The village was smaller than Adrian expected. Tucked into the basin, it looked less like a settlement and more like a wound hidden under the trees. Crooked huts leaned together, patched with wood and hides, smoke trickling from holes in their roofs.

  They were given a small hutch on the edge of the village. It wasn’t much, but it was a step up from a cave. The roof sagged under layers of mismatched patchwork—wood, metal sheets, even scraps of cloth. The walls were riddled with gaps that let in slivers of wind, and the floor was nothing but hard earth. Still, it had a door that closed, and four walls to keep out the night.

  Sylmara came by not long after, carrying a jug of water and a portion of meat carved from the boar they had offered to the village. She told them the elders would see them in the coming days. The rest of the villagers kept their distance, watching from afar but never drawing close to the hut. Before leaving, Sylmara warned them plainly: until the elders gave their word, they were to remain in or around the hut.

  The first day in the hut dragged by, dull and uneventful. They chose to obey the rules—for now, at least. Adrian chuckled to himself at the thought of Alex inevitably going off-script sooner or later.

  If there was one word Adrian would use to describe the village, it was alive. What struck him most were the villagers themselves. Almost all had some deformity that would have made life harder anywhere. Yet here, they endured. Some even turned their impairments into strengths. They had found ways not only to live with their differences, but to live with them.

  A woman with a crooked arm balanced a large basket of herbs on her shoulder, her other hand steadying the load as she walked between huts. A man with a limp moved slowly, using a hooked staff as a tool to push stones into neat piles for construction. A child with unusually long fingers strummed a small wooden instrument, the notes ringing clear and sharp across the clearing, drawing curious glances from those passing by. Even a boy with a hunched back carried bundles of firewood on a custom frame strapped to his torso, the weight distributed just so, making his deformity almost invisible in his efficiency.

  Each person had adapted, found ways to work with their bodies rather than fight them. It was survival, yes—but it was also ingenuity, a quiet defiance against the world that had forced them into exile. Adrian felt a strange fascination watching them: here, imperfection wasn’t a curse; it was a form of expertise, a way of existing that required creativity, patience, and resilience.

  And the ones that were without any deformities were the children.

  They were only a week or two away from being able to contact Luminara, and Adrian found himself looking forward to that more than anything else.

  It was early morning, and the hunters had already gone to the forest. From across the path, Sylmara lingered in the shadows of a post, her gaze fixed on them. Adrian suspected that they had left her to watch them.

  Adrian balanced the small gas burner on a flat stretch of tree trunk, the faint hiss of flame breaking the morning quiet. Soon, the rich aroma of coffee drifted into the air.

  Alex leaned against the hut wall, arms folded, his gaze fixed on Sylmara. He wasn’t even trying to hide it, watching her with that casual intensity of his.

  “The coffee’s ready,” Adrian said, pouring into the metal cups.

  “Finally,” Alex muttered with a smirk, already reaching for his.

  Adrian glanced toward Sylmara, still standing at a distance with her arms crossed. “Should we invite her?” he asked.

  “Why not?” Alex said with a shrug, then raised his voice. “Sylmara!”

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

  She turned her head slightly, ears twitching at the sound, but didn’t move right away. Her eyes lingered on them for a long moment.

  Adrian sipped from his cup, hiding a smile.

  “Does she even know what coffee is?” Adrian said, raising an eyebrow.

  “Maybe?” Alex chuckled. “Guess we’ll find out.”

  For a few long seconds, Sylmara didn’t move, her expression unreadable. Then, with a measured pace and eyes never leaving them, she started walking.

  Adrian poured the dark liquid into a cup, glancing at Sylmara.

  “Want to try?” he asked.

  She eyed the steam curling, brows drawing together. “Coffee?”

  Alex grinned. “So you do know it.”

  Sylmara gave a short nod. “A luxury. Traders used to bring it through the cities. Few could afford it.” Her tone was flat, but her eyes lingered on the cup.

  Adrian held it out a little farther. “Well, we’re not lords. But we’ve got enough to share.”

  After a pause, she took the cup, sniffed it once, and sipped. Her expression didn’t change.

  “It’s as bitter as I remember.”

  Alex laughed. “That’s the charm.”

  They lingered in the morning chill, cups warm in their hands. Conversation drifted

  Then Alex leaned back against the hut wall, swirling the last sip in his cup. His eyes flicked to Sylmara.

  “So,” he said casually, though the weight behind it was clear. “What would it take to get us to the city?”

  Sylmara’s fingers tightened around her cup. For a moment, she said nothing, her gaze sliding past them toward the treeline, as if weighing the very question.

  “Take you to the city?” she asked after a pause, her tone measured.

  “Yeah,” Adrian said, shrugging slightly. “We need a guide. You know the way. Pretty simple.”

  Sylmara’s eyes flicked toward the forest beyond the village, then back. “I… can’t leave the village,” she said quietly, almost like she was reminding herself.

  Adrian’s smirk didn’t falter. “We’re willing to pay. We’ve got enough to make it worth your while.”

  She was silent, studying him carefully. The morning breeze tugged at her cloak, but she didn’t move. “No,” she said finally. “I cannot leave the village.”

  There was a silence for a few moments before she added, “Besides… you can’t leave until you meet the elders.”

  “Works for us,” Alex said with a smirk. “You’ve got some time to reconsider.” He glanced at her, then added casually, “We could even give you artifacts.”

  Sylmara’s eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of curiosity passing over her face. "What artifacts?"

  Adrian smiled brighter, "You can choose. When you decide to take us."

  “I can choose? How many do you even have?” Sylmara asked, narrowing her eyes.

  Adrian leaned back, a small smile tugging at his lips. “A few. We can get more.”

  Her expression froze—first surprise, then a sharp look of suspicion. “More? How many ruins did you even go through?” she whispered, voice low. “That’s… too many artifacts.”

  "Ruins?" asked Alex.

  Sylmara blinked at him, her brow furrowing. “Ruins?” she echoed, disbelief sharp in her voice. “Are you mocking me?"

  Alex shrugged, "Nope."

  Her eyes lingered on him, narrowing slightly. “Everyone knows of the ruins. Children grow up warned never to wander near them. They’re the graves of the Old World."

  Adrian kept his expression calm, but inside, his thoughts churned. Graves of the Old World? The Crypts were the same. They were also graves of the past, but to his knowledge, there were no artifacts, except for the orb that brought him to the Nexus. If ruins held treasures like that, he wanted to see them with his own eyes.

  "We know them by a different name," Adrian chuckled, "Are there any nearby?"

  “A different name?” Sylmara asked, confusion evident.

  “Yeah. Back where we’re from, we call them the Crypts,” Alex said, shaking his head.

  “The Crypts? But why would you call them that? These are whole ruined cities,” Sylmara said, still baffled.

  “Cities?” Alex’s eyes widened, a grin tugging at his lips. “Damn, now I really want to see them.”

  “We’ve never explored a ruin that was a city,” Adrian explained. “The ones we found were more like… crypts. That’s where the name came from.”

  Sylmara frowned. “Where exactly are you from, then?”

  Adrian didn’t flinch. “Far from here. I don't even know how to tell you where. We have been on the road for too long.”

  Sylmara tilted her head, still skeptical. "And how many of these Crypts have you explored?”

  Alex smirked, "Enough."

  Adrian leaned forward. “And you? Have you ever been inside one?”

  She shook her head quickly. “No. Only the desperate or the foolish go. Hunters, thieves, warlords. The rest of us… we hear the stories.” Her voice lowered, almost reverent. “My grandmother told me once of a ruin called Ashenreach. A city of black stone, burned but never crumbled. At night, lights move through the streets, like lanterns carried by people who aren’t there. Some say it’s the Old World calling back its children. Others say it’s just death waiting for you to enter.”

  Adrian hid his intrigue behind a calm expression, though something in him stirred. Exploring such a place… that was worth remembering.