Six months. Half a year.
That's how long it had been since Kael's last birthday, and in those six months, the roads had turned them into something sharper.
By now, at seventeen and a half, Kael had walked more than a dozen nations' worth of soil. They had fought alongside strangers, slept under trees, and left behind footprints on paths that even locals didn't dare use. Every party changed, every group dissolved after a handful of missions, and that was fine with them.
What hadn't changed was the way the Guild started looking at them differently.
---
It happened during a mission that, on paper, had been unremarkable: an escort job through the foothills of a crumbling mining region. The danger was low, the pay modest, but they took it because most of the roads had been abandoned and people still needed to cross.
They didn't know what was waiting in those tunnels.
---
The party at the time consisted of five adventurers: Kael, a pair of older Branch-ranked fighters, a healer, and a Trunk-ranked mage named Farven who was supposed to guide them through the terrain.
What they walked into wasn't a caravan run. It was a nest.
Creatures had hollowed out the mines, and the air inside was damp and foul, heavy with the scent of decay. The sounds—skittering in the walls—never stopped.
---
By the third tunnel, they were surrounded.
Farven's spells bought them minutes, but he burned through his mana fast. The fighters were bleeding, their swords shaking in tired hands. Kael could feel the panic coming off everyone else like heat.
"Walls," one of the fighters gasped, "we need walls between us and them—"
Farven collapsed before he could raise another spell.
---
Kael stepped forward.
"Hold the line," they said. They weren't asking.
They planted their staff into the ground, feeling the stone under their boots, and whispered the haiku they had been refining for months—one they had never cast in front of anyone.
> "Stone beneath my hand.
Shift and bind at my command.
Close the way we stand."
The air vibrated, low and deep, like the earth itself was drawing breath. And then, the walls moved.
---
Rocks surged like water, sealing passages and forming barriers. The creatures screamed as their routes were cut off.
The others stared at them like they'd just pulled lightning out of the sky, but Kael didn't look back. They poured everything into keeping the walls firm, every word of the haiku carved into the shape of the stone.
When it was over, the tunnels were silent.
They dragged Farven out into the light. Alive.
---
The Guild review was immediate and thorough. They questioned everyone, studied the reports, and by the time the assessment was over, they came to a single conclusion:
Without Kael, the party wouldn't have survived.
---
The rank-up was formal, recorded with an ink stamp and a scroll.
From Branch to Trunk.
Kael accepted the scroll, signed the ledger, and left without ceremony. The others celebrated in a nearby tavern, but they weren't interested in praise. All they wanted was to keep moving.
---
The change was immediate. Trunk-ranked adventurers were trusted with more difficult missions. The Guild gave them new routes, longer contracts, and more dangerous companions.
And with the new rank came new eyes. People noticed them now—not just their curse, but the way they worked. The way they used spells others didn't know.
Whispers followed them out of Guild halls. Some admiring, some suspicious.
---
That same season, they met Veylan, the archer who would change how Kael thought about the world for the rest of these six months.
They were assigned to a job to clear wyvern nests along the jagged cliffs of a southern border. It was work that required perfect aim: one mistake, and the nests would collapse, sending dozens of half-grown wyverns into the valley below.
Veylan was older by several years, but he had a grin like a boy who hadn't yet learned fear.
---
On the second day, as Kael held a wind pattern steady for the ropes, Veylan climbed up beside them, boots scraping rock.
"Never thought I'd see a fresh Trunk doing this instead of standing back casting fire," Veylan said. His grin was easy.
"You'd rather I throw fire near all this dry brush?" Kael asked.
"Fair point," Veylan said, laughing.
---
Over the next weeks, they learned each other's rhythms. Veylan's bow sang while Kael shaped the wind. Together, they dismantled nest after nest, precision making up for the fact that they didn't have the numbers to rush it.
In the quiet moments between, Kael asked questions about the way he aimed.
"You don't fight the wind," Veylan told them. "You listen to it. People think arrows are about control. They're not. They're about letting the air choose."
---
It was a simple lesson, but it stuck with them.
Maybe magic was the same.
---
When the mission ended, Veylan gripped their forearm and said, "You've got something in you, Kael. Don't let the Guild grind it down."
Kael didn't promise. They just nodded. And Veylan went his way.
---
By the end of these six months, Kael was no longer the Branch-ranked fighter who had walked into those tunnels. They were stronger, sharper, and, for the first time, starting to feel the weight of being noticed.
But this was only the first mark. Another was waiting before the next rotation ended—a trial that would demand everything Trunk rank had to give.
---
Kael's next rotation began with something they hadn't seen before: three separate adventuring parties combined into a single, larger force.
The Guild called it a "multi-party contract," though everyone knew what it really was: a trial.
There had been increasing reports of massive predators raiding the farms on the southern fringe of a mid-tier nation. The attacks had left deep gouges in stone walls, entire barns collapsed, and trails of blood that led into the rocky canyons that cut through the region.
Too dangerous for a single party, the Guild sent three.
---
Kael stood in the courtyard on the morning they left, staff resting across their back. Their group had been assigned as the third party. Two fighters, a shieldbearer, a healer, and them.
The other parties were already waiting:
A disciplined northern team led by a high-ranked veteran with a halberd.
A looser, rougher band out of the lowlands, loud and confident in their numbers.
It was the kind of job where egos could get someone killed.
Kael kept to themself.
---
The three groups met at the mouth of the canyon, the wind whistling like something alive between the stone walls.
Tracks were everywhere—clawed footprints as wide as their hand, torn patches of soil.
The Guild's goal was simple: track whatever was hunting the region and eliminate it.
---
For two days, they moved deeper into the canyon, sleeping in shifts, leaving markers behind so they could find their way back. The rougher group made jokes at night; the northern veterans said little.
On the third morning, the canyon walls began to narrow. Kael felt it first—the strange weight in the air. It was subtle, but it made the skin on their arms prickle.
---
"Something's wrong," they said quietly to their own party's shieldbearer.
The man, named Laran, had been in enough battles to listen when someone sounded that certain. "Spread the word."
---
They came to the mouth of a dead-end bowl-shaped canyon, and that was when they saw it.
At first, it looked like a line of boulders piled along the far wall. Then the boulders moved.
A head lifted, jaws gaping wide. Scaled hide like armor. Eyes that gleamed with a strange red heat.
And there wasn't one. There were three.
---
The predators had been lairing together.
The lead party's commander shouted for a formation. Everyone scrambled, weapons and magic at the ready.
Kael felt their pulse slow—not quicken—as they fell back into the rhythm they'd trained for.
---
The creatures charged.
Laran slammed his shield into the earth, holding the line. Arrows and magic lit up the canyon.
Kael pulled in wind, shaping it into barriers that redirected the first leap, throwing the beast just far enough off course to give the melee fighters a chance to strike.
---
For a few minutes, the formation held.
But then one of the beasts crashed into the rougher group's flank, scattering them. Someone screamed. The line began to fold inward.
Kael saw the shieldbearer go down and knew that if no one filled that gap, the beast would rip through the middle.
---
They didn't think.
They stepped forward, slamming their staff into the ground.
> "Stand, unbroken wall.
Stone rise high and do not fall.
Hold us through it all."
The spell pulled the very ground up, forming a barrier high enough to block the monster's charge. The impact sent a shudder through Kael's arms and legs, but the line held.
---
The high-ranked leader shouted something, pointing with his halberd.
Two of the northern fighters surged into the gap behind Kael's wall, slashing in synchronized arcs. The beast stumbled, its side torn open.
Kael shifted, reshaping the barrier, guiding it to force the creature back. The cost was high—they could feel their mana draining fast—but they held it steady.
---
The second beast lunged at their flank. Kael turned in time to throw another spell, wind and stone together:
> "Wind and earth entwine.
Twist and force this path to mine.
Turn, and break your spine."
The ground cracked upward like a jagged spear, sending the beast tumbling sideways into the canyon wall.
---
The third beast, the largest, came straight for them.
Kael stood their ground, heart hammering. I can't hold all three. Not alone.
And then, over the roar of the fight, a whistle—sharp, clean.
An arrow streaked past their shoulder, sinking deep into the creature's eye.
Kael didn't have to look to know who had fired it.
---
Veylan, bow drawn, shouted from the far side of the canyon. "Didn't think you'd last this long without me, did you?"
---
The beast howled, jerking back in pain. Kael used that moment, every drop of remaining strength, to bring their wall crashing forward. Stone crushed scale with a thunderous crack.
The creature fell and didn't rise again.
---
By the time the last beast fell, the canyon was silent except for the sound of ragged breathing. Dust hung in the air.
Kael leaned on their staff, exhausted, every muscle in their body shaking from the strain. They had used more mana in that fight than in any mission before.
---
When they returned to the Guild annex days later, the assessors didn't hesitate.
The reports were clear. Their spells had saved the formation twice, kept the beasts from breaking through, and shaped the battlefield in a way that made victory possible.
---
This was their second mark:
Kael had ranked up.
From Trunk to Ironbark.
---
The announcement was read aloud in the hall, and this time, people turned to stare—not just at their curse, but at the staff-wielding figure who had done what should have been impossible for someone their age.
---
They left the hall before the celebration could begin. Veylan caught up with them outside, clasping their forearm again.
"Next time," the archer said with a grin, "try not to almost get crushed before I arrive."
Kael just nodded, a faint smile pulling at their lips.
---
The Guild annex felt smaller after the ceremony.
Kael stood outside, leaning on the railing of the upper balcony, staring at the dust that swirled through the city streets below. Inside, the others celebrated, voices raised in laughter and pride.
They weren't sure what they felt.
Exhaustion, mostly. And a sharp awareness that every rank-up only meant that the weight on their shoulders grew heavier.
---
Veylan came up the stairs behind them. Kael knew by the sound of his boots before he spoke.
"You don't like crowds," Veylan said.
"I like quiet more," Kael answered.
---
The archer leaned on the railing beside them, stretching his long arms. "They're all in there talking about how you turned the canyon floor into a wall. Never seen anything like it."
"I had to," Kael said simply.
"Most people would have waited for someone else to do it."
"I'm not most people."
---
Veylan laughed. "That's the truth."
For a while, they just stood there, looking out over the city.
"You're Ironbark now," Veylan said at last. "That means harder missions. Longer routes. Fewer people willing to take you lightly."
Kael nodded. "I know."
"And more people watching," Veylan added, his tone careful. "Not all of them because they admire you."
---
Kael glanced at him. "You think I don't notice?"
"I think you notice too much," Veylan said with a grin. "It's a wonder you sleep at all."
---
Kael smirked despite themself. "When I sleep, I dream of roads."
"What kind?"
"The kind no one else has walked yet."
---
The conversation fell into a thoughtful quiet. Below them, the merchants were closing their stalls for the night, folding cloth awnings and sweeping dust out of their doorways.
"I won't be in your rotation for a while," Veylan said finally. "North routes for me after this. Cold, flat, and nothing but wind for weeks."
"And you're happy about that?" Kael asked.
"It means I can listen to the wind again," Veylan said with a shrug. "I like listening."
---
Kael thought of what Veylan had said back on the cliffs, about not fighting the wind. Letting it guide the arrow.
Maybe magic really was the same. And maybe, if they were careful, they could learn to listen better—to what the mana wanted to do instead of just shaping it.
---
"You'll be fine," Veylan said. "I'll hear about you even if I don't see you."
"And I'll hear your arrows before I see you," Kael said.
---
After Veylan left, Kael stayed at the railing for a long while, watching the city lights flicker as the sun dipped below the horizon.
Inside, the Guild's celebration roared on. They turned their back to it and walked away.
---
Over the next several weeks, the road became even less forgiving. Ironbark-ranked missions meant bigger monsters, heavier consequences, and longer stretches between safety.
They kept moving, never staying with the same party for more than three contracts. It wasn't just habit now—it was necessary.
The higher they climbed, the more dangerous it became to be predictable.
---
They also noticed the way Guild evaluators began to talk around them, as though they thought they couldn't hear.
"Another young one with strange magic," someone whispered as they passed.
"They'll want them on watch lists soon," said another.
---
Kael ignored them.
If there was one thing the road had taught them, it was that listening mattered more than answering.
---
At night, they practiced alone.
They didn't push themself as recklessly as they had in the canyon, but they kept refining, rewording spells to be cleaner, sharper. Sometimes they'd write a spell a dozen times before they dared cast it.
They paid close attention to what drained their mana and what didn't. And they started to realize that precision could be more powerful than force.
---
In their notebook, they wrote:
Stop forcing spells.
Guide them instead.
Like wind on an arrow.
---
A letter from home caught up with them in a mid-sized Guild hall about a month after the rank-up. It was short—their father's careful handwriting saying they were proud of them, but to remember that danger follows those who stand out.
They read it twice before folding it neatly and tucking it back into their pack.
---
One night, as they rested beneath an open sky, they realized that they could no longer count how many countries they had been through. They were keeping mental notes—how adventurers were treated, how the people lived, how they spoke.
Every nation had its own dangers, but the Guild was everywhere. A net stretched over the continent. A net that now knew their name.
---
This chapter of their path was clear now.
The Branch-ranked fighter who had walked into a nest of tunnels had become a Trunk-ranked shield against collapse.
The Trunk-ranked fighter who stood their ground in a canyon had become Ironbark.
---
They knew the next steps wouldn't get easier.
But Kael had chosen this road, long before they had even set foot on it.
---
Somewhere north, they knew Veylan's arrows were flying through the wind. Somewhere, Mirek was still trying to understand why Kael's magic worked the way it did. And somewhere ahead, a storm was waiting that even Ironbark might not be enough to stand against.
---
Kael closed their notebook, tightened the strap of their staff, and moved on.
The road didn't wait for anyone.