Melia didn’t return to the inn at night, having fallen asleep on the roof instead. Her hunting had lasted for hours until she felt slightly satisfied, but nowhere near full. And honestly, even if this was an above standard inn, the bed wasn’t memory foam or a huge thing filled with feathers. She found it comfortable enough turning into her dragonkin form and curling up with her tail between her legs, hugging it like a body pillow. Somehow she managed to sleep through sunrise, only waking up several hours later from something like a 7th sense (her very strange, very real magic sensing sense was her 6th).

  She couldn’t place why, but something very important to her was…troubled.

  Which made even less sense.

  Her sense, which she knew instinctively was very draconic, gave her raw, unfiltered images that were difficult to process. The concept of “treasure” formed in her brain, and she understood it to be a dragon’s instinctual understanding and oversight when it came to their hoard.

  And yet, her “hoard” was “feeling troubled”.

  How did a hoard feel troubled?

  Or better yet, how did it feel?

  And since when had she managed to hoard something?

  Other than a mountain of junk and the detritus of a decade littering her inventory.

  Melia obviously knew that dragons loved gold, jewels, shiny things, and treasure, they were famous for it. She was no exception, she loved all those things too.

  But strangely, in this world, she didn’t need to worry about any of that, because she was disgustingly rich.

  Over a decade playing the game nonstop gave her a bank account that rivaled continents, not countries, and if she had wanted to, she could have obsoleted the entire workflow of the fabled Chinese Gold Farmers by flooding the market with money.

  Melia never wanted to touch the real money trading problems with a 10 foot pole, so her money mostly stayed in her account. And, as her inventory assured her, it was all still there. She’d have to visit a bank to withdraw most of it, only having a “small” amount on hand, but even with that tiny fraction of her worth, she had several million gold in her pockets.

  But gold didn’t have feelings, no matter how nice it was to look at. So she changed back into her normal gnomish form and hopped off the roof, entering the dining hall to find her teammates sitting around a table, looking very anxious.

  Melia froze. Oh. Once again she hadn’t told them where she was going or when she'd come back. No wonder they were anxious, if they thought she’d simply left them, and maybe a normal high level adventurer would have after last night. She’d given them a gift in the form of that buff that surely would put them in her debt and she probably couldn’t be blamed if she didn’t stick around.

  But she treasured their budding friendship too much-

  Melia physically tripped as the realization suddenly smashed into her brain with the force of a war hammer. Treasure. But these were people, her friends, however new, not gold….

  “Oh thank the gods,” Jessica’s voice carried across the room, shaking Melia out of her stupor.

  “Melia, over here!”

  Jessica, Ellesea, and Y’cennia were all waving her over with varying degrees of enthusiasm, while Alastair had a more thoughtful look on his face. Melia quickly jogged over to the bench, contemplating the seat staring at her eye level, wondering if she should climb or jump. Jessica reached down and made the choice for her, lifting her gently and setting her on the bench. At least now she could see over the top of the table, instead of staring up at the underside. Everybody looked a mix of relieved and awkward, but as always it was Alastair who had the most tact.

  “We…weren’t sure if you were sticking around,” he said carefully. “I know our group doesn’t have the most to offer-“

  “No,” Melia cut him off, “It’s my fault for not making my intentions clear, or confirming where we were going to meet up. I mean, as the newest member of the team, am I under any kind of probation or whatever?”

  The four looked at her, at a loss for words. The girls in particular looked rather perplexed.

  “You’re still joining us?” Jessica asked bluntly.

  “Yes?” Melia tilted her head to the side as if not understanding the issue.

  “Why?”

  While Jessica’s brutal honesty was appreciated, Melia could see why they might have a hard time getting another member. But she didn’t mind it, in fact she'd rather have that than somebody lying to her face all the time, and she didn’t have any of the concerns a real party member might have.

  “Because I’ve found myself growing fond of you all?” Melia answered honestly right back. Alastair raised an eyebrow and Jessica’s cheeks flushed a little, but they looked pleased. And that wasn’t the only reason. “Everybody I knew is…gone. If it’s been a hundred years, which I’m sure now it has, I don’t know how many people I knew would live that long. Some of them, maybe….”

  She thought of the other players, but she didn’t know if a hundred years had passed in her original world, or if this one was still connected, or how any of that worked. The sudden reminder of her own death, and how she’d never see any of her friends and family again brought a sudden intense stinging to her eyes, but she fought through it and put on a brave smile.

  “I don’t ever want to be alone again,” she told them, eyes blazing with determination.

  Y’cennia’s mouth slowly fell open while Ellesea looked like she wanted to crawl in a hole. Jessica merely swallowed, while Alastair was the only one who looked calm.

  Resigned, a little pale and shaky, but calm.

  “Well,” he eventually said, breaking the silence. “I, uh, guess…welcome. To the team.”

  “Yeah,” Jessica smiled, regaining her fire, while Ellesea nodded along.

  “Not that we have a name,” Y’cennia pointed out.

  “Details,” Jessica dismissed with a wave, “Minor details.”

  Alastair muttered something about those seeming like pretty important details, but, like this was an old argument, he was ignored.

  “So…how does this work?” Melia asked. The others glanced at each other, all of them uncertain.

  “I…don’t know,” Jessica admitted.

  “Mostly because it was so much easier for the rest of us,” Ellesea quickly spoke up. She pointed at Jessica and Alastair.

  “Those two have always been together.”

  She pointed to Y’cennia.

  “Apparently Y’cennia put up an ad in her local guild branch when she hit level 100…right?”

  “Yep.”

  “And joined up with the understanding that she would provide potions while the rest of the team provides materials.”

  “It’s a pretty standard agreement,” Alastair waved a hand. “Lots of fighters work with craftsmen in the early levels before anybody gets established with bases and such.”

  “And you?” Melia asked. Ellesea looked slightly hesitant, clearly keeping something hidden, but not enough to cause suspicion.

  “My family objected, but after I enrolled in the academy, graduated the academy, and applied for post-studies, they sort of had to accept that I was going to do what I wanted to do.”

  “And what do you all get out of this?”

  “I get real, practical experience with a team that isn’t coddling me, sucking up to me, or trying to stab me in the back,” Ellesea stated wryly. As the highest level in the party before Melia, she had an advantage over the others if conflict arose, despite being a squishy [Mage].

  “And we get a real, talented [Mage] that has a system-granted title for her efforts,” Jessica stated seriously. When Melia tilted her head, Jessica sighed. “Look. Just like any other class, [Mages] are a copper a dozen. However, unlike something like a [Warrior], who can just pick up a stick and bash things, there’s a world of difference between an alley [Mage] and one who studied under a grand professor.”

  “No joke,” Alastair added. “She could have been picked up by any team up to level 500 and had nearly any demand she put forward met. This was her choice more than ours.”

  “And I’m satisfied,” Ellesea nodded. So that was that.

  “Okay,” Melia stated slowly, forming her thoughts. “So, I too would like to join you, if the option is there. Wait! Let me finish.” Jessica had opened her mouth, but shut it at Melia’s insistence. “I can’t give you what you’re looking for. I understand you need a healer. I can’t really do that for you, not in any way that would be productive.”

  Melia could offer them potions Y’cennia couldn’t, but she wasn’t looking to take the catgirl’s job. And even though she could still feel her connection to her classes that had healing spells and skills, they all felt…severed, somehow. As if what was powering the spells was something more than mere mana, and since most healers used divine healing, Melia had thoughts on that, with her not practicing any faith to anything in this pantheon.

  “I can’t join you in a system [Party], at least not yet, and I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you my level or my class.”

  She saw the mixed looks of disbelief and something bordering on outrage and her heart hurt. She didn’t want to deceive them.

  “I know it won’t make any sense right now, but it would be very bad for you right now to know exactly who I am.”

  The looks remained, but they were swallowed without a word.

  “Are you a criminal?” Jessica finally asked. Melia was shocked, especially with how serious and…opposed she sounded. Out of everyone, Melia would have thought Alastair to have the straightest spine.

  “No,” Melia didn’t laugh, as funny as she found the question. “To the best of my knowledge, anyway. I’ve been asleep a long time.”

  “So how would it be bad?” Ellesea asked, sounding genuinely curious and confused.

  “Let’s just say that I want to give you the best impression of me before anything else gives you any ideas,” Melia said. “I want to be judged for me, not my name.”

  “Pft,” Jessica finally laughed, “Speaking as somebody who’s called ‘Melia the Magnificent’, I’m so judging you. I’m judging you so hard.”

  “Dragon,” Y’cennia stated with a straight face. The others stared at her for a split second before bursting into laughter.

  “Okay, miss ‘dragon’,” Jessica snickered while wiping her eyes. “What does a dragon get out of this?”

  “Besides companionship?” Melia stated thoughtfully. “Food.”

  The others stared at her owlishly.

  “Serious. That’s where I was last night. Eating.”

  “You,” Ellesea stated, looming over the tiny gnome. “Were out. Eating.”

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Melia shrugged. It was up to them to believe her or not.

  “Yeah. But don’t worry. I won’t eat every single thing you kill. Only one or two things if I can’t catch enough myself. That’s not all, I suppose, if I’m being thorough. I also want to get information. Any information. I’ve been…away, I guess, for a hundred years and there’s so much I just don’t know.”

  “Like ranks,” Jessica sighed, thinking of one of their earliest conversations.

  “Like ranks,” Melia agreed. “And everything else. Dungeons. Guilds. Academies. Towns, countries, borders, monsters, raids, parties-”

  “Oh gods,” Ellesea wailed. “I’ve heard of gnomish curiosity, but if this is real, kill me now!”

  “Oh, you don’t need to worry about dying,” Melia said with a smirk. “I might not join you in a party, and I might not be a healer, but I won’t let you die. That’s a promise.”

  As soon as she said that, a weird sensation swept over the room, and suddenly Melia remembered that she was a dragon, and maybe, just perhaps, she needed to be careful with her words. But she meant it, so she wouldn’t take it back, even if she could.

  “You’re stuck with me now,” she cackled, making the others groan.

  “Dragon,” moaned Alastair, and the others laughed. Once they all calmed down, they shared a meaningful look. It seemed they had one more thing to say, and none of them wanted to say it. Jessica lost whatever unspoken battle they waged, so she squared her shoulders and faced Melia fully.

  “Listen,” she said seriously, meeting Melia’s eyes. “I know you like to joke about being a dragon, and I get it, it is kind of hilarious, but we’re about to go into a big meeting at the guild. That’s why we were getting worried when you didn’t show up, because we didn’t know if you’d heard, seeing as you haven’t been into the guild in a while, if you even are an adventurer still, and you might not have gotten the message. They’ve put out a [Call to Arms].”

  “Eh?” Melia tilted her head. That didn’t ring any bells, and Jessica groaned, knowing she had to explain it.

  “Basically, the lord of the area can conscript adventurers in times of emergency. It’s pretty rare for a noble to issue one, since situations surrounding a Call can get pretty dicey, with some nobles exploiting them in the past, or certain adventurers simply ignoring it, but…this comes from Baron Greymantle. Nobody’s going to say no to a hero of the Great War. Please take this seriously and don’t give anybody a reason to hate you.”

  “And by extension, us,” Ellesea grumbled, but Melia heard her. She stared at the taller girl pointedly and she had the good grace to blush.

  “Fine,” Melia sighed. “I won’t purposefully antagonize anyone. No funny business.”

  Everyone looked relieved…but something in the air told them all that they weren’t seeing fully eye to eye, either.

  Jessica did not lie. Very shortly after their conversation, the party left the inn, and as soon as they hit the streets, Melia saw an unusual amount of people making their way back toward the center of town.

  Or rather, toward the keep.

  Melia would have guessed that’s where the Baron would have lived, but he did not. He had an office there, and the rest of the building served as the governmental house as well as the prison…and adventurer’s guild. Melia climbed the small hill with the rest of her team, noting the somewhat sullen air about her.

  “Why’s everybody so grumpy?” Melia asked, jogging alongside Jessica’s long legs so they weren’t slowed down. The taller girl looked down, debated whether or not Melia was pulling her leg, and decided it was an honest question.

  “Can you blame them?” Jessica asked. She returned to looking ahead, having realized by now that Melia could hear her even when she wasn’t facing her directly. She felt weird talking to the air instead of her target, but staring at the ground hurt…especially if she ran into something when her eyes weren’t in front of her.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You really don’t know?”

  “I wouldn’t ask if I did. I told you no funny business.”

  “It’s the buff,” Y’cennia said dreamily, though she also had an air of impatience with her. “How could anybody be happy about getting summoned right now with something like that active?”

  “Oh! Really?”

  Ellesea took a turn to stare at the gnome.

  “What? I haven’t had the chance to ask what it does yet.”

  “You don’t even know?” Ellesea asked in a tight voice. She sounded like she was about to have a crisis.

  “I imagine it’s good,” Melia said, distracted. She put her heart into it, and with her level, there was no way it would be bad.

  “It’s [Exotic],” Ellesea practically whined. “It’s got like 5 parts and each of them are near [Legendary]...”

  “Ah,” Melia said, finally getting it. “And they want to be out there, making the best use of it.”

  It was a common dilemma in the game, too, making the most efficient usage of buffs. So, hers was good, then! [Exotic] rarities were generally impossible to get for things outside of specific game events, so Melia never dreamed her buff would be that good. That also explained why the streets were so empty, with what few vendors remained looking agitated and volatile, despite it being the first opening day of the Midsummer Festival. Those were the ones who either didn’t get the buff, or else the only thing their buff would benefit was selling their wares, but there wasn’t anybody to sell to. And it explained why the adventurers looked like they wanted to be anywhere but here. They probably wanted to be out grinding.

  They entered the large, iron reinforced oak doors at the base of the keep and stepped into the guild. It looked, felt, and (strangely) smelled exactly as Melia thought it would. It was cram packed with people, the air stank of dried sweat and stale alcohol, but there was a sweet, nearly cloying aroma of mana, too. So many magic users in one place had a tendency to let the ambient mana saturation rise. With so many people squeezed into what was normally not a small space, Melia found herself getting kneed in the face or getting squished into not-so-squishy thigh armor. Luckily, her stats laughed it off like a joke, but it wasn’t a pleasant feeling being knocked around like a small ball.

  All the workers looked like they were pulling double time, being kept alive strictly by coffee, conviction, and the promise of a double paycheck. Several receptionists were herding the crowd into the central courtyard for processing. Like cattle, Melia’s party slowly moved forward, eventually reaching the door.

  Outside, in the spacious training yards, multiple tables were set up with even more employees taking information before sending people into designated areas. Despite the resemblance to cattle in pens, it looked like they were being categorized by some unknown classification.

  Melia was instantly reminded of the forming period before a raid, where the raid leader and their officers would organize everybody neatly into smaller parties that would more easily be managed in the larger boss fights. The irony was not lost on Melia, since she heard enough from the collective muttering to understand that this muster was being held to lead a preemptive strike against a suspected dragon.

  A dragon that did, and did not, exist.

  Melia never could have imagined that her victory roar for being alive would come back to bite her like this, but at the same time, if that was what they were worried about, they didn’t need to be. She wasn’t going to attack them. Or anybody. But how to let them know?

  “Excuse me, Little One? Name, please?”

  Melia glanced up, suddenly aware that she was standing in front of a table and a female receptionist was leaning forward over it to see what was keeping up the line. Without realizing it, Melia had lost her chance to escape, and with it, the amount of time she had to put together a plan to deescalate this madness suddenly ran out.

  And the information she was now supposed to give out was not making her any happier.

  The information was simple, straightforward, and easily justified given the fact that somebody was planning to hunt a dragon, but it was personal. To ask for somebody’s level and class was perfectly fine, but to demand it was rude, and would have broken so many confidentiality laws about privacy in her old life.

  They only wanted 3 things. Name, rank or level, and class. That was it. But Melia was unwilling to divulge most of that to strangers, not even giving out her true name.

  Yes, potentially it would speed things up by a lot if she did, but in doing so it would open so, so many other cans of worms. She really just needed to find the person in charge and explain things.

  “What’s the holdup?” asked a very irritated voice from somewhere behind the receptionist. It sounded like a manager was coming, but in a weird twist, this was sort of like the anti-Karen. Where a manager was demanding to speak to her.

  Now is so not the time to make an “in Soviet Russia…” joke, Melia mused.

  “Name, please, Little One?” the receptionist pleaded.

  “Melia,” Melia stated unhappily, refusing to elaborate. The receptionist’s face cramped. She knew the gnome heard the same instructions everybody else heard. Why was she being so stubborn?

  “Guild Rank?”

  “Unaffiliated.”

  Melia heard some murmurs.

  “Level?”

  Melia tightened her lips and didn’t budge.

  “Class?”

  “Confidential.”

  The receptionist looked utterly and completely done, but she had a job to do.

  Unfortunately for her, and everybody else, the overworked guildmaster, whose nerves were already taxed past their limit, was nearby.

  “How dare you?!” He seethed, suddenly looming above the receptionist, and by extension, Melia. Around her, she could hear her teammates' sharp intake of breath, she could feel Y’cennia next to her start to tremble. But she tamped down on her rising anger, remembering her promise to Jessice.

  “I have extenuating circumstances-” Melia began calmly, but the man was fully livid.

  “Listen, you little shit! Your lord has commanded this of you! Your betters have already complied, so fall in line and answer the gods damned questions!”

  “No,” Melia stated with unexpected authority. The area around her grew silent, everybody slowing down to stare at the sudden disruption.

  “Come on!” Jessica hissed. “You promised me!”

  “No funny business,” Melia repeated. “But you don’t get to order me to do anything. I refuse.”

  The poor receptionist looked like she wanted to die, caught between a hammer and an anvil. Or a lion and a mouse. Or worse, not that she knew exactly how mismatched the analogy truly was. Behind her, the guildmaster was growing beet red, chest puffed up with anger and indignation. In any other scenario, Melia would have long since excused herself from the situation so it would have never escalated so badly. Still, she was profoundly irked, and part of her wondered if the guildmaster would legitimately swell so much that he exploded.

  He was saved from a potentially gruesome fate by a low, calm, powerful voice.

  “Put her down as a [Dancer]...,” said the voice in a tone like coarsely tumbled gravel.

  The already quiet yard hushed to the point where every single shuffle of a robe and creak of leather could be heard. A path parted like waves in the sea and out stepped a man. A man Melia recognized fondly, though the first time she had seen him, back before the bonfire was lit, showed her he held no recognition of his own. He was a famous NPC, but it made sense that he wouldn’t recognize a single player, especially not after a hundred years. His next words, however, wiped the smile off Melia’s face like mud.

  “...level, unknown, rank…10, minimum.”

  The crowd grew so silent Melia couldn’t hear anybody breathe. She cursed beneath her breath and, very briefly, contemplated turning into her real form and simply flying away.

  But that wasn’t a real option. Not for her. Not if she ever wanted a shot at making real genuine friends like she almost had. A quick glance behind her showed her teammates' faces and her heart sunk. She could see the shock, the confusion, the wariness.

  She knew it was highly unlikely their tentative, easygoing, friendly relationship would last. Even Melia knew how hard it was to maintain unequal relationships. She had firsthand experience with this, being so dependent on those around her. There were some days she felt so utterly worthless, she simply wanted to stop existing, just to make the pain go away. Every time she had to rely on somebody else, a tiny bit of her cried inside. She felt so horribly small, like she could never repay them.

  And that was for people who loved her and cared for her, her very real family. How would these strangers react to the fact she could squash them like a bug? Well, Melia would find out, soon. She hoped they could remain friends, but she was finding it hard to be optimistic.

  Every single eye was on her, burning her with their intensity, so Melia let out a tremendous sigh. She summoned her chakrams from her inventory, listening to gasps as people all around her were both shocked back to life and remembered they needed breath.

  It was entirely possible the poor receptionist fainted on her feet.

  She tossed the guildmaster a look of intense loathing that promised deep retribution if he tested her, but she turned her gaze toward Greymantle.

  Somehow, seeing the beloved NPC in the flesh took all the fight out of her sails. Not that she was planning on doing anything, even if a fleeting thought had crossed her mind how easy it would be to cut him down. Instead, she slipped into the space before him and stared up with tired, sad eyes.

  “Marshal Greymantle,” she said, wistfully remembering his contributions to the overarching story campaign. He was a minor character at the game’s launch, but because so many people leveled through the human lands, he became well known. So well known that the story team wrote him into several plot-lines during more than one expansion.

  The lore team was not kind to him.

  His sons joined him in the third expansion, which opened up the Frozen North, and introduced the Northern Barbarians as enemies. They wouldn’t become playable races for several years to come. They were huge, ruthless, and barbaric, with inspiration being taken from vikings, raiding parties, and Norse mythology. They had no rules of war and generally did not take prisoners.

  Melia found herself raising her right arm to her heart and thumping her chest twice in salute. Even though it was never explicitly stated what rank players had in the armies of Ebonvale, Melia had done enough quests and read enough of the lore to know she was at one point an enlisted soldier, had a system title of [Private] and [Sergeant], and might also be considered an honorary officer, depending on what quests were canon. Perhaps she even outranked the Marshal.

  Melia quickly and subtly accessed her inventory, filtering through all the junk to find her “quest items”, specifically the ones from the Titanic Tundra campaign. One of the reputation grinds was centered in an endgame area (at the time) that was highly contested with mobs, and players could loot the bodies of friendly, generic, unnamed fallen NPCs to find insignias, which they could return to the quartermasters for small rewards. She had hundreds of them, which in this life meant that hundreds of people died, and she did not save them. It was not a comforting thought.

  The insignias were unmarked, not belonging to any particular person, and she knew Greymantle would know that, but she hoped the gesture would look sincere. She retrieved two and handed them to him.

  “If not for the sacrifices of your sons, Borealis would have fallen. Thank you for your service.”

  As part of the ever ramping quest chain, Greymantle’s two sons had held the line at one of Humanity’s largest base camps. If it had fallen, which it could not in the game, because a player could simply restart a failed quest, the entirety of the human race’s armies would have crumbled. It was meant to show a “noble sacrifice”, exchanging the lives of two men for thousands. Melia felt empty and a little bitter.

  Baron Greymantle looked like he had aged a hundred years and took the two insignias with ancient, trembling fingers. His breath was ragged and his eyes were staring straight through his hands, locked onto a memory of long, long ago. But he was only gone a moment. He straightened his back, gave Melia a deep, meaningful nod of thanks, and took a deep breath.

  “You were there.”

  It wasn’t a question.

  “I was.”

  Melia didn’t know what else to say.

  It seemed no other words were necessary, so he nodded and moved on.

  “Then let’s talk about what we’re going to do tomorrow.”