.
Finally, I arrive at my destination: Kaia's. The shop is cluttered with an assortment of dungeon-related items, a haven for those looking to gear up before facing the perils of the unknown. It's also the only place where you can assemble a raiding party, with a 60% chance of survival— which is extremely impressive.
As I step inside, the familiar scent of aged wood and lingering magic wafts through the air. My gaze lands on Tristan, a skinny teenager moping the floor. He looks up, irritation flashing in his green eyes, framed by a mane of messy black hair.
"Tristan," I greet him, my tone flat.
"You're late," he shoots back, scrubbing at the floor with unnecessary vigor.
"I wouldn't be late if you'd bothered to wake me up," I retort, brushing past him.
"How would I know you'd sleep this long?" he grumbles, continuing his mindless task. Teenage angst—it's a universal constant, I suppose.
I head up the creaking stairs, my footsteps echoing in the quiet. Kaia is waiting for me, seated at a table strewn with cards that display mysterious symbols. She's a formidable presence, a dungeon refugee who arrived in Sector Z, sixty years ago. For someone her age, she possesses an uncanny energy that belies her years.
"Daelan," she acknowledges without lifting her gaze from the cards.
"Hello, Kaia. Reporting in," I say, my voice steady.
Kaia has always intrigued me. She claims to have been her tribe's shaman, blessed—or cursed—with the ability to glimpse into people's fates, if only just a little. This peculiar gift allows her to assemble dungeon exploration teams, and the stories say she's never been wrong in her predictions.
I start moving around the room, cleaning as I go. When I'm not facing the dangers of dungeons, I work here part-time, just like Tristan. The pay is pitiful, but it's a steady job, and in a place like this, that's a luxury. Kaia already has a lot of us misfits working for her, and a stable paycheck feels like a dream in Sector Z.
As I pick up a card that fell from the table, just about to return it to her, Kaia interrupts. "Wait."
I pause mid-motion, surprised.
"Sit down."
I slide into the chair opposite her, curiosity bubbling beneath the surface.
"Give it to me," she instructs, and I hand over the card without hesitation.
She studies it, her gaze intense, and then something shifts. Her eyes turn a ghostly white, and a chill runs down my spine. Oh no, not again. The last time she had a vision about me, she said I was destined for success but would lead a life of eternal solitude and loneliness. Not that I needed her to tell me that—I already knew the score, success that's a given I'm going to do everything I can to live this hell hole behind, loneliness? Solitude? Minor inconveniences.
"This is odd," Kaia finally says, her eyes returning to their normal state.
I stare at her, trying to mask my nerves.
"Well, people's fates never change, but yours just took a U-turn, and I don't know what that means," she continues, a hint of confusion lacing her words.
"So, is it for the better or…" I trail off, genuinely curious about the implications.
She looks at me with a sudden glimmer of amusement and leans back in her chair, a smirk creeping across her lips.
"Can't say. It's against the rules, but you owe me three favors."
I narrow my eyes at her, the weight of her words sinking in. There's no winning against this woman; she's as crafty as they come. It seems like no one who crosses her path escapes without owing her something—another reason she's considered the scariest person in this godforsaken place.
I've heard the rumors about entire groups being wiped out for angering her. One thing I really value is my life, and I'd rather not tempt fate.
"A little unfair, don't you think?" I grumble.
"Fine, I'll push you in the right direction when the time comes," she replies with a dismissive wave of her hand.
I take a moment to process her words, the uncertainty settling heavy in my chest. With a resigned sigh, I return to my task of cleaning, letting the tension simmer in the background.
*
I watch from the shadows of the alley as Korin works on decapitating the corpse, a task he's handling with surprising efficiency. Some part-time job. All I know is this guy didn't pay back his loans, and now he's headless. Not my place to ask questions.
It's almost comical, in a twisted way. Korin looks every bit the ethereal elf with his long blonde hair and striking green eyes. He's got that natural elegance his kind flaunt so effortlessly, even while hacking away at a neck. Not exactly the image of a mercenary collector, yet here he is.
Just as he finishes, Kirelle steps into the alley, her green eyes scanning the scene with practiced indifference. She's just as striking as her twin, with the same otherworldly beauty. Her braid swings behind her as she hands Korin a sturdy bag, barely reacting to the severed head now slipping inside.
"This isn't fair, you know," Korin mutters, stuffing the head in and tying the bag up with a grimace. "Always me doing the dirty work."
"If you don't do it, who will?" Kirelle replies, her tone a mix of exasperation and amusement as she ties up the bag securely. "Certainly not Daelan or Tristan."
Korin looks up at her, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "You could, you know," he retorts, a smirk creeping across his face.
Before he can even finish his thought, Kirelle's fist connects with his stomach. The punch lands hard, and he doubles over, groaning in pain as he collapses to the ground. How predictable.
"You said something?" Kirelle asks, looking down at her groaning twin with a bemused expression. Her hands rest on her hips, and there's a playful spark in her green eyes, as if she's relishing the moment, she just might.