The streets of Aseran were louder than they had been in days. Market stalls filled the square with color and noise. Vendors shouted prices over one another, the smell of grilled meat and baked bread drifting through the air as people crowded the narrow streets. The city was still celebrating, though the celebration had softened into something closer to relief. Life had returned. Raizō walked at the front of the group, moving steadily through the crowd as if the noise barely touched him. Seris and Shizume followed close behind. Shizume kept glancing at the stalls as they passed, her eyes briefly lingering on small weapons and travel gear displayed across wooden tables. Seris noticed but didn’t comment. Behind them, Taren walked with his hands resting loosely at his sides.

  Rylan walked beside him. Or rather—He had been walking beside him. Now he was several steps ahead, leaning casually against a merchant stall and smiling at a woman selling ribbons. Taren stopped.

  “You’re kidding.”

  Rylan didn’t even look back.

  “Research.”

  The woman laughed quietly at something he said. Taren rubbed the bridge of his nose.

  “You’re unbelievable.”

  “Jealous,” Rylan replied smoothly.

  “I am not jealous.”

  Rylan finally glanced over his shoulder.

  “Sure.”

  He turned back to the woman.

  “Now where were we?”

  Taren stared at him for another second before shaking his head and continuing down the street. Ahead of him, Raizō slowed slightly as Seris pointed toward a stall displaying travel cloaks.

  “We should grab supplies today,” she said. “If we’re leaving tomorrow.”

  Raizō nodded once. Shizume glanced around the busy street.

  “Then we should split up,” she said.

  Seris looked at Raizō. He didn’t object. Taren caught up with them just in time to hear the plan. Seris gestured lightly toward the street ahead.

  “We’ll get travel supplies. Food, gear, anything we might need on the road.”

  Shizume nodded.

  “I’ll help.”

  Raizō started walking again without comment. Seris followed. Shizume fell into step beside them. Taren looked behind him. Rylan was still talking to the ribbon vendor. Now two women were laughing at something he said. Taren stared.

  “…Unbelievable.”

  Seris glanced back.

  “Let him be.”

  Taren sighed.

  “I’m getting the other supplies,” he said.

  Raizō nodded without slowing. Taren turned down another street, heading toward the smaller square where the general vendors usually sold tools and simple equipment. He hadn’t gone far before the crowd swallowed him. That was when the quiet feeling started creeping back. The one he hadn’t expected. Taren wasn’t used to being looked at without expecting the worst. Even now, after the church fell, after the city had seen what they’d done, his shoulders still tightened whenever footsteps slowed behind him. Whenever a voice shifted tone. Whenever someone stared a second too long.

  He walked a half step behind the others through a busy stretch of Aseran, hands relaxed at his sides, eyes scanning without meaning to. The city felt lighter than it had days ago. Not because everything was healed, there were still gaps where banners had been torn down and places where stone had been scorched, but because people were moving again, talking, arguing about prices, calling out to friends across the street. Living. Taren kept telling himself he belonged in the middle of it. His instincts kept disagreeing. A couple passed on the left. The man glanced at him, paused, then leaned toward his partner and said something quietly. Taren’s spine stiffened. His fingers twitched, a reflex from years of being treated like a threat even when he did nothing. The woman looked back too. Then she smiled. Not wide. Not performative. Just a small, real thing.

  “Thank you,” she said as she walked past.

  Taren blinked. “…Yeah,” he muttered, voice catching slightly. He wasn’t sure if he’d answered correctly.

  He slowed for a moment, letting the crowd pass around him like water around stone, and watched the couple disappear into the street. It was strange. It was also… nice. He hadn’t realized how much he needed that until it happened. He kept walking. He passed a small square where a vendor had set up a cart under a cloth awning, selling skewered meat and fruit cut into wedges. A few guards stood nearby, just local men with simple armor and tired faces. They were talking about food. Taren tried not to stare. A sharp voice cut through the noise.

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  “Is he a Veyraen?”

  Taren stopped before he meant to. The voice hadn’t come from an adult. He turned and found a boy standing at the edge of the square, maybe eight or nine, staring up at him with the kind of bold curiosity only children had. Two other kids hovered behind him, peeking around his shoulders like they expected something exciting to happen. An older woman, probably the boy’s mother, looked horrified.

  “Kalen,” she hissed, grabbing his arm. “Don’t—”

  The boy pulled away, eyes still locked on Taren. “But he is, right?”

  Taren didn’t know what to do with that question. Back home, it would’ve been asked with fear. Or hatred. Or some rehearsed insult meant to push him into proving their assumptions. This wasn’t that. This was… interest.

  He cleared his throat, looking down at the boy. “Yeah,” he said. “I am.”

  The boy’s eyes widened like Taren had just confirmed a myth.

  “No way,” the boy breathed, then turned to the other kids. “I told you!”

  One of the girls stepped forward cautiously, head tilted. “Do you really transform?”

  Taren hesitated. The mother was still staring at him, face tight, as if waiting for him to do something violent. Not because she believed he would, more because she didn’t know what he was allowed to be. Taren felt the old weight rise in his chest. Then he saw something else. The woman wasn’t afraid of him. She was afraid for her child. That was different. Taren exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing a fraction. He crouched down so he wasn’t towering over them.

  “Not like what you’re imagining,” he said. “It’s not a full monster thing.”

  The kids looked slightly disappointed. Then immediately leaned in anyway.

  “What is it then?” the girl asked.

  Taren glanced at the mother. “Is it okay if I show something small?”

  The woman blinked, caught off guard by the question. Her grip loosened on the boy’s arm. She looked around, as if searching for someone else to answer for her, then swallowed and nodded once.

  “Just… don’t scare them,” she said.

  Taren almost laughed. “I’ll try.”

  He held out his hand, palm up. “Watch.”

  His fingers elongated slightly. The joints adjusted. The skin along his knuckles darkened and thickened, toughening the way it did when he braced for impact. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t monstrous but it was controlled. A few faint ridges rose along the back of his hand, like nature’s quiet armor.

  The boy’s mouth fell open. “That’s so cool!”

  The other kids gasped, then immediately tried to touch his hand.

  Taren laughed and pulled it back slightly. “Easy,” he said, smiling despite himself. “You’re not getting your fingers crushed today.”

  The boy bounced on his heels. “Can you do claws?”

  Taren raised an eyebrow. “Do you want to see claws?”

  “Yes!” all three kids shouted at once.

  Taren couldn’t stop the grin that tugged at the corner of his mouth. He shifted his fingers again, letting the nails lengthen just enough to look sharp without being dangerous. The kids exploded into excitement.

  One of them, another boy who had been quiet until now, squinted at him skeptically. “Bet you can’t run fast.”

  Taren looked at him. “Oh, I can run fast.”

  The boy crossed his arms. “Prove it.”

  The mother opened her mouth to scold him. Taren beat her to it.

  “Alright,” he said, standing. “But I’m not racing you.”

  The kids groaned in disappointment.

  Taren pointed at a small stone sitting near the base of the cart. “Throw that at me.”

  The mother stiffened. “Excuse me?”

  Taren held up a hand. “Not hard. Just… toss it.”

  The boy grinned like he’d just been given permission to be reckless in the safest way possible. He picked up the stone and tossed it underhand. Taren moved. Just fast enough that the kids didn’t see the exact moment his hand changed position. The stone was suddenly in his palm, caught cleanly. The kids froze for half a heartbeat. Then screamed like he’d performed actual sorcery.

  “How did you do that?”

  “You cheated!”

  “Do it again!”

  Taren laughed, actually laughed. His shoulders loosened in a way they hadn’t in a long time. “I didn’t cheat,” he said. “I’m just better than you.”

  The boy gasped in offended outrage. “No you’re not!”

  Taren leaned down. “Yes, I am.”

  The kids erupted into complaints, and Taren found himself caught in the middle of it, trading insults that weren’t real insults, sparring with them the way he used to spar with Raizō in quieter moments, except this time it wasn’t about discipline or survival. It was about fun. He let them toss more stones, catching each one. Sometimes he let one drop just so they could celebrate like they’d outsmarted him.

  “Ha!” the boy yelled. “I got you!”

  Taren clutched his chest dramatically. “No… my one weakness.”

  The kids wheezed with laughter. A few adults had stopped to watch. Not in suspicion but amusement. Someone chuckled softly. Another woman shook her head, smiling like she’d just witnessed something she didn’t know she needed. Even the boy’s mother, after several tense minutes, started to relax. Her face softened. Her grip on her child disappeared entirely. At one point she covered her mouth when Taren pretended to lose balance and the kids shouted at him like they were coaching a champion. Taren could feel the warmth of it spreading through him, unfamiliar but welcome. It felt like being allowed to exist.

  One of the guards nearby glanced over and smirked. “Didn’t know heroes came with children’s entertainment,” he called.

  Taren looked at him, deadpan. “I charge extra for this.”

  The guard laughed. A real laugh.

  The mother stepped closer, voice quieter now. “Thank you,” she said. “For… being kind.”

  Taren blinked again. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, letting his hand return fully to normal. “They’re kids,” he said, like it was obvious. Like it was nothing.

  But it wasn’t nothing. Not for him.

  The boy tugged on his sleeve. “Are you really gonna fight more bad guys?”

  Taren looked down at him, and the question hit differently than it should have. Not because it reminded him of violence. Because it reminded him that someone believed he fought for a reason.

  He ruffled the boy’s hair gently. “If I have to,” he said.

  The girl narrowed her eyes, serious. “Then you’ll win.”

  Taren paused. Then nodded once. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I will.”

  When he finally stepped away, the kids waved like they’d known him longer than ten minutes. Taren walked back toward the street where the others had gone ahead, still hearing their laughter behind him. He didn’t realize he was smiling until he caught it in the faint reflection of a window. It looked strange on him. But it also looked… right. For the first time in a long time, Taren didn’t feel like he was borrowing space in someone else’s world.

  He felt like he belonged in it.