Trickster returned to his base, his steps heavy with exhaustion. The place was silent, lit only by the dim glow of a single lamp. Without a word, he began removing his armor — piece by piece, slowly, methodically. Each part hit the ground with a dull metallic thud.
When he was done, he stood before the mirror. For a moment, he just looked at himself — tired eyes staring back, breathing steady but drained.
He turned around, the faint light tracing the lines of his back — lean, sculpted, and marked by strength. His long white hair fell loosely over his shoulders, and his brown skin caught the dim glow, giving him an almost otherworldly presence.
It was late in the day.
Before him rose a massive mountain, its peak lost somewhere in the clouds. Other groups were already ascending, lifted by their mages' spells — floating platforms of light and wind carrying them upward with ease.
Trickster stood apart from them, silent. With no magic and no team to rely on, he simply reached for the nearest rock and began to climb — bare hands against stone, one step at a time.
He reached the top without a hint of strain, his breathing steady as ever. A few stretches to loosen his shoulders, a quiet glance at the view below — then he moved on, as if the climb had been nothing at all.
A vast field spread across the mountain's peak, alive with color and motion. Countless people and creatures of every kind mingled together; merchants called out from their food stalls, blacksmiths hammered away at armor, and traders displayed rare items gleaming under the sunlight. It was a place that seemed to have everything — from the essential to the utterly unnecessary.
This mountain belonged to the great Kingdom of Asterion, a realm known for its unyielding warriors and ancient traditions. Three noble guild families ruled its highest domain — the House of Valmere, the House of Dravencourt, and the House of Lysandar. Each commanded one of the underworld gates: Valmere governed the easy tier, Dravencourt reigned over the medium, and at the top stood Lysandar — the royal guild, entrusted with the hard-level underworld gates. Together, they formed the backbone of Asterion's strength, ensuring no darkness from below ever reached the kingdom above.
Trickster headed straight for House Lysandar. The guards at the gate recognized him instantly and stepped aside without a word. Inside, the grand hall was crowded — a long line of adventurers and mercenaries waiting their turn before the reception desk.
His turn finally came. Behind the desk sat two young attendants — a brother and sister, both carrying the quiet authority of their lineage.
The girl, Lyra Lysandar, carried herself with composed grace. Her silver eyes studied each adventurer like a judge weighing truth from lies, her voice calm but unyielding. Beside her sat Kael Lysandar, her opposite in every way — leaning back in his chair, smirking, his tone laced with confidence that bordered on arrogance.
They were the heirs of the House of Lysandar, children of the guild's master — the most powerful man in Asterion. Even in a crowded hall full of warriors and mercenaries, no one dared meet their gaze for long.
"So," Trickster said, his voice low and steady, "did an elf named Eleza come here and leave my reward?"
Lyra straightened, hands folded neatly on the desk. "Yes, sir — Trickster, right? She was here earlier and left your payment with us." Her tone was polite, almost overly formal.
Kael leaned forward with a teasing grin. "Oh? Since when do you call anyone sir, little sister? Don't tell me you're giving our infamous Trickster some special treatment?"
Lyra's cheeks flushed. "Wh—what are you talking about?! Don't listen to him, sir! He's just the guild's trained monkey. Anyway—yes, she was here, and she left your reward."
Kael chuckled. "Ouch. The monkey's feelings are hurt."
Trickster didn't bother to respond — just took the sealed pouch from Lyra's hand and turned away.
As Trickster turned to leave, Kael called out with a grin, "My little one, take care of my line too, will you?"
Lyra's eyes twitched. "Where are you going, monkey? Don't you dare say anything weird to him again!"
Kael only laughed, hopped down from the desk, and waved a lazy hand. "No promises."
"Hey, Trickster!" Kael shouted, catching up with him, still brimming with energy. "Why don't you say something to my cute little sister, huh? Everyone tries to flirt with her, but look at you—cold as ever. She shows you all that respect, and you can't even return a word? Poor girl!"
He was grinning from ear to ear, moving so animatedly he really did look like a monkey trying to get a reaction.
Trickster didn't even turn his head. "I have no interest in love life," he said flatly. "It's just unnecessary distraction."
Kael blinked, then laughed. "Man… you're no fun at all."
A deep, commanding voice rose from behind them.
"So, who's no fun at all… and why?"
Kael froze mid-laugh, his grin vanishing instantly. Slowly, he turned around, his voice cracking just a little. "A-ah… Father! Heh-heh, no one! We were just… uh… b-bing chilling, you know?"
The towering figure of Lord Lysandar stood there — calm, unreadable, yet his presence alone made the air feel heavier.
Trickster didn't wait for the conversation to continue. Without a word, he turned and walked away, his footsteps fading into the echo of the hall.
Lord Lysandar exhaled quietly, eyes following him. "That man… still hasn't changed his ways," he muttered, half to himself. Then his gaze shifted to Kael. "And you — back to work."
Kael straightened immediately. "Yes, Father."
"Wait."
Trickster stopped at the sound of Lord Lysandar's voice behind him. The guild master's heavy steps closed the distance quickly.
"The king's calling you to the castle," Lysandar said, his tone firm but edged with curiosity. "I don't know what you've done this time—or why His Majesty wants you personally—but before you go, child, try changing that attitude of yours. You know full well, if it weren't for me, you wouldn't even be allowed through the guild's gates. Not with your lack of power."
Trickster turned his head slightly, voice calm as ever. "I never asked for your favor. And I get my work done better than anyone here. You know that too."
Lysandar's brows furrowed. "You— Is this how you still talk to me?"
Before the tension could rise further, a soft, melodic voice cut through the air.
"Dear, you shouldn't talk to him like that."
A tall, graceful woman approached — her presence elegant yet commanding, with a kind smile that carried warmth even in the guild's cold marble hall.
She stepped closer, her voice soft as silk. Gently, she brushed a hand across Trickster's armor, setting one of the loosened plates back into place.
"You should consider our offer," she said kindly.
"You know very well," Trickster replied without looking up, his tone steady and detached, "I'm not going to become your adopted child. I've told you a thousand times — I have no interest in things like that."
He turned and walked away, his steps quiet but firm.
The woman let out a faint sigh, her hand resting over her chest as she watched him go."That child is so lonely," she murmured. "I wish we could welcome him into our family."
Lord Lysandar crossed his arms, watching Trickster's figure fade into the crowd.
"Nah," he said, shaking his head slightly. "That one's a lone wolf. He'll never work under anyone."