Lucien's POV
"You'll need a last name," Calamus said, skimming a ledger while sunlight bled through the cracked shutters of the back room.
I adjusted the collar of my coat. "Lucien Velan."
He glanced up. "Made that up on the spot?"
"Sounded like it belonged to someone who doesn't exist."
He grunted. "It'll do."
He scribbled the name into the form with a sharp flick of his quill.
Calamus wasn't what I expected a god to be. No theatrics. No robes spun from starlight. He looked more like a worn-out librarian two drinks away from admitting he hated poetry. But he was still divine, and I treated him like it—carefully.
"Try to keep your head down," he said, standing. "The Guild sees everything."
"Then I'll give them exactly what they want to see."
He studied me for a moment. Then, with a quiet breath, stepped aside and held the door open.
"Orario doesn't care about stories. Just survival."
"Good thing I'm decent at both."
I nodded, stepped out, and headed for the Guild.
The Guild loomed like a courthouse designed by someone who didn't believe in subtlety. Broad steps. Wide pillars. A building meant to make you feel small before you ever walked through the door.
Inside, it buzzed with motion. Adventurers filed reports, argued over payment, compared scars like business cards. I walked through the crowd, calm but not cocky. Confident. Forgettable. Like someone who belonged.
The receptionist at the main counter barely glanced at me.
"First-time registration?"
"Yes."
"Familia?"
"Calamus."
That got a look.
She scanned a chart, then motioned to a side desk. "You'll be assigned an advisor. Wait there."
I sat.
Minutes passed.
Then she returned, a red-haired woman walking behind her—Guild uniform sharp, steps sharper.
"This is Rose Fannett," the receptionist said. "She'll handle your onboarding."
Rose didn't smile. She barely looked at me.
"Come with me."
She led me to a small office. Quiet. Clean. Functional.
She sat behind the desk. I sat across from her.
"Name?"
"Lucien Velan."
She wrote without pause.
"Age?"
"Nineteen."
"Level?"
"One."
"Skills?"
"Still figuring them out."
She looked up for the first time. Her eyes were tired, not from sleep but from people.
"You're with a Familia that barely has a footprint."
"I like quiet starts."
"Most new adventurers do. It doesn't last."
I offered a slight smile. "Then I'll enjoy it while I can."
She hesitated, then continued writing.
"You seem composed. Not many first-timers walk in looking like they've already survived something."
"Maybe I have."
Her pen stopped briefly.
"Not planning to disappear on us, are you?"
"No promises. But I like to think I'm more helpful alive than missing."
She handed me a stamped copy of the registration slip.
"This gets you access to Guild services. Report your missions. Track your status. Don't try to fake anything."
"Faking takes effort. I prefer bending the truth."
She didn't smile, but the corner of her lip twitched.
I stood and tucked the paper away.
"Before I go," I said, "would it be too much to ask for a map of the city? Still getting my bearings, and I'd rather not look like a lost tourist."
She raised a brow. "Most adventurers figure it out the hard way."
"Call me traditional, but I like to study the board before making my move."
Another pause. Then she opened a drawer, pulled out a folded city map, and slid it across the desk.
"Don't expect this kind of charity next time."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
She looked at me again. Like she wanted to say something more. But didn't.
"Goodbye, Lucien."
"Until next time, Rose."
I left before the quiet between us could turn into something that felt like understanding.