Aseran’s heat started early. The suns felt closer here low, swollen, pressing against the sky like they were leaning over the city. Even in the morning, light pooled thick across the streets, turning every stone warm to the touch. The air itself seemed heavier, clinging to skin and slowing breath. Taren pushed himself upright with a groan.
“Why does it feel like the suns are sitting on my chest?” he muttered, wiping sweat from his forehead even though he’d only just woken.
Shizume stood near the doorway, arms folded, her posture perfectly straight despite the oppressive heat. She had woken before the others, not because she rested well, but because sleep had refused to settle in more than brief stretches. Her thoughts had been pulling at her since the night before. Raizō finished tightening his hand-wraps, movements slow and exact. The heat stuck to him too, sweat marked the edges of his hairline—but not once did he complain. Not once did he break his rhythm.
Taren glanced at Shizume. “You’re up early again.”
She didn’t look at him. “The noise outside woke me.”
Taren smirked. “Uh-huh.”
Shizume ignored the implication. Her eyes drifted toward Raizō, unintentionally, automatically, and she caught herself, looking away before either of them could comment. But Taren had already noticed.
“You’re doing it again.”
Shizume’s tone sharpened. “Doing what?”
“Watching him like you’re trying to figure out his expiration date.”
“I’m not watching him.”
“You absolutely are.”
Raizō didn’t look up, but she could feel the awareness in him. He felt every shift in the room, the heat, the tension, her gaze. She straightened, forcing her shoulders back.
“We have supplies to gather today,” she said. “Taren still needs medication.”
“I feel better,” Taren argued weakly.
“You feel hot,” Shizume corrected. “That’s not the same.”
He blinked. “…Fair.”
Raizō adjusted his cloak. “Let’s go before the suns climb higher.”
But as Taren stepped toward the door, he paused beside Shizume. His expression softened, not teasing, not sharp, just quiet.
“You know,” he said, “you’ve done your job. You don’t have to stay with us anymore.”
Her chest tightened. The heat outside felt intense. This felt worse.
Shizume kept her expression flat. “I’m still in Aseran because I have business to take care of.”
Taren lifted a brow. “Business? You’ll never take care of it if you’re with us every day.”
Her jaw tightened.
“It’s not your concern.”
“It is if you’re staying,” he countered lightly.
Shizume looked away, jaw tightening at the accuracy she didn’t want to acknowledge. She wasn’t from here, Aseran’s heat, its noise, its chaos still struck her differently than it did its natives. Frostmarch’s cold discipline had shaped her, not this relentless heat. But she traveled Veluna often enough that she understood how the city moved. How it breathed. How it tested people. And how it got under her skin at the worst times. Raizō opened the door, letting in a wave of heat that folded into the room like steam. Shizume walked past Taren so quickly he didn’t have time to grin at her again.
Heat hit them immediately. It radiated from the ground, from the walls, from the sky itself. The three suns, each one slightly different in hue, overlapped in a glare so bright it washed color from the stonework. Shizume had grown up in Frostmarch, but even she felt the difference. Frostmarch never had suns this close, this heavy. Even the rest of Veluna didn’t burn quite like Aseran. Here, the heat was something alive. They walked in silence at first, letting their bodies adjust. Raizō kept his pace steady. He didn’t rush; he didn’t slow. He walked like the heat was something to acknowledge—not endure. That calm was unsettlingly contagious. Shizume found herself matching it again without meaning to. When she noticed, she shifted her step deliberately, but Taren saw the correction.
“You know,” he said, walking on her other side, “I’ve noticed something.”
“No,” she said flatly.
He grinned. “You didn’t even let me say it.”
“Because it’s wrong.”
“It’s definitely not wrong.”
She exhaled sharply as they turned into a narrower road where shade fell unevenly across the ground.
“What is it?” Raizō asked without stopping.
“She’s copying you,” Taren announced.
“I’m not,” Shizume replied immediately.
Raizō didn’t look back. “You are.”
Shizume clenched her jaw. “I’m adjusting my steps to the terrain.”
Taren laughed. “Terrain? We’re literally walking in a straight line.”
“It’s uneven,” she insisted.
“It’s flat.”
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“It’s sloped.”
“It’s not.”
“Both of you be quiet,” Raizō said.
They continued. But even as she forced herself to change her stride, she felt it—her body wanting to fall into that familiar rhythm again. His rhythm. His stillness. And that realization made her stomach tighten. They reached a shaded row of merchants tucked beneath stretched fabrics and patched awnings. The shade didn’t cool the air much, but it at least softened the suns’ glare. Taren slowed again, catching his breath. The heat was wearing on him despite his humor.
Shizume stopped beside him. “Sit.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Order now?”
“It’s advice,” she corrected, though her tone didn’t soften.
Raizō stood in front of a stand selling dried fruit, scanning the street without looking distracted. A group of locals shouted prices nearby, a merchant argued with a customer about the quality of her spices. A stray cat darted out from under a cart and vanished between legs and crates. Shizume watched Raizō again, just a second too long, before looking away. He didn’t confront anyone. He didn’t step in. He simply watched. He knew when to move and when to wait. She had spent years perfecting that discipline. He seemed to carry it naturally. Taren took a sip from a vendor’s water jug and leaned closer to her.
“You’re quieter today,” he said softly.
“It’s hot.”
“It’s always hot.”
She didn’t respond.
Taren studied her face, then nodded as if confirming something to himself. “All right. I’ll stop asking.”
“You weren’t asking.”
“Yes I was.”
She ignored him and focused on Raizō, though she told herself it was because someone needed to watch their surroundings. A shout broke across the shaded road. A vendor slammed his hand on a crate while a mercenary towered over him, wagging a finger in accusation.
“You’re lying,” the mercenary barked, voice louder than the crowd. “You shorted me!”
“I gave you what you paid for!” the vendor snapped.
Tension thickened immediately. This was how fights started in Aseran. Fast, loud, and without warning. Shizume’s hand drifted toward her blade out of habit… but she stopped. Because Raizō stepped forward, not aggressively, just enough to shift attention without escalating it. He didn’t speak. He didn’t posture. He simply stood where both men could see him. The mercenary’s tone wavered.
Taren muttered, “He does that thing again.”
Shizume swallowed. Because she realized she had stepped forward too, same angle, same posture. Mirroring him. Again. And she hadn’t even noticed. The mercenary shifted, his bluster leaking out under Raizō’s quiet presence. He looked between them, Raizō steady, Shizume unreadable, Taren watching with raised brows, and snorted.
“Whatever,” he muttered, stepping back. “Not worth the heat.”
He threw a final glare at the vendor before shoving his way through the crowd. The vendor sagged with relief. “Thank you,” he murmured. “Both of you.”
Raizō gave a small nod. Shizume didn’t respond. She was too busy staring at her own feet. She hadn’t meant to move when Raizō did. She hadn’t planned it. Hadn’t even thought. Her body reacted. Automatically. As if following him had become… normal. She turned sharply and walked ahead, anger rising, not at the mercenary, not at the vendor, but at herself. Taren caught up beside her, sweat dripping down his temple.
“You all right?” he asked.
“I’m fine.”
“You look irritated.”
“I said I’m fine.”
“Oh.” He grinned. “So you’re really irritated.”
She shot him a withering glare.
Taren held up both hands. “Look, I’m not trying to make fun of you—well, not entirely. I just want you to be honest about something.”
She stiffened. “What.”
“You’re not staying with us because of some mysterious business in Aseran.”
His voice wasn’t sharp, it was gentle, maddeningly gentle.
Shizume looked away. “I told you already. I have things to handle here.”
“Yeah,” he said thoughtfully. “And I’m saying you’re never going to handle any of it if you’re with us every single day.”
Her hands tightened around her cloak.
“It’s my choice,” she said quietly.
“I know.” He nudged her shoulder with his. “That’s why I’m telling you the truth. You keep choosing to stay.”
She didn’t respond. Raizō walked ahead of them, hearing the conversation but not interfering. He moved with the same steady pace he always held, weaving through the market as if the heat couldn’t touch him. Shizume hated that she kept matching his pace even while arguing with Taren. Hated how natural it felt. The suns climbed higher. Sweat gathered at the base of her neck. She adjusted her collar, but the heat stuck to her skin, heavy and insistent.
Aseran always burned hotter than the other Velunean cities but today felt worse, like the suns leaned lower, testing how far people could be pushed before cracking. They walked until eventually the noise thinned and the street opened into a quiet rise overlooking the rooftops. Stone steps led upward toward an old terrace, mostly abandoned during the hottest hours.
Raizō gestured toward it without looking back. “Shade.”
Taren sighed in relief. “Bless you.”
They climbed. The terrace held a sliver of shade cast by a leaning wall. The wind was faint but present. The first cool breath of air they’d felt since morning.
Taren dropped onto a stone bench, closing his eyes. “I might live after all.”
Raizō leaned against the wall, arms loose at his sides, breathing slow and even. He didn’t speak. Shizume stood for a long moment before forcing herself to sit on the opposite end of the bench. The stone radiated warmth, but at least it wasn’t burning.
Taren peeked one eye open. “You still mad at me?”
“I am not mad.”
“You’re mad.”
“I'm not.”
He shrugged. “All right. Just checking.”
Raizō finally spoke. “He’s not wrong.”
Shizume turned her head sharply. “About what?”
Raizō’s gaze held nothing aggressive, just observation.
“You’ve had chances to walk away,” he said. “You didn’t.”
Her fingers curled around the bench’s edge. “I told you both. I have business here.”
“And you’ll never finish it if you keep following us,” Taren repeated cheerfully.
Raizō didn’t contradict him. She hated that more than Taren’s teasing. Shizume looked away. Below the terrace, Aseran stretched in uneven lines, shifting roofs, tangled streets, smoke curling from chimneys, people moving through patches of shade like they were rationing their energy. The three suns glared over everything, refusing to give the city a moment of mercy. She wasn’t from here. She wasn’t meant to stay here. She wasn’t supposed to feel… comfortable here. Yet here she was.
“Staying is easier than leaving,” Taren said quietly. “That’s all I’m saying.”
She didn’t answer. Because for the first time, the words made too much sense. Raizō shifted slightly, just enough to make her look back at him. He studied her with that same steady calm that made her feel exposed without being touched.
“I’m not asking you to go,” he said. “But don’t pretend you’re only here because of unfinished business.”
The words landed like heat against her skin, sharp, unavoidable. She looked away again. “Believe whatever you want.”
“Not believing anything,” Taren said. “Just noticing.”
Silence settled between them, mixed with the distant clamor of the bazaar and the steady hum of heat radiating from the stone.
After a moment, Raizō straightened. “We should return before the crowds get worse.”
Taren groaned but stood. Shizume followed, telling herself it was simply because they needed to keep moving. Not because she didn’t want to be left standing alone. They descended the terrace steps and slipped back into the flow of Aseran’s streets. The suns had shifted again, dragging long shadows across the stone. Heat still pressed against them, but the worst of it had passed—the city easing just enough to let people breathe. They walked in the same formation as always. Raizō ahead. Taren beside him. Shizume a step behind, following. Not because she needed to, but because she wanted to. And she hated how simple that truth felt.
As they neared the inn, Raizō slowed for a brief moment, glancing back at her, just enough to acknowledge her presence, her choice, her pace matching his once again. Shizume glanced away quickly. But her steps didn’t change. No matter how hard she tried to force them to. The suns were lower now, their heat lingering but softer, turning the sky a pale amber. Aseran’s noise grew again as evening neared, vendors calling out final prices, children running through alleyways, mercenaries returning from work. Raizō opened the door to the inn. Taren entered first. Shizume hesitated, just for a breath. A single breath. Then stepped inside after them. As if it were becoming familiar. As if it were becoming dangerously natural. And that realization stayed with her long after the door swung shut behind them.
