Ironwood Anchor stood high atop a rocky plateau, a fortress of survival carved into the rocks. Its towering walls were crafted from Ironwood and they all gave off a thrum of arcane energy, as though pulsing with the heartbeat of the city itself—an old and persistent force warding off the monsters of the Crucible.
As Narvel stepped through its thick gates, a mix of smoke, burnt wood, and aged incense filled his nose, an oddly comforting scent that reminded him of bonfires and blood-washed altars. Red lanterns swayed gently from soot-dark beams, casting glows that flickered against the angular silhouettes of stacked buildings crowding the streets.
The roads narrowed into twisting alleys that disappeared beneath the overhang of closely packed rooftops, where whispers and watchful eyes followed every stranger's steps. Flames from the oil-fed streetlamps gave warmth to the stone paths.
At the heart of Ironwood Anchor rose a massive tower. Its peak was crowned by a relentless blue flame. The fire hissed against the night, visible from every corner of the city—a living signal of protection. Narvel hadn't noticed it from the outside, but now it burned like a beacon. That flame, he recalled, was part of what made Anchors some of the safest havens in the Crucible.
His torn and ragged appearance quickly drew attention as he moved down the main path. People peeked from windows and doorways, some glancing away when he met their eyes, others staring longer than they should.
He didn't care.
All he needed was rest.
He entered the nearest inn, its entrance lit by low orange firelight, and approached the desk. "A room for the night, please," he said, brushing soot off his shoulder.
The woman at the counter, perhaps in her late thirties, looked him over from head to toe. She frowned at the shredded fabric clinging to him. "What're you paying with? Coins or Gene Fragments?"
"Gene Fragment."
"Five Awakened Fragments for the cheapest room."
Her eyes lingered on him, skeptical. She waited for a reply, arms folded. When none came, she raised an eyebrow. "If you can't pay, find a corner outside or sleep in the alleys."
"Do you have change?" Narvel asked calmly.
"How much?" She asked with a deeper frown.
He summoned one of his Sundered Gene Fragments from his stat screen, drawing it from the space where his inventory floated. The triangular shard glimmered faintly as he placed it before her.
She blinked in surprise, picking it up carefully and turning it in her fingers, inspecting for deception. Without a word, she turned and disappeared into a back room, returning with an older woman.
"My daughter said someone needed change. I didn't expect that someone to be so young. That Gene Fragment is worth a hundred Awakened pieces," She said, her tone firm.
"Two-fifty. I'm not a newbie. Don't try to cheat me," Narvel replied coolly. He remembered the valuation well, back when he tried to pay a caravan with it.
"Two hundred," she countered, her voice slower now, measured. "With the recent monster infiltration, I'll be risking my inn and customers by taking you in."
"If I were a monster, I wouldn't have been able to pass the gate. I was also doused in salt," he said flatly.
"Oh, that only filters out the weaker ones. You have the air of an Awakened, but the danger I sense from you… it's more than that. Who's to say you're not an Uncommon or Rare Huskmask?"
"Two-ten," Narvel said, voice hardening. "That's final. Otherwise, I'll sleep outside."
He could see what she was doing. If she truly believed he was a monster, she wouldn't be standing here negotiating. She'd be calling the guards or worse. It was profit she smelled, not fear.
And she wasn't weak either. The energy radiating from her was sharp, not far from what he sensed from Amadeel after his Rare Class breakthrough.
A slow smile spread across her face as she stared at him a little longer. "Fine… two-oh-five. And I'll have clothes brought to your room. You need something more than the rags you have on, even if you're only spending a night."
He nodded once, deciding not to drag it out.
The longer he stayed in front of her, the more he felt like she was likely to find new angles to squeeze value from him. He took the token she handed him and followed the younger woman down a narrow hall to his room.
Minutes later, the daughter returned to her mother with her brows furrowed. "Is he that dangerous? You tried to shake him down like he was some criminal."
Her mother's expression shifted. "He might be even more dangerous than I think. I used an enchanted mirror on him—he's not a Huskmask."
"Is he as strong as you, Mom?"
"I can't say… not until I fight him."
"Should I have Divon watch him?"
"Do it. He's only staying a night. Take those clothes too—they should fit," she added and then smiled once more. This one wasn't just business—it was curiosity.
After receiving the clothes and taking a long, calming shower, Narvel brought his wrist to his nose and sniffed his skin.
He still remembered the vile stench that had clung to him in the catacombs, a rot so thick it had scarred his memory. Yet after his clash with Amadeel, when he had finally awoken from that ordeal, the smell had vanished without a trace.
Now he was merely confirming, reassured but still cautious—his nostrils had been through enough trauma to make them second-guess even clean air.
Satisfied that the scent was no longer a problem, he quickly slipped on his metal mask, its cold frame familiar against his face, and wore one of the trousers provided by the inn. They fit decently, plain and dark, but clean.
From the shredded remnants of his old clothes, he retrieved the paper Malakai had given him. The one from the statue.
He settled next to a lantern that burned with soft orange light, unfolded the paper with careful fingers, and tried to focus on its content. He couldn't help himself. He needed to know.
Before his eyes could scan past the first few lines, Voidscale appeared in front of him, tail flicking and its cries echoing with complaints and a nervous vibe.
The creature warned him of the strange, dangerous energies within Ironwood Anchor, urging that they should not linger any longer than necessary.
"Oh, I was wondering where you vanished to," Narvel said flatly. He lied, he didn't mean it. He had forgotten about Voidscale entirely. The last he remembered, it had been perched outside the gates, obsessing over a flickering streetlamp.
"Well, it hasn't even been that long. Don't bother me right now—we'll leave tomorrow." He brushed the creature away as one would a restless pet.
A Step Forward.
You wish to cultivate, right? Well, haven't you already been doing that?
Narvel frowned as he read. The words were simple but carried weight, stirring something within him. Was it referring to his actions, or something deeper?
You once wished to crawl, and then you did. You wished to walk, and then you did. You wished to run, and you did. Now you wish to cultivate—why don't you?
His head throbbed.
It felt as though the words were bypassing his thoughts entirely, drilling straight into his core. The moment he finished reading, a wave of fatigue hit him like a tidal force. His will and stamina drained as if they had been siphoned, and right before his eyes fell away from the page, he caught one final line.
This is my Legacy, and inheritance, and yet not. This is my Art, Unfettered.
Turning away with a gasp, blood trickled from his nose. His breath was heavy and his body was damp with sweat. [Deep Thought] had activated without his awareness, pulling him into a mental constraint he hadn't consented to.
Still dazed, Narvel made his way to the bath again. A second shower tonight. As the water ran over his skin, he replayed the words in his mind, again and again.
'I should cultivate just because I want to? If I knew how, wouldn't I already be doing that?' The message lingered, frustrating and elusive. He even tried to look at the paper again, searching for more—but strangely, it was blank now. The words were gone, leaving nothing behind but a dull, aged sheet.
Suddenly, he felt the urge to eat.
Not hunger—no, he hadn't felt hunger since he consumed that strange fruit in the Hollow Forest, the one he got from the gigantic tree. That fruit had erased the sensation, which was why starving in the catacombs had never been a true concern for him.
Voidscale was the same.
But its appetite was built on curiosity, not need.
Whether it felt hunger or not didn't matter. If something looked appealing, it wanted to taste it. Always.
While still caught up in thoughts about what he had read, Narvel felt his consciousness slowly slip into sleep. He couldn't tell how long had passed since he closed his eyes, but even in that half-conscious state, his mind remained restless, circling back to the words on the paper.
They replayed quietly within him, demanding to be understood, refusing to be forgotten.
Somewhere between thought and dream, something shifted.
A sharp current passed through his senses, as though someone had struck a silent gong inside his chest. His instincts stirred first, dragging his awareness back from the edge of sleep. His muscles tensed before he could even open his eyes.
There was danger near.
As soon as he opened his eyes, Narvel found the world to be black and white with no contrast.