The window light had shifted from gray to gold.
Koda sat cross-legged on the thin mattress, the linen sheets still tangled around his legs, the ache in his ribs a dull throb beneath tightly-wrapped bandages. The status screen floated quietly before him, the gentle pulse beneath the new skill slot like a breath held long past comfort.
He reached forward with thought alone and made his choice.
[Mantle of Echoes] acquired.
Your presence is shaped by memory, lined with death and conviction.
Enemies sense the path behind you.
Allies walk it beside you.
Passive aura. Strength scales with Wisdom.
+Minor Fear (enemies), +Minor Focus (allies)
The pulse of confirmation rippled through his chest—not pain, not pleasure, but something solemn. A ripple in his soul like the ringing of a great bell underwater.
Something had changed.
He could feel it. Like a veil lifting. Like shadows watching.
⸻
Renn waited outside the south tower barracks with a hood drawn halfway over her flame-orange hair, boots kicked up onto the stone railing and arms crossed beneath her cloak. She glanced up as Koda approached, and for a moment—just one—there was something raw in her expression.
She nodded.
That was enough.
Lumia arrived a few minutes later, quieter than usual, sleeves tugged down over her hands. She didn't speak as they walked inside.
⸻
The official recounting was short, given the scope.
They gave their report to a guild scribe from the Shield—young, paper-thin, ink-stained fingers—and a silver-crowned veteran from the Hall of Strategy who scribbled silently through most of it, interjecting only to ask dates, names, numbers of confirmed dead. The final question hung a little heavier.
"And your assessment of the dungeon? Rank? Cause?"
Koda's mouth went dry, but Lumia answered first.
"Something was wrong with the heart," she said. "Warped. Like the dungeon had… grown around a festering wound." She paused. "It shouldn't have been left unchecked for that long."
No one argued. They didn't need to.
⸻
It was dusk by the time they stepped back out onto the courtyard.
No applause. No formal thanks. Just a new set of orders in sealed parchment, pressed into Koda's hand as he descended the stair.
New duties. New watch.
He broke the seal as they walked.
Designation: Patrol Group E
Assigned Region: Eastern Trade Roads, Sector 3 through 7
Initial Deployment: Two days' time
Primary Objectives: Maintain security, respond to minor breaches, gather movement intelligence
Team composition reassigned. Further details to follow.
"Back to the wilds," Renn muttered, reading over his shoulder.
"They're not going to let us back into another unstable gate anytime soon," Koda said. "We're marked survivors now. The guild wants us visible."
"Visible or expendable?" Lumia's voice was low, but not bitter. Just tired.
They walked a little farther in silence.
The streets of Oria glowed warm with lantern light, but every flicker cast long shadows. Children danced in the alleys, the scent of meat pies and river smoke curled through the air, and for all that had changed, the city had kept breathing.
Koda folded the parchment and tucked it away.
A new team. A new stretch of road. Maybe a quieter assignment. But nothing in him believed they were done.
Not really.
____
Koda met the new team two mornings later at the South Gate, where the heavy iron portcullis rose in lazy creaks and the smell of oil and morning dust clung to the stone archway.
This group was different.
No prayers were spoken. No blessings offered. Just brief nods, strapped gear, and eyes that measured weight and worth in seconds.
The first to greet him was the archer.
A boy only a few years older than Koda, his hair black and razored close, with a long leather coat that swayed when he moved. He summoned his weapon with a flick of his hand—no flourish, no ritual. One second his palm was empty, the next it cradled a sleek bow of ash and smoldering runes. Flame curled lazily around the limbs, licking upward like it breathed.
He didn't offer a name immediately. Just an inquisitive glance.
"Archer of the Forge. Eighth rank." He beamed.
Koda raised a brow. "Rank?"
He smirked, muttered something like figures, and turned back to adjusting the straps on his quiver.
Next came the warrior.
He moved like the tip of a spear: lean and lethal. His shield was round, strapped to his back over thick plate, and his spear was longer than Koda was tall—blackened wood with a triple-pointed head that hummed faintly with enchantment. The man had the poise of someone trained since birth and the calm patience of someone who'd seen real loss.
"Vren," he said simply. His voice was like gravel and iron. "Shield. Tenth rank."
He didn't smile, but he did nod toward Koda like he'd already made peace with the idea of fighting beside him.
It seemed that they were in the habit of referring to their level as rank here.
The third arrived late, sweeping in on windswept boots and with a grin that looked like it got her out of more trouble than it should have.
She was Forge too, but unlike the others, her talent didn't shine from her hands. It hovered.
A silver-and-bronze device floated above her shoulder, whirring gently with softly glowing lenses that blinked in time with her heartbeat. It looked like a bird forged of glass and stormlight, wings tucked tight and always watching.
"My name's Seta," she said with an easy wave. "Recon and relay. If it moves, I'll find it."
The drone blinked once in agreement.
Her gaze lingered on Koda just a beat longer than the others. "You the quiet one?"
Koda shrugged. "Depends on who's asking."
"Fair enough."
She moved on losing interest.
And then there was him.
Koda of the Eternal Guide.
But no one would call him that here.
To them, he was another warrior—one who could summon a weapon of thought and will, and now moved with an aura that clung to him like old smoke and prayer ash. Since the acquisition of the Mantle of Echoes, his presence had shifted. Weighted. Sharpened. His gaze held longer. His steps left more than prints in the dirt—they carried intent.
Where before they'd mistaken him for one of the Forge, now no one dared ask. He stood like a bulwark, quiet and watchful, and that was enough.
The new patrol team hadn't been designed for balance.
They were fire and iron. Force and precision.
No healers. No mages. No light to guide them—just their grit and the weight of metal.
Koda adjusted the strap across his chest, feeling the heartbeat of his summoned blade pulse faintly in the back of his mind.
The gate behind them groaned open.
Trade routes awaited.
And this time, he wouldn't be the one catching up.