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Rave walked through the hoard of people, mexing with them as if salt mixed with water. Now that he had everything, he went back to the hotel. Opening the door he looked around, he saw no one, not even the manager. Not that he cared, he went up the stairs. The floor's creaks being the only thing that is stopping the whole place from being complety quiet. He soon got to his room.
He entered, the room still being a complete mess.
'Sigh, i almost got caught today'
"Well now that I have clothes and stuff, I need an armor now," he said while looking at his inventory. 'This sword is good enough, for now atleast'. He stared in the nothingnessn thinking about something. "Rave told me that, even if a guy have a grade 8 weapon from the start, a person who trained hard to become a grade 3, will still beat him."
'Well not that there's someone with a grade 8 weapon anyway'
'Now back to the armor, I have a place in mind...' he let out an ugly smirk "I wonder how he is doing".
He left the hotel again.
Rave drifted through the crowded streets, the mask filtering the choking air but doing nothing for the heavy scent of sweat and smoke. The market was alive with color and clamor, each vendor's shout blending into a constant roar of bartered goods and exchanged curses.
He was all too familiar with this environment.
Off to the side, he went to an alley, narrow and half-swallowed by shadow, a crooked wooden sign hanging above the entrance. Faded letters that only he would recognize.
He paused.
He'd been here before. With Wil.
Wil, the man who'd taught him how to fight, how to think, how to see the world without flinching. Wil, who'd always said he was more like a stubborn little brother than a pupil.
Memories pressed in, heavy and sudden. But Rave just clenched his jaw, then activated the first ability of the skinwalker's mask.
"Am I gay or what? Why do I keep glazing him?" He said while the transformation was beginning.
Darkness flooded the air around him, swallowing the light. The shadows deepened, then shifted. His body shrank back to its true size, shoulders narrowing, limbs coiling with that feline quickness. Gone was the borrowed bulk of Wil's frame, this was his real body: short, flexible, fast. Not as strong, but sharp.
Moments later, the light returned.
He flexed his fingers, feeling the familiarity in every joint and muscle. Then he pushed open the door. The bell above gave a tired chime. The air inside was thick with the scent of oiled leather and old steel, like a memory brought to life. Behind the counter, a man looked up. Burly arms braced on the worn wood, eyes sharp even under the weight of years. Rudeus Burner. Of the Burner Clan—if that still meant anything in a city that had turned to dust and smoke.
The old man's eyes widened. "Rave? By the abyss… it's really you. Rave managed a crooked grin. "Not dead yet." Rudeus came around the counter slowly, like he couldn't quite believe his eyes. "We thought you were gone, lad. Vanished into the dirt." Rave's smile turned wry. "Felt like it for a while." Rudeus clapped him on the shoulder, a heavy hand that almost knocked the breath from his lungs. "You always had more grit than sense. Wil said as much every time you two walked in here."
Rave's expression softened. "Wil's the only reason I learned how to stand on my own two feet. He took me in, you know? Treated me like… like I was worth something." Rudeus gave a slow nod. "He's a good man. Always said you had fire in your belly—just needed someone to teach you where to aim it." "He did." Rave's gaze dropped to the floor.
Rudeus let out a rough laugh. "Lad, you were the worst kind of fool, too clever for your own good." "Still am," Rave said, a hint of a smirk playing at his lips. Rudeus moved to a battered kettle sitting on an iron stove, steam beginning to curl from its spout. "Sit. You look like you could use a drink. It's not much, just coffee, but it's hot." Rave dropped into a wooden chair that creaked under his weight. "I'll take it."
Rudeus poured two cups, the bitter smell of roasted beans cutting through the stale air. He slid one across the counter. "Still got a knack for finding trouble, I see," Rudeus said, settling into the seat across from him. "I didn't plan it," Rave said, blowing on the coffee before taking a careful sip. The taste was rough but welcome, the heat seeping into him like an old friend. "I just… ended up in the wrong places, I guess."
Rudeus's eyes were kind but sharp. "You're back now. That counts for something." "Yeah." Rave ran a thumb along the edge of the cup. "City's worse than I remember, though. Feels like it's on the edge of something." Rudeus let out a low grunt. "It is. Bastards from the Authority—no respect for anything. Couple weeks back, they came through here, took a hammer to half my stock. Vandals with shiny badges."
Rave's lips thinned. "I saw the damage outside. Wil would've had a few words for them." Rudeus chuckled. "Wil has words for everyone. But they always come with a fist, or a blade." "That's what he taught me," Rave said. "How to keep my fists ready." The old man's gaze softened, lines of worry around his eyes. "He's been in here, you know. Asking after you. Like you were some little brother who ran off and got lost in the alleys."
Rave looked down. "I'm not sure what to tell him when I see him again." "You don't have to tell him everything," Rudeus said. "Just let him see you're still breathing. He'll handle the rest." Rave gave a quiet laugh. "Yeah. Sounds like him." They fell into an easy silence, the scrape of the old kettle and the creak of the chair the only sounds.
Finally, Rudeus leaned back. "You're not here just to talk, though. You've always had that look in your eye when you're after something. Go on. Take a look around—some of the stock's battered, but some of it… well, some of it's still worth the blood it took to make."
Rave rose from the chair, setting the empty cup aside. He walked along the rows of helms and breastplates, fingers brushing over cold steel and cracked leather.
Then his bracelet pulsed faintly against his wrist.
[Compatible item detected: Shadowhide Armor]
He stopped.
A suit of black armor sat on a battered mannequin, each plate catching the dim light like water at midnight. No fancy etching, no clan symbols just dark, hungry metal that seemed to drink in the flickering glow of the forge lamps.
He pressed a hand to the cold steel, feeling the faint vibration of the bracelet against his skin.
"What's this one?" he murmured, his voice low.
Rudeus came up beside him, a thoughtful frown on his face. "That? Came in with a wandering merchant. Said whoever it is made for, he'll know. Never seen anything like it since. Most folk don't trust it, it's too plain."
Rave didn't answer. He felt the way the metal seemed to hum under his palm, like it was trying to become one with him.
'No, not like that.'
"Seems like it's waiting," Rudeus said softly. "Maybe for someone who knows how to wear it."
Rave didn't look away. "Maybe."
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