The guild hall was noisier than usual. Mugs slammed against tables, laughter and curses tangled in the smoky air, and adventurers bickered over contracts tacked to the giant quest board.
Arin pushed through the crowd, clutching a burlap sack that dripped faintly at the bottom. He tried not to think about the contents—goblin ears had a habit of leaking. Lyra walked just behind him, expression cool as ever, her blade strapped across her back.
A few heads turned as they entered. It wasn't unusual for newcomers to deliver goblin kills, but the sack Arin carried was large enough to make people pause. Murmurs rippled through the room.
"Oi, aren't those the kids who cleared the nest outside Ravenhollow?""Two of them, against that many goblins? No chance.""Maybe they just scavenged from corpses."
Arin felt his stomach twist, but Lyra brushed past him, her boots clicking against the wooden floor. She slammed the sack onto the counter, the wet thump drawing every eye in the hall.
"Goblin nest north of the ridge," she said, her voice carrying like steel. "Thirty-one goblins. Two hobgoblins. Cleared."
The guild receptionist, a middle-aged woman with sharp eyes, raised her brows and tugged the sack open. She counted quickly, lips pressing thin at the sight of so many grisly trophies. Then, without a word, she pulled a heavy pouch of silver coins from under the counter and set it down.
"Confirmed. Twelve Silver Marks each, plus bounty. Well done."
Arin blinked as the pouch landed in his hand. It felt heavy. Real. A small fortune for someone who had arrived in this world with nothing but fear and confusion.
But what stunned him wasn't the weight of the coins—it was the silence that followed. For a few heartbeats, the guild hall was utterly still.
Then, voices erupted.
"No way, they actually—""Two hobgoblins? At Rank 2?""That girl, she's strong. And the boy… how the hell—?"
Some voices were skeptical. Some impressed. Others edged with envy.
Arin swallowed, heat rising to his face. He didn't like the attention. On Earth, he had been just another face in the crowd. Here, every stare felt heavy, like it could crush him.
Lyra, on the other hand, seemed entirely unfazed. She collected her share of the coins, pocketed them, and turned to Arin.
"Don't slouch. They'll smell weakness."
He straightened instinctively.
She smirked. "Better."
Rumors Begin
By the time they left the guild hall, whispers trailed after them like shadows. Ravenhollow wasn't a large city; word spread quickly. By evening, tavern-goers were already gossiping about the young pair who cleared a goblin nest alone.
Some called them reckless. Others fools. But more than a few spoke with grudging respect.
Arin and Lyra sat at a small table in the corner of the Rusty Pike Inn. Their dinner—a slab of roasted boar and coarse bread—sat untouched as Arin fiddled with the pouch of coins.
"This… this could keep us fed for months," he said softly. "Back home, I couldn't even afford rent without skipping meals. And now—"
He stopped himself. Lyra was watching him, curiosity flickering in her eyes.
"You still think about your… other world," she said.
Arin hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. A lot. I don't know why I'm here. Or how. But… for the first time, I feel like maybe I can belong."
Lyra studied him in silence, then looked down at her food. "Belonging doesn't come from the world. It comes from strength. Keep growing, and you'll find your place. Stay weak, and you'll be nothing more than prey."
Arin gave a rueful smile. "You always know how to kill the mood, huh?"
To his surprise, the corner of her lips twitched upward. Just slightly.
A New Challenge
The next morning, they returned to the guild, expecting another routine quest. Instead, the receptionist gestured for them to wait.
"Guildmaster wants to see you," she said.
Arin froze. Lyra raised a brow. "Guildmaster?"
They were led upstairs, away from the noisy hall into a private chamber that smelled faintly of parchment and smoke. Behind a heavy oak desk sat a broad-shouldered man with a scar down his cheek. His gaze was sharp, like a hawk sizing prey.
"You're the rookies who cleared the goblin nest," he said, his voice low and gravelly. "Sit."
They obeyed.
The guildmaster leaned back, folding his arms. "You've made waves. Some adventurers are impressed. Others are furious. Rank 2s aren't supposed to pull off stunts like that. Makes the older dogs look bad."
Arin shifted uncomfortably. "We just… did what needed to be done."
The man chuckled. "Honest. I like that. But listen carefully—fame cuts both ways. You'll attract better jobs, yes. But you'll also attract rivals. Not just monsters. People."
Lyra's expression didn't change, but Arin felt a cold shiver run down his spine.
"Which is why," the guildmaster continued, sliding a parchment across the desk, "I have an offer. A two-week escort mission. Caravans headed east, through bandit territory. Risky. Dangerous. The kind of job that'll prove whether you're just lucky brats… or something more."
Arin glanced at Lyra. She met his eyes, steady as ever.
"Let's take it," she said simply.
The Road East
Two days later, Arin found himself walking beside a caravan wagon, the wheels creaking over dusty roads. Merchants shouted orders, guards scanned the hills, and the smell of spice and livestock mixed in the air.
Lyra walked a few paces ahead, hand resting lightly on her sword. She looked completely at ease, like this was nothing more than a casual stroll.
Arin, on the other hand, kept glancing over his shoulder, nerves gnawing at him. Bandits. Monsters. Rivals. The guildmaster's warning echoed in his mind.
Yet, despite the fear, a flicker of excitement burned in his chest.
This wasn't just about survival anymore. It was about carving a path. About proving—to this world, to Lyra, and to himself—that he was more than an accident of fate.
That he could stand tall.
That he could belong.