[Arc 1] Chapter 12 – Venturing the City

I picked up the first sample—a small, marble-sized chunk of metal—and at the same time, glanced at the corresponding document containing its description. ‘Tempestium—an uncommon bronze-like alloy infused with the fury of the storm, its surface crackling with latent static energy.’

The stormshard crystals required to forge it were found in stormy mountains and lightning-wracked cliffs. Perfect for lightning-type magic, though it apparently had other applications as well.

I rolled the metal between my fingers, feeling the raw electric energy thrumming beneath its surface. Quite impressive. Setting it down, I reached for another sample—a milky-white marble.

‘Veilstone—a mist-veined metal infused with the eerie hush of an eternal fog, its very essence woven with the secrets of the unseen. Those who wield weapons made from it find themselves slipping between the real and the unreal.’

Interesting. What could it actually do, though?

I skimmed the rest of the description… enhanced stealth and illusion magic. Weapons forged from it could sever illusions and dispel false realities. It could even absorb surrounding mist, allowing the wielder to vanish into fog.

Now that was useful, but… still not quite what I needed.

I glanced at the vendor—an old dwarf, clad in expensive merchant attire, clearly a seasoned trader.

"Do you have anything suited for magic-tech?" I asked. "Something highly durable under constant rising pressure, won’t bend, and has high magic conductivity?"

The dwarf stroked his beard, his fingers running through the thick, wiry strands as he let out a thoughtful grunt. "Aye… we’ve got two metals that fit yer fancy, but lemme tell ye, they don’t come cheap. Rarer than a sober dwarf at a feast, they are, an’ worth their weight in platinum."

His keen eyes narrowed as he sized me up. "But first, lass, I’ll be needin’ to see some proof o’ who ye claim to be."

I nodded, handing him the parchment Bensin had given me.

The merchant unfolded it, his sharp eyes scanning the words in silence. As he reached the end, his bushy brows lifted slightly, and he gave a slow, thoughtful nod.

"Aye… that’s a fine bit o’ proof, that is," he murmured, his tone shifting to one of newfound respect. He straightened, stroking his beard with a measured look. "Didn’t reckon I’d be standin’ in me own shop facin’ a Matriarch. A rare honor, indeed."

He turned toward the back of the store and bellowed, "Balgrom! Haul yer arse over here and bring me some Nephryx and Astralyte, will ya?"

A voice shouted in response, followed by the sound of crates being shifted.

I leaned on the counter. "So, what can those two metals do?"

The dwarf smirked. "Ah, well, Madam, let me tell ye proper."

The dwarf tapped the counter for emphasis, his thick fingers drumming against the wood. "Nephryx, now that's a metal worth its weight in gold. Sturdiest thing we got—perfect for holdin’ against sustained, high-pressure forces. Won’t bend, won’t warp, but strike it too sudden-like, and it’ll crack like a frostbitten stone. A tricky thing to work with, aye, but damned near impervious to magic tamperin’. Ye want somethin’ that won’t be messed with by wayward spells? Nephryx is what ye need."

He gave a knowing shrug. "Heavy as a mountain’s arse, though. Hope ye’ve got the strength to wield it proper."

"And Astralyte?" I prompted.

The dwarf’s eyes gleamed as he leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. "Ah, now Astralyte… that’s a right marvel of a metal. The highest magic conductivity ye’ll find. Scratch a rune into it, and it lights up with barely a whisper of mana. That’s why enchanters and battle-mages go mad for the stuff. It acts like a perfect conduit, lettin’ spells flow through like a river with no banks, no resistance."

His grin widened, revealing a few golden teeth. "But where it truly shines? Reality-warpin’ magic."

I raised a brow. "Reality-warping?"

The dwarf nodded, tapping the counter again for emphasis. "Aye. Astralyte itself is untouched by distortions o’ space or time—it won’t bend, won’t twist, won’t get caught in none o’ that nonsense. But when ye forge it into a tool for such magic? It makes those spells hit harder, last longer, reach further. Course, there ain’t but a handful o’ folk alive who can actually wield that kinda power—maybe ten at best—but for them?" He let out a low chuckle. "It’s a bloody game-changer."

Aska huffed in my mind. 'That sounds too good to be true.'

I had to agree. "And what’s the catch?"

The dwarf’s chuckle deepened into a knowing laugh. "Aye, there’s always a catch."

He leaned forward, arms crossing atop the counter. "Both metals are rarer than a sober dwarf at a feast and found in places no sane soul wants to tread. But if ye’re askin’ which is scarcer? Astralyte, by far. Ye only find it where dimensional rifts have scarred the land. Trackin’ those places is damn near impossible—half the time, they don’t even show up on maps. And when ye do find one? It’s always smack in the middle of a high-magic-density zone, crawlin’ with nasties that’d make even veteran hunters piss themselves.”

He exhaled sharply and straightened, rubbing his beard in thought. "Now, Nephryx? It’s easier to locate, aye, but mining it’s another beast entirely. It’s buried deep within crystalline caverns, where the walls themselves shimmer like a trapped sky. And the creatures that live down there?" He let out a low whistle. "They ain’t just dangerous—they’re the kind that make S-Rank adventurers rethink their life choices. Whole expeditions go in, and sometimes, not even their bones come out."

He fixed me with a shrewd gaze, tapping a thick finger against the counter. "That’s why these metals fetch the prices they do. One wrong move, and the miners end up as nothin’ more than a meal for whatever’s lurkin’ in the dark."

I exhaled. "So they’re expensive."

"Aye, that they are, Matriarch," the dwarf said, a newfound glint of respect in his deep-set eyes. "’Bout the size o’ these marbles, eh?" He gestured toward the shimmering samples with a heavy hand, his voice carrying the weight of an old craftsman well-versed in his trade. "Each one’ll run ye a hundred gold coins. A full ingot? That’ll cost ye a platinum, plain an’ simple."

I let out a low whistle. "Pricey."

"Aye," he rumbled, nodding. "But worth every damn coin. There ain’t many who can work with such materials, let alone wield ‘em proper."

I tapped the counter, thinking. "Do you buy things as well?"

His expression shifted, eyes gleaming with sharp curiosity. " Right ye are. Titan’s Vault ain't just any common market stall—we deal in rare metals, gems, weapons, relics, an’ materials most folk only hear about in stories." He thumped his broad chest with pride. "We deal fair an’ we deal well—especially with those who know the worth o’ true craftsmanship."

I smirked. "Perfect."

Without another word, I reached into my storage with a flick of space magic, rummaging through the vast collection within. There had to be something valuable I didn’t need.

Ah.

There it was.

Something rare. Unique. And perfect for this place.

I pulled out an impossibly light vial, its pearlescent silver-blue liquid swirling like liquid moonlight, tiny golden motes drifting within. Even sealed, its scent was unmistakable—rain on dry earth, winter’s first breath, and the distant memory of something forever lost.

The dwarven merchant’s eyes widened, his bushy brows rising with greedy fascination.

"Ooooh, now that be somethin’ special," he breathed, his voice tinged with reverence. "Haven’t laid me eyes on one o’ these since me father’s cousin’s funeral—on the maternal side—when the king’s own daughter came to pay her respects in the name o’ the royal family."

His head snapped toward the back of the shop.

"Balgrom! Haul yer hairy arse over here! Ye need to see this!"

A deep grumble came from behind a stack of crates. "Aye, aye, keep yer beard on, I’m comin’."

Moments later, a burly dwarf stomped into view, carrying two small chests under one arm. The moment he caught sight of the vial in my hand, he froze.

"By the anvil o’ Saphirum..." he muttered, his voice hushed in awe. "A Soul’s Tear."

"Exactly!" Gardoff, the merchant, grinned, his thick fingers twitching with barely restrained excitement. "An’ look at the clarity—pure as the first frost. I’d wager a hundred percent, no less!"

Balgrom rushed closer, yanking down the strange goggles strapped to his forehead. He peered at the vial, his bushy brows twitching as he examined it like a priceless gemstone.

"That’s a perfect Soul’s Tear," he confirmed, his tone near reverent. "Goddess above, this could be our ticket to openin’ a shop in the Royal District!"

His sharp gaze flicked to me. "What’ll it cost us, lass?"

I leaned against the counter, feigning disinterest. "That depends. What can you offer?"

The two dwarves exchanged a glance, their minds already racing through possibilities.

Gardoff was the first to speak. "Ye were askin’ after ores for magi-craft, aye? How ‘bout this—we strike a deal. A steady supply o’ rare ores, metals, an’ whatever fine materials ye need. We’ll deliver straight to where ye want ‘em, tailored to yer specifications. Ye test ‘em, tell us what ye want more of, and we’ll see to it, no questions asked."

I grinned. "Now that’s an offer worth considering."

Balgrom clapped his hands together. "Then it’s settled! We’ll get ye one ingot o’ every metal in our vault, prepped an’ ready for pickup by sundown."

"Good," I said, handing over the vial.

Gardoff took it with the care of a father cradling his firstborn, his rough fingers steady despite the gleam of unrestrained excitement in his eyes.

I turned to leave, but before I could take a step, Balgrom shoved the two chests into my arms.

"Take these now," he said gruffly. "Might as well start yer tinkerin’ right away."

Gardoff gave a firm nod. "We’ll have our lad take over for the rest o’ the day. Me an’ Balgrom’ll be workin’ on yer order personally."

"Till later, Madam Asche," he said with a respectful nod.

I turned to the three girls, who had been gawking at me the entire time.

"Let’s go," I said. "Time to find Marika."

'You really break people easily,' sneered Aska, who had shifted into a marble fox form before we entered and now lay draped around my throat like a living scarf.

I snorted at her comment and stepped out of the shop.

Titan’s Vault wasn’t far from the guild, and from what Fara had told me, it was the best spot for raw materials—good enough to rival the suppliers of the Royal District.

I had asked whether I’d be able to enter that part of the city, but Fara wasn’t sure. The Royal District was strictly reserved for aristocrats, nobles, and the city’s wealthiest elite, guarded by its own inner wall, fortified gates, and dedicated patrols. With the absurd weight a Matriarch’s title seemed to carry, I could probably stroll in without issue. But announcing so loudly that an Asche was wandering around after all this time? That wasn’t a risk I wanted to take yet, even if word was already beginning to spread.

What did surprise me, however, was how the girls trailed behind me like little ducklings. I had probably intimidated them a bit too much—at least the other two. Fara was still wary of me, yet she had chosen to follow rather than stay behind with that boy… who, by now, was most likely dead. I hadn’t asked Aska whether she had killed him outright, but considering the agonized screams and what I had seen through her eyes, not even the highest healing magic could fix what she had done.

Eleanor and Mai, on the other hand, remained mostly quiet, whispering between themselves. Their conversation didn’t escape me, though. That’s how I learned Whitey’s real name—Eleanor—and that the two had been lovers before that bastard entered the picture. I wasn’t sure exactly what he had done, but at some point, Mai had broken things off with Eleanor, though they had remained in the same party.

Now, though? Mai acted as if a spell had been lifted from her, which, honestly, would explain a lot. Maybe I’d have Marika take a look at her. The boy hadn’t struck me as a spellcaster, which only made me wonder—how he had managed to manipulate her?

If enchantments or mind-altering influences like this were common these days, I’d need to start preparing countermeasures. Soul magic wasn’t a solution for everyone, after all.

Also, watching those new ores had already opened up several new possibilities for my projects. But at the same time, they had also given me a few new concerns.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

“Ma-Madam Asche, could you explain what a Soul’s Tear is?” Fara asked hesitantly as we walked up the street towards the center of the city—towards my temple.

“Oh, that vial? Well, it’s the tear of a moon deer. I think most people called them Lunar Phantoms,” I replied briefly, but her questioning gaze lingered.

"Alright," I relented, waving a hand. "A Lunar Phantom is basically a muntjac that stands taller than any stag. It has a slender frame, its silver-white coat shimmering like frost under moonlight. Its antlers don’t even touch its head—they float just above it, curling into shifting crescent shapes that pulse faintly with a pearlescent glow."

I paused, recalling the creature in my mind. "Probably because it harnesses the moons’ energy to create magic. They move completely silent, weightless through the woods. Incredibly agile, relatively powerful… but entirely peaceful."

“The twist?” I smirked. "Those creatures form a single tear when they die with lingering regret or sorrow. The deeper the regret, the purer the tear.”

The other two girls had caught up, listening intently. Mai stared at me, wide-eyed. "D-Did you—"

I waved a dismissive hand. "Goddess, no. Humans killed its mate and fawns, and it tried to take revenge but ultimately failed. Smart as it was, it hid away so they couldn’t get what they wanted. I just happened to be there at the right time.”

“That’s… sad,” murmured Eleanor.

Aska hummed in agreement within my mind. 'I loved those deer. Always a sight to behold. Never hunted them, though. Shame.'

I decided to steer the conversation away from unnecessary sentimentality. With the temple now in sight, I had the perfect diversion.

“Say, that temple—how long has it been standing there?”

“You mean the Veiled Sanctum?" Fara blinked. "Goddess, I think someone told me it was here before the city was even built. Before the divine arrived.”

Mai nodded. “Yeah, I heard the same. From a mage's standpoint, this place is amazing. It constantly radiates mana, but in a way no one can actually use it. It's fascinating. Also, there’s a tradition—every newly summoned hero has to try and destroy its barrier.”

“That’s right,” Eleanor added. “And actually… wasn’t the new hero supposed to try in a few weeks?”

“Ah, yeah," Fara confirmed.

“So no one knows what’s inside? Or how to get in?” I asked.

“Nope," Fara admitted. "No one.”

“But after what happened recently and the bishop’s announcement…” She hesitated. “Something big might happen soon.”

Raising an eyebrow, I gestured for her to continue.

“The bishop claimed the gods spoke to him,” she said carefully. “That the current heroes were chosen to end the ‘blighted war’ against the demons and beast-kin and—” she swallowed, “—open the Veiled Sanctum for the glory of the Empire.”

I let out a sharp ‘pfft’ before breaking into laughter. “That sounds like complete propaganda.”

The girls exchanged glances but remained silent, probably wary of speaking against the bishop so publicly.

Annoyingly enough, my temple was as popular as the first time I stepped out of it. Adventurers, scientists, artists, believers, pilgrims—all of them crowding around like flies, tirelessly studying what they clearly failed to understand.

I frowned. What were those bulky adventurers even— No. No, never mind. My displeasure deepened as I watched them. They had turned my barrier into a goddamn fair attraction.

Some brainless oafs were literally taking turns punching and slashing it, seeing who could cause the biggest ripples. Pathetic. Do these pests not realize they’re slamming their fists against the work of a fucking primordial?

Even more annoying were the young students in uniform scurrying about. They scribbled furiously in their notebooks, working tirelessly to ‘discover’ something about low-level magic that they failed to comprehend over and over again. How adorable and utterly futile… ooh, what busy little ants they were—just waiting to be crushed. I wondered, would squashing them produce that satisfying crunch, followed by a splatter of various body fluids? Haa~, why did I have principles?

I let out a long sigh, resigning myself to patience. As tempting as it was, I couldn’t afford to ruin my new plans just yet. 'Ugh. I wish they’d all just disappear.'

Aska groaned inside my mind. 'Hey, you maniac, could you please not think stuff like this when I can hear every single thought?!'

'What? Why not?' I pouted mentally. 'You have no idea how hard it is to be a ‘good’ evildoer. Do you know how much fun I miss out on?'

'Do you think I care? No. Major. Slaughter. Off the table.'

'Goddess, fine. Whatever. I’ll tolerate them for now, even if I’d much rather they just clear out of my temple’s surroundings.'

A slow clap sounded in my mind. Sarcastic. Mocking. 'Wow. Minimal decency. You must be so proud. Truly, a beacon of restraint.'

'Oh my goddess, thank you, Aska! How utterly kind of you~' I gushed mockingly.

'That wasn’t—You—' Aska let out a frustrated noise. 'Forget it. Just… don’t start killing people just because they annoy you.'

I rolled my eyes. 'Ugh, fine.'

As we moved past the temple, the streets transformed into a whirlwind of commerce—food stalls, bakeries, restaurants, and all the cheap tourist traps meant to milk every last coin from travelers.

I frowned again. “How the hell did Marika’s caravan get through all this without attracting attention?”

Ignoring my muttering, I turned to Fara. “Do you know where the ‘Dancing Tails’ is?”

Fara’s face instantly turned red.

“The Dancing Tails?” she echoed, clearly flustered. “Um, yes. I know of it… but are you sure that’s the place we’re going?”

"Yeah, I’m sure. Marika wouldn’t lie to me."

Fara stammered something incoherent, then finally managed to get her words out.

“Th-The Dancing Tails is an inn popular for their… um… services."

I raised an eyebrow. "Services?"

She looked away, face still red.

"They’re known for having… female beast-kin employees. They pride themselves on how fluffy their tails are.”

I paused, processing.

“…Ooooh?”I smirked, a knowing gleam in my eyes. “Clever, Marika. Very clever.”

Fara didn’t seem to catch on—but Eleanor? Eleanor understood immediately.

Mai, however, was still struggling to keep up.

I grinned at their reactions.

"You’ll see soon enough what I mean.”

As we walked deeper into the western district, the architecture around us began to shift. The buildings weren’t necessarily shabby, but their design became more practical—less ornamental, more functional. Gone were the decorative carvings and gilded accents; instead, sturdy stone and reinforced wood dominated the streets, built to endure rather than impress.

I hummed, the difference was subtle but distinctive. Narrow alleys wove between tightly packed buildings, and the air carried the faint scent of burning coal and metalwork, likely from nearby forges or workshops.

'Reminds me of that one dwarven town. What was its na— Ah, yes, Quartz!' Asche added, amused.

I thought for a second and had to agree. Similar to Quartz back in our day, signs of wear and repair were visible—patched roofs, reinforced doorways, and shutters bearing the scars of age and weather. Unlike the bustling, carefully arranged storefronts of the eastern district, this area had a raw, yet vibrant atmosphere. Every building seemed to tell a story of hard-earned survival and achievement—of families who tried their luck here and those to whom that road became an end.

Despite the shift in atmosphere, life here was still just as lively, if not more so. Merchants filled the streets, displaying their wares under awnings or in open-air stalls, haggling in a mixture of gruff voices, sharp gestures and lies as customers tried their luck to get the best prices while handling objects under the table.

'This really is like Quartz. And I don’t say this because of the abundance of dwarves. The way they haggle just reminds of old man Haro, trying to sell me a sword so worn down it would crumble at the slightest touch—yet somehow, he still managed to convince me it was a special blade, one that would only be as hard and sturdy as its wielder’s will,' Asche reminisced.

I let out a small laugh at the thought, 'How did it turn out?'

'Damn thing nearly killed me whilst training,' giggled Aska.

Children darted through our group and into the crowds, some carrying bundles of supplies, others simply playing in the dusty streets. Laborers moved with purpose, their faces streaked with sweat and soot, while adventurers—grittier and far more seasoned than those loitering earlier in the guild—gathered in front of certain establishments, likely blacksmiths, supply depots, or taverns meant for those who valued utility over flair. Some radiated an aura whilst others had an expressive amount of mana or tools that exuded a deadly force of them.

'You think I might have had a chance against you with humans like these,' questioned the fox on my shoulder.

'Nah. They might wield more power than some of your forces back them, but are they stronger? No, I really doubt that,' I answered honestly.

The more I looked, the clearer it became—the veteran adventurers were the true cornerstone of this place, the economic backbone that kept the lower districts thriving.

This truly was a place of industry and growth, where people didn’t waste time on unnecessary extravagance. But beneath the superficial facade, a quiet resistance persisted, one that opposed the depravity of the ruling nobles and their arbitrary laws. The murmurs I heard, the souls I touched. Yes, it was like an unspoken oath between the townspeople. Here, survival and success weren’t dictated by wealth or status but by sheer willpower, effort, and skill.

But it didn’t end here. From time to time, people who appeared to be from noble birth sat at simple tables, chatting and chiming into conversation. I was surprised—did humanity actually learn some common decency after all this time?

'To me, it looks like even those with wealth or status have somewhat acknowledged and agreed how insignificant their prejudice was in the end,” Aska commented. “Instead, they adapted and contributed to this place. Just look at how they treat some of the street runts. No noble in my time would have lowered themselves like that.'

I had to agree. Yes, this place truly was an economic ley-line of the city.

Another surprise was how much better beast-kin were treated here. Not entirely like slaves, but more like friends who were compelled to wear invisible chains imposed upon them by royalty. A surge of anger welled up in me at the thought of human selfishness—how they always sought to claim everything for themselves rather than share.

I was about to spiral myself into rage, when my gaze drifted from the main street and saw something. Nestled in a busy side street stood an establishment that defied the mundanity of its surroundings, like an ice flower lost in a vast sea of snow—the Dancing Tails.

“It’s beautiful,” Fara murmured in awe.

I nodded in approval. Unlike the sturdy, timeworn buildings of the main road, where life bustled but remained confined to the rhythm of duty and trade, this side-street was different. It pulsed with warmth, movement, and a vibrant fusion of cultures—many I had never even seen before.

'This place feels like it’s the soul of the district,' remarked Aska.

'In what sense?' I asked.

'You know, the dynamic here is different—it’s alive. The way the voices blend together, the rustle of silks, the warm light spilling from the inn’s open doors like it’s inviting us in… I mean, it really feels like the air itself is buzzing with conversation and laughter. Don’t you feel it? How this place stands out from the dull, uniform alleys on the main street? It’s like stepping into something warmer, more, well, I dunno—almost like being wrapped in a long-lost lover’s embrace?' Asche enthused, her tone a bit too poetic for my taste.

But somehow… she wasn’t wrong. The Dancing Tails truly stood apart from the rigid architecture surrounding it, exuding an effortless charm that drew in wandering gazes. Against the slowly darkening sky, the scarlet banners embroidered with shimmering silver threads wavered in the breeze from the second floor of the building. Their fluttering motion caught the afternoon breeze like the tails of invisible creatures, slightly putting me into a trance.

Delicate wooden and metal chimes dangled from the eaves, ringing softly with each passing gust of wind, their melody soothing yet strangely alluring.

Even the air was richer here, saturated with the mingling scents of incense, spiced wine, and roasted delicacies—a stark contrast to the stale, granite-lined corridors of the eastern district.

As my gaze traveled deeper, the industrial charm of this entrance area, with the inn serving as its true gateway, gradually faded, unveiling a hidden Kietz within a neighborhood—an uncut gem, secluded from the rest of the city, waiting for those who are bold enough to enter.

The buildings became more distinct, each flaunting its own unique character, painted in vibrant hues or adorned with intricate carvings and decorative banners in languages I had never seen before. Something about them stirred an uncanny sense of familiarity within me.

Unlike the uniform streets of the main avenues, many of these structures had flowing, curved facades covered in colorful tiles that shimmered in the light.

“I… know those buildings,” I muttered under my breath.

Balconies twisted into unusual shapes, some resembling bones or vines, while windows stretched into rounded, uneven forms framed by wrought-iron details. Rooftops were just as varied—some rising into spires like old castles, others shaped in smooth, rolling waves, giving the entire street an almost dreamlike, artistic feel.

“... huh? Aren’t those the Illa de la Discòrdia?” I wondered aloud.

'The what?' asked Asche, having caught my words.

“Those buildings… they remind me of something I thought I had forgotten… erased. They look eerily similar—though far less flaunty—but there are far more of them than I remember existing.”

'Not gonna lie, this place is amazing…' said Asche with a smug face, clearly enjoying how taken aback I was.

But I had to admit—this street wasn’t simply another road. No, it was like Aska said. This place was alive, pulsing with a culture and energy that set it apart from the rest of the district like white against a black canvas.

As we neared the Dancing Tails, the soundscape washed over me—soft music, the murmur of conversation, and bursts of laughter, an open invitation to revel in the moment. Unlike the other inns I had seen, this one made no effort to disguise its true nature.

The open entrance was wide and inviting, its doors flung open as if the inn itself was breathing in the crisp afternoon air. Two massive wooden pillars, carved into twisting fox tails, flanked it. Their polished surfaces gleamed under the lantern light, guiding the way inside.

“Hey, look,” Mai whispered to Eleanor, barely suppressing a giggle.

She was pointing at a tall beast-kin woman leaning lazily against one of the pillars. Her golden fur gleamed in the light, her long, bushy tail curling at her feet. She spoke in a hushed voice to a passing guest, her ears flicking attentively as she listened.

Above, the second floor extended outward, its layered tiers curving in smooth, elegant arcs. The architecture differed significantly from the city’s rigid and the rest of the street’s designs, bearing a resemblance to the flowing lines of an eastern tea house. Silk curtains framed latticed windows, drawn back just enough to tease at the world within. Shadows of figures moved beyond the veil—dancers swaying in languid motions, tails flicking in rhythmic sync with unseen melodies. Unlike the closed, guarded nature of the capital, the Dancing Tails thrived in its openness, a place of whispered secrets, lingering glances, and the promise of untold stories waiting within.

'Who is the overly poetic one now…' grumbled Asche.

I was about to respond, but then…

I saw them.

The sheer number of tails was almost mesmerizing. Even from outside, I could see them. They moved in the warm lantern light—draped lazily over balcony railings, flicking playfully near the entrance, curling in teasing gestures just out of sight.

Thick, luxurious fox tails in shades of russet and white, sleek feline tails flicking idly, massive, bushy coils of squirrel-kin, the proud plumes of wolf-kin, the spotted, curling tail of a lounging leopard-kin. Each movement was deliberate, a silent language of invitation, amusement, or quiet confidence.

'Fluffy tails… everywhere,' Asche mused dreamily.

I nodded in silent agreement.

Inside, the inn was bustling with activity. Long, impossibly soft-looking tails curled and flicked, brushing against arms, wrapping around wrists in playful gestures.

A woman with gleaming, flaming hair sat on a raised platform, her four shimmering tails fanned out behind her like a display of wealth, each one shifting as she lifted a delicate cup to her lips. Nearby, a tall, broad-shouldered wolf-kin leaned against a wooden column, her thick tail twitching in amusement as she murmured to a guest.

'Wh-what do you think they feel like?' asked the elemental shyly in my head.

I rolled my eyes. 'So this is how I learn why you always stared at my tails so intently…'

Aska remained silent, but a moment later, her attention was drawn elsewhere. I followed her gaze.

She was watching two squirrel-kin twins who were flitting between tables, their tails bouncing behind them with each teasing step. Then I noticed a snow-leopard woman across the room, her spotted tail curling elegantly around one long leg of a female patron, watching me with lazy confidence, her violet eyes gleaming like she already knew every secret about me. She smiled.

I smirked. The Dancing Tails wasn’t just an inn. It was a world within itself—a den of silk, whispers, and hidden promises.

And places like these? They were always the best for gathering information.

A slow, knowing smile spread across my lips.

Richard, you were one nasty little paladin… so this is the place you sent me to.

Another wave of laughter drifted through the air, thick like perfume. A single night here could leave someone richer, poorer, or tangled in the embrace of something far more dangerous than sleep. Maybe I’d join myself a round of cards later.

I was about to step inside when—

"Thank the moon goddesses, we need your help!" A desperate voice called out behind me.

I turned sharply. It was Zary. Her eyes were frantic, her breath short and uneven.

"What happened?" I asked, already sensing that something was very, very wrong.

“Those bastards—they were waiting,” she spat, barely containing her rage. “Two kids wandered a little too far… they took them. They fucking got Nelua and Fîr.”

My blood chilled. "Kila tried to follow," Zary continued, her voice tight with anger, "but she hasn’t come back either. I expect the worst.”

I inhaled slowly, steadying my thoughts keeping my expression unreadable. How dare those wretched fools lay their hands on what was mine—the very ones I had just claimed and protected?!

“And the guards?”

Zary’s expression darkened, her fury barely restrained. “The moment you were gone, they ignored us. They’re in on it. I know it.”

I clenched my fists.

'Figures,' Asche fumed in my mind.

“Where’s Marika?”

“She’s inside. She—”

I cut her off. “Then let’s go inside and talk. We’re wasting time.”

She blinked, realizing how foolish it was to be discussing this out in the open.

"You're right," she said quickly. "Let's go. Follow me."

She turned toward the inn, her movements brisk, urgent. I cast a glance at the girls behind me.

“They’re with me. I’ll explain later.”

Zary nodded once. Without another word, we stepped forward.

“Well then," I murmured as I crossed the threshold, the warmth of the inn swallowing us whole.

"Let’s see what kind of hell we’re walking into.”