The Windrunner Peaks stabbed the sky, icy and jagged, as Asher began his climb. The trail twisted—loose shale skittered under his boots, roots snagged his steps, and a bitter wind cut through his tunic, chilling his sweat-slicked skin. His legs ached, the golem fight's weight dragging at his bones, but he pressed on. The mask clung cold, its runes pulsing crimson, sharpening every sound—gravel crunching, a hawk's screech, a rustle in the brush. Eldrida's spires loomed closer, dark against the gray dawn, smoke curling from forges.
He staggered to the gate—black iron, flanked by two women guards in steel plate, spears frost-kissed. A shimmer flickered over them: Strength: 42, Agility: 38, Mana: 19. Status windows—Tenria's gift to all women, not just Eldrida's, a power men couldn't touch. He tugged the mask off; the panes vanished. Back on—they glowed again. This mask… my edge, he thought, a grim spark flaring. He yanked it off, stumbled forward, and collapsed, rasping, "Help me—please!" His limbs trembled, exhaustion real, plea sharp.
"What happened?" the auburn-haired guard snapped, kneeling. "Hold his leg—healer, now." They dragged him through, armor clanking. He groaned, wincing, until they reached a stone hut, air thick with herbs and wax. A stern healer's magic stung warm across his bruises, knitting flesh. He sat up, mask off, facing them.
"Thank you," he said, voice soft, eyes wide with a practiced innocence that made their stern faces falter, a flush creeping up their necks. "You saved my life.
"The auburn one—Lily—tilted her head, eyes lingering on his sharp jawline, a faint smirk tugging her lips. "Well, aren't you a pretty one? Lucky we didn't leave you out there—would've been a waste of that face."
"You're like saviors," he pressed, letting his voice waver, lashes lowering just so. Their gazes softened further, Rose—the blonde—biting her lip as she leaned closer.
"Gods, look at those eyes," Rose murmured, almost to herself, then coughed, straightening. "I mean—uh, it's our duty. Can't let a handsome lad like you rot in the dirt, right?"
He tilted his head, offering a shy smile. "Who's at the gate now? I'd hate to pull you away…"
Lily waved a hand, mana sparking faintly at her fingertips—a healer's gift. "Two others took over. Don't fuss, sweet thing. Now, what happened? You're too fine to be this banged up."
He dropped his gaze, voice trembling. "I'm Kannon. Refugee. Monsters ambushed my family… my sister—" Tears welled, real from Ava's memory, spilling down his cheeks. "She died so I could run." He sobbed, shoulders shaking, a perfect picture of fragile beauty.
Rose's breath hitched, her hand hovering near his face before settling on his shoulder. "Poor darling—those looks shouldn't carry such pain. Makes me want to fight the beasts myself."
Lily nodded, her mana flaring as she brushed his arm, voice low. "No man this pretty should suffer alone. Breaks my heart just looking at you." She hugged him, fingers lingering in his hair, stroking a bit too long.
"I'll cover your fee," Rose cut in, fishing out a coin with a grin. "Can't have those bruises marring you up—bad enough the wilds tried."
He looked up through wet lashes, angelic and broken. "Can I stay in this kingdom ?"
"Stay?" Lily chuckled, eyes glinting. "With a face like that? We'd be fools to toss you out. I'll sort it—guards owe me favors."
Rose smirked. "I'm Rose. She's Lily—mana-blessed and nosy. If I weren't tied down, I'd keep you close myself." She kissed his cheek; Lily followed with a playful wink.
"Here," Rose said, pressing a gold coin into his palm, her fingers brushing his. "Use it, gorgeous. We're late—don't go breaking more hearts out there."
"Bye," he chirped, smile shy and radiant. The door shut, and his face flattened—cold, empty. Skin-deep, he thought, rolling the coin. If I were scarred or plain, Lily's sparks would've stayed dark, Rose's purse shut. Same game, flipped rules. He slipped the mask on, its chill settling.
Eldrida sprawled beyond—a soot-streaked maze, women in armor or aprons bustling, hammers clanging. Once the Land of the Holy Sword, named for a cave where the chosen one's blade waited—countless tried to pull it, failed, and turned forging into the kingdom's blood, though corruption now gnawed its core. He headed to the adventurer guild—a weathered timber hall, doors groaning as he entered.
Women crowded the mission board—scarred, loud, alive—their chatter a roar. A lanky man, Allen, sat at reception, polishing a dagger. "Hey, I'm Allen. Registering?"
"Yeah," Asher said, voice low under the mask.
"No face, ma'am?" Allen teased. "Fine. Fill this." He slid a form—name, rank, origin. Asher scrawled Ryn, F-rank, wanderer and handed it back.
"Here's your card," Allen said, passing a runed wooden slab. "F-rank. Pass to any kingdom—women-only rule's universal, you know. Pick a mission, avoid fines."
Asher scanned the F-rank board, snagging Herb Gathering, Windrunner Foothills, 1 Week. Tough, but doable. He showed Allen.
"Herbs?" Allen whistled, logging it. "Tricky—good luck. Fail, it's a copper hit." He puffed his cheeks as Asher turned. Rude, he mouthed.
Mask stays on, Asher thought, stepping out. Men can't join guilds anywhere—exposure's death. Dusk fell, heavy and dark. He found an inn—dingy, wood warped, sign creaking. The receptionist, a wiry woman with a lip scar and tired eyes, glanced up from a ledger, her voice rough like she'd smoked too long.
"Room's five coppers a night," she said, barely looking at him. "You staying or just gawking?"
He slid the gold coin across the counter, its dull gleam catching the candlelight. "One night. Keep the rest if you've got no change."
She snorted, snatching it and squinting at it like it might be fake. "A whole gold? You're either rich or stupid—don't got enough coppers on me to break this right now. Pay the difference tomorrow, or I'll hunt you down. Room 5's yours." She fished a rusted key from a drawer, tossing it with a clink. "Up the stairs, third door. Don't break nothing—costs extra."
"Thanks," he muttered, pocketing the key. Her gaze flicked to his mask, lingering a second, but she shrugged and went back to her scribbles.
He climbed creaky stairs to a cramped space—straw mattress sagging in the corner, a splintered table shoved against the wall, a single candle flickering in the draft from a cracked windowpane. He locked the door, mask still on, and sank onto the bed. Night deepened, shadows pooling, but sleep came cautious—his hand gripped his sword, mask's runes glowing faintly in the dark.