"You make a fair point!" I blurted out, the words tumbling free like unbound scrolls. "Growing up surrounded by bodyguards felt lonelier than any empty room. True loneliness isn''t solitude—it''s being drowned in crowds yet never truly seen." My fingers unconsciously traced the edge of my Shadowveil Cloak. "Even my parents were just... holograms behind boardroom tables."


    Rose tilted her head, demon horns catching the tavern''s firelight. "So you''re saying orphanage life made you this emotionally constipated?"


    "What? No! I''m not—"


    "Poor thing!" She bulldozed over my protest, burying her face in my chest with enough force to knock the wind from my lungs. "Don''t move. Five minutes. That''s all." Her voice muffled against my armor. "At least you had caretakers. My stepmother? She''d make a banshee seem maternal. Father stopped pretending to care after his heir was born. Only Gran..." Her shoulders hitched. "...Gran made hell bearable. Until the cancer won."


    I froze mid-shove. Since when did this become trauma Olympics? Weren''t we strategizing about PK bounties?


    "Rose," I tried gently. "We''re both crimson-marked pariahs. This pity party won''t stop players from skinning us for loot."


    She jerked upright, tear tracks glinting. "Right! Your fault, by the way! I was supposed to be Celestial Archon material, not some demonic sidekick!"


    "Sidekick?" I smirked, tapping her left horn. "These need trimming. Reindeer vibes don''t scream ''terrifying dark mage.''"


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    Her spellbook nearly took my head off. "Red names can kill red names, jackass!"


    Our wrestling match crashed into a shelf of potion vials just as the door flew open.


    "Whoa!" Our guildmate Wei backpedaled, hands raised. "Didn''t mean to interrupt your... whatever this is! The forums are blowing up about your avalanche stunt!" He tossed a glowing crystal tablet our way. "Player-captured images. You''re meme material, Rose."


    The holographic feed showed my cloak-wrapped form faceplanted in snowdrifts—mercifully unidentifiable. Rose''s sequence told a different story: a pixelated figure tumbling through the blizzard like a drunk pixie.


    "Epic wipeout," I snorted. "Try nosediving through an ice sheet sometime. We''ll see how graceful you look."


    "At least I wasn''t the idiot who forgot his Teleportation Ring!" Rose shot back.


    "Easy for you to say!" I activated the ring''s holographic map, its coordinates frustratingly blank. "Dragon Valley''s an anti-magic dead zone. No teleports, no recall scrolls—just 800 miles of player-infested territory between us and the 1000-level boss graveyard."


    Wei cleared his throat. "What if you leapfrog the worst zones? Teleport past the starter cities, then go dark?"


    "Risky," I mused, tracing possible routes. "But better than becoming walking loot pi?atas. First, we gear up. Rose, your ''rustic chic'' look won''t cut it." I gestured at her mud-stained robes. "You look like a beggar''s guild initiate."


    "Excuse you!" She brandished her staff. "This cost three weeks'' grinding! Not all of us have your drop rates, Mr. ''Legendaries Grow On Trees!''"


    The ensuing argument lasted until we reached Blacksmith Clark''s forge. The dwarf nearly dropped his hammer when we barged in.


    "Brother!" He crushed me in a bear hug, then bowed theatrically to Rose. "Lady Crimson! Whatever dark arts bound you to this walking calamity, my forge is yours!"


    Rose blinked. "Your NPC friend... needs therapy."