My Wife Is A Witch, And I’m Her Consort

The Hunters' board was alive with movement, its towering wooden surface covered in fresh parchment, contracts pinned haphazardly by daggers, nails, or whatever was available. The air smelled of sweat, iron, and old parchment, thick with the scent of warriors who had just returned from a hunt or were eager to take on their next kill.

Espen lingered near the edges, her masked face hidden beneath her hood, watching as bounties disappeared one by one, each taken by a grizzled mercenary, a scarred beast-kin, or a towering brute of a warrior. Gold exchanged hands, weapons clanked against armor, and voices rose over one another, thick with laughter and boasts.

"I'll take this one!" a burly man with tusks declared, tearing a parchment free with his clawed fingers. "Says here a Wyvern's been terrorizing a trade route near the Ironwood. Should be easy enough."

Another Hunter, a broad-shouldered woman with serpentine tattoos winding up her arms, raised an eyebrow. "Wyvern hunts are never easy, but good luck to ya. That one's got a bounty of 7,000 gold. You sure you're up for it?"

The tusked man grinned, showing off yellowed fangs. "If it bleeds, it dies."

A nearby beast-kin with feathers instead of hair scoffed. "Tell that to the last Hunter who took that contract. You know, the one who got ripped in half."

"Which half do you think they buried?" another voice chimed in, earning a chorus of chuckles.

Another Hunter, a pale-skinned man with jagged scars across his cheeks, grabbed a contract with bold red lettering. He skimmed it briefly before whistling lowly. "Damn. Bloodwood Forest. Something's been turning people into husks. No sign of an actual beast, just bodies drained dry."

A younger Hunter peered over his shoulder, curiosity flickering in his eyes. "A vampire?"

The scarred man shook his head. "Vampires don't leave empty bodies. They drain the blood, not the life. This is something else." He smirked slightly. "Sounds fun."

As more contracts vanished, Espen's gaze flicked across the board, her heart steady, her thoughts careful.

'Most of these are suicide missions. But they're taking them anyway. Because that's what they do. Because this is Vjosgard, and if you're not fighting, you're already dead.'

She watched as one Hunter claimed a bounty on a pack of Bladebound wolves, another on a corrupted warlock hiding in the cliffs of Ildra's Mountain. The longer she stood there, the fewer choices remained.

And then, finally—only one contract was left.

She stepped forward, her gloved fingers reaching for the last parchment, her pulse steady—

But she hesitated.

Her hand hovered just above the paper, her breath catching in her throat.

'This is reckless. This is stupid. I know that. This isn't a calculated move. This is desperation. But..I need this don't I?!'

She swallowed hard, eyes scanning the contract.

It was written in elegant format, its words flowing neatly, a red wax seal stamped at the bottom, marking it as official business from the magistrate of Vjosgard.

CONTRACT VALUE: 3,000 GOLD

Location: Titan's Spine, on the outskirts of Vjosgard, bordering Indreth.

Objective: Retrieve Druid Areth from captivity. Kill the Giant.

Threat: A Giant bearing a red mark upon its head, last seen near the beanstalk ascending the cliffs. Reports indicate possible supernatural influence. Approach with extreme caution.

Signed, Magistrate Cedric Thorn of Vjosgard

_________________________________________

Her fingers twitched slightly as she stared at the parchment.

'Druids. Druids are not merely healers or mystics in Kalhalla; they were listeners of the land's essence, conduits of the world's raw and ancient power. Every kingdom, every corner of this world, was affected by their presence—or, in some cases, their absence. When a Druid walks through a forest, the trees lean toward them, whispering secrets only they can understand. When a Druid touches the earth, the soil remembers them, shifting in ways that can be felt centuries later. They are not warriors. They are not rulers. But the world listens to them in a way it listens to no one else. Maela told me that, as she used to have a friend who was a Druid. And now, one has been taken. Everyone is getting stolen nowadays.'

She exhaled sharply.

'This is what Maela would want, isn't it? For me to carve my own path? To fight? To stand on my own?'

Her hand finally moved—

And another hand grabbed the parchment at the same time.

She stilled.

'Shit!'

A Hunter—tall, broad-shouldered, his dark cloak lined with fur that reached to his hands in long sleeves, his features sharp and confident—held the other side of the parchment. He raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly beneath his hood.

"Didn't think anyone else wanted this one," he mused, voice amused but firm. "But I'm gonna need this, lass."

Espen didn't respond. She couldn't.

Because the moment she looked at him, she noticed it.

A Hunter's band.

Strapped around his wrist, the engraved iron band shimmered faintly with its embedded rune, marking him as an official Hunter.

'This is my chance. If I take it, he won't notice it's gone because of the long sleeves. He won't notice until later. But if I survive I'll give it back. I'm only borrowing it.'

She thought quickly, scanning the crowd, the attention shifting toward them. If she did anything suspicious now, she'd be noticed immediately. And stealing from a Hunter—especially in broad daylight, in the middle of a Vjosgardian town—was a death sentence.

So she made a choice.

'I can't believe I'm doing this..'

She staggered slightly, tilting her posture awkwardly. Then, in the most exaggerated, slurred voice she could manage, she blurted out—

"Ohhhh, wow, would you LOOK at that?!"

The Hunter frowned, his grip still firm on the parchment. "What—"

Espen swayed, her body lurching slightly toward him.

"I—it's jus'—hah, this town is spinning, you know?" She laughed loudly, the sound unnatural even to her own ears.

The Hunter blinked. "Are you—?"

She stumbled forward, her hand gripping his arm for support, shaking him slightly.

'Touching a sweaty human…I'm gonna vomit..'

"Wh-WHOA, hold on, big guy! I jus'—I gotta stand still for a second! Everything's all—whoosh—"

The surrounding Hunters and Adventurers turned, some raising eyebrows, others snickering.

"Shit, someone get her some water," one of them chuckled.

"Or more ale!" another added.

Espen leaned against him harder, her masked face tilting up at him as she dramatically sighed. "You, you're really strong, y'know? Like, damn, do you lift? Because you feel like you lift—"

'I am lying about everything, I hate your guts.'

The Hunter scowled, pulling away slightly. "Can you—not?"

Espen gripped his sleeve, feigning desperation.

"No, no, wait, don't move! It's—it's happening again—ohhhh, gods—"

She faked another lurch, her fingers brushing against his wrist—

And in one fluid, practiced movement, she slid the Hunter's band from his wrist into the folds of her cloak.

For a moment, Espen thought she had gotten away with it.

The contract was in her hand. The Hunter's band was tucked securely in her fist. The onlookers were still snickering at her exaggerated drunken performance, shaking their heads in amusement, not suspicion. She was already thinking of how to slip away into the crowd and make her exit when—

A loud, frustrated growl cut through the air.

"Hold it right there, you masked drunk!"

Espen stopped.

Slowly, she turned her head, feigning sluggish movement as if still playing the part of a stumbling fool.

The Hunter she had stolen from stood there, his veins bulging, his face red with anger, a man built like a war machine, standing well over six feet tall with broad shoulders and an axe nearly as large as his own body. His long, auburn hair was tied back in thick braids, revealing a sharply chiseled face marred with battle scars. His armor was a mix of dark iron and animal pelts, giving him the look of a warlord straight out of a bloody saga.

And his axe—it hummed with a strange energy, its blackened blade lined with deep, molten cracks, as if something powerful slumbered within it, waiting to be unleashed.

The crowd fell silent for a brief second, the tension settling over the square like a coiled beast ready to strike.

Then, the Hunter raised his axe, pointing it directly at Espen.

"You think you can just take a contract from me?! You think I'm just gonna let that slide?!" His voice boomed, powerful enough to rattle the air.

Espen tilted her head, still playing the role of an oblivious drunk, then let out a loud, exaggerated hiccup.

"Uh," she muttered, "…Yes?"

The crowd exploded with laughter.

Even some of the other Hunters clapped their hands against their armor, shaking their heads in amusement.

But the Hunter wasn't laughing.

He slammed the butt of his axe into the ground, the runes along its edge igniting with an eerie glow, a visible shockwave rippling out from the impact. "Name's Rakar Ironjaw of the Thunderhowling Company!" he bellowed. "I've slain dragons in the northern cliffs! I've carved through high ranking monsters! And I'll be damned if some nameless masked drunkard is going to walk away with my contract!"

The crowd roared in excitement, cheering as a ring began to form around them, spectators eager to witness a fight.

"Masked drunk lady's in trouble!" one man shouted, elbowing his friend.

"A fight! A fight!" children cried out, scrambling onto barrels and rooftops for a better view.

Espen stood still, her mind working rapidly beneath the act. She didn't want to fight. Not here. Not now. Not when she had just stolen a Hunter's band. And if a blow lands in the right spot, her mask will fly off. She had it crafted to where it won't fall off so easily, but still there's always risk.

Rakar lifted his axe, the molten veins along the blade glowing brighter, radiating heat. "Pick up your weapon," he said, his tone low and dangerous. "Or I'll cut you down where you stand."

And then—

Three figures dropped between them.

The air shifted.

The moment their boots touched the ground, the energy in the square changed, like an unseen force had just stepped into the arena, halting the fight before it could begin.

The newcomers stood in matching colors, their armor trimmed with deep blues and silvers, their cloaks flowing with intricate patterns of celestial markings. They carried themselves with an effortless air of authority, as if they belonged in the spotlight, as if they expected eyes to be on them at all times.

The leader, the tallest of the three, had the face of a statue carved by the gods themselves—strong jaw, golden eyes that gleamed like liquid sunlight, and hair as white as untouched snow, tied back with silver bands. His armor, though ornate, was designed for mobility, layered with sleek, segmented plates, and at his hip rested a pristine longsword, the edge faintly shimmering with Aether Kenda. His name was Cairn.

To his left, a thin, almost ghostly figure adjusted the large grimoire hanging at his side. He was pale, unnervingly so, with dark rings beneath his eyes, his lips curled in a perpetual smirk that made it unclear if he found the world amusing or just irritating. His robes were lined with glyphs, pulsating faintly, and as he flicked a page in his book, strands of silver-blue energy hovered in the air around him, waiting to be commanded. His name was Vaelith.

The third figure was a woman clad in full plate, her short-cropped auburn hair swept back, revealing a face that was both strikingly beautiful and terrifyingly focused. She carried a halberd laced with Aether runes, her grip on it so casual that it was obvious she had swung it a thousand times before without hesitation. Her name was Iridia.

'Who are they?' Espen wondered.

The crowd stirred with excitement.

"It's them! The Super Strong Ultimate Guild!" someone gasped.

Another voice scoffed. "That name's so damn long."

"The SSUG!" another corrected. "They're famous in the central territories!"

Espen stared at them, her masked expression blank, before her inner thoughts surfaced.

'Super Strong Ultimate Guild?'

Her disgust was instant.

'What a long name.'

The leader of the trio turned his golden gaze onto Espen.

Then—he smiled.

"Step aside, my lady," he said, his voice smooth and effortlessly charismatic. "I'll fight in your honor. I can tell behind that make you have a beautiful voice enough to make a man like me melt!"

Espen's soul left her body. Internally, her entire being curled in secondhand embarrassment.

Externally, she forced another hiccup and dismissively waved her hand.

"Naaah, I got thish," she slurred, stumbling slightly.

In her mind, however—

'Ew. Fuck off.'

The crowd erupted into cheers as Rakar gritted his teeth, stepping forward. "I don't care who you are. This masked lunatic stole my contract. I'm getting it back."

The grimoire-wielding Hunter lazily flipped a page in his book, his fingers tracing the Aether glyphs. "How dramatic," he mused. "Shall we all just fight to the death over a piece of paper?"

The female knight sighed, adjusting her grip on her halberd. "Honestly, that does sound fun."

Before Rakar could respond, more figures pushed through the crowd—his own backup, a group of Hunters from his company, stepping forward to even the odds.

The atmosphere grew thick with tension, like the moment before a storm broke.

And yet—no one stopped it.

The Knights of Vjosgard, who regularly patrolled the town, stood nearby, watching the events unfold without a hint of intervention.

Because this?

This was Vjosgard.

And in Vjosgard, strength dictated everything.

The air between Rakar and Cairn crackled with unspoken fury, molten veins pulsing along the edge of the Hunter's axe as he readied his stance, the heat distorting the air around him. His men had formed a tight circle, fanned out and bristling with hostility, their hands tightening on their weapons, their muscles coiled and ready to strike. The crowd was practically vibrating with excitement, a sea of eager eyes and jeering voices, already placing bets on how this would play out.

Rakar snarled, "Definitely not gonna let the odds be one sided! I won't get jumped by a guild with a long name!"

Cairn grinned, "Our name is awesome, admit it."

"Never."

Cairn didn't move at first, standing in complete ease, his golden eyes betraying nothing but mild amusement, his longsword resting idly against his shoulder. The silver edge of the blade pulsed with Aether energy, not radiating power in an overwhelming display, but calmly, steadily, waiting. Vaelith's grimoire floated beside him, the pages turning with an unseen force as sigils flickered and shifted in the air. Iridia adjusted her grip on her halberd, letting its weight roll across her palms, Aether humming softly along its length as if the weapon itself were stretching in anticipation.

Then, without warning, Rakar's axe ignited with a surge of heat, and he launched forward, swinging in a massive overhead strike that promised to cleave Cairn in two. But just as the weapon was about to land, Cairn vanished—not in a blink, not in a burst of speed, but in a fluid shift of motion so effortless it defied logic, his afterimage lingering for a half-second before flickering away. Before Rakar could process the miss, a dull tap struck the side of his knee—Cairn's sword, impossibly precise, catching just the right spot to momentarily buckle his balance.

"Haha! Look at you!" Cairn teased.

"Tch! Stop messing with me!"

Rakar stumbled, snarling, trying to adjust mid-motion, but Cairn had already moved again, weaving through his attempted recovery with an unnatural grace. The Aether in his body warped his momentum, allowing him to twist and redirect weight mid-step, moving with such economy that even the dust beneath his boots barely shifted. He finally struck—not with a lethal blow, but with the blunt edge of his sword, cracking against Rakar's exposed ribs with just enough force to send him staggering, without breaking a bone.

"AGH!" Blood flung from Rakar's mouth, his body tumbling across the ground.

Cairn looked at Espen, smiled, and put a thumbs up, and Espen, still acting drunk, swayed and threw up a middle finger.

"Haha….good j-job!" She burped.

And then the others moved.

Iridia caught an approaching Hunter's blade on the haft of her halberd, but instead of absorbing the impact outright, she let her Aether-infused muscles shift with the force, tilting her weapon in a smooth arc that redirected the momentum entirely, sending the man careening past her against his own will. She twisted, her footwork a calculated dance, the base of her halberd slamming into the side of another Hunter's knee, before she used that same force to vault herself over their falling body, adjusting mid-air and driving her elbow into the jaw of a third.

"Hell yeah! I got one! My husband would love seeing me like this. All action packed and stuff."

"Geez, you say that every fight." Vaelith said from a distance.

Vaelith moved like he was bored, his grimoire pages turning lazily as Aether glyphs rearranged themselves, the words shifting midair. He didn't summon blasts or hurl magic—instead, he adjusted reality just enough to ruin his enemies' coordination. As a blade came toward him, he tilted his head, his Aether shifting the perception of distance by an inch, causing the attacker to swing too early and overextend. A simple step forward, a flick of his fingers, and the man's balance collapsed under the weight of his own miscalculation, sending him sprawling. Another Hunter lunged for Vaelith's side, but the cleric simply tapped the man's forearm with two fingers, a faint sigil glowing at the point of contact before the force of the attack rebounded, sending the attacker's own blade twisting toward his own thigh.

"Easy."

The battle unfolded like a performance, but it was far from slow or elegant—it was brutal, relentless, and entirely one-sided. Rakar's men were experienced warriors, but experience didn't matter when they were constantly two steps behind their opponents, their instincts disrupted, their timing ruined.

Cairn parried a massive hammer strike, twisting mid-motion so that the rebound sent him into a seamless pivot, his knee smashing into the stomach of his attacker. Iridia used the weighted shift of her halberd to snap a Hunter's wrist sideways just as he reached for his sword, before ramming the flat end of the weapon into his collarbone, sending him crashing backward with a strangled grunt. Vaelith, never in a rush, sidestepped a flurry of blows, rolling his shoulders before planting his foot onto an already-fallen opponent's back and shoving him forward to trip two more.

The crowd was losing their minds, voices rising in an uproar as they watched the Super Strong Ultimate Guild dismantle their enemies with an ease that bordered on mockery. Children gasped, warriors exchanged knowing nods, and even the Knights of Vjosgard watching from a distance smirked in quiet approval.

"They're no match for them!"

"I want my gold back, dammit!"

"Man I love this place."

And then—silence.

Because the fight was over.

The Super Strong Ultimate Guild stood atop the unconscious bodies of their opponents, barely winded. Iridia rolled her neck, cracking the stiffness out of her shoulders before twirling her halberd once and planting it into the ground. Vaelith let out a dramatic sigh, brushing imaginary dust off his cloak as if the entire ordeal had been mildly inconvenient at best. And Cairn? He simply adjusted his longsword back onto his shoulder, his golden eyes scanning the crowd, as if waiting to see if anyone else wanted to waste his time.

No one did.

And then, with an ease so unfairly effortless, Cairn turned toward Espen, a knowing smirk playing at his lips as he knelt before her, reaching into his sleeve and pulling out a single red rose.

"My lady…For you," he said smoothly, his voice as rich and golden as his eyes, as if this were all some grand performance. "A flower for a woman as radiant as the moonlight."

Espen blinked.

Internally—

'I'm actually gonna vomit.'

Then a quick thought came to her head, her imagining Kaelis doing this. She shook her head fast, thinking, 'No way I just thought of that. What's wrong with me?'

Externally, she hiccuped and tilted her head stupidly, keeping up her drunk act as if she had no idea what was happening.

Cairn chuckled, his gaze warm—until it dropped to her hand; His entire demeanor changed instantly.

The Mark of Bondage.

His smirk vanished, his expression darkening, his golden eyes shifting from charming to unreadable in an instant. He exhaled sharply, his amusement evaporating as he stood up and turned away. "Let's go," he muttered, voice clipped.

Vaelith arched a pale eyebrow. "Just like that?"

"She's married."

Iridia snorted. "And?"

Vaelith smirked. "She still has a contract."

Cairn hesitated.

Iridia folded her arms, grinning. "Let's go with her. Maybe she'll change her mind after we save her a few dozen times. You've always been looking for love, maybe this is fate. She doesn't have to MARRY you, just…be tougher?"

Vaelith said, "Yeah, this is coming from a MARRIED WOMAN."

Iridia waved at Vaelith, brushing him off, "Hey hey hey, I'm just trying to comfort our guild friend here."

Vaelith stretched, rolling his shoulders. "Whatever. Besides, we need the gold. Ursel Continent's expensive. That's where all the rich people live. If we're gonna make it there by today, we need the gold today."

Cairn sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Then, finally—he smirked again.

"Fine."

Espen stood there, saying with a drunk tone, "Uhhh I can hear ya! I'm right here! I'm not like, deaf or anything!"

Espen had barely finished pretending to stumble through her own drunken haze before Cairn, ever persistent, leaned toward her with the kind of confidence that was almost exhausting to witness.

"Masked lady," he said smoothly, arms crossed, his golden eyes gleaming beneath the sunlight. "I think you'll want to reconsider letting us come with you."

Espen hiccuped, blinking up at him in mock confusion, then lazily gestured toward the pile of unconscious bodies behind them. "Ohhh, I dunno," she slurred, "y'seem kinda…weak."

Vaelith let out a sharp, amused laugh, while Iridia grinned. Cairn, undeterred, merely exhaled, shaking his head.

"You're heading into Titan's Spine, aren't you?" he asked, tone casual. "Tell me, what do you know about Giants?"

Espen blinked again, keeping up her drunken act. "Big," she muttered. "Ugly. Smell like piss."

Iridia snorted.

Cairn's grin widened. "And?"

Espen groaned dramatically. "And they're extinct."

"Are they?" Vaelith murmured, flipping his grimoire open. "Then why does your contract mention one?"

Espen froze for half a second before recovering, letting her body sway like the drunkard she was pretending to be.

Iridia rolled her shoulders. "See, that's the thing," she said. "Giants haven't been seen in years, not since the First Hunter killed the last one. But now, suddenly, one's just hanging out at the top of a beanstalk? Sounds suspicious, don't you think?"

"The First Hunter," Espen muttered, genuinely interested despite herself.

'The first ever Hunter this world has seen. And he's hundreds of years old, but looks like a middle aged man, and insanely strong. Only comes out to fight someone strong.'

Cairn nodded, his expression shifting slightly—almost reverent, even through his usual charm. "Yeah. The one who started it all. No one knows what he's up to now, but he's still out there. And back then? He killed the last known Giant. With his bare hands."

Espen almost scoffed, but before she could respond, Vaelith spoke, turning a page in his book as he did. "Giants," he mused, "are not just large nuisances. They're hoarders. They don't just take people—they take gold. And where there's one Giant…"

"There's probably more," Cairn finished, his golden eyes gleaming.

Espen said nothing.

The crowd had begun to disperse, but a few onlookers still listened in, murmuring amongst themselves. The weight of the conversation pressed against her.

She hated this.

She hated the idea of having them with her. She hated the thought of being saved by them. She hated that she wasn't strong enough to do this alone.

But Ness wasn't here. Hael wasn't here. And Kaelis wasn't here; She was alone.

And these guys? They were competent. Strong, even.

She sucked in a slow breath, hating herself for the words that came next.

"Fine," she muttered, waving a hand, still keeping her voice slurred. "You can come. But I get to keep the treasure."

Cairn smiled. "And we get the gold reward."

Espen grumbled something incomprehensible and waved him off.

"Pleasure doing business," he said smoothly, clapping her on the back before turning to Vaelith. "You ready?"

Vaelith barely lifted his gaze from his book. "I was ready the moment I woke up this morning."

Cairn rolled his eyes, then turned to Iridia. "You?"

She stretched, cracking her neck. "I could use the exercise."

Espen watched them with thinly veiled contempt, then exhaled.

"Let's get this over with."

Vaelith opened his grimoire, allowing Kenda energy to swirl around in his hands, and was creating something. An Aether dragon. 

 The Aether Dragon rose from the ground in a spiraling arc of silver and blue, its massive wings stretching wide as it lifted them into the sky, its body shimmering with the energy that held it together. Espen sat toward the back of the construct, arms crossed, her mask tilted slightly as she gazed at the world below.

The suns of Kalhalla blazed overhead, their hues a mixture of gold, crimson, and deep sapphire, bathing the sky in a kaleidoscope of warm and cool tones, streaks of iridescent color spilling across the heavens like an endless painting. The air here felt different, thinner yet charged with something powerful, the kind of energy that only existed above the clouds. The suns change color due to the seasons, or due to how the flowers and plants of the world reflect off of them, giving them a unique and different color at times.

Below them, the land stretched vast and alive, mountains carved from the bones of gods, rivers that glowed faintly with divine essence, cities and settlements dotting the landscape like scattered jewels. They soared past travelers on massive beasts of burden, their hide thick with sigils that pulsed in slow, rhythmic beats. Caravan roads teemed with traders, some human, others beast-kin with fur-lined faces and piercing eyes, exchanging goods beneath the shadow of an ancient colossus—a stone titan long since petrified, its massive hand still outstretched toward the sky as if reaching for something it had lost.

In the distance, flocks of Griffons with translucent wings—wove between the clouds, their bodies allowing them to soar effortlessly, their bodies reflecting the colors of the sky around them. Some dived into floating lakes, bodies slipping beneath the water's surface before re-emerging miles away, carried by hidden currents that existed only in the heavens.

Espen, despite herself, let her gaze linger.

She had spent so much time on the ground, so much time in the shadows, in hiding, in silence, that she had almost forgotten what the world actually looked like. She wasn't a sentimental person. She wasn't prone to indulging in beauty. But this? This was something else. Seeing it over and over again, like it was the first time ever seeing it.

'I wonder how Kaelis would react to this..'

Cairn, standing near the front of the Aether Dragon, turned his head slightly, as if sensing her moment of weakness.

"It's incredible, isn't it?" he said.

Espen tore her eyes away from the view immediately.

She scowled beneath her mask, crossing her arms tighter. "It's alright."

Cairn laughed, rolling his shoulders before gazing back out at the sky.

"You know," he mused, "I could get used to this."

Vaelith turned a page in his grimoire. "You say that about everything."

"And I mean it every time."

Iridia leaned against her halberd, eyes half-lidded. "If you two start flirting, I'm throwing myself off this dragon."

Cairn smirked. "You'd survive."

"That's the problem."

Espen closed her eyes briefly, inhaling the cold air.

She still didn't trust them. She still didn't want them here.

But for now?

She'd tolerate it.

Cairn, the golden-eyed bastard, took the opportunity to sidle up next to her, flashing that unbearable smirk.

"You know," he mused, "I don't usually meet women who can handle their liquor this well. Most are swooning by now."

Espen, keeping up her act, hiccupped obnoxiously and turned her head away. "S'cause I'm built different," she mumbled.

Cairn chuckled, undeterred. "So, tell me, masked lady, who's the lucky man?"

Espen blinked. "Huh?"

"Your husband," Cairn pressed, his tone almost teasing. "Is he a warrior? A noble? A famous sellsword? Or—" he suddenly gasped, clapping a hand over his chest, feigning dramatic shock—"is he a scholar? Gods forbid."

Vaelith, still reading his grimoire, muttered, "If she married a scholar, she wouldn't be here. She'd be suffering in a library somewhere."

Iridia scoffed. "You say 'suffering' like that's not your favorite place to be."

Cairn ignored them, keeping his sharp gaze on Espen, watching for any reaction.

Espen, still feigning drunkenness, let out an exaggerated sigh. "Ugh, he's…" She rolled her wrist lazily, searching for words, then muttered, "…annoying. Edgy. Super strong."

Cairn raised a brow, intrigued. "Oh?"

She almost stopped there, but for some reason, the words just… came out.

"He's different."

It was quiet, almost thoughtful, before she realized her mistake and immediately snapped back into her act, laughing sloppily. "Ha! But yeah, he's so annoying. Ugh. Can't stand him."

'I think about him a lot, I admit it. It's because he's not like anyone I've ever met. And the bastard…the fool Kaelis saw me naked. No one has ever seen me naked, not even Maela. I'm gonna murder him when I see him just because.'

Cairn narrowed his eyes, studying her.

Espen turned away, pretending to admire the view.

Before he could push further, Cairn perked up and nudged Iridia with his elbow. "Speaking of marriages, aren't you married to that bard?"

Espen's interest piqued. "A bard?"

Iridia grinned. "Not just any bard. Rheyvin the Wild Verse."

Cairn scowled. "Yeah, yeah. The bastard who wrote 'The Fall of the Frost Herald'. Good song by the way, one of my favorites."

Espen raised a brow. "Never heard of it."

Vaelith finally looked up, snapping his book shut. "Blasphemy," he deadpanned. "The man's a legend. His songs spread all over Kalhalla. Some say he drinks with spirits in the ghostly ruins of Ymmor's Rest. Others claim he once challenged a demon to a poetry duel and won."

Iridia nodded. "And you know what that means—"

Without missing a beat, she started singing.

"From mountains steep and rivers wide,

A hunter walks where gods have died.

With blade of steel and heart so bold,

He seeks the Giant's buried gold—"

Vaelith, much to Espen's surprise, actually joined in, his voice deeper and steadier, weaving through the verse like he'd sung it a hundred times.

"Through storm and shadow, blood and bone,

The hunter claims the beast's own throne.

With silver blade and fate entwined,

His soul is lost, his name enshrined."

Espen blinked, watching them.

For a moment, it was almost… nice.

Then Vaelith's voice cracked horrendously on the last note.

Iridia snorted. "Gods, that was awful."

Vaelith sighed dramatically. "A tragedy. I was doing so well."

The two began bickering playfully, Iridia throwing mock insults, Vaelith countering with sarcastic retorts, their voices blending with the wind as the dragon flew onward.

Below them, striding through the ashen ruins of an ancient battlefield, was a monstrous being of flame and shadow.

It was massive, its body a towering skeletal form wreathed in black fire, its fleshless frame bound in thick, rusted chains that rattled as it moved. Eight grotesque heads jutted from its hunched frame, their empty eye sockets leaking trails of fire, their mouths filled with jagged, uneven teeth that clattered as they whispered in voices older than time.

Every step it took left scorched footprints in the earth, the land warping and cracking beneath it, steam rising where its presence burned the world itself.

It was aimless, its movements slow yet purposeful, as if seeking something long lost to time.

Espen stiffened.

Cairn followed her gaze, his expression darkening. "That's… new."

Vaelith hummed. "Wouldn't want to fight that."

Iridia scoffed. "Wouldn't mind trying."

The flaming ghoul continued its march through the ruined landscape, completely unaware—or perhaps uncaring—of the people watching from above.

They didn't stop.

And an hour later—

They arrived.

____________________________________________

Titan's Spine was deadly quiet, the air thick with grey fog, the scent of decay and cold stone hanging over them like a curse. The ground was jagged and uneven, dry bones protruding from the earth, long since abandoned by whatever had once lived here.

And in the center of it all—

A massive beanstalk spiraled upward, its roots thick and gnarled, its vine-covered body twisting into the fog like an unnatural spire.

Cairn landed the Aether Dragon, stepping off with ease. "Let's not waste time," he said, rolling his shoulders. "I'll explain the plan on the way up. Don't want any giants creeping up on us while we stand around."

The others followed without hesitation.

Espen… didn't.

She hesitated.

Her body tensed, an instinctual part of her wanting to turn back, wanting to leave, wanting to pretend she had never come here at all.

Her foot shifted—ready to step away.

And then she stopped.

She exhaled, forcing her limbs to move, forcing her legs to step forward.

Slowly, deliberately—she reached for the beanstalk.

And began to climb.