Chapter 3: Registration

The walk to town was quiet, but not in a peaceful way. It was the kind of quiet that stretched on long enough for me to notice every little sound. The crunch of leaves underfoot. The occasional rustle of branches, as if something was watching us. I could hear Arden's deliberate footsteps ahead of me and Sora's soft steps beside me, as if she had trained herself to move silently. And then there was me, probably breathing too loudly.

I didn't know why he brought me along. He hadn't explained. One moment, he was finishing off a knight like it was just another task, and the next, he turned to me and said I should join his party. It seemed like a strange thing to ask a girl whose village had just burned down. No context, no reason—just "join."

Maybe he felt sorry for me. Maybe he needed someone to carry supplies. Or maybe I had impressed him by not fainting when he took down a man in armor. It was hard to tell. Arden didn't offer explanations unless someone asked.

Still, I didn't have any better options. Wandering alone into bandit territory felt like a quick way to die. If I was going to stick close to anyone, it might as well be this strange magic man who fought knights without blinking.

Part of me was curious—not about where we were headed, but about him. Why would someone like him, someone with such power, bother with someone like me?

People usually didn't pay much attention to orphaned village girls. They definitely didn't invite them to join adventuring parties. But nothing about Arden made sense—not his magic, not his fighting style, not his very existence.

Sora walked beside me, her golden hair catching bits of sunlight filtering through the leaves. She didn't talk much, but every now and then, she glanced at me, checking to see if I was still with her. I wasn't sure if she was being kind or just slightly paranoid, but either way, it helped. It made me feel a bit less like baggage.

She reminded me of a cat that pretended not to care but made sure you were still alive. I didn't know if I liked her yet, but I didn't dislike her either. She was gentle, in a quiet, eerie way.

Sometimes, when she wasn't looking, I caught her watching Arden with a look that mixed admiration with something I couldn't name.

The forest seemed endless. The path was barely a path—just trampled grass and a few broken branches. Birds called out occasionally, though even they sounded half-hearted. For a while, it was just walking, silence, and the nagging feeling that I was the only one not pretending this was normal.

Eventually, I gave in and asked, "Your magic… how did you become so strong?"

I tried to sound genuinely curious, not like I had been thinking about how he had turned a man in armor into a bloody mist without a flinch.

Arden glanced back at me, his expression flat. "Luck, mostly."

I stared at him. "Luck? Really? That's your answer?"

He shrugged, as if strength just randomly happened to people who walked long enough.

I opened my mouth to ask more—maybe make a joke about him being some ancient creature pretending to be human—but instead, I said, "Couldn't you have just done that teleporting thing I've heard mages can do? Saved us the walk?"

The bitterness in my voice surprised me, but to be fair, we were still walking.

To my surprise, he paused and tilted his head as if he was considering it. Then he said, "I've never been to this town. Can't travel somewhere I haven't marked."

That made me blink. "Marked?"

He shot me that look, the one that made me feel like a child asking why the sky was blue. "You need to imprint the place in your memory. Magic doesn't change the world for no reason."

"Right. Makes sense. You can't jump to a place you've never been," I said, attempting my best impression of someone who totally understood that already and was just testing him.

He didn't push further. He just turned and continued walking, as if that settled it.

I shook my head and exhaled through my nose. I never expected to learn about magic from someone who spoke less than the trees, but I wasn't going to complain.

The sun sank lower behind the trees, casting everything in amber light and long, strange shadows. I was starting to wonder if we were walking in circles when Sora pointed ahead.

"There," she said quietly. "Almost there."

And sure enough, through the thinning trees, a large shape began to form—towering and real.

The town.

Not a village. Not a few huts. A proper town, with towering stone walls and roofs stabbing at the sky. Smoke rose from chimneys. I had heard of places like this—whispers from traders, stories from old men who had seen far more of the world than the rest of us combined.

Seeing one for myself didn't feel real.

Compared to the ruins I had escaped, this place was a different world. No fire. No blood. Just noise—shouts, hammering, laughter—and color. Flags waved in the breeze, clothes came in every hue, and shop signs I couldn't read seemed beautiful. It was overwhelming. Beautiful, but in a way that made my chest tighten. It was too big, too alive.

My thoughts turned backward, uninvited. I remembered flames, collapsing roofs, screaming. The smell of smoke still lingered in my lungs. That horrible emptiness afterward. I flinched, blinked hard, and forced those memories down, like stones sinking in water. Not now. Not here.

We reached the town gates. A few guards stood there, their expressions half-bored and wearing less armor than I would have liked. Their eyes tracked us as we passed—specifically, they tracked Arden. One of them stiffened, his gaze sharpening for a moment, as if he recognized something and didn't know how to handle it.

He didn't say anything. None of them did.

I, on the other hand, was trying not to look suspicious, which often makes a person look suspicious. I smiled too quickly, then stopped, and scratched at my eye like something was in it.

We walked through the gates and into the heart of the city, and it felt like entering a different reality. The noise assaulted my ears—vendors shouting over one another, wheels rattling over cobblestones, laughter, arguments, and music spilling out of alleyways. It was chaos, but it felt safe. Or at least, safer than what I had come from.

The market hit me like a brick wall of sound, smell, and motion. One moment we were stepping off a quiet street, and the next, I found myself in the middle of countless overlapping conversations, thick clouds of spice smoke, and a child rushing past me with sticky hands and no regard for personal space.

It was chaos—loud, messy, and alive. But not dangerous. Not like the chaos I had just escaped.

The market was a whirl of action and scent. One step in, and I was surrounded by loud voices, a gust of spice smoke, and a barefoot child who nearly knocked me over. Vendors yelled over each other with the practiced intensity that could peel paint. There was food—so much food. Meats sizzling over open flames, vibrant fruits stacked like towers, strange pastries that looked enchanted to taste better than they did.

I probably looked like I'd never seen a market before, because I hadn't.

My stomach growled loudly, of course.

I tried to act like I wasn't eyeing a skewer stand like it owed me money. Naturally, Arden noticed. He always seemed to pick up on things without showing he was paying attention, which felt more annoying than if he just pointed it out.

"Hungry?" he asked, his voice as flat as always, but with the slightest hint of amusement at the corner of his mouth.

I nodded like a starving stray. "Starving."

Without any fuss, he veered toward the stall, handed over a few coins, and came back with skewers. Just like that. No lecture about saving money, no awkward silence while I justified not having any. Just food.

I took one. The warmth radiated into my fingers, and I could have cried from the smell alone. It was smoky, salty, and perfect. Maybe not fancy, but at that moment, it was the best thing I had ever tasted.

Sora accepted hers with a smile so small it could slip under a door. She took a bite and let out a tiny, satisfied hum. "It's good," she said, her voice soft but sure.

I nodded, my mouth too full to respond properly. It was good. Unbelievably good.

As we wandered deeper into the market, the noise intensified. More people. More stares.

And not at me.

At Arden.

It wasn't subtle. People paused mid-conversation to glance his way. Shopkeepers turned their heads between customers. One man literally stopped chewing to stare at him, as if he was witnessing something extraordinary.

It wasn't fear. Not exactly. It felt more like recognition wrapped in confusion, dipped in respect, and lightly coated with "should I salute or kneel?" I had no idea why. Arden didn't act important. He didn't dress like royalty or look like a hero, unless heroes wore plain cloaks and frowned a lot. He walked like someone used to being alone.

Yet still, the air around him shifted when he walked through it. Even the market seemed to notice.

I kept my questions to myself.

Eventually, we reached the Adventurers' Guild—a place where trouble was expected, practically on the welcome sign. Big. Loud. Proudly chaotic. Banners hung outside, weapons lined the inside walls, and the unmistakable scent of beer, sweat, and the sound of two men arguing like their lives depended on it drifted from the back.

Inside, it was all worn wood, loud voices, and a sense of scuffed pride. Adventurers filled every table, boasting about quests, trading gear, or laughing heartily at their own jokes. It was the kind of place where half the furniture had been repaired repeatedly, and every stain had a story.

We made our way to the front desk, where a receptionist greeted us with a smile that said she had seen too much but was just doing her job.

She gave me a once-over—neutral and professional, with casual disinterest that suggested she had already classified me as "harmless." Then her gaze shifted to Arden, and something flickered there. Recognition? Respect? A hint of fear? It was hard to tell. She didn't explain, and I didn't ask.

"New recruit?" she asked.

I nodded. "Yeah. First time."

She hummed and reached for a clipboard, but paused mid-motion to study me closely. "Can you read and write?"

I blinked. "I... no. Not really."

She nodded, as if she had anticipated that answer. "No worries. I'll fill it out with you. What's your name?"

I told her. She went through the list, asking my age, if I knew my magic affinity, and what experience I had. I thought about saying "emergency running" but settled on "none."

Once she finished, she motioned for me to follow her into a smaller room, where a large crystal sat on a pedestal like it had been waiting its whole life for this moment.

"Place your hand on the orb," she said, already half-turning away.

My fingers hovered over it, my heart pounding as if it feared a trap. I half-expected it to remain dark, maybe even crack a joke. But when my skin touched the surface, the orb lit up.

Not a flicker, not a spark.

A glow, golden and steady.

Warm.

Something caught in my throat. I wasn't sure what it was—relief? Disbelief? Grief in a new form?

I flinched back as if it might explode.

The receptionist blinked, finally paying attention. "Light magic," she said, sounding a bit impressed. "That's rare."

I stared at her. "Wait... really?"

She nodded. "Strong, too. You'll want to train it. Light mages don't come around often."

I didn't reply right away. My brain was still trying to catch up. I had spent the last few days feeling like a background character in someone else's disaster story, and now I was lighting up magical artifacts.

Sora appeared beside me, almost as if she had been waiting for the right moment. She smiled gently—small, reassuring. "See? You're not useless."

I opened my mouth, but nothing clever came out. Just the quiet realization that—for once—someone saw something in me before I had done anything to earn it.

It felt like standing on a bridge that hadn't collapsed under me yet.

I let out a half-laugh. "Give me some time, and I'll probably find a way to mess it up."

But even as I said it, a strange warmth rose in my chest. Like the tiniest part of me had finally stopped bracing for impact.

Maybe I wasn't just tagging along. Maybe I could actually do something.

The receptionist handed me a bronze plate that glowed faintly, as if trying to appear important. "This is your adventurer rank," she said. "Bronze. It's where most adventurers start."

Bronze. Of course. The very bottom of the ladder. I turned it over in my hand, pretending it didn't feel like a polite way of saying good luck not dying. Still, it was mine. A beginning. I hadn't had one of those in a while.

Sora had a gold plate. Arden's was platinum. Naturally. I tried not to dwell on that. Comparing myself to them felt like showing up to a sword fight with a spoon.

Once the receptionist finished explaining where to find the quest board and the nearest inn, we stepped back into the street. I barely processed anything she said—I was too busy trying to figure out what kind of lunatic signs up for a job involving giant rats and optional casualty insurance.

The inn was thankfully close. Arden paid for the rooms without blinking, and the innkeeper gave us a key without asking questions. I suspected that Arden's scary-but-respectable presence probably paid for itself in silence.

When we reached our rooms, Arden glanced at me. "Take a bath first if you want. You've had a long day."

He wasn't wrong. I probably looked—and smelled—like I had rolled through a compost heap. I nodded, already imagining sinking into warm water and pretending the last few days hadn't happened.

Then Sora tilted her head up toward him, her eyes soft. "Master, may I share the bath with you later?"

Her voice was gentle, barely rising above a whisper. She looked... almost shy. Not embarrassed, but as if this request meant more—like it was part of a ritual I didn't understand. Something safe. Something old.

Arden didn't respond right away. He just looked at her, his eyes unreadable, then gave a small nod. No teasing. No surprise.

Like this was normal—for them.

I looked away. I wasn't sure if I felt awkward, envious, or just tired.

Sora brightened at his response. It was subtle, but the relief and quiet joy on her face felt like a sunbeam breaking through the door. Then she looked at me, suddenly aware I was still there, and her expression turned slightly sheepish.

I wasn't even sure why. She had said nothing wrong. Still, I appreciated the gesture—it made the moment feel a little less like I was ruining something.

The bath was better than I expected. Honestly, it felt like a divine blessing in liquid form. Warm water, actual soap, and a moment free from dirt, blood, or lingering emotions. I sank into it as if it might forgive me for the week I'd just had.

For the first time in too long, I let my muscles relax and my thoughts quiet down. No running, no worrying, no wondering what came next.

Just stillness. Warm, quiet stillness.

And it felt good.

Just as I was finally starting to enjoy the bath—actually enjoying it, not just pretending to relax—the door creaked open.

"Sora, didn't you say you wanted to take a bath together—"

That voice. Arden.

Panic struck like lightning wrapped in shame. I curled into myself, limbs scrambling to make myself as small and invisible as possible, which is pretty hard to do when you're soaking wet and stuck in a tub. My face turned red. I didn't even think—I just huddled in a ball.

Arden froze in the doorway. His expression shifted for half a second—glasses catching the light, mouth slightly open. Then he did something I wasn't ready for.

He looked embarrassed.

Not dramatically so. No gasp, no fluster. Just a flicker of genuine surprise and—was that regret?

"Excuse me," he said quietly, then stepped back and closed the door as if he hadn't just walked in on the world's worst surprise.

I sat there, heart racing, brain melting, wondering if I had just experienced a new kind of humiliation. Of course that would happen. Why wouldn't it?

Groaning into my hands, I sank lower into the water, wishing I could disappear. I hadn't even done anything wrong. This wasn't on me. I wasn't the one who forgot to knock. But still—why?

I spent the rest of the bath trying to force the memory out of my brain with sheer willpower. It didn't work.

When I stepped out, my skin wrinkled and clean for the first time in too long, there was a bundle waiting outside the door.

Clothes.

Neatly folded. A blouse, dark trousers, a light cloak. Even a pair of boots that looked about my size. Not fancy—no embroidery, no flair—but new. Unworn. Clean.

There was a small piece of paper tucked beneath the folded clothes. The script was neat and careful, but I couldn't make sense of it—not a single letter stuck. I stared at it for a moment, then glanced up just in time to see Arden turning a corner down the hall.

Maybe he left these for me.

That thought surprised me. Unexpected. But somehow... it made sense. Still, he didn't seem like the type to make gestures like this at all. But maybe I didn't know what kind of person he was yet. Not really.

I picked up the clothes slowly, pressing the rough fabric to my chest. They didn't smell like anything I recognized—not like smoke, or fear, or the inside of a worn-down hut, or the last place I cried.

Just... clean. Like fresh cotton.

For the first time since the village, I wasn't wearing rags.

Later that evening, the three of us sat in the inn's dining hall. The warm light felt soft against the quiet clinks of plates and the growing silence between us. Arden said sorry again—calm, quiet, like he was giving a weather report. Like it didn't bother him at all. Meanwhile, I was shaking with leftover shame. His indifference made me feel worse.

And then there were the clothes. That quiet bundle.

I couldn't stop thinking about them.

He didn't have to do that. And he didn't have to say anything, either—but he did. The note he left with the clothes was just scribbles to me. I didn't know what it said. Couldn't read it.

Sora saved me from my swirling thoughts. She started talking—soft and sweet—about their past travels. The dangers, the chaos, the usual traveler talk. Her voice had a rhythm that felt like a story told by someone who had really fought monsters. I found myself smiling at the little parts I hadn't expected, letting myself relax a little.

Still... my mind kept jumping back to the day. A surprised Arden. Me soaked and panicked. The clothes waiting. The note I couldn't read. Ugh.

But the space between us grew softer, little by little. Arden didn't talk much, but somehow that helped. His silence wasn't cold—just quiet. And Sora was like a warm light, filling the empty spaces without pushing too hard.

By the time we finished eating, the mood shifted from "worst social nightmare" to something closer to "awkward but okay dinner." I could live with that.

Back in my room, I fell onto the bed, feeling like exhaustion had tackled me. Everything ached. My thoughts kept racing, and my pride was still bruised somewhere in the corner, but the blankets were soft and the pillow felt comforting. Slowly, my mind began to blur at the edges.

But Arden stayed with me, too. Not just because of the bath thing—but because of the fight earlier. The way he moved. The quiet strength. And now this: the clothes, the note, and that small flicker of something real beneath it all, like a secret.

I sighed and pulled the blanket tighter.

Tomorrow was definitely going to be awkward.