The Adventurers' Guild of Azuris smelled like wet leather that never fully dried—and stew that existed for one reason: to keep people standing long enough to swing a sword again.
I'd pictured something else.
Something glorious. A banner snapping like thunder. Brass trumpets. A heroic glow pouring out of the doorway as if the building itself couldn't help showing off.
Instead, it looked like someone took an overgrown tavern, trapped it inside a stone block, and dared the city to complain.
People streamed in and out with the easy confidence of the armed—boots thudding, scabbards tapping hips, coins clinking, voices scraping together like flint. They moved like the world gave way because it learned not to argue.
Beside me, Myrina bumped my shoulder with hers—light, playful.
"Relax," she said. "You're going to swallow your tongue."
"I'm not—"
My voice snagged halfway out of my throat like it caught on a nail.
I swallowed anyway, because my body loved proving her right.
Myrina laughed, bright and unbothered. Myrina could laugh anywhere. In a temple. At a funeral. In front of an angry guard deciding whether to arrest her or pray for her. The world didn't get to schedule her fear.
"Come on," she said, and pushed the doors open like they were polite.
Noise hit me like a shove.
Arguments over maps. A woman swearing about a spear that snapped mid-thrust. The wet slap of boots. The sharp thunk of a stamp striking paper again and again—final, merciless.
My gaze dropped by instinct.
Not because I was polite.
Because faces were unpredictable.
Hands weren't.
Hands told you who wanted to fight, who wanted to steal, who wanted to grab you by the collar and shake you until your teeth rattled. Hands told you where danger lived.
So I tracked hands.
Bandaged knuckles. Ringed fingers. Scarred palms. A missing pinky. A thumb that twitched too often near a dagger hilt.
"See?" Myrina said, as if she'd brought me to a festival instead of a den of strangers with blades. "They're just people."
They didn't feel like just people.
They felt like problems I could offend by breathing wrong.
Behind the front counter, a woman looked up. Her smile arrived before her eyes did—smooth, practiced, the kind you wore so often it became armor.
"Myrina," she called, voice warm as the stew smell. "Look at you. Still walking like you own the floor."
Myrina's grin widened, shameless. "Nerissa. Still pretending you don't run this place."
Nerissa leaned on her elbows. One braid hung over her shoulder, tight and practical—hair for someone who didn't trust anyone else to tie it right. Her eyes shifted to me, and her voice softened in a way that didn't feel fake.
"And this must be Trey."
My throat tightened.
I nodded too fast and hated myself for it immediately.
Myrina hooked an arm around my shoulders and squeezed—like she was making sure I stayed real.
"He's finally old enough to stop pretending he's a baby."
"I'm ten," I muttered, because it mattered.
It should matter.
"Exactly," Myrina said, and ruffled my hair like the argument was settled forever.
Nerissa's gaze dipped—not to my face, but to my hands.
Mine were clenched white around the strap of my satchel as if I could anchor myself to it.
"You've grown," she said. "Last time I saw you, you hid behind your sister's leg the entire time."
My thoughts tripped over themselves.
Say something normal. Say words like a person. Any words. Don't just stand here like—
"I… I can talk," I managed.
Myrina snorted. "Barely."
Nerissa's smile didn't wobble. "That's fine. Half the people in here can't talk without threatening someone."
Somewhere behind me, someone barked laughter like the room took that as permission.
Myrina leaned closer to the counter. "We're here for his registration."
Nerissa lifted her eyebrows. Not surprised—more like she'd been expecting this day to show up and finally stop pretending it wouldn't.
"As a trainee?" she asked.
"As an errand runner." Myrina tapped my chest, right over my heart, where it was hammering like it wanted out. "Lowest rank. No monster work. No 'hero' nonsense. He'll fetch, carry, copy notes, and learn not to faint when someone raises their voice."
"I don't faint," I said—then regretted it the instant the words left.
Myrina's eyes slid sideways. "You nearly fainted when the baker shouted at you for touching the bread."
"That was… different," I muttered.
It was different.
It was bread. It was my fault. It was humiliation in a tiny shop where everyone knew my name and my empty pockets.
Nerissa pressed her lips together like she was holding in a laugh. "All right," she said. "Trainee it is."
A heavy chair scraped on stone behind us.
"Kids now, huh?"
The voice was rough—old gravel dragged over iron. I didn't turn. I didn't need to see a wolf to know it was baring teeth.
"Guild's getting soft," the man continued. "Next they'll hand out emblems to dogs. 'Fetch this, boy.' Same job."
Someone snickered. Someone else made an agreeing sound—the kind people made when they wanted to be on the winning side.
Myrina turned slowly.
I didn't look at his face.
I looked at his hands.
One held a tankard. The other rested on the hilt of a sword that had seen real use—worn leather, nicks in the guard, knuckles scarred like he'd fought more than monsters.
Myrina smiled at him like she liked him.
That was how she fought.
"Morning, Barrek," she said brightly. "You're early."
Barrek's tankard paused mid-air. "And you're still mouthy."
"Only on days ending in 'y.'" Myrina cocked her head. "You want to complain about trainees, complain to the board. Or better—come stamp papers for Nerissa for a week. You'll be begging for a dog to fetch things."
A few laughs rolled through the room—sharp laughs, not kind ones. But enough to dull the edge of the moment.
Barrek grunted. "Your brat brother doesn't even look like he can lift a bucket."
Heat crawled up my neck. My fingers tightened on my satchel strap until it bit.
Myrina's hand settled on my shoulder—heavy, steady, claiming me.
"He can lift what he needs to lift."
Barrek snorted. "Sure. Because you'll lift it for him."
Myrina's smile sharpened into something that could cut.
"I'm a C-rank adventurer," she said, casual as breathing. "I lift worse things than buckets."
Barrek's eyes narrowed… then slid away like he'd bitten into something harder than he expected.
"C-rank," he muttered, like the word tasted irritating. "Whatever."
He turned back to his drink.
The room moved on.
My lungs didn't.
Nerissa cleared her throat gently, like she'd watched too many kids shrivel in these walls. "All right. Registration." She dipped her quill into ink. "Trey Austere, correct?"
I nodded again—too fast again.
I hated that I did that. Like my body kept apologizing for existing.
"Age?"
"Ten."
"Any weapons training?"
"No."
"Any special skills? Reading? Writing?"
"A little," Myrina answered before I could. Like she didn't trust me to speak without breaking.
Nerissa hummed as she wrote. "Guardian?"
"Myrina," I said, then flinched at how small my voice sounded.
Myrina squeezed my shoulder again. "Me."
Nerissa set the quill down.
"Guild fee is ten silver."
My stomach dropped so hard it felt like it hit the floor.
Ten silver.
Myrina reached into her pouch without hesitation, like the number didn't mean anything.
But my mind grabbed it and shook it until it screamed.
I watched her hands count the coins out—one, two, three—each clink landing in my ears like a hammer blow.
Nerissa kept her voice soft. "Standard. Guild policy. Emblem, paperwork, class access."
"Ten silver?" I blurted. My voice cracked on the second word.
Myrina didn't even look at me. "Don't start."
Nerissa tilted her head. "You didn't tell him?"
"I didn't want him to choke," Myrina said, sliding the last coin across. "There. Take it before he has a heart attack."
Nerissa didn't scoop the coins right away. She tried to hold my gaze—tried.
I dropped my eyes back to her hands. Safer there.
"You know what a gold coin is worth?" she asked, not unkind.
I hesitated. "A… a lot."
"One gold is a hundred silver," Myrina said with a sigh. "Don't make him do math in public."
Nerissa ignored her—gentle but firm. "And one silver is a hundred copper. Copper's what most people carry. Iron's what they scrape. Brass is… more noise than value."
My chest tightened.
That wasn't comfort.
That was confirmation.
Ten silver was a tenth of a gold. To a rich person it was pocket change.
To us, it was a punch you felt for days.
"Myrina," I said without meaning to, voice thin.
"Trey," she warned—sharp.
I forced my eyes up to her chin. Not her eyes. Her chin was safer.
"I know," I lied.
Her expression softened just a fraction. "You're not wasting it," she said quietly. "That's why you're here."
I swallowed. "Yes."
Nerissa finally scooped the coins into a lockbox and handed Myrina a receipt stamped with the guild crest.
"All right," she said. "I'll fetch his emblem. Sit tight."
She disappeared into a back room.
Myrina leaned on the counter like she belonged there.
I stood beside her like a stray dog someone had dragged inside and hadn't decided whether to keep.
"You okay?" she asked, lower now—no teasing.
I stared at the wood grain. "That's… a lot."
"It is," she said, no flinch, no sugar. "So don't make me regret it."
I nodded.
She waited anyway, like she wanted more than that.
Then she flicked my forehead—not hard, but enough to yank me out of my head.
"Use your words."
"…I won't," I said.
"That's better."
Nerissa returned with a small iron emblem on a leather cord. Not shiny. Not impressive. The guild crest was etched into it—an open gate with a sword laid across it, invitation and warning at once.
She held it out.
My hands hesitated like they belonged to someone else.
"Go on," Nerissa said. "It doesn't bite."
I took it.
The metal was cold against my palm, heavier than it looked—like it had been waiting its whole life to sit on someone's chest and remind them of promises they weren't sure they could keep.
"Welcome to the guild, Trey Austere," Nerissa said lightly. "Trainee. G-minus."
Myrina snorted. "Try not to cry."
"I'm not going to cry," I said, and tightened my grip to prove it.
From the benches, Barrek's laugh rumbled. "G-minus," he repeated, loud enough for nearby people to hear. "That's the rank for folks who can't even swing a broom right."
Myrina didn't bother turning.
She lifted a hand and flipped him off without looking.
Nerissa coughed into her fist, hiding a smile. "Ignore him. He complains about everything. Last week he complained about the rain being 'too wet.'"
"That's because it was!" Barrek called back.
A few laughs scattered across the hall.
I exhaled—small, shaky, but real.
Myrina straightened like the moment was done. "All right. I've got a quest to submit."
She slid a parchment forward. Nerissa stamped it with satisfying finality.
"Completed," Nerissa said. "Payment will be ready at the end of the day."
Myrina drummed her fingers once. "Guide my brother around," she told Nerissa. "Teach him where not to die."
Nerissa's eyes softened. "Of course."
Myrina turned to me, and her cheerfulness came back with edges.
"I'll be gone a couple hours," she said. "Simple run. Don't leave the building unless Nerissa tells you."
I nodded.
She waited.
My throat tightened—stupid and childish.
"Be safe," I managed.
Myrina's grin flashed quick and bright. "Always."
Then she leaned down and whispered close enough that her breath warmed my ear.
"Don't let anyone here scare you. They're loud because they're insecure."
I almost laughed.
Almost.
She straightened, waved at Nerissa, and strode out like the world made room for her without being asked.
The moment she left, the hall got louder.
Or maybe my ears just stopped filtering it.
Nerissa tapped the counter lightly. "Come on, trainee," she said. "Let's keep you from getting trampled."
I followed her along the wall, eyes drifting back to hands as we passed the quest board. Parchments fluttered in rows, corners curled from being read too often. I caught words like lost cat, broken fence, rat infestation.
Without thinking, I lifted a finger. "Those… are those what I'll do?"
"Eventually." Nerissa guided me toward a quieter hallway. "Your rank means you're not fighting anything. G-minus means errands. Carrying. Deliveries. Helping at the guild."
"It's the bottom," she added, matter-of-fact.
I winced. The word bottom landed like Barrek's laugh.
Nerissa glanced back, reading me even when I didn't want to be read. "Bottom isn't bad," she said. "Bottom is where you learn. People who jump too fast usually don't come back."
I swallowed. "Myrina said she's C-rank."
"She's earned it." Nerissa didn't make it sound dramatic. Just true.
"How long does it take to—"
Nerissa lifted a hand, stopping me gently. "Not today."
Then, with a small smile that said she'd done this more times than she could count:
"Today you learn how to exist here without fainting."
"I don't faint," I muttered, because apparently I collected lies.
"Mm-hm." Her smile said she'd heard that from ten boys and seven girls. "First…"
She paused at a door.
"…the class."
Nerissa pushed it open.