The Adventurers' Guild loomed like a shadow at the end of the crooked street, its oak doors worn smooth by countless hands and time itself. From within came a low rumble: laughter, arguments, the clatter of mugs on wood, the scrape of boots across stone. The very air spilling from its cracks smelled of sweat, ale, and iron.
Altheron paused for the briefest moment before the threshold. His fingers brushed the satchel at his side, where warmth pulsed steady against his palm. Beside him, Emi tilted her hood lower, though strands of silver hair caught the lanternlight all the same. Her eyes sparkled—not with fear, but with the eagerness of someone about to touch the stories she had only read about in dusty tomes.
"Ready?" she whispered.
"As I'll ever be," Altheron replied, and together they pushed the door open.
The hall swallowed them whole.
It was vast—long timber beams groaning above, chandeliers swaying gently, shadows flickering across stone walls scarred by time and battles long forgotten. Round tables crowded the floor, each one surrounded by adventurers of every sort. Men in mismatched armor nursed mugs of frothing ale. Archers leaned back in their chairs, arrows clinking in quivers as they laughed too loud , while a bard's lute filled the pauses between shouting matches.
It was chaos, but not the wild kind. More like an unspoken order, a rhythm beaten into the bones of the place.
Emi's eyes darted from one face to the next, drinking in the life of the hall. "It's exactly as the books said," she breathed, her lips curving into a smile.
Altheron grunted, though his own gaze roamed with equal curiosity. He felt more than a little out of place; his sword was plain steel, his cloak free of the nicks and stains that marked the veterans here. And Emi—though cloaked—could never truly hide the grace bred into her stance. If anyone looked too closely…
He steered them toward the long counter at the far end, where a line of adventurers bartered and signed papers with guild clerks. Behind the counter, shelves groaned beneath stacks of scrolls, ledgers, and crystal orbs pulsing faintly with magical light.
"Next!"
The voice belonged to a young woman with chestnut hair tied neatly back, her quill poised above parchment. Her eyes lifted to meet theirs, professional but sharp, lingering just a fraction too long on Emi.
"First-timers?" she asked, already knowing the answer.
"Yes," Altheron said, steady. "We'd like to register."
The clerk reached for a blank parchment. "Names?"
There it was—the first test. Emi had warned him about this. They could not reveal themselves, not here where ears were too many and tongues too loose.
"Alth," he said, shortening his true name with a calmness he didn't feel.
Emi glanced at him sidelong, then spoke with equal care. "Seren."
The clerk jotted it down without hesitation. "Alth and Seren. Occupation?"
Altheron hesitated. His life until now had been training, duty, chains of expectation. He opened his mouth, but Emi spoke first, her voice light but convincing.
"He's a swordsman," she said smoothly, "and I'm a scribe."
The clerk's quill scratched again, though her brow arched. A swordsman and a scribe—strange pair for an adventuring party, but hardly the strangest she'd seen. "Very well. You'll start as E-rank. All newcomers do. That means collection tasks, small hunts, perhaps clearing lesser dungeons if approved. Advancement comes through completion of quests and guild evaluation."
She pushed two small bronze tags across the counter, each strung with leather cord. Stamped upon them was the crest they had seen outside: crossed blades over an open book.
"Keep these with you at all times. Lose them, and the Guild will treat you as outsiders again."
Altheron turned the tag in his palm. It felt heavier than it looked, as though more than metal pressed upon him. A weight, yes—but also a key.
The clerk leaned closer, lowering her voice. "Since you're new, understand this: the world does not revolve only around the Seven Great Dungeons. There are others—lesser dungeons. They appear without warning. Some last days, others weeks. When their Dungeon Lord is slain, the dungeon collapses as if it never existed. These anomalies are unpredictable, but dangerous. That's why the Guild exists—not just to chase coin, but to manage the chaos they bring."
Her tone darkened, practiced like a warning she had given countless times. "Do not mistake the word 'lesser.' Even an E-rank dungeon can kill the careless."
Emi inclined her head politely. "We will remember."
"Good. Now—" The clerk tapped a scroll. "Coincidence favors you. A lesser dungeon manifested two days ago near Deynrith. E-rank by initial reports. It will be your first task. Bring proof of subjugation, and you'll be credited."
Altheron took the slip, folding it carefully into his cloak. "We'll take it."
"Then may fortune guide you," the clerk said, already calling the next in line.
As they turned away, Emi's smile was barely contained. "Our first quest," she whispered, voice tinged with awe.
Altheron's grip tightened on the quest slip. He felt something stir in him too. Not fear—something greater.
But from the hearth, a scarred adventurer with a jagged axe laughed loudly. "Children playing heroes," he sneered.
Another chuckled. "Won't last a week. The Guild eats green ones whole."
Emi stiffened, but Altheron placed a steady hand on her shoulder, guiding her out. Words, after all, weighed less than steel.
Still, as the oak doors closed, a cloaked figure at the counter's far end watched them with narrowed eyes. He said nothing, only stroked his beard thoughtfully before returning to his drink.
The slip of parchment guided them to the outskirts of Deynrith, where a shallow cave gaped like a wound in the hillside. Torches flickered faintly at its mouth, their smoke curling into the pale evening sky.
Altheron drew his sword, plain but steady, and glanced at Emi. She lowered her hood, revealing eyes that gleamed with resolve. For all her noble upbringing, there was no hesitation in her step.
The air inside was damp and cold, heavy with the stink of mildew and something fouler. The walls were jagged, claw marks etched deep into the stone.
Then came the sound—shuffling feet, a guttural snarl.
From the shadows, a goblin emerged, its skin sickly green, teeth bared in a crooked grin. Its crude dagger caught the torchlight as it lunged.
Altheron started forward, but Emi's voice rang firm:
"Let me."
He hesitated, then stepped back.
The goblin shrieked, bounding toward her. Emi's grip tightened on the short sword she carried—awkward, too new in her hands. For a moment, fear trembled in her eyes… but only for a moment. With a sharp cry, she thrust forward.
Steel met flesh. The goblin staggered, eyes wide, then collapsed with a guttural hiss.
Silence returned, broken only by her uneven breathing. She stared down at the body, sword trembling in her grasp.
Altheron placed a hand on her shoulder.
"You did well."
Her lips pressed into a thin line, then softened into a determined smile. "Then let's keep going."
Together, they stepped deeper into the dungeon, the flicker of torches casting long shadows behind them.
The following weeks were a blur of work and discovery. Not all quests were grand battles—most were small, almost humble: gathering herbs for healers, hunting strays, guarding merchants. Yet through them, Altheron and Emi stitched themselves into the rhythm of the world.
They learned what the books did not say. That wild beasts now roamed the continent because of chaos born long ago. An old hunter explained it one night:
"Beasts weren't always here," he muttered. "Long ago, an A-rank dungeon went berserk. Warped the air, broke the land. When it collapsed, the scars bled monsters into the world. Since then, every dungeon carries the risk of birthing more."
The words stayed with Altheron. Every glowing eye in the forest, every claw mark on stone—echoes of old chaos.
Spring shifted toward summer. Their boots wore thin, their blades dulled, and their hands grew calloused. Emi bargained with traders and fought beasts with courage that startled even her. Altheron grew quieter, sharper, guarding the satchel at his side with certainty rather than fear.
The Guild became their second home—the noise, the quest board, the chaos that somehow never broke.
And so three moons passed.
The wide-eyed newcomers who once hesitated at the Guild's door were gone. What remained were adventurers marked by sweat, steel, and the first taste of the unknown.
And as fate would have it, the unknown had only begun to notice them.