The gates of Caelburn rose before them at last, carved from black stone and iron, towering like the jaws of a fortress. Smoke curled above the city, but it was not the smoke of war—rather, the scent of hearths, forges, and bustling kitchens. Even from the road, the noise of markets carried outward, a tide of life spilling past the walls.
Altheron and Emi entered with the caravan, the guards at the gate barely glancing their way. Word of the ambush had already spread ahead—two adventurers who stood against a bandit horde and cut their leader down.
The city opened wide like a river. Stalls lined the streets, banners fluttered in gold and red. At the heart of Caelburn stood a thousand-year-old tree, its vast green crown shading the marketplace. Merchants swore its roots ran deeper than the city itself, and the market around it had grown like a living creature clinging to its heart.
Children darted between stalls of spice and silk. Smiths hammered steel in the open, sparks flying as they shouted prices. The air itself seemed alive—and for the first time in days, both Altheron and Emi felt the warmth of civilization again.
"First things first," Emi said, tugging her cloak tighter as she scanned the bazaar. "Supplies. You fight like a storm, but you still bleed. We'll need salves, rations, and maybe a spare bowstring before heading further."
Altheron gave a dry smirk. "And new boots for you. Yours won't last another march."
She only rolled her eyes. "Then we shop."
They wove through the crowded stalls. A merchant displayed polished blades; Altheron tested the weight of a short sword before muttering, "Too light," and setting it down. At a tanner's stand, Emi examined quivers of supple leather, finally settling on one stitched with wolf hide.
The scent of roasted meat pulled them toward a food stand. The vendor handed over skewers dripping with fat, dusted with crimson spice. Emi's eyes watered at the first bite, coughing. "Gods—hot!"
Altheron chuckled low, finishing his skewer without a flinch. "Not bad."
"You're impossible," she muttered, but still reached for another.
By dusk, they found a modest inn near the market square, marked by a painted fox. The rooms smelled faintly of woodsmoke and lavender. The innkeeper, upon hearing of their caravan defense, gave them a respectful nod and discounted the room. Emi lingered by the window, watching the ancient tree's leaves shimmer in golden light, before turning away. Tomorrow meant new choices.
The Adventurer's Guild in Caelburn was larger and louder than Deynrith's—filled with armored warriors, beastkin mercenaries, and cloaked spellcasters. The request board stretched nearly wall to wall, plastered thick with parchment.
At the counter, the receptionist—a sharp-eyed woman with auburn hair tied neatly back—glanced up as they approached.
"E-rank, fresh from Deynrith. Word of your caravan defense reached us already. The Guildmaster approves your promotion to D-rank."
She slid two freshly etched badges across. Emi accepted hers with pride; Altheron took his silently, though his hand lingered on the cold metal.
"With D-rank," the woman continued, "you're eligible for village contracts, frontier hunts, even dungeon reconnaissance. Higher rewards—higher risks."
Emi's attention darted to the board, her eyes catching on a parchment marked urgent.
'The village of Linthora reports worsening monster activity. Livestock lost. Fields blighted. Crops failing. Assistance required.'
"There," Emi said.
Altheron scanned it, unimpressed. "Fields failing? That's soil, not monsters. They want adventurers to farm."
Emi's voice sharpened. "Blight and monster attacks together? That's no coincidence. If no one helps, they'll starve before winter."
He crossed his arms. "Not our problem. We don't waste time on every hamlet that cries."
Her silver gaze burned into him. "…I am a princess. My duty is to people like them."
That silenced him. He wanted to refuse—but something in her voice, in her certainty, cut deeper than he liked. With a sigh, he muttered, "Fine. But when this turns into rotting wheat and wailing peasants, don't say I didn't warn you."
Relief softened Emi's face. She stepped forward to take the parchment—
—only for another hand to seize it at the same instant.
Two women stood there.
One was slim and quick, clad in leather armor with twin daggers at her hips. She smirked, twirling the quest slip between her fingers. "Looks like we got the same idea. Linthora's request—it's marked for multiple parties."
Her companion stood taller, calm-eyed, carrying a sturdy shield strapped to her back. She inclined her head politely. "We mean no trouble. Cooperation benefits the village—and the guild prefers it. A joint party, then?"
Emi hesitated, frowning. Altheron's hand brushed his sword, unimpressed.
But the shield-bearer's words carried weight. After a pause, Emi exhaled. "…Fine. Temporary party. Just until Linthora."
"Excellent," the dagger-wielder said with a grin. "Name's Lyra. This is Kaelen. Try to keep up."
Altheron muttered under his breath, "Wonderful. More company."
The receptionist stamped both postings. "Temporary joint party for Linthora confirmed. Report back on completion."
The four adventurers departed the guild hall, their footsteps and chatter fading into the swell of the marketplace.
Above the noise of merchants and steel, the thousand-year tree loomed—its crown a sea of green gilded by the setting sun.
And there, hidden among leaves older than the city itself, a faint light stirred. The shape of a woman emerged—woven of bark and flowing vines, her eyes glimmering like dew.
The tree spirit pressed her hand against the trunk, her voice carrying only to the wind.
"Soon… this heart shall wither. When roots decay and bark becomes husk, this great tree will fall… and in its corpse, a dungeon shall be born. Darkness will crawl from hollow roots, swallowing all.
Chosen one… will thee answer? Will thee save what is bound to fade?"
Her whisper lingered in the branches, then vanished like mist in morning light.
Altheron slowed. For a heartbeat, he thought he heard something—an echo brushing against his mind. A woman's voice. But when he turned, there was only the creak of branches, the bustle of merchants, the crackle of torches being lit.
"Tch… hearing things." He shifted his gaze toward the eastern fields. The horizon seemed heavy, though he couldn't say why.
Emi called back to him, breaking the silence. "Come on, don't drag your feet."
Ahead, the two adventurers from earlier—the dagger-wielder and her calm partner—paused at the street's end.
"We leave at first light," Lyra said with a smirk. "Nine at the guild hall. Don't be late."
Kaelen added softly, "The road is easier when all walk it together."
Without waiting for reply, they disappeared into the crowd.
Altheron's hand brushed the hilt of his sword. "Wonderful. Babysitting duty starts at dawn."
Emi only smiled, eyes bright. "It will be fine. You'll see."
The crowd swallowed them, the great tree watching above, and somewhere in its roots, destiny stirred.