The first thing I noticed as the guard pushed me through the door was the hard-packed dirt floor. The second thing to catch my attention was ‘the lamp’. Set into a specially designed table was a fractured crystal ball which glowed in myriad shades of amber and green, held together by dozens of rune carved metal bands. Each rune shown with the orange light of a dying fire. Projected up into the air from the largest of the fractures was a screen not dissimilar to a System notification.

  Name: Elyse Haven

  Age: 89

  Illegal Classes / Skills: None.

  “You may remove your hands, Elyse.”

  I focused on the gruff voice once the screen disappeared and saw a mountain of a woman dressed in masterwork lamellar armor. The [Inspector] had to have some ogre or giant’s blood in her lineage because she dwarfed all the furniture in the room, like an adult seated in a chair made for children.

  “Sorry for the inconvenience guys. We’ve gotta check everyone who tours the Mists, safety protocols.” I struggled to remember some words the [Inspector] said. I’d apparently let my Trade Tongue go rusty.

  “Don’t sweat it Anna, we know the rules. We’re just tired is all.” Elyse said. “Come by the Guild after your shift is done. We’ll buy you a round.”

  Elyse followed her party mates, who I now knew to be adventurers, and headed towards the door. I moved out of their way and bowed slightly as they passed. I had no idea who these people were, but if they’d truly come from the Mists, then they were at least Tier four and not people I could afford to cross.

  When I looked back to the [Inspector] she’d stood and motioned me to sit down across from her.

  “Evening ma’am.” I said as I sat.

  The [Inspector] seated herself with rigid disciple, her posture perfect. All of her previous friendliness gone with the departure of the adventurers.

  “As you’ve just heard, my name is Anna. Before we can begin, I have to ask some basic questions.”

  “Of course.” I replied.

  “I can pretty much assume the first question. I take it you’re from that cult up north.” She wasn’t of the faith so I didn’t take the flippancy she spoke of the Cult with as a mark against her.

  “The Cult of Weeping Grace. How could you tell?” I asked, genuinely curious.

  She pondered me a moment while she weighed whether to answer.

  “Shield's a big hint. Few places use a willow leaf and tear drop as their heraldry. Don’t know the hand though. Accent really gave you away, though. Only other person I know with an accent like that is that [High Priestess] of yours.”

  “Ah, you’ve met the [High Priestess]. That makes some sense.” I replied, unsure if I wanted my position within the Cult known.

  “The reason for your visit to Woodsedge?”

  “To join the Adventurer’s Guild, ma’am.” I answered, happy to be away from the topic of back home.

  “That young, eh?”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “Final question then. Do you, through action or inaction, have any plans to harm the residents or property of the Empire’s forward city and citadel Woodsedge?”

  “No ma’am.” It was a little odd to be asked a yes or no question in this context, but I guessed the [Inspector] had a truth detecting skill.

  “Excellent. Place your hands on the lamp. You’ll feel a slight pinch.”

  I placed my hands on opposite sides of the lamp, like I’d seen Elyse do earlier. Both the metal of the lamp’s runic bands and the fractured crystal beneath were smooth to the touch. When my hands were in place, a pair of mana threads burrowed into my hands, like a bee had stung the center of my palms. The mana wormed itself up my arms until the two threads met in the center of my chest. The threads coiled around each other until they formed a small ball and released a pulse of unattuned mana.

  When the pulse bounced back to hit the coil in my chest, the lamp pulled the threads of mana back into the crystal. The previously dull runes glowed with the orange of a dying fire, and a screen of light displayed in the center of the table.

  Bran

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  Age: 16

  Illegal Classes / Skills: None.

  “Looks like you're free to go.”

  “Thank you [Inspector].” I said and started towards the door.

  “Oh, tell your mom there’s a package that arrived from the capital for her. It’s been taking up space in my warehouse long enough.” Before I’d even processed what she’d said, I’d agreed and was five steps away from the admin building.

  “Color me surprised; you weren’t arrested. Must have been telling the truth then, eh?” The guard with the decayed armor asked as I neared the gate.

  “I was. Have a goodnight.” I said, made for the smaller side entrance into the city.

  I stepped through the small door and got my first look at the inside of an outlander city. Disappointingly, the architecture was like what we had back home. There were differences, the sheer size of a lot of the buildings dwarfed most of what he had back home. Like they tried to compensate for the lack of a canopy above them by having their buildings tower into the sky. The second biggest difference was that every building had some aspect made from stone, which was considered an extreme luxury in the villages.

  I pushed away the minor details on the architecture and focused on finding an inn for the night. I was a little rusty reading in the Trade Tongue, but I wasn’t particularly worried that I would find one, inns and taverns in every culture had distinct signage.

  Not long after I entered town, I found what I was looking for. Hung from a broomstick above the awning of a three-story building made from a mix of lumber and stone. Was a sign that depicted a woman stood on her tip-toes to kiss a person drawn to look like they could be anyone while being no one. Above the figure and the woman were the words ‘Widow’s Mark’ painted black. Below the couple were four x-s, clearly carved after the sign was made and painted in a deep wine red.

  I climbed the stone stairs to the inn and opened the door to the scent of stew, stale ale, and sawdust. When I looked around the common room, I had a hard time finding an open table. Of the twenty circular tables placed around the room, seventeen already had patrons. [Tavern Maids] and [Footmen] dashed through the common room with enough agility and grace that they had to have skills and at least one class dedicated to waiting tables.

  At the back of the tavern, a bar stretched from wall to wall, broken only by the service entrance, held up to allow staff entry into the kitchen. The lone occupant behind the bar was a middle-aged woman with salt and pepper hair that ran to her mid ear, and four tattoos of orange smoke that drifted up from her collarbone to the bottom of her chin. She was in the middle of a conversation with a small man seated at the bar when her eyes landed on me. She flashed me a smile that showcased teeth so white they almost glowed in the warm light of the hearth.

  When I sat at one of the bar stools, the woman had already finished her conversation with, and served, the small man she’d been talking to and was waiting for me. That warm smile of hers having never left.

  “Haven’t seen you before, new to town?” Her accented voice was as friendly as her smile.

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “Always nice to see a new face. These schmucks usually drive away all the new customers.” The woman raised her voice at the end, so the surrounding patrons could hear.

  The joke split the room. Some laughed, but most tried to seem offended. None of them looked truly insulted. I didn’t see why the crowd would drive people away. Their armor and weapons were clean, and from a quick scan, I could see that those who had scars had healed well. They all looked normal, but I chalked the insult up to being an inside joke between a [Bartender] and her clients.

  “So what brings you to town, stranger?” she asked, her attention back on me.

  “Looking to join the Adventurer’s Guild.”

  The [Bartender] locked gazes with me for a moment and faintly, like the scent of far away rain, I felt mana twist in the space around us. When it stilled, she looked me up and down, her eyes quickly taking in all of my gear.

  “I’ll buy that. Name’s Widow, by the way, should’ve introduced myself earlier. What can I do for you?”

  “I’m looking to rent a room for the next couple of nights if there’s any available.”

  “We’ve got some. Price range?”

  “Below ten silver a night would be preferable, ma’am.” I tried to come up with a number that sounded low, but not too low.

  Widow chuckled before she answered.

  “I’ve got a couple in that range, one’s ten copper a night, the other’s two silver. They aren’t my best rooms, but they’re what’s available.”

  “Could I book the two silver room for five nights, please?”

  “Alright kid, just give me a moment.”

  Widow turned around to grab a key off a half empty rack. Above the rack, in the place of pride, were four portraits. Two of which were men, one of someone too androgynous to tell either way, and the rightmost portrait was of a woman. Each of the people portrayed was ridiculously beautiful. One of the men was of a species I’d never head or read about, while the other man was a wasp, a species I’d only heard about in old war stories from the older [Paladins] of my Order. The androgynous one looked to be some variant of fae of elf, with long ears, too large eyes, and sharp pointed features. The woman was the only one of the four that was human, but she looked like a Paragon, sculpted by a Divinity.

  “Here ya are, number 312, third floor at the end of the hall. Stairs are just behind you.” Widow held out a small brass key with the number 312 engraved on the head. “Payments are due at noon tomorrow.”

  “Thank you ma’am.” I said as I stood.

  “Stop calling me ma’am. I’m not that old.” Widow called towards my back.

  The stairs were an old utilitarian spiral staircase made from wrought iron. A long stretch of hallway covered in rugs and carpets greeted me at each level. At the end of the third, next to the stone chimney stack, was a door labeled 312.

  A squeal from the hinges and a thud as the door hit something welcomed me into my temporary home. I squeezed through the half open entry and saw that a wooden support beam had blocked the door from being opened all the way. The pillar’s placement seemed odd, but I wasn’t a [Builder] or [Architect], so I ignored it and checked out the rest of the room.

  Widow hadn’t been lying when she said the room wasn’t the best. Pushed up against the exposed stonework of the chimney stack was a small but clean bed. On the other side of the room was a worn desk illuminated by a small window that gave a perfect view of the city wall. There was a positive to the cramped space in that the chimney stack would act as a furnace and keep the room nice and warm.

  The night was still young, and since I’d made it to the city, I thought now would be a good time to carve my first ever tablet. It took a couple of minutes to get all my tools out and prepare the tarp to collect all the rock dust. By the time I had everything set, there was barely any light from the window and I had to light all three of the worn-down candles locked onto the desk by their own melted wax.

  The stone I carved was amongst the smallest and my letter was brief. I spoke of the creatures and plants I had seen during the trip; kept the descriptions of bane beetles and bicorns to what I hoped Helena would find amusing as she aged, and ended the letter with the majesty of the open sky — how the sun painted a picture amongst the heavens in red and gold. I signed the tablet by telling Helena how much I loved her.

  When I finished and put away my tools, a wave of homesickness washed over me. Since her birth, I’d never been away from home for more than a week at a time and now I was going to miss months upon months of time with her.

  I thought of how many of her firsts I’d miss while I carried out my duty. Would I miss her first steps, her first words? The thought of her falling without me there to catch her made my heart drop.

  Shaking hands took out my tools from the pack once more and carved onto the empty back of the already carved tablet.

  There was no proper form to what I wrote, the letter rambled, but at its core it was an admission to Helena, and myself, that while I was away, I’d miss milestones. I wrote about how much that hurt to know, how sorry I was that I had to be away, and how much I wanted to be there.

  When I finished it, I dated the tablet and signed it with my signature. An oak leaf for my name’s meaning in High Grace Chant, Winter Oak. I wasn’t happy with the letter; the back half was far sloppier, but I hoped that one day when Helena was old enough to read it, she’d appreciate it.

  I poured the rock dust from the tarp out a small gap in the widow and settled down in bed to mediate. I wasn’t meditating to activate the System or rest. Instead, I focused on trying to cycle back mana. Human beings were one of the least mana conductive species on the continent and while we regained enough mana to fill our cores over the course of the day, passive cycling never expanded our cores like it did for some species.

  Comforted by the feeling of having my bond to Ylena opened, and the sensation of extra mana pooling around my already full core, I thought about all I’d done over these two days. The time spent walking had allowed me to relax some, but come tomorrow, the routine of constant work needed to begin again if I was going to live up to the expectations of my blessing.