Ash limped out of the training room, every muscle in his body screaming. His shirt was soaked through with sweat, his knuckles split open, and his ribs ached like he'd been used as a punching bag. Which, technically, he had.
Ken was leaning against the wall outside, scrolling through his phone. The second he spotted Ash, he shoved the phone into his pocket and grinned.
"Damn, you look like shit," Ken said, falling into step beside him. "Valhalla beat your ass again, huh?"
Ash wiped blood from his lip. "I made him bleed."
Ken whistled. "No fucking way."
"Yeah, well." Ash winced as they turned the corner. "Then he made me eat the floor. So."
Ken laughed, slinging an arm around Ash's shoulders like he wasn't covered in bruises. "Whatever, man. You'll kick his ass next time."
Ash didn't answer. His legs felt like jelly.
"So check this out," Ken said, digging through his pockets before producing a half-crushed protein bar. He tossed it at Ash, who barely caught it. "Got sent on this wild ass mission yesterday. Some rich politician's kid got snatched by void cultists. Real creepy shit—black robes, chanting, the whole nine yards."
Ash peeled the wrapper off the bar and took a bite. It tasted like cardboard. "You get the kid?"
Ken smirked, puffing out his chest. "Obviously. But here's the kicker—the little brat wasn't even scared. Just sitting there, eating candy while these freaks drew weird symbols around him. I bust in, swords out, ready to murder some cultists, and this little shit looks up at me and goes—" Ken dropped his voice into a high-pitched kid impression, "'Are you here to save me? You're kinda short for a hero.'"
Ash choked on the protein bar, coughing violently.
Ken threw his hands up. "Right? Little bastard. So I'm carrying him out while he critiques my fighting style and complains about my hair the whole time. His dad paid me extra to keep quiet about it." He winked. "Which I'm obviously not doing."
Ash shook his head, wiping his mouth. "Only you, man."
Ken stretched his arms behind his head. "What can I say? I'm just built different."
As they walked towards the main hall, Ken noticed something, how Ash was still using the dull blade that was provided to the rookie heroes. "Still no replacement, huh?"
Ash shook his head, His sword... was apparently lost somewhere and as much as he tried to remember where he lost it, there was no damn clue.
Ken leaned against the metal doors, crossing his arms. "Kinda messed up when you think about it. Lord Gabriel pays for your fancy hospital suite, lets people send flowers, but doesn't bother getting you a new sword?" He smirked. "Guess even lord can be cheap sometimes."
The moment the words left Ken's mouth, the chatter in the hall way died. Several heroes turned to glare. One guy—a fire-wielder actually stepped forward.
"You got something to say about Lord Gabriel?"
Ken blinked, holding up his hands. "Whoa, easy there, Sparky. It was a joke."
The guy didn't laugh. Neither did the three other heroes now staring daggers at them.
Ash sighed and grabbed Ken's arm, pulling him toward a corner before things could escalate. "Dumbass."
Ken shrugged. "What? It's true. You need a sword."
Ash rubbed his face, the motion pulling at his bruised ribs. He did need one. Badly. Training with borrowed blades wasn't the same. Without his own weapon, he might as well be fighting with one hand tied behind his back.
Ken stretched, cracking his neck. "So. Wanna go sword shopping?"
Ash gave him a look. "With what money?"
Ken grinned. "We don't buy it, dumbass. We find it."
He pulled out his phone, showing Ash a map. "Heard rumors about some old blacksmith out past the Tarnfield ridge. Guy makes weapons for hunters who go into the deep void. Real nasty shit."
Ash stared at him. "You want to go into the Tarnfield ridge?"
Ken rolled his eyes. "No, dumbass. His shop is near the ridge. Not in it. There's a difference."
"There's really not."
"Semantics." Ken pocketed his phone. "Point is, the guy makes weapons that can handle anything. Including gravity-warping War Gods."
Ash rubbed his temples. Every instinct told him this was a terrible idea. But the weight of his missing sword—the way his hands felt empty without it—that was worse.
Ken was already walking backward toward the transport hub, that stupid grin still plastered on his face. "Come on, man. What's the worst that could happen?"
"No."
Ken spun around, nearly elbowing an old lady in the face. "What the hell, man?"
"I said no," Ash repeated, voice low. He could still taste blood in his mouth from training. "We're not going to the fucking Ridge."
Ken rolled his eyes so hard Ash worried they'd get stuck. "Dramatic much? It's not that—"
Ash shoved him against the wall, ignoring the startled looks from passerby. "Not that bad?" he hissed. "You remember what happened last month? That Nexus tear near East District of the ridge? A huge ass mountains leveled. two heroes dead. And that was just a small one from the Realm of Warriors."
Ken opened his mouth but Ash wasn't done.
"The Ridge has tears popping up daily. Most connect to Hell or Warriors, sure. But you really wanna risk stepping into one that leads to the Realm of Creatures?" Ash's voice dropped to a whisper. "Less than one percent come back from those, Ken. Not soldiers. Not heroes. Nobody."
Ken scratched at the fresh cut on his cheek—a souvenir from his last mission. "Okay, okay. But the blacksmith's shop isn't in the hot zone. It's on the outskirts. Barely any tears there."
"Barely any isn't zero."
"Nothing's zero risk!" Ken threw his hands up. "You could choke on your breakfast tomorrow and die. Should we stop eating?"
Ash wanted to strangle him. "That's not the same and you know it."
Ken leaned in, grinning. "Admit it. You're scared."
"Damn right I am. You should be too."
THE FOUR REALMS
Every child learned this before they could walk:
Realm of Paradise - The golden child. Peaceful. Safe. Basically heaven if heaven had really good food and zero monsters.
Realm of Hell - Nightmare creatures. Violent tribes. If it exists, it wants to kill you. Even the fucking flowers bite.
Realm of Warriors - Human-ish. Mostly chill now thanks to Lord Gabriel. Emphasis on mostly. Some tribes still enjoyed skull collecting as a hobby.
Realm of Creatures - The boogeyman's boogeyman. So dangerous cartographers just labeled maps with "Here Be Certain Death" and called it a day.
And the only doors between worlds?
Nexus tears.
Random rips in reality that could last minutes or years. Most connected to Warriors or Hell or Heaven. Rare ones linked to Creatures. The Ridge was tear central—ground zero for unstable dimensional fuckery.
Their argument was interrupted by a voice like stone in a blender.
"Kenneth."
Ken went stiff as a board. Ash turned slowly.
The man standing there could've been Ken in twenty years—if Ken spent those years getting punched in the face daily. Same sharp jawline, same cocky stance, but with twice the muscle and three times the scars. One particularly nasty mark ran from his left eyebrow down to his jaw, pulling his mouth into a permanent half-scowl.
"Dad?" Ken's voice cracked. "You're back early."
"Mission wrapped up." The man's eyes—cold gray, nothing like Ken's warm brown—flicked to Ash.
Ash knew that look. The slight tightening around the eyes. The barely-there shift in stance. The same look every veteran hero gave him eventually.
Richie's brother.
Ken's father didn't say it. Didn't need to.
After a beat that stretched too long, he looked back at Ken. "Come home soon. Don't make me come find you." Then he walked away.
Ken exhaled like he'd been holding his breath for years. "Well. That happened."
Ash didn't trust himself to speak. His hands ached from how tight he'd clenched them.
Ken nudged him. "Don't mind him. He's always been yk strict."
"Not to everyone else," Ash muttered.
Ken shrugged. "Not his fault. After what your brother did—"
"I'm not my brother." The words tasted like ash.
Ken held up his hands. "Didn't say you were. Just... cut him some slack, okay? Losing his partner messed him up."
Ash said nothing. He'd heard the stories. Ken's dad's best friend had died stopping one of Richie's attacks.
Back at Ash's apartment, Ken flopped onto the couch like a starfish. "So. Ridge or debt?"
Ash dug through his fridge, tossing Ken a beer. "Debt."
"Booooring." Ken caught it one-handed. "Live a little."
"I'd like to keep living, thanks."
Ken popped the cap off on the edge of the table. "You're no fun." He took a swig. "What if I told you I've got a contact at the Watch? Could get us tear alerts in real time."
Ash paused. "Since when do you have Watch contacts?"
"Since I may or may not have saved Commander Marshall's niece from that cult."
"You're shitting me."
Ken grinned. "Nope. Got the comms link to prove it."
"Fine," he growled. "But we go prepared. Full gear. Emergency beacons. And the second a tear opens within five klicks, we bail."
Ken whooped, nearly spilling his beer. "That's my boy!"
Ash sank into a chair, already regretting every decision that led him here. Ken was busy rattling off plans, but Ash wasn't listening. His eyes kept drifting to the framed photo on his dresser—him and Richie as kids, before everything went to hell.