Chapter narrated by Lira:
17/14/95
The stairs to Master Holt's office felt longer than usual. My shoes, still slightly damp from the walk, made a faint scuff against the wood that echoed in the narrow stairwell. Every step amplified that "broken vase" feeling in my chest. Without Ali's warmth to light the path, the world felt smaller, reduced to the texture of the banister under my palm and the rhythm of Sera's breathing ahead of me.
When we entered, the air was thick. It smelled of old parchment, heavy dust, and the sharp, metallic tang of specialized Guild ink. Fin and Balyn were already there. I couldn't see them, but I could feel them. Fin's breathing was shallow, hitched slightly to one side to favor his wound. Balyn was a pillar of tension; the air around him felt stiff, and the rhythmic, tiny clack of his teeth suggested he was grinding his jaw.
Master Holt didn't speak at first. The only sound was the aggressive scratch-scratch of a quill against paper. It was a harsh, rhythmic sound that made the silence in the room feel even heavier. Finally, the scratching stopped. I heard the quill being set into a glass holder with a sharp clink.
"You four," he started, his voice gravelly and low. "Do you have any idea how lucky you are to be standing in this office instead of being carried into it in pine boxes?"
Sera took a deep breath, but she didn't say a word. Holt's presence was a weight in the room that pressed down on all of us.
"I've spent forty years in this Guild," Holt continued. I heard the creak of his leather chair as he leaned back. "I have seen hundreds of young adventurers die in the mud because they thought they could play the hero. I've seen entire parties wiped out because one person decided to stay behind for a lost cause. What you did in the Southern District... it was reckless. It was remarkably dumb."
I felt my face heat up. I tilted my head down, focusing on the smell of the floor wax and the distant, muffled shouting from the guild hall below.
"But," he paused. The air seemed to shift. "The soldiers' report and the witnesses are all saying the same thing. If you hadn't intervened, Fin and Balyn wouldn't have made it to the hospital. You held the line when people with three times your experience would have run. You saved their lives."
I heard the sound of a drawer sliding open, followed by a heavy thud-thud of two metal objects hitting the wooden desk.
"I'm giving you the opportunity for Rank 2. Consider it a provisional promotion. At the start of next year, I'll have a contract waiting for you—a real one. Not clearing out rabbit-filled basements, but something that will actually test if you've learned anything from this fiasco."
Beside me, Sera's entire posture changed. I felt the sudden rush of air as she let out a silent, forceful exhale. I didn't need eyes to know she was beaming.
"Don't make me regret this," Holt warned. I heard him stand up, his heavy boots thumping once. "Now, get out of my office. Go home, get some actual rest, and have a good night."
We didn't wait. We scrambled out, the tension breaking the moment the door clicked shut behind us.
"Rank 2!" Sera hissed in the hallway. Her voice was a vibrating wire of excitement. "Lira, did you hear him? Rank 2!"
"Congratulations, Sera. Took you long enough," Fin said, teasing from beside us.
"Yeah, well, it only took saving you from certain death," Sera responded, laughing a bit.
The previous tension from before the office seemed distant now. Sera was practically shining with excitement, and to be honest, I felt the same. I should probably write a letter to the church to tell them.
"Why don't we go downstairs to celebrate?" Balyn said. "I'll pay for the first round as a thank you for helping us."
"Really? I'm not one to reject free alcohol. Come on, Lira, let's go!" Sera sprinted downstairs.
"Are you sure about that proposal, Bal? Sera can be a bit… specific about her taste in drinks. You might have to take a job or two just to pay for it," Fin said.
"Come on, Fin, it can't be that terrible. Besides, it's just the first round. How bad could it be?" Balyn responded.
"You have no idea what you just did," Fin muttered, his voice trailing after Balyn with a mix of amusement and pity.
I followed the sound of their boots downstairs. The air in the common room was a stark contrast to the stifling silence of Holt's office. It was a chaotic symphony of clashing tankards, the low roar of a dozen conversations, and the smell of roasted meat and spilled beer.
"Table! Over here!" Sera's voice cut through the noise. I felt her hand grab my sleeve, navigating me around a heavy oak bench and guiding me onto a stool.
"Alright, Bal," Sera said, her voice dropping into that predatory tone. "You said you're paying, right?"
"I did," Balyn replied. I heard the creak of his leather armor as he sat down heavily across from us. "A deal is a deal."
"Great! Barkeep!" Sera called out, her hand slapping the table. "I'll take a 'Dragon's Breath' Special. The one with the infused fire-herbs and the gold-leaf garnish. Oh, and make it a double!"
I heard a sharp choke from Balyn's side of the table. "Sera, that's… that's twenty-seven silver a glass! I could buy a new mace with that!"
"Saving your life was worth at least twenty-seven silver, Bal," Fin interjected, his voice light with teasing. I could hear the smirk in his words. "Don't be stingy now. The lady is a Rank 2 adventurer—provisionally."
He was making an awful attempt to hide his laughter at his partner's expense.
"Fine, fine," Balyn grumbled, though I could hear the smile in his resignation. "And for the rest of you?"
"Just a dark ale for me," Fin said. "Something to help the last of this potion-aftertaste vanish."
The barmaid's footsteps approached, her heavy apron swishing. I felt everyone's attention turn to me.
"And for the little elf?" the barmaid asked, her voice surprisingly soft.
"Apple juice, please," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. "With a bit of cinnamon, if you have it."
Sera let out a theatrical sigh beside me. "Apple juice, Lira? We're celebrating! You're practically a hero of the Southern District!"
"I'm also seventeen, Sera," I reminded her, resting my hands on the cool surface of the table.
"Suit yourself," Sera laughed, already leaning back. I could feel the 'shine' of her excitement again—it was a literal warmth that radiated off her. "But I'm telling you, once you turn eighteen, I'm introducing you to the 'Dragon's Breath.' It costs almost thirty silver because it makes your throat feel like you're actually breathing fire. It's glorious."
"I think I'll stick to the apples," I whispered, smiling to myself.
As the drinks arrived, the clink of glass against wood marked the true end of the crisis. I lifted my cup, the scent of sweet, crisp fruit and spice rising to meet me. But as I took a sip, my thoughts drifted back to the dream—to the warmth that wasn't the sun, and the breath I had felt against my lips.
Rank 2, I thought. Wait until I tell Dad. Wait until I tell Ali.
After the first drink, the others decided to buy a bottle of wine to share. I bought myself another apple juice. As we settled into the second round, the heavy glass bottle of wine landed on the table with a dull thud. The scent of fermented grapes joined the cinnamon of my fresh juice.
"To Rank 2!" Sera cheered, the liquid sloshing as they clinked glasses.
I was just bringing the straw to my lips when the ambient noise of the Guild shifted. The usual roar of drunk adventurers didn't stop, but it changed. I heard the front doors swing open, but there was no heavy stomping. Instead, there was a steady, rhythmic click of boots, but they sounded strange, as if one was being used more than the other.
"Move over, rookies," a voice commanded. It was smooth, like silk dragged over charcoal.
"Miss Ezra!" Sera squeaked. I felt the bench shift as Sera practically threw herself to the side to make room.
"I heard Holt didn't skin you alive," Ezra said, and I heard the faint clink of her armor as she leaned back. "Good. It would be a waste of potential. I just got back from the border—spent an entire week hunting a Shimmer-Drake that thought it could snack on merchant caravans. Nasty thing. Had scales like reinforced steel and a temper to match."
She began describing the hunt, her voice painting a picture of high-altitude winds and jagged peaks. Even Balyn stopped grumbling about his empty wallet to listen. As she reached the climax of the story, another set of footsteps approached. These were familiar—brisk and efficient.
"Don't let her bore you with Drake stories," Mary said, pulling up a chair next to Ezra. "She forgot to mention she lost her favorite boots in the swamp on the way back."
"I didn't lose them, Mary; they were an offering to the mud god," Ezra shot back, though I could hear the smirk in her tone.
The table was suddenly the center of gravity for the entire room. Having some of the strongest adventurers in the city sitting together was enough to cause curiosity. More adventurers started drifting over, leaning against nearby pillars or dragging stools closer. The air grew thick with the smell of sweat, ale, and the electric thrill of hearing legends speak.
Mary, Ezra, and Marcus were a legendary trio in Vareth. They were the gold standard for what a party should be—at least, that is what Sera had told me.
"Tell them about the time in the Whispering Woods," someone from the crowd called out.
"No, no," Ezra said, her hand hitting the table playfully. "If we're sharing the 'classics,' we have to talk about the Great Dodo Migration of '92."
A few adventurers in the back let out a collective groan.
"Oh, gods, not the dodos," Mary muttered.
"It's a masterpiece of a story!" Ezra insisted. "There we were, fully armed, expecting a legion of cultists, and instead, the horizon turns gray and starts—"
"Ezra. Don't."
The voice came from the entrance. It was deep, resonant, and carried a weight of authority that made the room go completely silent. Marcus. The final member of their party. His footsteps were heavy and slow as he walked toward the table.
"Marcus! You're just in time," Ezra said, her voice full of mischief. "I was just getting to the part where you got cornered by the Alpha Dodo."
"You are not telling that story," Marcus said. I heard him stop right behind Ezra's chair. The air around him felt like a mountain—immovable and stern.
"Come on, Marcus, the rookies need to know that even 'The Iron Wall' has his weaknesses," Ezra teased.
"It is not a weakness to refuse to acknowledge the existence of flightless, suicidal birds," Marcus replied, his voice vibrating with a rare hint of irritation.
"He's right, Ezra," Mary added, though I could hear the suppressed laughter shaking her voice. "You know very well why we don't speak about the dodos. It's a matter of professional dignity."
"Dignity?" Ezra laughed loudly, a sound that rang through the common room. "Marcus, you were screaming! You were swinging a relic at a bird that was trying to eat your shoelaces!"
"We. Do. Not. Speak. Of. The. Dodos," Marcus repeated, each word punctuated by a heavy silence.
I sat there, clutching my apple juice, hidden behind the safety of my drink, but I couldn't help it—a small giggle escaped me. Beside me, Sera was shaking with silent laughter, and across the table, even Balyn had forgotten his silver woes.
The table was a storm of noise now. Other adventurers, emboldened by Ezra's laughter, started shouting out their own favorite "Marcus moments."
"If anyone mentions the incident with the swamp-goblin and the pink silk, I'm doubling everyone's equipment fees," Marcus rumbled.
Beside me, I could hear the rhythmic clink-clink of glass as the bottle of wine was passed around again. The tension from the hospital had truly broken, replaced by the rowdy, living heart of the guild. But through the laughter, I felt a small shift in the air next to me.
Balyn leaned over. I heard the soft thud of his fist meeting Fin's arm—not a hard blow, but a steady, playful one.
"Fin," Balyn said, his voice dropping below the roar of the crowd. "Look at her."
I knew he was talking about Sera. Even without seeing her, I could feel her. She was vibrating with energy, laughing at one of Ezra's jokes, but every few seconds, her rhythm would stumble. She was trying too hard to be 'normal' Sera. The air between her and Fin was still thick with the unspoken things from the Southern District—the fear of dying, and the things they'd said to each other during the fight.
"You should go talk to her," Balyn continued. "Put an end to this the right way, not the 'we are about to die' way."
There was a long silence from Fin's side. I heard him shift on the wooden stool, the leather of his clothes creaking.
"How serious do you think it's going to be?" Fin asked. His voice was barely a whisper, laced with a vulnerability I rarely heard from him. "On a scale of 'shouting match' to 'she never speaks to me again'?"
I heard the soft shirr of glass against wood as Balyn pushed the half-full bottle of wine toward Fin.
"It's Sera, Fin," Balyn said gently. "It'll probably be both, in that order. But she's waiting for you to be the one to start it."
I felt Fin take the bottle. His hand brushed against mine on the table for a second—it was cold, despite the warmth of the room. He let out a long, shaky breath that smelled faintly of the dark ale he'd been drinking.
"Wish me luck, Bal," Fin said.
"Good luck," Balyn replied, his tone encouraging. "Go on."
Fin stood up. I heard him move toward Sera's side of the table. A moment later, the weight on the bench beside me vanished as Sera stood up too.
"I'm going to get some air," Sera said to the table, her voice uncharacteristically flat.
"I'll... go with you," Fin added. He sounded nervous.
I listened to the two of them walk away. Their footsteps were out of sync—Sera's quick and sharp, Fin's slightly heavy and hesitant. The heavy oak doors of the guild creaked open and then thudded shut, cutting off the cool night air that had briefly drifted in.
The table felt much quieter now, even with Ezra and Mary still talking. I took another sip of my apple juice, the cinnamon warming my throat.
"They'll be alright, Lira," Balyn said, his voice coming from where Fin had been sitting. I felt him pat the table near my hand. "They just need to yell at each other for a bit. It's how they heal."
I think they are both a bit dumb; they will probably fix it in five minutes. But I think people who love each other fight over dumb things—like me and Ali. My mind drifted back to Ali's warmth in the dream. I wondered if gods ever had to 'yell at each other to heal.' I miss her a lot.
The stories continued to flow, each one grander than the last. Ezra was halfway through a tale about a phantom carriage in the Gray Marshes, her hands moving through the air to describe the ghostly fog. But I was finding it hard to focus on her words.
Something was happening.
It started as a tiny spark at the center of my darkness—a pinprick of heat that I usually only felt at sunrise. But it was night. The sun had set hours ago, and it was too early for it to be coming out again. Slowly, the warmth grew stronger. The silhouettes of the adventurers around me were becoming defined.
The heavy front doors of the guild creaked open. I felt the rush of cool night air.
"We're back," Sera's voice drifted over. It sounded thick, like she had been crying, but there was a steadiness to it that hadn't been there before.
"Everything okay?" Balyn asked, his stool creaking as he leaned toward them.
"Yeah," Fin replied. I could hear the faint clink of the wine bottle being set back on the table. "We're... we're fine."
I wanted to say something, but the returning warmth was taking all of my attention. Then, the main doors opened again.
The transition was instantaneous. The rowdy shouting, the clinking of glasses, the laughter—it all died. A heavy, sudden silence swept across the room like a physical wave. Even Ezra stopped mid-sentence. Then came the muttering. Low, hurried whispers from the tables near the door.
"Who is that?" "She's... gods, she's beautiful." "Is she an elf? No, look at the ears..."
A set of footsteps started. They were a bit strange, lacking coordination, but every step made the warmth stronger and stronger. It was like standing in the church with…
Then, she spoke, pulling me out of my thoughts. Her voice was clear, ringing through the silent hall with a melody that made my heart stop.
"Excuse me," she said. "Who do I need to speak with if I want to become an adventurer?"
I felt Marcus stand up. I could sense his "mountain" of a silhouette moving toward the light. His voice was uncharacteristically soft, hesitant.
"That would be the reception desk, miss," Marcus said. "I can take you there myself."
I sat frozen, my hands gripping the edge of the table so hard the wood bit into my palms. Looking at her was blinding—an amount of warmth I had never "seen" before. The entire guild was held in a trance, watching the stranger.
"I'll need your name for the register," Marcus said, his voice echoing in the quiet. "Standard procedure."
There was a brief pause. I felt the warmth reach a fever pitch, a golden bloom that filled every corner of my vision.
"Ali," she responded.