As I stumbled, catching my balance, the intense heat of the air met me like a wave, carrying with it a tang of iron that clung to my tongue. The white faded to reveal grey stone walls surrounding us. We found ourselves standing on a platform in a different hall.

  This one was dirtier, the air stale and hot. It looked like too many people came through too often for anyone to bother cleaning anymore.

  "Hop off already," a voice barked from a booth near the exit. "Incoming traffic."

  We stepped off the ring and walked out through the archway. Daylight hit us, and with it, the smell. Harrowgate smelled like money and mistakes.

  Smoke pooled over the streets from cookfires and forges, clinging to the alleys and even people. The tang of cheap alcohol hung in the air, mingling with the sharp scent of potion fumes. The city was loud, far louder than Solstara or Maricall had ever managed to be.

  People shouted to be heard, not because they were scared. For a brief moment, I stepped under a stone arch where the world quieted. The sudden silence let me catch my breath, only to be overwhelmed again as I emerged back into Harrowgate's roar, the city's soul becoming a living presence around me.

  Adventurers crowded the streets. Mismatched armor, patched cloaks, weapons that looked stolen, bought, or scavenged from dead friends. Some faces were young and bright. Most weren’t.

  Notice boards covered walls in layers of old and new parchment. I spent a moment checking them out, and they were mostly bounty slips, dungeon notices, and a few party recruitment notices.

  Someone had pinned a warning about “curse-sickness” in Cindermouth, and someone else had written “coward” over it in charcoal.

  A healer’s sign caught my eye.

  [Lost a limb? Limb Regrowth is now available in Harrowgate City, by the grace of the High Priestess of the Sanctum of the Immortal Sun!]

  There were also offers for mana stabilization and curse cleansing, plus a handful of other services. All of them priced in gold.

  I did the math in my head before I could stop myself. That wasn’t meal money. That was buy-a-house money. But… I looked down at my arms. If one of these babies were lost, I wouldn’t mind spending a fortune to get it back.

  “Which God does the Sanctum of the Immortal Sun represent?” I asked Elayne, who I thought I was closer to compared to her master, Ilyra.

  And yet, it was the princess who answered. “Nobody calls it the Sanctum of the Immortal Sun,” she said with a scoff. “People usually call it the Church of Light, worshipping Solarus, the God of Light.”

  We reached an intersection. Three roads split off in different directions, like scars cut into the city’s skin. Guards watched the crowds, merchants watched the guards, and everyone was counting something. Coins come, and luck some others.

  Ilyra stepped forward and looked toward those mouths with an expression that wasn’t a smile, but close.

  Hunger for power. That was the look.

  "Come on," she said. "We’re wasting daylight."

  “Don’t we need to register as Adventurers?” I asked, looking at Ragna. “We have Mercenary Guild badges, but we never registered as Adventurers.”

  The Mercenary Guild and the Adventurer Guild weren’t that different in their work. Just that, Mercenaries mostly took human-related jobs, whereas Adventurers mostly took monster-killing jobs. But the keyword was ‘mostly’ because somehow both ended up taking each other’s jobs if they felt like it.

  They were two mega-organizations that served the same needs worldwide, yet remained separate forces in the end. The good thing was that someone could register for both guilds, although their ranks wouldn’t carry over.

  “No need,” Ilyra said. “It’s not a good look for nobles to roll into either the Adventurer Guild or Mercenary Guild. So father gave me a permit, we’re going to enter the dungeon through that. Although… and this is highly confidential information, Thorvyn, I secretly enrolled and got a B-Rank Adventurer badge during my student years! Seriously, Father doesn’t know the fun of Adventuring.”

  Sir Harlan cleared his throat. Ilyra froze. “Young lady, I… must report this to the lord.”

  “No, Sir Harlan, you won’t,” she warned, scowling. It seemed she had forgotten he was accompanying us. So even she had a clumsy side? “Promise me you won’t.”

  “I cannot promise that.”

  “I won’t talk to you! Believe me when I say this, if you tell Father, I won’t talk to you for two months!” she said and then stormed off.

  The way the old man sighed, it seemed he and Ilyra shared a very close grandfather-and-granddaughter relationship. It made me smile.

  Then we followed her deeper into the city that made its living off people who prayed they wouldn’t die in this raid.

  ****

  We had three options, but we didn’t head straight for any of the dungeon mouth.

  Harrowgate pulled you sideways before you even realized it. Streets twisted and braided together, stalls growing out of cracks where there shouldn’t have been room, and people drifted toward noise like moths to flame.

  The closer we got to one of the dungeons, the more the city changed shape.

  The buildings thinned and the road widened, and the shouting stopped being cheerful. It turned into bargaining, arguing, and the steady bark of people trying to sell you safety.

  I started noticing the kinds of businesses that only show up where people get hurt.

  A man sold burn salves from a tray, sleeves rolled down like he didn’t want anyone to see how often he needed his own medicine. A girl hawked cheap cloth masks for the ash, her hands already stained grey at the nails. Another stall sold replacement boot soles, not whole boots. I guess nobody expected their boots to last the week.

  Near the gate, a board was nailed to a post. “What's that?” Ragna asked.

  Names were packed together in tight black ink, some smeared by rain or sweat. Someone had drawn a tiny flame beside each one. I counted thirty-seven before I made myself stop.

  I read it twice without meaning to. “List of the dead. Seems like a weekly update.”

  “Damn.”

  Elayne noticed our conversation but didn’t comment. She just shifted a step closer to Ilyra, like she could block bad luck with her shoulder.

  Ragna didn't seem much bothered by the list. She still walked with her chin high, breathing in the heat like it was perfume. People stared at her, and at me. A group of young adventurers watched us openly, their whispers following as we passed.

  “Damn, that white one’s huge. They look like some kind of barbarians?”

  “Yeah, the white haired one looks like a northern barbarian? But then there's a red haired one too, huh weird.”

  “Wait, isn’t that Ilyra Marcellis? They brought barbarians in with the Lady of Maricall?”

  Ragna waved at them with a grin. They immediately became very interested in their boots. I leaned closer. “Don’t pick a fight now.”

  “Aren’t you insulted? They think you're a northern bastard,” she said.

  “You don't like northern barbarians?”

  “No? They're a bunch of weaklings!”

  I couldn't be sure whether they really were weak or Ragna was just hating. I recalled that even Lady Nezehra, for a moment, had wondered if I were a northern barbarian or not.

  Ahead, the dungeon gate hunched against the hillside. Blackened stone made up the arch, its edges warped and melted. Heat rolled out in waves, and the air near the entrance shimmered, unable to decide what shape it wanted.

  “So you chose the Cindermouth,” I said to Ilyra.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  In that moment, the rhythmic thud of my heartbeat echoed in my ears, like the sound of a hammer pounding in the dark. The heat reminded me of stuff.

  A ghost of singed hair lingered in the air, pulling me back to memories of the scary Blue Dragon’s rage and its scorching breath.

  The battle flashed before my eyes, where superheated flames roared to consume everything in its fiery embrace.

  I breathed out to control that memory, but it didn't quite go away.

  Guards stood on either side in dark armor, their visors designed for heat. A clerk sat at a desk nearby, and he wore the bored expression of a man who had stamped a thousand people into danger and still needed to stamp one more.

  Ilyra walked up like the gate belonged to her. She slid a folded document across the desk. “Marcellis entry permit. Party of five.”

  The clerk didn't bother to greet her and just cracked the seal. He glanced at the wax, and made a tired noise.

  “Nobles,” he muttered, but he stamped it anyway. Then he jerked his chin toward the dungeon mouth. “Go in. Try not to die in the first chamber. It makes the forms messy.”

  Ilyra smirked, but I could see that she was offended. She seemed somewhat popular around these parts, so it made sense why she'd take offense to the assumption that she might die in the very first chamber.

  “You must be new around here. Don’t worry, officer. I’ll keep your ink clean,” Ilyra said.

  The clerk looked up as if to quip back, and then blinked. He seemed to visibly recognize her properly, and his face rearranged itself into something polite.

  We passed through.

  Heat pressed against my skin the moment we stepped inside. It wasn’t fire yet, but it felt like a heavy hand on my chest. The stone near the entrance was glossy, cooked and cooled too many times to count.

  Ragna inhaled and sighed.

  “Ah, this is nice,” she said.

  Elayne turned her head slowly. “You’re enjoying it, Ragna. What's up?”

  “Hey, don't judge me, this smells like home,” Ragna said while breathing in again. “If home had more screaming.”

  Ilyra stopped just inside the threshold and opened her pouch. She pulled out rings, plain bands with shallow runes, and the metal held a faint warmth.

  “Fire wards,” she said. “Put them on.”

  She handed one to Elayne first. Elayne slipped it on without hesitation. Sir Harlan also took it without a thought.

  Ilyra offered one to me. Although fire was not a problem for me, given my class, I still took it and rolled it between my fingers.

  The craftsmanship was good in a practical way. It wasn’t meant to look expensive. It was meant to keep you alive, and I appreciated that.

  I was about to put it on, when Ilyra held the last ring out to Ragna.

  Ragna looked offended. She crossed her arms. “I don’t need it.”

  “You do,” Ilyra replied.

  “I have the blood of dragon slayers! Fire doesn't scare me,” she was starting to glare at the ring.

  Her words might have worked in a tavern story. It didn’t work on me.

  I remembered blue fire once again. Even though I was greatly immune to fire now, I distinctly remember the taste of hot air and the moment I realized that I couldn't even inhale without hurting myself.

  My body didn’t bear those scars thanks to so many level-ups afterwards, but the mementos of searing pain and fleeting invincibility remained in my head.

  I was stronger now, and I could survive more than I used to. I might even be able to shrug off a Blue Dragon's breath, but that didn't mean I wanted to test it again.

  I took the ring from Ilyra and held the ring out to Ragna. “Take it.”

  She stared at me like I’d sided with a stranger over her pride. “You too?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Trust me, fire hurts. I’m wearing mine. You should wear yours.”

  Her jaw tightened. She looked ready to argue just to win, then she snatched the ring from me and shoved it on.

  “If it makes me feel weird, I’m blaming you.”

  “Blame the young lady, not me,” I said. “Not inside the volcano though.”

  Ilyra watched the exchange with a small, satisfied look, like she’d learned something without asking.

  Then she started walking, hands behind her back as if this were a stroll through a garden.

  I finally slipped the ring on.

  A thin pressure settled over my skin, like wearing a second layer of air. I didn’t hate it, it made me feel safe, safer than it really was.

  “By the way, I'm curious. Why did you pick this dungeon?” I asked Ilyra. “With your wood affinity, fire should be your worst match.”

  She glanced back. “That’s part of the point.”

  Sir Harlan spoke from behind us. His voice carried easily without raising.

  “Indeed, fire is exactly the point,” he said. “The Trials are close. Our lady is popular across the Empire, so people know what she is. People know what powers she has. So any opponent she'd face, they'd know that fire is the obvious answer. Obvious answers brings common wins in arenas.”

  Ilyra didn’t deny it. She just kept walking like this was a fact, not an insult.

  I enjoyed that information. “You could have said you were training against fire, my lady. I’d have used flame against you yesterday.”

  Ilyra looked at me, eyebrow lifted. “And burn my father’s training yard down? And please Thorvyn, we had tea and biscuits together, you mustn't call me by my title anymore.”

  I ignored what she said in the end, adding, “Burn down the training yard? No, I’d have aimed carefully.”

  “You’re a barbarian, no offence,” she said, perfectly calm. “Your idea of careful makes me nervous.”

  Ragna’s eyes flicked from between Ilyra and me. She seemed annoyed.

  Our banter extended for a minute longer. Sir Harlan made a quiet sound that might have been a laugh. He didn’t waste much emotion on display.

  I'd have assumed someone like him would be a lot more serious, and might even scold us for not taking this seriously. But he was wiser than that, his eyes could see that despite our jokes, we had our guards up.

  We crossed deeper into Cindermouth.

  The tunnel was wide and smooth, the stone melted and cooled over and over. Orange light seeped from cracks, and the air tasted of ash and metal.

  I listened for movement, for breath, for the scrape of claws on stone. I kept my Aura ready for use, while keeping the Mantle away. It wanted to get involved.

  A few minutes in, the tunnel widened into a chamber with heat vents cut into the floor. They hissed softly, and the heat shimmered above them.

  Ilyra slowed and lifted a hand. “Stay alert.”

  Ragna’s grin widened. “Finally.”

  A shadow shifted near a crack in the wall.

  I shifted my stance and reached for my axe, and then Sir Harlan moved.

  He didn’t sprint. He didn’t flare his Aura. He simply took one step, and his sword was out. Something dark and lizard-like fell out of the crack in two pieces.

  The halves hit the floor and twitched.

  I blinked.

  Ragna leaned forward. “What was that?”

  Sir Harlan wiped his blade on the stone like he didn’t care about edge wear. “Ash Skitter. It's a weak monster, but it's fast. Can be annoying.”

  “I was about to hit it,” I said.

  “I know,” Sir Harlan replied. “You were also about to step into the vent.”

  I looked down.

  My boot was inches from a hissing slit in the stone.

  I pulled my foot back slowly. “Right. Thank you.”

  Sir Harlan sheathed his sword. “Don’t thank me. Watch your feet.”

  That was a little embarrassing. It was also the type of lesson you only learn once if you’re lucky.

  Ragna watched him with the same interest she usually saved for monsters she wanted to wrestle.

  I gave her a look. She grinned wider. “He reminds me of the elders!” She whispered.

  He wasn't that strong, but it made sense.

  We went deeper.

  The first real fight came when a creature padded into the tunnel ahead, low to the ground, shoulders rolling. Its hide glowed in thin lines like cooling magma, and its claws clicked against stone.

  A hound, but not a dog. Something older than the type of dog that humans subdued, scarier.

  [3rd Ascension]

  “Grrrgh…” It opened its mouth and spat a glob of molten rock. The glob hit the floor and hissed, and it left a melted pit that smoked for a few seconds.

  “Stay back everyone, that's mine!” Ragna took one step forward.

  Ilyra lifted a finger. “Uh, no.”

  Ragna froze mid-step. “Why not?”

  “This is my level up session, you know?” Ilyra replied and then walked past Ragna with the kind of calm that would have gotten her stabbed in a bad alley.

  Ragna looked really annoyed.

  The hound charged and Illyra stamped once. Green broke the black stone.

  To my surprise, roots erupted from the floor. They wrapped around the beast’s legs and torso, and the heat scorched them black. More roots came up immediately, thicker and wetter, and they held longer than they had any right to in a place like this.

  “How can trees grow in such unusual land?”

  “Magic doesn't care about that.”

  The hound snarled and thrashed. It spat again, and molten rock splashed across the roots. The outer layer burned, and the inner layers kept tightening.

  Ilyra’s face didn’t change. She made a small motion with her hand, and the roots cinched down like fists.

  Bone cracked.

  The hound’s howl turned into a wet choking sound, then it went still.

  Ilyra stepped around the corpse like it was a fallen branch and looked back at us. “Continue.”

  Elayne’s shoulders loosened a fraction, but her eyes stayed hard. “She's grown stronger. I'm glad.”

  Ragna looked torn between admiration and irritation. “Hey, noble girl, you didn’t even let me swing.”

  “You can swing later when more monsters appear,” Ilyra said. “This one wasn’t for you.”

  Ragna pointed at the corpse. “Why not?”

  “Because you’re here to guard me,” Ilyra said, sweet as honey. “And I’m here to level. Please do your job?”

  Ragna opened her mouth, then closed it. She turned to me. I shrugged.

  I'd expected as much. Ragna and I weren’t going to get much out of this dungeon unless something bigger showed up.

  If Ilyra was here to sharpen herself, then our job was to make sure nothing got in her way. That was Ragna's Quest too, so she couldn't complain either.

  Not that it helped with her annoyance.

  This was escort duty, except the person we were guarding was a noble close to Level 100, with a wood affinity, walking into a volcano on purpose.

  I tapped Ragna's shoulder and adjusted my grip on my axe. We all followed Ilyra deeper, while Sir Harlan walked behind us like an old shadow.

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