The heat was immediate. It clung to their clothes, stuck to their skin, and made every breath feel heavier than it should have. Frostmarch felt distant now, snow, stone, and cold discipline replaced by sun-bleached sandstone and air that never cooled. Veshra’s port buzzed with life. Workers hauled crates off ships, others argued over prices, guards shouted orders no one listened to. The smell of oil, salt, dust, and spices mixed with the steady hum of trade. Taren watched the chaos with narrowed eyes.

  “This place looks expensive and miserable.”

  Raizō nodded once. “That usually means trouble.”

  They stepped off the pier and paused. It wasn’t new for them to have no plan, but Veluna’s heat made the uncertainty feel heavier.

  “So… what now?” Taren asked.

  Raizō looked at Shizume, who still hadn’t lowered her hood. “You said you’ve been here before. Tell us about Veluna.”

  She studied the city for a moment before speaking.

  “Veluna has five major cities. Aseran is the capital—nobles, influence, and a lot of lying. This port, Veshra, is the trade center. Anything can be bought here. Past the hills are the Foundries. Mines, factories, and long hours. East is Khareen—the Mirage District. Never accept invitations there. And west… the Wastes. No one who goes in comes back.”

  Taren raised a brow. “You sound like you rehearsed that.”

  “I pay attention,” she said plainly.

  Raizō didn’t smile. “That doesn’t mean we trust you.”

  “I never said you should.”

  She added, “If I’m acting as your guide, you need to pay me.”

  Taren blinked. “You want us to pay you?”

  “It’s for show. Guides who work for free look suspicious. Someone will assume I’m owned or hiding something. If they see money exchange hands, they’ll leave us alone.”

  Raizō didn’t argue. He tossed her a small pouch.

  “Enough?”

  She weighed it briefly. “For now.”

  “Then lead us,” Taren said. “Make us look like we know what we’re doing.”

  “No one here knows what they’re doing,” she replied, already walking.

  They chose to go to Aseran. The road to Aseran was long, dusty, and much hotter than any of them expected. Sand and loose stone shifted under their feet. Wind carried grit across the path, forcing them to squint every few minutes. Taren fell quiet after the first half-hour. His steps slowed, and his breathing grew tense.

  Raizō noticed immediately. “It’s hitting you?”

  “Yeah…” Taren exhaled through his nose. “Mana here is… different. Dense. I just need time to adapt.”

  He tried to wave it off, but his fingers twitched—nails sharpening slightly before retracting. It happened again a minute later.

  Shizume noticed. Raizō noticed faster. Without saying anything, Raizō reached over and lifted Taren’s pack off his shoulder. Taren didn’t protest, too focused on keeping his balance as the world tilted for a moment.

  Shizume watched everything. He didn’t ask or hesitate. He just acted. It didn’t align with any logic she understood. Traveler or not, a Veyraen was dangerous when unstable. Most people would have stepped back, not gotten closer. Raizō slowed until Taren could keep up. Every few minutes, he checked on him without making it obvious. Shizume catalogued every detail.

  Aseran’s outer ring was even busier than Veshra. Narrow streets, crowded markets, sandstone homes stacked tightly together, and desperate eyes watching travelers. Children ran barefoot carrying baskets; beggars lined shaded walls; traders shouted over each other. And then—people noticed Taren. It happened the moment Raizō had to support him again. A merchant froze mid-transaction. A child was pulled behind her mother. Two guards stopped walking and stared openly.

  “Excuse me,” Raizō said to an herbalist. “Is there a doctor nearby?”

  The man didn’t look up. “Not for that kind. Keep moving.”

  They tried again. Same result.

  A woman selling cloth wrinkled her nose. “Veyraen sickness? No one here wants that near their home.”

  A guard crossed his arms. “Take him elsewhere. Aseran doesn’t have resources for creatures who can’t control themselves.”

  Raizō’s jaw tightened, but only slightly. He didn’t snap back. He didn’t threaten anyone or even raise his voice. He simply kept walking, carrying Taren like it was instinct. Shizume walked beside him, quietly absorbing every moment. His restraint wasn’t weakness. It wasn’t fear. It was… something she didn’t have a name for yet. Taren leaned onto the wall for a moment. His pupils were flickering again. His breathing was shallow, and a claw forced its way from his hand before retreating.

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  Raizō steadied him. “We need a room.”

  They found an inn willing to take their money, nothing more. One room for Raizō and Taren. One for Shizume. Inside the room, Raizō laid Taren down. His skin was flushed and pale at once. His eyes kept shifting between human and animal. His fingertips pushed into claws then retracted uncontrollably.

  “See? Just adaptation,” Taren muttered. “Not dangerous.”

  Shizume watched his limbs tense and relax. If she didn’t know better, she’d assume he was on the verge of transforming.

  Raizō tucked the blanket around him. “We’re finding someone.”

  “You don’t need to,” Taren breathed. “You two go make money. I’ll sleep this off.”

  Shizume looked at Raizō. “There’s no doctor who will help him.”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “You’re wasting time.”

  “No.”

  She stared at him. The simplicity of his answers felt deliberate.

  Taren waved them off. “Go. I’ll be fine.”

  Outside, Shizume motioned slightly with her chin. “Outer ring. Workers, merchants, people trying to survive. Don’t stay long.”

  Raizō listened.

  As they walked, she continued. “The second ring has guilds, businesses, and normal residents. Cleaner. Less chaotic. That’s where you’ll find real work.”

  “And the inner ring?”

  Shizume’s voice stayed emotionless. “Where the nobles and the Church reside. No access unless you’re permitted. Do not try to force your way in.”

  They passed a pair of guards, and they kept silent until they were out of hearing range. As they walked, Raizō could sense Shizume watching him.

  “Why fight for a doctor when he told you not to?” she asked.

  “He’s sick.”

  “That’s not a reason.”

  “It’s enough for me.”

  She didn’t understand that. When they reached the second ring, Shizume pointed them toward a large stone building with an iron-framed door.

  “The mercenary guild,” she said.

  Inside, the walls were lined with job postings, bounty papers, and supply boards. The air was filled with the smell of sweat, metal, and old parchment. Raizō scanned the jobs. Most were too big for two people, too mundane, or too unclear.

  Shizume pointed at one. “Bandits. North road. Captured or killed.”

  Raizō took it, and they left through the northern gate.

  It took over an hour of steady walking to reach the outskirts beyond Aseran. Dry grass swayed in uneven patches, broken ruins lay half-buried, and the sun burned overhead. They traveled in silence at first.

  Then Shizume spoke. “Why did you help him so quickly?”

  “He needed it.”

  “That doesn’t explain anything.”

  “Should it?”

  She didn’t know how to answer.

  A few minutes later, she said, “Why trust that he can control himself?”

  “Because he always has.”

  “Even when unstable?”

  “Yes.”

  Her brow tightened slightly. His answers were always simple, and somehow always enough.

  She tried again. “You carry his pack. You slow down for him. You listen when he lies about being fine. Why?”

  Raizō didn’t look at her. “Because he’s my friend.”

  For the first time, Shizume’s steps faltered. Friend. That word did not exist in her world. The bandits revealed themselves slowly. First a rock shifted, then a low whisper. A man stepped out from behind a broken column, holding a rusted sword. Three more followed from scattered positions. Shizume felt her instincts flare. Take the high ground. Kill first, move unseen. But she purposely ignored her instinct. She had to appear normal. Clumsy. Predictable. Her foot pressed down on a patch of loose stone, crunching loudly on purpose. A bandit turned toward the sound immediately. Raizō grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back just as an arrow flew past her cheek. She blinked. He had moved before she even felt the danger. The bandits charged.

  Raizō met them head-on, striking efficiently, open-hand blocks, sharp elbows, low kicks meant to disable. His lightning crackled faintly along his arms, not enough to burn, but enough to jolt the bandits into dropping weapons. Shizume mis-stepped intentionally during one exchange, allowing a bandit to get close. Raizō cut him off instantly, driving a palm into the man’s chest hard enough to knock him to the ground.

  “Watch your left,” he said.

  She stared at him, not annoyed, not grateful. Confused. She attacked a bandit next, not lethally but with enough speed that Raizō saw through the act. She went for the kill, blade aimed cleanly at the throat. Raizō caught her wrist.

  “It said capture.”

  “It said kill if needed.”

  “We don’t need to.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You hesitate.”

  “And you don’t.”

  Their philosophies clashed again—no anger, just two worlds refusing to align. They finished the fight with all four bandits unconscious and bound. Shizume watched the back of Raizō’s head as he tied the last rope. He doesn’t kill out of convenience. But he also doesn’t hesitate to fight. He chooses every move with intent. She didn’t understand him, but she wanted to. Back at the inn, Taren was awake, barely. His pupils dilated wildly before stabilizing, then flickered again. Sweat clung to his forehead. His breathing was uneven.

  “Welcome back,” he rasped. “You look like you actually worked.”

  Raizō set the reward down. “Rest.”

  Taren laughed weakly. “Did she try to kill you?”

  “Twice,” Raizō replied.

  Shizume didn’t deny it.

  Taren’s eyes shifted again, and he winced. “Just need to adapt…”

  Raizō stayed by the doorway to keep watch. Shizume observed him from across the room. He was cautious, sharp, hard to read. But he still watched over both of them without hesitation. She didn’t understand that kind of strength. But it made her want to stay close enough to figure it out.

  Later that night, after Shizume retired to her room, Raizō closed the door behind him and sat across from Taren. The lantern on the nightstand flickered softly, casting uneven shadows across the room. Taren had managed to steady his breathing, but the exhaustion still clung to him. His pupils were normal, for now.

  “So,” he said, voice rough, “what do you think of her?”

  Raizō leaned back in the chair, arms crossed loosely. “She’s hiding something.”

  “That obvious, huh?”

  “She’s too alert. Too controlled. And every answer is calculated.”

  He kept his eyes on the lantern flame. “But… she doesn’t seem harmful.”

  Taren snorted. “That’s the part that worries me.”

  Raizō looked over.

  Taren rolled onto his side, wincing slightly. “People who don’t show their intentions either have something to run from… or something to do. She doesn’t give off killing intent, but she’s still dangerous.”

  Raizō nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

  Silence stretched for a moment.

  Taren exhaled through his nose. “Still… she helped us. Didn’t have to.”

  “She didn’t,” Raizō agreed.

  “You think keeping her with us is a bad idea?”

  Raizō didn’t answer immediately. He thought about her confusion when he helped Taren… her stopping herself from attacking… the way she watched him like she was trying to solve something.

  Finally he said, “We’ll see. But if she wanted to harm us, she’s had chances.”

  Taren gave a tired smile. “Let’s just hope this doesn’t come back to bite us.”

  Raizō nodded once, eyes narrowing faintly in acceptance of a risk he’d already chosen.

  “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Me too.”