A Morning That Shook the Guild
It was a surprising day in the Adventurer's Guild.
Morning had barely settled over Fantom City when the first signs of something unusual began to stir. Golden sunlight spilled across the rooftops, slipping between chimneys and faded banners before pouring through the tall, arched windows of the guild hall. Dust motes drifted lazily in that light, rising and falling like a slow, steady breath.
For a moment, everything felt normal.
Then—
Boots.
Dozens of them.
Heavy. Uneven. Purposeful.
The wooden doors of the guild swung open again and again, each creak sharper than the last, each push letting in more figures—rough men, sharp-eyed women, unfamiliar faces that didn't belong to the usual rhythm of adventurers coming and going.
They carried the streets with them.
Iron.
Sweat.
Something raw… something restless.
At first, the guild staff thought it was coincidence.
A busy morning.
Nothing more.
Then the line formed.
And didn't stop.
