"I thought you told Cyrus you'd give him half of those brownie things?" Cass asked with a sly grin, eyeing the tray of brownies I'd pulled out as we walked.

  The question hit like an accusation wrapped in chocolate-scented temptation.

  "I made extra," I said, trying to sound casual while my conscience squirmed. "Besides, he didn't even let me give him the other tray. So technically, I'm morally in the clear."

  "I won't tell if you don't." Her reply came with a predatory smile as she snatched a still-warm piece, popping it into her mouth like she was Sealing a pact with the devil.

  The earring was keeping them warm—which meant I was basically carrying a portable bakery. Dangerous knowledge in the wrong hands.

  The afternoon had turned oppressively humid, the sky a stark, cloudless blue that felt like standing inside a furnace. Heat radiating off the stone streets started burning through my soles like I was walking on coals.

  I looked down at my bare feet.

  "Son of a bitch. Why do I keep forgetting my shoes?" The words came out sharper than intended, frustration bleeding through.

  Cass burst out laughing, brownie crumbs spraying as she doubled over. "I thought it was a Terran thing!" she teased, motioning back toward Doreen’s, where the faint sounds of shouting and crashing still echoed like a distant war zone. "You're welcome to go back and get them."

  "Not a chance in hell. Anywhere I can get some around here?" I stored the tray back into my earring before temptation could strike again.

  "Obviously. Follow me." She led the way away from the tower, her stride confident as a tour guide leading tourists into unknown territory.

  As we walked, the architecture shifted like we'd crossed into a different world. The buildings became taller, sprouting Gothic spires and intricate carvings that should have been magnificent. Instead, they looked like broken teeth. This was a city still bleeding from old wounds—several towers leaned precariously, and broken bridges hung between them like skeletal remains reaching for something that would never come.

  Cass suddenly wheeled onto a narrow side street with the precision of someone who knew exactly where she was going.

  A man in a blue shirt and green pants shot up from a wooden chair like he'd been spring-loaded. He was an older Aldertree, his bark-like skin carrying the same elegant roughness as Diana's. A thin, grassy beard framed his chin, and his smooth, bald head gleamed like polished wood in the sun.

  "Oh, Cassandra!" His greeting boomed with the kind of enthusiasm that could wake the dead. "What brings you to our shop?"

  "Hey, Ron! The Breaker here needs some shoes and a few essentials. Got anything in his size?"

  Ron's eyes swept over me with the calculating precision of someone sizing up a horse for purchase. "The Breaker, huh? Oh, you're that fancy Unbidden everyone's been talking about."

  Unbidden. Right. That was me now.

  "That's me," I said, raising a hand in what I hoped was a casual wave. "I've got some blue coins—"

  "Nonsense!" His interruption came with a toothy smile that suggested money was offensive. He walked to the side door and knocked with the rhythm of someone delivering a secret code.

  A dark-skinned woman answered, her black hair tied back with military precision. Her skin was deep and rich, almost like Chas's, and her eyes sparkled with a curiosity that missed nothing. Something about her presence felt oddly timeless—like she'd been here forever and would outlast everyone else.

  "Ronald, I told you to—oh, hello, customers." Her vaguely British accent shifted to warm friendliness as she noticed us, like flipping a switch from private to public mode.

  "Hi, Hazel. Ben here needs some shoes. And if you have any, I'll pay for some Sevenfold." Cass was already fishing a pouch out of her vest with the enthusiasm of someone buying contraband.

  "Come, come, let me see you." Hazel stepped forward, studying me like I was an interesting specimen. Her gaze rested on the pins in my vest. "The Breaker, is it?" Her amber eyes glimmered as they swept over me, a knowing smile playing on her lips that suggested she knew more than she was letting on.

  "Oh, honey, look! He's human," she said, motioning toward Ron, who had somehow dozed off while standing upright.

  "Huh?" He blinked awake with the confusion of someone whose brain had just rebooted. "Oh, right, shoes? He needs shoes, my love."

  "Ronald, dear, please keep up." Hazel's eye-roll could have powered a small city before she turned back to me. "Cassandra's friend is a human! You know, a Terran?" She clapped her hands with the delight of someone who'd just discovered buried treasure. "You're one of those that Charles keeps talking about! The people from nowhere!"

  Ron stared at me blankly, shrugged with the philosophical acceptance of someone who'd given up trying to understand the world, and muttered, "Guess so."

  Hazel huffed but smiled anyway. "Come inside, then. We'll find you some proper shoes, Ben."

  She led us into the building, and my jaw hit the floor.

  The parlor looked like a dragon's hoard—but with knick-knacks instead of gold. It was chaos given physical form. Every surface and corner was stuffed with trinkets, ornaments, and random decorations fighting for attention like they were at war.

  The runic fireplace should've been the cozy centerpiece, but it was a shrine to gaudiness. The mantel sagged under gilded candlesticks and porcelain figurines of animals that looked like they'd escaped from a fever dream. Above it, a massive gold-framed mirror reflected the mess, doubling the clutter for maximum sensory assault.

  A pair of wingback chairs flanked a coffee table buried under an avalanche of mismatched doilies. The chairs themselves were upholstered in floral fabric so aggressive it looked like they'd been strangled by curtains.

  Wallpaper—a green-and-gold brocade that screamed wealth and whispered mental breakdown—fought a losing battle against framed paintings and tapestries crammed onto every available inch of wall space. The bay window was drowning in velvet drapes that looked stolen from a Victorian opera house, while a patch of lace curtains peeked out meekly from underneath, barely letting in a sliver of sunlight.

  Even the air felt overstuffed, thick with the scent of lavender potpourri and beeswax candles.

  I was at my grandma's. Not my Aapo on my mom's side—no, this was Dad's territory. Grandma Gladys territory. It wasn't her house, but it had her energy. Loud, cluttered, and unapologetically excessive.

  "Wow, holy shit, it looks like my room at Doreen's," I said. It was all I could think of, and Cass let out a pained sigh.

  "You're staying in our old room?" Hazel's face lit up like Christmas morning. "Oh, how adorable! Ronald, did you hear that? He’s staying in our room!"

  "Eh?" He shouted, cupping his ear. "You're lying down soon? Alright, I'll man the door. This young man needs some shoes."

  "Oh, for fuck's sake, Ronald. I'll get the gods-damned shoes." Hazel stomped down a hallway with the fury of someone who'd had this exact conversation a thousand times.

  The moment she disappeared, Ron got a mischievous look that transformed his face completely. He sat down in a chair and pulled out a drawer in the coffee table, producing a glass jar filled with what looked like glowing mana pearls.

  "Go on, be quick!" He whispered like a kid sneaking cookies before dinner.

  I looked at Cass, but she was already absorbing the orbs with practiced efficiency. Following her lead, I dropped a few into my earring experimentally—they felt warm, almost alive.

  Hazel returned with two boxes and caught Ron with his hand literally in the metaphorical cookie jar.

  "Ronald! I am trying to run a reputable business here. Stop eating all our profits every time I look away."

  "Oh, sorry, dear." He returned the jar with the sheepish expression of someone who wasn't sorry at all.

  “I swear to the roots that you don’t want our business to make a profit.” Hazel shook her head with the long-suffering patience of a saint.

  "Of course not, dear," he said with a not-so-subtle wink that made me chuckle despite myself.

  "Never mind him." Hazel handed me a small brown wooden box that felt surprisingly heavy. "Here you go. These should fit."

  Sliding the lid off revealed a pair of shoes identical in style to my current ones—more like reinforced slippers—but with noticeably sturdier soles. I placed them on the ground and slipped them onto my feet, taking a few experimental steps.

  They fit perfectly, and the extra support was immediately obvious. Like upgrading from cardboard to actual protection.

  "Damn, these are way better than what I had. How many coins?" I pulled my money pouch from the earring, ready to pay whatever they asked.

  "Oh, please." Hazel waved a hand dismissively, like money was a foreign concept. "I wouldn't dream of taking your coins. And this is for you, Cassandra." She handed another box to Cass, who opened it to reveal a bottle tightly wrapped in black paper with a large, wax-sealed cork that looked ominous.

  "Oh, fuck yes," Cass said, grinning like she'd just won the lottery. She pulled out some coins, but Hazel shook her head firmly.

  "These are gifts, young ones. Do tell my Charles to come visit, if you see him?" Her voice softened with a maternal concern that made my chest tight.

  "Of course! Thank you," Cass replied earnestly, every trace of her usual sharpness vanishing.

  "You kids have a long trip," Ron suddenly said, his voice weighted like he knew something we didn't. "Come visit us soon, alright?"

  Before Cass could even hand me the bottle to store, we were being ushered out of the gaudy parlor and into the blazing heat of the street. The door clicked shut behind us with finality.

  We hadn't made it past thirty meters before curiosity killed me. "Who's Charles?"

  "Chas!" Cass said, like I was missing something obvious. "Those are his parents. You didn't notice Hazel's skin?"

  I blinked. "A lot of people where I come from have skin that dark. Wait… Chas? Doesn't Charles usually shorten to Chuck?"

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  Cass barked a laugh that could have scared birds from trees. "Call him that, and he'll put you through a wall. I watched him do it to my brother Henrik once—funniest thing I've ever seen."

  "She's Floran? Uh… Blackwood? And they run a shop?" The pieces weren't fitting together. "They didn't even try to sell us what we needed."

  "Yep, and it's because we needed it." Cass shrugged as if this made perfect sense. "They figured as much. They're really old-world. The idea of money to them is abstract—we paid in karma."

  I glanced down at my new shoes, then back at Cass. "So we need to convince Chas to visit his parents in return?"

  "We should at least try," she said, laughing. "Wait until you see what's in the bottle."

  We continued walking, heading further from the bustling city center. The streets grew quieter, the buildings less maintained, and the crowds thinned until we were walking through what felt like a ghost town. After about half an hour of steady walking, I realized most of the people we were passing were Sentarian. Their presence seemed to come with a blanket of calm that made my shoulders relax.

  "There's a lot more Sentarian out this way," I observed.

  "They like peace and quiet," Cass replied. A few Sentarian glanced our way, bowing their heads slightly in greeting that felt like benedictions. "Most of them live underground. The old pathways are much nicer than what's left up here."

  Wide, crumbling streets and ruins, telling of a city still bleeding from old wounds, had replaced the greenery and carefully maintained infrastructure near the harbor. The difference was striking—like walking from a postcard into a war zone.

  Saying La-Roc had walls was being generous. The crumbling remains at the edge looked more like forgotten ruins than defenses. Cracks marred the uneven stones; entire sections were missing; and ivy climbed and twisted over every surface as if nature was actively reclaiming the city. Time and weather wore the meaning of the faded runes carved into visible stone away, barely legible now, into ghostly suggestions.

  A handful of Sentarian lingered along the wall, but they weren't repairing anything. One poured water over the ivy with ritual precision, while another carefully adjusted the vines like they were arranging flowers. The plants, not the wall, were their focus.

  Two Sentarian nodded as we passed.

  "Amituofo," one breathed, the word carrying a weight I could feel.

  I smiled and nodded back. For all their alien features, the Sentarian felt deeply human in their spirituality. Even their robes reminded me of meditation gowns—simple, deliberate, and calming.

  The city gave way to fields as we walked, the heat intensifying now that we had no shade. My shirt and vest clung to my back like they were glued there, and I wiped sweat from my face with increasing frequency.

  "Alright, I can't wait anymore." I pulled the bottle from my mana sanctum, curiosity finally winning. "What is this stuff?"

  "Sevenfold Spirit," Cass said, her grin promising mischief. "Chas's favorite. Tastes like crap, he says, but it'll get you there. Go on, take a sip. We've got a long walk ahead."

  I pulled the cork, and the smell hit me like a physical assault. A sour, acidic tang clung to my nostrils, followed by an ethanol punch that made me flinch backward.

  "Holy fuck, that's awful!" I coughed, nearly dropping the bottle. "Deathroot wine didn't even smell this bad, and it had death in the name."

  "You and your smells," Cass said, grabbing the bottle with the confidence of someone about to make a terrible mistake. She took a bold swig and immediately regretted every life choice that had led to this moment, sputtering and coughing so hard she nearly doubled over.

  "Graceful Gods, what is that?!" she yelled, spitting onto the ground like she was trying to exorcise a demon.

  "You've never had it?!" I asked, incredulous. "Why the hell did you ask for it? Is this even technically drinkable?"

  "Chas carries a flask of it! Said it's made from seven fruits! I thought it'd be good!"

  "Seven rotting fruits!" I snatched the bottle back, shaking my head. She glared at me like I'd betrayed her trust.

  I sniffed again, more cautiously this time. Beneath the chemical warfare, there was something faintly sweet, like overripe bananas mixed with regret. It couldn't be that bad, right?

  I took a small sip, bracing for disaster. But… it wasn't half bad. Sure, the smell lingered in my nose like a terrible decision, and it was definitely more alcohol than actual beverage, but there was something smooth about it. Burnt sugar and bruised peaches gave it a caramel flavor that almost worked. It burned like hell going down, but it wasn't unbearable.

  "Yep, that's hooch," I said, coughing lightly as I took another experimental swig. "Just don't drink it like water."

  It was definitely better than the Deathroot wine from that spirit realm tavern. That felt like an age ago, and yet only a few days had passed. Part of me felt like a completely different person after such a short time. Everything had changed since I'd unlocked my mana sight. I couldn't remember more than flashes of when I meditated, and I knew I'd been growing stronger and faster almost passively since then.

  The thought made my stomach clench. I was actually scared to meditate again—terrified of losing myself, losing who I was. And the danger of whatever a Soul Seal was still resonating in my thoughts like a warning bell.

  I took another swig of the Sevenfold spirit and handed the bottle to Cass as we walked in comfortable silence, sipping the drink and enjoying the countryside despite the heat.

  "So…" Cass started, wiggling her eyebrows with the subtlety of a sledgehammer. "You and Katie, huh?"

  "Nothing's happened," I laughed, but heat crept up my neck anyway. "I think we're both amplifying each other's love of cooking so much that we forgot all about our date."

  "You’ve gotta speed things up! She's not going to be available forever."

  Taking another larger swig of the liquor forced me to cough, buying myself time to think while I spat.

  "I'm pretty sure this is what she needs right now," I admitted. "Did you know her husband?"

  "Yeah, Carlos was a friend since we were kids. We used to race through the Greenmarch, the woods up there." Cass gestured toward a distant tree line, good memories showing in her now-glossy eyes. Katie had told me about Carlos—a Carmintree Floran, which I found fascinating.

  "Do Florans and Gaians marry frequently?" I asked suddenly curious about the dynamics I was still learning.

  "It's rare enough that it was pretty sweet gossip for a while," Cass confirmed with a smile that held old warmth. "I thought he'd become a hunter when we were younger."

  "He sounds like he was a really great guy," I said, taking an even larger swig. We'd started with tiny sips, but now, as we approached the tree line, we'd polished off about half the bottle.

  Cass took a long drink and nearly choked. "You know you are too, right?" The words came out in a rush, her cheeks burning with both alcohol and embarrassment.

  "Don't get your fucking hopes up." I raised my eyebrows, and she swatted at me. "I mean, you're a lot like Carlos. Erik liked him a lot, too."

  "Thanks, Cass," I said as sincerely as I could manage. "You're the main reason I haven't gone completely crazy since getting here."

  "I know," Cass said with a grin that could have powered the city. "Naked curtain guy is on a proper monster hunt."

  The moment we stepped into the trees, everything changed. The path underfoot shifted to natural stone, smoothed in spots and uneven in others, like it couldn't decide whether it wanted to be a road or a ruin. People still used this route frequently—the undergrowth near the edges was sparse, beaten down from years of boots and wagons grinding it into submission.

  But beyond the path, the forest was something else entirely. It was a tangle of rock, grass, and shrubs left to grow wild for what had to be centuries. The trees were massive, their trunks twisted and gnarled like they'd seen more than their fair share of storms and refused to break. Moss covered everything that stood still long enough, clinging to rocks and roots with stubborn determination. Vines twisted lazily around the trunks, creeping upward as if they were racing to touch the sun.

  The air smelled damp and earthy, with just a hint of something floral wafting in from deeper within. Somewhere out in the brush, something rustled, and a bird let out a single, questioning call before going quiet again.

  The whole place felt alive in a way that made the hairs on my arms stand on end—more than a forest, watching, waiting. It wasn't menacing, just… aware.

  A familiar prickling anxiety hit me as Bravery made me hyper-aware of everything around us—even the insects. My instincts were firing on all cylinders, and I knew it. Cass caught my darting glances toward the trees as we walked.

  "This isn't the Lobby," she said, her tone almost casual. "Most things this close to the city are harmless."

  "It's not that," I replied, frowning. "I'm not feeling any danger. It's just… there's a lot of things paying attention to us right now."

  Cass scanned the trees, shrugged, and kept walking with the confidence of someone who'd grown up here. "Can you turn it off?"

  I thought about it. The city had been full of people, and sure, there was wildlife, but most of it was just looking for food. I'd sensed mana beasts behind Doreen's and even fed some scraps. But this? This was different. The wilderness felt alive in a way I hadn't dealt with since the Lobby.

  "I think it's something I'm going to have to get used to," I admitted, taking a long gulp from the bottle for courage.

  "Then I don't want to hear you bitch about it," she shot back with a smirk, snatching the bottle for her own liquid fortification.

  That's when I felt it—something brushing against my aura, tugging at the edges of my awareness like curious fingers. I turned just in time to see a quick flash of orange fur as something darted into the underbrush.

  A fox. I sighed, tension leaving my shoulders, and Cass and I picked up the pace, jogging to cover more ground before whatever weather was building above decided to break.

  Clouds were forming in the sky above us, the air thickening with humidity that made my clothes stick. It was getting hot enough to melt stone.

  Some rain would be really nice.

  We jogged for quite some time when I noticed another fox darting away behind a tree, but… wait. That couldn't be right—it was too big, and the tail was wrong. It looked like a dog.

  "Red?" I called out instinctively.

  The creature froze mid-step, then turned its head, revealing a canine face and an impressive display of side-eye. He looked more embarrassed than startled, like I'd caught him snatching food off the counter.

  My focus zeroed in on him, the forest and Bravery's constant hum fading into background noise.

  "Hey, buddy. Why are you hiding? You following us?" I crouched, pulling a chunk of bread from my earring and holding it out. "We're heading far from the city. You should go back."

  The shameless creature trotted forward, scarfing down the bread without hesitation, tail wagging like he'd just won the lottery.

  "Chew your food, you animal!" I teased, shaking my head. I glanced at Cass, expecting some comment, but she just stared at Red with wide eyes.

  "What the fuck is that?" she asked, pointing like he was some mythical beast. Red pulled his ears back and sat nervously, his fur bristling under her scrutiny.

  "It looks like a Vulpes. Or a Lupes? A Wolf?" She glanced at me with the expression of someone trying to solve a puzzle. "Is it both?"

  I laughed. "He's a dog. Sort of like both, I guess. Same family. He started letting me pet him only last night." I scratched behind Red's ears, calming him. "I had one back on Earth. Pretty much my best friend."

  "Humans have fucking familiars?!" Cass swore, clearly more impressed than alarmed. Red yawned, unimpressed with her excitement, though his bristling eased as I continued petting him.

  "Not exactly," I said, grinning. "A lot of us keep pets—especially dogs. We've had them around for thousands of years. They eat whatever they want, sleep all day, and fart constantly. Completely one-sided deal, but we love them anyway."

  "Why the hell didn't you say anything?" Cass's excitement bubbled over like champagne. "We could've visited so many mana beasts in the Lobby! They freak most people out, but I love visiting them. We even have a few at the farm that help."

  "You're telling me this now?" I groaned. "I've been feeding him behind Doreen's for days like some kind of criminal."

  Cass looked at me like she couldn't decide whether to laugh or be annoyed. "Well, it's not exactly allowed without a Seeker," she said slyly, "but if I sweet-talk Gary, he'll take us back down."

  I stood and sighed, patting Red's side. "Let's go, bud. Head back to the city, alright?"

  Red made a noise—half rumble, half honk—that stopped me in my tracks. Not a growl, but definitely a sound of protest that somehow conveyed complex emotions.

  I turned to see him giving me the full-on puppy eyes: head low, ears tilted forward, and a look so pitiful it would've made a stone-hearted monster cave.

  "Do you…" I started, and Red cocked his head to one side, listening with laser focus. "Want more bread?"

  His head tilted the other way, like that wasn't quite it.

  I glanced at Cass, who looked as bemused as I felt, then back at Red. He was grinning now, panting lightly, his tail wagging furiously enough to generate wind.

  "Do you… want to come with us?" I asked.

  Before the words were even out of my mouth, Red bolted to my side, tail wagging so hard it looked like he might achieve liftoff.

  "Guess we have a dog now," I sighed, shrugging at Cass. "Maybe he can stay at your farm when we get there?"

  As we kept walking, Red stuck close, trotting just behind me like a perfectly trained companion. Not close enough to trip me, but never far enough to lose pace. Professional-level following. Cass kept glancing at him, her curiosity clearly building to a breaking point.

  Just as she opened her mouth to speak, a low rumble of thunder echoed ahead of us. Her head snapped up, and she let out a sharp whistle.

  I followed her gaze. Heavy gray clouds had replaced the cloudy blue sky, their edges churning ominously above the treetops like nature was preparing for war.

  "About time we got some gods-damned rain," Cass muttered, her tone half-relief, half-annoyance. Another thunderclap sounded, this one much closer.

  Then the sky opened up.

  I barely had time to store the open bottle before a literal wall of water hit us. Within seconds, the three of us were completely drenched, with no hope of staying dry. We broke into a run, Cass leading the way while Red and I struggled to keep up with her pace.

  After about half an hour, I finally had to stop, panting as I ducked under the cover of a tree. Red huddled beside me, looking like a wet carpet that had given up on life. Cass jogged back, raising a brow as she stood dripping in the downpour like some kind of rain goddess.

  "Can't we just wait it out?" I asked, raising my voice over the relentless roar.

  Cass tilted her head at me like I'd asked if the sky was blue. "What do you mean?"

  "How long does it rain here? Can't we just hang out for a bit?"

  She snorted, shaking her head like I'd suggested something impossibly naive. "Usually a few days. Hopefully more. We need it."

  I blinked, water dripping from my eyelashes. "A few days? That’s like… rainforest levels of rain."

  As if to punctuate my disbelief, Red chose that moment to shake himself dry, spraying Cass and me with a fresh coat of wet-dog-scented mist that somehow made everything worse.

  I threw my hands up in defeat. "This world sucks!"

  Cass just laughed, slapping me on the shoulder as she turned to lead the way again. "Welcome to Ark, Breaker. Hope you like being wet."

  The rain showed no sign of stopping. If anything, it was getting worse.

  But as we trudged forward through the downpour, Red padding along beside us like this was exactly where he belonged, I couldn't shake the feeling that this was exactly where we needed to be.

  Even if I were about to drown standing up.