He kept walking, the world around him blurred, his eyes stinging as the cold wind brushed against his face.
"How pathetic am I?"
His gaze dropped to his hands. They trembled faintly, refusing to steady, betraying the turmoil he could no longer suppress.
He turned a corner and stopped.
A shop stood in the distance.
His home.
"If I walk through that door like this… what will they see?" His brow cinched, and he squeezed his eyes, trying to force back the tears that were already spilling. "I am supposed to be their pillar of strength!"
His legs gave out. He sank to his knees, head bowed, eyes closed, the weight of it finally pressing down.
A voice broke the silence.
"The burden of strength is not an easy one to carry."
His eyes snapped open as he looked up.
Before him, a man stood. He was covered in black, and his face was hidden in shadow behind the curtain of his hood. A single hand was extended outward towards him.
The stranger spoke again.
"I can't give you strength," he said calmly. "But I can offer support."
For a brief moment, the tears on the man's face seemed to freeze – caught by surprise more than cold. Then his expression hardened, the softness draining away as his gaze darkened.
He pushed himself back to his feet, staring at the outstretched hand.
"Support doesn't pay the bills." He turned away.
A faint smile formed beneath Xeris's hood.
"What if it did?"
The man halted mid-step, his back still turned.
"You're looking for the Twin Hearts Myr," Xeris continued calmly.
The man's breath caught. He spun around – but Xeris was already walking away.
"Follow me," Xeris said without looking back, his voice carrying easily. "If you're interested in… being supported."
The man stood there, watching Xeris's retreating figure. Conflict flickered across his face as his gaze drifted back toward the shop behind him.
After a moment's hesitation, he turned forward again –
and took a step after Xeris.
In the back corner of a different tavern, the old man sat across from Xeris.
They remained in silence for a time before the old man finally spoke.
"Who are you?"
Xeris answered evenly.
"It doesn't matter."
The old man's expression tightened slightly.
Xeris continued, "Why do you think I hide my face?"
Understanding flickered across the old man's features, the tension easing just a bit.
"For now," Xeris said, extending his hand, "call me Night."
The old man studied the offered hand for a moment – then grasped it firmly, sealing the exchange.
"Night," the old man said. "Unlike you, I have nothing to hide from. My name is Ormin."
As he spoke, Ormin's expression eased slightly. His gaze lingered on the darkness beneath Xeris's hood.
"Night," he continued, "what did you mean when you said you could support me?"
Xeris leaned back in his chair.
"Ormin, I haven't yet decided whether I can – or should – help you."
The words caught Ormin off guard. He hesitated.
Xeris went on, unhurried. "At present, I know nothing of your circumstances. Only a fragment of your goal."
Ormin nodded slowly.
"I understand," he said after a moment. "Then allow me to start from the beginning."
Ormin began by recounting the past eighteen years of his life, starting with the birth of his first child.
When his daughter was still very young, she had once encountered a powerful cultivator – the head of the Institution located just beyond their village. Ormin had met the man by chance, yet the cultivator had left a lasting impression. He was generous, never looking down on people, never drawing lines between commoner and cultivator.
Ormin still remembered the day a large pack of bears had surged into the village, panic spreading as the beasts tore through the outskirts. Before anyone could be harmed, the cultivator intervened, stopping the stampede and driving the animals away without a single villager being injured.
His daughter had witnessed it all.
From that day on, she spoke often of awakening her Aris. She wanted strength – not for herself, but to protect the village, just as that man had.
As she grew older, that dream never faded.
Once her little sister was born, her sense of responsibility only deepened. But now, at eighteen, she had already passed the common age of awakening.
Ormin had feared this outcome for years. For the past ten years, he had worked relentlessly to support his family, saving what little he could with a single purpose – to one day purchase a Twin Hearts Myr for her.
At last, he had found a seller.
That, however, was where his hope stalled. He didn't have enough.
The seller was firm on the price and intended to leave by the end of the month.
Ormin's shop brought in only so much. Even if he continued at the same pace, it wouldn't be enough – not before time ran out.
As he spoke, his head gradually lowered, each sentence carrying more weight than the last. The disappointment in his voice needed no emphasis; it was simply there, settled and heavy.
Xeris listened with an unchanging expression, his eyes cold beneath the hood. By now, he had already realized the shop where he'd purchased his knife belonged to Ormin. The image of the two girls he'd seen that night was clear in his mind.
At last, he spoke.
"Then let's talk numbers. How much does the seller want – and how much do you have?"
A grim smile tugged at Ormin's lips.
"He wants 15,000 Crescents."
Silence followed.
Beneath the hood, Xeris's eyes widened slightly. The price was far higher than he'd anticipated.
"I've managed to save around 13,200 Crescents," Ormin added.
Xeris calculated instantly. Ormin was short 1,800 Crescents. He himself held 1,309 – leaving a gap just under 500.
"I'll have what you need before the month ends," Xeris said evenly.
All Xeris needed was the next two weekly payments from his textbook lending – 470 Crescents. As long as he kept his meals modest and won a few rounds at the gambling houses, the rest would fall into place.
This time, it was Ormin who was caught off guard.
"You will?!" he blurted out, excitement lifting him to his feet before he realized what he was doing.
Xeris remained seated, unmoved.
Ormin quickly noticed, his enthusiasm faltering. He glanced around, visibly embarrassed, then lowered himself back into his chair.
Silence settled between them once more.
Ormin lifted his head again, hesitating before speaking.
"Night, forgive my reaction," he said quietly. "You never actually said you would help me – only that you would have the Crescents." He looked away briefly, then back again. "Tell me… what do you need from me? What must I give in return for your support?"
Xeris answered without delay.
"Ormin," he said gently, "you misunderstand me. I require nothing from you."
Ormin stilled.
"You are a good man," Xeris continued evenly. "And so am I. People like us should look after one another. You have my support – freely."
The words struck Ormin all at once. Relief, gratitude, disbelief – each rushed in, leaving him unsteady. In that moment, Xeris had given him the most valuable thing he possessed.
Hope.
And yet, beneath it, something else stirred. A quiet unease. Wasn't this too generous? Too sudden? They were strangers, after all. What reason could someone have to give so much without asking anything in return?
Xeris noticed the hesitation the moment it surfaced.
"Ormin," Xeris said calmly, "you've shared your story with me. It's only fair that I share mine."
Ormin's eyes widened as Xeris began to speak, his interest growing with each word.
His tone never wavered, and the details came easily.
Xeris told him he was the son of a Rank 5 cultivator from the city of Halcyon – someone of status, even royalty by certain standards. At one point, he lifted his outer garment just enough to reveal the uniform beneath, allowing Ormin a clear look.
The reaction was immediate. Ormin's shock was plain to see.
Xeris went on, explaining that he was a cultivator affiliated with the Institution outside the village, weaving in just enough implication to justify his presence, his secrecy, and the need to keep his identity concealed.
At last, he spoke of his upbringing – how his father had taught him to walk the path of virtue, how helping others was not a choice, but an expectation. That, he said, was the true reason he was offering aid.
Ormin was convinced.
Tears welled in his eyes once more – but this time, his gaze held warmth, and a fragile smile followed.