Kaelen stepped out into the morning light, the Guild doors shutting behind him with a heavy click. The air down by the East Docks was damp but warmer than the night before, thick with the scent of brine, tar, and something faintly metallic that always clung to Brassrest's waterfront.
He didn't head straight back in. Instead, his boots carried him toward the market strip that clung to the dockside like barnacles, a haphazard run of stalls wedged between warehouse walls and moored hulls. Dockside law was looser here; the Guild had jurisdiction, sure, but the Enforcers weren't going to waste time on petty trade disputes or stall tax cheats. That was left to the Dockmasters and whatever muscle they paid to keep order.
A vendor called out over the din, holding a skewer of something smoking and charred at the edges. "Fresh off the grill! Don't ask what it is!"
Kaelen smirked despite himself and fished out two low-mark coins from his pocket, thin stamped bronze, worn almost smooth. Marks were the bottom of Brassrest's coinage ladder, followed by silvers, then crowns. Marks were for dockside meals, silvers for rent, and Crowns for the kind of people who never worried about the first two. They came in coin or paper for the larger denominations, not that Kaelen had ever seen any of the big ones.
He handed the coins over and got the skewer in return.
The meat was salty, just shy of tough, but the heat felt good in his hands. He leaned against a rust-stained rail overlooking the water, watching the tide nudge a string of fishing skiffs toward the deeper berths. Behind him, merchants argued over crate tallies, gulls screamed from the rigging, and a dockhand cursed as a spark-driven winch sputtered mid-lift, runes flickering before catching again.
Two months with SkyStep, and now this… whatever it was. He'd been through Guild questioning before, every Courier had, sooner or later, but never with a Warden in the room. And never with a rune like that burning behind his eyes.
They'd be watching him now. Maybe not openly, but the Guild's eyes didn't blink.
Lying low? That was an option… but it would also look like hiding. And hiding meant guilt, at least to the people paid to see it.
Better to stay visible. Keep taking jobs. Keep moving.
The idea settled into his chest like a stone. Work was the best kind of camouflage. People remembered couriers for being fast and reliable, not for having complicated personal lives. He'd keep his head down, let the days stack up, and if anyone looked his way, they'd see a man doing his job.
That was the safe choice.
And the safe choice kept him alive.
He finished the skewer, flicking the last gristly bite into the water. The ripples spread, catching the pale morning light like quicksilver.
The Guild might still be sorting out last night's mess, but the East Docks branch would have jobs posted. And jobs meant pay… and pay meant options.
And Kaelen liked having options.
He pushed off the rail, weaving back into the flow of dockside traffic.
Time to get back to work.
The East Docks branch was still busy when Kaelen stepped back inside, the sound of voices and shuffling boots filling the hall. The air smelled faintly of ink and the sharp tang of charged stone from the Spark lamps.
Lira was still at the counter, quill in hand. She looked up as he approached, one brow arching.
"Back again? Didn't think I'd see you for at least an hour after getting hauled off by the Warden."
Kaelen gave her his best deadpan. "I missed you."
She smirked. "Sure. So… what was that about? You in trouble?"
He leaned an elbow on the counter. "If I was, would I be telling you?"
"Probably not," she said, "but I'd get it out of you eventually." She set the quill aside and leaned forward slightly. "Seriously, what happened?"
"Routine questions," he said lightly, though the knot in his stomach from earlier hadn't fully gone. "Nothing worth writing up in your gossip ledger."
Lira made a face. "Boring. I was hoping for something like you taking down a rogue Awakened with nothing but your charm and a bread knife."
Kaelen snorted. "Charm, maybe. Bread knife's overkill."
That earned a small laugh from her before she reached under the counter and slid over a small cloth pouch with a folded paper slip tucked into the tie.
"Here. Payment for yesterday's run, five silvers and a crown." Standard rate for a courier job."
Kaelen took it, weighing the pouch before tucking the paper note into his jacket. Notes had been in circulation for decades now, backed by the Guild and government's own treasuries and used in every major city. Crowns in coin were still more common in the Docks, but paper was easier to carry, and harder to get exact change for in the market.
"Remind me again why I'm the one running through the rain while everyone else gets paid first?" he said.
"Because you keep saying yes to jobs," she said sweetly. "Speaking of which," she gestured toward the mission board ", you going to take another one, or do you need to lie down after all that excitement?"
"Excitement's overrated," he said. "What's the fastest paying run you've got that doesn't involve teeth, claws, or a knife in my ribs?"
Before Lira could answer, a familiar voice called from one of the benches.
"Veris!"
Corren Talvek strode over, bronze badge glinting against his coat. "Heard you had a chat with the Warden. You finally screw something up?"
Kaelen glanced at Lira. "See? Gossip spreads on its own."
Corren was grinning in that way only Initiates could get away with, all swagger, no real malice.
"Don't tell me you've been holding out on us, Veris. What'd they want with you? Planning to drag you up a rank?"
Kaelen gave him a flat look. "Yeah, that's exactly it. I skipped half the ladder just to make you jealous."
Corren laughed, clapping him on the shoulder hard enough to jostle the pouch in his coat. "Careful, I might believe you. Some of us must work for our badges."
"Some of us," Kaelen said dryly, "also have to dodge rain, mud, and the occasional knife for a third of the pay."
"Occupational hazard," Corren said, already drifting toward the board. "Come on, I'm pulling a dockside escort later. Could use the company."
Kaelen shook his head. "I've had enough of escorts for a while. I'm looking for something quieter."
"That's because you're boring," Corren called over his shoulder, waving as he went to scan the listings.
Lira had been watching the exchange with an amused tilt to her head. "You two should just admit you're both friends and get it over with."
Kaelen raised a brow. "That's a dangerous rumour to start."
She chuckled, then tapped the ledger beside her. "So, Jobs. You know the rules, Couriers get what's marked in green, no exceptions. Initiate clearance or higher for anything yellow or red. You want bigger payouts, you know what you must do."
He didn't answer. They both knew what she meant: take a trial, risk his Soulfire, maybe come back with a better badge… or not at all.
Instead, he leaned forward to scan the list she slid across the counter. Short descriptions, payment amounts, and a pair of stamps on each, one for clearance, one for branch approval.
Most were simple enough: message runs, package pickups, document transfers. A few had hazard tags, usually meaning the sender or the route was in a less-than-friendly district.
Lira tapped one with her finger. "Here. Half-day run to Northeast ward, Scholar's Row, urgent delivery from the Clerk's House to the riverfront archives. Two crowns if you make it before the evening bell. One if you're late."
Kaelen considered it. "What's the catch?"
"Northeast Ward's been… noisy. Some merchants are complaining about overzealous tax checks. Nothing dangerous, just delays. Worst you'll face is an impatient clerk."
He nodded slowly. "I'll take it."
Lira flipped the ledger toward herself and dipped the quill into a pot of deep red ink. She wrote the job code in looping script, then slid a palm-sized slate toward him.
"Mark it."
Kaelen pressed his thumb to the shallow groove at the centre. The rune lines cut into the slate flared faint gold, reading the faint Spark trace tied to his Courier badge. The light pulsed once, and the etched text rearranged itself, his name, branch, clearance, and the job code filling the surface like water finding channels.
She handed him a small, flat token of polished brass stamped with the Guild's crest. "Your run marker. Shows you're on an active job if anyone stops you. Don't lose it, no token, no pay."
Kaelen slipped it into his coat. "What happens if I'm late?"
"You still get paid," she said, "just less. Unless you miss the window entirely, then the token locks and you pay the Guild instead. That's assuming they don't blacklist you for it."
He snorted. "Encouraging as always."
"Hey, I don't make the rules. Besides, you're not late often." She closed the ledger with a solid thump. "You've got until the third bell past noon. Go earn your two crowns."
He gave her a two-fingered salute and stepped away from the counter, weaving through the noise of the hall. A pair of Enforcers argued over a yellow-stamped contract by the notice wall; a young Initiate tried to haggle her way onto a caravan escort; somewhere near the back, the clang of a weapon test rang against the stone.
Outside, the Guild doors gave way to the sharp air of late morning. The streets were already crowding again, hawkers calling out deals, carriage wheels rumbling over cobbles, the acrid bite of a street forge somewhere nearby.