The Guild board hadn't changed much overnight.
Still crooked. Still cluttered. Still smelled faintly of damp boots and ink. A few fresh papers had been tacked up, but nothing urgent — just supply escorts, animal sightings, and one listing for "creaking under the floorboards" that someone had crossed out and scribbled "resolved, it was the cat."
Ash scanned the postings silently.
Elira stood beside him, arms folded, pretending she wasn't shivering. "You ever think maybe we peaked with rat duty?"
He pointed at one listing.
Contract 04B – Farm Equipment Damage
"Northfield family reports damaged harness and transport rig. Suspected animal interference. No witnesses. Escort requested to assess terrain."
Contact: M. Northfield (3rd plot east of orchard line)
Reward: 5 silver + meal if you're polite.
Elira leaned closer. "Please tell me we're not hunting rogue scarecrows."
"Simple walk. Low risk," Ash said.
Nilo popped his head out from behind the supply counter. "That one's a good starter! The Northfields don't complain unless something's really up. And their daughter makes sweetroot pie."
Elira perked up. "We get pie?"
"Only if you don't scare the chickens."
Ash took the contract from the board and walked it over.
Marla barely looked up from the ledgers. "Don't break anything. Or anyone."
"Not planning to," Ash said.
Nilo handed over a rough parchment map with the Northfield plot marked in charcoal. "Here — just follow the orchard ridge past the second split. You'll smell the turnip field before you see it."
Elira made a face. "Charming."
Nilo lowered his voice. "Oh — and the kid, Tessa? She's… odd. Says things sometimes. Don't take it personal."
Ash raised an eyebrow. "Odd how?"
Nilo shrugged. "Just... says things."
They left the Guild with the air still cold and the sky half-muted by pale morning cloud. Hearthmere creaked quietly behind them — people sweeping stoops, merchants setting up baskets of half-frozen root vegetables.
Elira walked beside him, boots crunching softly on the grass.
"So," she said. "From cosmic threads and soul transfers to… axle inspections."
Ash didn't respond.
She kicked a pinecone off the road. "You know, the Bureau handbook didn't really prepare me for this part."
He glanced at her.
Elira gave a mock-sigh. "No section on turnips. No forms for chicken diplomacy. Just threat containment and post-death continuity management."
Ash looked forward again. "Then improvise."
"…I hate when you say that."
The Northfield plot wasn't impressive — just a sloped stretch of dirt, patched fences, and a two-room house that leaned slightly left. Smoke drifted from a crooked chimney. A pair of goats watched them approach like they were considering whether to attack or run.
A woman stepped out of the barn before they reached the gate. Late thirties, practical braid, arms crossed. Her sleeves were rolled up and her boots were caked in old mud. She didn't wave.
"You the ones from the Guild?" she called.
Ash gave a nod.
The woman looked them both over. Her eyes lingered on Elira's too-clean cloak, then shifted back to Ash.
"I'm Mara Northfield. My husband's in the back fixing the east line. You here for the rig?"
Ash stepped through the open gate. "Describe the damage."
"Snapped axle. Deep scrapes in the rear brace. It was fine the night before. We checked it."
Ash followed her around the side of the house, into a small clearing where a wooden cart sat on blocks. One wheel was split. The back brace — a thick piece of pine, carved and reinforced with iron — was torn halfway through and gouged with deep, curved marks.
Elira crouched beside it and frowned. "This doesn't look like wear-and-tear. That's layered damage."
Ash already had his hand on the brace. He knelt and traced one of the gouges with a fingertip. The cuts were uneven — deeper near the center, ragged at the edge.
"Tool or claw?" Elira asked.
"Claws don't shear clean at this angle," Ash said. "Too shallow for steel. Too deep for a goat."
"So… what, a bored monster with woodworking envy?"
Ash stood and looked toward the orchard.
The trees rustled faintly — too evenly. Like something had passed through and the grove was still settling.
"I'll sweep the perimeter."
Mara crossed her arms again. "You think something's nesting out there?"
"Maybe," Ash said. "More likely it passed through. I'll check the line for pressure breaks."
Elira stepped forward, one hand raised. "I could try a passive trace. See if any residual essence is—"
She stopped mid-sentence.
Because the moment her fingers shaped the flow-sign, the goats screamed and bolted.
One slammed into the fence. The other ran straight into the side of the barn.
Elira blinked. "...Okay, rude."
Mara stared at the barn. "What the hell was that?"
Ash didn't comment. He was already walking toward the orchard.
Elira stood alone near the wrecked rig, boots in damp straw, face burning.
Mara watched her with narrowed eyes.
"I'm sorry," Elira said. "They usually don't react like that."
"Mm."
"They're sensitive to sigil flow sometimes. If it's fluctuating—"
"You're not from around here are you?," Mara said flatly.
Elira offered a smile. It didn't help. "No. Not exactly."
Mara's expression didn't change. "You help with the rig or just scare the animals?"
"I—"
"Ma!"
A small voice broke the silence. A girl, maybe nine or ten, had appeared from behind the house with a wooden bowl in her hands. Freckled face. Barefoot. Sharp eyes.
"There's someone in the orchard," she said calmly.
Mara froze. "You saw?"
"No," the girl said. "But the trees are breathing weird again."
Elira turned toward the trees.
The girl looked up at her. "Your light's cracked."
Elira blinked. "Sorry?"
"Your light. Around your body. It's got cracks in it."
Elira didn't reply.
The girl turned to the barn. "Also, the goats hate you."
Ash returned five minutes later.
"Tracks confirmed," he said. "Something with weight. Broad stride. Four limbs . Passed through last night. Didn't linger. Found a claw."
Mara nodded. "So it's gone?"
"For now."
Ash pulled a cloth from his pouch and knelt beside the rig. He inspected the axle frame, muttered once, then pulled out a wedge and hammered it into place with the heel of his hand. It wasn't elegant. But it was stable.
Mara watched, arms crossed.
"You fix carts, too?"
"Not well," he said. "But enough."
She said nothing. But something about her face softened — just a little.
As they left, the girl trailed behind them a few steps.
She tugged Ash's coat lightly.
He stopped.
"Hey," she said. "You don't sound like normal people."
Ash stared down at her.
She tilted her head. "You're all… quiet inside. But not empty. Like a box with no air."
Elira turned.
The girl didn't look at her.
"They say the hills are breathing again," she whispered. "But it's not breath. It's noise pretending to be breath."
Then she ran back toward the house.
Ash and Elira walked in silence.
Smoke drifted faintly over the ridge in the far distance.
By the time they reached Hearthmere again, the sun was dipping low and the smoke from dinner cookfires had started to mix with the frost-line haze.
Elira rubbed her arms as they passed the gate. "You know, I thought helping fix a cart would be beneath you."
Ash said nothing.
She nudged him. "Come on. That was almost normal. You even got thanked."
"I don't like being thanked."
"That… tracks."
They crossed through the market lane — quieter now. A few merchants were packing up. The bone-coat man from earlier caught sight of Ash, clocked the claw still strapped to his sling, and gave a small nod.
Ash didn't return it. But he noticed.
The Guild Hall looked the same — cracked roof, old stone, and that rusted plaque still clinging to the promise of No Miracles, No Excuses, No Refunds.
He opened the door.
Inside, the hall was dimly lit, but not empty. Two adventurers stood at the main board arguing over a contract. One of them wore half-plate armor with one boot missing. The other looked like he'd been punched by a relic.
At the far desk, Nilo looked up from a stack of forms.
His eyes locked on Ash. Then dropped to the claw.
"You finished the Northfield post?"
Ash walked to the counter and dropped a folded scrap of paper beside the ledger — Mara's handwritten confirmation.
Nilo picked it up, read it, then glanced again at the claw. "You tracked the source?"
Ash nodded once.
Nilo looked… thoughtful. Not impressed. But no longer skeptical.
"Didn't figure you for the type who'd bother."
Ash didn't respond.
Nilo tapped the edge of the paper, then reached into a side drawer and pulled out a flat bronze token.
"Still unranked. But we'll record it. two jobs down."
He slid the token across the desk. "Get two more done and Marla might let you take something that actually pays. Oh and your 5 silver"
Ash took the token and silver and pocketed it.
Elira stepped up beside him. "I was there too, you know."
Nilo glanced at her. "Right. You're… support?"
She opened her mouth. Then closed it again.
Ash turned and walked out.
Outside, the wind had picked up again. Colder now. Blowing down from the ridge.
Elira fell into step beside him. Her arms were crossed. Her face wasn't smug.
"They dont take me serious."
Ash said nothing.
She looked sideways at him. "You know. People are starting to see something in you."
Ash adjusted the strap on his sling. "Not interested."
"Doesn't matter."
They passed a boy chalking symbols onto a wall. He stopped when Ash walked by. Stared. Then looked down again, hurriedly rubbing one of the lines out and redrawing it — differently this time.
Later, in the quiet of a small alley house they'd paid to sleep in with the last of there coin, Ash sat cleaning his knife near a cracked window.
Elira watched the dark from the cot.
"You know what that girl said?" she asked.
Ash didn't look up.
"She said your light was quiet inside. Like a box with no air."
Still nothing.
Elira lay back on the cot. Her voice dropped, quieter now.
"She said mine was cracked."
Ash wiped the blade once, slow.
Then he set it down.