A day had passed. Samuel had been dispatched to the guild hall to formally accept the quest from the Rising Tempest.
In Alison's room, the rest of the party waited in uneasy silence. The air was thick with unspoken tension, broken only by the creak of the door as the crimson-scarfed swordsman stepped through.
"...Got the quest." Samuel raised the parchment in front of him, his golden eyes sweeping the room.
"Wonderful work, boy! Now, show us what we're dealing with. Did they give you any additional information?" Nixsen asked, shuffling aside to make room on the floor.
Samuel dropped onto the floorboards with practiced economy, placing the quest paper where everyone could see it. His finger traced the paper.
"It's a commission to study ancient ruins. A lengthy journey from here. The briefing was sparse, but there was a tip—once we encounter someone wearing a silver ring on their index finger, we'll have found our contact."
Nixsen studied the paper with theatrical intensity, then leaned back with a dramatic sigh.
"My, my! Such a dreadfully far distance! If only we had a friend of unparalleled wisdom, someone with the navigational prowess to guide us through this perilous expedition!" She shot an exaggerated glance at Alison, whose expression remained unimpressed.
"Look, I already told you, I can't go—"
"Alison..! Alison, come down here!" A booming voice echoed from the lower floor.
The group descended to find Alison's father standing beside a table laden with a large, weathered chest. His round face beamed with barely contained excitement.
"What is this, Father?" Alison asked, her brow furrowed.
"I've been thinking," he said, stroking his beard. "You should accompany your friends on their journey."
The words had barely left his mouth before Alison sprang forward. "No! Absolutely not. I'm staying right here. Who else will look after you?"
A knowing smile spread across her father's face. "Otterman! You can come out now."
From between the towering bookshelves, a young man emerged. His big, round glasses magnified nervous eyes that darted around the room, unable to settle on any face for more than a moment. Curly, scruffy hair bounced with each hesitant step.
"H-hello. I'm Otterman..." His voice was barely audible, swallowed by the cavernous library.
"This fine young man will be assisting me," Alison's father announced, patting his belly with satisfaction. "Not only is he exceptionally bright, but he's also studying medicine—an amateur healer training to become a proper doctor!"
Alison crossed her arms. "My answer remains unchanged. How can you be certain he's capable of handling everything here? And if he's studying medicine, why isn't he at the Academy?"
Otterman's gaze dropped to his scuffed shoes. "I-I'm here because I need to earn money for my Academy fees. And... and real-world experience. Books can only teach so much about treating people."
Her father closed the distance and wrapped Alison in a warm embrace. "My dear daughter. I know you fear for my health, but truly, there's no need. These past days, I've felt as though I've shed twenty years."
He pulled back, holding her at arm's length. "When I met your mother, she was an adventurer—fearless, wandering, alive. Go. Explore what lies beyond these walls. We had our difficult moments, yes, but our happiest memories were forged on the road, crossing this continent together."
Gently, he guided her toward the chest. Inside lay treasures of a past life: leather armor shaped for a woman's form, a long cloak wrapped protectively around it, woolen pants black as midnight, sturdy leather boots. Beneath the folded garments rested a compact crossbow and a short sword.
"That was your mother's," he said softly. "Look beneath the cloak."
Alison lifted the fabric. Stitched into the lining, scattered like constellations, were dozens of embroidered stars.
"She sewed one after every completed quest," her father whispered. "What I'm trying to say is... go. I don't know how else to say it, but that's all I have."
Alison looked up at him, her grey eyes shimmering. "Promise me you'll take care of yourself. If you promise, I'll go."
"I promise." His smile was gentle, certain.
A ray of the rising sun caught her face, warming her cheeks. Two arms wrapped around her from behind. Nixsen rested her chin on Alison's shoulder, her smile soft.
"Well then. I suppose the three of us should prepare for our grand expedition." She unwound herself and promptly grabbed Krey and Samuel by their collars, dragging them toward the door. She paused at the threshold, turning to wave at the father and daughter.
Once outside, Nixsen's demeanor shifted to that of a commanding officer. "This will be a long journey. I need you both to procure supplies: beef jerky, extra clothing, bedrolls, a cooking pot, rope, a tinderbox, and any other necessities you can think of. Understood?"
The two young men nodded in unison.
With most shops still shuttered against the early hour, they split up to retrieve spending silver from their respective residences. Both had independently arrived at the same conclusion: they needed proper bags to carry their spoils.
As the sun climbed and vendors emerged, they descended upon the marketplace like locusts. Silver coins flashed; bags filled rapidly with jerked meat, spare tunics, dried fruit, bandages, and countless other items deemed essential.
At the sun's zenith, they returned to the library, burdened like pack mules.
Nixsen's eyes widened as they dropped their haul.
"T-this is excessive! Where did you possibly acquire the funds for all of this?" She rifled through the bags, her initial awe curdling into disappointment. "Please tell me there's more variety than this..." She held up—for the fifth time—a pair of plain undergarments.
Her hand emerged with a strange, cylindrical device. "What's that?" Alison asked, leaning closer.
"This, my dear Alison, is a water purifier."
"I've heard of those! One of the Hero's great inventions, isn't it?"
Krey's jaw tightened. "That damned Hero again. How many times must his cursed name be spoken?"
Nixsen turned to Alison, her expression serious. "Are you truly certain you wish to come with us?"
Alison met her gaze, and for a moment, faint stars seemed to glimmer in her pupils.
"I'm certain."
Samuel spoke for the first time in hours.
"We depart at first light. Early morning."
"Why so early?" Krey asked.
Samuel lowered his voice.
"The Tercet are most active during the brightest hours and under cover of darkness. Dawn is our window."
***
Morning came in a breath.
Krey pressed a set of keys into Otterman's trembling hands.
"Feed him. Clean my residence. There's enough silver for next month's rent—give it to the building owner and show him the key so he knows it's from me."
Otterman nodded.
"And also—"
Alison grabbed Krey's arm.
"He knows what he's doing. Leave the poor boy alone."
"But what if he forgets?"
"You've explained everything four times. Yesterday." She began dragging him away.
"Wait! One more thing!" Krey twisted free and sprinted toward the outskirts.
He stopped before his old shed. The wooden plank that served as a door leaned against the entrance. Inside, the old man slept, fresh bruises blooming across his weathered skin. A rotting stench filled the cramped space.
"Has he not bathed at all?" Krey thought, grimacing.
He placed a bundle of beef jerky beside the sleeping figure, then turned and ran.
His party had already departed, the awkward tension of waiting too unbearable. They moved at a steady pace toward the kingdom's gate.
"Where exactly are these ruins?" Krey asked, catching up.
Alison adjusted her mother's cloak, the embroidered stars rustling softly.
"Near the border between Graswald and Solirteria. There's a small town nearby. We'll stop there first to meet our contact."
"...I see."
They walked in silence for a time, the rhythm of boots on packed earth broken only by Alison's growing exasperation.
"You insufferable brat—are you intentionally moving at a crawl? At this pace, we'll reach the nearest village by next winter!" She spat, her grey eyes blazing.
Krey threw his arms up.
"It's not my fault! These damned bracelets—I can't sustain speed for long. I've tried everything to remove them, but they won't budge!"
Samuel wordlessly lifted Krey's pack from his back and slung it over his own shoulder.
"There. Now you're marginally faster than a wounded snail."