—Morning comes whether you want it to or not.
The first thing Mina Ferrer Orlean felt was the warmth. Not the pleasant kind that made you want to snuggle back into your sheets—but the blinding, glaring kind that poked at your eyelids like tiny, searing fingers.
Her eyes fluttered open, lashes twitching at the sudden sting of sunlight spilling through the half-open window. She squinted.
"Huh... I thought I shut that last night..."
The golden beams danced lazily across the dusty wooden floorboards, reflecting off motes in the air like a thousand little spirits suspended mid-banter. Mina groaned and sat up, a pale sliver of her back revealed from under her wrinkled tank top.
Her short, cotton blanket slipped to her waist. She hadn't even bothered to throw it off properly before collapsing into bed.
Her room was the usual mess: piles of uniforms tossed over chairs, mana-core containers clinking in a corner, and one sock defiantly hanging from a ceiling lamp.
But the bed—yes, at least that she could have the dignity to fix. She halfheartedly straightened the sheets, frowning at the faint stickiness beneath her palm.
Great, she thought.
Might need to mop again… ugh, hate doing that. Stupid dusty particles always make my nose itchy.
She stood and stretched, bones popping quietly in the still morning air. Her loose tank top slipped off one shoulder before she tugged it back up with a yawn. She glanced at the cracked mirror nailed beside her closet. Her hair—a proud hue of rose-red—was now a sleepy mess of pale pink, like the sky right before dawn. It stuck up in odd angles.
Changing into a casual set of trousers and a fitted vest, Mina pulled her sandals on with a thud-thud-thud, echoing through the creaky floorboards. She ran a hand through her disheveled hair.
"Man… I wonder what's for breakfast. Joe better be making eggs today..."
She opened her door and stepped into the hallway.
The corridor of Outpost Western III was unusually loud for this hour. The chatter of personnel, clanking trays, and rustling uniforms echoed from the mess hall just beyond the bend. The air buzzed with tension. A few runners dashed past her with scrolls and field kits in tow, barely noticing the sleepy janitor in their midst.
Expedition day? she wondered. Meh. Doesn't concern me. I'm just a Dungeon Cleaner, after all...
As she stepped into the bustling mess hall, the overhead crystal lights flickered slightly—either from age or mana drain, who knew. Guards, researchers, and adventurers of all ranks filled the benches, hurriedly devouring their meals before rushing off to whatever chaos awaited them.
Mina grabbed her tray and sat near the back corner. Just as she settled in, a familiar voice called out.
"Hey, Mina!"
A boy with snow-white hair and clear cerulean eyes approached, tray in hand. Ashe, always way too bright for this early in the day.
She turned, her expression half-lidded and barely registering surprise. The full sight of her face finally revealed: sharp features dulled by fatigue, and eyes—those strange, haunting eyes—yellow irises layered with concentric rings of blood-red. Like a target. Like a spell circle. Like a curse.
"Heya, Ashuuu~" she groaned, dragging the syllables with exaggerated sleepiness.
"It's Ashe," he corrected with a sigh, taking the seat across from her. "You're up late. That's rare. Didn't go jogging this morning?"
"Eh… Dungeon Cleaning took forever last night, Remember? And we both got stuck in an oil pit. Again." She took a sip of water before adding, "I swear, at the same time if I inhale one more slime spore, I'm quitting."
"Bet you won't," Ashe smirked, poking at his eggs. "You complain every time, but you keep showing up."
Mina watched as the yolk split under Ashe's fork, golden fluid spreading like liquid sunlight. She blinked once, then returned to her own food, uninterested in metaphors before breakfast.
They ate in companionable silence for a while—forks tapping, spoons clinking, chairs dragging. But the longer they sat, the more they noticed.
One by one, personnel began filtering out. Faster than usual. A buzz of urgency settled into the air like static before a storm.
Ashe glanced toward the exit. "Think there's an expedition?"
Mina nodded absentmindedly. "Probably. I saw Seth Valcos leading the group."
That made Ashe perk up. "For real?! Isn't he one of the Frontline Elite? Shouldn't he be with the others? Like Taph or Julius?"
Mina's eyes narrowed slightly. The drowsiness faded just a bit.
"To hell if I know," she muttered, stabbing her egg. "Julius is always at odds with Seth, and Taph... Taph usually plays peacekeeper between those two idiots."
"Huh." Ashe leaned back, arms crossed behind his head. "Sounds like something's brewing."
Mina didn't respond. She just stared at the runny yolk, its golden pool glistening against her spoon. Something was off today. Not just the window. Not just the expedition. Something deeper. Quieter.
And yet—just beneath her weary face and half-eaten breakfast—her senses twitched with the silent instinct of someone who knew: the system always twists when you're not looking.
The morning light had grown more gentle by the time Mina and Ashe stepped out of the main gates of Outpost Western III. The green banners stitched with the sigil of the Tropico Guild—A mango etched in the middle—over a Green Tropical palm tree placed within a white pentagon.
The two teenagers walked side-by-side in silence at first, the crunch of gravel underfoot and the chirp of far-off birds their only company.
Both wore the standard guild uniform of Tropico Guild: olive elynthian overcoats with double-breasted buttons, beige canvas undershirts, and matching trousers tailored for movement and modest mana resistance.
Though their outfits matched, their personalities still found ways to clash—especially through their footwear. Ashe, ever the responsible one, wore polished tan leather boots that matched his neat gait. Mina, meanwhile, had slipped into her scuffed, bland white sneakers with a casual disregard for formality, the left one already sporting a fresh dirt stain. Despite the shoes being from a famous brand called "Juzzi" Mina didn't mind, as long as it was comfy.
Ashe slowed his stride and glanced upward. His eyes lingered on the green flag above the gates as it danced on the wind, its edges tugged westward.
"Huh…" he murmured. "Westward winds. That's rare."
Mina arched a brow, stretching her arms as she followed his gaze. "Yeah? And?"
"You don't know?" Ashe smirked, brushing a lock of white hair from his forehead. "Old Elynthian tale. When the wind flows west in Central West, good luck's supposed to follow. The valleys usually block westward flow, so when it happens… it means something's brewing."
Mina gave the flag a bored glance and shrugged. "Well, if that's true, I hope the 'good luck' involves someone else doing our laundry this week."
Ashe snorted.
As they walked beyond the perimeter, Mina gave a casual wave to the outpost guards, both of whom were leaning against their pikes in an attempt to look busy. One of them waved back with a grunt of acknowledgment.
Beyond the gates, the terrain opened up into rolling plains and lightly wooded trails. The sky was cloudless, almost suspiciously so.
Mina tugged her coat around her waist and sighed. "Sooo… what're we doing again?"
Ashe groaned as if his soul had aged a decade in one moment. "Are you serious? Did you even listen to what Trevus said?"
"Ehhh…" Mina glanced up, feigning deep thought. "Something about… a trade? Or whatever."
Ashe gave her a look of almost paternal disappointment. "Well, you're a quarter-way there~" he said in a sing-song voice.
That earned a snort from Mina. "Quarter's all I need. I get the gist. Fetch quest."
They laughed together, the kind of lighthearted chuckle only shared between those who had spent just enough time in each other's shadow to know the rhythms of the other's nonsense.
In truth, today was hardly worth calling a mission. No monsters, no traps, no cursed dungeons or strange runes pulsing in forgotten ruins. Just an errand—simple, stupid, and mundane.
Mina and Ashe were the youngest members of Western Division III, one of the many outposts under the banner of the Tropico Guild, the largest and oldest guild in the world. A guild so massive and diversified that even the royal courts deferred to its judgment. In theory, it was just a guild. In practice, it functioned like a neutral nation of its own—governing, protecting, regulating, and profiting from everything from adventuring licenses to mana-crop trading routes.
Outpost Western III served as a central field station along the Wild Veins Route. And Mina and Ashe, as part of Party 5 under Trevus Regulus, were often tasked with everything the others didn't want to do.
Today's objective: Retrieve Harlen—their wayward blade dancer and occasional drunkard—who had reportedly gone missing last night. Everyone knew, of course, that he wasn't really missing.
He had simply gotten drunk again and, most likely, fallen asleep at Camylle's place. Again.
"Ugh," Mina groaned, dragging her feet dramatically. "Why the hell do we have to be the ones to drag Harlen back from Camylle's? He's probably half-naked, drooling on her rug right now."
"Be thankful we don't have to clean it up," Ashe replied, grimacing.
"They're so inseparable it's annoying," Mina muttered, poking at a loose thread on her coat. "Can't they just admit they're dating already and stop pretending it's some 'accidental night over' every damn week?"
"They're adults. They'll figure it out," Ashe said, before pausing. "Eventually."
"Yeah, well, I don't wanna be the one to walk in on his bare ass again."
"No promises."
They passed through a small stretch of forest, the sunlight piercing through the trees in golden ribbons. Wild mana flowers dotted the edge of the path, their petals glowing faintly from residual enchantment. The world here was calm—for once—and Mina felt herself start to relax, even if only a little.
She glanced sideways at Ashe, who had gone quiet.
He was looking ahead, his eyes serious for a moment.
"What's with the face?"
"Hm?"
"You look like you just saw a vision or something."
Ashe blinked. "Nah. Just thinking."
"Dangerous," Mina teased.
"I was thinking," Ashe said slowly, "that it's too quiet today."
She tilted her head. "...You saying your old Elynthian instincts are tingling?"
He shrugged. "Just… feels like the kind of day where something unexpected happens. That's all."
Mina grinned. "Well, if anything blows up, I'm blaming you."
They laughed again.
Somewhere, deep beneath that laughter, was the strange sense—neither fear nor dread, but something softer and more invisible—that something had begun to shift.
Something subtle.
Something quiet.
The dirt path crunched softly beneath their boots and sneakers. With every step, the town of Alpime came more clearly into view—a quaint sprawl of pale stone homes and copper roofs nestled within the sweeping green-and-blueish plains of the Western Lands. A cluster of banners flapped lazily in the distance. The scent of baked bread, mana-oil, and faint traces of chimera musk drifted in from the lower road.
To Mina and Ashe, it was the same old sight.
Same dusty horizon. Same sleepy plains. Same familiar breeze brushing through their coats like a yawn in motion.
And yet, above the gateposts of Outpost Western III, the green banners still fluttered westward.
"It's still blowing west," Ashe murmured, giving the wind a subtle glance.
"Hmm?" Mina followed his gaze.
"Just saying. Westward wind again."
"Maybe the world's telling you to shut up and walk faster."
As they descended into town, the two passed through the iron city gates without issue. The guards didn't even glance their way—after all, they were regulars. Members of Tropico Guild, even the low-ranking ones, were rarely questioned in these parts.
Their first stop was predictable—the Wayward Flame, a cramped, smoke-scented tavern near the center of town. It was a favored haunt of adventurers who needed cheap ale, warm beds, and someone to blame for a bad dice roll.
Inside, the usual crowd was already halfway into drinks and gossip.
"Yeah, Harlen was here last night," the bartender said with a nod, polishing a cup. "Made a scene. Then Camylle dragged him out by the collar. Again."
Mina and Ashe exchanged glances.
A moment later, as they exited the tavern, Mina sighed with both hands behind her head.
"See? Told you there was no point asking around. He was already at Camylle's place to begin with."
Ashe chuckled, not even annoyed. "Okay, fine. My bad. One mistake. Which is still, what, one percent of your lifetime total?"
Mina bumped his shoulder with a smirk. "Watch it, smartass."
Their banter carried them through the lively main plaza of Alpime, where rows of market tents burst with color—fruits, meats, spices, trinkets, and magical curios all clamored for attention. The air was thick with noise and scent.
Ashe slowed beside a vendor stall displaying old tomes and dusty scrolls.
"Ooh, Rune and Glyph Studies, Fourth Edition. Haven't seen that one in ages—"
"Nope. Focus. Mission first, bookworm later." Mina said flatly, grabbing his collar and tugging him along.
He groaned but complied. But then—
Not two steps later, Mina herself halted at another stall.
"Oooohh wait wait wait look at these!" she squealed, eyes lighting up at a display of daggers and curved knives. Her eyes sparkled at the display of finely crafted daggers, each with a different metal sheen and rune-carved blades. "That one has an obsidian inlay! That's gotta be—"
Now it was Ashe's turn to pull her away.
"Mina. Focus."
"Gah—! Okay, okay!"
After a winding walk past bakeries and alchemist shops, they finally arrived at Burselemn Street—a quieter residential area filled with older stone homes, a few mana lanterns dangling from posts, and laundry lines catching the breeze like idle sails.
They stopped in front of a familiar house: brown roof, blue-painted door, and a worn welcome mat with a burn mark no one ever explained.
Camylle lived here. Of course she did.
They sat casually on the stone step outside her door. Ashe knocked. Then again. Then rang the bell. Then rang it again.
And again.
"Eight times?" Mina muttered. "You're persistent."
"She's persistent with ignoring me."
"This is, what? The fourth time we've been sent to fetch him like this?" Mina groaned, leaning back. "I thought last time would be the last time. But nope. Here we are."
"Yeah," Ashe replied, dull and focused, still ringing the bell.
Finally—with the sudden sound of a chain unlatching—the door creaked open.
Standing there, with a mug in one hand and a mild storm in her eyes, was Camylle.
Camylle—tall, toned, and effortlessly intimidating. Her lightly tanned skin glowed in the sun, and her short, messy orange hair matched the fiery glint in her amber eyes. A few stray sparks jumped from the corner of her mouth as she exhaled.
She raised one brow, then sneered.
"Oh. It's you two brats. Again?" She took a sip. "Don't mind waking up Harlen. He's already up. In the kitchen."
"Thank the gods," Mina muttered. Ashe nudged her ribs, a reminder to be at least semi respectful.
Camylle rolled her eyes and stepped aside, sipping from a steaming mug of coffee as she led them through the narrow hallway. The kitchen smelled of toast, meat, and something burned.
Seated at the table, shirtless and devouring a sandwich, was Harlen.
Golden-haired, lean, and frustratingly good-looking, Harlen was what one might call "attractive garbage"—powerful, popular, and generally disliked for reasons he seemed proud of. Technically, he was one of the strongest non-elite adventurers in Outpost Western III.
Emotionally, however… well.
"Gah—what?" Harlen sputtered, nearly choking on his bite. "This again? Gods, this is embarrassing. What does Trevus want now?"
Mina crossed her arms. "Embarrassing? Says the guy we've been dragging out of beds fo the fourth time now, you know. We should start a calendar. Get your act together, will ya?"
Harlen's brow twitched. "What'd you say to me, Null?"
The air tensed.
Ashe quickly stepped in between them, laughing nervously. "Aha! Let's not escalate. But it's true, you have been kind of a walking headache lately. You still haven't finished that task Trevus gave you, right?"
Harlen paused. Something clicked in his head.
"Oh. Right. The trade. Yeah… nah. Don't feel like it."
"What?" Ashe and Mina said in unison.
Then, with a smirk that should've come with warning signs, he strolled over to the counter, and rummaged through a worn satchel. He pulled out a small coin pouch, counted out some currency—900 Notes and 4 Silvers—and dumped it into Ashe's hand, closing his fingers around it with a devilish smile.
"Nine hundred Notes and four Silvers. Advance payment. You two take care of it."
Mina blinked.
Ashe blinked harder.
The mission? Simple. Claim an auction prize Trevus had won. Then, deliver it to a farmer named Jill, south of the Outpost. Jill would then trade them something—Harlen didn't say what—that might be valuable to the guild.
"Wait, so… you want us to do your mission?" Mina asked flatly.
"More like I'm hiring you. Outsourcing. That's what smart people do."
Mina opened her mouth to argue—something didn't sit right. It was shady. Typical Harlen behavior. And yet
"Sure, we'll do it," Ashe said suddenly.
Mina stared at him. "What?"
Harlen smirked, leaned back, and waved them off. "Good. But finish it by sundown, or... something bad might happen. Y'know. Or else."
Mina groaned audibly as they stepped back into the warm streets of Alpime.
"Pfft. As if." she muttered.
But then she turned to Ashe with a squint. "Okay, seriously. Why'd you accept that? It's scummy. Even for him."
Ashe rubbed the back of his head. "Mina… we're Dungeon Cleaners. We barely make enough to cover soap. Do you even have your wallet on you?"
Comedic pause. Crickets in the background.
"...uh, no. There's barely anything in it, so I didn't even bother to… bring it," she admitted, eyes shifting away.
"Exactly!" Ashe grinned victoriously.
Mina groaned again. Loudly.
She hated being reminded she was poor—even though it was absolutely, painfully true.
Still... the pay was good. Almost too good.
"Fine," she relented. "Let's just get this over with."
As they stepped into the streets once more, the wind caught the tips of their coats.
It was still blowing westward.