Ravyn finished the last piece of fritz ham with the same blank, unreadable expression that he always wore. The taste was new, unfamiliar, yet pleasant enough. Still, his face betrayed nothing. He wiped his mouth with the side of his wrist, then looked at the scroll resting silently beside his plate. He picked it up, not to read it—he couldn't—but more so out of habit. It had become a weight he carried not just in his bag, but in his presence.
He stood up without a word, left 20 Volks on the table, and walked out of the bar. The maid, who had been watching from the corner, stepped over as soon as the door closed behind him and quietly scooped the coins up, glancing at the table where he had sat, as if trying to decipher something from the air he left behind.
Outside, the cool breeze met Ravyn's face, but he did not react. His horse, patiently waiting in its den, perked up as he approached. Instead of untying it, Ravyn pulled from his cloak a wrapped fritz ham—the one he had saved. The horse neighed softly, nudging his hand with recognition. Ravyn held the meat out in silence, letting the horse chew with noisy contentment.
Turning away, Ravyn began to walk, scroll in hand, letting his feet wander without much thought. He had only taken a dozen steps when something sharp sliced through the air. His left hand shot up immediately—fast, precise—and caught a dagger mid-air by its handle. Without hesitation, he turned his wrist and slammed it into the dirt beside him, letting it stick blade-first into the ground.
From above, a figure dove at him.
He moved only enough to dodge—minimal, efficient. The figure hit the ground with two daggers in hand, missing him by inches. She rolled into a crouch, then sprang to her feet in a fluid motion. Her hair was tied into a high ponytail that swayed like a pendulum; black with streaks of blue. She wore a purple assassin's shirt with a mask pulled up to her nose, and loose baggy pants that made her movements hard to predict.
Ravyn stared at her with empty eyes. No fear. No surprise. No rage. Nothing.
She posed again, daggers forward, her eyes locked onto his.
"Why," he said simply, flatly, "did you attack me?"
She didn't answer. Instead, she lunged.
Her blades danced toward him in fast, trained movements slashes, jabs, spins. But Ravyn evaded every strike with subtle motions, his body barely shifting. His eyes never left hers, and his expression never changed.
The assassin gritted her teeth. She moved faster.
Still, Ravyn avoided each strike. Then, he dropped low and spun his leg beneath her, sweeping her feet out from under her. She fell hard onto the ground with a short grunt.
Her eyes widened in shock. Not because she had lost, but because her opponent hadn't even drawn a weapon.
Ravyn took a single step forward. His eyes peered down at her.
"Why?"
She pushed herself up, panting. Her grip on her daggers tightened, but she didn't raise them again.
"That scroll," she said finally, voice sharp. "It belongs to the Dafii Tower. You, someone like you shouldn't have it."
Ravyn tilted his head slightly, the way a statue might shift in changing light.
"The wizard gave it to me."
The assassin paused. Her intense glare held on his face, but slowly, she blinked. Her breathing steadied.
"I don't sense a lie in your words," she said. "You speak the truth."
Ravyn remained still. Silent.
She lowered her daggers, slipping them back into their sheathes hidden under her sash. Then she pulled down her mask, revealing a young but hardened face, her lips slightly parted with regret.
"I apologize," she said. "I jumped to a conclusion."
Ravyn said nothing.
Her gaze shifted to the scroll he still held.
"Have you read it?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I can't read."
There was no shame in his voice. No discomfort. Just a fact.
The girl furrowed her brows but nodded after a pause.
"I see," she muttered. "Then maybe I owe you more than an apology."
Ravyn didn't answer. He merely stared.
The wind passed between them, carrying silence like a messenger neither of them had summoned.
In the distance, his horse neighed once, finished with its meal.
The scroll in Ravyn's hand fluttered slightly in the breeze, and still he stood, unmoving.
The girl looked at him again.
"My name is Kael," she said.
Ravyn didn't offer his.
Kael held the scroll with both hands, her fingers tracing the edge before she looked at Ravyn.
" Do you want me to read it for you?"
Ravyn answered instantly. "Sure."
She blinked. "That quick? No hesitation?"
"If you try to steal it," Ravyn said without a hint of tone, "I'll just take it back."
The confidence in his voice irritated her. She narrowed her eyes, jaw tightening, but she kept her composure. No point fighting someone like him again.
She sighed and unrolled the scroll. Her eyes scanned the first line. She read aloud,
"The first step on how to use Soul Will-o'-Wisp."
She paused.
"Soul Will-o'-Wisp? Never heard of that before… sounds rare."
When Ravyn heard the name, he looked at the scroll with HATRED.
Ravyn's eyes widened slightly. His pupils trembled. A wave of hatred, sorrow, and fury surged through his body like lightning, flooding every nerve, every thought. His jaw clenched. His fists tightened. For a brief second, the emotion leaked through.
But Kael didn't notice. She was still staring at the scroll, trying to recall if she had ever heard the name before.
Behind his still mask, Ravyn's thoughts screamed.
Then, composed once again, he spoke. His tone was calm, but there was an edge in it—a command wrapped in silence.
"Read the next text."
Kael blinked again but obliged. She read:
"The first step is to speak to your soul. Begin by telling it things you already know, your thoughts, your secrets, your memories. Your soul does not have a voice. It does not speak. You must teach it how to communicate. Once it has learned, guide it to chant the Fire Spirit Grudge."
The words settled heavily in the air.
Kael frowned. "What the hell does that even mean? That doesn't make sense."
Ravyn didn't respond. Not immediately.
Outside, he was unmoved. His face was the same cold void as always. But inside? The hatred returned, stronger. The anger. The grudge. For 'Them'.
He had already slipped once. He wouldn't again.
"That's enough," he said quietly.
Kael looked at him, and though his face was unreadable, she could feel the anger behind his eyes. It made her pause.
He stared at her. "Do you have work to do?"
"No," she replied slowly. "Why?"
"Because I can't read the scroll," he said. "You will read it for me."
Kael was stunned.
"What? You expect me to just—?" She stopped herself. She wasn't sure if she was angry or just caught off guard. But then she thought about her life. How boring it had been lately. How little she had to do.
She sighed again.
"Fine," she said. "I'll read it."
Clear. Unmistakable. She didn't have anything better to do anyway.