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

The waterfall was deafening, its endless cascade hammering against jagged stone as mist curled into the cool evening air, catching the dim glow of the setting suns. The sky stretched vast and bruised above her, its hues of deep violet and dull crimson melting into one another, a slow-burning bruise across the horizon. The scent of damp stone, wet moss, and the faint metallic tang of old blood lingered in the air, the land still carrying the memories of past battles. Espen sat cross-legged on the highest ledge, her witches staff balanced across her lap, her breaths slow and measured as she forced herself to focus.

'Breathe…'

Her hands trembled slightly, not from weakness, not from fear, but from the sheer weight of her own frustration clawing at the edges of her patience, gnawing at her like an old wound she had yet to heal from. The flow of Kenda within her veins felt wild, untamed, shifting like a creature refusing to be caged, its pulse erratic, its presence a constant battle against her control. It was there—she could feel its weight beneath her skin, thrumming like something alive, waiting for her command. But every time she reached for it, every time she tried to refine its flow, it resisted, slipping through her grasp, unraveling the moment she thought she had steadied it.

Again. Again. And again.

She exhaled sharply, wiping the back of her sleeve across her nose as another thin trickle of blood smeared against her pale skin, hot and unwelcome. She ignored it, swallowing down the irritation rising in her chest, refusing to acknowledge the way her fingers ached from gripping her staff too tightly, the way her shoulders burned from the countless attempts she had already failed. She knew her mistakes. She knew exactly where her form faltered, where her breathing staggered, where her control wavered. And yet, no matter how much she adjusted, how much she tried to correct it, the result remained the same—unstable, imprecise, flawed.

Her grip tightened around the smooth, dark wood of her staff, the weight of it grounding her, steadying her against the frustration threatening to consume her entirely. It had been like this for weeks—refining, refining, refining—never satisfied, never complete, never in control the way she needed to be. She wasn't even trying to weave new skills, wasn't reaching for something beyond her limits; she was simply trying to master what she already had, to make her Kenda her own instead of something that felt like it was always on the verge of slipping from her grasp.

Her thoughts wavered, drifting toward something—or rather, someone—she had been trying to keep out of her mind.

Kaelis.

Her jaw tightened slightly. She was doing it again—thinking about him when she had no reason to. It wasn't concern. She refused to call it that. He was a human, nothing more, nothing less, and whatever happened to him was not her business. And yet, her mind still conjured images of him, of the way he fought, of the way his body moved like something barely tethered to reality, of the way his presence in battle was a chaotic force that defied logic, that made her wonder what he was really hiding beneath all that blood and madness. 

The way he saved her..

She scoffed under her breath, pushing the thought away before it could sink too deeply into her.

'Get out of my damn head, human.'

Again, she raised her staff, rolling her shoulders, shaking the tension from her arms before allowing the darkness within her to coil, to gather, to obey. A jagged red crest formed beside her, spinning slowly in the air, its edges shifting like serrated glass, its glow pulsing faintly in the dimming light. She focused, refining its structure, forcing it into something sharp, something that wouldn't shatter at the first sign of resistance. The moment she reached out to reinforce its foundation, the moment she tried to lock its form into something permanent—

It collapsed.

The backlash was immediate, a sharp jolt of pain surging through her skull, sending her vision into a brief, blinding haze. Espen flinched, a sharp hiss escaping through clenched teeth as another thin trickle of blood dripped from her nose, warm and familiar. She didn't move for a long moment, her breaths steady despite the dull throb between her eyes, the exhaustion pulling at her limbs.

"Fuck!"

She wanted to scream. She wanted to take her staff and shatter it against the rocks, to stand and curse at the skies, to let the frustration clawing at her ribs consume her whole. But she didn't. She let the silence drag, let the sting of failure sink deep into her skin, let the moment settle before she exhaled, slow and deep, swallowing the rage, the irritation, the suffocating weight of her own shortcomings.

"Again."

'I'm not that weak little girl anymore.'

She wasn't the girl who had once run through the rain, her body drenched in someone else's blood, her breath shaking as she climbed jagged cliffs just to escape the voices of those who wanted her dead. She wasn't the girl who had curled into herself, arms wrapped around her own trembling frame, her voice breaking as she sang lullabies to no one, her own quiet melody drowned out by the thunder that swallowed the night.

She forced the memory back into the depths where it belonged.

"If you glare at that spot any harder, you might just scare the Kenda into behaving."

Espen's brow twitched, her patience wearing dangerously thin as she turned her gaze toward the voices that had been grating on her nerves for the past hour.

Ness, the insufferable smug little black cat, was perched lazily on a flat rock, his sleek fur gleaming under the fading sunlight, his tail flicking with the air of someone thoroughly entertained by her struggle. Hael, the large, flamboyant crow-woman, stood beside him, arms folded, one wing ruffling as she smirked, her golden eyes gleaming with obvious amusement.

"You have nothing better to do than sit there and flap your mouth, cat?" Espen muttered, rolling her shoulders as she wiped the remaining blood from her nose.

Ness smiled, "You know me."

"Heh. Yeah I do."

"You're not trying to weave new spells?"

"No. I'm just trying to refine the ones I have already. The Kenda within each needs to be controlled. I got too comfortable allowing you and Hael to fight for me, and at a certain point, I got lazy."

"Hmmm. So seeing Kaelis, is that motivating you—?"

FLING!

Espen launched a rock at Ness but he simply dodged it. And Espen added, "I hate his name."

Hael flapped in with her large crow wings, saying, "You must focus, Espen."

"I hate how this is so hard."

"Awww don't be so gloomy, darling. Even the most experienced Kenda users have trouble weaving new spells and even refining theres."

"Tch. Not as much as trouble as I'm having."

"Cheer up. You're still so young, Espen."

Espen thought, 'There are 4 consequences to Weaving or refining Kenda…'

Physical Limitations – The body itself resists excessive weaving, causing pain and exhaustion. 

Environmental Interference – Hostile environments or stress disrupt meditation, reducing effectiveness. 

Complexity Scaling– Higher-level weaves require exponential increases in focus and precision. 

Instability Risk – If a weave collapses mid-formation, it can cause magic to backfire, harming the user. 

Espen sighed, "..You two. Get up."

Ness's ears perked slightly, and Hael tilted her head, a curious grin spreading across her face.

Espen leveled them both with a deadpan stare, adjusting her grip on her staff as she took a step forward, her movements slow, deliberate, controlled.

"…We're sparring."

Ness stretched again, rolling his shoulders before hopping down from his rock, his smug little smirk widening. "You're progressing, I'll give you that."

Hael laughed, stretching her arms as her wings spread slightly, her tone teasing yet undeniably eager. "Hmmmmm, I DO love a good match."

Espen closed her eyes for a brief moment, already feeling the oncoming headache.

'I need experience, more battle experience. I need control. And if fighting these two would help me achieve it, then so be it. Or at least, help me a little.'

Her grip tightened, and the red glow of her Kenda flared at her fingertips.

"…Don't waste my time."

Ness and Hael exchanged a glance.

Then, in perfect sync, they grinned.

The waterfall's roar filled the twilight air, a relentless cascade of sound and mist crashing into the rocks below, its rhythm steady and deafening. The scent of damp stone, wild earth, and lingering Kenda energy clung to the cool evening breeze, wrapping the plateau in an eerie stillness. Espen stood at the edge, her grip firm around her staff, her body aching from the weight of training, but her resolve unshaken. Across from her, Ness and Hael exchanged unreadable glances.

"Espen, are you absolutely sure about this?" Ness's voice lacked its usual teasing edge, his eyes searching her face for even the slightest sign of hesitation. "You've already exhausted yourself today. You don't have anything to prove."

Hael ruffled her feathers, tilting her head slightly. "Darling, it's fine if you want to spar, but let's not pretend you're in peak condition." She sighed, placing a taloned hand on her hip. "If you drop before we even get started, I'll be dreadfully bored."

Espen exhaled, pushing away the tension in her muscles, the doubt that threatened to creep in. "I'm sure," she said, voice steady, unwavering. "I need this."

'I need to make progress! The one thing that kept me from being a good fighter was lack of experience. I've allowed myself to get too comfortable, I've been spoiled. Being saved over and over, makes me look like some old lady. And I'm not an old lady. It makes me feel like a little cat in a tree that needs help getting down. I measure myself to that degree not because I want to, it's just how I feel. Do I hate myself for it? I don't think so. But I've betrayed myself, my younger self when I vowed to make myself useful, instead of being used. If that makes sense. I've been so busy, trying to prove myself to a world that doesn't care about validation, only power. I want to be special..'

Her mind flickered, just for a moment, to a memory buried beneath years of struggle.

"Again."

Maela's voice had been firm yet patient, her presence unwavering beneath the cold glow of candlelight. The old study smelled of dried herbs, parchment, and the faint trace of burning Kenda residue from Espen's repeated failures.

Espen, at least 13 years old at this time, gritted her teeth, her small hands trembling as she struggled to mold the darkness at her fingertips. The Kenda surged, disobedient, slipping through her grasp like smoke refusing to be bottled. The moment she tried to bind it—force it—it burst apart, sending a violent shock through her body that sent her crashing backward.

Her breath came in sharp, frustrated gasps as she pushed herself up, her limbs aching from the repeated failures. "It's impossible," she hissed, wiping the blood from her nose, her voice shaking with barely contained rage. "It doesn't listen!"

Maela had watched her in silence before finally stepping forward, kneeling beside her. "That's because you think of it as something separate from yourself." Her gaze was steady, unyielding. "Darkness is not a tool, Espen. It is a limb. A heartbeat. You do not command it. You become it."

Espen exhaled sharply, shoving the memory aside.

Ness sighed, rolling his shoulders before stepping forward. "Alright, then," he muttered. "Don't say we didn't give you a chance."

His body shuddered.

His sleek feline frame expanded, muscle stretching, limbs lengthening, his body shifting with unnatural fluidity. His claws extended, his tail curling into something longer, more deadly, more unpredictable. His transformation settled in the span of a breath, and then—he moved with a feline-like speed, like a predator hunting its prey.

Espen barely had time to register the shift before a black streak of movement was already behind her. Too fast. Too strong.

Her mind raced. 'Don't react late. Anticipate it! You know their attacks, you know their patterns, don't let it overwhelm you, Espen..'

She twisted, swinging her staff, channeling her Kenda into Thornborn Crest—

Mistake.

Her red sigil barely formed before it collapsed, the energy unraveling violently. The backlash sent a sharp shock through her nerves, her vision flashing white. Ness's tail whipped out, catching her in the ribs before she could recover, the sheer impact sending her skidding across the stone.

She barely had time to breathe before she sensed movement above.

Hael.

The crow spiraled downward, her large wings twisting her into a precise, corkscrewing descent, her beak aimed directly for Espen's chest.

Espen's mind screamed.

'Think. Adjust. Use the terrain!'

She jammed her staff into the ground, vaulting sideways, using the force to propel herself away. Hael's beak slammed into the stone where she had been a second earlier, the sheer force sending deep cracks through the rock.

Espen landed hard, rolling into a crouch, her lungs burning.

'I'm too slow. My Kenda is still unstable. But I can use that unpredictability…can't I?!'

Ness was already moving again, lunging toward her, his massive frame cutting through the air with brutal precision.

She anticipated this.

'Got it!'

Espen swung her staff, aiming not at him but at the ground near his feet. Shacklebrand.

A red-black sigil flared to life, pulsing as tendrils of darkness surged from the earth—Ness leapt mid-motion, avoiding the snare entirely.

Espen expected this.

She twisted her staff, the tendrils shifting with her movement, snapping toward his landing point.

Ness's eyes flickered in realization—too late.

'Oh she's getting a little better now..more badass!'

The tendrils lashed around his leg, tightening with punishing force. He growled, his muscles flexing as he tore against the bind, the sigil burning against his skin.

A second later, Hael screeched—a sonic shockwave that sent Espen reeling.

Espen stumbled, the sheer force rattling her skull, causing her vision to blur. The moment her concentration wavered, her own Kenda snapped back at her, the tendrils of Shacklebrand wrapping around her own wrist.

'Damn it! I let my guard down, forgot about her circling me like a dead animal.'

The constriction burned, forcing her movements into a fraction of a second's hesitation.

And in that moment—Ness ripped free, tail whipping out, catching her across the stomach with enough force to lift her off the ground. She choked, the wind knocked from her lungs as she crashed onto the cold stone, her staff clattering beside her.

Her vision swam. Blood dripped from her lip.

Ness exhaled, rolling his shoulders. "That's enough."

Hael landed gracefully beside him, tilting her head. "You did well, darling, but we're done for today."

Espen, body shaking, pushed herself up. "No…no..it's not over! I need more experience, please.." Her staff trembled in her grip as she slowly, painfully, forced herself to stand. "I… can keep going."

Her voice was strained, her breath ragged, but the desperation in her tone held firm.

Ness frowned. "Espen—"

She gritted her teeth. "Please."

Silence.

Then—A single tear slipped down Espen's cheek, hot and unbidden, before she whispered, "…I appreciate you both for caring."

She turned, leaving them behind, her body aching, her magic still far from perfect.

But she had made progress.

'I need more, way more. I've improved a little. More combat experience can help me..it's been proven, alongside refining it through Weaving of Kenda.'

As Espen walked away from the area, her steps steady but slow, the tension of the fight still lingering in the cool night air, Ness and Hael remained behind, watching her silhouette fade into the dim glow of the firelight. The wind had softened, carrying the faint scent of burnt embers, damp stone, and the lingering traces of Kenda energy still pulsing from where they had fought.

Hael stretched her wings, rolling out the stiffness in her shoulders before glancing at Ness, her golden eyes glinting with something between amusement and understanding. "Our little Espen is changing," she murmured, her voice unusually quiet, a rare moment where the teasing lilt gave way to something more reflective. "I'm gonna tear up."

Ness, still in his humanoid form, sat down on a rock, his tail curling around his leg as he let out a slow breath. "She is," he agreed. "It's been a long time since I've seen her push herself this hard." His gaze flickered toward the direction Espen had gone, unreadable, but undeniably contemplative. "Since Kaelis joined us, she's been different. More determined."

Hael let out a soft laugh, tilting her head slightly. "She doesn't want to be a damsel in distress, Ness. And she sure as hell doesn't want to keep being saved. That boy… he's reckless, volatile, unpredictable, but in his own way, he's making her push herself further. She wants to live up to Maela's expectations, and prove herself worthy to herself and those around her." She smiled, folding her arms. "Now she wants to stand on her own. And she refuses to be left behind."

Ness's ears twitched slightly, and for a brief moment, his thoughts drifted, carried away by the quiet of the night. "As a kid, before she met Maela, she rode with bandits, who spent years trying to sell her off but no one bought her. They branded her, I can't imagine what else they did. It made her feel worthless. So there's a reason for how she acts, but to see her actually grow, it's actually satisfying."

Snow.

Snow was falling slowly.

The air had been sharp with winter's bite, the world bathed in a silver hush. Tiny paw prints scattered across the frost-covered ground, weaving between the towering pines, leading to a small gathering of kittens—his kittens—huddled together in the snow, their fur ruffled as they pounced on small, darting bugs that skittered between the cracks in the ice. He had taught them to hunt that way, their little claws batting at their prey, their tails flicking with excitement as they learned through instinct and play. He had watched them, their tiny bodies warm against his as they nestled close, their purrs melting into the stillness of the frozen forest.

And then—

The memory faded.

Ness blinked, his expression unreadable as he let out a quiet sigh. "She'll be alright," he muttered. "She always is."

Hael smirked. "She better be. Otherwise, I'll have to carry her ass through every fight, though I'm not complaining. I feel so special when I protect her."

"Same same."

"And what about Kaelis? How do you think my darling is doing?"

"Ah, him. He's unique, for sure. He and Espen are alike in many ways. Something haunts him mentally, and physically. I think they'll both warm up to each other one day, they both have some room to grow. Being forced into marriage with one another, it's funny how this all happened. But the mystery still stands as to why Espen? And why Kaelis?"

"In due time we'll find out. Maela will pop up eventually and lore dump like always."

"Ugh, that's so boring."

With that, the conversation ended, and as the night deepened, the two of them drifted into sleep, curled close for warmth beneath the fading embers of the fire.

Leaves crunched…footsteps silent…Espen moved through the darkness like a shadow, her steps light, calculated, each breath measured as she crept away from the camp. She had been waiting for this moment, had spent the entire night crafting her disguise in secret, working by the dying firelight as she bound together bark and leaves to form the crude mask she now held in her hands. It wasn't perfect, but it didn't need to be. It just needed to hide her face.

With careful precision, she fastened it over her head, adjusting it until it fit snugly against her skin. The rough texture scratched slightly against her cheek, but she ignored it, focusing instead on the path ahead. She had no intention of waking Ness and Hael. She wasn't running away, not really—but she knew they wouldn't approve of what she was about to do. But what she was about to do, Maela might approve. Or not. She wasn't too sure.

She needed more. More combat experience. More control. More understanding of what it meant to be strong. Without another thought, she took off, her body moving instinctively, her pulse steady as she sprinted into the vast land stretching before her.

The night was alive.

Above her, the sky unfolded like a celestial tapestry, woven with hues of deep indigo, violet, and streaks of gold that shimmered like molten rivers. Three moons hung heavy in the sky, their pale light casting silver reflections across the landscape, while the stars—countless and burning—moved in slow, deliberate patterns, shifting in ways that felt almost alive. Strange, luminescent creatures drifted between them—Veydrisi, the great sky serpents whose bodies coiled through the heavens like living constellations, their scales absorbing and refracting starlight as they wove between the drifting clouds. Tiny winged beings known as Lurifrey flitted around them, their gossamer wings glowing faintly as they traced intricate, unseen sigils against the night, their forms barely more than whispers against the vastness of the world.

Below, the land breathed with life.

She passed through rolling fields where farmers worked even at night, lanterns flickering as they toiled beneath the open sky, their voices low, murmuring in steady rhythms as they spoke of harvests and trade. Merchants rested beside their wagons, some asleep, others gathered in quiet clusters, exchanging stories over cups of steaming herbal brews. In the distance, near a winding river, a group of children chased each other beneath the moonlight, their laughter carrying through the crisp air, unburdened by the weight of the world beyond their small moment of joy.

Espen didn't stop.

She ran, her body moving effortlessly, her muscles remembering what it felt like to move with purpose. And as she ran, her thoughts ran with her.

'I remember running like this when I was a child. The rain was relentless, soaking through my clothes, chilling my skin until I could barely feel my own fingers. My feet ached, my lungs burned, but I didn't stop. I couldn't stop. Because stopping meant dying. Back then, I wasn't running toward something. I was running away. From them. From their voices. From the blood on my hands that wasn't mine.'

Her jaw tightened.

'But now… now I'm running toward something. Toward strength. Toward control.'

Ness and Hael had always fought for her. Always stood between her and the dangers that lurked in the world. They had driven off Hunters, cut down those who sought to capture her, shielded her from battles she wasn't yet ready for. But that wouldn't last forever.

And then—Kaelis.

A flicker of irritation twisted in her chest, unwelcome, uninvited.

'If he could just control that berserk state of his, then that would mean he would be saving me willingly all the time. I don't want that.'

Her heartbeat quickened slightly.

'Pathetic. Fucking pathetic. I won't let that happen. I won't need to be saved. Not by him. Not by anyone.'

For the briefest moment, a thought entered her mind—an image, fleeting but vivid—of her saving him.

She shoved it away instantly, disgust curling in her throat.

Her heart thumped, then settled.

"Gross," she muttered under her breath, shaking her head as she pushed herself faster. "Save someone like him? Never in a million years."

'I almost became a monster because of what I went through with the humans, but Maela kept me at ease. I'm doing something reckless and dangerous right now, but I can't sit by and not take risks on myself. Should I turn back? No way, I already ran so far, and I didn't cut myself from making this mask for nothing. If I fail during this, please let me learn from it. Maela was doing things like this when she was around my age. But deep down I know…I'm not doing this because of what she went through. By the time I meet Maela, I want her to see that I've got stronger and I can hold my own in a fight. She would be proud of me..'

The town of Dreuyu appeared on the horizon, its presence neither grand nor insignificant, a settlement of stone and timber, its rooftops slanted and uneven from years of quiet expansion. Lanterns flickered against the cobbled streets, casting warm glows onto the simple buildings, their walls weathered but sturdy, built for endurance rather than spectacle. It wasn't a place of excess or vibrancy, but there was something steadfast about it, something that spoke of quiet resilience, a town that had seen its share of hardships but continued on nonetheless.

Espen slowed her pace, her breaths even, her body steady.

"Ah..ah..I haven't ran that long in a while."

For a long moment, she stood at the outskirts, her gaze lifting to the sprawling night sky, to the endless stretch of stars and moons that watched over her like silent sentinels.

She thought of Maela.

She thought of everything she had lost.

And in a voice barely above a whisper, she spoke.

"I will find you."

With that, she turned toward Dreuyu, vanishing into the night.

____________________________________________

Morning came loud and relentless.

Dreuyu was not a city of stillness, not even in the earliest hours of dawn. As the golden light spilled over the rooftops, the streets were already alive with movement, with the stomping of heavy boots, the grinding of wagon wheels, and the coarse voices of merchants shouting their wares. Smoke curled from chimneys, the scent of roasted meat and fresh bread mingling with the less pleasant odors of damp stone, unwashed warriors, and beasts penned in iron-barred enclosures.

Espen walked through the streets, her mask secure, her hood drawn low, her steps deliberate as she kept her presence small in the chaos around her. Vjosgard was a land of strength and brutality, and nowhere was that clearer than in the morning streets of its towns.

The town criers were already at work, standing atop wooden crates at every major street corner, their voices raw from constant shouting.

"Hear this! Seven Hunters slain in the northern Frostfang Range, their bodies left as warnings! The White-Blooded Ravager claims another victory—reward for his head now at 32,000 gold!"

"Warriors return from the southern badlands, claiming victory over a beast with six heads, four arms, and a taste for Vjosgardian flesh!"

"The Blooded Throne stands strong, as it always has! The Iron Order of the North demands more blades—warriors seeking glory, steel awaits you at the Crimson Call!"

The last announcement earned a few scoffs from passing Hunters.

"More blades? Might as well say more meat for the frontlines," a bearded, battle-worn man muttered, adjusting the massive two-handed axe strapped to his back. "They just keep throwing people at the problem and hoping one sticks."

"They could put a bounty on the war itself and some idiot would try to collect," another remarked dryly, earning a chuckle from his companions.

Espen kept walking, ears open, letting the constant flood of information sink in. This was Vjosgard, a place that thrived on conflict, where strength dictated worth and the weak were pushed aside or crushed beneath the boots of the strong. In every corner, there were warriors testing their blades against one another, Hunters boasting of kills, beast-kin sharpening their claws and fangs for the next contract.

She passed by a group of large, heavily scarred beast-kin, their fur-covered bodies towering over the human merchants they bartered with. One had the head of a bull with twisted iron rings piercing his nostrils, another had feline eyes that gleamed with predatory amusement, his tail flicking as he examined a dagger at a blacksmith's stall. Even the few non-combatants in the town had calloused hands and sharp gazes, as if everyone here had seen battle at least once.

Then, something caught her ear.

"Have you heard?" A man near a food stall leaned in, speaking in hushed tones to the others gathered around. "The Red Wolf has been missing for days."

Espen slowed her steps slightly, moving closer.

"High King Vraedor?" another man asked, eyebrows raising. "Gone? That doesn't happen."

"And yet, no one's seen him," the first man insisted, voice low. "Not in the capital, not on the battlefield, not anywhere. The kingdom's keeping it quiet, but something happened."

"Bah," a woman scoffed, shaking her head as she tore a piece from a roasted leg of some beast Espen didn't recognize. "It's probably nothing. The man's gone missing before, only to come back covered in someone else's blood."

"Or," another voice chimed in, a younger warrior with an eager glint in his eye, "maybe he's dead. Maybe something finally tore out his throat."

The group laughed, but there was tension beneath it—uncertainty, unease.

"Maybe the Apostles can find him," one suggested. "Wouldn't take them long."

Another man snorted. "You think they'd waste their time? They barely show themselves as it is."

A few others murmured in agreement, but some fell silent, raising their hands slightly—revealing the glowing white soul runes etched into their skin. Devout believers.

"The Apostles do what they must," one of them said firmly. "If the king is truly missing, they will act. We need only have faith."

Espen exhaled slowly, turning away before her presence could be noticed.

'Sucks some of them don't know how evil the Apostles really are. The kingdom is withholding information from the people. I know where the king is.'

She kept walking, the noise of the town shifting around her as she approached the heart of it all—the center square, where the Hunters' Board and Adventurers' Board stood side by side.

The massive wooden boards were covered in parchments, bounty notices, and contracts, some written with official wax seals, others scrawled in crude handwriting, promising coin in exchange for blood.

And, as expected, the Hunters and Adventurers were already at each other's throats.

"You idiots wouldn't last a day outside the walls," a heavily armored Hunter scoffed, arms crossed.

"And you Hunters wouldn't last a minute without some poor sap drawing your maps and finding your supplies," an Adventurer shot back.

"We get paid more," the Hunter grinned. "That's got to sting a little, doesn't it?"

"Yeah? Well, I'll enjoy watching you try to spend that gold when you're missing an arm."

More laughter. Someone slapped a hand against the board, pointing at a bounty slip.

"Look at this! 20,000 gold for Espen the Witch! Apprentice to that evil watch Maela!"

"Ugh. Hearing Maela's names makes my bones shudder."

"Same here."

A low whistle.

"So the White Brigade failed to kill Espen, huh? And they called themselves legendary?"

"Maybe they should've brought a bigger knife," someone else chuckled. "Orenn was always bragging how she was unstoppable and what not."

Espen stilled for half a second, but forced herself to keep moving, pretending to be just another traveler browsing the contracts.

They didn't know who she was.

She could feel the unease creeping up her spine, but she kept her head low, kept walking, kept thinking.

'If I want to take a Hunters' contract, I need a Hunter's Band.'

The bands were iron or leather straps worn around the wrist, engraved with unique sigils that identified the wearer as an official Hunter. No band, no contract—no exceptions.

She scanned the crowd, her mind already working through the logistics.

'I need to steal one. Good news is, people will only recognize me if they see my face. Also, if I had Ness and Hael with me. Since they were always with me. It has been a long time since I was actually separate from them. Maybe this is dumb and reckless, but I can't stand by and look like I'm some kind of helpless old lady. I'm gonna take a contract.'