The night in Tashi Village was hushed a stillness so deep it almost felt sacred. The candles in the old shrine flickered softly, their golden light spilling across stone floors and cracked walls.

There, in the corner of the hall, sat Mari.

Her cloak of faded green pooled around her like mist, and her shimmered faintly, marks of time and grief woven together. Her amber eyes were calm, yet behind them flickered something heavy, something that never truly left.

Her fingers brushed against a pendant on her neck — a small piece of crystal, cracked at its edge. She closed her eyes.

(Where are you… brother? Ryn…)

The thought echoed in the quiet like a whisper that refused to die.

The door creaked open.

"Mari…"

The voice was low, steady carrying the warmth of familiarity.

Master Vince stepped into the room, his single arm folded behind his back, his expression weary but kind. His silhouette against the light seemed both mortal and timeless, the embodiment of will tempered by pain.

Mari didn't turn. She knew that voice too well.

Vince's tone was gentle, but firm. "We still haven't found him."

A pause.

The words settled like dust.

Mari let out a soft breath not surprise, not even disappointment, just the quiet acceptance of someone used to loss.

"Is that so…" she murmured, her lips curving into a faint, almost broken smile. "Well… my brother is good at hiding."

She looked down, her eyes shadowed beneath the candlelight. "He always was. Even when we were kids, I could never find him when he didn't want to be found."

Her voice wavered, barely a whisper. "I just didn't think he'd be hiding from me forever."

Vince stepped closer, his gaze softening. He placed his hand the one he still had on her shoulder. "Ryn's not lost, Mari. Just… on a path he shouldn't have taken."

Mari looked up, eyes glinting with restrained emotion. "And if that path leads him too far? What then, Master Vince?"

Vince didn't answer immediately. His expression tightened as though the question pierced deeper than she knew.

"Then," he said finally, "we bring him back. Not with judgment. With strength. With truth."

For a long moment, neither spoke. Only the candles crackled, and outside, the wind carried the distant sound of the sea.

Mari finally smiled faint, trembling, but real. "You always make it sound simple."

Vince chuckled softly, his eyes tired yet unwavering. "It never is. But it has to start with someone believing it can be."

Mari lowered her head again, clutching the pendant.

(Ryn… you idiot… why did you leave me?)

The light wavered once more, and for just a heartbeat, she could almost see him her brother's silhouette in the dark, smiling the same mischievous smile he used to wear.

Then it was gone.

The night continued in silence. But for the first time in a long time

Mari prayed. Not for peace. But for a reunion.

Meanwhile Ryn side

The wind howled through the southern cliffs, carrying with it the smell of salt, rust, and iron. Beneath the jagged ridges lay the hidden base a fortress carved into the rock, its torches flickering against the cold walls.

Inside, Ryn stood with arms crossed, his sharp eyes scanning the two figures before him.

They were not ordinary sellswords.

The woman moved first a blur of crimson in the half-light. Her red scarf fluttered like a tongue of flame as she stopped before him, chin tilted upward, golden eyes gleaming with defiance.

Her name was Sierra Vance.

A former Crimson Veinwalker assassins who once served the highest bidders across the northern kingdoms. Her twin daggers gleamed faintly, the Shinrei inside them pulsing like living blood.

Her voice was smooth, but the edge of pride was unmistakable.

"Sierra Vance. Ex–Crimson Veinwalker. Mercenary. If the job pays and it's dangerous enough… I'm interested."

Beside her stood a man broad-shouldered, bare-chested despite the cold, his body covered in scars that looked more like battle marks than wounds.

The symbol of the Ironclad Order a broken chain was tattooed across his chest, glowing faintly under the torchlight. His silver eyes were calm but predatory, the eyes of a man who had seen too many wars and lived through all of them.

He spoke next, his voice low, rumbling like distant thunder.

"Garron. Ex–Eclipse Vanguard. I don't fight for glory. I fight for results."

The two mercenaries had already introduced themselves, and silence filled the room like tension before a storm.

Ryn took a step forward, his cloak brushing against the stone floor. His expression was unreadable half curiosity, half cynicism.

"Sierra Vance and Garron, huh…" he said, his tone edged with skepticism. "You two are former Veinwalkers. Are you sure you're not… how do I say it still on the good side?"

Sierra smirked, twirling her dagger until the blade caught the light. "Good side?" she repeated, her voice amused. "There's no such thing in our world, Ryn. Only sides that pay."

Garron cracked his knuckles, his silver gaze fixed on Ryn. "I don't care who we're fighting, as long as they bleed when I hit them."

Ryn chuckled darkly, folding his arms again.

"I see. Mercenaries through and through."

Sierra tilted her head, her golden eyes narrowing slightly. "You sound like you don't trust us."

"I don't trust anyone," Ryn said bluntly. "and that's enough for now."

For a moment, Sierra studied him that cold, unwavering tone, that unflinching posture. Then she smiled faintly, amused and intrigued.

(He's cautious. Smart. Maybe too smart for his own good.)

Garron, on the other hand, simply shrugged and took a seat by the wall. "So when do we start killing?"

Ryn's eyes gleamed beneath the flickering torchlight.

"Soon. Very soon… There's someone K wants to die."

Sierra raised an eyebrow. "Another target?"

Ryn's smile didn't reach his eyes.

"Not a target. A legend."

The flames behind him danced wildly as he turned toward the door.

"We're going after the one they call Master Vince."

The words hung heavy in the air.

Sierra's grin widened, hungry.

Garron stood up slowly, cracking his neck.

The hunt had begun.

To be continue

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