The corridor to the courtyard was narrow and dim, letting in only thin strands of morning light. Soliana walked behind her mother, matching Flora’s steps as quietly as she could. Inferna didn’t hum with life the way festival streets did — it waited. It watched. Even the silence felt disciplined.

  But Flora’s presence softened everything.

  Soliana followed close enough to feel safe, far enough that she hoped her mother wouldn’t notice how much she needed that feeling.

  They stepped into the courtyard.

  Geralt stood beside a tall brown horse, tightening its reins. He looked exactly the way she remembered him from the festival — relaxed shoulders, warm eyes, that easy warmth that made the air feel less cold. For a moment, Inferna’s towering stone walls didn’t seem quite so harsh.

  Flora called out to him. “Leaving already?”

  Geralt nodded. “Yeah. The mark my friend carved into that undead is fading. If I don’t track it now, I might lose it… or it might hurt someone.”

  He said it lightly, as if he were chasing something mischievous rather than something dangerous.

  Soliana’s fingers curled into her sleeves. She wasn’t scared of him — she was worried for him. The feeling surprised her; it pushed at her ribs like it wanted out.

  Geralt noticed her and smiled. “Morning, Soliana.”

  She opened her mouth, then closed it. Her throat felt too small for the words she wanted to say. She tried again.

  “I—I… m-mean… p-please…”

  Her cheeks burned.

  “…stay… safe.”

  The words came out small and trembling, but they came out.

  Geralt blinked, then gave her a warm smile that softened all her embarrassment. He ruffled her hair gently.

  “I’ll try. And while I’m gone, keep Anastasia from setting anything on fire, alright?”

  Soliana squeaked — half mortified, half agreeing.

  Flora smiled faintly.

  Geralt swung into the saddle, adjusted his cloak… then paused.

  “Oh. Right. Dante sent another message.”

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  He scratched his cheek. “He’s coming back soon.”

  Soliana felt the shift before she understood it.

  Flora’s smile didn’t break.

  Her voice didn’t slip.

  Her posture didn’t falter.

  But her hand tightened — just barely — against Soliana’s cloak.

  The smallest tremor.

  A thread pulled too tight.

  Soliana looked up quickly, but Flora’s face had already returned to gentle calm.

  “Thank you for letting me know,” Flora said.

  Geralt noticed nothing. He gave them a casual salute and guided the horse toward the gate. Hooves clacked on stone. Dust lifted. And then he was gone.

  Soliana kept watching the empty gate long after. Worry sat inside her chest like a folded paper bird she didn’t know how to unfold.

  A tap landed on her shoulder.

  “Come on, dear,” Flora murmured. “Inferna is waiting.”

  Soliana followed… but she looked back at the gate one last time.

  And then at Flora’s hand — still trembling from whatever the name Dante meant.

  They walked deeper into Inferna.

  The kingdom opened in long corridors and sunlit courtyards shaped by fire and discipline. Red banners hung like tongues of flame. Guards marched with silent precision. Even the air felt trained.

  Flora walked confidently here. Not stiff, not rigid — just… sure. As if Inferna were a place she understood instinctively.

  Soliana watched her closely.

  A crease between Flora’s brows when a patrol passed.

  A breath held too long at distant bells.

  A softer step when Soliana drew near.

  Little things.

  Pieces of something Soliana didn’t understand yet.

  They reached the marketplace.

  Heat rolled through the air — forge heat, kitchen heat, the kind that clung to metal and made the ground shimmer. Stalls lined the square, each draped in dark red cloth. Vendors didn’t shout; they spoke with sharp, practical tones. Customers bargained quickly, moved quickly, lived quickly.

  Soliana didn’t cling to Flora… but her sleeve brushed Flora’s more often than she meant it to.

  “If it’s too much—” Flora began.

  “I’m fine,” Soliana whispered.

  Flora gave her a small, quiet smile — brief but warm, like sunlight passing through a window.

  A group of soldiers passed and saluted Flora.

  Soliana blinked.

  Flora returned the gesture smoothly, the way someone practiced it for years.

  Soliana’s eyes widened.

  Her mother… looked important.

  She walked a little taller beside her.

  They passed a stall selling volcanic glass shaped like Sigils. A butcher sharpened knives with a sound like metal biting stone. A smith hammered a glowing blade, sparks jumping like tiny stars.

  It was overwhelming.

  It was fascinating.

  And Soliana felt something tug inside her — not fear, but a need to understand what was beneath all this. Why people looked at Flora the way they did. Why Inferna felt like a place heavy with secrets.

  Then she saw something that didn’t belong.

  A stone building stood at the far side of the square, its walls uneven and patched. Dozens of wooden plaques hung over the doorway, each carved with strange symbols. Loud laughter spilled out — the first unrestrained sound Soliana had heard in all of Inferna.

  She slowed, staring.

  It wasn’t orderly.

  It wasn’t quiet.

  It didn’t match anything else here.

  She tugged Flora’s sleeve.

  “…Mom?”

  Flora followed her gaze and sighed softly. Not annoyed, just thoughtful.

  “That,” she said, “is the Adventurer’s Guild.”

  Soliana’s breath caught.

  A place full of noise in a kingdom full of discipline.

  A building that didn’t match its surroundings at all.

  A contradiction… standing proudly in the open.

  Curiosity lit inside her like a spark on dry leaves.

  Flora touched her shoulder gently. “Come. We’ll look closer.”

  And for the first time since entering Inferna…

  Soliana stepped ahead of her mother.