The trio continued walking through the cobblestone streets of Raerno, bathed in the flickering light of lanterns hanging from stone walls and iron posts.
The evening air was cool, infused with the scent of freshly baked bread mingling with the smoke of torches and the damp aroma of sun-warmed stones.
The streets wound in a chaotic maze, narrow alleys opening onto lively squares where hurried passersby or groups of adventurers clinked mugs outside taverns, their laughter echoing in the encroaching darkness.
Blake led the group with a determined stride, his slender figure moving with newfound confidence, as if the simple act of offering hospitality had reignited a sense of purpose in him.
He spoke rapidly, pointing out notable buildings: a bakery famous for selling bread in bizarre shapes, an inn renowned for its wild boar stew, and even a tiny open-air theater hidden among the trees, where local actors performed for anyone willing to toss a few coins into a hat.
Carmen, or rather "Ananya," walked silently with the makeshift sack of organs slung over her stick, its weight seemingly not slowing her down in the slightest.
Her face remained impassive, but her eyes occasionally darted toward the side alleys, as if memorizing every detail of the route or scanning for suspicious shadows.
Mirac, beside her, moved in silence as well, Carmen's backpack securely strapped to his back, his scarred black mask concealing his expression.
The journey led them away from the lively streets of Raerno, toward a quieter neighborhood on the outskirts of the city.
Here, the houses were more modest, built with gray stone and time-darkened wooden beams, their roofs covered with uneven tiles that seemed on the verge of slipping off.
The streets grew quieter, the hum of taverns replaced by the chirping of crickets and the rustle of leaves stirred by the wind. Lanterns were less frequent, and the moonlight cast long, jagged shadows on the pavement.
After about ten minutes, Blake stopped in front of a two-story house nestled between two similar buildings.
"Here we are!" he announced with a smile, placing his hands on his hips.
Blake's house was a simple but well-maintained structure, its light stone walls streaked with dark veins, as if time had painted a natural mosaic on the facade.
The ground floor featured a sturdy wooden door, painted a faded red, with an iron knocker shaped like a dragon's head. Above the door, a small carved wooden sign read "Adson House" in uneven letters, likely etched by Blake himself in a moment of inspiration.
Two rectangular windows flanked the door, with slightly frosted glass that offered a glimpse of the darkness inside the house.
The upper floor had two more windows, smaller in size, with open wooden shutters that gently knocked against the wall when the wind brushed past them.
The red-tiled roof sloped gently, with a brick chimney poking out from one corner, showing no trace of smoke.
On the left side of the house, a narrow cobblestone path led to a tiny backyard, enclosed by a low fence and overgrown with weeds and untamed bushes.
"Good thing I always keep the keys on me…" Blake muttered, unclipping the carabiner attached to his belt, from which the keys dangled.
Without delay, he opened the door with a decisive motion, the knocker emitting a faint metallic clank.
"Come on in!" said Blake, stepping forward and motioning for Carmen and Mirac—who had remained standing on the threshold—to do the same.
As soon as he crossed the threshold, Blake paused by the door and, with a quick, habitual motion, slipped off his dusty boots, placing them carefully on a small wooden rack near the entrance.
Then, he bent toward a wicker basket beside the rack, pulling out a pair of worn but clean gray wool slippers and slipping them on with a satisfied smile.
Without needing words, Carmen and Mirac followed his example, removing their boots and placing them beside his.
Blake, smiling, rummaged in the basket again and handed each a pair of slippers: dark green for Carmen, brown for Mirac.
"I hope they're comfy," he said with a chuckle.
Carmen and Mirac slipped on the slippers without comment, though a slight nod seemed to convey their approval.
Then, curious, Mirac lifted his gaze in front of him.
He couldn't see clearly because of the darkness, but he sensed that the entrance of the house likely opened directly into a small living room on the ground floor.
"Give me a second to light things up," Blake said, moving nimbly through the shadows—a clear sign he knew the house so well he could navigate it blind.
Silently, Blake took an oil lantern from a wooden table in the center of the room and lit it immediately after letting his guests in.
A flickering glow spread through the dim light, revealing blurred shapes and the outlines of old furniture.
Blake then made his way toward the stone fireplace, the floorboards creaking beneath his steps. He knelt down and opened the grate with a familiar motion, gently blowing on the ash to reveal a few logs still intact.
He fiddled with a flint, scraping it against a piece of steel until a spark flew out.
After a few attempts, flames began to catch on the dry wood's grain, crackling softly as warmth started to fill the room.
In a few moments, the light grew brighter, driving away the shadows and returning a warmer, more inviting atmosphere to the living room.
But Blake didn't stop there: he turned to the chandelier hanging from the ceiling—an old wrought-iron piece with six curved arms and small frosted glass cups—and, using a chair to reach it, lit each flame one by one until the last glowed, casting dancing shadows on the walls.
"There we go!" he exclaimed, satisfied, as he stepped down from the chair.
As the light dispelled the darkness, Mirac's green eyes began to carefully study the surroundings.
The living room they stood in was tidy, but a thin layer of dust coated nearly every surface, a clear sign of Blake's absence during his week of exploration.
The wooden floorboards creaked slightly under their steps, polished but marked with a few scratches here and there, likely from heavy boots or the occasional dragging of furniture.
The walls, plastered in a now-faded gray, were adorned with sparse decorations: a framed map of Raerno and its surroundings, a pair of crossed daggers hung above the fireplace, and a shelf holding a few carved wooden figurines—dragons, wolves, and a clumsy attempt at sculpting a bear.
At the center of the room, a wooden table was surrounded by four high-backed chairs, one of which had a slightly shorter leg, causing it to wobble for anyone who sat in it.
On the opposite side of the room, a narrow, steep wooden staircase led to the upper floor, with a handrail also made of wood.
To the left of the staircase, a slightly ajar door revealed a glimpse of a small kitchen, with an unlit hearth, a stone sink, and a few pots hanging from hooks.
Carmen placed the bag of organs next to the front door, setting it down carefully to avoid dirtying the floor.
"Nice place," she commented, her voice neutral but with a hint of appreciation as she looked around.
Blake scratched the back of his neck, a bit embarrassed.
"Hehehe… It's not much, I know, but it's still cozy, I promise!" he said, returning to them with a smile. "Follow me upstairs now, and I'll show you the spare room… and, well, we'll figure out how to settle in for the night!"
With that, Blake headed toward the stairs, his steps confident, the oil lantern in hand casting a flickering light to guide the way.
Carmen picked up the bag with the organs and, along with Mirac, followed the young man in silence, climbing the stairs one step at a time.
The wooden staircase creaked under the trio's feet as they ascended to the upper floor, the smooth, worn handrail bearing witness to years of use.
As soon as they reached the upper floor, they immediately noticed that the air was cooler, with a faint scent of leaves coming from the garden.
The hallway was narrow, its walls close together, and the floor continued to groan with every step.
Three wooden doors, all closed and identical to each other, lined the hallway: two on the right and one on the left.
Blake stopped in front of the last one, placed his hand on the handle, and, after taking a deep breath, he entered.
"Here we are!" he said, raising the lantern to illuminate the space. "Since I don't use it, I thought this room might suit Ananya, since… well, a woman might prefer having a space all to herself."
The room was simple, but surprisingly tidy, with very little dust on the furniture and the floor.
A double bed, pushed against the left wall, was covered with a white woolen blanket, neatly folded at the corners.
Next to the bed, a small, glossy wooden nightstand held an intact candle, practically brand new, as if it had never been lit.
A window with the shutters half-open allowed a gentle breeze to filter through, causing a red linen curtain to dance, barely brushing the windowsill.
Against the opposite wall from the bed, an old wooden trunk, reinforced with metal bands and locked with a padlock, was placed next to a sturdy dark wood wardrobe—likely used to store blankets or clothes.
Facing the window, a light wooden desk and a chair with a carved back completed the furnishings.
Mirac, standing near the door with Carmen's backpack still on his shoulder, observed the double bed—the black mask concealing his expression and his green, curious eyes.
"A double bed?" he asked, his voice muffled but with a tone that betrayed an intuition. "Blake, is this by any chance your parents' room?"
Blake stiffened for a moment, his smile faltering.
He set the lantern on the nightstand, scratching the back of his neck nervously.
"Oh, well, uhmm… Yeah, you guessed it…" Blake said, his voice revealing a hint of hesitation. "But don't worry: I live alone, so there won't be any issues."
Mirac tilted his head, his tone growing more inquisitive.
"You live alone?" he repeated, increasingly curious. "Why? Do your parents perhaps live somewhere else while you work here in Raerno?"
Blake lowered his gaze, his smile fading.
"N-No… Unfortunately, that's not the case…"
A brief silence fell over the room, broken only by the faint rustle of the curtain stirred by the wind.
Blake cleared his throat, as if summoning the courage to continue.
"My mother died when I was still very young. My father, on the other hand, disappeared shortly after her death…"
Mirac's eyes widened beneath his mask, instantly regretting his stupid question.
"C-Crap! I-I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to…" he stammered, his voice unsteady, his discomfort evident in his restless movements as he took a few steps back.
Blake raised a hand, cutting him off with a quick gesture and a forced smile.
"It's okay, Isaac. Really, no problem. I'm used to it by now…" he said, though his eyes betrayed a shadow of melancholy.
Carmen, who had set the sack of organs by the door and was silently observing the scene, stepped forward.
Her face remained impassive, but her eyes held a glimmer of empathy.
"It must not have been easy…" she said, her voice calm but laden with understanding.
Blake shrugged, his smile softening slightly as he tried to lighten the weight of his words.
His dark eyes lingered on the double bed for a moment, as if he could still see the faded outlines of a distant past.
"Well, not at first," he admitted. "But luckily, Garret was there for me during the toughest times, like a father. And so, I consider him as such, even though we're not blood-related. The same goes for old Derek, but unfortunately, he also disappeared a few months ago, leaving no trace behind…"
Another silence followed, heavier this time, as Blake's words settled between them, suffocating everyone in the room.
Mirac lowered his gaze to the wooden floor, regretting having brought up such a sensitive subject.
It was painfully clear from the way he clutched the edge of his black cloak, and how his fingers clung to the worn fabric with an almost desperate strength—as if that gesture could atone for his reckless question.
'You too, huh?' Mirac thought to himself. 'One parent gone, the other dead…'
The thought struck him like a loud echo in his head, awakening memories of his former life, of a shattered childhood, and of how he had lived the rest of his life after losing his parents.
Perhaps it was exactly for this reason that, for a moment, Mirac felt closer to Blake, as if their shared pain had forged a bond—though, of course, he couldn't say it out loud.
Carmen, on the other hand, tilted her head slightly, her gaze fixed on a corner of the room, as if weighing what she had just heard.
The silence stretched for a few seconds, tense and heavy, until Blake clapped his hands decisively, abruptly breaking the somber mood.
"Come on, cheer up! No more sad faces!" he exclaimed, his tone returning to its usual enthusiasm. "That's exactly why I didn't want to bring it up…"
Mirac and Carmen exchanged a fleeting glance, a silent agreement to respect Blake's choice.
Mirac forced himself to relax his shoulders and stand straighter, while Carmen gave a slight nod, as if confirming they would set the topic aside.
Both made an effort to shake off the mournful air and lighten their expressions, though the weight of the revelation still lingered in the room.
Blake, back to his usual upbeat self, turned to Carmen with a smile plastered across his face.
"Anyway, I hope you like the room, Ananya," he said, his tone light again, as if the moment of vulnerability was already a distant memory.
Carmen surveyed the space with her usual impassive gaze, but a hint of appreciation touched her lips.
"Yes, it's perfect," she murmured, looking around with a softer expression than usual. "Thank you, Blake."
"No problem!" he replied.
Mirac sighed, finally setting Carmen's backpack down beside the sack of organs with a fluid motion.
"As for you, Isaac," Blake said, turning to the person in question, "I was thinking of putting a mattress in my room. It's a bit smaller than this one, but there will definitely be space for you too!"
Mirac met his gaze, seeing a smile that, despite everything, still managed to break through the weariness.
"Alright," Mirac replied.
But beneath the mask that muffled his voice, his mind was working at full speed.
In fact, he quickly realized that sharing a room with Blake meant having to stay on alert, especially considering that he couldn't afford to reveal either his true identity or, even worse, his nature as a Chaotic!
'I'll have to be careful not to get exposed!' he thought, his shoulders tensing slightly.
"Perfect then!" Blake said, clapping his hands. "The mattress for Isaac is up there, on top of the wardrobe. Could you give me a hand getting it down?" He pointed to the dark wooden wardrobe in Carmen's room, its top barely visible in the dim light.
Carmen and Mirac nodded, silently agreeing to the boy's request.
Blake then grabbed the chair in front of the desk, positioning it in front of the wardrobe, and carefully climbed onto it.
Carmen, with a quick glance, stationed herself beside him, her hands ready to steady the chair.
Mirac, a few steps away, prepared to catch the mattress, his attentive gaze shifting from Blake to the ceiling.
With some effort, Blake pulled down the mattress, passing it to Mirac, who caught it easily despite having only one hand.
The mattress, light and a bit dusty like the rest of the house, sent up a faint puff of dust when it landed in Mirac's grasp.
"Great job!" Blake said, hopping down from the chair and returning it to its place. "Now let's take it to my room."
He paused, then turned to Carmen.
"Oh, by the way!" Blake exclaimed. "Ananya, if you want, you can take a hot bath in the meantime. It'll definitely help you relax after today's long day… and possibly the ones before. By the way, the bathroom is just across the hall, behind the door on the left," he added, throwing a glance at Mirac, as if implying this was useful information for him too. "There's a small bathtub and a system to heat the water. After you're done, you can use the white bathrobe hanging in the bathroom to dry off. But…" He paused, eyeing Carmen's worn and dusty clothes. "The clothes you're wearing are dirty, and it wouldn't make sense to put them back on after washing up. Instead, when you're finished, come back here and grab something clean from the wardrobe. There should be something that fits you, if I'm not mistaken."
Carmen tilted her head, her gaze shifting to the dark wooden wardrobe.
"Something clean from the wardrobe?" she repeated, her voice calm but with a hint of surprise. "But… aren't they your parents' clothes?"
Blake paused, a gentle smile lighting up his tired face.
"Don't worry," he replied, his voice soft. "My mother was a really kind person. Knowing her, she would have gladly lent them to you without a second thought."
For a moment, Carmen stood speechless, at a loss for words.
Her face, usually cold and impassive, seemed unsure of what expression to adopt.
But in the end, a hint of a smile briefly touched her lips, softening her tense expression for a moment.
"I see…" she finally replied. "In that case… I think I'll accept."
Without another word, Carmen headed to the bathroom, her determined steps echoing on the wooden floor.
Before disappearing into the hallway, though, she cast one last fleeting glance at the two boys, lingering particularly on Blake.
Now alone, Blake turned to Mirac, ready to tackle the next task.
"Alright, let's get this to my room!" Blake said with an enthusiastic smile, giving the mattress a light tap as if to "encourage" it to be less cumbersome.
Together, the two lifted the mattress, careful not to let it bump against the narrow hallway walls. Step by step, they carried it, struggling a bit with its size, until they reached the door next to the bathroom.
When Blake finally opened it, the light from the lantern revealed a room smaller than Carmen's, but utterly disordered!
A single bed occupied the corner of the left wall, its blankets crumpled and a pillow that had seen better days.
A cluttered desk, littered with maps, scrolls, and an overturned inkwell, was pushed against the opposite wall beneath a window with closed shutters.
A dark wooden wardrobe with a slightly crooked door completed the furnishings, along with a pair of muddy boots abandoned in a corner.
"U-Uhm… please ignore the mess…" Blake said, laughing nervously.
"N-No worries, it's fine…" Mirac replied, recalling that as a child, if it hadn't been for Carmen, his room would likely have been far worse than Blake's.
Then, slowly, the two of them set the mattress down on the floor, in the corner opposite Blake's bed.
As Mirac arranged it, Blake approached the wardrobe and opened its doors.
Immediately, an avalanche of clothes, blankets, and assorted items spilled outward, threatening to engulf him.
'Damn!' Blake exclaimed, scrambling to shove everything back with quick, clumsy movements, like a circus acrobat.
After conquering the mountain of clothes threatening to spill out, Blake pulled out a slightly wrinkled linen sheet and a lumpy but clean pillow, quickly shutting the wardrobe doors.
"Here you go!" he said, handing them to Mirac. "They're not fancy, but they should do."
"Th-Thanks," Mirac said, taking the sheet and pillow. 'But shouldn't you be sorting out the stuff in the wardrobe right now?'
Ignoring that thought, Mirac helped Blake set up the mattress, spreading the sheet and placing the pillow carefully.
The result was simple, but functional.
"Perfect!" Blake stood up, satisfied. "Oh! I just remembered I need to check on the backyard garden! I haven't watered the plants in a week, and if I don't do it tonight, I'll find nothing but dead weeds tomorrow!" He let out a hearty chuckle before adding: "Make yourself at home, Isaac. I'll be back soon!"
Mirac nodded. "Go ahead, no problem," he said reassuringly. "Oh, wait, I wanted to tell you something: if Ananya's done with her shower by the time you get back, you can go after her if you want. I'll go last."
"Alright, as you prefer," Blake murmured.
The masked boy watched as Blake placed his broken sword on the cluttered desk, grabbed the lantern, and left, leaving the door ajar.
The sound of his footsteps faded as he descended the stairs, heading toward the small backyard.
Once alone in the room, Mirac sat on the soft mattress.
He removed his cloak, folding it carefully, but kept the mask in place, concealing his face.
The moonlight filtered through the slightly open window, casting a faint glow on the floor.
Mirac lay down, his hand behind his head, his gaze fixed on the wooden beams above him.
Somewhere in the hallway, the sound of running water indicated that Carmen was taking her shower, and outside, the rustling of the plants watered by Blake blended with the chirping of crickets.
Outside, the night in Raerno enveloped the city in silence, broken only by the chirping of crickets and the distant barking of a dog.
* * *
Several minutes passed…
Mirac was still lying on the mattress, his gaze lost in the void.
The sound of running water in the hallway, a sign that Carmen was still showering, had become a constant, almost hypnotic background noise.
Suddenly, though, the sound of water stopped abruptly.
Mirac tilted his head, his senses alert. 'She's finally done…'
Meanwhile, Carmen emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in the white robe Blake had mentioned.
The bathrobe was a perfect fit, with the sleeves falling neatly over her wrists, accentuating her slender and toned figure. The fabric was soft and clean, with a faint scent of herbal soap.
Carmen paused for a moment in the hallway, drying her hair with a cloth she'd found by the tub.
Her still-damp hair gleamed in the moonlight streaming through the window at the end of the hallway, the red strands appearing almost black in the darkness.
With silent steps, Carmen returned to her room, closing the door behind her with a soft click.
She placed the cloth on the nightstand and approached the dark wooden wardrobe.
She opened it cautiously, the doors emitting a slight creak.
Inside, she found a collection of neatly folded clothes arranged on shelves and hung on wooden hangers. They were impeccably organized—a stark contrast to the chaos of Blake's wardrobe.
The right half of the wardrobe contained clearly feminine clothing: vibrant linen tunics, long skirts, a couple of delicately embroidered blouses, and a few silk scarves. The left half was reserved for more masculine attire: sturdy canvas pants, long-sleeved shirts, a couple of leather jackets, and a belt with brass buckles.
Carmen ran her fingertips over the fabrics, her touch slow and deliberate, as if evaluating each garment.
For a moment, her gaze softened, and a nearly imperceptible sigh escaped her lips.
Then, with her usual determination, she chose a simple but practical outfit: a dark green long-sleeved tunic, soft black canvas pants, and a brown leather belt. She laid them on the bed, dressed quickly, and took the robe to return it to its place.
She returned to the bathroom with the dirty clothes she'd worn during the journey—the black shirt stained with dust and blood, the pants crusted with mud.
She hung the robe on a hook by the door, filled the tub with cold water, added some soap from a shelf, and began washing the clothes with precise movements, scrubbing stubborn stains with her knuckles.
The water soon turned a murky gray, but Carmen didn't stop until every garment was clean. She rinsed them thoroughly, wringing them out with force, and gathered them into a small bundle.
As she was folding the washed clothes, the bathroom door opened slightly, and Blake peeked in, lantern still in hand.
"Oh, I see you're done!" he said, smiling. He noticed the wet clothes in Carmen's hands and tilted his head. "Wait, there's no need to take them outside. You can leave them in the basket over there," he gestured to a wicker basket next to the tub. "I'll take care of hanging them out in the garden tomorrow morning, so they can dry throughout the day."
Carmen looked up, her face expressionless but with a hint of courtesy. She nodded slightly, placing the clothes in the basket he had indicated. "As you wish," she said simply.
But as she stood, ready to leave the room, a loud growl broke the silence: Blake's stomach!
Carmen stared at him for a moment, one eyebrow slightly raised.
"You're hungry," she said, more of an observation than a question. "Do you want me to prepare something to eat?"
Blake's eyes widened, caught off guard. "Oh, no, no, really, I wouldn't want to trouble you. You're already tired, and-"
"I insist," Carmen interrupted, her voice calm but firm, with a tone like a mother who wouldn't take "no" for an answer.
Blake scratched the back of his neck, a sheepish smile on his face.
"Oh, w-well… if you insist, I can't say no, right?" he asked rhetorically. "G-Go ahead, then. I'll take a shower in the meantime."
Carmen gave him a nod and left the bathroom, leaving Blake to prepare.
She descended the stairs with determined steps, crossing the living room lit by the faint glow of the fireplace, and reached the kitchen.
It was small but cozy, with a wooden table in the center, marked by years of use, and a cast-iron stove in the corner.
Shelves along the walls held glass jars containing spices, flour, and dried legumes.
A bundle of aromatic herbs, tied with string, hung from a beam above the sink. Moonlight filtered through a narrow window, illuminating a wooden cutting board on the counter.
Carmen opened the pantry next to the stove.
Inside, she found a basket of potatoes, a few onions, a couple of slightly wilted but usable carrots, a small jar of olive oil, and a loaf of hard bread.
There was also a sack of lentils and a piece of cheese wrapped in cloth.
It wasn't much, but it would be enough to whip up something nourishing.
Carmen placed the ingredients on the counter and began working.
First, she took a knife from the drawer and started cutting the vegetables with quick, precise movements.
The potatoes became cubes, the onions thin half-moons, the carrots rounds. She placed a pot on the fire, poured in a drizzle of oil, and began sautéing the onions, their aroma filling the kitchen.
As she stirred, the sound of light footsteps echoed behind her, someone descending the stairs cautiously.
Carmen didn't turn, but she already knew who was coming.
"When we met Blake, I immediately realized he could be our key to entering the city without too many complications," she said, her voice calm, not pausing her vegetable chopping. "That's why I suggested we head to Raerno together, so he could help us with the entrance fee. And seeing how accommodating he was, I also took the chance to arrange us somewhere for the night. But I suppose you'd already figured all that out on your own, Isaac…"
Carmen turned slightly—her profile illuminated by the fire's glow—and, as she expected, she found Mirac standing in the kitchen doorway, his black mask concealing his face.
"In fact, that's not why I came here," he replied, his voice muffled but steady. "Actually, I've been waiting all day for a moment when we could be alone to talk about a few things…"