Veil Of The Abyss

By the time Ray Adams returned to Azure Axe, the blood on him had dried black.

The guild-tavern stood at the heart of the lower city like an old beast that refused to die. Its stone walls were darkened by years of smoke, rain, and spilled drink. A weather-beaten sign hung above the entrance, swaying gently in the evening wind, the carved symbol of an azure axe barely visible beneath scratches and age. To most citizens, it was a place best avoided after sunset. To hunters, mercenaries, scouts, and reckless fools with blades at their hips, it was home.

Inside, the hall was alive.

Tankards struck tables. Boots scraped against old wooden floors. Someone near the hearth was laughing too loudly at a story no one believed. A wounded mercenary sat with one arm in a sling while bragging that the beast had looked worse. Two young hunters argued over coin at the commission desk, their voices rising until the receptionist silenced them with a single cold glance. The mission board along the far wall was crowded with parchment: escort requests, monster sightings, missing travelers, bounty notices, and warnings written in red ink.

Smoke hung beneath the rafters like a second ceiling. The smell of roasted meat, wet leather, sweat, cheap ale, blood, and iron all mixed together until it became the familiar scent of Azure Axe.

No one turned immediately when the door opened.

Then Ray stepped in.

The cold air followed him for a moment before the door shut behind him. Mud clung to his boots. His cloak was torn at one shoulder. Dark stains covered his armor, some old, some fresh, some too deep in color to be anything but blood. His black leather chest piece was scratched across the ribs, and a long cut ran through the sleeve of his tunic beneath it. His dark hair hung messily over his brow, damp with sweat and rain, shadowing eyes that caught the lanternlight with an unnatural silver glint.

A few heads turned.

One man near the counter paused mid-drink, looked Ray up and down, then returned to his ale as if nothing unusual had happened. A younger hunter stared a little too long until the older woman beside him nudged his arm and muttered, “Don’t gape. That’s just Ray.”

Ray did not slow down.

He crossed the hall with the heavy, tired steps of a man who had walked too far after bleeding too much. The sword at his hip knocked lightly against his thigh. His left hand was wrapped in a strip of cloth that had once been white. He ignored the stares, the noise, the warmth, and the smell of food. He went straight to the commission desk.

Behind it stood Mira, the receptionist.

She was a woman in her early thirties with sharp eyes, neat brown hair tied behind her head, and the kind of patience that came only from dealing with armed idiots every day. She looked up from a stack of reports, saw Ray, and stopped writing.

For one brief second, her professional mask cracked.

Then it returned.

“Ray Adams,” she said calmly, placing her quill aside. “You look terrible.”

Ray reached into the leather pouch at his belt and dropped a sealed token onto the desk. It landed with a dull clack. “Commission completed.”

Mira looked at the token, then at the blood on his armor. “I can see that something was completed.”

Ray said nothing.

She sighed, picked up the token, and checked the mark stamped into it. Her gaze softened slightly, though her voice stayed formal. “You came alone?”

“I left alone.”

“That is not what I asked.”

Ray’s silver eyes lifted to hers.

Mira held his stare for a moment, then looked away first. Not because she was afraid. She had seen enough broken men to know when not to press.

“I will prepare your payment,” she said. “Sit down before you collapse on my floor. And try not to bleed on the tables. Albert already complained last time.”

A faint smirk touched Ray’s mouth. “Albert complains when the sun rises.”

“He complains more when you give him reasons.”

Ray turned from the desk without answering.

There was a small table near the far corner, half-hidden behind a wooden pillar and far enough from the hearth that most people avoided it. Ray always chose that table. It allowed him to see the entrance, the commission desk, and most of the hall without having anyone too close behind him.

He dropped into the chair with a quiet grunt.

Only then did the exhaustion truly settle into his bones.

His shoulders ached. His ribs burned when he breathed too deeply. A cut along his forearm pulsed beneath the wrapped cloth. He leaned back, shut his eyes for a second, and listened to the world around him.

Laughter. Dice. Boots. A chair scraping. Someone coughing. Someone cursing after losing coin. The receptionist’s voice, distant and firm. A drunk mercenary singing the wrong words to an old marching song.

Life, loud and careless, continued around him.

Ray opened his eyes.

A serving girl came by, took one look at him, and raised a brow. “The usual?”

“Booze,” Ray said. “And whatever food is ready.”

“That is the usual.”

“Then why ask?”

She gave him the kind of look people gave to men who were difficult because they had forgotten how to be anything else. Then she left.

Ray rested his arms on the table and stared at the scratches in the wood.

Every hunt ended the same way.

Blood washed off. Coin changed hands. Bruises faded. Names were forgotten. The dead stayed dead, and the living drank enough to pretend that mattered less than it did.

For most hunters, a completed commission was work.

For Ray, every hunt felt like something colder.

Not justice. Justice was too clean a word. Not duty either. Duty belonged to knights and soldiers and men who still believed banners meant something.

Revenge, maybe.

A small piece of it.

A blade swung against the world for all the things it had taken from him.

He did not let the thought stay long.

The serving girl returned with a tankard of ale, a small plate of salted nuts, and strips of roasted meat still steaming from the kitchen. Ray muttered thanks, took the tankard, and drank deeply. The bitterness spread through his mouth and settled warmly in his chest.

It did not make him feel better.

It made him feel present.

That was enough.

“Well,” a cheerful voice said from behind him, “if it isn’t the corpse that refused to lie down.”

Ray closed his eyes.

For one peaceful moment, he considered pretending he had not heard.

The chair across from him scraped back anyway.

Nio dropped into it like he owned the seat, the table, and possibly the entire hall. He was tall and lean, with the easy posture of someone who could turn a fight into a joke and a joke into a fight. A bright red scarf was tied loosely around his arm, far too clean and colorful for a place like Azure Axe. His hair, dark at first glance, carried strange streaks through it—one side touched with deep green, the other with pale silver that caught the light when he moved.

His eyes were even stranger.

One green.

One silver.

Most people tried not to stare. Ray had stopped noticing years ago.

Nio leaned forward, sniffed the air, then jerked back dramatically. “By the gods, Ray. Did you fight the monster or marry it?”

Ray took another drink. “Good evening to you too.”

“No, no. Do not ‘good evening’ me while smelling like a graveyard after rain.” Nio waved a hand in front of his nose. “Mira should charge you extra for entering like this.”

“She told me to sit.”

“Because she feared you might die standing and create paperwork.”

Ray gave him a flat look.

Nio grinned. “What? I am concerned.”

“You look amused.”

“I can be both.”

Ray reached for a strip of meat. “I just got back. If you came here to annoy me, choose another night.”

Nio placed a hand over his chest as if wounded. “Annoy you? Ray, I bring light into your dark, miserable existence.”

“You bring noise.”

“Noise is just light for the ears.”

“That made no sense.”

“It sounded wise.”

“It sounded like you.”

Nio’s grin widened, but his eyes moved over Ray more carefully than his teasing voice suggested. He noticed the torn sleeve. The shallow cut near the jaw. The stiffness in Ray’s left side.

For a moment, the joke faded.

“You alright?”

Ray chewed, swallowed, and reached for his drink. “Still breathing.”

“That is your answer to everything.”

“It answers enough.”

Nio leaned back, studying him. “One day, you might try saying, ‘Yes, Nio, thank you for asking. Your friendship warms my wounded soul.’”

“One day, you might try silence.”

“Cruel man.”

Ray almost smiled.

Almost.

For a few minutes, they sat in the noise of Azure Axe. Nio stole a few salted nuts from Ray’s plate. Ray pretended not to notice. A pair of mercenaries near the mission board started arguing over whether a swamp beast had one head or three. Someone near the hearth knocked over a tankard and earned himself a cheer.

Then Nio’s fingers stopped drumming against the table.

The change was small.

Ray noticed anyway.

Nio leaned forward. His playful grin remained, but something behind it sharpened.

“Actually,” Nio said, lowering his voice, “I did come for a reason.”

Ray groaned. “No.”

“You do not even know what I am going to say.”

“You have that look.”

“What look?”

“The look you get before saying something stupid.”

Nio looked offended. “I prefer ambitious.”

“I just got back,” Ray said. “I am not looking to jump into another hunt.”

“This is not just another hunt.”

“It never is when you say that.”

Nio’s smile thinned. His gaze flicked once across the hall, toward the commission desk, then toward the tables nearby. No one seemed to be listening. Still, he lowered his voice further.

“There has been unusual activity,” he said, “near the Immortal Cave.”

The tankard stopped halfway to Ray’s mouth.

For a moment, the noise of Azure Axe seemed to dull around him.

Not vanish. Nothing so dramatic.

But it shifted, as though the name itself had drawn a thin veil between their table and the rest of the room.

Ray slowly set the tankard down.

“Say that again,” he said.

Nio’s expression did not change. “Immortal Cave.”

Ray’s fingers tightened around the handle of the tankard.

Everyone in the kingdom knew the name.

Not because it stood on maps. Not because scholars studied it. Not because kings sent banners there.

People knew it because names like that survived through fear.

Immortal Cave lay beyond the northern woodland, where the hills rose like broken teeth and the trees grew thick enough to swallow roads. Older hunters spoke of it only after drinking too much. Travelers avoided the paths near it, even when taking those paths would save half a day. Children dared each other to whisper its name at night, then ran home frightened by their own courage.

They said only immortals came back alive.

No one knew who first said it. Maybe a drunk survivor. Maybe a grieving mother. Maybe some dying fool trying to make sense of a place that ate men whole.

But the saying stayed.

Only immortals returned from that cave.

Ray had heard other things too.

Voices coming from within when no one stood near the entrance. Torches burning blue before going out. Men walking inside as groups and returning as one, unable to remember what killed the others. Scratches on stone that looked too much like words. A cold wind breathing from the depths even in summer.

Some stories were nonsense.

Some were not.

Ray knew better than to laugh at every rumor. Rumors were often born from truth, even if fear twisted their shape.

“You cannot be serious,” he said quietly.

Nio did not look away.

Ray leaned closer. “That place is a death sentence.”

“For most people.”

“For people with names, swords, armor, and mothers waiting at home,” Ray said. “Do not dress it up.”

Nio’s jaw tightened, though his tone stayed light. “I am not asking you to stroll in drunk with a lantern and a prayer.”

“Good. Because I would refuse.”

“There are arrangements.”

Ray narrowed his eyes. “What kind?”

“The kind that make this more than a suicide march.”

“That does not answer me.”

Nio picked up a nut from the plate, rolled it between his fingers, then set it down untouched. “They are bringing a high-tier mage.”

Ray stared at him.

“A mage?” he asked. “For Immortal Cave?”

Nio nodded.

Ray leaned back slowly. “The king’s elite barely lend mages to border campaigns unless nobles start crying about taxes. Who agreed to walk near that cave?”

Nio’s silver eye caught the lanternlight.

“Andrew Paul.”

Ray did not answer immediately.

That name carried its own weight.

Andrew Paul was not the sort of mage people mentioned casually. His stories moved through taverns, barracks, and guild halls like sparks through dry grass. Some said he had burned a path through an orc charge without moving from where he stood. Others claimed he once held a bridge alone until reinforcements arrived at dawn. There were even whispers that during the Black Marsh incident, he had sealed a corrupted spring with a spell no academy had recorded in fifty years.

Ray trusted half of every story and none of every legend.

Still, Andrew Paul was real.

And real power did not waste itself on ordinary jobs.

“Why?” Ray asked.

Nio tilted his head. “That is the question, is it not?”

Ray’s stare sharpened. “Do not play games.”

“I am not.”

“You are smiling.”

“I smile under pressure. It is a gift.”

“It is a disease.”

Nio gave a quiet laugh, but it faded quickly. “I do not know everything. But I know enough to say this mission is not coming from the usual channels.”

Ray’s gaze shifted toward the commission desk. “Azure Axe did not post it?”

“No.”

“The capital?”

“Not directly.”

Ray’s voice lowered. “Then who?”

Nio hesitated.

That hesitation told Ray more than the answer would.

He looked at his friend carefully. Nio was reckless, loud, sharp-tongued, and far too fond of making danger sound like entertainment. But he was not stupid. He did not hesitate unless the words carried weight.

“Who, Nio?”

Nio leaned in.

“The count’s people.”

Ray went still.

This time, the silence between them was heavier.

The count did not involve himself in guild hunts. He had soldiers, knights, private scouts, court mages, and enough political power to bury bad news before common people ever smelled it. If his people were reaching into Azure Axe, it meant either something had gone wrong quietly, or something was about to go wrong loudly.

Neither option was good.

Ray’s voice became colder. “The count is involved with unusual activity near Immortal Cave, and Andrew Paul is joining.”

Nio nodded once.

“And you thought this sounded like an opportunity?”

“I thought it sounded like something we should know about before worse men get involved.”

“Worse men?”

“You know the type. Glory hunters. Coin-chasers. Men who hear ‘noble-backed mission’ and start measuring their own statues.”

Ray’s eyes did not soften. “Do not pretend this is noble concern. You came to me because you want in.”

Nio looked away for a second.

Then he smiled, smaller this time. “Yes.”

“At least you are honest.”

“Sometimes.”

Ray took a slow breath. His ribs protested. He ignored them.

“Why would the count send anyone there?” he asked. “And why send Andrew Paul unless they expect something far beyond normal beasts?”

Nio’s fingers tapped once against the table.

“There is more.”

Ray gave him a humourless look. “Of course there is.”

“The expedition is not just being supported by the count.” Nio paused. “It is being led by Alicia Roman.”

Ray’s expression changed before he could stop it.

Alicia Roman.

The name struck harder than Andrew Paul’s.

The count’s daughter. Captain of the Silver Knights. A woman whose reputation had been carved through discipline, blood, and victories no one could call accidental. She was not merely noble by birth. She was the kind of noble who made soldiers stand straighter when she entered a yard. Fierce with twin swords, cold in judgment, and said to have inherited her father’s command before officially inheriting his title.

The next Roman in line.

And she was leading an expedition to Immortal Cave.

Ray looked at Nio as if measuring whether his friend had finally lost his mind.

“You are certain?”

Nio nodded. “Certain enough.”

“Where did you hear this?”

“Someone close to the preparation.”

“That is not an answer.”

“It is the safest one I can give.”

Ray’s jaw tightened.

He looked past Nio toward the hall, but he was no longer seeing Azure Axe. He saw instead a black cave mouth beneath old hills. He imagined knights standing before it in polished armor. Mages checking mana potions. Clerics whispering prayers with trembling lips. Alicia Roman at the front, expression unreadable. Andrew Paul beside her, powerful enough to make fools feel safe.

And somewhere in the dark, something waiting.

Ray shook his head slowly. “No.”

Nio blinked. “No?”

“No.”

“Ray—”

“No,” Ray repeated, harder this time. “You are hearing names and mistaking them for safety. Alicia Roman. Andrew Paul. The count. None of that changes what the cave is.”

“It changes our chances.”

“It changes the size of the funeral.”

Nio’s smile disappeared.

Ray leaned forward. His voice remained low, but there was iron in it now. “You have never seen what happens when men walk into places they do not understand. A strong sword does not save you from poison you cannot smell. A famous mage does not save you from a trap no one recognizes. A noble name does not make darkness bow.”

Nio did not interrupt.

Ray continued, quieter. “Immortal Cave has survived every fool who thought he was different.”

For a moment, Nio looked almost young.

Not weak. Not afraid exactly.

But young.

Then he covered it with a breath and a crooked smile. “Good thing I am not going alone.”

Ray stared at him.

“That was not clever.”

“It was a little clever.”

“It was suicidal.”

“Only if you refuse.”

Ray cursed under his breath and leaned back.

He hated this.

He hated the way the idea had already taken root inside him.

The sensible part of him knew the answer. Refuse. Drink. Collect payment. Sleep. Wake up and take another ordinary commission. Let nobles and famous mages walk into cursed holes if they wished. Let Alicia Roman’s knights polish their armor before the dark swallowed them.

That was the smart choice.

But Nio was sitting across from him with a grin that did not fully hide the tension in his shoulders.

And Andrew Paul would be there.

Magic had always been something just beyond his reach. Not absent. Not impossible. Just distant, like a locked door he could hear something moving behind. His silver eyes had earned him stares, questions, and whispers since childhood. Some said silver eyes meant potential. Some said trouble. Some said old blood.

Ray had learned to stop asking.

But he had never stopped watching mages.

Andrew Paul was not merely a mage. He was a living answer to questions Ray had carried for years.

And the cave...

Ray looked down at his drink.

The Immortal Cave had always been a story at the edge of the world. A warning. A grave with a name.

Now it had become a door.

He did not like doors he could not see beyond.

Nio watched him carefully. “You are thinking.”

“I am thinking of how many ways this gets us killed.”

“That is still thinking.”

Ray glared at him.

Nio raised both hands. “Listen. I am not saying we rush in first. We join the expedition. We watch. We learn. We stay alive. With Alicia leading and Andrew Paul there, this is the best chance anyone has had to understand what is happening near that cave.”

“And if what is happening does not want to be understood?”

“Then we run faster than the knights.”

Ray almost laughed despite himself. “You are an idiot.”

“That is not comforting.”

“It should be. I am very loyal.”

Ray’s expression hardened again, but the anger behind it had weakened.

Nio saw the shift.

“You know I would go with or without you,” he said quietly.

Ray looked at him.

There it was.

The real reason Nio had come.

Not permission. Not only excitement. Not only ambition.

He had come because some part of him knew this was too dangerous to face without someone who would drag him back by the collar if needed.

Ray looked away first.

“Damn you,” he muttered.

Nio’s grin returned slowly. “Is that a yes?”

“It is not a no.”

“That is practically a yes from you.”

“It is a warning.”

“I accept.”

“I have not agreed.”

“You are about to.”

Ray drank the last of his ale and set the tankard down harder than necessary.

“If this turns out to be some noble’s secret game, I am leaving.”

“Fair.”

“If you hid anything important from me, I will break your nose.”

“Less fair, but understandable.”

“If we get near that cave and I say we leave, we leave.”

Nio’s expression sobered. “Agreed.”

Ray held his gaze long enough to know whether he meant it.

He did.

Finally, Ray exhaled.

“I will hear the full details.”

Nio’s face brightened.

“That is not agreement,” Ray said.

“It is close enough to celebrate.”

“It is not.”

“It absolutely is.”

Ray rubbed a hand over his face, smearing dried dirt along his cheek. “Buy another round before I change my mind.”

Nio stood so quickly his chair nearly tipped backward. “That, my grim friend, is the wisest thing you have said all night.”

He left for the counter, weaving through the tables with renewed energy.

Ray watched him go, then looked toward the entrance.

The door opened briefly as someone came in from the cold. For a heartbeat, the wind slipped through the hall and brushed the back of Ray’s neck.

It felt colder than it should have.

He turned back to his empty tankard.

Immortal Cave.

Even thinking the name felt like touching a blade’s edge.

Nio returned with two fresh tankards and a larger tray of food than Ray had asked for. Roasted meat skewers, bread rolls, salted nuts, and a bowl of thick stew that looked capable of standing on its own.

Ray eyed the tray. “Planning to feed the whole guild?”

“Planning to keep you from dying before the mission.”

“Thoughtful.”

“I have my moments.”

Nio sat down and pushed one tankard toward him. Before he could speak, a sharp voice cut through the space between them.

“Ray Adams, have you ever considered entering a room like a normal person instead of a battlefield ghost?”

Ray looked up.

Rose Rodrick stood beside the table with her arms crossed, one brow raised in familiar disapproval. Her hair was tied back loosely, though a few strands had escaped around her face.

Her eyes moved over Ray’s torn armor, the dried blood, the mud, the exhausted slump he was trying to hide.

Then they narrowed.

“You look awful.”

Nio pointed at her with a skewer. “That is what I said.”

Rose glanced at him. “You probably made it sound stupid.”

“I made it sound charming.”

“You do not know how.”

Ray reached for the stew. “Good to see you too, Rose.”

She pulled out a chair and sat without asking. “Do not ‘good to see you’ me. What happened?”

“Work.”

“That is not an answer.”

“It is the only one I have.”

Rose leaned closer, studying the cut near his jaw. “Is any of that blood yours?”

Ray paused.

Nio answered before he could. “A little.”

Ray kicked him under the table.

Nio winced. “Possibly none.”

Rose’s gaze sharpened. “You two are terrible liars.”

“We are excellent liars,” Nio said. “You are simply rude enough not to believe us.”

Rose ignored him and looked at Ray. “Albert asked about you this morning.”

That struck deeper than any question about blood.

Ray lowered his spoon.

“He did?”

“He does every morning.” Her voice softened, but only slightly. Rose was never gentle in a way that let people escape. “He pretends he is asking whether you returned because he wants to know if you completed your commission. But he asks before breakfast. Before medicine. Before complaining about the soup. So yes, Ray, he asked.”

Ray looked into the stew as if it had become very interesting.

“The old man worries too much,” he said.

“The old man raised you.”

Ray’s jaw tightened.

Nio, for once, said nothing.

Rose reached across the table and stole one of the bread rolls. “You should visit him.”

“I will.”

“You always say that.”

“I mean it.”

“You always mean it. That is the problem. You mean it, then disappear into another job before doing it.”

Ray had no answer for that.

Because it was true.

Albert Rodrick had taken him in when Ray had no one left. Fed him. Trained him. Scolded him. Taught him how to hold a blade without letting anger hold it for him. He had been hard, stubborn, sharp-tongued, and kinder than he ever allowed himself to appear.

And now age had begun taking him piece by piece.

Ray could fight beasts. He could bleed. He could walk into forests with a sword and return covered in things men should fear.

But he could not fight time.

So he avoided looking at it too closely.

Rose watched his face and seemed to understand enough not to push further.

Instead, she tore the bread roll in half and pointed one piece at him. “After you wash.”

Ray huffed. “That bad?”

“Ray, if death had a smell, it would ask you for advice.”

Nio slapped the table, laughing. “Finally, someone with poetry.”

Ray’s mouth twitched. “You two rehearse these?”

“We do not need to,” Rose said. “You inspire us.”

For a few minutes, the darkness around the table loosened.

Nio complained loudly when Rose stole a meat skewer. Rose reminded him he still owed her for covering one of his mistakes the previous week. Nio insisted it had not been a mistake but a “bold improvisation.” Rose said that was what idiots called mistakes when they survived them.

Ray ate quietly, listening more than speaking.

The warmth of it settled around him in a way he never knew how to accept.

Rose glanced between them after a while, suspicion returning. “So what were you two whispering about before I arrived?”

Nio froze with a skewer halfway to his mouth.

Ray did not move.

Rose’s eyes narrowed. “There it is.”

“There what is?” Nio asked too quickly.

“The look.”

Ray looked at Nio. “You have a lot of looks tonight.”

Nio shot him a betrayed glance.

Rose leaned back, crossing her arms. “What job?”

“Nothing unusual,” Ray said.

Rose stared at him.

“A rough one,” Nio added. “Maybe a strong monster. Some travel. The usual heroic nonsense.”

“The usual heroic nonsense gets people killed.”

“That is why Ray avoids the heroic part,” Nio said. “He specializes in nonsense.”

Ray gave him a flat look. “Careful.”

Rose did not smile. “Where?”

“North,” Ray said.

“That is vague.”

“Intentionally.”

Her expression hardened. “Ray.”

He met her gaze.

For a moment, he almost told her.

Not everything. Just enough. Enough so she would understand why he might not visit Albert soon. Enough so she would stop looking at him like he was choosing danger for no reason.

But if Rose heard the name Immortal Cave, the warmth at the table would die.

She would worry. She would tell Albert. Albert would try to rise from his bed through sheer stubbornness and old anger. He would demand Ray refuse, or worse, demand to know why Ray was going without him being strong enough to stop it.

Ray could face monsters more easily than that. he lied.

“Just a strong monster,” he said. “Nothing new.”

Rose studied him for a long time.

Nio wisely kept quiet.

Finally, she looked away, though her face showed she did not believe him. “You both have a talent for making ‘nothing new’ sound like funeral preparation.”

Nio raised his tankard. “That is because we are mysterious.”

“You are exhausting.”

“Also true.”

Ray took his own tankard and leaned back.

Rose sighed, but some of the tension left her shoulders. She grabbed another skewer from the tray before Nio could stop her.

“Hey,” Nio protested. “That one was mine.”

“You gave up ownership when you started lying badly.”

“I did no such thing.”

“You breathed. Same result.”

Ray watched them argue, and despite himself, he smiled.

It was small.

Barely there.

But Rose noticed.

“Well,” she said, pointing at him with the skewer, “look at that.”

Nio turned dramatically. “What? Is he bleeding again?”

“He smiled.”

Nio gasped. “Impossible.”

Ray’s smile vanished. “I did not.”

“You did,” Rose said.

“It was probably pain.”

“No,” Nio said, leaning in as if inspecting a rare artifact. “That was definitely a smile. Small, frightened, unused. But alive.”

Ray pointed at the door. “Both of you can leave.”

Rose grinned. “He is embarrassed.”

“I am regretting knowing you.”

“You say that because emotion frightens you.”

“Emotion does not frighten me.”

Nio nodded solemnly. “Only baths, doctors, and honest conversations.”

Ray looked between them. “I hate this table.”

“No,” Rose said, softer now. “You do not.”

He did not answer.

Because she was right.

The hall around them remained loud. The fire cracked in the hearth. The mission board rustled whenever the door opened and wind passed through. Somewhere, Mira called another hunter to the commission desk. Life continued, reckless and warm and temporary.

For a while, Ray let himself sit inside it.

Nio raised his tankard again. “To completed commissions.”

Rose lifted her stolen skewer. “To Ray visiting Albert tomorrow.”

Ray gave her a look.

She did not lower the skewer.

Nio smiled. “Dangerous toast. Very specific.”

Rose ignored him. “Say it.”

Ray sighed and raised his tankard. “To visiting Albert.”

Rose looked satisfied.

Nio clinked his tankard against Ray’s. “And to coming back in one piece from rough jobs involving absolutely nothing unusual.”

Rose’s eyes narrowed again. “That was too specific.”

Ray shot Nio a warning look.

Nio cleared his throat. “To friendship?”

Rose rolled her eyes but tapped her skewer lightly against their tankards. “To friendship.”

Ray looked at the two of them.

Nio, grinning like danger was just another road.

Rose, pretending not to worry because worry would make the room too heavy.

And somewhere beyond the city walls, beyond the northern woods, beyond the old hills, a cave waited in the dark with a name men whispered when they wanted to frighten each other.

Only immortals returned.

Ray drank.

The ale was bitter.

The laughter around him was warm.

And beneath it all, quiet as breath against stone, Ray felt the first whisper of the abyss.