A fine porcelain cup clinked softly as Lord Mikah poured his favourite blend of summer rose tea, the aromatic steam curling like silk into the air. Outside, the noble district shimmered with a quiet luxury. Servants moved, laying out a spread of delicate pastries and sugared fruits upon the low table.
This was a diplomatic call, one last courtesy before his journey to the Second Realm. Yet it was news from the Third that turned his attention inward.
"Hunters," Mikah whispered, his voice barely above the swirl of steam. He stirred the tea gently, watching the cube of sugar dissolve. "Adventurers are regulated by the General Council, an ancient system that binds even the most stubborn nations together. But Hunters… are something else entirely."
Across from him sat Ed Sheknar, a merchant so esteemed that high class nobles once lined up for his advice. He wore his ceremonial robes today, gleaming gold trimmed with black stripes. The lenses of his thin-framed glasses caught the morning light as he calmly scooped a bite of cake.
"Hunters are the worst breed of humanity," Sheknar said coldly, sipping from his cup. "Mercenaries pursue gold. But Hunters… they chase lives like the devil himself."
Mikah chuckled softly, the sound laced with an edge. "Do you know why I like you, Ed?" he said, swirling his cup once more. "The way you speak, like a philosopher in a silk robe. Five degrees in the great arts of life—truly, you're almost a second Sparrow."
Sheknar gave a modest smile. "My five degrees are mere shadows next to that man's mind. But as for the Hunters…It seems we are to remain still. No retaliation, no noise. Just observation and patience"
Mikah raised a brow. "Ah… I see your degrees are speaking again."
Sheknar chuckled but the moment was short-lived. A piece of cake slipped from his fork and plopped into his tea. With a sigh, he pushed the cup aside, signalling the attendants for a fresh set.
"Their masks," Mikah said after a pause, his tone quieter. "That's the issue. Dvalin may not be the warmest soul in the Nine Realms, but even he wouldn't align with such madness. Yet those masks… they strip away their identity while preserving just enough to blend in with the people."
Sheknar nodded slowly. "They are cursed relics of another era. Without them, they are just killers. But with them… they become ghosts among crowds. When removed in public, it's either a surrender... or a declaration of war. T."
Mikah gave a low, tired laugh. "Look at us. Two old men, sipping tea and discussing the chaos in another lord's backyard."
He stood, robes swaying softly, and adjusted the golden sash across his shoulder. At the room's entrance stood Zyrion, quiet as ever.
Sheknar rose and gave a respectful bow. "That girl… she's in the Fourth, is she not? What madness would drive her father to permit such a reckless choice?"
Mikah's smile faded. "Bloodborne swore on his name. Her father did too. They say her brother walks with poison and her guardian walks with blades," his eyes drifted to Zyrion, "and my own friend, one who's never wrong, tells me there's no need to worry."
Sheknar placed his hands behind his back. "The Nine Realms may sparkle like a gem in the sky, but even diamonds crack under pressure. Storms are forming, Mikah. We must brace for the thunder… before we can hope to see a rainbow."
Mikah paused in the doorway, the scent of tea and old memories lingering in the air. "Your lands flourish, Sheknar. See that they continue to do so." Then, with a half-turn, he said, "And send word to Bloodborne. Tell him to head to the Fourth. It's time to be cautious."
Sheknar gave a solemn nod, his eyes following his lord as he disappeared into the corridor's light, leaving only the faint aroma of tea and a whisper of unrest behind.
#
Wrapped in a mountain of cosy blankets, Emilia swayed gently like a snowflake caught in a breeze. Her cheeks were flushed, her breath soft and misty in the crisp night air. Beside her, Tori sprawled across a wooden bench, her arms behind her head, while Pasta lay miserably at her side. His whimpers, pitiful and long beneath the muffled laughter of distant crowds.
The night was alive with celebration, firecrackers exploding on the walkway, and lanterns floating lazily into the stars, but here, in this quiet pocket, it was just the three of them… four, as footsteps approached.
"S-So…" Emilia said, her hands trembling as she clasped Tori's fingers. "W-Why… are you at the f-festival…?"
Tori chuckled nervously, brushing strands of hair behind her ear. "Well—"
Before she could answer, Mr. Swordsman appeared like a shadow slipping between the lights. He knelt beside them, offering Tori a steaming towel.
"You're still not fully recovered," he said, eyes on hers. "Use this."
Tori raised an eyebrow. "When did you become all gentle and sweet?"
The swordsman said nothing, settling down beside them in silence.
Tori stared at him for a second, then down at the towel. There was a moment of hesitation… then finally, she placed it atop her forehead and let out a pleased sigh.
"Mmm… okay, that's actually amazing."
Emilia gave her a light nudge, drawing a smile from Tori.
"Alright, alright," Tori said. "So, the Fourth Realm was always my intended stop. My crew's based here, and since Grandpappy was heading this way too—merchant duties and all. I just tagged along. He had to detour to the Third, though. Can't say no to a business deal, that man."
She rolled her eyes and gave a glance toward Pasta. "I could have come alone, but he insisted. Said there were crazy hooligans out there... like your brother."
"Uuughhhhh…" Pasta groaned louder, rolling to his side.
Tori snorted. "Case in point."
She stretched her arms behind her, gazing up at the few stars that adorned the skies. "Anyway, I came for the fireworks. Figured I'd unwind a bit. But I didn't expect to bump into you all here. It's been so long and…"
She paused, catching sight of Emilia's watery eyes—eyes filled with unspoken loneliness. It's been so long since she had any female company that she felt like all hope was lost.
"I missed you so much, Tori," Emilia whispered, before throwing herself into Tori's arms once again.
This time, Tori welcomed the hug with a warm laugh. "Girl, what's with you today? You're all tears and sparkles. Did a volcano erupt again or something?"
Emilia nodded.
"…Wait, seriously?" Tori blinked. "Okay, or was it more… I dunno, another form of trouble or shenanigans?"
Emilia nodded again.
"…Hold up. Is that a no shenanigans nod, or a yes we're neck-deep in something absurd again nod?"
Another nod from Emilia. "A lot happened since you left. Like, a lot a lot."
Tori leaned her head on her palm, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Well then, I'm all ears. Spill it."
Emilia's eyes lit up like that of a kitten as she told story after story. From the scandalous marriage commission with a runaway bride to the endless forest of crunchy dried leaves they had to clean, to the enchanted ice castle haunted by monsters that made her scream like a frightened squirrel… and a gentle ghost queen who ruled over it all with a tragic smile.
Tori listened to every word, captivated by the tales… but more than that, she watched Emilia. How animated she had become and how freely her words flowed.
She wasn't this talkative before…
Guess a lot really did change while I was gone.
#
Mr. Swordsman drifted away from the group, silent as a shadow under the festival's glowing lanterns. Laughter, music, and chatter filled the air, but none of it interested him—not the cotton candy stalls, nor the noisy ring toss games, nor the girls gossiping with wide eyes and sparkles in their voices.
He needed something else, something quiet… or violent.
Soon, a voice rang out from a nearby stall, sharp as a bell.
"You there! Yes, you!" A stout man in a flashy robe pointed straight at him. "Fancy yourself strong? Come, prove your might! A small charge for a great challenge!"
Mr. Swordsman paused, then gave a slow nod. He had nothing better to do other than listen to the girls chat.
"Listen well," the man said, addressing the growing crowd. "Strength isn't just about muscle or aura. It's about will. Mind over matter. Test yourself with this!"
He held up a glowing, pulsing sphere.
"This orb taps into your consciousness and summons a creature of fearsome strength, one only you can see. Damage dealt in the mental realm is measured, scored, and displayed. This is how the true fighters train!"
Mr. Swordsman's eyes narrowed. He'd seen something like this before. Pasta had trained with it once, though the boy had skipped the fancy tech and used sheer willpower alone.
A boy in the crowd raised his hand, his voice proud and loud. "Why not fight a real monster? I ain't scared!"
The crowd chuckled, and the boy scowled. "Quit laughing! I'll take you all on!"
The stallkeeper cackled. "Oh, we'd love to, but we don't want a monster destroying the lovely stalls tonight, now do we? Let's begin! Place your hands on the orb. Your score will appear once the trial ends!"
Coins clinked and participants lined up. Mr. Swordsman silently stepped forward and placed his hand on one of the orbs.
In a blink, the world around him vanished.
He stood in a vast darkness, ankle-deep in rippling water. Everything was still. Cold. Quiet. Then, with a thunderous snarl, the water split and from it rose a towering abomination.
Its body was bloated and pale, its face a wide, gaping maw. Arms, too many to count, jutted from its back, writhing like snakes. It growled, rubbing its grotesque belly.
Suddenly, it launched its arms at him.
Mr. Swordsman didn't budge till the arms got closer.
His blade sang through the air.
Slash!
The beast's limbs were severed in an instant, not a single finger scratching the swordsman's coat.
"This is the trial?" he whispered, stepping forward. "How pathetic."
The beast howled, and its arms regenerated with a grotesque squelch.
It charged again, claws flashing. Mr. Swordsman tilted his hat forward and vanished, weaving through the flurry.
Parallel space won't work here, he thought. So… speed it is.
With a flash of steel, he leapt, rising above the monster's head.
His sword descended.
The creature split in two with a shriek, then crumbled into shimmering dust.
Silence.
He stood still, sword already sheathed, the water below rippling gently.
"…Is this what I call fun now?" he whispered, staring at his hands.
But then, a flash.
A memory, sharp and warm.
He saw a young girl.
He saw Lily. Laughing as she held a fishing rod, her feet dangling over a wooden pier beside his own. Their swords sheathed as they enjoyed the sunlight.
He clutched his head.
"That wasn't the sanctuary," he murmured, voice strained. "So why… does it feel more real?"
A voice jolted him back.
"Your score, sir!" the stallkeeper gasped, eyes bulging. "Over a thousand! A new high score!"
He scrambled to slap the number across the stall as confetti exploded in the air.
Mr. Swordsman blinked, returning slowly to the real world.
The boy from earlier grinned, holding up two fingers. "Only scored a two… but hey! I punched it in the eye! Boom! Right between the sockets!"
The others clapped for the young boy with cheers and laughter, leaving the swordsman behind.
But then, he joined in the applause with a soft smile on his face as the little boy basked in victory.
"Mr. Swordsman," Emilia said softly, tapping him on the head with a smile. "Congrats."
He offered her a small nod.
Tori said nothing. Her face was blank, though thin trails of smoke practically poured from her ears. She dragged Pasta behind her like a mop. "I swear if I hear one more crazy story…"
"The fireworks are starting soon," Emilia said, tugging lightly on his sleeve. "We should get going."
Mr. Swordsman trailed a few paces behind, his hands tucked into his fur cloak, as the group made their way deeper into the heart of the festival. The crowd surged uphill, eager to claim the best spot for the night's grand spectacle.
Tori cast a side glance, her eyes narrowing. "Hey, Emilia… shouldn't you be the one dragging your brother around? I mean, isn't he your responsibility?"
Emilia barely looked up, flipping a page of her brand-new novel with a hum. "Mmh, I've been dragging him since we became adventurers. He's your problem now."
Tori sighed, then turned to Mr. Swordsman. "I'm hungry."
He didn't even blink. "And?"
"I'm broke," she pouted, walking backwards to face him. "C'mon, help a starving maiden out, Sir Blade."
"You already owe me for that ridiculous duel you had with Pasta," he said coldly.
Tori stepped in close, eyes glistening as if about to cry. "But Emilia made me throw up everything I ate! You wouldn't leave a girl to suffer, would you?"
"Still not my problem."
"YEAH!" Pasta suddenly shot up with a wild fist pump. "I'm fired up! My tummy's empty, but my soul is full!"
Tori bonked him back down without a second thought. "Can you not act like a stray animal in public?!"
"Oww… What are you, Emilia now?" Pasta groaned, rubbing his head.
Tori's cheeks flushed with fury. "I swear, one more comment and I'm gonna launch myself into the heavens just to not deal with this nonsense!"
"Hey!" a familiar voice rang out through the festival din.
Shot and Kabal came striding over, their arms swinging over Pasta's shoulders before he could protest.
"I see someone's having too much fun," Shot said, sparking up a cigar. "So, Pasta… care to introduce us to your girlfriend?"
Kabal leaned in, whispering with a snicker, "Why do you want anpther introduction, huh? Are you the new harem king or what?"
"That's the plan, bastard," Shot grinned without shame.
Pasta scratched his head, eyes darting. "T-trust me, guys… Tori's the last girl you want to go out with."
Meanwhile, Tori sidled up to Emilia. "What are they whispering about over there?"
Emilia stood, arms crossed. "Trust me. You don't want to know."
"Emiliaaa!" Shot waved over, puffing out smoke. "How's the festival treating you?"
"Pleasant enough."
"Gotta hand it to Jiji," he said, nodding. "The kid's a real miracle worker. She roped in vendors from half the realm for this. Sometimes I wonder if she's even real."
Mr. Swordsman finally caught up, glancing over. "You sure she's not just an old woman cursed into a child's body?"
That earned a round of laughter, except from Tori, who blinked blankly. "…Was that supposed to be funny?"
"No idea you had jokes in you," Kabal said, slapping Mr. Swordsman's back.
Pasta walked forward with a smug grin. "I see Jiji didn't keep to her word, too bad. Maybe you all can join us for the festival"
Shot and Kabal gave a mischievous grin as two dazzling girls appeared, wrapping their arms around them.
"Let's check out that sweets stall next!" one of the girls chirped, tugging Shot away.
"I want something savoury," the other said, dragging Kabal in the opposite direction.
As they were pulled into the crowd, the two men turned back, steam puffing out their noses.
"…I have no idea what that was about," Tori mumbled, stomach growling. "But I am still starving."
Pasta turned with a grin, shaking his coin pouch. "I've got enough," he whispered, clutching it tightly.
"Pasta," Mr. Swordsman called, narrowing his eyes as he stepped forward. "You and Tori both owe me. Don't think I've forgotten—"
"Too late!" Pasta grabbed Tori's arm. "You're hungry, right? Come on, my treat"
Before she could even register what happened, she was already being whisked away. But since food was involved… she didn't resist.
Mr. Swordsman reached out to stop them, but Emilia gently tugged his cloak, a soft smile on her face. "We'll catch up on the hill. Let's go."
He sighed, letting himself be pulled along, just as the first sparks of light began to flicker in the darkening sky.
#
Pasta and Tori zipped through the lively festival grounds like two lightning bolts streaking through a colourful canvas. Firecrackers popped in the background, ribbons fluttered, and the scent of grilled meats and sweetened mochi filled the air. Together, they raided every food stall they passed—biting, chewing, and stealing laughs between bites of syrupy dango and char-grilled yakitori.
Until they came to a stop.
Tori's footsteps halted as she eyed the sign above their next stall with horror. The Devil's Flame Ramen—The Spiciest Bowl in the World.
"You've got to be kidding me," she muttered, blinking in disbelief.
Pasta crossed his arms proudly, a sly grin dancing on his lips. "Figured you weren't too fond of spicy food, so naturally…We end here."
Tori let out a slow breath, her mind calm yet calculative just to find a way out of this mess.
Then an idea flickered.
She poked a finger into his chest. "Okay, listen. I didn't say anything earlier because, y'know, I was starving. But now feels like a good time to ask…"
A bead of sweat trailed down Pasta's temple. "Uhm… what happened?"
"You know what I'm getting at." Her voice dropped into a suspicious whisper. "Why in all realms did you take me out to eat? What's your angle, lover boy? Wait, don't tell me."
Pasta flailed his arms wildly. "No, no! It's not what you think!"
Tori narrowed her eyes, arms folding tight. Something's fishy… This definitely feels like a date. Don't tell me he actually…
She tapped her foot. "Well? I'm waiting."
Pasta's mind spiralled into a boiling disaster. It was going great! I was supposed to take her to the hilltop afterwards, show her the fireworks, show off my first named technique! This stupid ramen stall ruined everything!
No. I spent half my damn savings today, I can't give up now!
His eyes lit with mischievous fire as he stood tall. "Guess I was right after all," he whispered, lowering his gaze.
Tori tilted her head. "Huh? What's that supposed to mean? Wait, are you trying to ask me out now? Because if you are, I'll stop you right—"
"No," he said coolly, lips curling into a smirk. "That's not it, dearie."
Tori blinked. "D-Dearie!?"
Before she could react, he stepped in closer, and she instinctively backed up, until her back pressed against the wooden wall behind them. Pasta leaned in, one arm raised to rest against the wall beside her head. The impact made her heart skip a beat.
Their eyes locked. His were darker than the night sky, with hair flowing like midnight threads in the wind. The world blurred into silence around them, and for a moment… they were the only two left in it.
This guy… Is he really the same idiot I met in the forest? Why does he look… different now?
"You're not getting it, Tori," he said, voice lower than before. "I took you out to eat because you won our contest, even if you did cheat." His grin returned. "What's mine is yours, right?"
Her eyes flickered like the stars above. "Yes," she whispered, barely audible.
Pasta chuckled softly. "Good. Now, are you going to back down? Just because it's a little spicy?"
He leaned in just a little closer, gently tilting her chin toward him. "Tell me, Tori… Is the girl who defeated me, the one and only Mighty Pasta, in a food contest, really gonna lose now? To ramen?"
Tori's lips trembled. No words came. Every breath she took felt heavier, as if time itself had slowed to hear her answer.
But then, her spirit flared.
Spice may be my greatest enemy… but if there comes a day when the world depends on me to devour a bowl of volcanic ramen… THEN I SHALL RISE TO THE OCCASION!
She smirked, a fierce gleam in her eyes. "No amount of spice can bring me down."
Pasta let out a little smile. "That's what I'm talking about. Let's conquer this beast together!"
-
They sat in the ramen stall… surrounded by casualties. Bodies of the fallen slumped against chairs, twitching from the sheer heat of the broth they had dared to challenge.
Then there were the bowls.
The broth inside glowed an unholy red, darker than the midnight sun, boiling with an untamed fury. Even the steam rising from it wept with intensity, lashing out at the senses like a scalding wind. A single whiff could peel the soul from the body.
Pasta and Tori stared into their bowls.
Then, in perfect unison, they nodded, clasped their chopsticks, and charged in. A bite, then another. Their eyes shimmered with resolve. This wasn't a meal anymore. It was war.
Silence washed over the crowd.
Even the towering chef, whose biceps rippled beneath his apron, stood still with arms crossed, a respectful nod granted to the daring duo. These weren't just regular festival-goers.
These were warriors.
Then, blackout.
The next thing they knew, they were laid out in front of the clinic tent, surrounded by more fallen heroes of the flame. Atop their heads? A ribbon fluttered in the wind:
"Master of the Flames."
Steam rose from their mouths as they sat up.
Tori held her head, her voice a breath. "I don't think I can eat anything ever again… my taste buds might be gone forever."
Pasta groaned beside her. "Yeah… same…"
But then, a memory, a cursed flashback struck Pasta.
Him, saying all that?
Doing all that?
Calling her dearie!!!
Wait… Did I also… Did I actually pull the classic wall slam!? With the deep voice and everything!??! What in the Nine Realms possessed me!?
His face turned beet red.
He slowly peeked at Tori, who was casually sipping on milk.
She's definitely planning something. I messed up. I ruined it. I'm no flirt! I'm not even good with girls! What do I do?!
TAP.
"GAAAH!" Pasta nearly leapt out of his skin.
Tori tilted her head innocently. "What's wrong? Don't tell me we're done already? You've been staring into space for ages."
Pasta blinked. "Wha—you still want more?"
Twirling a strand of hair, she smiled. "Mmhmm. Fireworks aren't starting for a bit, right? If we're quick, we could…"
"Perfect," Pasta said, stretching with a renewed grin. "Let's grab some of that cotton sugary fluff and those meat skewers. Maybe fix our poor, tortured tongues."
Tori giggled, then grabbed his hand. "Yeah. Let's do that."
The two plunged back into the festival. Laughter and lights swirled around them. They played games, and munched through more snacks, and Pasta's wallet began to weep.
But when his funds ran dry… Tori pulled out her own.
And the night? Continued.
Blissful and bright.
Time melted around them until the deep thud of ceremonial drums echoed across the hills, the fireworks were about to begin.
Pasta turned toward her, twirling his half-eaten skewer. "Wanna race to the top?"
Tori rolled her eyes with a grin. "Just try to catch up."
And with that, they sprinted into the crowd, laughter trailing behind them, as the two dashed toward the hilltop, where sparks would soon bloom across the sky and their unforgettable night would find its crescendo.