The golden light of dawn spilled through the windows of Seph's apartment, painting everything in hues of amber and warmth. Birds chirped softly outside as the world stirred awake, but the m felt still within the cozy sanctuary of their home.

  Seph stood in the ter of the living room, calmly pag a small duffle bag. His movements were measured and deliberate, pag with the same precision that came from years of merary work and now, as something far more powerful.

  He didn't need much: a few supplies for appearance's sake, a handful of carefully chosen tools that could've been mistaken as mere tris, and a pair of sturdy bat boots.

  Virginia Potts leaned against the doorway, watg him with mixed emotions—worry, frustration, and no small amount of love. Her arms were crossed, and though her lips were set in a slight pout, her eyes betrayed her .

  "You're pag like yoing on vacation," She muttered.

  Seph turo her with that teasing smirk of his, blue eyes sparkling with amusement. "Should I pack a sun hat, then? Afghanistan does get plenty of sunlight."

  Virginia shot him a sharp look. "This isn't funny, Seph."

  He stopped, the lighthearted expression softening into something deeper. Walking toward her, he slipped his hands around her waist, pulling her gently into him.

  "I know," He murmured. "But you don't have to worry about me, Virginia. I've been through worse."

  "That doesn't make me worry any less," She admitted, her voice softer now. "I know you're—well—you. But this isn't like a normal trip to the er store, Seph."

  "It'll be fine." His tone was steady aaiilted her up with two fingers, coaxio look at him. "You trust me, don't you?"

  Virginia sighed, letting herself lean into his chest. "I trust you. I just… hate watg you leave."

  Seph pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, then slowly moved to cim her lips in a deep, lingering kiss that stole her breath. His hands cradled her face, holding her as though she were the most precious thing in the universe—and to him, she was.

  Time seemed to stand still as the kiss deepened, leaving Virginia utterly dizzy when they finally parted.

  "That's cheating," She whispered, though her voice trembled slightly. "How am I supposed to miss you after that?"

  "That's the point," Seph replied with a grin, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. "I'll be back before you know it. You just focus on holding down the fort here."

  She smiled weakly, resting her forehead against his chest o time. "You promise?"

  "I promise."

  With one final kiss on her cheek, Seph slung the duffle bag over his shoulder and turoward the door.

  Virginia stood there, watg as he walked away, her heart ag but steady in the knowledge that there was no one else she could trust more.

  "Don't fet," Seph called back with a wink as he opehe door, "try not to miss me too much."

  "Arrogant," Virginia muttered under her breath, though her lips curved into a faint smile as the door clicked shut.

  A day ter

  The harsh sun bzed high in the sky, its ui baking the earth into a dusty, cracked wastend. Sand and storetched out for miles, broken only by crumbling hills and jagged mountain rahat loomed in the distance like sileinels.

  The air was thick with heat, every breath carrying the st of dry earth and diesel fumes.

  Afghanistan, a nd both a and scarred, buzzed with a quiet tension. The war-torn try estry of trasts—ed beauty and violence, of unyielding strength and despair.

  Small vilges dotted the ndscape, their people carrying on with life as best as they could, despite the shadows of war that loomed over them.

  In one such town—a dusty settlement of stone buildings and makeshift markets—a group of meraries had gathered in a dimly lit bar. The establishment was little more than a crumbling structure with a tin roof and windows covered in stained sheets, but it served its purpose.

  The air inside was thick with cigarette smoke and sweat, the sound of low versations and king gsses filling the space.

  The bar oputed by hardened men—meraries, smugglers, and drifters—each with a story etched into the scars on their faces and the ons slung across their backs. They eyed one another warily, mistrust lingering in every gnce. In a pce like this, everyone redator, and no one was safe.

  The creaking of the front door broke through the noise, and every head turoward the entrance.

  A man stepped inside, his presenanding attention the moment he appeared. He was dressed in worn merary gear—dark cargo pants, a weathered leather jacket, and bat boots that had seen their share of war. A faded scarf covered most of his face, leaving only pierg blue eyes visible beh the hood pulled low over his head. His steps were calm, measured, but the air around him crackled with something dangerous.

  Something other.

  The meraries exged uneasy ghere was something about him that set their instincts on edge. He wasn't just anun-for-hire or wandering soldier—this man exuded strength, fidence, and an unshakable power that seemed almost unnatural.

  The stranger ighe stares as he walked toward the bar, his boots eg against the crete floor. He stopped in front of the bartender, a grizzled man with a thick beard and a scar across one eye. The bartender looked up, his hand pausing mid-wipe on a dirty gss.

  "What'll it be?" The bartender grunted, eyeing him warily.

  The stranger's voice was low and smooth, though muffled slightly by the scarf.

  "Whiskey. ."

  The bartender poured the drink without another word, sliding the gss across the ter. The stranger caught it effortlessly and took a slow sip before speaking again.

  "I'm looking for some information," He said, his tone calm but carrying an edge of authority. "About fners. Ameris."

  The bartender's expression flickered, but he remaioic. "What's it to you?"

  The stranger pulled out a thick wad of cash a on the ter. "It's worth this mue."

  That got the bartender's attention. He leaned forward slightly, l his voice. "You're talking about the Stark guy, aren't you?"

  The stranger's gaze remained fixed on him. "Maybe."

  Before the bartender could answer, a gruff voice from behind cut in.

  "And who the hell are you supposed to be?"

  The stranger didn't turn, but his posture tensed slightly. The meraries sitting at a nearby table were watg him now, their expressions a mix of curiosity and hostility.

  One of them—a tall man with a buzz cut and a scar running down his cheek—stood up, sneering.

  "Looks like we've got ourselves a new pyer," The man said, crag his knuckles. "You lost, buddy? This isn't the kind of pce for tourists."

  The straook another sip of his whiskey, still not b to look at them. "I'm not here to py."

  The buzz-cut merary bristled. "You've got a smart mouth for someone who just walked into my bar."

  The stranger finally turned his head, his blue eyes cold and unyielding. "Is this your bar? I didn't see your name on the door."

  A few of the meraries ughed, earning a gre from Buzz-Cut. He took a threatening step forward, hand h he pistol at his hip.

  "You want to say that again, pal?"

  Before the situation could escate, the bartender smmed his hand on the ter. "Enough! Both of you. No oarts shit in here, uand?"

  The straurned back to his drink, his calm demeanor unshaken.

  Buzz-Cut muttered a curse but backed off, throwing o gre before returning to his table.

  The bartender leaned in closer to the stranger, speaking in a low voice. "There's been talk about a group of insurgents in the mountains. They're holding someone important."

  The stranger slid the cash across the ter. "Where?"

  "North of here. About twenty miles into the hills. You'll find them." The bartender hesitated, gng around the bar. "But watch your back. Those guys aren't pying around."

  The stranger nodded, finishing his drink in one smooth motiourned and walked toward the door, his boots eg ominously.

  The meraries watched him go, their earlier bravado repced with uhere was something about him—something they couldn't quite pce—that sent chills down their spines.

  As he stepped outside into the blinding sunlight, the stranger reached up and pulled off the scarf c his face. The hood fell back, revealing a face that was impossibly sharp, with striking blue eyes that seemed to see everything and a smirk that could disarm even the most dangerous of men.

  It was Seph.

  The breeze ruffled his dark hair as he stared out at the horizon, his gaze fixed on the distant mountains. Someone needed his help somewhere out there—and he was going to find them.

  "Time to get to work," Seph muttered to himself before setting off, his silhouette disappearing into the haze of dust and sun.

  --- ? ? ? ---

  Thank you for being a part of this journey. May these stories briement and inspiration to your life, and I look forward ting you many more adventures!

  If you've enjoyed my stories and want to help keep this adventure going strong, sider joining my Patreon! For as little as 2, you'll unlock extra chapters, exclusive art, and tons of perks.

  ?? Myth Guild ??

  Patreon: patreon.yth_Valley