The morning crowd swallowed Dylan whole.
Within minutes, the towering skyline of New California disappeared behind rows of buildings as he followed the navigation on his phone toward the Central Transit Terminal.
“…Please don’t tell me public transport is expensive too.”
It was.
“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Several minutes and one painfully overpriced ticket later, Dylan found himself sinking into a window seat aboard a long-distance bus bound for Pittsburg Town, the last civilian settlement before Ashveil Summit’s exclusion zone.
He rested his forehead against the cool glass as the bus rumbled to life.
With a soft hiss of its doors, it pulled away from the terminal.
The city slowly began slipping behind him.
At first, little changed.
Towering skyscrapers continued to dominate the skyline, their mirrored surfaces reflecting the morning sun like pillars of light.
Elevated highways twisted between them while streams of autonomous vehicles flowed endlessly through the concrete maze.
Gradually the buildings grew shorter.
Glass towers became apartment blocks.
Apartment blocks became quiet neighborhoods.
Those, in turn, gave way to sprawling farmland stretching toward the horizon.
Dylan watched silently.
“…It’s beautiful.”
He hadn’t expected that.
Perhaps because he’d written this world.
Or perhaps because he’d never expected to see it with his own eyes.
Fields of emerald crops swayed beneath the wind, interrupted only by the occasional wind turbine and distant Bureau observation tower.
Even the farmland looked different.
Mana had changed agriculture as much as it had changed everything else.
Many crops now matured faster, yielded larger harvests, and survived harsher climates.
Others had become entirely new species.
Humanity had adapted like it always did for unseen situations eventually the fields gave way to forests, Not ordinary forests trees hundreds of feet tall pierced the sky, their trunks thick enough that three people probably couldn’t wrap their arms around one.
Their leaves shimmered faintly beneath the sunlight, tiny particles of ambient mana drifting lazily through the branches like glowing pollen.
“…Still surreal.”
Several rows ahead, two Hunters quietly discussed an upcoming expedition.
One absentmindedly rolled mana across his forearm, causing a faint silver glow to ripple beneath his skin.
Dylan’s eyes lingered for a moment.
Aura.
One of humanity’s oldest and simplest combat techniques after the Dungeon Emergence.
Unlike Skills, Aura wasn’t something the System activated for you.
It was discipline.
Training.
Learning to guide mana through the body instead of merely storing it.
A well-trained Hunter could reinforce their muscles, strengthen their bones, sharpen their reflexes, or coat a weapon in Aura to dramatically increase its power.
Simple in theory.
Painfully difficult in practice.
“…Which is exactly why I need a Combat Scripture.”
Without proper guidance, learning Aura from scratch was like trying to teach yourself surgery using internet videos.
Possible?
Maybe.
Recommended?
Absolutely not.
His thoughts were interrupted by a quiet sigh beside him.
Dylan glanced sideways.
She looked to be in her late sixties, perhaps early seventies.
Silver hair peeked from beneath a knitted hat, and despite the gentle wrinkles across her face, there was a warmth to her features that reminded him of homemade soup and old family photographs.
A woven basket rested carefully on her lap, covered with a white cloth.
She hadn’t smiled once since boarding.
Dylan rested an elbow against the window.
“Excuse me, ma’am.”
She turned, blinking in surprise.
“Yes?”
“I hope this doesn’t sound strange, but I just wanted to say…” He smiled sheepishly.
“You’re incredibly beautiful.”
The woman stared at him.
“…Young man.”
“Yes?”
“Were you just flirting with me?”
He nodded solemnly.
“I’ve heard older women have much higher standards. If I can make you smile, I’ll consider today a complete success.”
For a second she simply looked at him.
Then a laugh escaped her.
“Oh goodness.”
She covered her mouth as another laugh followed.
“I haven’t heard a line like that in forty years.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It wasn’t.”
“It sounded like one.”
She shook her head, still smiling.
“You’re quite shameless.”
“I prefer ‘confidently optimistic.'”
The laughter slowly faded, leaving behind a genuine smile.
Dylan gently pointed her smile.
“That suits you much better.”
She looked at him for a long moment before her expression softened.
“Thank you.”
“My name is Dylan.”
She offered a wrinkled hand.
“Ekaterina Volkov.”
He shook it carefully.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Volkov.”
“Just Ekaterina.”
“Only if you call me Dylan.”
“Very well, Dylan.”
Silence settled between them as the bus continued down the highway, A few minutes later, Dylan noticed her smile gradually disappear.
Her gaze drifted toward the passing scenery but she wasn’t really looking at it, she was somewhere else entirely.
“You look worried.”
Ekaterina smiled politely.
“Do I?”
“A little.”
She hesitated.
“It isn’t something a young man like you should concern himself with.”
“I’ve found people usually say that right before telling me anyway.”
She chuckled quietly.
“You really are an odd one.”
“My teachers used to say the same thing.”
She looked down at the basket resting in her lap.
“My husband is sick.”
The lightness in her voice vanished.
“It’s a rare mana disease.”
Dylan’s smile faded.
She reached into her handbag and unlocked her phone before holding it toward him.
The wallpaper showed an elderly couple standing in front of a small farmhouse.
The man had broad shoulders despite his age and wore a weathered straw hat.
One arm rested around Ekaterina’s shoulders while both smiled so brightly it was impossible not to smile back.
“He still insists on working the farm,” she said with unmistakable affection.
“Stubborn old fool.”
Dylan couldn’t help smiling.
“You two look happy.”
“We are.”
She looked at the photograph as though it were the most precious thing she owned.
“We’ve been married for forty-three years.”
There wasn’t a trace of embarrassment in her voice.
Only pride.
Only love.
Her thumb gently brushed across the screen.
“Then the disease came.”
Dylan’s chest tightened.
Mana Bloom Syndrome hs own creation, a progressive illness caused by unstable mana crystallizing within the body’s circulatory pathways.
It didn’t kill quickly.
It simply weakened people little by little until even walking became exhausting.
“There is a cure,” Ekaterina continued quietly.
“A herb.”
He already knew.
Moonveil Herb.
Eastern Ashveil Summit.
Natural growth rate…
Painfully rare.
Market price…
Around seventeen million dollars.
His stomach twisted.
He remembered exactly why he’d written that number.
He’d wanted readers to understand how hopeless the disease was.
At the time it had seemed like good storytelling.
Now, looking at the woman beside him It just felt cruel.
“We’re saving,” she said with a hopeful smile that somehow hurt even more.
“Every harvest. Every spare dollar.”
She laughed softly.
“It might take years.”
“But that’s alright.”
“I’ve waited forty-three years for him.”
“I can wait a few more.”
Dylan lowered his eyes.
“…I’m sorry.”
“There isn’t anything to apologize for.”
“No.”
He smiled faintly.
“I just wish the world were kinder.”
“So do I.”
Silence returned.
After a while she tilted her head.
“What about you, Dylan?”
He rubbed the back of his neck.
“It’s considerably less romantic.”
“I’m listening.”
He laughed.
“I used to write people.”
She blinked.
“You… wrote people?”
“I was an author.”
He shrugged.
“I spent years creating characters.”
“Nowadays,” He looked out the window.
“I mostly observe them.”
“I think observing people makes for better stories.”
“It also makes for lonelier writers.”
Ekaterina nodded thoughtfully.
“I think your stories must have made many people happy.”
“…I hope so.”
She reached into the basket on her lap and lifted the cloth.
Nestled inside were several dragonfruits unlike anything Dylan had ever seen their crimson skin shimmered beneath the sunlight while delicate golden veins traced intricate patterns across each fruit, Mana-grown, High quality, Expensive.
She picked one up and held it toward him.
“Please.”
He immediately shook his head.
“No, you’ve already shared enough.”
“I insist.”
“You should sell it, It’ll help your husband.”
Her smile remained unwavering.
“It came from our own farm there will be more.”
She gently pushed the fruit toward him again.
“I’d like you to have one.”
Dylan hesitated.
Knowing what she and her husband were enduring…
Accepting it somehow felt wrong.
Ekaterina noticed.
“Dylan you listened sometimes that’s worth more than money.”
He stared at the fruit for several seconds before finally accepting it with both hands.
“…Thank you.”
“No.”
She smiled warmly.
“Thank you for reminding an old woman how to laugh.”
A comfortable silence settled between them.
Not long after, the rhythmic sway of the bus lulled Ekaterina to sleep, her head resting lightly against the seat.
He looked down at the dragonfruit resting quietly in his hands, a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
“…Dad would’ve accepted it.”
His father had always said refusing sincere gratitude was another way of rejecting a person’s feelings.
«If someone gives you something with all their heart, don’t measure its price.
Appreciate the heart behind it.»
The memory came as clearly as if the man were sitting beside him.
For a long while, Dylan simply watched the sleeping Ekaterina.
Her hands were rough from decades of farm work.
Even asleep, she held the corner of the basket close, as though afraid someone might take it away.
His gaze drifted to the photograph still glowing faintly on her phone’s screen.
Forty-three years together.
And now she was counting every dollar, hoping to buy a few more years with the man she loved.
“…”
He slowly looked away.
“My father died from a disease too.”
The words barely escaped above a whisper.
Different illness.
Different world.
The same helpless feeling.
He still remembered sitting beside that hospital bed, searching the internet late into the night for treatments that didn’t exist.
Looking for miracles that were never going to happen.
He’d failed then.
Just as millions of others had.
A quiet laugh escaped him.
“…I’m such a hypocrite.”
He had always thought sympathy was one of humanity’s noblest emotions.
Now he wasn’t so sure.
Maybe the sympathy he felt wasn’t for Ekaterina at all.
Maybe every time he saw someone desperately trying to save a loved one…
He was only seeing his own father.
Maybe all this compassion was nothing more than an old wound refusing to heal.
A selfish way of comforting himself for something he could never change.
He closed his fingers gently around the dragonfruit.
“…People really are complicated.”
Outside, the mountains continued to draw closer.
And before long, Ashveil Summit dominated the horizon once more.