The mood felt earned: last night’s success had left everyone in better spirits. Even Ethan, who was still tired, found himself smiling as he sipped his tea and listened to the morning routine. After the dungeon and everything that came after, this almost felt like a reward.
That lasted until the front door swung open hard enough to rattle the hinges.
A city official stepped inside, flanked by two guards in polished uniforms. He wore a high-collared jacket with far too many buttons and a signet ring that caught the morning light. His chin was high, and his expression managed to convey boredom and disdain at the same time.
“Ethan Cross?” the official called, sharp and nasal. Without waiting for confirmation, he brandished a folded parchment with the city seal in red wax. “You are hereby summoned to present yourself and your bonded creatures to the Council Registry for immediate review. The Council demands your presence—refusal or delay will be treated as an infraction.” He shoved the summons at Ethan. “Escort them. Now. No delays.”
The guards immediately moved in close, clearly intending to hustle Ethan and the Pack toward the door without a moment’s delay. Pixie bristled, hackles up, a low rumble starting in her throat. Buster planted his paws and let out a single, unimpressed bark. Moose rose smoothly to his feet, stepping forward with calm certainty.
Lyra shot the official an icy glare as she stepped in beside Ethan, her posture sharp and cold.
Ethan didn’t want a scene—not in someone else’s home. He took the summons, met the official’s gaze, and kept his tone level. “Understood. We’ll come quietly.”
Mara, who’d been standing behind the bar, wasted no time. She turned and hurried up the stairs—her voice already echoing for Gwenna before the guards could protest.
As they reached the door, Ethan paused and knelt beside Mason. “Stay here and guard the inn. Don’t leave, no matter what happens.”
Mason nodded solemnly and gave two enthusiastic thumbs up.
The carriage waited at the curb—dark, with iron bars across the windows. The guards wasted no time, ushering Ethan and the Pack straight toward it.
Pixie eyed the carriage and muttered, “Reminds me of animal control. Not in a good way.”
Outside, as the carriage rattled away from the inn, Ethan caught glimpses of the city’s heart rising above the rooftops—a massive white stone Dome stood just beyond the council chambers, its surface gleaming in the daylight, flanked by tall banners and guarded arches. He’d heard locals call it simply the Dome. People said it held city records, vaults, and high-security cells—everything the Council wanted to keep close and under watch.
They were pushed inside and the door shut behind them with a finality that left no doubt about their destination.
Lyra stayed close to Ethan’s shoulder, Pixie kept glancing back at the inn, and Moose moved up to the front, setting the pace.
Ethan just shook his head and smiled, calm as ever. “Easy, all of you. We’re not here to fight. Let’s just get this over with.”
The ride through Lantern Row was short and rough. The carriage jolted over every rut and stone, metal bars rattling with each turn. The guards sat in silence, offering no explanation, just the steady presence of authority.
About halfway through the ride, Buster groaned and lurched sideways. “Oh, that’s not right—”
A moment later, he threw up on the carriage floor, ears flat in pure misery.
Pixie scooted away from the mess. “Gross. I told you not to eat that street meat.”
Buster glared at her. “You ate it, too.”
“Yeah, but I can handle it.”
Buster scowled at the window. “Next time, we walk,” he grumbled, tail thumping against the floor.
Pixie watched the city blur past, nose pressed to a gap in the bars. “They don’t even have treats in here,” she muttered, mostly to herself.
Ethan kept his hands folded and his eyes on the opposite bench, ignoring the nervous glances from the guards—now with a disgusted look on their faces, knowing they’d have to clean up the mess. Ethan started rubbing Buster’s back in comfort.
When the carriage finally stopped, the doors opened with a clang. Bright sunlight spilled in, revealing a wide stone plaza and a blocky government building with mana lanterns hung above the main doors. The Council Registry looked every bit as official as the summons—grand, severe, and perfectly unwelcoming.
The Pack was marched through a set of double doors and down a wide, echoing corridor. Every footstep seemed to bounce off polished stone and high arched ceilings. The air inside was clean but edged with the faint smell of old ink, mana, and dust.
At the end of the hall, another pair of guards opened the doors to the council chamber. It wasn’t as grand as Ethan expected—just a broad, high-ceilinged room with rows of benches, a few tables, and a dais at the far end. Half a dozen city officials in layered robes waited near the front, each with a scribe at their side. A few wore the insignia of the Academy; a woman in Guild colors stood beside a city magistrate, exchanging a brief, knowing glance.
The guards waved the Pack forward, their faces still sour from the carriage incident. Ethan and his companions filed in quietly, Moose leading the way, Lyra and Pixie close at his side, Amelia sticking to Ethan’s heels, and Buster still looking a bit green.
One of the city officials—a thin man with a hawkish nose—gestured them to a spot before the dais. “Ethan Cross and registered companions, you will stand here. The council will begin shortly.”
Pixie eyed the high windows. “Feels like a vet’s office,” she whispered.
Buster only huffed and laid down, trying not to draw attention.
Ethan glanced at Lyra, who gave him a reassuring nod. He kept his expression neutral, shoulders straight, waiting for the show to begin.
Clerks shuffled papers. A scribe in Academy blue whispered something to a colleague. The city councilwoman in Guild colors murmured to the magistrate, both of them eyeing Ethan and the Pack with the same chilly detachment. The quiet stretched on, broken only by the distant chime of a mana lantern outside the window.
The chamber doors opened again, and an older woman in layered council robes swept inside without apology. Her silver-streaked hair was pulled tight, her steps slow and deliberate, chin raised as if the entire proceeding had been waiting on her. Ethan frowned—there was something familiar about her face.
Pixie’s thought slammed into his mind, so sharp he nearly winced. It’s her! It’s Cruella without her hat!
Recognition hit: the tram platform, that sneer sharp enough to cut glass.
Cruella—because Ethan couldn’t think of her as anything else—walked the length of the chamber with unhurried confidence. She made her way to the front and settled into an open seat beside the other council members, as if she’d been part of the panel all along. Only then did she turn her gaze on Ethan, lips curling into the same disdainful smirk he remembered.
“Well,” she said, her voice dripping with contempt, “the stray troublemaker finally makes himself known.”
“Knew it. Should’ve let me bite her the first time,” Pixie whisper-shouted through the bond, her ears pinned flat.
At last, the hawk-nosed official cleared his throat and called the chamber to order.
A sharp rap from the hawk-nosed official brought the chamber to attention. He scanned a stack of parchment, eyes cold and appraising.
“Ethan Cross,” he began, the edge in his voice plain, “your sudden appearance in Celdoras has caused some concern. Unregistered companions. Unscheduled dungeon activity. Lack of documentation. You returned from the dungeon with items and a golem that were not reported. Care to explain yourself?”
A woman in Guild colors leaned forward, eyes narrow. “The Guild has rules, Mr. Cross. All significant finds and rare artifacts must be declared. Yet, as of this morning, there is no official record. Why the delay?”
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Cruella’s lips curved in a knowing sneer as she added her own voice. “And it’s not only what he’s hiding. I saw him in Lantern Row myself, raising his voice at guards and letting his beasts bare their teeth at passersby. He struts through this city as though the rules don’t apply to him. And now he drags in dungeon spoils and a golem without a word of record? This is not someone the council should be indulging.”
Pixie nearly yelped through the bond. “She’s making it up! I knew she was a Cruella. Maybe the real one.”
The Academy scribe adjusted his glasses. “We do have record of your temporary permissions as a guest under Professor Talh. But your party’s activities in the ruins have drawn attention—especially after reports of unusual magic. Are you acting within the terms of your permit, or have you decided to pursue independent research in our city?”
Buster growled low. Pixie’s ears flattened. Lyra met the officials’ stares with cold defiance.
Ethan kept his voice steady. “We came up from the dungeon late. I was planning to file reports with the Guild this morning, but your people arrived first.”
The city official snorted. “Convenient. And what about the golem you brought out of the dungeon? Golems and animated guardians are regulated. Bringing something like that into Celdoras without registering it is a violation. Do you have a license, or even paperwork for it? Have you paid the appropriate fees?”
Pixie bristled. “He’s not just a piece of equipment.”
The official ignored her and slid another page forward, his expression unreadable. “And there’s also the matter of your… dimensional residence.” He didn’t bother explaining how he knew. “Some of our associates were quite impressed with the requests you made for materials and labor—especially the rare spell components. Establishing a pocket world of that size, within city bounds, typically requires notification. If your residence resides within city walls, you have to pay taxes and protection fees.”
Ethan’s jaw tightened. “We’re not here to cause problems. But I won’t sign away my rights or my team.”
The magistrate’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You’ll find Celdoras can be very accommodating—to those who play by the rules.”
Buster bared his teeth. Lyra’s stance made it clear she was ready for trouble if it came.
Ethan reached out through the bond: Not now. We don’t need a fight in the middle of the city. His thought pressed calm and control through the bond, steady enough that even Pixie’s hackles began to settle.
There was a pregnant pause. Then the council members exchanged glances, measuring Ethan and the Pack. The magistrate leaned forward, fingers steepled.
“You seem to be under the impression that our rules are optional,” he said, voice smooth as oil. “That is not the case. If you want to stay in Celdoras, you’ll need to submit to inspection—your companions, your loot, your so-called golem, and your residence. The city expects full access and compliance, starting immediately.”
The Guild woman gave a satisfied little nod. “Cooperation will be noted in your favor, Mr. Cross. Refusal will be… complicated.”
Ethan didn’t answer right away. The Pack remained silent at his back—steady, watchful, and still. For a moment, the only sound in the chamber was the scratch of a scribe’s pen and the faint hum of a mana lantern in the hall.
Outside the council chamber, footsteps echoed—quick, urgent, and not at all official.
The doors swung open before anyone inside could speak.
Aldric stepped in first, Guild cloak unfastened and expression set in a way Ethan hadn’t seen before. Gwenna was right behind him, eyes sharp and chin up, her boots leaving muddy prints across the polished floor. A pair of flustered guards hurried in after them, too slow to stop either one.
Aldric’s voice cut through the tension. “My apologies for the interruption. I believe Guild protocol allows a representative to be present for any formal review of one of our own.” He didn’t wait for acknowledgment, just strode straight to Ethan’s side and faced the council, hands clasped behind his back.
Gwenna stopped on Ethan’s other side, gaze flicking over the Pack. She nodded to Lyra, then glared at the Guild woman.
The magistrate’s lips thinned. “Guildmaster Aldric, your presence was not requested.”
“Consider it a professional courtesy,” Aldric replied, not breaking eye contact.
Gwenna’s smile was all teeth. “If you’re going to audit someone, you should at least get your paperwork right. You haven’t even let them file their official report.”
The Guild woman bristled, but Aldric kept going. “Ethan and his team haven’t been given a fair chance to comply with city law or Guild procedure. Any attempt to seize property or companions before that is a violation of standing agreement.”
Pixie’s tail wagged, thumping twice against the stone. Buster just grunted, looking slightly less green.
A silence followed—shorter this time, but no less charged.
Aldric turned slightly toward Ethan, voice low and steady. “You’re not alone in this.”
Before the tension could rise further, another figure stepped in through the open doors—Mabel, arms full of ledgers, folders, and rolled parchments tied with colored string. She moved with brisk efficiency, eyes already on the council table.
Gwenna stepped aside to let her through. Mabel nodded to the Pack, set her paperwork on the nearest table, and adjusted her glasses.
The magistrate arched a brow. “And you are?”
“Mabel Tristane, representing Guild interests and acting as notary and legal consultant for Mr. Cross,” she said, sliding a marked page free. “I believe city law allows for Guild representation in all proceedings involving registered delvers and their property. Section Twelve, Article Four, if you’d like to check.”
She set her paperwork down on the nearest table and adjusted her glasses. “If it pleases the council, could you provide a complete and specific list of the statutes and regulations Mr. Cross is accused of violating?”
The hawk-nosed official rattled off the accusations—unregistered companions, unscheduled dungeon activity, failure to report loot, possession of a golem without license, operation of a dimensional residence inside city limits without notification, unpaid taxes and fees, and several other minor infractions.
Mabel listened, scribbling notes. When he finished, she calmly flipped to the first tab in her folder. “Thank you. Let’s address each point.”
She moved through them one by one, citing the correct sections and addendums, each time referencing the city charter or recent council votes:
- “Section Twelve, Article Four: Guild members and registered delvers are permitted to operate with companions not individually registered, provided they’re declared within twenty hours—same for summoned or constructed entities, including golems.”
- “Dungeon activity was under a valid Guild contract—see Section Sixteen, sub-paragraph nine. Loot declaration is permitted within a ten-hour window after return to the city—Section Nineteen.”
- “As for pocket worlds, notification and tax filings are due at the next registration period, not immediately—per Addendum Eight, ratified last spring.”
Court attendants hurried to check each citation. Each time, Mabel was found to be quoting accurately.
At last, she closed her ledger. “Unless there are any new allegations, Mr. Cross and his companions are in full compliance—provided the appropriate paperwork is filed today.”
The magistrate glared, but finally relented. “You’re free to go. Just get those reports in.”
Pixie’s tail thumped the floor. “I want her on our side every time.”
Mabel's eyes gleamed when she heard the word paperwork. She was already excited to start working on it, but before they could all get up and leave the chamber. The doors swung yet again. The Council seemed exasperated with yet another interruption but then they paused.
The chamber doors slammed open with such force they struck the stone walls, reverberating like a thunderclap. Every head in the room snapped around. A ripple of unease passed through the council benches.
A tall figure strode inside, dark cloak trimmed with black and silver, a heavy signet flashing on his hand. Lord Merrow did not slow, did not acknowledge the startled scribes scrambling to rise, nor the guards stiffening by the doors. His presence carried the weight of command; even the air felt heavier, taut with expectation.
Gasps followed him down the aisle. One scribe nearly dropped his quill. The Guild woman’s face drained of color. Cruella half-rose from her bench, only to sink into a stiff bow, lips pressed thin.
“L–Lord Merrow?” the magistrate stammered, voice cracking. “We… we were not told you would be attending—”
Another councilor scrambled to recover. “My Lord, this was only a preliminary review, nothing requiring your—”
“Silence,” Merrow said. The single word, cool and sharp, cut through the chamber like a blade. The councilors obeyed instantly, swallowing whatever excuses they had been ready to offer.
Merrow reached the dais and stopped, his shadow falling across Ethan and the Pack. His gaze swept once over them, lingering only a heartbeat on Moose’s rigid frame, on Pixie’s bristling hackles, before fixing on Ethan.
“I have heard enough.” His voice carried with practiced authority, each word deliberate, immovable. “This outsider and his creatures will not leave these chambers free. Guards. Take him.”
The command snapped the room into motion. Two armored men advanced at once, boots echoing off the stone floor.
Pixie shrieked through the bond. “WHAT? HE DIDN’T EVEN LISTEN!”
Buster snarled, muscles bunching. “Try it. See what happens.”
Moose surged forward, eyes burning with steady rage, but Ethan’s thought pressed firm through the bond, urgent and unyielding: Stand down. Not here. Not now.
Amelia pressed into Ethan’s leg, trembling so hard he felt it through his boots.
Mabel was already on her feet, papers clutched tight. “My Lord, the charges were found baseless. By statute, he is—”
“Out,” Merrow said, not even glancing her way. “All of you. Out.”
Aldric’s jaw tightened, his cloak snapping as he moved to step between Ethan and the guards. Gwenna’s hand hovered near the hilt of her blade, fury plain in her eyes.
But Merrow’s voice dropped to a quiet, cold finality. “This chamber is closed. Remove them.”
The guards seized Ethan’s arms, yanking him back before the Pack could react. He forced calm through the bond again, though his own pulse thundered in his ears. Stay. Protect each other. I’ll handle this.
“ETHAN!” Pixie’s bond-cry ripped raw, wild with panic. Buster lunged a step, held only by Moose’s bulk. Amelia whimpered, clawing at the floor as if she could anchor Ethan in place.
Mabel, Aldric, and Gwenna fought every step to keep the Pack contained as the chamber doors slammed shut behind Ethan.
The last glimpse he had of Lord Merrow was the man turning his back on the chamber, already dismissing Ethan like a trivial matter. His attention shifted to the councilors instead, his voice rising in sudden fury as the echoes swallowed Ethan’s exit:
“You dare waste my time with this theater—”
The doors boomed closed, cutting off the words.