Chapter 36: The Council’s Will

  Thalron stood tall, hands clasped behind his back, as his mother, Fillia, circled him with an appraising gaze. The training hall in Xenor’s Adventurer’s Guild was empty, save for the two of them. The torches lining the walls cast flickering shadows across the stone floor, their dim glow doing little to soften the weight of the moment.

  “You’ve come far,” Fillia said, her voice measured yet warm. “Not long ago, you were just a Copper-ranked novice. Now, you stand on the cusp of Iron rank. Few advance this quickly.” She paused, allowing the moment to settle before adding, “You do your father and me proud.”

  A flicker of pride stirred in Thalron’s chest, but he kept his expression neutral. “I’ve trained hard. I want to prove I deserve it.”

  Fillia nodded approvingly. “Good. You’ll need that drive for what comes next.”

  Before she could continue, the doors to the training hall burst open.

  Quell, Thalron’s father, entered like a force of nature. His broad shoulders and thick arms were dusted with soot, the scent of smelted iron clinging to his clothes. His bristling silver beard still held flecks of molten residue, as though he had left his forge mid-strike. His heavy boots struck the stone with force, but the weight of his expression was even heavier.

  “Fillia,” Quell said gruffly, his sharp eyes locking onto her. “you left your 'Vox-stone', in my forge. Seems you have Urgent guild business.”

  Thalron expected his mother to sigh, to react with frustration at the interruption. Instead, she simply studied her husband for half a heartbeat before turning to her son.

  “Stay with your father. We’ll finish this later.”

  And just like that, she was gone, striding past Quell, lightly brushing her finger tips across his beard and out of the chamber without another word.

  Fillia moved swiftly through the guild corridors, ignoring the curious glances from passing adventurers. She knew where she needed to be.

  The deeper she went, the dimmer the torches burned, until she reached an unmarked door at the farthest edge of the guild hall.

  She stepped inside.

  Darkness.

  A magical circle carved into the stone floor flared to life, humming with latent energy. She took her place at its center, closing her eyes as the spell activated.

  When she opened them again, she was somewhere else.

  The chamber before her was pitch-black, save for the floating holographic projections of guild council members from several different kingdoms. Their visages flickered in and out, their forms obscured by shadows, voices a low murmur of deliberation.

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  A tall, hooded silhouette spoke first. “We will begin with standard reports.”

  Fillia listened in silence as they discussed guild finances, minor territorial disputes, and adventurer rankings. It was routine. But Fillia knew something was wrong—Quell wouldn’t have interrupted her for routine matters.

  Then, finally—

  A new voice cut through the noise. “We have a more pressing issue.”

  Silence fell.

  Another figure stepped forward, their outline sharp and authoritative.

  “Dungeons are failing.”

  A murmur of unease spread through the chamber.

  Fillia stiffened. Dungeons did not simply fail.

  “The first case,” the figure continued, “occurred near Jedarth’s March. A guild-controlled dungeon ceased all function. Several Gold-ranked adventurers are presumed lost inside. The gates will not open.”

  The weight of the statement settled over them. Losing Gold-ranked adventurers was no small matter.

  Another council member spoke. “And the second case?”

  A pause. Then—

  “A dungeon near the Acronian Sea. It, too, has stopped functioning.”

  Fillia’s interest sharpened. The Acronian Sea was dangerously close to Xenor.

  The figure continued. “Unlike the first case, this dungeon had survivors. Several low-ranking adventurers made it out before the collapse.”

  Fillia stepped forward slightly. “Who were they?”

  A flicker of energy—then a name.

  “One was a human.”

  The chamber fell silent.

  Fillia’s heartbeat remained steady, but her mind raced.

  Marcus.

  She schooled her expression, careful not to reveal her thoughts.

  Another council member spoke. “The fact that a human adventurer was present when the dungeon failed is… concerning.”

  A gruffer voice interjected. “Or convenient. Could this be an attempt to undermine our control?”

  “I will not tolerate such accusations,” another figure snapped.

  A third voice, low and serpentine, hissed, “You reveal much when you speak out of turn. Are you an adventurer first, or a human first?”

  A beat of silence.

  Then, cold and firm: “I am an adventurer first. Do not question my loyalty.”

  “Enough,” the central figure interrupted, their voice carrying undeniable authority. “We will not let politics distract us. Stay on topic.”

  The deeper voice returned, sharp and decisive. “The human and his party must be questioned. If he had a hand in the collapse, we must ensure it does not happen again.”

  Agreement rippled through the council.

  Fillia knew this was her moment.

  She stepped forward. “I will handle it.”

  The council turned toward her.

  “I will form an investigation squad to locate the human and his party. If this Marcus is involved, I will see to it personally.”

  A brief pause. Then, the hooded figure at the head of the meeting spoke.

  “Very well. You have authority to proceed.”

  The meeting ended.

  And Fillia’s projection faded into the darkness.

  Back in Xenor, Fillia moved with renewed purpose.

  She entered the training hall, finding Thalron still with Quell, the dwarf adjusting the straps on his son’s newly crafted armor.

  Thalron looked up as she entered, frowning slightly. “Something’s wrong.”

  Fillia’s voice was measured but firm. “Your promotion quest has changed.”

  Thalron’s frown deepened. “Changed how?”

  Fillia stepped closer. “You will lead a team to locate Marcus and his party.”

  Silence.

  Thalron froze.

  His mind reeled, but his face remained carefully neutral. “Has he… caused trouble?”

  “The council believes he may be involved in strange happenings,” Fillia said carefully. “And whether he is or not, we must know.”

  Thalron exhaled, tension in his shoulders. He owed Marcus.

  They had fought together.

  He considered the human a rival—perhaps even a friend.

  But this mission wasn’t about personal feelings.

  It was about duty.

  Quell watched him carefully. “You know the weight of this task, boy?”

  Thalron clenched his fists. “I do.”

  Quell nodded once. Then, without another word, he held out a gleaming sword, newly forged, its edges glowing faintly with runic inscriptions.

  “A gift,” he said simply. “You’ll need it.”

  Thalron took the weapon, feeling its weight settle in his palm.

  Fillia’s voice was steady. “You leave at dawn.”

  Thalron nodded, but as he turned away, his mind echoed with a single thought:

  Marcus… what did you do?