Boran stepped out of the portal.
The transit wing was still crowded even though it was evening. Adventurers came and went through portals like workers getting off buses at the end of a long day. Some looked clean and confident. Some looked worse than Boran. A man walked past with half his helmet melted. A woman was laughing while her friend pulled thorns out of her sleeve. Near the exit, two street vendors had set up carts and were shouting over each other.
"Hot skewers! Two gold!"
"Mana tea! Cheap mana tea!"
"Bandages, fresh bandages, don't bleed on the floor!"
There were more vendors than he remembered. Food carts, drink carts, someone selling cheap socks, someone selling little paper charms that probably did nothing. The Hub did not look like a legendary place between worlds right now. It looked like a crowded bazaar where everyone had weapons.
His ears still rang from the explosion in the Rootgnawer Burrow. His skin reeked of smoke, dirt, and burned plant sap. The clothes he had bought less than a day ago were torn again. Black scorch marks streaked across his shirt, one sleeve hung loose, and his pants were shredded around both calves.
Boran looked down at himself.
"Again," he muttered.
A group of three adventurers passed close by. One carried a woodcutter's axe. Another had a pack full of ore. The third wore gloves stained green at the fingertips.
The one with the axe glanced at Boran and gave a low whistle. "Rough run."
The woman with the green-stained gloves lifted two fingers. "Good job making it back."
The third nodded at his shield. "Hardcore look."
They kept walking.
Still, Boran found himself smiling.
He raised his hand after them, but they were already gone into the crowd.
It should not have mattered but it did.
After being laughed at for asking help, after being left behind, after nearly dying, a simple "good job" felt strange. Good strange.
Boran stood a little straighter, then immediately regretted it when his ribs hurt.
"Okay," he whispered. "Not that straight."
The mission reward was still unclaimed, but that was only three more gold. He needed to sell the plants first.
Boran adjusted the heavy shield on his arm and stepped into the evening street outside the transit wing.
District C was still awake. More than awake, actually. It looked busier than when he had left. Lanterns hung from stone arches. Signs glowed over shops.
As he wandered around, he picked the first place that looked close enough.
The sign above the door showed a cracked mortar and pestle with green smoke curling out of it.
[MIRA'S HERBS & ODDMENTS]
The bell above the door gave a tired little clink when he entered.
A narrow counter stood at the back. Behind it, a thin woman with round glasses was writing something in a ledger. She looked up, then looked Boran over.
Her eyes went from his burned shirt to his torn pants, then to the shield.
"Buying or selling?"
"Selling." Boran walked to the counter. "I have dungeon plants."
"Most people who come in here do."
Boran began pulling items from his inventory. Sparkstem Reed. Glasscap Lichen.
The woman's hand shot out before he could put the Glasscap beside the Sparkstem.
"Not together."
"I know."
Boran moved the Glasscap to the other side of the counter.
"Farther."
He moved it farther.
"Sparkstem..." She lifted one reed with metal tongs. "Some cracked tips. Still good for ignition paste. Glasscap is usable too, though you didn't bring much."
"How much?"
"Don't rush me."
Boran shut his mouth.
She weighed the small pile, scratched numbers into the ledger, then looked at him again. "Fifty gold."
Boran blinked. "Fifty?"
"Do you want less?"
"No."
"Then fifty gold."
"Fifty is fine."
A notification appeared.
[GOLD RECEIVED: 50]
[Current Balance: 53 gold]
Fifty-three.
Boran let out a breath he had not realized he was holding.
The woman was already sweeping the plants into separate containers.
"Need anything else?"
"Clothes."
She looked him over again. "Obviously."
"Do you know a cheap place nearby?"
The woman pointed toward the door. "Two streets down. Turn right where the armor shop has the ugly red sign. There are three clothing shops there."
"Thanks," Boran said, and left.
A young clerk behind the counter looked up when Boran entered.
"Shirt and pants," Boran said before the clerk could ask. "Cheap ones."
The clerk recovered quickly. "For plain clothes, shirt and pants together start at twenty-five gold."
Boran looked toward the shoe display before he could stop himself.
"Cheapest shoes?"
"Thirty gold."
Of course they were.
"No shoes," Boran said.
The clerk nodded like this was normal. "This way."
Boran chose a dark brown shirt and sturdy gray pants. If the next dungeon destroyed these too, he would at least not feel emotionally attached to them.
The changing room mirror was cruel.
Without the torn clothes hiding things, the damage looked worse. Bruises covered his torso in yellow, purple, and black patches. Thin cuts crossed his arms. Small bite marks dotted his calves and ankles. One burn mark ran from his left forearm toward his elbow.
Boran touched one bruise gently and winced.
"Tank," he muttered. "Great class."
He changed into the clean clothes anyway.
"Do you want me to dispose of the old clothes?"
"Please."
They picked them up with two fingers, held them away from their body, and carried them toward the back.
At the counter, he authorized the payment.
[Payment sent: 25 gold]
[Current Balance: 28 gold]
Twenty-eight.
It was not much, but it was enough for the next step.
He left the shop and headed toward the Endless Tavern.
By then the Hub had fully shifted into evening. More adventurers crowded the streets now. Some were celebrating successful runs. Some were drunk already.
The Tavern glowed at the center of the Hub.
Its enormous entrance poured warm light into the street. The sound hit Boran before he reached the doors. Laughter, music, clattering plates, hundreds of voices layered over each other until it became a kind of weather.
He stepped inside.
The smell of food nearly stopped him.
Roasted meat. Bread. Soup. Spices. Coffee. Something sweet with cinnamon. His stomach clenched so hard it hurt.
Boran almost walked straight to a table.
Then he stopped.
No.
Mission first. Room second. Food third.
If he forgot to turn in the mission, he would lose the reward. If he ate before renting a bed, he might not have enough left to sleep anywhere. He had done enough stupid things recently. He did not need to add "defeated by poor budgeting" to the list.
Boran forced himself toward the Mission Board.
The eastern wall glowed with thousands of listings. New missions appeared and disappeared constantly. Adventurers stood before it, accepting tasks, filtering by rank, arguing with party members, or staring silently at options they were not brave enough to choose yet.
Boran slowed down before stepping closer.
His eyes moved across the crowd before he could stop himself. A group near the left side. Two people arguing under the board. Someone with a staff. Someone with a rifle over their shoulder. For half a second, his chest tightened every time he saw a shape that looked familiar.
Maybe they were here. Maybe they had waited around the board. Maybe they had come back to check if he is here.
No, they weren't Sude, Deniz, or Kerem.
He swallowed, then stepped close and focused on his completed mission.
The interface opened.
[MISSION: HERB GATHERING - PORTAL 4-C]
[STATUS: COMPLETE]
[OBJECTIVE: Collect 20 Moonpetal Bundles]
[Objective confirmed]
[Reward: 3 Gold, 10 XP]
[Claim Reward?]
Boran selected yes.
[REWARD CLAIMED]
[+3 Gold]
[+10 XP]
[Current Balance: 31 gold]
[Current XP: 215/2000 toward Level 3]
Three gold. Ten XP.
A pathetic official reward. But it was clean. Earned.
The time appeared in the corner of his vision.
[8:03 PM]
It felt later. It felt like midnight. It felt like three different days had been crushed into one.
Boran turned away from the board and walked toward the reception desks.
The same general area as before was still busy, but now the evening staff had changed. Several receptionists worked behind long polished counters, each handling a separate line. Some adventurers were checking in. Some were asking about storage. Others were arguing about deposits, repairs, party registrations, and meal plans.
Boran joined the shortest line.
That turned out to be a mistake.
The woman behind the counter moved faster than anyone else. She had bright eyes, neatly tied hair, and the kind of smile that suggested she enjoyed explaining things more than most people enjoyed breathing. Her hands moved across the interface panels in front of her at terrifying speed.
The person ahead of Boran asked one question about bathing services and received what sounded like a complete economic breakdown of water, temperature, privacy tiers, soap quality, towel materials, and long-term subscription discounts.
Boran considered changing lines but it was already his turn.
The woman looked up at him, and her smile brightened even more.
"Welcome to the Endless Tavern! Lodging, dining, recovery services, storage, private room customization, team suites, dormitory registration, long-term residence options, ownership consultation, or general inquiry?"
Boran's brain needed a second.
"Room," he said.
"Wonderful! Single-night, short-term, mid-term, long-term, or permanent residence?"
"Single night."
"Excellent choice for flexible scheduling. We have a wide range of single-night accommodations depending on your budget, privacy requirements, recovery needs, comfort preferences, and whether you want standard, enhanced, premium, prestige, elite, guild-associated, or personal-tier service."
Boran opened his mouth.
She continued.
"Our standard private rooms begin at fifty gold per night. That includes a simple bed, basic wash basin, privacy seal, and morning wake notification if requested. For hundred gold, you can upgrade to a comfort room, which includes a wider bed, sound-dampening, heated water access, and a slightly better mattress. At two hundred and twenty gold, we offer recovery rooms with enhanced sleep enchantments, mild stamina restoration support, and muscle relaxation arrays. Very popular with low-rank adventurers after physically intensive missions."
Boran tried to speak. "I just need..."
"Above that, we have premium recovery suites starting at five hundred gold per night. Those include full bathing access, meal delivery, private storage, adjustable lighting, climate control, and optional aromatherapy. The thousand gold tier adds minor healing support, not enough to replace proper medical treatment, of course, but excellent for bruising, soreness, fatigue, and low-grade mana strain. At five thousand gold, you enter our heroic suite category. Those are popular among established D-rank and C-rank adventurers who want privacy, high-quality food, dedicated service staff, training-room access, and enhanced security seals."
She was not breathing enough.
Or maybe she was breathing without him noticing.
Either way, it was impressive, and he couldn’t find a gap.
"Then we have the legendary suites, beginning at fifty thousand gold per night, often used by B-rank parties after raid clears or negotiations. Multiple bedrooms, personal dining space, high-grade recovery arrays, custom bath environments, enchanted furnishings, and optional party isolation fields. At hundred thousand gold and above, we offer named suites, each themed after major dungeon environments. The Azure Dragon Bathhouse Suite is very famous. Artificial sky projection, hot spring floor, water purification enchantments, and a private chef option. Of course, chef fees are separate."
"Separate," Boran repeated weakly.
"Correct! At five hundred thousand gold per night, we can arrange elite personalized stay packages. Those are usually booked by A-rank adventurers, guild leaders, visiting nobles, which still feels kind of corny to say out loud, but that is the official term, and high-net-worth merchants. They include dedicated attendants, private reception, custom menu planning, temporary workshop access, and short-term item vaulting. At one million gold, you enter the grand residence tier."
Boran felt like the room was tilting.
He had thirty-one gold.
She was now discussing numbers that sounded like national budgets.
"Grand residence tier?" he asked before he could stop himself.
Her eyes lit up.
"Yes! Technically still rental, but structured more like temporary ownership. Full-floor access, configurable rooms, personal training arena, guest quarters, private crafting annex, secure artifact storage, and decor customization. Some adventurers book them before expedition planning, especially when coordinating multi-party raids. The highest nightly rental currently available in District C is one million and eight hundred thousand gold, though availability changes depending on season, tournament schedules, and cross-district travel."
Boran's mouth went dry.
One million and eight hundred thousand gold.
For one night?
"How can anyone afford that much and spend it on a room for ONE NIGHT?!"
“High-level adventurers are really rich, aren’t they? But they usually rent those rooms for big events—to show off, you know? Most of their gold goes toward powerful equipment and items, upgrading their guilds, supporting their spellcasters… that sort of thing.”
The woman continued.
"Now, if you're considering permanent or semi-permanent residence, the Endless Tavern also offers purchasable rooms. These are not ordinary rooms, of course. Ownership grants persistent customization rights, private storage, access control, long-term furnishing modifications, and depending on tier, workshop integration, training areas, garden spaces, and portal-adjacent fast transit options. The entry-level purchase option begins at one hundred thousand gold."
Boran blinked slowly.
"Entry-level."
"Yes. Very basic by ownership standards: a small private room, useful storage capacity, one customization slot, basic ownership rights, and no attached facilities. For one million gold, you can purchase an expanded residence with multiple rooms and better upgrade capacity. Ten million provides suite-level ownership with integrated support functions. At one hundred million, you begin entering estate-grade ownership. Those are quite rare, of course, and usually held by guild masters, top-tier adventurers, or organizations. There are also custom tiers above that, but those require administrative approval and are beyond my understanding."
Boran's eyes had started to glaze over.
The woman was still smiling.
"Ownership is useful because standard rented rooms reset after checkout, but owned rooms persist. If you change the furniture, install crafting equipment, reinforce walls, add personal storage, or decorate, those changes remain. Some adventurers treat their owned Tavern rooms as true homes. Others use them as offices or safe vaults. There are also legacy rooms transferred through contract inheritance, though that involves legal review, and if you'd like, I can explain the difference between personal ownership, party ownership, guild ownership, and sponsor-held residence agreements."
"No," Boran said, too quickly.
She stopped.
The silence felt miraculous.
"Sorry," he said. "I mean... no, thank you."
"Of course!" She did not look offended at all. "So, which option would you like?"
Boran stared at her.
"Whichever is cheapest," he said.
The receptionist nodded brightly. "Certainly. The cheapest private room is fifty gold per night."
Boran closed his eyes.
Of course.
"Right."
"However," she continued, "if you do not require a private room, dormitory lodging is available for five gold per night."
Boran opened his eyes.
"Dormitory?"
"Yes! Shared sleeping halls. We usually call them dorms, though some older adventurers still say barracks. Barracks tends to imply military assignment and fixed unit organization, so for civilian Hub lodging, dormitory is more accurate. But if someone says barracks, people will still understand what they mean."
"Five gold?"
"Correct. Five gold per night. Dormitory access includes one bunk or sleeping pod depending on availability, a lockable personal drawer, shared washrooms, shared sanitation, and access to the common rest area."
He could do five gold.
The receptionist's smile softened into something more practical. "A lot of new older folk start there. Gatherers. Miners. Woodcutters. Low-risk resource workers. People who come here for income rather than glory. Not everyone comes to the Hub to become the most famous hero in the world. That's what recruitment posters focus on, yes. Slaying monsters, clearing dungeons, joining elite guilds, becoming strong enough to change history. It happens. Some people really do climb that high. But most Awakened live much smaller lives."
Boran leaned slightly on the counter, listening.
"Many are middle-aged. Some are older. People with families, debt, medical bills, children in school, failed businesses, or simply no good opportunities back home. The Gate changed the economy. A person with the right skill set can come here, take safe resource missions, and earn more than they could in ordinary work."
"How much more?"
"It depends on exchange rates and the country, but for many low-risk workers, daily income can be around double what they would make in the old world, sometimes more. And with fewer working hours, assuming they know what they're doing and avoid dangerous zones. Gathering herbs, mining low-tier ore, cutting designated timber, transporting goods between safe points, sorting monster materials. These are not glamorous jobs, but they pay."
Boran thought about collecting Moonpetals for three gold. The mission itself had been terrible pay. The Moonpetals were not even his to sell. But the extra Sparkstem and Glasscap had sold for fifty. His Botanist and Gathering skills made that possible. Without them, he would have walked past that money without knowing.
"So they choose classes for that," he said.
"Often. Profession paths, hybrid utility classes, gathering-focused traits, appraisal skills, item support. Not everything is about killing monsters. In fact, some people avoid combat entirely. They stay in Rank FF or F zones, work carefully, sleep in dorms, save money, and send most of it home. Some have been doing that for years."
"Years?"
"Of course. Advancement is optional. Risk is optional, mostly." She tilted her head. "People like to talk about heroes because heroes are interesting. But the Hub runs on ordinary workers. Someone gathers the herbs that become potions, spicies. Someone mines the ore that becomes weapons. Someone cleans the rooms after adventurers bleed all over them."
He looked toward the Tavern's main hall. Hundreds of people sat there. Some wore shining armor. Some wore work clothes. Some had gray hair and tired eyes. A woman at a nearby table was carefully counting coins beside a basket of mushrooms. An older man with a miner's pick drank soup with both hands wrapped around the bowl.
Boran had not noticed them before.
On his first day, he had seen adventurers. Heroes. Weapons. Magic. People who looked like they belonged in legends.
Now he saw workers.
People earning money one safe, boring, necessary job at a time.
Something about that made the Hub feel bigger, safer.
And stranger.
And more real.
The receptionist tapped her interface. "So, dormitory lodging?"
"Yes," Boran said. "I'll take that."
"Wonderful. One night?"
"One night."
"That will be five gold."
Boran authorized the payment.
[Payment sent: 5 gold]
[Current Balance: 26 gold]
The number hurt less than he expected. Twenty-six gold after lodging. He still had enough to eat. Maybe even enough for breakfast tomorrow if he was careful.
The receptionist handed him a small token made of dark metal. A number glowed on its surface.
[DORMITORY ACCESS TOKEN: C-17]
"Your bunk is in Dormitory Hall C, bunk seventeen. Quiet hours begin at midnight. Fighting is impossible due to safe-zone rules, but disruptive behavior can still result in fines or removal. Keep valuables in your drawer or in your inventory if you have slots left. Washrooms are to the left of the dorm entrance. Laundry service costs two gold per bundle if you need it. Basic shower access is included. Hot water may be inconsistent during peak hours. Do not attempt to cook inside the dormitory. Do not bring live monsters into the dormitory. Do not store volatile alchemical components under your bed. Do not sleep in armor unless it is certified flexible rest gear. Do not challenge other guests to duels in the sleeping area. Do not..."
She kept going.
"...attempt ritual magic, blood binding, unauthorized portal opening, pet summoning, curse testing, venom extraction, explosive mixture brewing, bone carving, corpse preservation, or loud bardic practice inside the dormitory."
She smiled.
"Any questions?"
"Has someone done all of those?"
"Every rule exists for a reason."
"That's horrifying."
"Welcome to the Endless Tavern."
Boran took the token. "Thank you."
"You're welcome. Would you like dining recommendations based on remaining balance, health state, and probable caloric need?"
Boran almost said no.
Then his stomach growled loudly enough that both of them heard it.
The receptionist's smile widened.
“Dining recommendations, please. I have twenty-six gold left,” Boran said.
"With twenty-six gold remaining, I recommend you avoid anything above ten gold unless you expect immediate income tomorrow. The five-gold roasted chicken and vegetables is reliable, high protein, and filling. The three-gold beef stew with bread is cheaper and better for recovery warmth. The three-gold simple meal is sufficient if you're trying to save aggressively, but based on your visible injuries, I recommend at least the stew."
"I'll get the stew."
"Excellent practical choice."
Boran stepped away from reception, dorm token in hand.
The Tavern's main hall swallowed him again. It was louder now than before. Evening had brought a rush of returning adventurers. Some tables were packed with parties celebrating. Others were quiet, full of people eating alone before sleep. Servers moved between them with trays balanced expertly on one hand.
Boran found a small table near a wall. Not fully hidden, but out of the main flow of traffic. He sat with his back to the wall without thinking.
The Burrowguard Shield leaned beside him.
A server approached. "What can I get you?"
"Beef stew with bread. Water."
"Three gold."
He paid.
[Payment sent: 3 gold]
[Current Balance: 23 gold]
Twenty-three.
The stew arrived quickly. A deep bowl of dark broth, chunks of meat, carrots, onions, potatoes, and a thick slice of bread on the side.
Boran stared at it for a second.
Then he ate.
He tried to eat slowly. He failed. The first spoonful was too good. Hot, salty, rich. His body took control for a while. He dipped bread into the broth, swallowed, took another spoonful, breathed, continued. The heat settled into his chest and stomach, pushing back the cold memory of the dungeon.
Across the hall, someone laughed so hard they nearly fell off their chair. A group of low-level adventurers cheered as one of them showed off a new dagger. Near the hearth, an older gatherer slept sitting upright, arms crossed, head dipped forward, completely undisturbed by the noise.
Boran watched them between bites.
The Hub did not care what had happened to him. It did not stop because he had nearly died. It did not pause because his party had abandoned him. It did not dim its lights because he had woken screaming in a cave.
Life kept moving.
At first that felt cruel.
Then, slowly, it felt comforting.
If life kept moving, maybe he could too.
When the bowl was empty, Boran sat back and let the warmth settle in. His health had not improved yet, not in any meaningful way, but he felt better. Less hollow. Less like a walking wound.
He turned away from the table and headed toward Dormitory Hall C.
The entrance was on the second floor, down a wide corridor that split away from the private room sections. The difference was obvious immediately. The private room corridor had thick carpets, polished doors, warm lamps, and quiet. The dormitory corridor had stone floors, plain signs, and the smell of soap, wet boots, and tired people.
It was not bad.
Just honest.
A glowing sign above the entrance read:
[DORMITORY HALL C]
[Registered Guests Only]
[Quiet Hours: 12:00 AM - 7:00 AM]
Boran pressed his token to the panel beside the door. It clicked open.
The room beyond was enormous.
Rows of bunks stretched across the hall, divided into sections by low partitions and hanging curtains. Some bunks were simple beds stacked two high. Others looked more like sleeping pods built into wooden frames. Each had a small drawer at the foot, a hook for gear, and a curtain that could be pulled closed. The ceiling was lower than the Tavern hall but still high enough to keep the room from feeling cramped.
A cluster of older adventurers sat around a low table near the middle of the hall, sharing bread, soup, and a bottle of something amber.
It felt less like a sleeping hall and more like a neighborhood squeezed into one room.
Everyone seemed to know everyone. Names passed through the air easily. Mateo, Viktor, Lin, Uncle Koji, Amara…
Boran stood just inside the entrance with his token in hand, unsure where to go.
A man in his fifties noticed him first. He had a weathered face, a short gray beard, and forearms thick from years of manual work. A woodcutting axe leaned against the bench beside him.
"New one," the man called, not unkindly. "C-17?"
Boran looked at the token. "Yeah."
"Lower bunk, third row from the left. Lucky. Top bunks are punishment."
Someone at the table laughed. The gray-haired woman sorting herbs looked up and waved him over with two fingers.
"Welcome," she said. "If you want, come sit with us after you put your things down. We have tea. Bad tea, but still tea."
"And bread," another person added.
"Old bread," someone corrected.
"Like i said it was free," the first person said, as if that ended the argument.
For a second, he did not know what to do with that. He had expected bunks. Maybe snoring. Maybe people too tired to care who entered. He had not expected to be noticed like this.
"Thanks," he said, a little awkwardly. "I’m... really tired. I think I’ll just rest for tonight."
“Then rest,” the man with the axe said. “I’m Mateo, by the way. If anyone bothers you, tell them Mateo said not to. That won’t scare anyone important, but it works on most tired folks.”
The herb woman smiled. "Washrooms are on the left. Hot water gets worse after nine, so don't wait too long."
"And we'll lower our voices a little," someone near the table said.
"Just a little," another person repeated.
A few people chuckled.
Boran smiled despite himself. "That's fine. Thank you."
The others returned to their conversations almost immediately, but something had shifted. Boran was still a stranger, but not an invisible one.
He walked down the row, checking the numbers.
C-11. C-12. C-13.
At C-17, he stopped.
Lower bunk.
He sat on the edge carefully. The mattress was thin, but after tree branches and dirt floors, it felt luxurious. He stowed the Burrowguard Shield in his inventory and opened the small drawer. It was empty, clean, and large enough for a few personal items, if he ever owned any.
The voices continued behind him, softer now but still alive. Someone complained about stew prices. Someone else said stew prices were fine and the real crime was sock prices.
He liked it.
Like finding a warm corner in a place that had been cold since he arrived.
A place where people argued because they were comfortable enough to argue. A place where someone noticed when a new person walked in. A place where people knew each other's names.
The shared washroom was larger than he expected. Rows of sinks, shower stalls, benches, hooks for clothes and gear. Not luxurious, but clean. The water was warm enough when he turned it on, which felt like a miracle.
Boran stood under it for a long time.
Dirt ran off him first. Then old blood. Then soot. He watched it swirl toward the drain in dark lines.
The cuts stung when water hit them. The burns hurt too. His bruises looked worse under the washroom light. He cleaned everything carefully, using the basic soap provided in a wall dispenser. It smelled like metal.
Boran lowered his head and let the stream hit the back of his neck.
He thought about Sude. Deniz. Kerem.
He wondered whether they had asked about him after escaping. He wondered if they thought he was dead. He wondered if Sude felt guilty—then wondered whether he even wanted that. But he wanted to let them know he was alive.
Tonight, he wanted to sleep.
After the shower, he changed back into his clean clothes. They were still clean. He returned to his bunk with damp hair and a body that felt slightly less like it belonged to a corpse.
Mateo was already lying down with his hands behind his head.
"Hot water?" he asked.
"Warm."
"Then you made it in time."
A woman had pulled her curtain halfway closed. "If you wake up early, breakfast porridge is one gold. Not good, but filling."
"Thanks."
Boran sat on his bunk and opened his interface one last time.
[Current Balance: 23 gold]
[HP: 20/75]
[Health Regeneration Active: +1 HP per hour]
[Level: 2]
[XP: 215/2000]
[Level Rewards Available]
[Titles: Lone Survivor, Burrow Breaker]
[Gathering: Level F]
[Botanist: Level F]
[Survival: Level FF]
Level two rewards available? Right, he’d forgotten he’d leveled up. But he was too tired to think about it now; he’d look at them tomorrow.
He pulled the dorm curtain closed. The fabric was thin, but it created a small square of privacy. The world outside became muffled. Footsteps. Quiet voices. Someone coughing. Someone laughing softly. The distant endless noise of the Tavern below.
Boran lay down.
The mattress was not great.
It was perfect.
His body sank into it, and pain spread across him in slow waves before settling into a dull ache. He turned carefully onto his side.
"Tomorrow," he whispered, though he did not know what he meant by that.
Tomorrow he would need money. Tomorrow he would need another mission. Tomorrow he would need to figure out how to survive nine more solo missions before the party lock ended. Tomorrow he might have to see his old teammates.
Tomorrow could wait a little.
Tonight, he had a bed.
That was enough. For now.
Someone turned in their bed. Someone whispered goodnight. A drawer clicked shut. From the common table came low voices, a few quiet laughs, the soft clink of cups.
They were trying to be quieter for him.
Boran found that he did not mind.
Actually, he had missed this.
When he was a child, guests used to come to their house and stay late. His mother would tell him to sleep, and he would lie on the couch or in his room with the door half open, listening to adults talk in the living room. Tea glasses clicking. Someone laughing too loudly. His father’s calmer voice under the others.
Back then, Boran had been able to fall asleep inside those sounds without thinking about it.
He had not known that was a kind of safety.
The voices in Hall C blurred together.
Boran’s mouth curved faintly.
His breathing slowed.
The last thing he saw before sleep took him was the faint blue glow of the dorm token on the small shelf beside his bed.
Surrounded by strangers who already felt less strange than they should have.
Boran closed his eyes.
And for the first time since entering the New World, he slept somewhere that felt safe.