speared through the cracked window, a pale shaft cutting across Room 5's dusty floor. Asher jolted awake, the mask still cold against his face, its runes dim in the dawn's glare. He'd slept fitful, hand cramped around his sword, dreams of fists and Aiko's fading voice gnawing at him. He stumbled to the splintered table, catching his reflection in a chipped mirror. A status window flickered—forced by the mask: Strength: Locked, Agility: 80, Skill: None. He snorted, a bitter edge to it. Agility's all I get—useless half-truths. The mirror's trick was a tease, not power. He grabbed his gear—practice blade, Ryn, F-rank card, herb mission slip—and slipped out, one gold coin from Lily and Rose's coin.
The innkeeper, Olivia, barely glanced up from her ledger, her scarred lip twitching as he passed. Eldrida's streets buzzed—women adventurers in patched leathers strode past, hawkers shouted over crates of apples and turnips, blacksmith shops rang with hammer strikes. Smoke hung thick, coal and iron staining the air. He walked, mask snug, until a frail figure caught his eye—a girl, maybe fourteen, slumped against a wall, legs twisted under her, hands outstretched for coins. Her dirty hair curtained a bruised face, blue eyes dull with hunger. Asher paused, a pang flickering, but turned away. Mission first.
At the gate, Lily and Rose stood watch, spears gleaming. He flashed his card, voice flat. "Ryn. Mission. Let me out.
"Rose took it, squinting. "Ryn? New face—well, new mask. Never seen you 'round. What's with the cover?"
"None of your business," he said, sharp but low.
Lily smirked, handing it back. "Fair enough. Off you go, mystery girl."
He nodded, stepping into the Windrunner Foothills—a rugged sprawl of rock and brush under the Peaks' shadow. The mask hummed, senses flaring—wind whistling, twigs snapping—as he hunted Frostbite Bloom. Silver petals glinted in crevices; he gathered ten stalks by evening, their icy sheen cool against his fingers. This mask… worth every lie, he thought, trudging back.
Eldrida's gates creaked open at dusk, the streets quieter now. He passed the girl's spot—she was gone. A faint groan pulled him toward an alley, where a dustbin lay tipped, spilling rot. There she was—crumpled, beaten, blood streaking her face. Asher's heart kicked, anger surging as he knelt, easing her onto the cobblestones. She winced, eyes fluttering open—bright blue, defiant despite the swelling.
"Easy," he said, voice soft. "I've got you. What's your name?"
"K-K… Kai…ra," she slurred, voice thick and halting, each syllable a struggle.
"I'm Asher," he said, jaw tight. "Who did this?"
Tears welled, her words stumbling out. "B-Ban…dits… w-wanted g-gold. F-Found… n-none. C-Called m-me… f-freak."
His anger simmered, knuckles whitening. "Where do you live? I'll get you to a healer."
She trembled, speech slow and strained. "B-Born… H-House C-Cal…onia. N-Noble. L-Legs… n-no s-s-straight, w-words… n-no c-clear… P-Parents—L-Lord, L-Lady—s-said p-perfect… o-once. Th-Then c-cursed. F-Freak." Tears streaked her swollen cheeks. "Th-Threw m-me… o-out. N-Nine."
Asher's gut twisted, outrage flaring. "Because you're disabled?"
She nodded, sobbing. "S-Stripped m-my n-name… t-title."
He scooped her up, careful of her bruises, brushing tears from her cheek. "You're not cursed, Kaira. They're blind." Her gaze locked on his, a flicker of hope breaking through.
"A-Ash…er…" she whispered, weak and garbled.
"Yeah?"
"Y-You're… k-kind… t-to a f-freak… l-like m-me…"
"You're not a freak," he said, firm but gentle. "You'reBrave ."
He carried her to the guild, eyes turning—women in leathers stared, whispers rippling. Allen perked up at reception. "Herbs already? Tough gig—impressive." He checked the stalks, sliding over copper coins and tapping the card. "Thirty points. Hundred gets you E-rank."
"How much for healing?" Asher asked, voice clipped.
"One silver," Allen said. "Healer is in the room go left inn hhhhhhhhhhgfj hungryand then right."
Asher ran, Kaira limp in his arms. Allen muttered, "Who's she? Masked hero saving that dirty thing?"
The healer's room stank of salve and damp stone. A wiry woman in robes scowled. "What, this filthy girl? My energy's too precious—"
Asher grabbed her collar, voice a growl. "Heal her, or I'll make you regret it."
"Okay, okay!" she yelped, fear flashing. She sat Kaira on a chair, hands glowing as magic knit her wounds—bruises fading, swelling easing. "Done."
Asher knelt, mask still on. "How do you feel Kaira?"
She blinked, tears spilling, voice still thick. "G-Good… P-People h-hate m-me… c-call m-me d-dis…gust…ing. B-Beat m-me… e-every d-day—p-pain, n-no s-sleep. Th-Thank… y-you." She lunged, hugging him tight, sobbing into his chest.
"It's okay," he said, arms wrapping her gently, a rare smile breaking through. "Come to my inn—I'll look after you."
"O-Okay," she sniffed, clinging. She stood, gasping. "I-I… c-can w-walk!"
The healer shrugged. "Her legs were crushed—external force, not born that way."
Asher's anger spiked. "Bandits?"
Kaira nodded, trembling. "Y-Yes…"
"Let's go," he said, leading her out. Allen flinched under Asher's glare—masked, but piercing—as the door slammed.
At the inn, Olivia looked up, eyebrow raised. "Girl now? Whatever—none of my business. Extra body's two coppers more."
Asher slid seven coppers over. "For tonight."
She pocketed them, smirking. "Name's Olivia—own this dump. Women don't take desk jobs, but no man'll work for me. And I only introduce myself when.I have money in my hand so thank you for.understanding Nice grip, Ryn." She offered a handshake; he took it, firm.
"Ryn," he said. "She's my sister."
Upstairs, Kaira hugged him again, smiling odd and shy. "S-Sorry… I-I g-get c-clingy… w-when h-happy. D-Don't b-be… d-dis…gusted."
He wrapped her tight. "Never." She pulled back, eyes curious.
"Y-You're… h-hiding… a-aren't y-you?"He hesitated, then slid the mask off, revealing his face. "I'm a man. Uneasy?"
"N-No," she said, firm despite the slur. "G-Gender… d-don't m-matter—y-you s-saved m-me."
"Sleep on the bed," he said, pointing. "I'll take the couch."
"N-No, I-I—" she started, words stumbling, but he cut her off.
"Bed. Now."
She relented, curling under the thin blanket. He waited till her breaths evened, then slipped out the window, mask back on. The night cloaked him as he tracked the bandits—three women, holed up in a shadowed alley, drunk on stolen ale. Laughter spilled from their grimy mouths, one—a tall brute with a scarred lip—waving a blood-crusted club. "That cripple squealed—should've snapped her neck," she slurred, voice rough as gravel. Another, wiry with a rusted dagger, cackled, her braids swinging. "No coin, no loss—freak's trash." The third, squat and bald, swigged from a flask, muttering, "Next time, we sell her—someone'd pay for a toy."
Asher's blood boiled, , Kaira's weight. His sword was dull, chipped from stone and beast, no match for steel in raw force. But speed was his blade, and Kenjutsu—years under his father's harsh drills—his edge. He exhaled, stance low, the mask amplifying their staggers, their breaths, the clink of their weapons. Three moves. Three kills.
He darted, a shadow against the alley's damp walls, Agility 80 a blur in the dark. The tall one swung her club—too slow. Asher sidestepped, Kenjutsu flowing—Iai stance—sword flashing up in a clean arc, slicing through her throat before she grunted. Blood sprayed, hot and coppery, as she crumpled. The wiry one yelped, dagger slashing wild; Asher pivoted, Men strike—a downward cut from above, splitting her skull with a dull crack, brains spilling onto the stones. The bald one stumbled back, flask dropping, fumbling for a short sword—Asher lunged, Tsuki thrust—blade piercing her chest, tip grinding past ribs into heart. A gurgle, then silence, the flask rolling in a puddle of red.
He stood over them, chest heaving, mask smeared with blood he wiped on their rags. His arms trembled, the dull blade notched further, but they'd died fast—speed and precision trumping steel. No strength, just skill, he thought, sheathing it. He slipped back through the window as dawn edged the sky.
In Room 5, he sank onto the couch, mask glowing faintly. Kaira's status flickered above her sleeping form: Cursed Creature, Strength: 5, Agility: 5, Special Power: Poison. The Goddess's mark—lowest stats, a monster's skill. Cursed by who? he wondered, anger simmering anew. Her family? The Goddess? Ava's soul burned in his chest—he'd protect this one too.