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  A cacophony of noise ruled the interior of the Guild hall: reports being filed, contracts sealed, armor clattering. Someone argued over a bounty; someone else hawked a new blade. The air reeked of iron, sweat, and the stench of desperate adventure.

  Brenn winked at Violetta. “Well, soldier? You coming with us?”

  She looked at each of them in turn. Irellis, silently wiping her blade. Tillo, rummaging through his bag for a scrap of parchment. Odd, standing by the door, tracking every movement in the hall with a hawk’s eye. And Brenn, whose gaze didn’t waver.

  “Fine,” she sighed. “As long as you don't try to crawl into my head.”

  Brenn barked a laugh. “Ha! I don't crawl into heads even when I’m blind drunk! Come on, let’s get you registered officially.”

  They marched to the registration desk. “Registering our group’s newest member,” Brenn said, clapping a hand lightly on Violetta’s shoulder.

  The administrator, possessing a face like a weathered stone monument, raised an eyebrow. She appraised Violetta from head to toe, then slowly shifted her gaze to Brenn. “Registration starts at sixteen. And this one...” she jerked her chin toward Violetta, “...hasn’t even grown to reach Irellis’s boot-heels yet. Next!”

  Brenn hummed, rubbed his beard, and leaned over the desk, “accidentally” sliding a couple of heavy gold coins across the wood. “We, you see, care very much for her safety. Like she’s our own kin. And the Guild is all about family values, isn't it?”

  The administrator stared at the coins like a monk at a cup of Lethe-water. Her hand darted out faster than a mercenary’s dagger after a kill. “Oh... it seems I lost the page with the exceptions. Registration approved.” She scribbled into a massive ledger. “Recording as: ‘Girl under group wardship.’ Don’t forget to sign the clause regarding ‘voluntary consent to danger, mutilation, death, or all of the above.’”

  Inside the visor, the Sphere instantly analyzed the document. [ANALYSIS: STANDARD CONTRACT — LEGALLY CYNICAL, YET PRECISE. FEAR OF DEATH IS NOT A VALID BASIS FOR BREACH OF OBLIGATION.]

  Soon, a gaunt man in a robe with a bundle of parchments and a strange circlet on his brow approached. “You the new blood? Follow me.”

  Violetta nodded to Brenn, and they followed the registrar. The room was cold, lit by candles that bled soot onto the walls. In the center sat an iron table cluttered with tools, sheets, a magical quill... and a large crystal pulsing with internal light. Beneath it lay two tags, each inlaid with a hexagonal crystal.

  “Hand on the crystal. Don’t worry—worst case, it just explodes.”

  Violetta pressed her palm down. Silence fell instantly. The world faded, and she saw... herself in an illusory mirror. In the reflection, two faces: on the left—the gaunt boy from her past life; on the right—a figure clad in shimmering Ascari armor. Their eyes stared back with a reproach that mixed rage, guilt, and a quiet abyss of loss. The reflections seemed to ask without words: What have you become?

  The crystal’s light surged—not one color, nor two. An entire rainbow detonated before the registrar. “...What in the hell are you, child?” he muttered, staring at the luminous storm. But he regained his composure quickly. “Name?” he asked automatically, eyes still glued to the light.

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  “Vi,” she said, forming a ‘V’ with her fingers.

  “Fine, ‘Vi’ it is,” the registrar grumbled. He pulled out a tag and, with a dry click, punched the name into the metal. The second tag he stashed in a drawer. He tossed the tag into her hands. “Now you can officially die like a professional. Congratulations. Don’t forget to finish up with that young miser out front.”

  They returned to the administrator. She glanced at the tag, flinching for a microsecond at the colors, but said nothing. She simply stamped the ledger. “...Signed? Good. One final seal, and you’re an adventurer. Don’t thank me. Though...” she leaned closer to Violetta, “if you survive your first mission, bring me a bottle of wine.”

  Brenn placed a friendly hand on her back. “Let’s go. There’s something more important than crystals—dinner. You must be hungry?” “Like a dire-wolf.” “Good. Guild trials passed. Time to pass the tavern trial.”

  They walked to the tavern together. Brenn on her right, Irellis on her left, Odd in the lead as always, and Tillo bringing up the rear. Violetta turned the tag over in her hand. It was heavy and cold. On the back, an engraving: The bearer of this tag acknowledges: fear of death does not outweigh the price of the contract.

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  The tavern, “The Three Bones,” sat on a corner, partially sunken into the earth. Its wood was blackened by rain, and the sign featured three dice nailed to a wyvern’s skull.

  The door slammed against the wall, admitting the five adventurers, coated in dust, rain, and fatigue. A wave of heat, rendered fat, and the aroma of wine hit them instantly. The walls were scarred with knife-carved inscriptions and scorch marks—as if the tavern itself had survived several wars. By the hearth, someone played a mandolin, but drunkenly, like a broken metronome. A Dwarf in the corner slept face-down in a bowl of porridge.

  “Brenn! You ain't dead yet?” someone hollered from a back table. “I’m trying, but the booze won't take!” Brenn shouted back, catching a flagon hurled across the room.

  Tillo sat at the table with the air of a grand professional. “Four bowls of borscht, two roasted ducks, bread—lots of it. And... compote,” he added, measuring Violetta with a look. “She looks young.” “But with the temper of a manticore,” Odd added, eyes fixed on his glass. The drink was pitch black and shimmered slightly.

  Irellis sat at the edge, arms crossed. The noise didn't interest her—only peace, food, and perhaps a sliver of warmth. She pulled off her gloves; her fingers were a map of scars and calluses, despite her elegant appearance.

  Violetta sat apart, tag in hand. It was strange—she felt as though she wasn't the same person who had woken up that morning. For the first time in an age, she didn't feel like just a survivor. She was someone. Part of something.

  “To the rookie!” someone toasted. “May she not die tomorrow!” “Or may she die with honor—we don't care either way!”

  A roar of laughter. Someone slapped Violetta on the shoulder—so hard she nearly drowned in her bowl. “Don’t take it to heart,” Brenn whispered. “Everyone here has their own death on their mind. If we don’t laugh, we go mad.”

  Dinner arrived hot and steaming, smelling of spices, garlic, and grease. The bread was slightly burnt but soft inside. Violetta ate fast, as if afraid the food would be snatched away. Beside her, Irellis ate in focused silence. Odd drank and didn't speak. Tillo gnawed a bone with the sounds of a wolf. Brenn juggled a piece of duck and told a story about fighting a pseudo-dinosaur that turned out to be a drunk ogre in a costume.

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  They left the tavern well after midnight. Lantern light danced on the wet cobbles. The air was fresh but laced with wine, smoke, and exhaustion.

  “Here is our room. Are you a quiet sleeper?” the Elf asked curtly. “I am. But the voices in my head...” Violetta sighed.

  Irellis’s lips twitched into a faint smile. She shed her cloak, and when she remained in only her chemise, Violetta froze. The Elf’s body was perfectly toned, possessing a lean strength that no clothing could hide; even the midnight shadows couldn't mask her form.

  “Your bed is on the left. And preferably, without the staring,” Irellis said, lying down and closing her eyes. “Huh? Oh... sorry... you’re just... you have a beautiful body...” Violetta stammered, turning away.

  She lay for a long time, staring at the ceiling. Stupid. I didn't calculate for this...

  Sleeping in the same room as a girl... At least there are two beds. Who would have thought the night would be the hardest part.

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