The silence that followed the monster's disintegration was deafening. Dust settled slowly on the cracked stone floor.
Aiven leaned against the jagged dungeon wall, his chest heaving. His vision swam with spots of violet light. He looked up at the girl hovering inches off the ground. She looked less like a person and more like a high-altitude mirage, her silver hair shimmering with a life of its own.
"Who… no, what are you?" Aiven rasped.
The girl didn't look offended. She tilted her head, her prismatic orb chiming a soft, musical note as it spun. "My name is Virelle. As for what I am… well, I'm a mage. A super-strong one, obviously."
She drifted closer, her violet eyes scanning his tattered clothes. "You look quite terrible, Master."
"Master?" Aiven shook his head, trying to clear the fog. "I didn't summon you. I don't even have the mana to light a campfire properly, let alone bring… whatever you are… into existence."
"Oh, but you did," Virelle insisted. She grabbed his right hand with a touch that felt surprisingly warm and human. She flipped his arm over.
There, on the underside of his wrist, a faint, crystalline sigil pulsed with a steady lavender light. It looked like a constellation trapped beneath his skin—intricate, beautiful, and terrifying.
"That wasn't there before," Aiven whispered.
"It's the contract," Virelle said with a playful smirk. "You called, I answered. There's no 'cancel' button on this spell, Master. You're stuck with me."
Aiven's mind raced with a thousand questions, but a low groan from the dungeon walls reminded him where they were. The structure was unstable; the "anomaly" had likely compromised the integrity of the sector.
"This isn't the place for this," Aiven said, pushing himself off the wall. "We need to get out. But the paths… they shifted. I don't know the way back to the gate."
Virelle let out a tinkling laugh. "Paths? Why bother with paths when you have me?" She raised a slender finger. "I can just teleport us out."
Aiven froze. "Teleportation? That's… that's impossible. Teleportation spells haven't been seen in Aerilis for decades. You need high-tier artifacts or ancient relay stations to—"
"I don't need toys to move through space," Virelle interrupted, puffing out her chest smugly. "I'm just that good. You should probably praise me more, Master. I find I quite like the sound of it."
Aiven sighed, the weight of his exhaustion finally catching up to him. "Just get us out of here, Virelle."
He turned away from her, his eyes searching the floor. He spotted it near a pile of rubble; the short sword he had dropped when the monster lunged. The blade was nicked, the hilt wrap was fraying, and in the presence of Virelle, it looked like a child's toy. He knelt down and gripped it firmly.
"Why would you need that useless thing?" Virelle asked, hovering over his shoulder. "I'm right here. I could provide you with a blade made of condensed starlight if you asked nicely."
Aiven stood, sliding the sword back into its worn sheath. He didn't look at her. "This is precious to me. That's all you need to know."
Virelle fell silent, her violet eyes blinking in genuine confusion. She didn't understand why a Master with a legendary mage at his command would cling to a piece of dull iron, but she didn't push. With a flick of her wrist, the air around them folded like silk.
The transition was instantaneous. One moment, they were in the damp, suffocating air of the dungeon; the next, the cool breeze of the floating island's surface hit Aiven's face.
The shock subsided, replaced by a crushing fatigue. Aiven's knees buckled. He managed to stay upright only by leaning on a nearby fence. "Wait," he groaned. "The quest… I still have trash duty. I can't submit the report if the sector isn't cleared."
Virelle looked at the scattered debris and unstable mana-shards near the dungeon entrance. She snapped her fingers.
Snap.
A pulse of violet energy swept across the ground. The debris, the shards, even the grime on the stone entrance vanished as if it had never existed.
Aiven opened his mouth to be shocked again, but his brain simply refused to process any more miracles. He was too tired to wonder how she was doing these things. "Right. Cleaned. Of course."
"We should return to the Guildhouse," Aiven muttered. "Report the completion."
"Master, you can't go back looking like a chewed-up rag," Virelle said, her nose wrinkling. "It reflects poorly on my image."
She didn't wait for his permission. She raised her hands, and a gentle warmth washed over Aiven. The stinging in his side vanished; the ache in his legs receded. The deep gashes from the dungeon wall closed into faint scars. However, his clothes remained a disaster; his tunic was shredded, and he was covered in a thick layer of dungeon dust and dried blood.
"The wounds are gone," Virelle noted, "but I don't do laundry. You'll have to deal with the rags yourself."
They walked the short distance to the Guildhouse. Aiven kept his head down, trying to ignore the way people stared at the tattered young man and the ethereal, silver-haired girl floating effortlessly beside him.
The Guildhouse hummed with its usual mid-day crowd. Aiven approached the reception desk, sliding his F-Rank badge and the quest scroll across the wood.
The receptionist looked at his torn outfit, then at the glowing, floating girl, and finally at the "Completed" stamp on the scroll. She didn't ask questions; F-Rankers often came back looking like they'd been through a meat grinder. She counted out a small pile of copper and a few silver coins.
"Trash duty complete. Here is your payment," she said flatly.
Aiven took the meager coins, feeling the weight of how little his life was worth to the Guild.
Nearby, a group of established adventurers—D-Rankers by the look of their gear—leaned back in their chairs, watching Aiven.
"Look at that," one whispered, though his voice carried easily. "F-Rank 'trash duty' and the kid looks like he fought a wyvern. Some people just aren't built for this life."
Another snorted. "And he's walking around with that? What is she, compensation?"
A few of them laughed.
"Probably tripped over his own feet and got saved," a third added. "Figures. Pretty escort, broken clerk. Some people just aren't built for this life."
Virelle's orb stopped chiming. The atmospheric mana in the room suddenly turned cold. She turned toward the table, her violet eyes flashing with a dangerous, jagged light.
"Excuse me?" she said, her voice dropping the playful tone. She began to walk, not float, toward their table, her boots clicking sharply on the wooden floor. "You think it's funny? My Master has more resolve in his little finger than your entire bloodline has in its history."
She raised her hand, and the prismatic orb began to glow with a blinding, violent intensity. The air around the adventurers began to crackle. "Perhaps I should wipe this building off the map so you can appreciate the silence."
"Virelle! Stop!"
Aiven grabbed her arm, pulling her back. He turned to the stunned adventurers, bowing his head slightly. "I'm sorry. She's… new. My apologies."
For a heartbeat, the adventurers were silent.
Then one of them scoffed.
"Keep your elf in check, kid," he said coldly. "This is the Guildhouse. If she can't behave, don't bring her inside."
Virelle's breath hitched.
Her smile returned, but this time, it was thin, sharp, and utterly venomous.
"Say that again," she whispered, mana surging violently. "I would love to demonstrate how short your lives truly are."
That was enough.
Aiven didn't hesitate. He turned, gripping Virelle's shoulder firmly, and dragged her toward the exit.
"We're leaving," he said under his breath.
He didn't wait for a reply.
"Why did you do that?" Virelle pouted once they were on the street. "I was about to teach those gnats a lesson in humility."
"I can't afford more problems, Virelle," Aiven said, his voice weary. "If you break the Guildhouse, I'll be fined. If you hurt them, I'll be sued. I have exactly twelve silver coins to my name. I can't afford a 'lesson in humility.'"
He stopped and looked at her, his expression serious. "There are more important things to discuss. My life just turned upside down, and I need to understand why."
He gestured toward the path leading to the residential district. "We're going to my place."
Virelle's eyes brightened instantly, the anger vanishing as if it had never been there. "Your place? Master's abode? Is it a castle? A hidden spire?"
Aiven thought of his cramped, one-room apartment with the leaking ceiling and the single chair. "It's... a place to sit down. Let's go."