The Extra's Transcension

The next morning, rain misted over the village, soft and steady. Ash sat under the eaves of the bakery, watching the drops pool along the cobbled path. The world felt slower here, less like it was waiting to break him, more like it was inviting him to listen.

He was halfway through carving a small figure from a chunk of scrap wood, something Elira had handed him without explanation, when the door behind him creaked open.

"You're going to lose a finger if you keep holding it like that."

Ash turned, the figure still clutched in his hand. A young woman stood just inside the doorway, dark cloak soaked through, boots caked with mud. She had eyes like stormclouds, quiet, watchful, and a tired kind of poise, like someone used to doing things alone.

"Not the warmest greeting," Ash said, setting the wood aside.

"Not a greeting. Just advice," she replied, stepping past him. She wore a satchel over one shoulder and the scent of rosemary and iron clung to her.

"You're new," Arya said from inside, poking his head around the corner. "Haven't seen you in a while, Ember."

"That's because I don't come down for gossip and bad music," she said without missing a beat, dropping the satchel onto the table inside.

Arya rolled his eyes. "She's a runner. Scavenger type. Comes and goes. Collects stuff, fixes stuff. Grumbles."

Ember gave him a dry glance. "And I don't babysit stray mages."

Arya laughed. "This is Ash."

She looked at Ash then, more directly, but not with curiosity or warmth. With assessment.

"You're the one who broke the east perimeter ward."

Ash tensed. "I walked through it. Didn't realize it was active."

"It was." Her tone was clipped. "Now I have to repair it."

"Want help?" Ash offered.

She raised an eyebrow. "Can you repair sigil-stones?"

"...No."

"Then no."

She moved past him again, tying her rain cloak tighter. She didn't bother saying goodbye, just stepped back into the mist and vanished between the trees like she'd always belonged there.

Arya nudged Ash in the ribs. "Charming, huh?"

"She doesn't like me," Ash said.

"She doesn't like most people," Arya replied. "But she keeps the wards up, hunts with the scouts, and brings back more salvage than the entire village combined. You'll earn her respect eventually."

Ash didn't reply. He wasn't sure he wanted her respect. And yet... something about her lingered. Maybe it was the way she didn't look at him like he was broken or interesting. Just… a disruption.

That night, the rain lifted. Ash went walking, through the back paths near the treeline where the moss ran thick.

He found Ember there, crouched over a carved stone half-sunk into the dirt. A ward node.

Faintly glowing. Her fingers moved with precision, a chisel and brush in each hand.

He watched her work until she noticed him.

"I didn't ask for company," she said without turning.

"I didn't come to talk," Ash said, quietly.

She paused, then went back to scraping away lichen from the glyph surface.

"You always carry silence like it's armor?"

Ash thought about that. "Used to carry fire. Silence is easier."

She actually gave a small huff of amusement. Not quite a laugh. But not hostile.

"You're not as useless as you look," she muttered.

Ash crouched beside her. "You always this pleasant to strangers?"

Ember glanced sideways. "Only to the ones who come out of nowhere, break protective wards, and think brooding makes them interesting."

He smiled slightly. "I don't think I'm interesting."

"Good. You're not."

They sat like that for a while, in the hush of moss and damp leaves, the glow of the repaired glyph casting soft blue light across her knuckles.

Ash watched the way she worked, not with magic, but with knowledge and care. Every motion careful. Every line deliberate.

"You know the old magic," he said at last.

Ember didn't look up. "I know what's useful."

"Where'd you learn?"

She hesitated, just for a breath. "Someone who doesn't breathe anymore."

Ash nodded. "Same."

A long silence stretched between them, not uncomfortable.

Then she stood, brushing off her palms. "Wards done. Try not to walk into them again."

He watched her go.

And didn't stop thinking about her.

*****

Two weeks passed.

The village breathed slowly, like something that had forgotten how to rush.

Ash settled into its rhythm like sediment, unsure if he belonged, but too tired to float elsewhere.

He repaired fences.

Carried firewood.

Helped the apothecary grind roots.

He didn't ask for more than he was given, and most people didn't ask questions he didn't want to answer. Which was fine. Comforting, even.

Except for Ember.

She didn't talk much. But when she did, it was direct, and sharp as flint.

Ash found her in the tool shed one morning, sharpening a broken sickle with a whetstone and a quiet sort of fury.

"You're grinding it wrong," he said, leaning against the frame of the doorway.

She didn't look up. "And you're still here."

"Didn't know I was on a time limit."

"You're not. Yet."

He stepped inside anyway, careful of the cluttered workbench. "You always this warm in the morning?"

"I'm always this warm, period."

She finished the blade, held it to the light, and gave a curt nod before setting it aside.

Ash watched her move, all economical precision. Not graceful like a dancer, efficient like a survivor.

"You fixed the south ward alone?"

"I prefer it that way."

"I wasn't offering to help."

She gave him a sidelong look. "Then why are you here?"

Ash tilted his head. "Honestly? I don't know."

That made her pause, just a breath too long. A flicker. Not sympathy. Something closer to recognition.

"Join the club," she muttered.

He helped her hang the repaired sickle. She didn't thank him.

They weren't friends. Not in the usual sense.

But Ember began tolerating his presence more. Letting him walk beside her on ward runs. Letting him carry heavy bundles. Sometimes even letting him speak.

Once, she handed him a sprig of wildmint wordlessly, when he had a bad coughing spell. Another time, she corrected his herb pouch organization without insulting his intelligence. Not out loud, anyway.

Still, she didn't soften. That wasn't her way.

In the evenings, she sat on the roof of the village forge, legs swinging over the edge, watching the treeline with narrowed eyes and arms crossed.

Ash joined her once.

"Don't fall," she said without looking.

"Not planning to," he said, settling beside her.

They sat in silence for a while. Long enough for birds to grow comfortable again.

"You ever think about leaving?" he asked eventually.

"Sometimes," she said.

"Why don't you?"

She shrugged. "Where would I go?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

She looked at him then. Really looked.

"You've got the eyes of someone who lost something important," she said quietly.

He didn't respond.

"Or maybe a lot of somethings."

Still, he stayed quiet.

She turned away. "I don't care what you were. Just don't be stupid about it now."

"I'm trying," he said.

"Try harder."

*****

A storm came in days later, howling, wild, unnatural. One of the mirror-winds, Ash thought. Not from this world.

Branches snapped. Fires had to be relit with trembling hands and soaked flint. The east paddock's pen collapsed. Animals fled into the woods.

Ash volunteered to help bring them back.

So did Ember.

Of course she did.

They moved fast through the undergrowth, Ember calling softly with practiced whistles. Ash trailed behind, eyes scanning the dark.

They found two goats tangled in bramble near a shallow creek. Ember knelt to cut the thorns away.

Suddenly, a rustle.

Ash turned.

A shape darted in the trees. Not animal. Not exactly.

Ember froze.

"You saw that?" she whispered.

"Yeah."

"Not local."

"No."

She stood slowly, hand drifting to the short dagger at her belt.

The shape didn't return.

But both of them walked back with their shoulders tight and their pace quick.

Later, as they tethered the goats in the barn, Ember looked at him. Her expression unreadable.

"That thing, it looked at you," she said.

Ash didn't lie. "It recognized me."

She studied him for a long, tense moment. Then turned away.

"Don't bring your ghosts here," she said.

"I'm not trying to."

"Try harder."

He didn't argue.

*****

The next morning, she knocked on his door.

A first.

He opened it blearily, shirt still half-laced.

She held out a parchment map. Her hands were ink-stained.

"There's an old watchtower north of here. Abandoned. It has something carved into the stone, an old glyph set. Could be important."

"Why me?"

"Because I don't want to go alone," she said. "And I don't trust anyone else to understand it."

He blinked.

"Don't flatter yourself," she added. "You're just the least likely to slow me down."

He smirked, already reaching for his boots.

*****

A/N: This Feels like a Cultivation Manhwa lol.... Like I've been timeskipping since the first chapter of this arc... I am really enjoying it. Lol