The door changed everything.
Within a week of Jaren's discovery, the Guild had mobilized resources Jaren didn't know existed. Scholars pored over ancient texts. Mages mapped dimensional energies. Scouts flooded the Warrens, securing routes, establishing outposts, treating Sub-Level 4 as the most valuable real estate in the Empire.
And the door sat in its chamber, silent and waiting, its surface shimmering with potential.
Velda kept Jaren close—not as a prisoner, but as a consultant. He was the only person alive who had seen the door and touched its energy without triggering disaster. His insights, fragmentary as they were, guided the research.
"The guardian said it needed power," he told the research team. "A lot of power. More than any single source could provide."
"Then we need multiple sources," a mage named Corvin replied. "Ley-lines, artifact batteries, maybe even—" He stopped, glancing at Velda.
"Maybe even what?"
Velda answered. "Live sacrifices. Not human—monster cores. Hundreds of them. Thousands. The door could theoretically absorb their energy and convert it to dimensional stability."
Jaren's blood chilled. "How many are we talking about?"
"Enough to clear every dungeon within a hundred miles. Enough to crash the monster core market for a decade." She met his eyes. "It's possible. It's also dangerous. That much energy, channeled through an unstable door, could cause an explosion that would level half the city."
"Then we need a safer method."
"We're looking. But time is not our friend."
---
[System Notification]
Research Progress: 15%
Estimated Completion: 6 months.
Bottleneck: Safe Power Source.
---
The first sign of trouble came two weeks later.
Jaren was in the Guild archives, studying ancient texts on dimensional theory, when Tomas burst in, his face pale.
"There's people at the door. Asking questions. About you, about the discovery, about everything."
"What kind of people?"
"Armed. Organized. Wearing symbols I don't recognize." Tomas lowered his voice. "I think they're from one of the noble houses. The ones who lost members in the Warrens—the ones you killed."
Jaren's stomach tightened. The warriors he had slain to rescue Lady Elara. The mage he had spared. He had known there would be consequences, but in the chaos of the wurm and the door, he had pushed them aside.
Now they had arrived.
"Where are they now?"
"Velda's stalling them in the main hall. But they're not leaving without talking to you."
Jaren stood, gathering his papers. "Then we talk."
---
[System Notification]
Hostile Faction Identified: House Valdric (Noble).
Relation: Hostile (Blood Feud).
Members Lost: 4 Warriors, 1 Mage (Humiliated).
Current Demand: Justice/Compensation.
---
The main hall of the Guild was crowded when Jaren entered.
At its center stood a group of five—four guards in polished armor, and a man in expensive robes whose face bore the particular arrogance of inherited wealth. He was young, maybe thirty, with cold eyes and a smile that didn't reach them.
"So," the man said, "the famous Farmer. The one who killed my cousin's men and let his mage crawl home in shame."
"Your cousin?"
"Lord Valdric. The man whose daughter you 'rescued' from my people." The smile widened. "Oh, don't look so surprised. Elara's father has many enemies. I'm just the one who decided to do something about it."
Jaren understood immediately. This wasn't about justice—it was about politics. The warriors he had killed belonged to a rival faction within House Valdric. Their deaths had shifted the balance of power. This man, whoever he was, wanted to use Jaren as a tool against his cousin.
"You're not here for compensation."
"No. I'm here for information." The man stepped closer, his guards flanking him. "You found something in the Warrens. Something valuable. Something my cousin's people were trying to secure when you interfered." His eyes glittered. "I want to know what it is."
Jaren said nothing.
"The door," the man continued. "The dimensional door. My family has been searching for it for three generations. It's ours by right—ancient claim, predating the Empire. And you, a nameless Farmer, think you can just give it to the Guild?"
"It's not mine to give. It's not yours to take. It's a discovery—belongs to everyone."
The man laughed—a cold, brittle sound. "You believe that? How charming." He signaled his guards. "Take him."
The guards moved.
Jaren moved faster.
His dagger was in his hand before they took a second step. His body, trained by years of solo dungeon runs, flowed into combat stance. The first guard swung—Jaren ducked, slashed, and the man fell with a cry.
The second guard hesitated. That hesitation cost him everything. Jaren's knee found his stomach, his dagger found his throat.
Two down.
The remaining guards drew weapons, but Velda's voice cut through the chaos.
"Enough!"
Guild guards—real guards, trained and armed—flooded the hall. The noble's remaining protectors were disarmed in seconds. The man himself stood frozen, his face white with shock.
"You dare?" he sputtered. "I am Lord Valdric's nephew! I have diplomatic immunity!"
"You have nothing." Velda's voice was ice. "You attacked a Guild consultant in Guild headquarters. You confessed to conspiring against your own family. You tried to steal Guild property." She smiled—a predator's smile. "Diplomatic immunity doesn't cover treason."
The man was dragged away, still sputtering.
Velda turned to Jaren. "You need to leave. Tonight."
"What?"
"House Valdric is fractured—this attack proves it. But the faction that wants the door won't stop. They'll try again, with more resources, less subtlety." She pressed a pouch into his hands. "Documents. Gold. Maps. A safe house in the Northern Marches, arranged through Lady Elara. You'll be protected there while we sort this out."
"And the door?"
"The door waits. Doors are patient." She almost smiled. "You're the one who found it. You'll be the one to open it. But not if you're dead."
---
[System Notification]
Quest Updated: The Door to Home.
Phase 1 Interrupted: Hostile Action.
New Objective: Reach Safe House (Northern Marches).
Time Limit: 7 days.
Reward: Survival, Continued Guild Support.
---
Jaren left that night.
Tomas went with him—not asked, not required, but there, a shadow at his side. They moved through the city's back alleys, avoiding main roads, staying invisible. By dawn, they had passed through the eastern gate and were walking the North Road.
"She'll be okay?" Tomas asked. "Velda, I mean. Standing up to a noble house like that..."
"She's Guildmaster for a reason. She knows the game better than they do." Jaren scanned the road ahead, alert for pursuit. "Our job is to stay alive long enough for her to play it."
The North Road stretched before them, endless and gray.
Somewhere ahead, safety waited.
Somewhere behind, enemies gathered.
And somewhere deep beneath the city, a door shimmered in the darkness, waiting for its finder to return.
---