The morning light filtered through the shutters, cutting across the wooden floor in pale stripes.
I pulled on my boots, still thinking about the day before — the chaos, the smoke, the blood.
If I was going to survive here, I needed a weapon.
And weapons cost money.
I found Reginleif waiting near the old well, hood drawn low, arms crossed.
'Morning," I said. "Any idea how we make money around here?"
She smirked. "You finally ready to stop freeloading?"
"Freeloading? I fought off two guys with swords."
"And almost got stabbed by the third," she said dryly. Then she motioned down the street. "Come on. The Adventurer's Guild pays idiots like us to fight things no sane person wants to."
"Sounds perfect."
The Guild looked more like a tavern than an institution — all noise, steel, and swagger. Warriors bellowed over drinks while armored mages argued about "Mythic synchronization."
Reginleif pushed through the crowd with practiced ease.
"Stick close. Don't pick a fight."
"Wouldn't dream of it," I lied.
At the counter, a woman with a sharp bob and sharper eyes gave us a once-over.
"New recruits?"
"That's right," Reginleif said.
"Fill these out," the clerk said, sliding forms across the counter. "Name, age, and Mythic Tree alignment."
"Mythic Tree?" I asked.
"You really are new," Reginleif muttered. "Everyone's power comes from one of the branches. It's how the gods divide their gifts — or curses, depending who you ask."
"Got it," I said, pretending I did.
We handed the forms back. The clerk stamped them with glowing wax.
"Welcome to the Guild. You're both a Bronze Class. Try not to die."
"Encouraging," I said.
We moved to the quest board. Reginleif's eyes scanned the parchment quickly, her fingers brushing lightly across one.
"Here. Bandit extermination outside the east road. Decent pay."
"Bandits?" I said, grinning. "My kind of people."
She gave me a look — somewhere between amusement and pity. "Yeah, you really would fit in with them."
As we walked out, I caught something odd in her tone — not fear, not caution… almost familiarity.
"You've done this before," I said.
"Maybe."
Her hood shifted just enough for the morning light to catch a faint shimmer on the chain around her neck — a small crest, half-hidden beneath her cloak.
I didn't think much of it then.
But that crest…
Later, I'd learn it was the royal sigil of Mornareth, the fallen kingdom now burning behind us.
And Reginleif — the thief with the sharp tongue and quiet eyes — definitely Rob the palace I should question that later.
[The Darkness Within the Blade]
The road east was quiet. Too quiet.
Wind rustled through the tall grass, carrying the faint smell of ash and metal. Reginleif walked ahead, her brown hair catching the light like amber threads beneath her hood. She didn't say much — just checked the horizon every few seconds, her dagger resting against her thigh.
"Hey, Reginleif," I said. "You sure these bandits even exist? I haven't seen a single—"
She raised a hand sharply. "Shh."
I froze.
A moment later, I heard it too — faint laughter, and the sound of steel clinking.
We crouched behind a boulder overlooking a narrow path. Below us, half a dozen bandits were huddled around a fire, laughing and dividing up loot. Their camp looked sloppy, unguarded.
Reginleif glanced at me. "There. Simple target. Knock them out, grab proof, and get paid."
"Simple," I said. "I like simple."
We moved down the hill silently. I followed her lead — she was fast, fluid, almost like the wind itself. But then one of the bandits looked up.
"Oi! Who's there!?"
Reginleif cursed. "Go!"
The first fight of my new life began in chaos.
I lunged forward, grabbing a branch off the ground and smashing it into a bandit's jaw. Another swung a blade — I ducked, kicked his knee, and slammed his face into a rock. My body moved on instinct, every punch faster, sharper.
But they kept coming.
"Azazel, watch out!" Reginleif shouted.
A bandit twice my size charged at me with a greatsword. I barely dodged as the blade hit the ground, splitting the dirt open. My branch snapped uselessly against his armor.
"Alright," I muttered. "Guess we're doing this the hard way."
He swung again — and I caught the blade with my bare hands. Pain ripped through my palms, but something inside me snapped.
The world slowed.
The light dimmed.
And then I felt it — that strange pulse, deep in my chest.
The air around me darkened — shadows crawling up my arms like liquid ink. My eyes burned cold. The bandit hesitated, stepping back.
"What… what are you?" he stammered.
I didn't answer. My voice came out low, different.
"Your worst f*cking mistake."
I twisted the sword free, drove it upward through his chest, and the shadows erupted — consuming him completely. When it faded, he was gone. Only the sword remained, dripping with a black aura.
Reginleif stared at me, wide-eyed. 'Azazel… your Mythic—!"
I dropped to one knee, panting, the shadows retreating back into my body. "Mythic…?"
Her voice trembled. "That was… darkness. You manifested Mythic energy without a chant. That's— that's impossible for someone untrained."
I looked down at the sword in my hands. The metal shimmered darkly, as if recognizing me.
"Guess it's mine now," I said.
She sighed, exasperated but… impressed. "You're insane."
I grinned weakly. "You're just figuring that out?"
By the time we returned to town, the sword was strapped to my back — its edge still humming faintly with that same dark pulse.
Reginleif kept glancing at me, as if trying to solve a puzzle she didn't like the answer to.
And somewhere deep down, I could feel it too — that the darkness inside me wasn't gone.
It was waiting.
The air in the Adventurer's Guild was thick with noise — clinking mugs, laughter, the faint smell of ale and smoke.
We stood at the counter while the receptionist, a young woman with silver hair, examined the proof of our completed quest — a strip of red cloth torn from the bandit leader's armor.
"Well done," she said, stamping the parchment. "You two handled that group faster than anyone expected. Here's your pay — eight silver coins."
Reginleif took the pouch with a polite smile. I noticed her hand shaking slightly. She hadn't said a word to me since the fight.
We walked out into the afternoon sun, the sound of merchants and horses filling the street. I adjusted the sword strapped to my back — the bandit boss's blade, now mine. The dark metal pulsed faintly when my hand brushed the hilt, like it was alive.
Reginleif finally spoke. "You should be careful with that thing."
I looked at her. "What thing?"
"The sword," she said quietly. "There's something in it. It reacts to your Mythic. I could feel it during the fight — that wasn't just darkness. It was hunger."
I laughed a little, though it came out rough. "Yeah, well, it picked the right owner then."
She didn't smile. "You joke too much about dangerous things."
We stopped at the edge of the town square. People were rebuilding the damage from the recent siege — replacing beams, cleaning debris, gathering food. Normal life trying to return to normal, even when the smell of smoke still hung in the air.
For a moment, we just watched them in silence.
"Reginleif," I said, breaking it. "What now? Stay here or… keep moving?"
She looked to the mountains in the distance. "There's a bigger town west of here — Fortress Cong. Safer, more stable. Maybe we can find proper work there."
"Sounds good to me." I adjusted my cloak. "Besides, I don't think the guild here likes me much after what happened."
"Can't imagine why," she muttered, rolling her eyes.
As we passed the town gates, a faint breeze stirred her cloak. She walked ahead, her dagger gleaming in the fading light. I followed behind, the dark blade at my side whispering softly against its sheath — almost like it was breathing.
The sun dipped lower, setting the road ahead in gold and crimson.
Two silhouettes — a wandering fighter and a thief who wasn't what she seemed — heading toward the next town, the next story, and whatever waited beyond the horizon.
And for the first time since I arrived in this strange world, I smiled to myself.
"Guess this is the start of something," I said under my breath.
Reginleif glanced back with a small grin. "Then don't fall behind, Azazel."
The wind carried her words away, and together we disappeared down the road.
The journey took three days.
At least, that's what Reginleif said.
To me, it felt longer — like the hours themselves refused to pass.
I'd started noticing it on the first night.
The sun lingered too long on the horizon, the stars too slow to drift. My internal clock kept insisting that it should be midnight, but here… it was still dusk.
Time here was different. Slower.
Every minute stretched thin, every second just a bit too heavy.
Reginleif didn't seem to notice. Or maybe she was used to it.
By the time the walls of Fortress Cong came into view, the sun was still setting — as if it had been caught halfway down for hours.
The fortress looked like it could survive the end of the world.
Towering black stone walls ringed the city, reinforced with layers of steel and magic sigils that faintly glowed blue in the fading light. Soldiers patrolled along the battlements, their armor gleaming like molten bronze.
"Still standing after three invasions," Reginleif said beside me, her tone oddly proud. "Not bad for a border city."
"Three invasions, huh?" I muttered. "Looks like they're ready for a fourth."
Two guards stopped us at the gate, their spears crossed.
"State your business."
Reginleif stepped forward, calm and confident. "Adventurers. We came from the east to register with the Guild."
The guard's gaze flicked between us — lingering on my dark sword a bit too long. The black metal vibrated faintly, reacting to their suspicion. I pressed my hand against it, forcing it still.
After a tense pause, the guard grunted and waved us through.
Inside, Fortress Cong was a storm of life. The clang of hammers echoed from the smithy streets, and the air smelled like metal, smoke, and bread. Banners bearing the crest of a lion wrapped around a tower fluttered high above.
"This place…" I said, looking around. "Everyone's armed."
"They have to be," Reginleif replied. "Fortress Cong borders three nations. War could start any day."
"Figures."
We found an inn — The Brass Horn — and paid for a room with the last of our silver. The bed was hard, the air smelled of dust, but after three days on the road, it might as well have been a royal suite.
That night, I couldn't sleep.
The world outside the window looked like it was moving in slow motion. The moon barely shifted in the sky. Even the clouds crawled like reluctant ghosts.
Time flows differently here…
It wasn't a guess anymore. It was fact.
But why? And how long had it been in my world since I vanished?
"Maybe… none of it even matters anymore," I muttered, leaning against the window.
"Talking to yourself again?" Reginleif's voice drifted from the bed, quiet but teasing.
"Just thinking."
"Try not to burn your brain out before morning," she murmured, turning over.
I chuckled softly. "No promises."
Outside, the fortress bells tolled midnight — slow, echoing, deliberate.
Fortress Cong slept beneath a sky frozen in time, and I couldn't shake the feeling that this world itself was holding its breath.