The rain was already falling with a heavier, more insistent rhythm by the time Akel stepped through the heavy double doors of the Adventurers' Guild.
For a long moment, he simply stood in the doorway, allowing the dense warmth trapped inside the hall to seep into his clothes and slowly drive away the cold that had settled into his bones during the long ride from the swamp. Tiny rivulets of water ran from the ends of his black hair, trailing down the pale skin of his throat before disappearing beneath the dark collar of his tunic. Behind him, the storm hammered against the roof in a continuous, thunderous drumbeat that seemed to press down against the entire building like the weight of an unseen hand.
Inside, that noise was almost immediately swallowed by the chaotic symphony of human voices. The rise and fall of conversations both casual and urgent. The sudden bark of laughter. The sharp clatter of cutlery against wooden plates. The scrape of chair legs dragging across old floorboards. The constant creak of timber under the weight of mercenaries, merchants, and travelers.
The main hall occupied nearly the entire first floor of the Guild, and though it was spacious in theory, the sheer number of people crammed between its walls made it feel considerably smaller. Tables were scattered in a haphazard arrangement that left only narrow, winding passages through which patrons were forced to squeeze. Some of those tables were occupied by small groups of mercenaries poring over contracts, their heads bent close together as they debated terms and conditions in low, serious tones. Others were occupied by weary travelers waiting for their turn at the counter, their faces streaked with rain and mud. Still others served no greater purpose than as resting places for heavy packs, rolled maps, and the occasional sheathed weapon.
Maps were everywhere, spread across table surfaces and held flat by the weight of beer mugs or small stones. At one table near the wall, a knife had been driven directly into the wood to keep a stubbornly curling map from rolling back up over itself.
Dominating one side of the room was a massive contract board that stretched nearly from floor to ceiling. Its surface was so thickly layered with notices that the underlying wood was barely visible. Some of the sheets were recent, their ink still dark and crisp. Others were so faded that their words had become little more than ghosts of old requests that no one had been willing to undertake.
The air carried the familiar mixture of wet leather, hot food, cheap alcohol, and old wood. Beneath that layer lingered the more pungent scent of bodies that had spent long hours exposed to wind and rain. Akel took it all in without any visible reaction as he pulled back his hood and wiped the moisture from his face with the back of one gloved hand.
A few drops still clung stubbornly to the dark strands of hair that had escaped from his simple knot. As he made his way toward the counter at the far end of the hall, he noticed, with the calm detachment of long practice, that several pairs of eyes turned toward him and lingered just a moment too long. He did not acknowledge any of them. He had learned long ago that curiosity, like fear, only grew stronger when it was fed by attention.
The woman stationed behind the contract counter was in the middle of organizing a thick stack of documents when she noticed him approaching. Something in the way her eyes moved, first to his muddy boots, then to his still-damp cloak, and finally to the small blood-stained pouch attached to his equipment, suggested that she had already guessed the nature of his business before he had even opened his mouth.
She was a little over forty, with brown hair that had begun to show fine streaks of gray at the temples. The lines around her eyes and mouth seemed less like the marks of age than the accumulated wear of years spent reading through endless paperwork, mediating disputes, and trying to convince stubborn mercenaries to properly fill out forms that should have been simple but somehow never were.
When she finally lifted her gaze to meet his, there was no particular warmth in her expression, but neither was there any hostility. There was only the calm, unflappable efficiency of someone who had long ago stopped being surprised by the type of men and women who walked through the Guild's doors.
"Contract?" she asked, her voice carrying the practiced neutrality of a woman who had asked that same question a thousand times before.
Akel placed the pouch on the counter between them.
"Eight Kierans."
For a fraction of a second, the woman's hands went very still. Not out of shock, but out of a kind of tired resignation, as though she had already anticipated that this particular conversation would not be a pleasant one. She released a short, quiet sigh through her nose, and then she opened the pouch.
The smell of the swamp escaped immediately. Thick. Rancid. Unmistakable. The stench of dead things and blood that had already begun to turn.
Her face betrayed only a small, almost imperceptible grimace as she removed one of the remains and held it up beneath the light of an oil lamp. She turned it slowly between her fingers with the clinical detachment of someone who had long since grown accustomed to such grisly trophies.
After several seconds of careful examination, she placed the fragment back inside and closed the drawstring.
"Eight," she repeated, more to herself than to him.
Then she looked up at him again, her expression having shifted from neutrality into something slightly more cautious.
"You brought everything specified?"
"Yes."
"None of the remains were damaged beyond what was necessary?"
"No."
She nodded slowly and pulled out the document he had handed her earlier, spreading it flat on the counter so that she could review the details of the contract with the same practiced thoroughness with which she had examined the remains. Her eyes moved rapidly across the page, taking in the hunting area, the estimated number of creatures, the reward amount, and the deadline.
When she had finished, she raised her gaze once more and allowed it to rest on him for several long, thoughtful seconds.
"You went alone?"
"I did."
The woman continued looking at him. This time, for several seconds longer than was strictly professional.
"That region isn't usually peaceful."
"I know."
"Especially after the rains."
"I know."
She lowered her eyes to the document again, and for a moment it seemed as though she wanted to say something else. Perhaps ask why a single man would choose to enter such a place without support. Perhaps demand an explanation for his silence. But in the end, she simply picked up her quill, dipped the tip into the inkwell, and began filling out the record.
The sound of the quill scratching against the paper blended with the noise of the hall. Akel remained in front of the counter, patient and unhurried, his thoughts drifting only slightly as he listened to the rain against the windows.
After a few moments, the woman asked, "Name?"
"Akel Levis."
The quill stopped.
It was only for a fraction of a second. Too brief for most people to notice.
Akel noticed.
The woman raised her eyes.
"Levis?"
"Yes."
She looked at the document again, her brow furrowing slightly.
"I've seen that name before."
Akel remained still.
"It's not an uncommon surname."
"In Mirior, perhaps."
The woman narrowed her eyes slightly.
"But not in that context."
Akel did not ask what she meant. He simply stood there, waiting, as the silence between them stretched for several seconds.
She seemed to consider whether she should continue. In the end, she simply went back to writing.
"Maybe I'm mistaken."
Akel did not respond.
The quill continued moving across the paper. She finished a few notes, turned the document over, and pressed the Guild's seal into the still-warm wax. The symbol was stamped onto the paper with a crisp, decisive impression.
"That's done."
She opened a small wooden box kept beneath the counter and took out the coins. She counted them once. Then she counted them again, separating them into small groups before placing them inside a leather pouch.
She pushed the payment toward him.
Akel took the pouch. He did not open it. He merely weighed it in his hand, listening to the faint sound of the coins shifting inside the leather.
"It's right."
The woman raised an eyebrow.
"I hope it is."
Akel placed the pouch inside his coat.
"It is."
She closed the ledger with a final, decisive motion.
"Your contract is complete."
Akel nodded.
And that was it.
No questions about the bodies. No curiosity about the swamp. No comments about the fact that he had returned alone. Just a record. A seal. A few coins. And a contract closed.
As he stepped away from the counter, Akel had the impression that this brevity said more about Mirior than any description anyone could give him. In that city, eight deaths could be reduced to numbers in a ledger. Eight creatures. A reward. A signature. And then nothing. As though the violence itself had been absorbed into the ordinary machinery of daily life.
The Guild continued functioning around him without pause.
A man came through the door supporting a limping companion. A makeshift bandage, already darkened by moisture and dirt, was wrapped around the injured man's forearm. The man helping him looked tired, but not desperate. Neither of them drew more than a few brief glances.
A waitress passed near them.
"The infirmary is on the second floor."
"Thank you."
The two disappeared up the stairs.
No one interrupted their conversations.
Near the contract board, two mercenaries were arguing about the payment for an escort job.
"You said twenty coins."
"I said twenty if it was three days."
"It was three days."
"It was three days and two nights."
"That doesn't change anything."
"It changes when I had to sleep on the ground."
Akel kept walking.
At another table, a woman sat in complete silence while a mercenary read a document in front of her. She wasn't crying loudly. She made no movement. She simply remained there, staring at the paper with an expression that seemed to have been carved from stone.
The man finished reading.
He folded the document.
The woman lowered her head.
Akel looked away.
It was none of his business.
Perhaps that was one of the unwritten rules of that place. Don't ask. Don't stare for too long. Don't try to turn someone else's pain into a story to occupy a boring evening.
He continued walking.
That was when he noticed.
Some people were looking at him.
Not at the sword. Nor the mud. Nor the empty pouch attached to his equipment.
At his eyes.
Akel already knew that look. Curiosity. Distrust. Sometimes fear. Other times, simply that human need to stare at something that seemed different.
He kept walking.
"Hunter."
The voice came from a table near the window.
Akel stopped.
Not immediately. First, he took another step. Then another. Only then did he turn his head.
The man sitting at the table looked to be a little over forty. Perhaps a little older. He had a short beard, brown hair beginning to lose its original color, and a pale scar running across part of his chin. His clothes were simple but well maintained. There were no unnecessary ornaments or excessively expensive pieces of equipment. A sword rested against the wall beside his chair.
He did not look like someone interested in impressing anyone.
The man was holding a mug. It remained suspended for a few seconds before he slowly placed it on the table. He pointed toward Akel's face.
"Your eyes give you away."
Akel turned only his head.
"And does that matter?"
The man shrugged.
"To some people."
Akel looked around the hall. No one seemed to be paying attention to their conversation.
The man looked at him again.
"To me, I'm still deciding."
Akel studied his face. There was no contempt in his expression. Only curiosity.
That was different.
After a few seconds, Akel pulled out the empty chair across from him and sat down.
"Then decide while sitting."
The man seemed surprised. A small smile appeared on his face.
"Garren."
"Akel."
"I heard."
Akel rested his arms on the table.
For a few seconds, neither of them spoke. Garren slowly rotated his mug between his fingers. Akel watched the rain through the window, where small drops joined together and ran downward in winding lines, distorting the houses on the other side of the street.
Garren was the first to speak.
"You really went in alone?"
Akel continued looking at the window.
"I didn't take anyone."
Garren exhaled through his nose.
"That wasn't exactly what I asked."
Akel turned his eyes toward him.
"Then yes."
Garren almost smiled.
"Eight Kierans."
"The contract said eight."
"And you thought it was worth it?"
Akel thought for a moment.
"The payment was worth it."
Garren nodded.
"That answer I understand."
He took a sip from his mug.
"I've seen four men enter that swamp looking for three creatures and come back without finding a single one."
"Maybe they didn't know how to search."
"Maybe."
Garren rested his elbow on the table.
"Or maybe you know something they don't."
Akel remained silent. His eyes returned to the rain.
After a few seconds, he answered, "Knowing the creature helps."
"To kill it?"
"They're different things."
Garren left the mug on the table.
Akel continued.
"Knowing where a creature lives doesn't mean knowing how it will react when it realizes someone is nearby. And knowing how to kill it doesn't mean you'll be able to get close enough."
Garren watched him more closely.
"Did you learn that on your own?"
Akel ran his thumb along the side of his hand. There was still dirt caught between his fingers.
"Some things."
"And the rest?"
Akel took several seconds to answer.
"I learned from those who knew more than I did."
Garren realized that answer ended the subject. He did not press.
A group passed near the table. An elf carried a bow on her back and was talking with two humans and a dwarf. They were discussing a road to the north, arguing over whether it would be better to cross the forest or go around a flooded region.
Akel followed the group with his eyes until they disappeared among the tables.
Garren watched them as well.
"There's quite a few outsiders around here."
"I noticed."
"Elves. Dwarves. Sometimes vampires."
Akel turned his head.
"Vampires?"
"Sometimes."
"Here?"
Garren shrugged.
"Why not?"
"Some cities don't like them."
Garren moved his mug across the table.
"Mirior has bigger problems."
Akel waited.
Garren continued.
"When something starts attacking your livestock, breaking into your barn, or appearing near houses during the night, very few people care what the creature is. They want someone capable of making it stop."
Akel nodded.
"And if it isn't a monster?"
Garren raised an eyebrow.
"Then it depends on who you ask."
Akel remained silent. Garren did too.
The rain continued striking the window.
For a few moments, neither seemed to feel the need to fill the silence.
Garren finally asked, "Are you from Mirior?"
"No."
"Figured."
Akel looked at him.
"Why?"
Garren discreetly pointed toward the hall.
"You still look at things."
Akel slightly furrowed his brow.
Garren continued.
"People born here stop noticing the Guild. They stop noticing the bad roads. The rain. Mercenaries walking through the door with blood on their clothes."
Akel looked toward the stairs. The injured man who had arrived earlier was now receiving treatment upstairs.
"Is it really that common?"
Garren took a moment before answering.
"More than it should be."
Akel turned his eyes toward the window. The reflection of the lantern light trembled across the glass.
"Where are you from?"
Akel did not answer immediately.
"I've traveled a lot."
Garren looked at him.
"That's not a place."
"I know."
The man waited. Akel added nothing.
After a few seconds, Garren nodded.
"All right."
He leaned back in his chair.
"You like short answers."
"Not always."
"When do you like to talk?"
Akel looked directly at him.
"When I have something to say."
Garren let out a short breath that almost became a laugh.
"Fair enough."
For a while, the conversation changed subjects.
Garren began talking about contracts in Mirior. There was enough work for anyone willing to travel far from the cities. Isolated farms. Roads where merchants disappeared. Forest regions that needed to be patrolled. Swamps where monsters built nests. Properties that needed protection during harvest season.
It wasn't a rich kingdom.
But there was always someone willing to pay another person to face what no one else wanted to face.
"That's why the Guild stays crowded," Garren explained. "Here, a man with a sword finds work before he finds a bed."
Akel looked at the board. Some contracts had disappeared since he entered. Others had already taken their places.
"And Hunters?"
Garren was silent for a moment.
Akel looked away from the board.
"They find work too."
"Even with their eyes?"
Garren became serious.
"Especially because of them."
Akel waited.
Garren continued.
"People may not like you. They may not trust you. They may look at your face as if they're trying to figure out whether there's something wrong beneath your skin."
He took another sip.
"But when something enters a field during the night, nobody asks what color your eyes are before asking for help."
Akel looked back at the rain.
"It used to be different."
Garren noticed the almost imperceptible change in his voice.
"Much?"
Akel remained silent. For a few seconds, he seemed to consider whether he should answer.
"Enough."
Garren did not ask anything else. Perhaps he understood.
Akel rested his arms on the table.
"People still stare."
"You got used to it?"
Akel looked at his hands. Then at the hall.
"I notice it."
Garren raised an eyebrow.
"That wasn't what I asked."
Akel remained silent. The noise of the hall seemed farther away now.
"It still bothers me."
Garren nodded. He did not seem surprised.
"But you keep walking in."
Akel looked at him.
"I do."
"Then maybe that's what matters."
Akel did not answer.
The conversation died for a few moments.
It wasn't an uncomfortable silence.
For the first time since entering the Guild, Akel didn't feel the need to find a reason to get up. Maybe it was the rain. Maybe the exhaustion. Or perhaps it was simply strange to find someone who asked questions without demanding answers.
The lanterns were gradually lit. The light of late afternoon disappeared behind the clouds, and the hall began to depend almost entirely on the yellow flames of the lanterns. Shadows stretched across the walls. Some mercenaries began putting away their equipment. Others entered through the door looking for contracts for the night.
Garren finished his drink.
"Have you worked outside Mirior?"
"Yes."
"Valaria?"
"A few times."
"Umbria?"
"That too."
Garren nodded slowly.
"Then you've seen more of the continent than many people who spend their entire lives traveling."
Akel did not answer.
"Karnazad?"
"Once."
"Which do you prefer?"
Akel thought.
"None."
Garren raised an eyebrow.
"Safe answer."
"They're different places."
"And Mirior?"
Akel looked around. At the tables. At the mercenaries. At the contract board. At the rain outside, which was finally beginning to weaken.
"I'm still deciding."
Garren did not smile.
"Maybe that's better."
Akel slightly furrowed his brow.
"Why?"
Garren looked at the empty mug.
"Because when someone decides too quickly that they like a place, they're usually trying not to think about the place they came from."
Akel remained still.
For a few seconds, he did not answer.
Garren realized he had gone too far.
"Sorry."
Akel looked away.
"You don't have to be."
Another silence.
This time, heavier.
Akel didn't know exactly why he remained seated. Perhaps he didn't know why he didn't want to leave. Or perhaps he simply wasn't used to staying somewhere after a contract ended.
Then he asked a question that had nothing to do with Mirior.
"What was the most dangerous monster you've ever faced?"
Garren stopped.
The hand holding the mug remained still.
He did not answer.
Akel noticed.
"You don't have to answer."
Garren raised his eyes.
"Why did you ask?"
"Because you talk like someone who's seen a lot."
"That doesn't answer the question."
Akel held his gaze.
"You talk about monsters without fear."
Garren lowered his eyes to the mug.
"It's not fear."
"Then what is it?"
The man remained silent.
Around them, the Guild continued to live. Footsteps. Voices. Laughter. Cutlery. A chair scraping across the floor. Someone shouting from the other side of the hall about a contract.
Even so, for a few seconds, it seemed as though everything had moved farther away.
Garren ran his thumb along the rim of the mug.
"Maybe I'll tell you another time."
Akel watched his face. There was no smile. Nor any attempt to turn it into a joke. There was only some memory Garren clearly preferred to keep where it was.
Akel nodded.
"All right."
He stood.
Garren did the same.
"If you're looking for somewhere to stay, there's an inn two streets from here."
"Is it good?"
"It's clean."
Akel waited.
Garren noticed.
"And cheap."
"That'll do."
"Good night, Akel."
"Good night."
Akel walked toward the door.
Before leaving, he looked one last time at the contract board.
The paper announcing the elimination of the Kierans was gone. In its place, another contract occupied the empty space.
PROPERTY TO THE NORTH — MISSING LIVESTOCK.
Akel watched the paper for a few seconds.
Then looked away.
It wasn't his problem.
Yet.
He opened the door.
The rain had weakened to a light drizzle.
His horse was beneath the shelter in front of the Guild, its head lowered and its coat still damp. When Akel approached, the animal raised its head and immediately pressed its muzzle against his shoulder.
Akel placed his hand on the horse's warm neck.
He remained like that for a few seconds.
Without saying anything.
The rain fell around them. Lantern light reflected across the wet stones. The smell of damp earth and hot food drifted through the streets.
For a brief moment, Akel simply stood there.
Then he took the reins.
He began leading the horse through the streets.
Night had fallen over Mirior. The shops were closing their doors. Some windows remained illuminated. Lanterns trembled in the wind, reflecting across the wet stones while voices escaped from taverns and houses.
Akel walked slowly.
The payment was inside his coat. The contract was over. Tomorrow there would be another.
Maybe.
But as he crossed those streets he still didn't know well, one sentence kept returning to his mind.
When someone decides too quickly that they like a place, they're usually trying not to think about the place they came from.
Akel didn't know whether he agreed.
Perhaps that was exactly why he kept thinking about it.