Vel Ryn

The midday sun cast a golden hue over the city as Malik strolled down the paved streets, the echo of his departure lingering in his mind. The mercenaries had bid him farewell with a mixture of wariness and familiarity, their respect for him having grown after witnessing what he was capable of.

Dorian had given him a curt nod, still not fully trusting him but recognizing his strength.

Arin had smirked, clapping him on the back with a playful wink. "Try not to cause too much chaos, yeah?"

Rollo simply grunted in approval, while the others whispered about the mystery of the stranger who had fought alongside them.

Marithia, however, had been different.

She had stood with her arms crossed, her green eyes watching him carefully, though she tried to maintain her usual composed demeanor. But there had been something else there—something that spoke of unspoken words, of questions she didn't voice aloud.

"How long will you stay in Vel Ryn?" she had asked, her tone deceptively casual.

Malik had smirked. "Who knows?"

She hadn't pressed further.

But he could tell.

She hadn't wanted him to go.

That only made leaving more entertaining.

...

As he walked deeper into the city, Malik ducked into a narrow alleyway, his form dissolving into the shadows as he shifted his attire. His armor melted away, replaced by a dark robe with a deep hood, concealing most of his features.

His eyes, ever-shifting, and his hair, still flickering between unnatural shades of white, gold, and gray, were impossible to change. Something was stopping him from controlling them—a limit to his shifting abilities that he had yet to overcome.

Not that he particularly cared.

"Would you really want to hide your magnificence?" Kairo teased.

Malik smiled as he adjusted the hood, making sure it draped low over his face. "Of course not. But standing out too much would be annoying."

"You? Standing out? Never," Kairo laughed.

Ignoring him, Malik stepped back into the crowded streets, blending seamlessly with the flow of people.

The city was lively, far more advanced than anything his old world had possessed. The architecture was elegant but reinforced with magic—floating lanterns lined the roads, enchanted to hover midair, while elemental-powered machinery pumped water into decorative fountains.

His first stop?

The food stalls.

'Thankfully Marithia gave me a couple hundred coins to get by.'

Malik wandered through the bustling marketplace, sampling the exotic delicacies of Vel Ryn. Spiced meats, sweet pastries infused with mana-rich ingredients, glowing blue fruits that fizzled on the tongue—every bite was an experience.

"You eat like a king," Kairo noted.

"I kill like one, too," Malik replied between bites.

"Fair point."

After satisfying his curiosity (and hunger), Malik explored further. He browsed through entertainment shops, watching street performers manipulate illusions with intricate spellwork. Some used wind magic to make their voices carry over the crowds, while others played enchanted instruments that resonated with mana.

And then—he saw it.

A library.

It was massive, built of ivory stone, its entrance flanked by two towering statues of scholars holding open books.

For the first time since arriving in this world, Malik felt a twinge of nostalgia.

Orlan.

His voice, his lessons, the endless nights they spent buried in knowledge.

"Thinking of him?" Kairo asked softly.

Malik exhaled, rolling his shoulders. "Yeah."

He had no real goal at the moment, no grand mission pushing him forward.

So for now, he would enjoy life, grow stronger, and see where fate led him.

"Then we should come back here," Kairo suggested. "There could be valuable information hidden in these books."

Malik nodded. "Agreed."

He made a mental note to visit the library soon—but for now, he continued his aimless wandering.

By the time Malik realized how much time had passed, the sun had set, casting a deep indigo glow over the city.

However, the streets of Vel Ryn hadn't grown quieter.

If anything, they had become louder.

The night market was alive, with taverns overflowing with rowdy patrons, street vendors selling exotic goods under glowing lanterns, and performers dancing in the open squares.

In certain districts, he noticed more illicit activities—people selling potions and artifacts of dubious origin, masked figures exchanging information in hushed voices.

And then, of course, there were those selling themselves.

Malik's gaze flickered toward the women dressed in silken garments, their perfume thick in the air, their soft whispers promising pleasures to passing men.

"Tempted?" Kairo teased.

Malik chuckled, shaking his head. "I prefer someone who can entertain me beyond a single night."

There was a pause.

And then Kairo laughed.

"That's rich from you. You're picky even though you've never had anyone before."

Malik froze mid-step.

"What?"

"You heard me."

There was a smug amusement in Kairo's voice.

Malik scoffed, regaining his composure. "What the hell makes you think that?"

"Oh, come on. You're easy to read. You talk big, but you're too calculating, too controlled. Don't forget we are soulbound, you've never given in to lust before."

Malik rolled his eyes. "I've been busy."

Kairo snickered. "Too busy to even get some experience? No wonder you're so damn picky. You don't even know what you like yet."

"I know what I like," Malik muttered.

"Sure, sure. Strong, intelligent, and beautiful, right?" Kairo's voice was dripping with amusement now. "Tell me, Malik. If you ever actually bed someone, are you even going to know what to do?"

Malik felt something rare creep up his spine—actual embarrassment.

He clicked his tongue, walking a bit faster. "Shut up."

Kairo howled with laughter. "Oh, this is fantastic! I finally found a way to fluster you. You're actually embarrassed."

Malik ignored him, his hood pulled lower over his face as he briskly moved toward the tavern.

"Don't worry, partner," Kairo chuckled. "Maybe you'll get lucky soon. Or maybe you'll keep being a picky little virgin forever."

Malik sighed, rubbing his temples. "I should've eaten you when I had the chance."

"You love me too much."

Malik groaned, pushing open the tavern door.

The warm glow of lanterns flickered against the wooden walls of the tavern as Malik stepped inside, the scent of spiced ale, roasted meat, and the unmistakable musk of warriors filling the air. The noise was deafening—laughter, bellowing voices, the clinking of tankards as mercenaries boasted of their exploits.

And immediately—he spotted them.

At a corner table, seated in a loose circle with tankards in hand—

The mercenaries.

Arin was the first to notice him.

Her eyes widened slightly, then a grin split her face.

"Well, well," she drawled, setting her drink down. "Look who decided to crawl back."

Dorian raised a brow. "Didn't think we'd see you again."

Even Marithia, seated beside him, couldn't fully mask her reaction. Her green eyes flickered with surprise, but she quickly covered it, sipping from her tankard as if his presence didn't affect her.

Malik smirked, sliding into a chair. "Pure coincidence. I'm just here to try the alcohol and find a place to stay for the night."

As the barmaid arrived with his drink, Malik leaned back, taking in the scene before him.

A city rich with magic and mystery.

A group of warriors that had already proven themselves interesting.

A world ripe for the taking.

And for now?

He was simply going to enjoy the night.

But then—Kairo spoke.

"You should take her."

Malik sighed inwardly. "Take who?"

"Marithia," Kairo said smoothly. "She's interested. It's obvious."

Malik rolled his eyes, dangerously close to choking on his beer. "Not happening."

"Why not? She's strong, intelligent, beautiful. Didn't you say you prefer women who can keep up with you?"

"I didn't say that."

"You implied it. I read between the lines."

Malik clicked his tongue. "It's not that simple."

Kairo chuckled, knowing Malik wasn't outright rejecting the idea—which meant he was considering it.

"She's grown on you, hasn't she?"

Malik exhaled, excepting defeat against the sharp-witted dragon. "Maybe a little."

Arin scoffed, breaking Malik from his internal battle. "Coincidence, huh? I'm not buying it."

Malik shrugged. "Believe what you want."

Rollo grunted. "You've got money for a room?"

Malik chuckled. "I'll figure it out."

They all shared a laugh, and just like that, the tension faded.

For the first time in a long time, Malik felt something foreign—something he had never truly experienced before.

Companionship.

He had Orlan as a father figure, a teacher. But he had never had friends. This was the closest thing to it.

The conversation drifted between battle stories and jokes, with Malik actually smiling genuinely as the mercenaries bantered back and forth.

But even as he spoke, his gaze flickered toward Marithia—who kept looking at him when she thought he wasn't paying attention. He couldn't stop thinking of Kairo's words.

She wasn't subtle either.

And Malik wasn't the only one who noticed.

At some point, Arin's eyes gleamed with mischief.

She glanced between Malik and Marithia—then suddenly stood up, stretching her arms. "We need more drinks," she announced.

Dorian gave her a look. "We still have plenty though?"

She kicked his shin under the table.

Dorian winced, then—seeing the look in her eyes—sighed. "Fine. Let's go."

Rollo, catching on, grunted in amusement and followed.

Within seconds, Malik and Marithia were alone.

Kairo snickered.

"A virgin and a princess."

Malik ignored the comment. He adjusted his posture, resting an arm on the table as he glanced at Marithia, Kairos words still fresh in his mind. For the first time in years, he felt slightly awkward, but he masked it well.

"You gonna keep stealing glances at me, or are you actually going to say something?"

Marithia froze for a fraction of a second, then scoffed, swirling the drink in her cup.

"You're imagining things."

Malik smirked. "Sure."

A pause settled between them, the noise of the tavern dulling slightly around them.

Then, curiosity flickering in his gaze, Malik asked, "Why would a princess run away from home to be a mercenary?"

Marithia tensed slightly at the word.

So he had figured it out.

She exhaled, tilting her head toward him, her expression unreadable. "Why would someone like you 'be asleep' for so long?"

Malik chuckled, appreciating the deflection. "Touché."

Their words danced on the edge of flirting, neither of them outright admitting anything but both engaging in the game.

Malik, on impulse, shifted slightly in his seat—then, without a word, moved to sit next to her.

Marithia stiffened.

For the first time, her face turned red.

She quickly looked away, lifting her drink to her lips to hide it.

Kairo, meanwhile, was laughing hysterically in Malik's mind.

"This is gold."

Malik took a slow sip of his own drink, leaning back, amused.

Maybe this night was going to be more interesting than he thought.