Morning came crisp and clear, the forest canopy filtering shafts of golden light that glimmered against dew-dappled leaves. The camp stirred with the slow rhythm of weary but practiced hands. Tents came down, gear was packed, and the embers of last night's fire were doused until only faint wisps of smoke lingered in the cool air. The scent of damp earth mixed with the faint crackle of cooling ashes. Mira hummed softly as she checked straps on her pack, her beastkin ears twitching at every distant bird call. Kenshin stretched with exaggerated groans, bones cracking as he rolled his shoulders like a cat waking from a nap. Drathan leaned lazily against a tree, arms crossed, pretending to supervise as Seme tugged her sleeping bag into a tighter roll, muttering about "useless teammates" while side-eyeing him.
By midmorning they were on the road. Boots crunched over gravel and dry leaves, and the forest gradually thinned until the horizon opened into rolling plains. A faint breeze carried the smell of dust, sweat, and distant smoke. They made good time—within four hours, the towers of Tierwyn rose in the distance, sunlight glinting off the stone battlements like blades. But as they neared the main gate, they noticed a crowd gathered.
A line stretched out like a serpent across the road, dozens of wagons and families queued for entry. The refugees' faces were streaked with grime and exhaustion. Mothers clutched crying children, old men leaned on sticks, and soldiers in battered armor stood guard near wagons stacked high with salvaged belongings. The air hung heavy with tension, smoke from burnt villages carried sharp on the wind. It stung the nose and left a bitter taste on the tongue.
The adventurers slowed as they took in the scene. Murmurs spread through the squads, exhaustion mixing with unease. One B-rank fighter spat into the dirt. "Damn… we fight our asses off in the ruins, and out here whole villages get erased overnight."
A younger archer shifted uncomfortably, her hand gripping her bow tighter. If that horde keeps moving, what's to stop them from reaching Tierwyn itself? she thought, her lips pressed into a thin line. Mira's ears flicked, catching the low sobs of children clinging to their mothers, and she exhaled slowly, the smell of ash burning sharper in her nostrils.
Kenshin whistled low, his voice cutting through the silence. "Crazy, ain't it? We bustin' heads in some cursed-ass ruin, meanwhile out here real people losin' everything. Makes you think."
Drathan shoved his hands into his pockets, eyes scanning the wagons with an unreadable expression. This world don't stop throwing pain at people. Guess even after you get strong, the struggle don't end.
Velra's squad members exchanged quiet words too. One grizzled swordsman muttered, "At least we got a roof waitin' inside. These folks don't even know if they'll have a bed tonight." Another simply sighed, shaking his head. The sight of so many displaced families left even hardened adventurers restless.
Velra walked forward, her cloak brushing dust from the ground. She approached the armored guard near the gate, her voice firm. "What's going on here?"
The guard glanced over her shoulder at the line before answering. "Refugees. A horde of orcs and ogres hit their villages three days back. Wiped through farms, torched homes. They're the lucky ones that made it this far." His eyes shifted to the expedition squad behind her. "You just returning?"
Velra nodded. "Back from a sanctioned expedition. We've got injured and reports to deliver."
The guard's stern face softened slightly. "Then you and your people can pass. Guild business takes priority." He signaled, and the line parted enough for the squads to move through. A few refugees shot them tired, bitter looks, but most only lowered their heads, too weary to care.
Inside the city walls, the first stop was the Adventurer's Guild. The familiar chatter of quests, clinking of mugs, and scratching of quills filled the hall. But silence fell when Velra and her squads entered. The weight of returning from the ruins with minimal losses—and heavy satchels—did not go unnoticed.
Whispers rippled through the gathered adventurers. "Is that Velra's expedition back already?" someone muttered. Another leaned on his mug, eyes narrowing. "No way they cleared the ruins this fast."
"I heard half the squads got wiped last time someone tried those ruins," a rogue whispered, pulling his hood lower. "And they look damn near untouched."
"Look at the bags they're carrying," another added. "That's treasure weight, not rations."
Jealousy, awe, and suspicion mingled in the stares. A few laughed nervously, already imagining the guild master's reaction.
The guildmaster, a tall woman with auburn hair pulled into a braid and eyes sharp as tempered steel, rose from behind the counter. "I'm Aelira, Tierwyn's guild branch leader. Velra. Report."
Velra stepped forward, her words measured and steady as she recounted everything—the tower hidden beyond magma bridges, the library of ancient tomes, the trials that nearly broke squads, and the treasures claimed. She did not embellish, nor hide the losses. Every detail was logged with clinical precision. Drathan, standing slightly apart, added his part of the ruins, though his version was trimmed. He only described the temple as an abandoned husk, noting its treasures and traps, omitting the statue and the voice whispering truths. His casual tone drew no suspicion, though Mira watched him out of the corner of her eye.
When the reports were done, Velra distributed the loot. Gold, elixirs, and rare gear were apportioned to the squads, including the extra thirty percent promised from Drathan's group. Cheers and satisfied grumbles rose as adventurers counted their shares. Orderly fairness held the crowd in check, Velra's authority stamping out any whispers of greed. Still, a few bitter voices muttered from the corners, envy biting through their words. "Figures the golden girl comes back shining again," one said under his breath. Another scowled, clutching his drink tighter. "One day luck's gonna run out."
After the guild, Drathan's trio slipped away toward the Chamber of Commerce. The towering marble building gleamed in the late afternoon sun, its wide arches and golden filigree catching every eye. Merchants bustled about, shouting wares and haggling prices, their cries echoing off the polished stone. Inside, treasures and curios filled glass cases, from enchanted jewelry to relics pulled from forgotten dungeons.
The owner himself, a portly man with a polished beard and fine silks, spotted them immediately. His face lit up, arms spreading wide. "My favorite adventurers return! And with Mira, too!" Before he could step forward, his daughters rushed past him—both latching onto Drathan and Kenshin with squeals. "You're back!" one cried, clutching Kenshin's arm. "We thought you'd died out there!" the other added, hugging Drathan so tightly he staggered. Mira smirked, tail flicking with amusement, while Seme rolled her eyes. "Hopeless," she muttered, though her lips twitched in a half-smile.
The joy quickly shifted to shock when the trio began pulling items from their subspace pouches. Ancient tomes bound in dragonhide, weapons gleaming with long-forgotten enchantments, cups and vases etched with divine patterns, and heaps of coins spilled onto counting tables. Gasps filled the hall as workers scrambled to catalog everything. The sheer volume of rare loot forced extra clerks to be called from the back, their eyes wide as they scribbled furiously.
The owner whistled, wiping sweat from his brow. "By the gods… this haul is enough to shake Tierwyn's markets for months! You three just made me a very rich man."
Profits poured in like floodwater. The rare elixirs and tomes sold immediately to eager collectors, while antique relics were appraised with reverence. The trio walked away with more gold than most adventurers saw in a lifetime. Yet the owner raised a hand, his voice sly. "Some of these pieces… weapons forged from fallen stars, vases from the divine courts themselves… they'll fetch more if auctioned. Next week's grand auction will bring nobles and foreign merchants. I suggest you consign these treasures there—you'll triple your returns."
Drathan smirked. "Sounds like a plan. Let's make the city rich while we get richer." Kenshin flashed a grin, already imagining lightning-charged drinks paid for with auction gold. Seme only muttered, "As long as they don't try selling me another bikini-armor set."
The trio left the Chamber heavier in wealth, lighter in goods, but already plotting how to play the auction floor to their advantage. Behind them, the owner rubbed his hands together, dreaming of coin, while his daughters clung to the memory of their heroes returned.
By dusk, the group reached their villa. The sight of its lantern-lit veranda and tall oaken doors filled them with relief. The smell of lavender from the garden drifted on the night air, mixing with the faint spice of roasted food from the kitchens. As soon as they stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted from the hustle of the city to the warmth of home. Boots clattered on the marble floor, gear was tossed aside in heaps, and for the first time in weeks, the tension in their shoulders eased.
"Finally," Kenshin groaned, throwing himself onto the nearest couch. "Real cushions. Soft bed's waitin' upstairs. Yo, I might cry when I hit that mattress."
Mira snorted, slipping her cloak off and hanging it with neat precision. "Don't drool on the furniture. You'll ruin the fabric."
Seme rolled her eyes and set her sword carefully against the wall before stretching, joints popping. "Bed. Bath. Sleep. In that order. I'm not moving again until noon tomorrow."
Drathan lingered at the window, staring out at the city lights beyond the villa walls. "Home sweet home," he said quietly, though his voice carried an edge. The memory of the statue, the whispering voice, clung to him like smoke.
Later, gathered around the dining table with warm bread, roasted meats, and spiced wine, their conversation turned heavier. The aroma of rosemary and garlic mingled with the sweetness of honeyed wine, filling the hall with comfort that contrasted the unease in their words. Mira leaned forward, tail curling behind her chair. "So. That temple. What really happened in there? What was that place?"
Drathan exhaled slowly, the flicker of candlelight catching the tension in his jaw. "A ruin tied to a fallen deity. A god stripped of divinity by Aria herself. I… heard things. Learned things. Stuff that don't paint her in the brightest light."
Kenshin whistled low, tearing a piece of bread. "So what, you hearin' voices now? That explains why you passed out like a bum mid-dungeon. Bro, I thought we was gon' have to drag your body back."
"Shut up," Drathan muttered, though a smile tugged at his lips.
Seme leaned her elbows on the table, her gaze sharp. "If this is true, if there's a god's temple down there with records of history we weren't meant to know… we can't just talk about it openly. People would kill for less."
Mira nodded firmly. "Exactly. Not everyone needs to know what we saw—or what Drathan heard. We keep this between us until we can understand it better."
Drathan looked between them, then raised his cup. "Then it's a pact. No loose tongues."
Cups clinked softly, sealing the unspoken oath.
One by one, they retired to their rooms. The villa grew quiet, the soft rustle of sheets and sighs of exhaustion drifting through the halls. For the first time in what felt like forever, they would sleep in comfort—yet the weight of truths uncovered lingered like shadows at the edge of dreams.