We stayed the rest of Fireday in the village, mostly because no one was in any shape to leave.

  The festival took over the square by midafternoon. Someone dragged out drums that looked older than the shrine itself, and long tables appeared as if they were always there. Smoke from roasting meat, hanging low in the warm air, mixed with the smell of incense and pine resin. Children ran in wild loops, flower crowns already on their heads.

  Ja’a recovered faster than expected.

  By evening, she was sitting upright, eyes bright again, legs tucked beneath her as she watched the bonfire grow. An hour later, she was on her feet, laughing too loudly, clapping in time to the drums. At some point, she grabbed Kan’s wrist and pulled.

  Kan resisted for exactly three heartbeats.

  Then she sighed and let herself be dragged into the ring of dancers circling the fire. Chains clinked softly at her hips as she moved, graceful as always, then looser, laughter breaking through her usual reserve. Raik's eyes didn’t leave her for a second.

  Vena watched from the edge, smiling. People would sometimes engage her in conversation.

  I stayed seated.

  Every breath tugged at my ribs, a dull, insistent ache that flared sharp if I shifted wrong. I leaned back against a tree, letting the heat from the fire soak into my bones, pretending I was more comfortable than I was.

  Even with Holy powers, bones take longer to heal, unlike cuts or blood loss.

  Fireday burned itself out eventually, the drums slowed, and voices softened. The bonfire collapsed into glowing embers.

  At dawn, as the pale blue light of the Waterday sun began to show, I climbed into the carriage carefully, jaw clenched as my ribs protested the motion. The wheels lurched forward, the cart shaking on the uneven road, and pain bloomed, hot and immediate, radiating through my chest.

  I am sponsoring someone to invent suspension springs as soon as I’m back in Hano, because there is no way I am riding like this on my next travels.

  Vena noticed my face instantly.

  “You shouldn’t be riding in this state,” she said quietly, already glowing faintly as she reached for me. Her healing hand soothed me for a bit. Still, her miracle had already reached diminishing returns. What I needed now was time and rest.

  “I can put you to sleep. Just for a few hours,” she suggested.

  I shook my head. “No. I’ll manage.”

  She frowned. “That’s not managing.”

  “I know.” I exhaled slowly. “I’m going to the Sunless Reach. I need to recharge star mana anyway. I’ll rest there and teleport back.”

  I looked at Raik. As the team leader, I technically needed his permission.

  He nodded.

  “What’s the estimate before we reach the next village?” I asked.

  Raik thought it over for a second. “Four hours,” he said. “For the town of Verraden.” He looked to Kan for confirmation, since she was a local and his knowledge was secondhand.

  She confirmed with a nod.

  “I’ll be back before you arrive,” I replied.

  Ja’a perked up immediately. “Take me with you.”

  I snorted softly. “I don’t have the mana for that.”

  She pouted, dramatic and unconvincing. “Boo.”

  The carriage rolled on. I closed my eyes, reached inside my spear, and wished to be safely near my camp in the Sunless Reach.

  The world folded.

  Cool darkness wrapped around me as the sound of wheels and hooves dropped away, replaced by the deep, clean silence of the mountain. Stone pressed gently against my back. The air was thin and cold and real.

  I let myself breathe.

  Just for a little while.

  The Sunless Reach erased daylight.

  It was a sky mana phenomenon rather than an expression of darkness or light affinity. The mountain’s magical anomaly drank scattered light the way sand drank water, thinning glare until only the honest things remained: stars. Always the stars. Even now, when the blue sun should have been high somewhere beyond this peak, the sky above me glittered like a deep night.

  I pulled my chaise lounger from my bag of holding, my ribs aching from the cramped exertion, and I also set up the telescope Nina had made for me. Brass, crystal, and lenses, perfectly aligned from diagrams copied out of a dry encyclopedia article that had never imagined it would serve as the basis for building technology in another world. The glass caught starlight greedily.

  I had wished here before.

  Hundreds of times.

  Shooting stars came like clockwork in the Sunless Reach. Once every few minutes, sometimes more. Regular enough that it almost felt intentional, like the world wanted me to have a limitless source of star mana.

  I angled the scope toward the brightest cluster near the western horizon.

  A planet hung vast beneath the stars, its curve sharp, its thin atmosphere catching faint reflections. Its surface was pocked with craters. By eye and rough math, it sat closer than Mars did to Earth. If the tower’s diagrams were accurate, it would make it the tenth and outermost planet, with Hano’s world the ninth.

  Beyond it drifted the belt.

  A ragged halo of stone and dust stretched wide across the system. Most of the rocks were small, barely a few meters across, unstable, and colliding from time to time. Every impact birthed more debris and more dust.

  I pulled a notebook from my bag of holding and jotted down angles, relative motion, and the slow creep of orbital shift. It was amateurish work at best; I was no astronomer, probably useless. But it could possibly be vital for a future understanding. Better have it than not.

  Then I adjusted the scope again, upward slightly to the south.

  The gas giant dominated the southern sky. I could see it even with the naked eye, brown, heavy, and decorated with an ornate ring. It felt oppressive, like it bent the sky around it just by existing.

  I watched it for a few minutes.

  At first, nothing obvious happened. Just slow motion; planetary drift.

  Then a speck vanished into the gas giant’s atmosphere, flaring briefly before it was swallowed. Another followed. And then another.

  My first conclusion was that it came from the ring, slowly eroding under the planet’s gravity.

  But no. Upon further observation, I realized it was coming from the belt.

  It didn’t look like a flash across the heavens. Just slow movement toward the gas giant that didn’t stop. Rock after rock falling inward, colliding, shedding dust as they crossed the space between planets, until the gas giant consumed them.

  Pebbles. Stones. Clouds of particulate matter stretched thin as gravity pulled them apart. When they reached the giant, they vanished in tiny sparks.

  I frowned and adjusted the focus.

  Between the belt and the gas giant, faint lines resolved into view. Trails, long, diffuse smears of debris, stretched along clean, predictable paths.

  And the Contested Realm planet passed straight through them.

  My breathing slowed.

  I pulled my computer closer and skimmed an encyclopedia entry on meteor showers, just to be sure.

  Yes.

  The shooting stars I was seeing weren’t asteroids screaming toward this planet.

  They were just dust.

  Debris stripped from larger bodies, dragged inward by the gas giant’s gravity, leaving trails behind them. When this planet crossed those trails, the dust burned harmlessly in the upper atmosphere, flaring bright enough to see, so long as the sky was dark enough.

  Thus, an endless supply of shooting stars in the Sunless Reach, while the phenomenon remained rare elsewhere.

  All this time, I’d been wishing on dust.

  A true scientist might have been horrified to learn their power came from watching specks burn. For me, it made perfect sense. My magic didn’t care about the physics of the event. It cared about belief.

  People had watched shooting stars since before language. Dust or not, they were still wishes made visible.

  Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

  Understanding the trigger of my magic filled me with a sense of accomplishment.

  Another streak crossed the sky, beautiful and brief, and I felt my mana reserves quietly refill.

  I leaned back, satisfied.

  Then I snapped upright as something larger crossed the planet’s orbital plane.

  A solid object, tumbling end over end. It passed uncomfortably close, close enough that, with a worse timing, it might have struck the magenta moon, before continuing on toward the gas giant’s pull.

  A small article later reassured me that an object that size, even in direct collision with the planet, wouldn’t be an extinction event.

  Still, it would be big enough to level a city.

  I exhaled slowly, watching it disappear.

  There were ridiculously powerful people like Grand Commander Okar who could probably blast something like that out of the sky if they had to.

  Magic was still very much a thing in this world.

  I spent the rest of the time lounging on my comfortable chaise, trying to better control star mana, hoping I could learn to store it without the use of my spear. I didn’t make much progress. But I couldn’t tell if I was imagining things or not, but star mana felt more responsive.

  I teleported back to the road, just to the side of the cart, after filling my spear with as much star mana as it could hold.

  As I appeared, the cart was rolling slowly at walking pace behind a grain merchant. Everyone on my team reacted to my sudden arrival.

  Ja’a’s head tilted, eyes unfocusing for half a heartbeat as she stared past my skin and bone and into something deeper.

  She lifted one eyebrow.

  “Your soul is slightly bigger again,” she said. “What did you do?”

  I blinked. “Bigger?”

  She nodded once, slowly. “Not by much, but it’s noticeable.”

  I frowned, running through what could possibly be the reason. “Maybe I digested the troll’s heart?”

  She scoffed immediately. “A single troll wouldn’t raise your soul by a full SB.” Her gaze sharpened, thoughtful now. “This feels different. Like a mini evolution. Or an ascension.”

  I shrugged, genuinely at a loss. “I don’t know. I just did my normal exercise.”

  Ja’a studied me for another moment, then clicked her tongue and looked away. “We’ll keep an eye on it.”

  The road widened as we crested the final hill, and the city-state of Verraden came into view.

  It was small compared to Hano, barely the size of a single district, but it was still a proper medieval city. Stone walls encircled it in a rough oval, patched and repaired over generations. Smoke rose from dozens of chimneys, and the sound of hammers rang faintly even from this distance.

  If I’m being honest, this looked more like a true medieval city than Hano actually did.

  With a population in the tens of thousands at most, compared to Hano, which could handle millions.

  Raik leaned forward on the driver’s bench. “This place exists because of silver,” he said. “A hundred years ago, a second son of House Verra from the Bloodline Realm raised an army, cleared the surrounding area of all threats, and claimed the mines.”

  He pointed toward the squat stone keep rising from the center of the city, its banners hanging heavy and still. “Technically, this isn’t part of Hano territory. It belongs to the lord of that keep. Lord Lain Verra.”

  The city was built inward toward the castle. Everything curved subtly around the seat of power.

  Once inside the gates, the smell hit me first: metal, coal smoke, and sweat. Ore carts rattled through narrow streets. Smithies worked nonstop, silver being refined, shaped, stamped into jewelry and charms alike. There were also a lot of silver bells for some reason. Guards wore polished buckles and reinforced blades, shinier than usual steel.

  “Are those blades made of silver?” asked Ja’a, greed in her eyes.

  “It’s some kind of alloy,” explained Katar. “Silver works well against undead. But silver alone doesn’t make for good weapons.”

  “Isn’t the undead dead zone still at least a week away?” asked Kan, frowning.

  “This is the place that makes most of the best silver weapons,” Raik shrugged.

  “He’s using his guards to showcase his town’s craftsmanship. Smart,” Ja’a added, approving of the mercantile spirit.

  Raik headed for the keep to pay his respects, Katar in tow. Vena peeled off with Kan and Shingo to do healing rounds. Ja’a, Calr, and I regrouped into the observation team once more.

  Ja’a drifted through the streets with unfocused eyes, quietly cataloging soul strength as people passed. Calr watched rooftops and alley mouths, eyeing beggars, urchins, and brothels. Knowing him and how well he blended with the seedier underbelly of Hano, I bet he was already considering how things worked in such a small city.

  I, on the other hand, watched the city itself, mostly the people.

  The streets were busy, but not lively. Miners moved in slow, practiced lines, shoulders hunched, faces gray with dust that no amount of washing ever quite removed. Their boots were worn thin at the soles, patched more than once. Even when they laughed, it sounded tired. Children stayed close to doorways, watching rather than playing, hands wrapped around chores instead of toys.

  Silver was everywhere, except in the common people’s pockets.

  It flashed at belt buckles and weapon fittings, gleamed in shop windows behind thick glass, jingled faintly in noble purses. But the people who dug it from the earth wore undyed wool and mended linen, clothing passed down until the fabric forgot its original color.

  The city looked prosperous and industrious, but there were no open squares for games, no musicians lingering at corners. Taverns existed, but they were quiet places, meant for drinking, not gathering. The city didn’t feel like somewhere people would want to live.

  Don’t get me wrong; the people looked fed and healthy. It’s just that we passed a couple of villages that were poorer, yet happier.

  There was also a stark contrast between here and Hano. The keyword was freedom of opportunity. In Hano, while connections and money played a role, most apprenticeships were open. A son of a baker could become a carpenter, and anyone could join the freelancer guild. Here, it felt like people were born to carry on their parents’ workload. Still, the craftsmanship of silver jewelry and accessories was impeccable, so I didn’t want to diminish these people’s lives or pity them.

  As we walked deeper toward the keep, the streets shifted, and the material condition of people improved for a bit.

  Stone smoothed underfoot. Buildings grew taller, cleaner, and more symmetrical, until we entered a broad avenue lined with trimmed trees and a small park at its center, enclosed by low iron fencing polished to a dull shine. Children played there, actually played, chasing each other across manicured grass while maids watched from shaded benches, hands folded, eyes alert.

  The apartments surrounding the park rose four stories high, their balconies decorated with cloth banners and flowering pots. The people here were better dressed, silks and fine wool instead of workcloth, jewelry worn casually rather than guarded. They reminded me of minor nobles and rich merchants in Hano, comfortable, unhurried, and barely working for a living.

  Ja’a followed my gaze and nodded. “Most of those apartments are secondary residences,” she said quietly. “They have estates outside the city. This is just for convenience and staying close to the ruling family.”

  “That’s how it works in the Bloodline Realm,” she added. ”Minor courts at each level,”

  She glanced toward the children playing together, and her expression softened. “That’s how Raik and I met. He was the son of a ruling duke. My father held land under him.”

  We kept walking for a bit when Calr’s attention snapped away from the park.

  His eyes lit up as he spotted a narrow side building set slightly back from the street. A library. Modest, but unmistakable; arched doorway, carved wooden sign above it, windows tall enough to drink in light.

  We exchanged a look and veered toward it.

  A brief flash of my bank badge, highlighting my San rank, was enough to gain us entry without question. Even bought Titles still carried weight here.

  Inside, the air smelled of ink and old paper. The space was small, cozy even, with shelves lining the inner walls. Maybe fewer than a hundred books, all handwritten, carefully maintained. Every volume here represented hours, days, sometimes months of someone’s life. This looked more like something to keep teens busy than an actual rich collection of books. The thought crossed my mind as I noticed a young couple sharing a book in the corner seat. Whispering and giggling more than reading.

  Ja’a struck up a quiet conversation with the librarian, her tone friendly, curious, already teasing out details about the city’s elite and their alliances.

  Calr and I drifted toward the shelves.

  I ran my fingers along the spines, reading titles slowly: histories, genealogies, mining logs, and regional maps and topography. Useful, but dry.

  Beside me, Calr was moving far too fast.

  He opened a book, flipped through a few pages, less than a second per spread, then closed it and moved on. Again. And again. His eyes glazed faintly, unfocusing.

  He was using his mental power, the legacy of the ancient telepath he inherited.

  Of course.

  That was how he carried so much knowledge that never quite lined up with his self-crafted image of an unnoticeable street urchin.

  He wasn’t reading.

  He was absorbing knowledge.

  I watched him for a moment longer, then turned back, pretending not to notice. I would let him keep his secret for now.

  I picked up a book about the founding father of the city and started reading.

  It was, predictably, full of praise. According to the text, the founder possessed both psychic and earth affinities, with Innate abilities that allowed him to sense large concentrations of metal nearby. Veins of ore, buried lodes, even rich seams hidden deep underground, all of it supposedly whispered to him.

  That alone made me pause.

  If that kind of power existed, how was gold so rare that a handful of coins could buy a house?

  A few pages later, the answer appeared.

  The detection range scaled with soul strength.

  Most people born with similar affinities could only sense metal within a few meters, barely enough to be useful. To reach farther, to feel deposits deep underground, required a soul grown far beyond the common limit. Which meant strong lineage, inherited advantages, and generations of cultivated power.

  In other words, nobles.

  Even in utility powers, the nobles get an advantage

  As we exited the library, Ja’a gave Calr a measuring look.

  “Your soul has grown to ten SB,” she said, frowning. “Are you sure you’re only Mythic? How does your soul keep getting stronger when you don’t follow any religion?”

  I blinked.

  Had his soul grown just from absorbing new knowledge?

  “Maybe he’s a reincarnation of a former saint,” I said lightly, covering for him. “I’ve heard that happens sometimes.”

  Calr scratched the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. “I don’t know about that,” he said hesitantly. “More likely, I’ve got some kind of mythic monster ancestry. Maybe I’m a half-demon or something. It’s not like I ever met my parents.”

  Ja’a didn’t push further.

  But the look she gave us both made it clear she didn’t believe either explanation. It was the look of someone who suspected a secret soul-growth method and didn’t appreciate being left out of it.

  We regrouped with the rest of the team at the local freelancer guild branch, or what passed for one.

  It was technically an office. Practically, it was a tavern with a billboard out front. The place was run by a semi-retired freelancer and his equally semi-retired receptionist wife, who still handled guild paperwork between serving drinks.

  Raik was already talking to the owner, a massive man who looked half bear. Given that kindred transformations were a thing, I wouldn’t have been surprised if he could actually shift.

  Raik was frowning.

  “A retired freelancer formed a new village a few days’ ride from here,” he explained. “Set it up as a farming ground for metal slime cores.”

  That caught my attention immediately.

  Something like Weavershall, but for slime cores instead of spider silk. To a city built around smithing, that kind of resource would be invaluable.

  “Lord Lain Verra wants him to bend the knee,” Raik added.

  “Not a chance,” the bartender chuckled. “I knew Loumpa. He’d never give up his project, especially since he didn’t get any support when he started.”

  “Lord Lain asked me to see if I could convince him,” Raik sighed. “I refused. I didn’t want to get dragged into politics.”

  “Good choice,” the owner said. “Loumpa was part of the twenty-man army before he lost his leg. If you make an enemy out of him, you make an enemy out of all of them.”

  “I figured as much,” Raik muttered.

  We stayed long enough to gather more gossip, then picked up a few extermination contracts along the road toward Ectamel and the Undead Dead-zone.

  Work was work. And we were still a couple of dozen missions away from completing Raik’s challenge.