Dawn crept into Room 5, a weak glow filtering through the cracked window, casting jagged shadows over the straw mattress where Kaira slept. Asher slumped on the couch, mask still on, its runes pulsing faintly after the night's bloodshed. His hands trembled, the dull practice sword notched from the bandits' skulls resting across his lap. Three women dead—swift, clean cuts—but the ache in his bones lingered, a reminder of his limits. Kaira's status hovered in his vision: Cursed Creature, Strength: 5, Agility: 5, Special Power: Poison. The Goddess's cruel brand gnawed at him. Poison? What kind? He'd seen no sign—yet.
A soft rustle broke his thoughts. Kaira stirred, sitting up, her legs straighter now, healed but stiff. Her blue eyes blinked, wide and searching, locking on him. "A-Ash…er?" she slurred, voice thick and halting. "Y-You… s-still a-awake?"
"Yeah," he said, voice low, peeling the mask off. His face softened, a rare warmth flickering. "How're you holding up?"
She rubbed her eyes, smiling shyly. "G-Good… n-no p-pain. I-I… w-walked. Th-Thanks t-to y-you." She tilted her head, hesitant. "Y-You… k-killed th-them… d-didn't y-you?"
He froze, then nodded, gaze steady. "They hurt you. Won't anymore."
Kaira's lips trembled, tears welling. "N-No o-one… e-ever… c-cared. Th-Thank y-you." She slid off the bed, stumbling toward him, and hugged him tight, her small frame shaking against his chest.
He wrapped an arm around her, firm but gentle. "You're safe now. Promise." Her warmth steadied him, a flicker of humanity cutting through his cynicism.
A knock rattled the door—sharp, insistent. Asher tensed, nudging Kaira back. "Stay here," he whispered, mask snapping on as he grabbed his sword. He cracked the door, peering out. Olivia stood there, arms crossed, her scarred lip curling.
"Trouble downstairs," she said, voice rough. "Some guild hag's asking for 'Ryn.' Brought muscle—looks pissed. You owe me for not ratting you out yet."
Asher's jaw tightened. Bandits' friends? "Thanks, Olivia. I'll handle it."
She snorted. "Better. Don't bleed on my floors—costs extra." She stomped off.
He glanced at Kaira, her eyes wide with fear. "S-Stay… w-with m-me," she pleaded, voice quaking.
"Can't," he said, soft but firm. "I'll be back. Lock the door." She nodded, fumbling with the latch as he slipped out.
The inn's common room hummed with early risers—women sipping ale, a few adventurers eyeing him. At the bar stood a tall woman in guild leathers, dark hair braided tight, a longsword slung across her back. Her status glowed: Strength: 50, Agility: 35, Mana: 20. Two others flanked her—broad-shouldered, axes at their hips, stats lower but lethal. She turned, eyes narrowing at his mask.
"You Ryn?" she barked, voice cutting through the din. "F-rank who turned in herbs yesterday?"
"Yeah," Asher said, stance loose, hand near his sword. "What's this about?"
She stepped closer, looming. "Name's Mara. Guild enforcer. Three of ours turned up dead last night—throats cut, heads cracked. Word is you were sniffing around the foothills. Know anything?"
Asher's pulse quickened, mask hiding his grimace. They tracked me fast. "Heard nothing. Just did my mission."
Mara sneered, drawing her sword—a sleek, forged blade glinting in the firelight. "Liar. Witnesses saw a masked figure near the alley. You're new—too new. Spill it, or we carve answers out."
The room hushed, eyes on them. Asher exhaled, Agility 80 humming in his veins. "I don't start fights I can't finish," he said, voice low. "Walk away."
She laughed, cold and sharp. "Cute. Get her." The axewomen charged, weapons raised—Strength: 40, Agility: 25 each. Slow, but heavy.
Asher moved—Kenjutsu igniting, a blur of speed. Iai stance—he ducked the first axe, sword slashing up, catching her wrist. Blood sprayed as she howled, weapon clattering. The second swung; he pivoted, Men strike—blade arcing down, slicing her shoulder deep, bone crunching. She dropped, gasping. Mara lunged, longsword thrusting—faster, precise. He sidestepped, Tsuki thrust—his dull blade aimed for her chest, but she parried, steel clanging, sparks flying. His arms ached, the chipped sword straining, but he pressed—speed his edge.
"Too slow," she taunted, swinging wide. He rolled under, slashing her thigh—shallow, but she staggered. Mara gasped as he rose, blade at her throat.
"Yield," he growled, mask amplifying his rasp.
Mara glared, blood dripping, then spat. "Fine. But this ain't over—queen's sniffing too." She backed off, dragging her wounded crew out, the door slamming behind them.
Asher sheathed his sword, chest heaving, the room buzzing again. Olivia leaned over the bar, smirking. "Nice show. Still no blood on my floors—good girl."
He ignored her, bolting upstairs. Kaira flung the door open, eyes red. "A-Ash…er! Y-You… o-okay?"
"Yeah," he said, mask off, pulling her close. "They're gone."
She clung to him, then froze, a faint green shimmer on her fingers. "A-Ash…er… m-my h-hands…" Her voice shook as the shimmer spread, a sickly sweet scent wafting—Poison. Her status flared: Special Power: Poison—Contact Toxin, Low Potency.
He grabbed her wrists, gentle but firm. "Kaira, breathe. It's your skill—Goddess's gift."
"G-Gift?" she stammered, tears spilling. "I-I… p-poison… p-people? I-I'm… a m-mon…ster!"
"No," he said, voice steady, holding her gaze. "It's power. We'll figure it together—don't worry." He forced a smile, easing her panic. "Let's eat breakfast, then hit the commoners' library."
She nodded, wiping her eyes, a shaky smile breaking through. They descended to a cramped restaurant off the inn—wooden tables scarred, air thick with grease and chatter. Asher ordered bread and stew, setting Kaira across from him. Eyes turned—diners, mostly women, stared at her like she was filth, whispers cutting sharp: "Cripple's back," "Disgusting thing," "Why's she with that masked one?" Kaira shrank, head lowering.
"R-Ryn…" she mumbled, voice quaking. "I-I th-think… I-I s-should g-go o-out…"
She rose, but Asher grabbed her hand, his voice ringing loud and clear, silencing the room. "Kaira, you know why they look at you like this?" Every head snapped to him, eyes wide. "Because the queen spits venom at the Duke. If the Duke's pissed, she snarls at the nobles. Nobles take it out on commoners. And where do commoners turn? Not their husbands or kids—no, they dump it on beggars, the disabled—people lower than them. They've got no guts to face the real culprits, so they stomp on you instead."
The room fell dead silent, spoons clattering, faces paling. Asher's gaze swept them, cold and unflinching. "You belong here. No one decides otherwise. Food's getting cold—eat."
Kaira blinked, tears brimming, but sat, spoon trembling as she scooped stew. The whispers died, diners averting their eyes, the air heavy with shame. They finished in quiet, her hand brushing his once—a silent thanks.
The commoners' library squatted a block away—a squat stone building, its shelves sagging with dusty tomes. Kaira settled in a rickety chair, legs tucked awkwardly, watching as Asher prowled the stacks. He pulled books—histories of Eldrida, tales of the Holy Sword—searching for clues about relics, curses, anything. The mask hummed faintly, runes steady—until it flared, a sharp pulse stabbing his skull. He staggered, knees buckling, vision spinning as a low whine filled his ears. Books slipped from his hands, thudding to the floor.
"A-Ash…er!" Kaira's voice cut through, panicked, as she lurched toward him.
The dizziness faded as fast as it struck, leaving him gasping, mask's glow dimming. He steadied himself, meeting her wide eyes. "I-I'm… f-fine," he muttered, rubbing his temple. What the hell was that? The mask hadn't reacted since the repository—something here triggered it. Something close.