The debrief took place in a hospital wing. Ashe’s nose burned with chemicals, the squeak of shoes on linoleum filling his ears as the chaos of the hospital swallowed him. Amalia’s debrief rushed past him, but he barely caught the words.

  “You did well…. I think we should…”

  He just nodded along, the headache that had been building now drowned everything out; her voice was just background noise in a storm.

  When his father’s footsteps returned, they were more controlled, less frantic. Ashe could tell his breathing had settled back to normal before he spoke.

  “She’s stable. She’s getting the oxygen and IV fluids she needs. She might still need to have her leg amputated, but she should be out of the woods.”

  Ashe blinked as the words sank in, a small flicker of pride pushing through the pain. It had been worth it. The ache in his body felt almost like a badge of honour.

  He tried to shake the pain away, but the movement only spiked his nausea. His head spun, his stomach lurched, and he had to wrap his fingers around the metal chair and squeeze just to stay upright.

  Time flew past in a blur, short bursts of sound washing over him like foreign music—unfamiliar and meaningless.

  Before he knew it, a duvet was wrapped around him and his head rested on a pillow. He wanted to get up, to research, to dig into what had happened—but the bed was just so damn cozy. He let go of fighting the exhaustion, darkness finally claiming him.

  As he woke, the smell of food was already in his nose, the sounds of movement downstairs in full swing. It couldn’t be morning—no one was ever that loud before ten. He’d slept past his alarm.

  He reached over, fumbling until his hand found the clock. Holding it to his ear, he heard the dead silence of something that had been switched off.

  He was ready to be angry at himself but then yesterday crashed back into his memory. Maybe it was for the best, he thought.

  As he bounced down the stairs, his legs felt light and his mind clear again, the splitting headache reduced to a faint memory. He knew he shouldn’t feel this good—but, like always, only the bad things seemed worth worrying about.

  His parents met him in the hallway. He swallowed, half expecting a lecture from his mother about the dangers of the portals.

  Instead, she wrapped her arms around him. Stunned, he forgot to hug her back and just stood there, unmoving.

  Her breath brushed his ear as she spoke. “I’m proud of you.”

  The words hit him just as his father clapped him on the back. “Well done, kid. You saved that woman.”

  It was strange. For the first time since all of this started, it felt like his family was really back—that they didn’t hate him for his choice. He was too confused to enjoy the moment properly, but he knew this would settle in as a core memory, a real turning point.

  They hurried him into the kitchen. The smell of waffles and maple syrup filled the air. Before either of them could say anything else, he sat down and reached for the food. His hands skimmed across the table until they found the plates; his stomach felt like it had started eating itself.

  He froze as his chest vibrated. Feeling around, his fingers closed on the necklace buzzing against his sternum. Confusion creased his face, and his father spoke.

  “Amalia mentioned something about a project.”

  He didn’t remember it. “Do you know anything about it?”

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  “No. I was focused on saving the patient. I didn’t ask too much after; I felt like you needed sleep more than anything at that point.”

  Ashe nodded, shoving the last bit of food into his mouth before getting up.

  His mother spoke from his side. “Will you be okay with going on the bus?”

  They were giving him more freedom. Something had definitely changed.

  “We have guests coming,” she added.

  All he could think was that it was good for them. For the past weeks they’d put their lives on hold for him, making sure he got through training. All they did was work, help him, and sleep. It had to be exhausting. After yesterday’s display, maybe—just maybe—a semblance of normality would return.

  He headed upstairs and collected his things, only then realising his walking stick had snapped in half. He pressed a palm to his face as his fingers found the broken ends and let out a groan of exhaustion.

  He yelled down the stairs, hoping someone would hear him.

  “Can you get my old walking stick?”

  No answer came back.

  He turned anyway, nothing on him but the clothes on his back, music in his ears, and a phone in his pocket. Without his walking stick, he felt truly blind, the shape of the world gone from his hand.

  As he stepped off the final stair, his mother was there.

  “Here.”

  She pressed his old walking stick into his palm. Unlike the new one, this one was wood and far too short. He’d used it before his growth spurt; to walk with it now, he had to bend his back into an uncomfortable S-shape. Each step became shorter, more careful when he used it. If people couldn’t see his face, they’d probably assume he was an old man.

  ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  The Guildhall was abnormally quiet, the familiar clang of steel missing. Even the usual sour-sweat smell was faint. For a moment it felt eerie, wrong, and his nerves spiked as he swept the hall with his senses.

  Amalia’s light voice cut through the quiet. “Get over here.”

  He lifted his walking stick, letting his back breathe properly for the first time in an hour. He stretched once, then followed the sound of her voice.

  When he reached her, he caught other scents and stopped short, confused. What exactly had he signed up for?

  One of them smelled feminine, light perfume with a hint of flowers. The others reeked of Axe body spray.

  When the girl spoke, he recognised her instantly. Her voice scraped along his skull like a knife on porcelain. He shivered.

  Annie.

  “Hello, Blindy.”

  “Meet the new team.” Amalia said.

  The new team?

  What the hell had he landed in?

  Amalia must have felt how uncomfortable he was, because she jumped in to cut through the awkward silence. “After your performance yesterday, you deserved a promotion. And it doesn’t get better than this.”

  Joey laughed, loud and booming, though even his laugh came slow and spaced out. “Good one,” he rumbled.

  “We’re part of the second wave of the DragonSpire program,” Amalia went on. “They assessed us and decided we need a team of four for D-rank portals.”

  Sweat slid down Ashe’s back. Panic rose sharp and hot. He was barely ready for E-rank portals.

  “Don’t worry, kid,” Joey said. “We’ll start slow. Work on our teamwork before moving up.”

  Ashe relaxed a little. He stood there, unsure if he should ask the question pressing at his tongue. His fingers fidgeted with his stick; his legs bounced in place.

  Annie’s grating voice cut through the moment like a bullet through paper. “What is it?”

  “Um.” He swallowed. “Can I…feel your faces and, uh, build a picture of your height and build? It makes it easier for me to work with people. I’ll be more efficient.”

  Silence. He hated this part. It was why he almost never asked; it always seemed to end in awkward quiet or a rude refusal. Until now, he’d only ever done this with friends and his parents.

  “Sure, kid. Start with me,” Amalia said.

  The others echoed the sentiment a moment later.

  A gruff, “Yeah,” from Joey. And a tense, “Okay. Don’t try anything funny,” from Annie.

  He moved toward Amalia’s voice. Amalia took his hand and guided it to her face. He’d already built a rough idea of her from sparring, but it all sharpened as his thumbs traced her nose, cheeks, brow. Her features were sharp, her face a neat triangle with a small nose.

  Before he knew it, his hand was being shifted to the next person. Joey. Taller than Ashe, body big but not exactly muscular or fat—just large. His nose was long and rounded, his cheeks broad and full.

  Last was Annie. Beneath his touch he felt her stiffen slightly, her jaw tightening. He knew she didn’t enjoy it either.

  She was much shorter than him, only up to his shoulder, and for someone as short as Ashe that meant she was really short. Her hair was curly and fell over part of her face. Her features were rounded, but her body felt very skinny under his careful hands; her nose, small and upturned, her brows thin.

  After he lifted his hand, he stood there awkwardly, unsure what to say—but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was a little closer to them now, like they’d let him in on a part of themselves.

  “We’d better get you a real weapon then.”