The gates of Dawnlight loomed before them, massive iron-banded wood rising higher than the trees that framed the road. Torches burned in sconces along the stone wall, casting a warm glow as dusk settled deeper across the land.
Arin slowed, staring up at the sheer scale. He had seen castles and walled towns in movies, but to stand before one—solid, weathered, alive—was something else entirely.
Lyra noticed his expression and smirked faintly. "First time seeing a city?"
He nodded. "It's… incredible."
"Don't let it dazzle you too much," she warned. "Cities eat fools alive. Stay close, keep your mouth shut, and don't look like an easy mark."
Arin glanced at his ragged school uniform, dirtied and torn from the forest. "…Too late for that."
Lyra sighed but didn't argue.
At the gate, two guards in chainmail blocked their way, spears crossed. One was broad-shouldered with a scar across his cheek, the other leaner but with sharp eyes that lingered on Arin suspiciously.
"Halt. Names and business."
"Lyra Dawnfern," she said calmly, pulling a small bronze emblem from her belt. "Hunter, returning from patrol."
The guard gave a respectful nod. His eyes flicked to Arin. "And the boy?"
Arin opened his mouth, but Lyra cut in smoothly. "Stray I found in the wilds. Lost his group, half-dead. I'll vouch for him."
The guards exchanged a look. The scarred one shrugged. "Fine. But he'll need to be registered at the Hall. No freeloaders."
"Understood," Lyra said. She motioned for Arin to follow, and they passed beneath the towering archway into the city.
The first thing Arin noticed was the noise.
The clamor of hooves on cobblestones. Merchants hawking wares from wooden stalls. Children darting through alleys. Blacksmiths hammering steel. A dozen smells mingled in the air—roasting meat, fresh bread, burning oil, sweat, and horse dung.
It was overwhelming.
His head spun as his eyes darted everywhere: a woman bargaining loudly for spices, a man dragging a caged beast that hissed and rattled its bars, adventurers swaggering past in armor that gleamed in the torchlight.
"Whoa…" he breathed. "It's like a medieval festival, but… real."
Lyra arched a brow. "You talk strangely. Just don't gawk too much—you'll draw thieves."
As if summoned by her words, a boy no older than twelve brushed past Arin, hand darting toward his pocket.
"Hey!" Arin yelped, instinctively grabbing the wrist.
The boy froze, wide-eyed, then twisted free and bolted into the crowd.
Lyra gave him a sharp nod of approval. "Not bad. You'll need quicker reflexes if you want to survive here."
Arin exhaled shakily. "He tried to pickpocket me. But… I don't even have anything."
"That doesn't matter. Thieves don't know that until they try."
They walked deeper into the city, the streets winding between timbered houses with lanterns glowing in windows. At the heart of Dawnlight rose a grand structure—stone pillars, banners fluttering, guards at its steps. Its façade bore a symbol of a sword crossed with a shield.
Lyra gestured. "That's the Adventurers' Hall. You'll need to register there if you plan to eat, sleep, or work in this city."
Arin's pulse quickened. "Adventurers' Hall…" It was exactly like the guildhalls he'd read about.
Inside, the hall buzzed with activity. Long tables lined the floor, where armored men and women laughed, argued, and drank. A massive notice board covered in parchment dominated one wall, requests and bounties nailed in place. Behind a counter stood clerks in uniform, quills scratching across ledgers.
Arin's jaw went slack. This was it. The world of adventurers.
"Eyes forward," Lyra murmured, tugging his sleeve. "Come."
They approached the counter, where a middle-aged clerk with ink-stained fingers looked up wearily. "Name?"
Arin blinked. "Uh… Arin Vale."
"Age?"
"…Sixteen."
The clerk scribbled. "Place of origin?"
Arin froze. His mind raced. I can't exactly say Earth, can I?
Before he could stumble, Lyra leaned in. "He's from a small village. Lost to monsters. Survived, somehow."
The clerk sighed, clearly used to such stories. "Fine. Any combat experience?"
Arin hesitated. "…I killed a wolf?"
One of the nearby adventurers overheard and snorted, slamming his mug down. "A wolf pup, maybe!" His friends roared with laughter.
Heat crept up Arin's neck, but Lyra's glare silenced them.
The clerk continued without looking up. "Then you'll be registered as a provisional Rank One. That means you can only take minor quests—errands, hunting small beasts, delivery jobs. Prove yourself, and you'll earn higher rank."
He slid a small bronze token across the counter, engraved with Arin's name and a faint symbol of a flame.
Arin picked it up reverently. His first official mark in this world.
"Don't lose it," the clerk said. "Lose your token, lose your rights. And no token, no payment."
Arin nodded quickly. "Got it."
Lyra guided him out of the hall, away from the noise.
"Well," she said, "now you're officially an adventurer. A pathetic one, but still."
He managed a grin. "Thanks… for vouching for me. I'd be dead without you."
Lyra shrugged. "Don't thank me yet. You'll have to pull your own weight soon enough."
As they stepped into the evening streets, Arin's hand tightened around the bronze token.
For the first time, his new life felt real.
He wasn't just some lost boy anymore. He was an adventurer.
And though Rank One was the lowest of the low… he swore he would climb.
All the way to Rank Ten.