The next six months blurred into a rhythm of dust and faces.
Every few weeks, Kael switched parties. Sometimes they joined a group for one quest, sometimes for two, never more than three. By now, the Guild network knew Kael's habit: a Sapling who preferred to move like the wind, learning and leaving, always seeking the next lesson.
And in those six months, Kael learned plenty.
---
Some of those lessons came from Elira.
She found Kael again in a mid-tier trading city, sitting on the wide stone steps outside a Guild hall. "Still alive," she said, her voice calm but warmer than Kael expected.
Kael looked up. "Elira."
"You're taller," she said. "And you've got more scars."
Kael glanced down at their arms. "Hazard of the work."
---
Elira was still traveling with Thom, but Brask had gone his own way after another contract pulled him further west. For a moment, Kael considered moving on. Then Elira said, "We could use you for a while."
It wasn't an order. It was an invitation. And Kael accepted.
---
Working with Elira again was different. The first time they'd met, Kael had been fresh, cautious, figuring out the rules. Now, they moved with a calm certainty that made Elira raise an eyebrow once or twice during their missions.
"You've learned," she said after their first fight, watching him wipe blood off the end of his staff.
"I watch people," Kael said.
"You do more than watch. You listen."
---
The jobs they took over those months were varied: escorting trade caravans through bandit territory, investigating a collapsed mine where echoes of strange voices had been reported, helping a farmer drive off beasts that had made a den under his barn.
In each case, Kael adapted fast. They fought with patience, careful not to overextend. More importantly, they used what the others in the party could do—letting Elira's wind spells create openings, timing strikes with Thom's shield bashes. They weren't just another fighter. They were part of the machine.
---
But this half-year wasn't just about fighting.
Elira noticed Kael spent almost every evening after camp was set with a notebook and a piece of charcoal, scribbling quietly.
"Keeping a journal?" she asked one night.
"Notes," Kael said without looking up.
"On what?"
"People. Tactics. Spells."
Elira tilted her head. "You learning magic?"
"A little."
"You don't strike me as the type who likes sitting still."
"I don't," Kael admitted. "But if I can understand how spells work, maybe I can use them better when it matters."
---
In these six months, Kael's relationship with mana changed.
At first, they simply copied what they saw: repeating haiku they had been taught, using just enough mana to trigger simple effects—small gusts of wind, a faint barrier.
But repetition did something. The more they used it, the more they felt mana as a thread in the air. And every time Karl drained themselves a little, the thread stretched wider. It was as if their body was learning to carry more with each pull.
There was a limit, though. Kael discovered it the hard way one night when Kael pushed too far, chasing that expanding sense of power. They woke up the next morning dizzy and unable to stand until Thom forced them to eat and drink.
"That's mana depletion," Thom had said bluntly. "Do that again, you won't wake up."
Kael listened. Kael adjusted. But they didn't stop practicing.
---
By the end of the sixth month, Kael had gone further than before.
He'd crossed a mountain range into a country where the snow fell even in spring. He'd walked through marshlands that swallowed sound, where even the air felt heavy with secrets. He'd learned that in every city, no matter how different, the Guild hall had the same smell of worn paper, steel, and a faint trace of chalk dust.
And in every city, someone was starting to recognize the Sapling with the staff who worked with everyone and no one.
---
On the last night before they split, Elira approached Kael as Kael cleaned their staff near a fire.
"You've changed," she said simply.
Kael glanced up. "In six months?"
"It doesn't take long, if you pay attention," Elira said. "You pay attention."
Kael smiled faintly. "I have to."
---
The next morning, they parted ways at a crossroads. Thom and Elira had another job heading west. Kael was heading north.
"Kael," Elira said as they prepared to leave. "You'll rank up soon. Saplings don't stay Saplings forever."
"I know," Kael said.
"Don't rush it," she warned. "You're building something solid. Keep doing that."
Kael nodded. They didn't say thank you, but it was in the way they looked at her before turning down the northern road.
---
At sixteen, Kael was still a Sapling, but no longer new.
There was a steel in their steps now. The work wasn't just survival anymore. It was becoming something else—a way of shaping themselves into someone who could stand wherever the world decided to push back.
---
The northern country was harsher than Kael expected.
Not cruel, exactly—just demanding. Long stretches of dry grass gave way to rocky terrain, where the wind came screaming down valleys with a force that could strip the breath from your lungs. Even the Guild annexes here were smaller, little more than cabins that stood against the wind because they had nowhere else to stand.
Kael's days fell into the same rhythm as before: new party, new job, move on. It wasn't exciting in the glamorous way people imagined adventuring to be. Most of it was mud, tired feet, and meals cooked too fast over a flame that barely caught.
But even here, the work taught them things.
---
One job brought them to a town that was barely more than a cluster of homes built around a single tall windmill. They were tasked with clearing a beast nest that had made its home in a network of abandoned cellars.
The fight itself wasn't complicated—small, fast creatures with sharp teeth and little sense—but what stuck with Kael was the way their current party worked.
A quick-sworded scout darted in to harry the beasts. Two shield-bearers pressed forward, cutting off escape routes. The archer and mage moved with perfect rhythm, arrows and spells crossing like threads of a net.
Kael fit himself into their movement almost without thinking, sliding in to block openings and redirect the flow. By the end, the scout gave a low whistle.
"You don't fight like a Sapling," the scout said. "You fight like someone who's been doing this for years."
Kael shrugged. "I just pay attention."
---
After the fight, the scout lingered for a moment. "Ever think of sticking with a group for longer?"
"Not yet," Kael said. "There's still too much to learn."
The scout nodded, understanding. "Fair. But if you ever get tired of floating around, look for us. We wouldn't mind a permanent spot."
Kael offered a rare small smile at that. "I'll think about it."
---
In another town, a smith recognized the Guild badge as Kael approached.
"You're the one who helped clear out Hollow's tunnel down south, aren't you?"
Kael paused. "Yes."
"Word of that's been going around," the smith said. "Not many Saplings would stand their ground there."
Kael thanked them quietly and moved on, but it stuck with them. The Guild remembered.
---
With every quest, Kael's understanding of people deepened. They learned to read the subtle changes in a teammate's breathing that meant exhaustion. They noticed the way a mage's voice tightened when their mana reserves were close to empty. They could tell, just by how a shield-bearer adjusted their stance, whether they were about to push forward or hold their ground.
All of it went into the notebook every night, a growing record of how the world moved.
---
Magic stayed part of Kael's nightly practice. They stuck to simple spells—wind, a shield, sometimes a pulse of light—but each one added a little more precision to how they thought about mana.
The sensation of it was becoming clearer. At first, it had been like fumbling in the dark with cold hands. Now, it was more like reaching into a shallow stream and feeling the current move against their fingers.
They discovered they could draw a little from the air around them, just a thin thread. Not enough to replace their own mana, but enough to extend a spell for a few seconds more. It wasn't something they could risk in battle yet, but it was something.
---
One cold evening, they were camped with a temporary party beside a half-frozen creek. The fire was low, wind battering their tents, but Kael was still practicing. They drew a line in the air with the staff and whispered the haiku for a small barrier.
The shield appeared—a thin wall of rippling light that lasted a heartbeat longer than it had a month ago.
One of the party, a tired-looking archer, sat up from their bedroll and stared. "You're not a mage," they said. "How are you doing that?"
"Practice," Kael said simply.
"Doesn't tire you out?"
"It does," Kael admitted. "But less every time."
The archer let out a low laugh. "You're insane."
Kael smiled slightly. "Maybe."
---
By the time winter began to break, Kael was starting to feel the strain of constant travel. Not in a way that made them slow, but in a way that made them aware of how far they had come from the river trail near home.
The annexes had started to treat them differently, too. Saplings weren't normally sought out for advice, but the last few offices Kael had visited had younger adventurers asking questions—about routes, about how to handle their first real fight, about what it was like working with so many different parties.
Kael never said much. Just enough to give them what they needed and let them find the rest for themselves. But Kael realized, one night as they packed their bag, that this was what growth looked like: not just surviving, but leaving something behind for the next person.
---
As the sixth month drew to an end, Kael stood on the edge of a town where the spring melt had turned the road into a river of mud. The Guild hall here was larger than most, its wooden beams carved with symbols of protection.
Inside, the clerk looked at him, at the record of missions, and at the signatures from parties he'd worked with. Then she leaned back in her chair.
"You know," she said, "if you keep working at this pace, you won't be a Sapling much longer. You've earned a test."
Kael tilted his head. "A test?"
"To see if you're ready for Branch," the clerk said. "You'll find out soon enough."
---
Kael stood at the edge of the practice ring, staff in hand, listening as the evaluators explained the rules.
The Guild hall felt different today. No longer just a place for contracts and quiet meals, it seemed larger, older, like the beams themselves were watching. Sunlight streamed through a high window, cutting the ring in half with a blade of light.
The hall was full but hushed. Other adventurers, both Saplings and higher ranks, leaned against the walls, watching. Not to cheer or jeer—just to see if this one would make it.
Every few breaths, Kael caught someone's eyes and then looked away. They weren't here for the others. This test was theirs.
---
The rules were simple, but they carried weight:
Demonstrate judgment.
Demonstrate control.
Demonstrate adaptability.
This was not about victory. It was about showing you could think when the chaos closed in.
---
Kael's fingers tightened on the staff.
It wasn't fear. Not exactly. It was an awareness of how much stood behind this moment.
A year and a half of changing parties.
The boy they'd carried out of a cage.
Elira's words about patience.
Every night spent training until their muscles screamed and the stars blurred.
All of it came here. To this ring.
---
Somewhere near the back, Ryn stood. When Kael's gaze flicked to him, he gave a single nod. Not encouragement, not warning. Just… acknowledgment.
Kael let out a slow breath.
---
The evaluators conferred with one another, speaking too low for Kael to hear. Then one of them—a tall man with a braided beard—turned to Kael and said, "You've got three opponents today. Us. You will not defeat us. That isn't the point. The point is to show us why you should no longer wear the Sapling badge."
Kael nodded. "I understand."
"Good," the man said.
---
The three stepped into the ring, their movements practiced, unhurried. The rest of the hall fell silent, the kind of silence that pressed down on the skin.
Kael rolled their shoulders, feeling the familiar weight of the staff settle against their palms. For just a moment, everything else faded—the sound of boots on the boards, the shifting light, even the tension in their chest.
---
Kael drew one last breath and set their stance.
The world narrowed to the circle. To them, and to Kael.
Kael could feel the coming storm in their posture. They hadn't struck yet, but Kael knew it was close.
---
From somewhere behind Kael, Kael thought they heard a voice murmur, "There it is—that look. That's someone who's ready."
---
The man with the braided beard raised his hand to signal the start.
Kael's grip tightened.
The test was about to begin.