The plaza fills faster than I expect. Familias line up, some armored, some in rags. The clerk reads names from a list. My name rings like a bell.
"Entry rule is simple," someone shouts. "Band together, clear the lower chamber, return with proof. Minimum time limit, do not die."
I fumble to form a party. A short archer with quick eyes calls out, "I need a tank." A red-haired swordsman grins, "I will tank if the pay is right." A quiet healer nods and points to her staff.
My pulled guide floats beside me and whispers, too loud in my ear. "We should bind now," it says, eager. "Binding will stabilize my form and my abilities."
I recall the system screen. Guide binding has two parts: a crude charm works temporarily, but full binding needs a grace token to charge it into lasting effect. I have none.
"Can we try without binding?" I ask, because I have nothing to lose.
The archer shrugs. "If your guide is real, it might help. If not, we die and lose rank and dignity."
We enter the lower chamber through a narrow arch, torches sputtering. The dungeon smells like cold stone and old metal. The system paints markers in my vision, subtle and clinical.
[SYSTEM HUD]: Lower Chamber 01. Enemies: Cave Gobs ×6 (weak), Cave Brute ×1 (moderate). Drop chance: salvage materials, copper fragments.
We move in. The archer fires fast and true. The swordsman bashes a brute with such force he staggers into a wall. The healer mends small wounds. My guide hums and emits a warm light that soothes my hands, making my grip steadier.
Then the cave breathes and the floor cracks. A Cave Brute slams its club down. The archer is hit and slides back, blood bright on the stone.
The system alerts me to a mechanic I did not expect.
[SYSTEM TIP]: Environmental hazards exist. Use surroundings. Weak point exposed after club slam.
I glance at the stalactites overhead, the water drip, the hanging rope. An idea flashes. I aim at a rope near a stalactite and swing my weight, pulling it hard. The rope snaps the stalactite free and it falls onto the brute, pinning it. The party cheers, the brute makes desperate noises, and we finish it.
After the fight, the healer examines the archer and the swordsman pockets the salvage. The plaza egalitarian code is clear: no heroism without reward.
The archer claps my shoulder. "Good thinking, newbie," he says, with a smile that means we live another day.
But as we walk out, a black-robed recruiter from another Familia watches me closely. His lips curl. "A Summoned guide, yes," he murmurs. "Keep him close. People pay handsomely for such things."
He leaves a folded note on the ground where I had stood. The note says only, "Meet at midnight if you value opportunity."