After the event four years ago, Ky'ren had been drafted into the military, which consisted of Scouts and Knights. Scouts ventured beyond the Islands, while Knights guarded within. He needed proper training and to reach the required age before choosing one of the two. That decision would be made within a few months.
He took a deep breath, accidentally inhaling the spores of a nearby mushroom. The air was stale, but just breathable.
The atmosphere was silent. Everyone was resting. It seemed that even in a world like Evernight, humans still needed night and day—even if it was only an illusion. He scribbled some more thoughts into his journal before standing and heading back upstairs.
The next day wasn't much different—only that the hourglass had tipped over. Same routine, same noisy street. But today was different in one particular way.
Today was Monday.
And on Mondays, Ky'ren had to—
"Work!!!"
Ky'ren shot up from bed. Elyon had already occupied the bathroom. Steam drifted from under the door. Fortunately for them, this section had built-in steam producers—handy in a world where it could get bone-chillingly cold.
Ky'ren sighed and waited his turn. When Elyon finally exited, Ky'ren stepped in.
In the bustling streets, it was hard to find a target market. Selling was complicated. Offering too many items only increased your chances of stocking something nobody wanted. That's why Ky'ren had the prestigious, supreme job of selling—cabbages.
"Buy your cabbages! Are they fresh, big, and round?"
He called from his little stall, pretending the cabbages were better than they actually were.
A man with a parted mustache walked by. His posture lacked confidence, hands buried in his pockets, eyes scanning the market while avoiding contact.
Ky'ren stepped in front of him.
"Hey mister, may I offer you some cabbages?"
"C... cabbage? I'm not willing to buy. I'm sorry," the man said, standing awkwardly.
Just then, someone bumped into him and kept walking.
"Okay, but may I give you some advice before you go?"
"Advice?"
Ky'ren nodded, smiling.
"First of all, when you're in the market, don't stick your hands in your pockets. People will think you're hiding something."
The man, a little embarrassed, removed his hands from his pockets.
"Second, if you don't plan to buy anything, don't stop and wait for shop owners to explain. Just walk on through."
And then, with a sigh:
"Lastly, don't let anyone bump into you."
Ky'ren pulled a brown wallet from behind him.
"This yours?"
The man's eyes widened. He began patting himself.
"How did you...?"
"Ahem. The guy who bumped into you was a thief. I saw what he was doing and took it back as he passed. They're everywhere these days. Can't really blame them though ,food prices are rising—everyone's got bills."
He handed the wallet over and walked back to his stand. The man stared at the wallet, then walked over.
"How much for three cabbages, sir?"
"You don't have to buy anything. Didn't you listen to my advice?"
The man smiled.
"This money is still with me because of you. That's reason enough to buy."
"Yeah, but really, you don't have to—"
"That's because I might've collected a little of your money." Ky'ren thought to himself, hypocritically. "Can't really blame them though…"
"You can take the three for free. Trust me."
"No, I insist," the man said, opening the wallet. His smile slowly faded.
"What happened?" Ky'ren asked, playing innocent.
"It seems those scoundrels stole some of my money..."
Ky'ren just stared.
"But I'll still pay you. I owe you, after all."
He looked again inside the wallet. "I'll pay 39 lerry for the three."
Ky'ren silenced his conscience, took the money, and packed the cabbages into a bag.
"Thanks for your service. Hope to see you soon."
Forgive me, Lord. I have sinned, he thought, smiling outwardly as the man left.
Work dragged on
Here's a refined version of your scene with improvements to flow, tone, grammar, and character voice, while keeping your plot, emotional beats, and content intact:
Work was slow and uneventful, aside from the occasional brawl between buyers. The women who came through were always the liveliest—full of gossip and jokes, and Ky'ren liked chatting with them.
After packing up, he stored his stand and goods in a familiar shop, waving goodbye. He wouldn't return for two days—thanks to scout training, of course.
Just as the other vendors were closing down, Ky'ren noticed a man in a fine black suit with combed-back white hair striding toward an alleyway near Ky'ren's estate. The man's presence was striking.
"What's a top-ranker like him doing down here in the lower layers?" Ky'ren muttered.
The three stars stitched into the man's coat and his proud, rigid posture marked him clearly as a high-ranking scout.
Ky'ren didn't follow. He valued his life too much. Top-rankers were dangerous—they had powers most couldn't explain. He wasn't about to get involved.
When he reached their small bungalow, he spotted Elyon at the door, just about to leave. Lucky. If he'd been any later, he might've been locked out again. Sleeping on the mushroom tree once was enough.
Elyon was a low-level scout, already on missions. Ky'ren, still a trainee, hadn't earned that right—or the benefits that came with it.
"Headed out?" Ky'ren asked.
"Yeah. Captain Varyyn's in town. All the low-level scouts on this layer are being summoned to meet him."
Ky'ren blinked. Was that the man I just saw?
"Varyyn, huh? A captain. Never heard of him."
Elyon grinned while tucking in his shirt.
"Me neither. I doubt any of us in the lower ranks really know him."
"Right."
"Anyway, don't miss me too much!" Elyon called as he hurried down the stairs.
Ky'ren watched as he left his view and muttered, "Weirdo!" with a faint smirk. He shut the door and headed for his warm bath.
The room was quiet—his, for now. After his usual toilet routine and a hot soak, he lay on the mattress, letting his thoughts drift.
"Just a few months here and it's already so damn stressful."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of notes—blue and purple currency glowing softly in the dim light. Almost 100 lerry. Forty of it was earned unfairly, sure, but still… not bad.
He tucked the cash behind his pillow and flopped onto the bed.
"Tomorrow's Tuesday… another round of painful exercises." He groaned.
Restless, he wandered the room, admiring his muscles in the mirror, then climbed to the top bunk. Something felt off—like there was something under the sheet. Curious, he reached beneath and pulled out a white parcel.
"A letter?"
"Dear Elyon Carrick,
This letter confirms your place on the recovery mission under Top Ranker Varyyn.
May the grace of God be with you. Amen."
Ky'ren stared, confused. A mission? He didn't say anything about that.
He opened the parcel further and found a photo—the same man from earlier. Sharp yellow eyes like an eagle.
"It's him… I saw him earlier"
Ky'ren placed the photo aside, climbed down, and lay on the lower bed. He stared at the ceiling—the bottom of the top bunk above him—thinking.
He wasn't angry. Not really. Just confused. Why didn't Elyon tell me? They usually shared everything.
He didn't notice when he fell asleep.
It was a refreshing nap. Unfortunately, he still had training today.
The streets were dark but dreamlike—crystals glowed faintly in the buildings and plants, fireflies floated like sparks from a fairytale.
He entered the training bungalow. Only three other trainees had arrived. The strict old man was nowhere in sight.
Strange.
But that meant one thing—
"No training!"
He bolted out of the building, sprinting back to the apartment with a burst of energy he didn't know he had. He didn't really talk to the other trainees. Most were just distant faces.
As he neared the alley beside his estate again, something caught his eye—something glinting faintly under a red crystal light.
He stepped closer.
A pair of black spectacles lay on the ground.Not just any spectacles, the markings at its corner, were similar to Elyon's spectacles.
The air around him turned cold—unnaturally cold. His skin prickled. Thoughts rushed in.
What could've happened?
He picked them up, heart pounding. No blood, no signs, just... glasses.
Back in the apartment, he studied them more closely, unsure what to make of it. Elyon still wasn't home.
He took a deep breath, whispered a short prayer, and finally went to bed.
That night, he dreamt:
He was a corpse, lips sewn shut with thick black thread. Every twitch of his mouth tugged on the stitches, sending jolts of pain. He screamed—but no sound came. His eyes were open. Watching.
He was being carried by someone who the darkness hid their form.
Then he was fed, fed to a monster.
Its eyes were pure white. Its teeth—brown, jagged razors. Its skin—pale, dead-looking. It crushed his bones with a sickening crunch.
He couldn't hear. Couldn't move. But he saw—the alley again. The darkness from it stared back.
He gasped awake, tasting salt and sweat on his tongue, the ghost of the monster still chewing in his ears. He touched his arms, his chest—no wounds. Just fear.
He stepped outside into the early hours and sat under the mushroom canopy, shivering from the memory.
"I'll check the alley tomorrow," he promised himself.
Morning came with the soft tip of the hourglass. A small one rested on their shelf, measuring time.
He didn't eat out like usual. Instead, he went to the kitchen, cut two slices of bread from the cupboard, rinsed a knife, and spread some butter. He boiled water on the gas stove and made tea with sugar cubes from the cooler.
The salty bread and sweet tea were a surprisingly good mix.
After cleaning up, he took a hot shower in their tiny bathroom, dressed in a white tucked-in shirt and black pants, grabbed his portable crystal light, and stepped out.
As he approached the alley, he noticed that there were no crystals lighting up the alleyway. Normally every dark corner is meant to have at least two crystal lights. He slowly swept the crystal torch ahead, lighting the way. Then he noticed something—. Rotting flesh. It nearly turned him back.
Then—nothing. The smell vanished completely.
He entered deeper, where light from the distant crystals and the moon couldn't touch . His light flickered across the corners.
Then—he hit a wall.
The alley ended.
"What the...?"
He ran his fingers along the surface. Smooth stone. Nothing unusual. Just... wrong. He gave it some time before he brushed the feeling of unease off. He then thought since there was still time he could go back to training .
Back at the scout training grounds, the old man still hadn't arrived.
He joined the others inside and began doing squats, push-ups—anything to focus. Maybe I'm overthinking this, he told himself.
Then someone barged through the glass door—a woman with sharp eyes and a three-star uniform. Tall. Intimidating.
"You better listen up—and listen well, trainees!" she barked.
Ky'ren froze. Murmurs broke out among the trainees.
She's a top-ranker, Ky'ren realized.
The boy next to him leaned over and whispered, "If a top-ranker's here, something must've happened to the old man."
Ky'ren nodded silently.
The woman pulled a letter from her pocket and addressed them:
"I am Captain Selvara of the Black Layer Division.
Jaroth, your trainer, was a man of strength and will. He led three Tier-2 missions and ten Tier-5 missions in his time. He was a soldier of honor.
But even the strongest fall."
Gasps filled the room.
"He entered the breach layer beneath us to scout for resources... and was infected by the Rusting.
He and his team did not return."
Ky'ren's heart stopped. Was Elyon with them?
He raised his voice without thinking:
"Do you know who died?"
The room went silent.
She looked at him, calm and cold.
"The names of soldiers not publicly ranked are classified for security reasons."
She returned the letter to her pocket, pulling out another.
"You now have two choices:
First—take the advancement test. If you pass, you'll be promoted to full scout or knight, and transferred to higher layers. You'll be trained further for this test.
Second—join the research divisions. Your progress will be limited, but you will remain safe."
"When do we decide?" asked the golden-haired boy next to Ky'ren.
"You have one week. If you don't show up, I'll assume your answer."
She saluted, then said one last thing:
"Some of you have heard rumors. Some of you have seen things you shouldn't.
Let me be clear—there is no room for weakness in the scouts.
We survive because we adapt.
We endure because we train.
And we fight—because there is no other choice."
And with that, she left.
Ky'ren stood silent, voice trembling as he whispered to himself:
"Elyon…"