breath. Then he looked up fully—and froze. His eyes widened, fixed not on Ashe but on Mina.
It was as if the forge flames dimmed for him, every detail of her striking coral hair, her sharp amber eyes ringed faintly with red, and her faintly chapped lips registering like the vision of a saint. His jaw parted, words failing him.
"Uh… w-welcome to MacQuad Smiths," he stammered, his voice cracking halfway. "H-how can I—uh—help y-you today?"
Mina folded her arms, unimpressed. "We need some quality whetstones."
Her tone snapped him out of his trance like cold water. He flinched, fumbling to crouch beneath the counter. "O-oh! R-right! W-whetstones, of course!" His hands bumbled through crates, nearly knocking over a box of nails as he scrambled.
Ashe leaned casually on the counter, watching the boy's ears flush bright red. A faint smirk tugged at his lips. Mina, as always, didn't notice—or pretended not to.
The boy's head popped back up from behind the counter just as Ashe leaned forward, his tone casual but curious.
"Oh—do you have one of those whetstones with repairing elements? You know, the ones where you feed mana into it and it doesn't just sharpen but actually fixes the blade?"
The boy froze. His scowl deepened as his thoughts spiraled.
Of course it's him asking… boyfriend material, with that ridiculous snow-white hair. What's she even doing with a bookish-looking guy like him?
Suppressing the jealous flare in his chest, he ducked down again and rummaged furiously through the crates until he finally pulled free a block so dark it almost seemed to drink the light. The base plate was a gleaming navy, streaked faintly with veins of silver.
He slapped it on the counter with both hands, forcing himself to meet Ashe's gaze—though the fire in his eyes was clearly meant for Mina. "This is the highest quality we've got. You wanted one you could imbue mana into? This is it."
Mina's voice cut through before Ashe could reply, steady and practical. "Nice. Cool. How much is it? We've got a dungeon raid coming up, and we need a stable resupply."
The boy's ears burned crimson. Just hearing her talk shop, like she belonged in the world of steel and fire, made something flutter awkwardly in his chest. He tried to swallow it down, straightening his back.
"I-it's about nine hundred central notes," he said, almost choking on the number before blurting, "but—I could take it down to eight-thirty!"
Mina blinked, caught off guard. "W-wow, really? I know whetstones are expensive, but… you sure?"
Her eyes flickered toward him, a faint spark of gratitude.
The boy twitched, nearly collapsing into himself at the look. It was enough. Enough to imagine he'd won something, that he'd earned that flicker. He forced himself to nod with as much composure as he could muster.
"Y-yeah. Eight-thirty. For you."
Ashe, catching the not-so-subtle shift, suppressed a laugh and busied himself with unbuckling the pouch of notes. The exchange was quick, the whetstone wrapped in canvas and slipped into a small leather sack.
Moments later, Mina and Ashe stepped out into the brisk plaza air. Mina slung the pouch over her shoulder, satisfied. Ashe, trailing behind her, caught the look of the boy still standing stiff behind the counter, staring after them as though he'd just seen a goddess walk out the door.
Ashe shook his head and muttered under his breath, "...Unbelievable."
The boy's head was a storm. His hands were still trembling from wrapping the whetstone, the faint scent of forge-smoke clinging to his skin. That was it. She's gone. I'll never—
He lurched forward suddenly, nearly knocking over a stool in his scramble to the doorway. His voice cracked but carried down the cobbled street.
"H-hey! Wait! What's… y-your name?!"
Mina slowed, glancing back over her shoulder. Ashe stopped too, raising an eyebrow at the boy's desperate tone. For a moment, Mina just smirked, amused by the earnestness.
"Heh. Mina Ferrer Orlean~" she said with a mock flourish, tapping her temple with two fingers before nodding toward Ashe. "And this here's Ashe Vaxille."
Neil's jaw dropped slightly at the sound of her name. His heart felt like it was climbing out of his chest. "W-well—my name's Neil! Neil MacQuad!" He blurted excitedly the rest in a rush.
"W-wait, are you two part of a guild??"
Mina gave him a sly smile, tugging on Ashe's sleeve. "Well… I'd rather not say. The locals here don't really like ours all that much. See ya!"
With that, she turned, dragging Ashe along as they disappeared into the bustle of the plaza.
Neil remained frozen in the doorway, his fists tightening at his sides. He whispered her name under his breath, tasting it like something rare and sacred.
"Mina Ferrer Orlean…" His chest tightened with both joy and despair.
He shuffled back inside, collapsing against the counter.
A tomboyish girl? That's never been my type… I always liked the staynic ones, the temple girls in their veils and pale skin. But her…
He buried his face in his hands.
She's different. She's everything.
—
Meanwhile, down the street, Mina and Ashe walked side by side. The silence stretched until Ashe exhaled sharply, a small smirk tugging his lips.
"So… you noticed and took advantage of it?"
Mina didn't even glance at him, only shrugged with a grin. "Yup. And I don't regret it."
Ashe chuckled under his breath, shaking his head as they veered toward the candle-maker's shop, the scent of beeswax drifting faintly on the autumn wind.
By the time Mina and Ashe trudged back up the hill with sacks slung over their shoulders, the sun had already shifted westward. Their bags clinked softly with supplies: bundles of tallow candles, one heavy whetstone wrapped in cloth, a bag of red charcoal, a coil of sturdy rope, and a pouch of gleaming mechanical pitons
At the wagon, Harlen sprawled lazily on the grass with his arms folded behind his head, Camylle sitting upright beside him and brushing crumbs from her lap. Nira leaned against one of the wheels, a strip of jerky in her mouth, smirking at something only she seemed to find amusing.
The moment Mina and Ashe appeared, Nira tilted her head. "Finally. Thought you two got lost in the candle aisles."
Harlen cracked an eye open. "Or maybe you found a tavern instead of rope."
Trevus was already on his feet, walking up to meet them. His voice was steady but carried a faint note of curiosity. "You two took quite a while. Ran into trouble?"
Before Mina could answer, Ashe grinned slyly and piped up. "Nope. But we met someone who caught a crush on Mina~"
Mina's cheeks warmed, though she masked it with a sharp scowl. She gave Ashe a hard shove with her shoulder. "Hah! As if!"
Ashe stumbled sideways, laughing under his breath, while Mina stomped ahead to drop her sack near the wagon.
Trevus blinked at the exchange, his brows furrowed in mild confusion. "...Right." He shook his head, dismissing it. "Doesn't matter. What's important is that you got what we needed."
He glanced over their supplies, giving a small approving nod. "Good work. With this, we'll be ready for the route ahead."
The team began stowing the supplies into the wagon's compartments, the chatter light but laced with that undercurrent of readiness—the kind that came before every dungeon run. The sun dipped lower, painting Jullisso's autumn rooftops in amber glow, while the road toward the Yuneseppi Region stretched endlessly ahead.