"Yo, Alexos! Mind opening the door? It's getting kind of cold out here," came a casual voice from the other side.
"For the love of—" Rigar muttered in frustration, as he angrily turned the doorknob and swung the door open. There, leaning against the frame with a grin, stood Liek, faking a shiver as he rubbed his arms dramatically with a sly smile on his face. Liek, a black-haired man with a small mustache just above his lip, was dressed in a black jacket and a stylish black hat.
"What the hell is wrong with you? Do you normally knock on people's doors like that? What if I'd decided to knock you out the moment I opened it?" Rigar growled.
His anger was clear, though it was tinged with familiarity. He knew his friend too well—Liek stood there, his slender figure draped in a sleek black jacket, his dark hair tousled beneath a stylish hat that tilted slightly to one side. His mustache, thin and slightly unkempt, curled just above his upper lip, adding to the air of mischief that always seemed to follow him. The smirk he wore—half-playful, half-irritating—was as familiar as the subtle gleam in his brown eyes, always a touch too amused for comfort. With all his bad habits, he was the kind of guy who'd even leave his shoes on inside someone's house.
Liek grinned. "Well, there's no harm done now. The important thing is, you didn't punch me. Or… was I interrupting something?" his eyebrow raised just enough to mock Rigar.
"The only thing you'll be interrupting is my fist if you keep this up," Rigar Rigar snapped, though his tone was softer now, the tension slowly evaporating from the room.
The tension that had filled the house moments ago had vanished, replaced by the playful banter of two old friends.
"Oh, it's you, Liek," Christa's voice floated from the back room. "I thought we had some unwelcome guests. Come on in!"
Christa stepped out of the room, her eyes widening at the unexpected sight of Liek, his voice echoing through the house. She cradled Radix in her arms, her expression shifting from surprise to curiosity as she moved closer to the conversation.
Liek gave her a playful smirk.
"Oh no, I won't be intruding on you two tonight. I've just come to drop something off and then carry on with my other duties. It'll be quick, so no need to worry."
Christa arched an eyebrow, glancing between the two men.
"Oh dear, is that so? Well, I'll leave you boys to it while I take care of the baby." She brushed a hand lightly over Radix's back as she turned to leave, her steps graceful, but her curiosity still lingered.
Liek leaned forward slightly, his voice softening as he looked at the infant. "Oh, that's right! It's been a while, Radix. You remember your Uncle Liek, don't you?" He winked and added with a laugh, "Just make sure you grow up not to be like your dad, alright?"
The room filled with laughter—except for Rigar, who let out an exaggerated groan, throwing his hands up in defeat. "What a truly unlucky guy I am," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head as Christa shot him a knowing smile on her way out.
After the laughter faded, Liek tapped his wristwatch twice, and a bright glow emanated from it. A 2D holographic projection flickered into the air, displaying a bold document in sharp lettering. The light from the projection cast soft shadows across the room.
"Anyway," Liek began, his tone now serious,
"this is a quest from the Kingdom Guild HQ, Neuron. It's been assigned to both of you—Rigar and Christa Pyre. And yeah, it's mandatory. Only Dalet-ranked mercenaries can take on this request. You're to head to the city of Cules and take command of the guard at the northern border. The enemy's been trying to push through that weak spot for a while now, and honestly, we've been saved by sheer luck more than anything else."
As Liek paused, his eyes flickered toward Rigar, who had gone rigid, his brow furrowed. The tension in his face was impossible to miss—the frustration, the reluctance, the weight of the job pressing down on him. Liek sighed internally, understanding all too well. But a mandatory quest was still a job. There was no getting out of it.
"Damn it," Rigar growled, running a hand through his hair in frustration. His voice dripped with resentment.
"They really got us this time, didn't they? Or should I say he got us? This was sent by my brother, wasn't it?" He scoffed bitterly. "Let me guess, we have to report to the Royal Capital after it's done to get our so-called reward, right? And guarding the northern border, of all things."
Liek gave a small, humorless chuckle.
"You've got your brother figured out, that's for sure. It's exactly as you said. He probably just wants an excuse to see his nephew, since his runaway brother won't go home willingly."
An angry vein visibly bulged on the side of Rigar's forehead. Without a word, he grabbed Liek by the collar, his grip tight as he pulled him closer making all but cheerful smile.
"What the hell did you say bastard?" His voice was low and dangerous.
Liek's eyes widened, his hands shooting up in a mock surrender.
"Whoa, hold on! I was just joking! Just joking! Don't take everything so seriously, man."
Rigar glared at him for a moment longer before releasing him with a huff, the anger slowly ebbing away. The reason he had left his high-status life behind was never far from his mind. His old name, Alexos Blanç, was a reminder of the family he had forsaken when he ran off with the love of his life. He was Rigar Pyre now, and that name, that life—Alexos Blanç—was long dead to him. Dwelling on it wasn't worth the pain.
"Fine," Rigar muttered, his voice resigned. "I'll take the quest. We'll leave in a week and head to Cules. Looks like seeing that guy is inevitable, but we'll just deal with it." He let out a sigh, shaking his head. "It must've cost those people a fortune to request the guild's help. And asking for Dalet rank too? Damn."
"Oh and by the way" Rigar lightly tapped Liek who had already turned to make his exit, "I heard of it. The Hero has been born into out country. Meaning soon enough, he's going to end up in the hands of those abhorrent Blanc." Rigar scowled, not even bothering to hide his irritation at the name "Blanc" anymore. That was just how deep his hatred ran.
Liek took in a deep breath and sighed before answering,
"Yeah I know. The hope for humanity just happened to be born to the most troublesome section of the race. I mean, that's one of the main reasons for this war. The existence that is the hero" Liek explained to Rigar who simply watched in silence.
"Well, don't think too much about it. It's not the place for people like you and I to intervene" he finished and carefully observed the unease on the face of his friend.
"Its truly unfortunate the fate he has. Hopefully he can find his own peace, even amongst this wicked country" Rigar pronounced with a melancholic expression.
Liek floated in the air, his figure illuminated briefly by the moonlight as he rose higher.
"You worry too much, Alexos," he called down with a casual wave. "Alright then, see you another time. Use this moment to be with your family while you can." His voice faded into the night as he vanished into the sky, propelled by
With a sigh, Rigar closed the door, the weight of responsibility sinking into him. He slumped onto the sofa, running a hand through his hair. The sofa's familiar creak barely registered as his mind buzzed with thoughts of the impending journey. Plans, routines—all shattered now. Packing, organizing... the usual strain of their line of work loomed once again, the one that just seems to be after their daily peace.
From the kitchen, Christa stepped into the dimly lit living room, her brow furrowed but her tone light. "I overheard everything," she said, her voice tinged with frustration of her own. "We really do have a complicated life, don't we? Especially when they get involved."
Rigar's lips curled into a brief smile, but it quickly faded into a frown. She wasn't wrong. Every time his family got involved, their lives were thrown into disarray. There was only one exception—one problem that wasn't from his side—but even then, Christa's observation held true.
Christa crossed the room and sat beside him, her hand resting gently on his shoulder. "We'll be fine," she said softly, her green eyes gleaming with quiet resolve. "As long as we stick together, we'll manage. You don't have to bear all of this alone."
Their son, Radix, toddled unsteadily toward them, his small legs wobbling with each uncertain step. He reached Rigar and clung to his legs for balance, his tiny arms squeezing tight as though anchoring himself to the world. Rigar glanced down, startled from his thoughts, and met his son's wide, curious eyes.
"Papa, what's wrong?" Radix asked, his voice full of innocence as he gazed up at his father, concern flickering in his youthful face.
Rigar looked up, catching Christa's warm smile—the kind of smile that spoke volumes without uttering a word. His gaze then shifted to his son, the embodiment of his pride and joy. In that moment, everything—the worries, the frustrations, the looming responsibilities—seemed distant and insignificant. As long as these two were by his side, what else mattered?
"Christa..." His voice was thick with emotion as he reached out, brushing a hand tenderly along her cheek. "Thank you. I really love you both."
Without hesitation, he pulled her close, pressing his lips to hers in a kiss that spoke of gratitude, love, and reassurance. The warmth of her touch, the softness of her lips—it rekindled something deep within him, reminding him that no matter the trials ahead, this was his home. These were the people he was destined to protect and cherish.
On the other side of the Latent Groove, nestled beneath the shadow of the largest living tree, stood a small but sturdy cottage. Its exterior was unassuming, yet inside, it held an air of mystery. The interior resembled a traditional Japanese home, with wide mats spread across the floor and a low wooden table at the center. The soft glow of candlelight flickered against the walls, casting long shadows that danced in the stillness.
In a secluded chamber hidden within the house, the air was thick with an oppressive, ominous energy. The room, vast and cluttered, was filled with chaotic drawings—illegible scribbles that covered every surface in mad, swirling patterns. Scattered across the floor were papers, smudged with strange symbols and colors, as if a fevered mind had tried to make sense of the senseless.
At the heart of the room, a small stool stood alone, and atop it sat a strange cubic object. Its glowing blue light pulsed steadily, casting eerie reflections that bathed the room in its unnatural hue. Before this cube knelt a middle-aged man, his body slick with sweat, his face streaked with tears. His eyes, wide with awe, were fixed upon the object as though it held the answers to every question he had ever asked.
The man's lips stretched into an unsettling grin, the corners pulling back too far, revealing teeth in a smile that was anything but joyful. His hands trembled as he reached toward the cube, his fingers quivering in anticipation.
Finally, he let out a breathy, sinister chuckle, his voice barely above a whisper but thick with reverence and madness. "Ah, finally... you have shown me the light I sought for... hehehehe!!"