"We weren't born on the same day,
but the day we met—that was the day we truly started living."
Nestled just a few valleys west of the majestic capital of Elynthi stood Tropico Outpost, Western III, a rigid, militaristic bastion where the Tropico Guild trained not just elite adventurers, but scholars and journalists. It wasn't the romantic guildhall most imagined, bustling with clamor and camaraderie. No, this outpost was grim, where rocky terrain met biting wind, the outpost stood with squared watchtowers, canvas barracks, sparring rings, and dozens of mana-inscribed banners flapping violently in the wind.
It was here that Mina and Ashe, two seemingly unremarkable "Dungeon Cleaners," carved out their unusual life—thanks to Ferris' peculiar decision to recruit the pair into Division Nine two years ago. Despite their title, they weren't just mop-holders or corpse haulers. Mina & Ashe both 16, had earned private quarters—an unthinkable privilege for their rank—after proving themselves in body and mind.
—
Mina's Mornings
The bell tower hadn't rung yet, but Mina was already awake.
4:57 A.M.
Her eyelids fluttered open in the dark silence of her small stone room. There was no need for an alarm. Her body had long adjusted to the rhythm.
Slipping out of bed with soldier-like precision, she tied her hair into a high, practical ponytail, donned her threadbare training clothes, and stepped out into the frosted morning air.
A thin layer of dew painted the outer tiles silver. She breathed in deep.
"Another day, another fight."
With a sniff of her arms then to her armpits—she sneered.
"Ugh, damn I'm foul."
She began with a stretch—slow, deliberate, learned from observing elite Meijer soldiers long ago.
Then, the jog began, circling the entire outpost four times. The first lap was always the warm-up. The second tested her breath. The third, her will.
With her lungs burning, she shifted course toward the tree line to the east.
After running, she made her way towards the trees at the edge of the camp, where she had built her own makeshift training zone: three straw dummies, arranged in a loose triangle, each with scars of repeated beatings—kicks, jabs, elbow strikes.
Mina cracked her neck once and launched into them.
Boxing.
Jab. Jab. Hook.
Low kick. Backstep. Elbow. Duck. Uppercut.
She weaved between the dummies like it was a fight to the death. The dull thud-thud-thud of fists striking straw echoed softly in the morning air.
By 5:28 A.M., she was drenched in sweat, her fists raw, breath ragged.
But she didn't stop.
After ten minutes of pure striking, she stopped—panting, sweating, alive—and then pivoted to the woods behind her.
She gathered kindling. Cut dead branches. Slung two thick logs over her shoulders and marched back to the Outpost. Placing them just outside the mess hall doors.
When she arrived, Chef Lira, the grumpy cook, nodded wordlessly. Mina nodded back.
5:39 A.M., She took a quick shower by the well, showering herself with a bucket, looking back and forth uneasy that someone might just see her bare form.
Later, in the warm glow of the kitchen hearth, she scrubbed counters, peeled tubers, and washed dishes—all while others still slept. Her hands moved fast, strong, reliable. Her presence was unspoken routine.
By the time the 6:00 A.M. bell tolled, signaling the start of formal drills, Mina had already lived an entire morning.
—
The Brute Null
Mina, now nicknamed "The Brute Null" by her peers, quickly earned a fearsome reputation in sparring drills, with the younger recruits began like clockwork. Sparring sessions, rotating partners. Most of them—boys and girls aged 17 to 19—had the advantage of size or magic, most of these recruits were orphans who've gathered resolve, some were sent from the Capital by their parents, and some like Mina & Ashe were handpicked by certain Tropico officers. Yet, when mana-reinforcement was disallowed, as it often was in these physical regimens.
Amid the rowdy clash of fists, feet, and flailing heads, a 17-year-old recruit lunged at Mina with a growl—his stance sloppy, two hands outstretched in an obvious attempt to grab her.
But Mina saw right through it.
In a split second, she slapped his left hand away, caught it over her shoulder.
Next, she drove a sharp gut-punch into his midsection with her left fist.
As he staggered, she hooked her right leg between his,
sweeping him clean off the mat.
Before he could react, she slammed her knee down onto his neck—stopping just short of crushing pressure—
Then froze a clenched fist inches from his face.
Defeated.
Instructor Klausseus didn't say a word.
He simply nodded... and pointed to another sparring partner.
Again, and again, Mina fought.
And every time—
Mina won.
To them, she was just a girl.
A Null.
Magicless.
Insignificant.
But Mina knew better—because the world never lets her forget. Out there, in the real world, no one fights without magic. Not in expeditions. Not in Dungeon Cleaning Operations.
That's why, when she's deployed, she's issued a pair of short blades—daggers embedded with dense mana crystals. They hum with lethal energy, capable of piercing even celestial constructs.
They are her lifeline.
Her equalizer.
A rare privilege, granted by Captain Ferris himself.
Not out of kindness—but necessity.
But to their instructors, and to Captain Ferris, she was formidable. Her movement was fluid, honed, deliberate, others noticing her very martial moves are reminiscent of the Meijer Soldiers, elite's of the Royal Army, though none knew her blood ran through that very name.
None but Ferris and Ashe knew her full name: Wilhelmina Meijer.
—
Ashe's Days & The Magic of Mind
As for Ashe, his mornings were quieter—more cerebral.
While Mina grunted through dirt, sweat, and bruises, Ashe's side of the outpost remained bathed in flickering candlelight, the air thick with ink and thought. Stacks of parchment towered on his desk, and the walls were swallowed by overflowing bookshelves—most borrowed, many forgotten by time, and all thoroughly annotated.
6:36 A.M.
He stirred awake, rubbing the sleep from his eyes before neatly fixing his bed.
A glance through his window showed Mina already outside, deep in morning drills, exchanging blows with the others.
Ashe shrugged, shuffled over to his desk, and sat down beneath shelves crammed with tomes:
Illusion. Arcane Theory. Mana Construction. Rune Efficiency. Glyph Translation.
His passion lay in magic of the unseen—particularly Illusion, an ancient and nearly forgotten school. Many dismissed it as outdated or impractical. Some claimed it was extinct.
But Ashe?
Ashe wielded it like a craftsman.
Yet Ashe wielded it like a true craftsman. His illusions didn't simply trick the eyes—they bent perception itself;
He could render a solid wall transparent to reveal traps within, cloak a squad in active camouflage from dangerous monsters, even alter the look of entire environments to confuse whatever's chasing him.
Other Dungeon Cleaners admired him—his magic made missions safer, survivable. Some even whispered it was more than illusion. Something newer. Something revolutionary.
Despite his reserved nature, Ashe often found his books mysteriously missing, only to be discovered in Mina's pile the next day;
"Stop borrowing my things," he'd always say.
"You never read fiction anyway~" she'd shoot back. Mina would quip, nose-deep in it while chewing dried meat.
To the higher-ups, Ashe showed more promise—his mana potential, his versatility, his intelligence. But Captain Ferris never told Mina. He knew better.
Mina was steel. Ashe was smoke. You needed both to survive.
—
January 22nd — The Day They Met
The morning drills of January 22nd had just wrapped up.
Mina's arms ached. Sweat clung to every inch of her skin. A fresh bruise throbbed on her shoulder.
And yet—she was smiling.
After a quick rinse, she changed out of her stiff Tropico Recruit Uniform and into something more comfortable: a loose linen blouse, deep purple trousers, a red sash tied around her hips in place of a belt, and black padded leather short boots.
Refreshed and relaxed, she stepped through the wooden gates of the outpost—ready to breathe in something other than sweat and discipline.
She jogged down the familiar valley road, past the fields, beyond the gates, and toward Capital Elynthi. The guardsman by the gate gave her a strange look, racing through wind and city gates, flashing her Tropico ID at checkpoint guards who didn't dare stop a guild affiliate.
She arrived in front of Sector Y6 of Elynthi, at the crooked wooden sign that read:
"The Shacken Clam Tavern."
A familiar place ,their old haunt. The place they'd first met. The place they decided, long ago, would be the spot to celebrate.
A crooked-toothed guard watched her approach, squinting with recognition—she gave a subtle nod.
Inside, the scent of ale, charred meat, and salt filled the air.
And there he was.
Ashe, sitting at their usual booth.
"Took you long enough~," he said with a smirk.
"You went ahead without me," she huffed back.
"Well, you had training. I had to save our spot. Don't tell me you're not glad to be back?"
Mina looked around. "Yeah… I missed this dump."
Ashe raised a brow. "You noticed, right? That we're finally here—like we said we would be?"
"Yeah. Remember our old wish?" she said.
"Yup! It was to finally order something from this place, right!?" Ashe said loudly.
—
The Celebration
They ordered like kings & queens.
A seafood boil, filled with crab legs, shrimp, lemon butter, and southern spices.
Burger steaks slathered in gravy with thick, mashed potatoes.
A platter of roasted fowl—exotic firebirds with crispy skin.
Two mugs of cheap ale they could barely stomach.
Two cups of berry juice for backup.
The total came to 89 silvers. Every coin was worth it.
"This was our dream, huh?" Ashe said between mouthfuls.
"One simple goal," Mina echoed, eyes sparkling. "Eat like royalty. Just once."
"And hey," she added, "Whatever happened to that waitress who used to sneak us meals?"
"Gone south," Ashe muttered. "I asked around. Took a job in Fellenport."
"Oh..." It's all Mina could say, but it's not important right now.
—
The Man Who Found Them
Just as Mina finished gnawing on a chicken bone, a shadow loomed over their table. A familiar one.
Then came a gravelly voice.
"Enjoying yourselves?" Captain Ferris asked
Mina froze. Ashe nearly dropped his mug.
"What're you doing here?" Ashe asked, voice pitched high.
Ferris smirked. "You think I don't track my subordinates? I let you think I don't."
He pulled up a chair uninvited. "I've known about this place. It's where I first met you both, remember?"
They nodded slowly. Yes… that night three years ago.
It was here—three years ago—that he first met Ashe and Mina. Back then, they were just two street rats, surviving in the slums, trying to pickpocket the wrong target.
Him.
What they didn't know was that Ferris had already marked them. The moment their fingers slipped into his coat pockets, he'd imbued mana trackers into their hands—discreetly, without a word. Days later, it was that same mana trail that led him straight to them.
At the time, Ferris had been sent to Elynthi to investigate a string of mass pickpocketings in Sector Y6. He assumed it was a small gang exploiting local kids, running an operation out of one of the slummed-out districts. So he came prepared—armed only with his enchanted brass knuckles, modified with knockback filaments.
But nothing prepared him for what he found.
Not a gang.
Not a hideout.
Just two kids.
Two filthy, stubborn kids behind the entire operation.
He even considered putting the brass knuckles away—until they fought back.
What followed was chaos. Gruesome, even.
Mina, just thirteen at the time, had been shockingly fierce. A Null, no magic at all—yet she pushed Ferris harder than most trained adults ever had. Her strength, raw and unpolished, was almost enough to match him.
Almost.
She was no match for his experience—his refined technique, his mana-reinforced durability. Still, he remembered clearly:
How battered she was, despite taking mana-reinforced fists that felt like sledgehammers.
How she refused to fall, despite how broken her body was.
Even then, she was terrifying in her resilience.
He'd never imagined a Null—especially one so young—could scare him.
Mina winced, remembering.
"We fought you," she muttered.
"You tried," Ferris corrected. "Kid, you nearly broke my nose."
She looked away.
"But now look at you. Both of you."
He reached into his coat and tossed them each a small pouch of coin.
Ferris dropped a small pouch onto the table with a casual thud—early pay.
"Happy birthday," he said.
"Don't spend it all in one place."
They stared at him in disbelief.
Mina grinned. Ashe squinted, suspicious.
And rightly so.
Before either could get too comfortable, Ferris stood and added,"By the way—I need two porters for a Dungeon Observation later this afternoon. Big party of adept adventurers. You'll just be watching."
"What!? On our birthday!?" Ashe groaned.
"Think of it as a field trip," Ferris replied, shrugging. "You'll learn more in one real mission than a year of clearing rubble."
Mina didn't hesitate.
"I'm in."
Ashe nearly choked on his drink."Huh!? What do you mean you're joining?! We're dungeon cleaners, not baggage handlers!"
"You heard me."
Mina's eyes lit up.
"This could be our chance to prove ourselves—show them what we've got! Who knows? Maybe it's our one shot to rise up... become adventurers like them!"
Ashe stared at her.
Then sighed. Long and heavy.
It had been a while since he'd seen her smile like that.
"…Fine. I'll come too," he muttered, sneering. "But if I die, I'm haunting you."
Ferris just chuckled, arms crossed, watching them go straight toward the next mistake they'd probably survive.
—
Birthday Beneath the Blue
After a hearty breakfast at the Shacken Clam Tavern, Mina and Ashe spent the rest of their birthday afternoon wandering through the heart of Elynthi's capital.
The city was alive with color and motion—its iconic cerulean stone streets glistened under the soft midday sun, and water from the grand marble fountains danced gracefully through the air, enchanted by ambient mana.
They moved aimlessly, just enjoying the moment.
At one plaza, they paused to watch a street illusionist perform atop a small wooden stage.
The crowd applauded as shimmering birds emerged from his sleeves, walked through walls made of light, conjured clones of one of the spectators within the crowd. Mina chuckled, entertained.
Ashe, arms crossed beside her, muttered criticisms under his breath.
"He's layering the spell wrong... and shimmer's are notsupposed to flicker like that."
She just smirked. "Let it go, 'Master Illusionist'~."
Later, they spent their few silvers on sweet crepes from a nearby vendor, enjoying them while walking beneath awnings of dyed silks and the laughter of festival-goers.
Mina eyed more treats—candied fruits, mana-glazed buns, fried berries dipped in white cream—but Ashe, ever the voice of reason, tugged her sleeve before she could waste their last coin.
"Budget, remember? Plus I'm not letting you take a single coin from Ferris' birthday gift" he muttered.
"Killjoy..." she replied, grinning through a mouthful of custard.
And so the day passed—not in glory or grandeur, but in simple joy. For once, they weren't recruits, or Nulls, or survivors clawing their way forward.
They were just two friends walking under the Elynthian sun, surrounded by light, laughter, and the rarest of luxuries:
Peace.
It was, without question, a birthday worth remembering.