The morning sun spilled across the rooftops of the town, warming the stone streets as Damian stepped outside for the first time as an official adventurer. His new clothes, bought from the local tailor's shop, they were plain but neat a simple tunic, sturdy boots, and a short cloak. Nothing special, but it felt good to wear something other than the ragged shirt he'd first arrived in.
The city was alive in a way Damian had never known. Merchants shouted prices of fruits and spices, children darted through the streets chasing wooden hoops, and adventurers strolled past in gleaming armor or robes embroidered with runes. There was noise everywhere. laughter, arguments, the ring of blacksmith hammers echoing from alleys.
Damian found himself drifting toward the heart of the town the Adventurers' Guild.
The building was massive, built from stone and timber, with banners of deep blue fluttering proudly from its frame. The carved symbol of a sword and quill crossed together marked its entrance. As he stepped inside, the smell of parchment, steel, and ale filled the air.
The hall was buzzing. Tables were crowded with groups of adventurers planning quests. A boisterous man with a scar across his nose slapped another on the back, boasting about slaying a wyvern. In another corner, robed magicians whispered over glowing crystals, comparing notes.
Damian, plain in his simple clothes, felt the weight of eyes on him as he walked toward the quest board. Dozens of parchment slips were pinned there, neatly arranged. Some spoke of gathering herbs or delivering messages. Others called for eliminating beasts near farms or escorting merchants along dangerous roads. And a few marked with a red wax seal, warnings about monsters so dangerous that even high ranking adventures hesitated.
"First time, huh?"
Damian turned to see a guild receptionist, a woman with auburn hair tied back neatly. She gave him a kind but knowing smile.
"Don't worry. Everyone starts somewhere. Best to pick something small. Gathering jobs, escort requests, or pest clearing. You'll climb the ranks with time."
"Thanks," Damian replied, though he couldn't stop his eyes from drifting to the higher-ranked quests. Part of him wanted to test himself immediately. But another part, the part that remembered the terror of the beast in the forest, reminded him to be cautious.
He took a low-level slip: herb gathering outside the south gate. It wasn't glorious, but it was safe. A beginning.
After signing the quest roster, Damian left the guild and began exploring the town further. The main streets were lined with bakeries, smithies, and bookstores. Yet, the more he walked, the more he felt drawn away from the bustling plazas into quieter alleys.
Here, the stones were cracked, moss grew unchecked, and the smell of damp hung in the air. He passed shops with faded paint and crooked shutters, the kind of places townsfolk likely ignored.
And then he saw it.
A crooked sign, swaying slightly in the breeze. Beneath it stood a small shop, the wood dark and weathered. The windows were fogged with dust, and cobwebs clung to its corners. The faint letters etched into the sign were nearly unreadable, but Damian caught enough to make out the words:
"Cloth & Armaments."
He stopped in his tracks. The air around the place felt heavy, like the still silence of a forest before a storm. A strange sensation pricked at him, an instinct whispering that this shop was different. Waiting.
He took a step forward, but the slam of a cart rattling down the alley startled him back. By the time he looked again, the feeling had dulled, leaving only a forgotten storefront in the shadow of taller buildings.
Damian frowned.
"…Not now. I'll come back later."
With that, he turned away, though the memory of the crooked sign lingered like a splinter in his mind.
That night, Damian lay on the straw mattress of his rented room, staring at the wooden ceiling. His body was tired, but his mind was restless. He thought of the guild, of the adventurers in polished armor and enchanted robes, of the confidence they carried. And then his thoughts circled back to the strange shop hidden in the backstreets.
He clenched his hand into a fist.
"If I want to stand on equal ground… I'll need more than plain clothes. I'll need something that truly belongs to me."
Unknowingly, his gaze shifted toward the window, as if searching the streets below. The shop was waiting. He just didn't know when he'd need it most.
The path of the Maker was only just beginning and the city had already placed before him his next test..