The great hall was, of course, enormous.
I mean, what else was it going to be?
These elves didn't do 'small and practical'.
Every single thing was designed to make you feel like an ant.
Massive columns spiraled up into the gloom like god-legs.
Glowing moss on the walls cast a soft light that made everything look like a high-end loading screen.
It was impressive, I guess.
If you were into that sort of thing.
To me, it just looked like a pain in the ass to keep clean.
Yael was walking beside me, and I could practically feel the irritation rolling off her.
Her new elven body was made for graceful movement, but inside, she was still my stupid brother.
"This is stupid," she hissed, her voice low enough that only I could hear.
"Look at all these idiots."
She nodded towards the lines of elven nobles watching us.
They were all decked out in flowing silks and shiny jewelry.
Zero defense stats.
Purely cosmetic gear.
And every single one of them was staring.
Well, mostly at me.
The women had that dazed, googly-eyed look.
The men just looked annoyed.
My maxed-out Charisma was really messing with the local social dynamics.
"They look like they're about to ask for my autograph or try to stab me," I muttered back.
"Maybe both."
"I'd vote for stabbing," Yael grumbled.
"At least that would be interesting."
She tugged at the leather tunic they'd given her.
"I hate this."
"Everyone's so… quiet."
"They're probably trying not to breathe in my charming personality."
Up ahead, on a raised platform, was the throne.
And on the throne sat the King.
He wasn't what I expected.
I was picturing some grand, imposing figure with a chandelier for a crown.
Instead, the Elven King was… simple.
He was ancient, that much was clear.
His silver hair pooled on the floor, and his face was like cracked porcelain.
But his eyes… his eyes were sharp.
They weren't looking at my face.
They were looking right through me, like he was reading my character sheet.
No fawning admiration.
No suspicion.
Just a calm, deep intelligence.
It was unnerving.
This guy wasn't just a quest-giver NPC.
He was the server admin.
Standing to the right of the throne, straight as a statue, was Gandalf.
He wore his scuffed leather armor even here, looking completely out of place, and he clearly didn't give a damn.
His grey eyes met mine for a second and he gave a single, barely perceptible nod.
It wasn't friendly.
It was an acknowledgment.
You showed up. Good.
We stopped at the base of the platform.
The silence in the hall was absolute.
I felt like I was in a cutscene I couldn't skip.
The King leaned forward.
"So," he said.
His voice was quiet, but it carried through the hall like he was whispering in everyone's ear.
"You are the newcomers."
"Prince, and Yael."
He said our names like he was testing them.
"We are," I said.
My voice sounded too loud.
"The ones who made such a… memorable entrance into our village."
A few of the nobles shifted.
Lyra was in the back.
She wouldn't meet my eyes.
"I have read the reports," the King continued, his gaze unwavering.
"I have spoken with Captain."
He gestured toward Gandalf.
"He tells me a story that is difficult to believe."
"He tells me that an Ogre Juggernaut, a beast that killed a dozen of my best warriors, was felled."
"Not by a company of soldiers."
"But by two strangers, dressed in leaves, in a guesthouse."
His eyes narrowed, and I felt a weird pressure in my mind.
"He tells me you, Prince, possess a destructive power he has not seen in a hundred years."
"And he tells me you, Yael, move with a speed and ferocity that saved your companion's life, even when grievously wounded."
He paused.
"But that is not the part of the story that interests me most."
My eyebrows went up.
That wasn't?
That was the coolest part.
"What interests me," the King said, a flicker of something sharp in his ancient eyes, "is the coordination."
"The Juggernaut was an elite foe."
"A boss, you might call it."
My blood ran cold.
Did he just…?
No.
It had to be a coincidence.
"Power alone would not have been enough," the King went on.
"Gandalf's report speaks of tactics."
"Of distraction."
"Of exploiting a weakness."
"It speaks of a kiter and a cannon."
"It speaks of a partnership so ingrained that you moved and fought as one."
He leaned back.
"That is a rare thing."
"And in these times, it is a resource we cannot afford to waste."
The air in the room grew heavy.
This was it.
The quest prompt.
"The Ogre threat is growing," the King said, his voice turning grim.
"They are pushing into our lands."
"My armies fight them on the front lines, but they are a hammer."
"Sometimes what is needed is a scalpel."
He looked right at me.
"I see in you… a scalpel."
My mind was racing.
This was something bigger than a fetch quest.
"Therefore," the King declared, his voice ringing with authority, "I am making you an offer."
"I will sponsor you."
"I will provide you with funds, with equipment, and with the authority of the crown."
My jaw almost dropped.
Yael shot me a look of pure shock.
"I want you to create your own warrior clan," the King announced.
The entire court gasped.
Even Gandalf looked surprised.
"A small, elite, fast-response unit."
"A company loyal only to the throne, led by you, Commander Prince."
He was offering me a guild.
He was giving me a goddamn guild charter.
My gamer brain, the part of me that had spent years dreaming of this, completely took over.
The fear, the confusion—it all melted away.
This was a game I knew how to play.
"Your mission will be to protect the kingdom," the King finished.
"To go where my soldiers cannot."
"What say you?"
I didn't even have to think about it.
"We accept," I said, my voice steady.
The King smiled, a faint, ancient expression.
"Excellent."
He was about to say more, but a deep, gruff voice cut through the air.
"Your Majesty, if I may."
It was Gandalf.
He took one step forward, his hand on his axe.
His gaze wasn't on the King.
It was locked on me.
The annoyance I'd seen in the village was gone.
The shock from the guesthouse was gone.
What was left was the look a veteran gives a new recruit who just survived his first firefight.
A look that says, You're not dead yet. Don't get cocky.
"The King has made his offer," Gandalf said, his voice a low growl.
"And you have accepted."
"So let me be the one to officially welcome you."
He took another step forward, his boots making a heavy sound on the floor.
"Welcome to the war."
His words were like a bucket of ice water.
"This isn't a game," he said, his grey eyes boring into mine.
"There are no respawn points here."
"The King talks of scalpels and shadows."
"I will talk of mud, and blood, and the screams of dying men."
He stopped right in front of me.
"You think you're a leader now?" he snarled, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"You haven't led anything."
"You think you're a warrior?"
"You've won one fight."
"The King's word is law."
"You will have your clan."
"You will have your mission."
"But know this."
"Your life of peace is over."
"From this moment on, you are a soldier."
"You will be tested."
"You will be pushed until you break."
"And if you are not strong enough, you will die."
He stared me down for one final, intense second.
"Welcome to the war, Commander Quinn."
And with that, he turned, gave a sharp nod to the King, and walked back to his post, leaving me standing in a silence that was heavier and more real than anything I had ever felt before.