The cloaked figure stood just beyond the last row of flickering torchlight.
Still.
Waiting.
Vael stared.
And something in him—something coiled and silent—recognized the shape before him. Not the face. Not the gait.
But the rhythm.
He didn't brace himself.
Didn't flare power.
He just watched.
The others didn't share his stillness.
Ryne moved first—quiet, controlled, but her hand hovered near her hip, fingers ghosting her hidden blade.
Kainen didn't speak. He just shifted half a step forward, feet squared, stance grounded. Defensive. Subtle—but only if you didn't know him.
Joss said it out loud.
"That pressure…" His voice was quiet. "That's like the Goblin Lord. No—more than that."
No one argued.
Because they felt it too.
The weight that folded the air, thick and ancient, pressing down with the unrelenting calm of a predator that didn't need to lunge.
Then—
The figure stepped forward.
Light caught the face beneath the hood.
A boy.
About their age.
Barefoot, cloak a little too big, hanging uneven over thin shoulders. His black hair was a mess—windswept or maybe just always like that. His expression was loose. Lazy, almost. Like this wasn't important.
Like none of it mattered.
He walked right up to Vael and stopped. Not close enough to touch. Just close enough to matter.
He looked at Vael with curious eyes and gave a slow, crooked grin.
"Hi," he said. "I want to be your friend."
His voice didn't match his presence.
It was light. Lazy. Like someone asking for an extra drink at a bar they didn't even like.
Vael didn't blink. "No."
The boy didn't react.
Didn't stiffen. Didn't blink either.
Just leaned slightly to one side, as if Vael's answer was mildly inconvenient.
"I want to be your friend," he repeated, dragging out the words like they were part of a joke only he got.
Kainen took another step forward, but Vael held out one hand—barely a twitch, but enough to stop him.
Vael didn't look away. Didn't answer again.
Instead, he said, "Go. All of you."
Ryne hesitated. Her eyes flicked between them.
Then she nodded. Turned.
Kainen followed with a glance back, jaw clenched.
Joss muttered, "Of course you attract the weird ones," and turned to leave, though slower than the rest.
Vael walked with them.
The boy followed.
Not beside.
Behind.
Just far enough to stay uninvited.
Just close enough to stay noticed.
They didn't stop him.
But none of them invited him, either.
Ryne resumed scanning the market stalls, quiet and efficient, eyes darting over bindings and amp-vials.
Kainen bartered down the price of a reinforced pressure tag with a smith who reeked of ember-rot and oil.
Joss haggled over dried rations while slipping extra burn kits into his satchel when the vendor wasn't looking.
Vael watched.
Measured. Silent.
But the boy stayed with them.
Drifting like smoke between steps. Humming at times. Whistling others. Pointing out trinkets no one asked about.
"Oh, that one's cursed," he said offhandedly, nodding at a vendor's rune-scored dagger. "Not dangerous. Just makes you hear your own bones creaking when you try to sleep. Annoying."
No one responded.
He continued anyway.
When Ryne tested a fresh set of hand bindings, the boy leaned in over her shoulder.
"Wrong weave. Those'll snap mid-flow. Unless you're trying to fake an injury during a duel. Then perfect."
Ryne's eye twitched. She set them down without a word.
Kainen asked for new stabilizer etchings. The boy stepped beside him, head tilted.
"Those look sturdy. Until you try using them under a flux surge. Then you just get a very expensive bruise."
Kainen's hand closed slightly around the etching. Then relaxed.
Joss actually engaged, if only to argue.
"Do you just comment on everything?" he asked, tossing a smoke-bark ration into his bag.
The boy beamed. "Only when I care."
"You care about rations?"
"About you. Obviously."
Joss made a face like he'd swallowed sour mana.
The boy turned to Vael then, walking backward in front of him with perfect ease, arms tucked behind his back.
"You're quiet," he said. "Strong, broody type. I like that."
Vael didn't answer.
"I mean," the boy went on, "you don't flinch. Even the hammer guy flinched last time I did this. You? Nothing."
They moved through the last row of stalls—supplies mostly gathered, satchels heavier, tempers thinner.
But the boy stayed.
Still trailing.
Still watching.
Still smiling like all of this was a game only he understood.
Then, as they passed a cracked fountain spilling rust-tainted water, he spoke again.
"I want to be your friend," he said, directly to Vael.
Again.
Same tone. Same rhythm.
As if nothing had changed since the first time.
Ryne stopped mid-step and turned.
Joss groaned. "You're relentless, I'll give you that."
Kainen narrowed his eyes. "You've followed us this whole time. Spouted comments. Watched us."
The boy tilted his head, confused. Or pretending to be.
Kainen's voice was low now. "And we still don't know your name."
The boy blinked. Then gave a loose shrug, like the thought had only just occurred to him.
"Oh. Right. That part."
Ryne crossed her arms. "Start there."
Joss added, "Yeah, we're weirdly letting this happen and I hate that. So. Who the hell are you?"
The boy smiled wider—almost sheepish.
"Call me… Ren."
"Ren what?" Ryne pressed.
"Just Ren," he said with a grin that didn't quite reach the eyes. "I'm between surnames."
Joss muttered, "That's not a normal sentence."
Vael didn't speak.
He just watched.
Measured. Careful.
The same way one watches a blade that hasn't been drawn yet.
Ren, undeterred, kept pace beside him.
"Still want to be friends, you know. You'll say yes eventually."
Vael didn't reply.
Ren chuckled. "See? That's practically a maybe."
No one laughed.
They walked on, but now every glance held more weight.
Because Ren hadn't answered any real questions.
And none of them believed that name was real.
Evening had settled over the Order's market—less crowded than the day-bustling stalls, but deeper. Older. The kind of place where veterans of a hundred threats bought sharpened truths, not illusions.
Here, you didn't browse.
You prepared.
Vael and the others moved through the narrow lanes with the ease of shared routine.
Ryne picked out new bindings from a veteran named Solin who didn't speak and took payment in broken coins.
Kainen argued over flux-stabilizers with a merchant who looked like he'd carved his wares straight from a god's bones.
Joss bartered loud, lied louder, and still somehow got swindled into overpaying for flame-slick salve.
And through it all, Ren followed.
Trailing them with that same loose gait. Not silent, but softer now. Less oppressive. His strange commentary still surfaced—but dulled. Almost casual.
"That's a bad tincture," he muttered to Joss once. "Not deadly. Just makes your hair fall out in the rain."
"That's oddly specific," Joss replied, then hesitated. "Wait, how would you even know—"
"I try things."
None of them laughed.
But they didn't push him away either.
Not anymore.
By the time their bags were full and their pockets lighter, the sky had deepened to bruised violet. The air bit sharper. And the market's torchlight blurred at the edges like the world had started to forget where solid things ended.
At the edge of the merchant ring, they slowed.
The informal end of the trip.
"Forge walk for me," Ryne said, already moving.
"Stabilizer re-etching," Kainen added, turning uphill.
Joss stretched like he'd just fought gravity. "I'm gonna forget all this tomorrow and probably come back for more soap."
He glanced at Ren.
"Unless you're planning to follow me now too."
Ren gave a one-shouldered shrug, all lazy confidence. "Tempting."
Joss shot Vael a look. "You're cursed, you know that?"
Vael didn't answer. He just nodded once.
Joss snorted and walked off.
And like that, the others peeled away.
Leaving just Vael.
And Ren.
They crossed the old arch road toward the dormitory towers—less watched, less lit.
The steps echoed different here. Crisper. Thinner.
Then—Ren stopped.
Vael did too.
Silence.
For once, Ren didn't wear a grin.
Just that quiet, unreadable expression.
"I know," he said.
Soft. Direct.
No game in it.
Vael didn't ask what he meant.
He didn't have to.
His voice was low. Even. The same as it had been in the last moments of gods bleeding out under a shattered sky.
"I know you do."
Ren's smile returned—but smaller. Duller. Something old in it.
Then, without another word, he turned and walked away.
Not rushed.
Not vanishing.
Just… leaving.
And when Vael finally reached the dormitory steps and looked back—
Ren was already gone.