We leave Greyhaven just after midday, the sun high but offering little warmth. Vren sets a brisk pace beside me, a small pack slung over his shoulder and a short sword at his hip. He didn't have to come.

  I didn't ask him to. But he appeared at the eastern gate without explanation, and I didn't turn him away.

  The town's wooden palisade shrinks behind us as we follow the narrow path that winds north toward the Salin Hills. When we cross the invisible boundary that marks the edge of Greyhaven's protection, a familiar blue notification flickers at the edge of my vision.

  「Leaving Safe Zone - Greyhaven」

  「Entering Danger Zone: Eastern Wilderness」

  I blink it away. After a lifetime of these notices, I've learned, their present but ignorable.

  For the first hour, we walk in silence, the only sounds our boots against the hard-packed earth and the occasional cry of birds overhead. The land rises steadily, rocky outcroppings pushing through the soil like the bones of the earth itself.

  Sparse, twisted trees cling to the hillsides, their branches bare despite the season.

  "So," Vren finally says, breaking the quiet. "A Kingspear."

  I don't respond immediately. The title still sits strangely in my ears, like an echo from another life.

  "That's what they called us," I admit.

  "Never met one before." Vren glances sideways at me. "Heard stories, though. That you're faster than regular men. Stronger. That the King's mages did something to you."

  I keep my eyes on the horizon. "Something like that."

  "They say a single Kingspear could hold a bridge against fifty men." His tone is conversational, but I can hear the question beneath it. Are the stories true?

  "Depends on the bridge," I say. "Depends on the men."

  Vren snorts, shaking his head. "Always straight answers with you."

  We head overa small ridge, the path narrowing as it cuts between two weathered stone formations. Beyond them, the Salin Hills spread out, a series of rounded peaks and valleys, mostly barren except for scrub brush and the occasional stand of pines. The wind is stronger here, carrying the scent of dust and something less definable.

  "Why are you here, Vren?" I ask. Not why he's accompanying me to the hills, but why someone like him is in Greyhaven at all.

  He doesn't have the look of a frontier settler.

  He takes a swig from his waterskin before answering. "Same as most, I suppose. Running from something. Looking for something else."

  "And what are you running from?"

  He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Debts, mostly. A woman who deserved better. The usual disappointments."

  We fall silent again, picking our way down a steep section of path where loose stones make footing treacherous.

  When we reach more level ground, Vren speaks again.

  "Why didn't you keep the Spear secret?" He gestures vaguely to the weapon on my back. "Back in town. You could have just taken the blacksmith's offer. No one would have known what you carried."

  I consider the question. "Their was a history."

  "And what history was that?"

  I stop, turning to face him fully. "The end of the Prince's line. The death of what the kingdom could have been."

  Vren's expression sobers. "So the rumors are true, then. About the poisoning."

  "They are."

  "And you were there."

  It's not a question. I start walking again, the path beginning to climb once more.

  "I was," I say after several steps. "We all were. The King's elite guard, sworn to protect the royal line. We failed."

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  "How?" Vren hurries to catch up, his voice low despite there being no one else to hear.

  The memories surface.

  The banquet hall. The cup of wine. The Prince, rising to give a toast, then clutching his throat. The sudden chaos as guards rushed forward, as accusations flew.

  The ebb and flow of power from one to another.

  "Politics," I say finally.

  "And the King's brother took the throne," Vren finishes.

  I nod. "And those of us who knew too much, who had seen too much—"

  "Were sent away."

  I shake my head. "The lucky ones were sent away. Others disappeared."

  Vren digests this in silence as we continue our climb. The path grows more rugged, winding between rock formations. In the distance, I can make out what might have once been structures, stone foundations or the remnants of walls.

  "The Salin settlement," Vren says, following my gaze. "First human outpost in these parts, according to Harlan's books. Abandoned over two hundred years ago."

  "And no one's resettled it?"

  "Would you build a home where the last residents vanished without a trace?" He raises an eyebrow. "Frontier folk are desperate, not stupid."

  We approach the ruins cautiously. What once might have been a village is now little more than scattered stone, half-buried in earth, with the occasional timber poking through the dirt.

  The area is silent.

  "So," Vren says quietly, "what exactly does a Kingspear do when they're not serving a dead prince?"

  I scan the ruins, looking for any sign of recent disturbance. "They hunt."

  "Hunt what?"

  "Things that shouldn't exist within the Kingdom. Things that normal men can't kill."

  Vren's hand drifts to his sword hilt. "Like that Spidrae."

  I nod. "Like that. Others. Worse."

  "And that's why you took that quest." Vren's voice holds a new understanding. "Not for the coin. Not even for a place to stay."

  "Old habits," I say. "And I still need coin and land. But I know what I am."

  "A hunter."

  "A killer of monsters." I correct him, my eyes still tracking the perimeter of the ruins. "There's a difference."

  Vren is silent for a moment, then asks, "What did they do to you? To make you a Kingspear?"

  I roll my shoulders. "They took boys, orphans, mostly. Started training us before we could hold a proper weapon. When we were old enough, the King's mages performed a ritual. Called it the Kingsbinding."

  "What did it do?"

  I pause, considering how much to reveal. Few outside the royal court knew the full truth. But out here, with only the silent hills as witness, what does it matter?

  "It enhanced what was already there. Strength. Speed. Endurance. And it connected us to the royal line. To their will."

  Vren's brow furrows. "Like some kind of magic leash?"

  "Not exactly. But close enough. We could sense when they were in danger. Could draw on their authority in times of need." I touch the spear's wrapped haft. "The weapons were part of it. Extensions of the bond."

  "And when the Prince died?"

  The question strikes a raw nerve. The severing of something fundamental, like an arm torn away.

  "The bond broke," I say flatly. "But the enhancements remained."

  Vren whistles low. "No wonder the old king's brother wanted you gone. Having the dead prince's enhanced killing machines hanging around couldn't have been comfortable."

  We reach what must have been the center of the settlement. Crumbling stone foundations form a rough circle, with one structure more intact than the others. It might have been a meeting hall once, or perhaps a temple. The stones are different here, darker in ways in ways that stone shouldn't.

  "Hawks," Vren says, . "Look at this."

  He's standing before what appears to be a large, flat stone at the center of the circle. Not just a stone, an altar. Ancient symbols are carved into its surface.

  The mark on my arm begins to itch, then burn. I push up my sleeve to see those dark lines reappearing, more defined than ever.

  "What is that?" Vren asks, pointing to my arm.

  "I don't know," I admit. "But its recent."

  I approach the altar cautiously. The symbols are unlike any language I've encountered, yet somehow familiar. As if they speak to something deeper than conscious thought.

  "We shouldn't touch anything," Vren says, hanging back. "

  He's right. The air here is different, heavier, charged with something ancient. But I can't turn away.

  I stop a few paces from it, studying the surface.

  Something lingers at the edge of my hearing. Words I can't quite make out, in a language I shouldn't understand.

  "Do you hear that?" I ask.

  Vren shakes his head. "Hear what?"

  I step closer, drawn by something I can't explain. The words grow louder, more insistent. The mark on my arm burns like fire now, the lines extending further up toward my shoulder.

  "Hawks," Vren says, his voice tense. "I think we should go."

  I'm about to agree when I notice something beneath the altar, a thin line in the earth, too straight to be natural. I kneel, brushing away centuries of dirt and debris.

  It's not just a line. It's an edge.

  "Help me with this," I say, digging my fingers into the soil.

  Vren hesitates, then kneels beside me, reluctantly scooping away handfuls of earth.

  Gradually, we uncover what lies beneath, a flat stone slab, perfectly cut, with a small indentation near its center.

  "It's a door," I say.

  "A door to what?" Vren asks, though I suspect neither of us wants to know the answer.

  "A door to where you mean." I counter.

  The noise grow louder. My arm throbs.

  I run my fingers along the edge of the stone door.

  There's no handle, no obvious mechanism for opening it. Just that small indentation, roughly the size and shape of something familiar.

  I look down at my arm, where the mark has reappeared.

  "Hawks," Vren says, backing away. "Don't!"

  But I'm already placing my arm against the indentation.

  For a moment, nothing happens.

  Then everything happens at once.

  The ground trembles. The symbols on the altar flare with sudden, blinding light.

  The door begins to open.

  「Progress Update - System Tracker」

  「STATUS UPDATE」

  Hawks Taylor | Fallen Kingspear Lvl 28

  Equipment: Gungnir (Sealed), Prince's Flask, The Bestiary

  Finances: 85 Silver

  Pending: Ironwood Spear Sheath (Ready Tomorrow)

  Location: Salin Hills Ruins (Danger Zone)

  Condition: Mark Active and Expanding

  「QUEST LOG」

  Missing Livestock and Child (Updated)

  Discovery: Ancient altar and hidden door in Salin Hills

  Warning: Unknown magic responding to Hawks' mark

  Current Objective: Investigate the opening doorway