The city of Lontara lay sprawled before them — a place where smoke curled from stone chimneys, and banners of faded gold flapped above crooked rooftops. The marketplace roared like a beast, full of voices shouting, children laughing, hooves clattering, and a thousand smells both divine and questionable wafting through the air.
Ascalon took one cautious step inside the town walls.
"My first adventure town… let's go," the prince whispered within, filled with excitement.
"Finally, something to fill my belly," Ascalon muttered aloud with raw, reverent joy. The image of roast meat, sweet rolls, and something that wasn't scorched volcanic moss nearly brought a tear to his eye.
But as they entered, his boots slowed. The excitement drained from his face.
The prince noticed. "…Why are we stopping?"
"…We have no coin."
A pause.
"Wait—what?"
"No coin. Not a copper leaf, not even a chipped scale. I've been walking around wearing a magic armor and carrying a flaming dragon soul like that would pay for a loaf of bread!"
"You—you didn't think to check?!"
"I was dead, then reborn, then exploded a volcano—budgeting didn't make the list, Your Highness."
The prince groaned. "We're going to starve before we reach the inn."
The Crimson Dragon sighed. "This is the true curse of mortals. Not death. Not betrayal. Poverty."
Ascalon looked around. Food stalls lined the roads like greedy gods, offering everything from glowing mushroom stew to fried beast-spine wrapped in honeygrass.
His stomach growled so loudly that a passing hawker flinched.
He wandered to a vendor's stall tucked beneath a crooked wooden arch. The stallkeeper — a stocky man with gray skin, tusks, and a horned cap — eyed him with narrowed gaze. His voice was gruff, but not unfriendly.
"You gonna buy or gawk?" the vendor asked, waving a wooden ladle over a cauldron that sizzled with blue liquid and chunks of meat. "Three copper for a bowl. Or you can smell it for free and leave."
Ascalon opened his mouth… and closed it.
The vendor squinted. "You ain't got coin, do you?"
"I…" Ascalon hesitated. "I… may have miscalculated my economic situation."
The vendor blinked. "You broke."
"…Painfully."
The vendor leaned forward, looking over the cloak and boots, then up at Ascalon's unreadable expression. He sniffed once. "Hmph. Don't look like a thief. Don't smell like a beggar. You one of those church boys?"
"I'm more of a… wandering initiate of misfortune," Ascalon replied.
The vendor laughed — a deep, belly-shaking sound. "That's a new one."
"I can work," Ascalon added quickly. "Something. Anything. Just need a cloak. Maybe a crust of bread."
The vendor scratched his chin with a ladle. "Tell you what. See that stack of firewood?" He pointed to a tangled mess behind the stall. "You chop it clean, I'll toss you a bowl and a wrap."
Ascalon's eyes lit up. "Deal."
He turned, summoned the faintest edge of his strength, and with a muffled hum from the armor, he slammed his hand down — CRACK! — splitting the first log clean in two.
The vendor paused mid-stir. "...You know what, lad. You might not be rich, but you ain't useless."
The dull thuds of the axe echoed through the still forest air, each swing slicing clean into the logs. Wood chips scattered like fleeting memories, while sweat clung to his brow—not out of exhaustion, but purpose. Ascalon leaned back, flexing the arm that once knew only elegance and warfare.
"Prince, your body's not that useless after all," he remarked, a sly grin tugging at his lips.
The prince paused, a faint chuckle escaping him as he leaned on the haft of his axe. A wave of nostalgia crashed into him—of sunlit courtyards, endless drills, and a woman with eyes sharp as blades and a voice that brooked no weakness.
"I had a very great teacher," he said softly, warmth evident in his tone.
"Hmph. Looks like the teacher was great," Ascalon shot back, raising an eyebrow, "but you didn't learn much, did you?"
The prince's laughter came easier now, rich with the comfort of old memories. "Everything has its own joy," he said. "Even the pain of training. Even this... chopping wood."
There was a silence after that, not awkward but content, filled with the quiet rhythm of work. Ascalon glanced sideways, catching a glimpse of the prince's gentle expression—relaxed, distant, content.
Seeing him like that stirred something in Ascalon. A strange warmth bloomed in his chest. It wasn't his emotion, and yet... it lingered.
"It's okay for me to do this kind of work, right?" Ascalon said with mock seriousness, tossing another log onto the pile. "I mean, does a prince's honor get damaged if he labors like a peasant? Huh!"
"Really? I don't mind," the prince replied, smiling faintly. "It's not easy to leave everything behind... but what's done is done. It can't be changed."
Ascalon didn't answer immediately. He didn't need to. The two returned to their task, working in a quiet rhythm under the shade of the tall trees.
Time passed, and as the day wore on, a gruff voice broke the monotony.
"You've done well," said the vendor, stepping forward with two bowls of steaming stew and a neatly folded bundle. He handed the food to Ascalon and passed him the bundle. "For your efforts."
Unfolding the contents, Ascalon found a white shirt of fine weave and a dark cloak that shimmered subtly beneath the sun. When he draped it over his shoulders, it gave him the air of a traveler—mysterious, poised for a journey. Around his neck, a glowing blue pendant now pulsed gently with arcane energy, hinting at the power slumbering within him. His right hand, gloved in black leather, bore the glowing blue mark etched by magic. Brown trousers and a utility pouch completed the ensemble—a practical look, but no less striking.
He looked at himself, then at the vendor. A rare softness touched his voice. "I'm truly grateful, sir. I'll repay your kindness one day. That, I swear."
As he spoke, he tapped the locket hidden beneath his cloak. With a quiet shimmer, the Royal Aegis armor faded into it, safely stored in the magical space within.
The city breathed with quiet life. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, and the scent of stew, pine, and old wood hung thick in the air. Children ran barefoot through the muddy paths, chasing each other with sticks while the elders watched from under shaded porches. For a fleeting moment, it felt like peace—fragile, simple, but real.
Ascalon took a seat near the vendor's fire, blowing gently over the bowl of stew. It was thick with root vegetables and strips of wild game—nothing like the royal cuisine he once tasted, but somehow warmer. More honest.
"You eat like a human now," the prince murmured from within.
Ascalon smirked. "Well, technically, I am one. At least half of me."
"I meant the attitude," the prince replied, soft amusement in his tone.
Before Ascalon could respond, the vendor spoke again, his voice slow and cautious. "You heading anywhere, stranger? Or just passing through?"
Ascalon didn't look up immediately. He stared into the fire, the dancing embers reflected in the pendant's glow. "I'm looking for answers," he said finally. "To things... buried deep."
The vendor gave a knowing nod. "Aren't we all," he muttered, then turned away, leaving him to his silence.
After the meal, Ascalon decides to take a walk.
"This body... it remembers pain," the prince said quietly. "But also the joy. Of sparring. Of learning. Of feeling alive."
Ascalon ran a gloved hand over the pendant. The blue symbol flared briefly.
"Do you miss her?" he asked, voice low.
The prince was quiet for a while.
"…Bellatrix? She was more than just my captain. She was a shield. A storm. When everything around me crumbled, she stood firm."
"You think she's still looking for you?"
Another pause.
"I know she is."
The breeze picked up, whispering through the trees.