Forged By Falcrest

Atlas trailed behind Kara as they made their way along the snowy trail. The sun hung high in the sky, beating down on them with an intensity that was uncommon in the mountains. It was hot—stifling even—and for once, the biting wind that normally accompanied their days was absent. The heat wrapped around them like a heavy blanket, making every step feel sluggish and exhausting.

Atlas had removed his scarf and outer jacket hours ago, letting them hang loosely over his shoulder. His shirt clung to his back from sweat, and he used his sleeve to wipe at his forehead. Glancing ahead, he saw Marcus walking just a few paces in front, stripped down to a chainmail undershirt that glinted faintly in the sunlight. The boy had tied his pouch securely to his waist, with another strapped to his arm, ready for quick access.

Marcus must have noticed him looking because he suddenly glanced back. His eyes caught on Atlas's neck, and his brow furrowed slightly.

"What happened there?" Marcus asked, pointing to his own neck as if to emphasize the question.

Atlas immediately knew what he was referring to. He reached up instinctively, brushing his fingers against the burn mark that stretched across his neck and up onto his jawline. The scar was impossible to miss—its mottled, red-and-white surface stood out starkly against his pale skin, even now, three months after it had been inflicted. No amount of healing cream or Lightblade magic had been able to erase it.

He hated it.

He hated the way it drew attention, hated the memories it dredged up whenever he caught a glimpse of himself in reflective surfaces. But most of all, he hated what it represented: the mistakes he'd made, the people he had let down.

The reminder hit him like a punch to the gut. Ren was fine now. He'd been told that the boy had not only recovered but had also awakened his core. But the guilt hadn't gone away. It clung to him, heavy and persistent, like the scar itself.

"Sorry if that was insensitive," Marcus added quickly, his tone genuinely apologetic. Kara had shot him a sharp glare, and Marcus raised his hands slightly in surrender.

"It's fine," Atlas said, forcing a smile. "It's just a burn mark I got before I awakened my core. Apparently, a Transcendent's flames are rather… potent."

Both Marcus and Kara froze in their tracks, spinning around to face him. Their wide eyes were full of disbelief, and Marcus's jaw actually dropped.

"What do you mean?" Kara asked slowly, her voice carrying an edge of suspicion.

Atlas shrugged, trying to play it off casually. "Nothing much. I just got caught up in some trouble."

Marcus wasn't buying it. "And a Transcendent burned you for it?" he asked, his fists clenching tightly.

"No, nothing like that," Atlas said quickly, shaking his head. "I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Got caught between a fight I had no business being a part of."

"Is that right…" Kara muttered, her dark eyes narrowing slightly as she studied him.

"How long ago?" she asked after a moment of silence.

"Just before I arrived at the academy," Atlas replied, his tone deliberately neutral.

Kara kept walking, but Atlas could tell her mind was racing. She glanced back at him, the lynx nestled in her arms as if she were holding onto an anchor. "That wouldn't have happened to be in Uppertown, would it?" she asked suddenly, her voice sharp. "Where the rogue Nightblade attacked a manor and killed the entire family?"

Atlas hesitated, his expression giving him away. "Maybe…"

Kara stopped in her tracks, turning fully to face him. "So, you do belong to a clan then!" she accused, her voice laced with a mix of surprise and triumph. "I thought you were from Midtown. And a Ramelion, at that!"

Marcus's eyebrows shot up. "Wait, what? You're not Ramelion?"

Atlas groaned inwardly. "No, I am from Midtown," he said firmly. "I was just… in the wrong place, like I said."

"Why?" Kara pressed, her tone insistent.

Atlas looked away, his cheeks flushing slightly. "I don't want to say."

"Why not?" Marcus asked, his tone taking on a teasing edge.

"No reason," Atlas muttered, picking up his pace to try and escape the conversation. "Anyway, isn't it crazy how hot it is today? Feels like we're going to melt out here."

"Atlas, my friend," Marcus said, matching his stride with a sly grin. "Spit it out."

Atlas paused, glancing back at him. Marcus's grin widened as he leaned in slightly, his green eyes twinkling with mischief. He knew exactly how to hit where it hurt, and Atlas could see it coming a mile away.

"We are friends, right?" Marcus said, his tone almost sing-song.

Atlas groaned aloud, glaring at him. "Bastard."

Kara let out a small laugh at the exchange, her hand covering her mouth as her shoulders shook. Marcus wasn't so subtle—he laughed outright, clutching his sides as he doubled over in mock amusement.

Atlas sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Fine," he muttered. "You want to know why I was there? I was… stealing a jacket."

"What?" Marcus asked, his laughter cutting off abruptly.

Atlas grumbled under his breath, barely audible. "I was stealing a jacket, okay?"

Kara froze for a second before bursting out into laughter. It was a rare sight—her cheeks flushed red, and her usually stoic demeanor gave way to genuine mirth. She tried to cover her mouth, but the sound escaped anyway, light and musical.

Marcus didn't even try to hold back. He laughed so hard he had to brace himself against a tree, wheezing as he clutched his stomach. "A jacket? You—oh, gods, you're serious!"

"Stuff you guys," Atlas grumbled, though he couldn't stop the small smile tugging at his lips. The whole situation was absurd, and he couldn't help but laugh along with them. "It was a really nice jacket, okay?"

Marcus wiped tears from his eyes, finally straightening up. "Oh, man. You're something else, Atlas."

Kara's laughter softened into a warm smile, her dark eyes sparkling with amusement. "At least you're honest," she said, her tone light.

Atlas rolled his eyes, but his grin lingered. "Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up. I'll get you back for this later."

The three of them continued walking, the tension from earlier completely dissolved. The heat of the day didn't seem so unbearable anymore.

***

The day dragged on uneventfully. The snow beneath their boots thinned as they descended, revealing patches of dirt and jagged rock that made it easier to find their footing. The biting cold that had accompanied them in the higher altitudes seemed to ease.

They stopped occasionally—just long enough to rest aching legs or chew on whatever rations they had left. The taste was as bland as ever, but no one complained. The monotony of their journey was oddly welcome, a reprieve from the chaos that had marked their earlier days.

By the second day, the wind returned with a vengeance, howling through the crags and valleys like an angry spirit. The sky grew darker as clouds gathered above, heavy and threatening. The first drops of rain were a drizzle at first, but soon it fell in earnest, soaking through their cloaks and making the rocky trail slick.

Atlas pulled his hood tighter, though it did little to shield him. The rain was relentless, dripping into his eyes and trailing down the back of his neck. Kara clutched the lynx close to her chest, shielding the small creature as best she could with her cloak, while Marcus trudged ahead, seemingly unbothered by the weather. Atlas envied that about him—how Marcus could push forward without complaint, his steps confident and sure even in the worst conditions.

By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, leaving the world in a dim, gray haze, they finally spotted the town nestled in the valley below. Relief washed over Atlas, though he didn't dare show it. His muscles burned, his clothes clung to his skin, and he was certain he'd never been more miserable.

The town wasn't much to look at. Just a cluster of stone buildings with thatched roofs, their chimneys puffing weak trails of smoke into the damp evening air. A few crooked trees dotted the edges, their bare branches swaying in the wind. It reminded Atlas of Falcrest in its simplicity, though it lacked the imposing walls and the ever-present watchfulness of the mountain city.

They entered the town silently, their boots squelching against the cobbled path. The rain had washed away the last traces of snow, leaving the air damp and heavy. Atlas found himself glancing around, marveling at the absence of white. It felt strange—unnatural, almost. He hadn't seen bare earth in what felt like forever.

Marcus took the lead as they walked, his broad frame cutting a path through the narrow streets. The few townsfolk they passed offered only brief, curious glances before hurrying on their way, heads bowed against the rain. Atlas couldn't blame them. If he didn't have to be out here, he wouldn't be either.

Finally, they arrived at the local tavern, a squat, sturdy building with a sign swinging above the door. The paint had long since faded, leaving only the faint outline of a frothing mug visible. Warm light spilled from the windows, and the muffled sound of conversation and clinking dishes reached their ears as they pushed through the door.

The heat inside was immediate and glorious. Atlas let out an involuntary sigh as the warmth wrapped around him, chasing away the chill that had seeped into his bones. The tavern was small and crowded, the air thick with the smell of damp wool, roasted meat, and cheap ale. Marcus approached the barkeep, exchanging a few words before tossing a coin onto the counter. Moments later, the barkeep nodded and handed him a key.

Their room was upstairs, small but serviceable, with a single bed and a worn sofa that looked like it had seen better days. A door off to the side led to a private bath, which was a luxury Atlas hadn't expected.

Marcus immediately claimed the bed, throwing his pack onto it with a satisfied grin. "I earned this," he declared, stretching out with exaggerated ease.

"Fine," Atlas muttered, rolling his eyes as he dropped onto the sofa. "As long as I get the bath first."

"You smell like you need it," Marcus shot back with a smirk.

Atlas ignored him, already pulling off his boots as he headed toward the bath. The small room was warm and filled with steam, a tub of hot water waiting for him like a gift from the gods. He sank into it with a groan, the heat seeping into his sore muscles and melting away the tension in his body. For the first time in days, he felt like a person again.

The sound of the rain outside was muted here, the steady patter against the roof almost soothing. He closed his eyes, letting himself relax completely. No snow, no wind, no mana beasts lurking in the shadows. Just the warmth of the water and the faint hum of voices drifting in from the other room.

When he finally emerged, clean and feeling like a new person, Marcus and Kara were already sharing a meal at the small table by the window. The lynx sat curled up on Kara's lap, its silver fur glinting in the firelight.

"Your turn," Atlas said, nodding toward Kara.

She gave him a small smile and stood, placing the lynx on the sofa before disappearing into the bath. Marcus glanced up at Atlas, his expression smug. "Feel human again?"

Atlas plopped onto the sofa, letting his head fall back with a groan. "Barely. But yeah."

Marcus chuckled, sliding a bowl of stew across the table toward him. "Here. Eat. You look like you're about to pass out."

Atlas didn't argue. He picked up the bowl, the rich aroma making his stomach growl. As he ate, the events of the past few days began to blur in his mind, their sharp edges softened by the warmth of the room and the fullness in his belly. For now, he let himself forget the mountain, the rain, the endless walking.

Marcus spoke up. "Tomorrow we'll find the Lightblade. Tonight, let's just rest. The instructions were to be here by the third day, so there's no rush."

Atlas didn't need to be told twice. He stretched out on the worn sofa, pulling a blanket over himself as the warmth of the room and the gentle crackle of the fire wrapped around him. The lynx curled up at his feet, its small body rising and falling with steady breaths. With his eyes growing heavy, he allowed himself to sink into the comfort of the moment, letting the promise of rest carry him into sleep.