They called it Haven.

  A walled town nestled in the cliffs above a silver river, built from pale stone and blooming with gardens. Banners flew high above the towers—an obsidian tower on a field of white.

  Inside the walls, life bustled—vendors shouting, children laughing, knights training in courtyards. But everywhere they looked, people stared at the newcomers with cautious curiosity.

  Asra led them past the gates and into the heart of the keep.

  Later that evening, the siblings sat together for the first time since the fight.

  The room was small but warm—stone walls lit by a gentle glowstone lantern. Lokey lay propped against a stack of pillows on the bed, side freshly bandaged. Artemis sat on a low stool, bruised but alert. Hela perched on the windowsill, eyes distant, wand held loosely in her lap.

  Asra stood near the hearth, arms folded, armor still faintly bloodstained.

  She studied them in silence before finally speaking.

  “You’re lucky to be alive.”

  Lokey coughed softly. “No kidding.”

  Asra’s expression didn’t change. “Most Riftborn don’t last an hour once the monsters find them.”

  “Riftborn?” Artemis asked.

  “It’s what you are,” she replied. “The Rift tears open and drags people from other worlds—people like you. When it spits you out into Helgref, you come with power… and a target on your back.”

  Lokey frowned. “So that goblin pack—”

  “Scout. Then a warband. It was testing the woods for summoned prey. You passed the test by surviving.”

  “Barely,” Hela muttered.

  Asra stepped forward and poured a handful of coins into her hand from a velvet pouch.

  “One large gold coin,” she said, holding it up, “equals twenty small gold coins. One small gold is worth one hundred large silver. A large silver equals fifty small silvers. And a small silver equals fifty copper.”

  “Wait—” Artemis did quick math in his head. “So one large gold coin is…”

  “Five million copper,” Asra finished. “Hold onto your wallets.”

  She handed them each a pouch—inside were a few small silvers and ten copper coins each.

  “Enough to get you a few meals, maybe a cheap cloak. But if you want more than scraps, you need work. And for that—”

  She pulled a silver-embossed sigil from her cloak, depicting a sword and scroll crossed.

  “—you go here. The Adventurer’s Guild.”

  “Adventurers?” Hela asked, skeptical.

  “The Guild hires anyone who can survive,” Asra said. “Mercenaries, relic hunters, healers, summoners. If you can complete a contract, you get paid. You rank up. You live longer.”

  Lokey sat up more, groaning. “Sounds simple enough.”

  Asra tilted her head. “It isn’t. But it’s honest.”

  She walked to the window, gazing down at the glowing streets of Haven.

  “This town survives because of the dungeon beneath the cliffs. It shifts weekly—no one knows why. But it breathes out monsters and mana.”

  Morning arrived gently.

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  Sunlight spilled across pale stone walls, warm and unhurried, accompanied by the distant chime of bells drifting through open windows. For a brief, disorienting moment, Artemis thought he was back home—waking to alarms, traffic, the low hum of a familiar world.

  Then he opened his eyes.

  Stone ceiling. Glowstone lantern. Strange clothes folded neatly at the foot of the bed.

  Not home.

  He sat up slowly, rubbing his face. “Yeah… still not a dream.”

  Across the room, Lokey shifted with a quiet grunt, pushing himself upright and immediately pressing a hand to his bandaged side. His jaw tightened, but he didn’t lie back down.

  “Still hurts,” he muttered.

  “At least it means you’re alive,” Hela said softly.

  She sat on the windowsill, knees drawn up, the early light outlining her in pale gold. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and her wand lay across her lap like something fragile and dangerous all at once.

  A knock sounded at the door—measured, respectful.

  Before any of them could answer, the door opened just enough for a man to step inside.

  He was tall and broad-shouldered, posture straight as a drawn blade. His dark hair was slicked back neatly, and his uniform—deep gray trimmed with silver—bore the sigil of the obsidian tower at the breast.

  He bowed, precise and practiced.

  “My name is Felix,” he said. “I serve House Stone. Lady Asra has asked me to show you Haven.”

  Artemis blinked. “Like… the whole city?”

  Felix’s lips twitched in what might have been a smile. “A useful portion of it. Come. Breakfast will wait.”

  Haven was even more alive by daylight.

  Market streets bustled with motion and sound—vendors calling out prices, laughter ringing from open balconies, the clatter of carts over cobblestone. Color was everywhere: awnings of blue and gold, baskets of fruit faintly glowing with mana, polished weapons and tools catching the sun.

  Children darted through the crowd, chasing floating motes of light that bobbed and zipped like playful fireflies. A baker pulled fresh loaves from an oven, the air rich with the smell of sweet bread and spice.

  Artemis slowed, staring openly. “This place feels… real.”

  Felix inclined his head. “It is. Haven survives because its people refuse to let fear define their days and they work hard for there survival.”

  Lokey walked more carefully, his injury tugging at his awareness. As they passed a smithy, the ringing of hammer on anvil cut through the noise like a heartbeat. A half-orc stood at the forge, shaping glowing steel with practiced ease.

  Lokey stopped.

  The heat. The rhythm. The way the metal moved all calling to him.

  Something inside him leaned forward.

  The System stirred—not with text, but recognition.

  Felix noticed his hesitation. “Forge Knights often find their footing here,” he said conversationally. “Smiths respect those who understand both steel and battle.”

  Lokey glanced at his hands. “I don’t understand either yet.”

  “You will,” Felix replied calmly. “The System does not rush those who build.”

  That sat with Lokey longer than he expected.

  They reached the Adventurer’s Guild just as a group of armored men and women were exiting, laughing loudly as they counted coins. The building itself was solid and welcoming, banners bearing the crossed sword and scroll fluttering above its doors.

  Voices echoed from within—arguments, celebration, frustration, hope.

  Artemis stared like a kid outside an arcade. “So this is it. Real quests.”

  Felix nodded. “Contracts are posted daily. You choose what you can survive. That choice matters.”

  Hela shifted closer to her brothers. “And if we choose wrong?”

  Felix met her gaze—not unkindly. “Then we mourn you.”

  He paused, then added, “And we learn.”

  The tour ended at a modest inn near the market’s edge.

  The Silver Stein.

  Inside, warmth wrapped around them immediately—crackling fire, low conversation, the scent of roasted meat and herbs. Weapons leaned casually against chairs. Laughter rose and fell like waves.

  Felix gestured them toward a corner table. “Sit. Food is already ordered.”

  They didn’t argue.

  Plates arrived quickly—thick bread, roasted chicken, potatoes swimming in butter. Cool water followed.

  For the first time since the Rift, the siblings ate without fear.

  Artemis sighed happily. “Okay. So what now?”

  Lokey chewed slowly, thoughtful. “We need coin. And time.”

  “Guild work,” Artemis said, grinning. “I knew you’d say it.”

  “I said coin,” Lokey corrected. “Not glory.”

  Hela set her mug down carefully. “I don’t trust how easily this place accepts us.”

  Both brothers looked at her.

  “We’re useful,” she continued quietly. “That’s why they’re kind. When that usefulness fades…”

  Lokey’s voice was firm. “Then we adapt. Together.”

  The System pulsed faintly at that—approval without celebration.

  Artemis nodded. “Trial and error. Just like home.”

  Hela didn’t smile—but she didn’t argue.

  Felix returned, placing a folded parchment on the table. The seal bore House Stone’s crest.

  “Lady Asra requests your presence tomorrow morning,” he said. “She believes you are ready for your first step.”

  Lokey exhaled slowly. “Guess resting was never going to last.”

  Felix’s expression softened. “No. But you are not alone.”

  Across the inn, a man in pale gray robes listened.

  A silver chain rested against his chest, bearing a sunburst pierced by a spear. His eyes followed Hela when she spoke—too closely. When she whispered about souls, about hearing something that shouldn’t speak back, his fingers tightened around his goblet.

  Later, when the siblings rose to leave, he bowed his head as if in prayer.

  But his hand moved to parchment.

  Outside, others joined him—quiet figures in matching robes.

  “She carries the mark,” he murmured. “The Grave stirs around her.”

  “Do we act?” one asked.

  “Not yet,” he replied. “We watch. Haven must remain pure.”

  Unaware, the siblings walked on beneath lantern light and open sky.