The sound of hammer striking metal resounded in the blacksmith forge as morning broke. There was a thick haze of iron dust, sweat, and smoke. An odor clung to the walls like a second hide.
The dwarf blacksmith scowled at me.
"Ay, you're fast," he growled. But I could tell he was pleased. On his workbench lay the object I'd been waiting for.
I took it up. Plain, unadorned, but with a weight that was right. A hollow vessel.
"Now," said the blacksmith, folding his arms, "you know what to do. Fill your mana. Let steel welcome you, or let steel reject you. No compromise."
I closed my eyes and laid my hand on the handle.
[Channel Flow]
Power poured out of me, strings of light intertwining into handle grooves. The metal drew it in greedily.
And then, with a soft whine, a thin, energy blade emerged to the surface, no longer than my forearm. It blazed with a molten silver light, quivering as if alive.
"Hah."
I rocked it. The blade flashed briefly, stabilizing.
"Not bad."
The dwarf's eyebrows leaped up under their thick thatch.
"It worked the first time for you, of course." He snorted and shoved me aside. "Take it. Better to get accustomed."
I nodded curtly. The blade reformed in the hilt, available once more to be called upon by me.
Outside, Alenya waited with her party members already assembled. I had never stood among them correctly in the past, and greetings were accompanied by the odd mix of new comrades making their first impression on each other.
Torren, the bearers of the shield, went first. His scar divided his nose, a glancing blow from a fight he had come out of, and his handshake was bone-jarring as he clasped mine. He bowed low enough to be half-taunting. "You've got the scholar's hand, not the warrior's. Let us hope you can keep pace."
I drew my hand back in a fluid motion before he could snap my bones in two with violence. "Meet me at the next beast tide."
He smiled, pleased with the response.
Sela, the archer gave no hello. She nodded curtly, only her eyes wrestling with mine in a way that wasn't threatening, but weighing. Always deciding where she'd send an arrow.
And then Bram. He wore the robes of a healer, though slouching slightly awry, as though he'd collapsed them over his shoulders after hurrying out of bed too late. A crooked smile tugged at his mouth and leaned him to one side. "Ah, so you're the boy who rescued Alenya's bacon from the fire, eh? That makes me the second most useful man in the party, I reckon. You'll excuse me if I don't bow, high-ranker."
Alenya shot me a challenging glance, as though daring me to condemn her clique. I once nodded and once in the seclusion of our rooms. "They'll do."
And we departed.
The ride to the city was not long, but space lingered between what was not said. Torren spoke it all out in words, jabs me with questions of strategy and monsters. Bram threw in a joke every now and again, always, it seemed, at the expense of Torren. Sela spoke very little in any event, but occasionally her eyes would dart in my direction with not distrust, but curiosity.
Before city gates were in sight, the sun was above. The walls rose above, constructed of ancient stone repaired in spots with newer fix. Merchants thronged the gate, shouting prices, gesturing with their wares, as guards questioned each crowd without interest.
Within, the streets were raucous, colourful. Roasting meat and the pungent odour of horse manure mixed in the air. A minstrel played a poorly played lute on a corner of an alley, and children played in and out among stalls.
We battled our way through to the Adventurer's Office, a three-story building with a crest above its entrance : a sword and staff above a shield. Sweeter within, the air was heavy with the smell of mana formations in walls.
The receptionist glanced up from behind the front desk, her face polite but weary. "How may I help you?"
Alenya stepped forward, posture straight. "We're here to inquire about guild registration."
The woman arched her brow, looking us over. An A-ranker with some other lowlifes. Her quill hovered over parchment. "Guild registration requires proof of stability. That means two things. One: at least one territory under your guild's name. Two: special contribution to the Adventurer's Office or to the kingdom."
"Special contribution?" Torren echoed, frowning.
The receptionist nodded. "Anything that leaves a mark significant enough to warrant recognition from the kingdom or the office. Clearing a monster nest, defending a major settlement, hunting a rare beast, or recovering lost artifacts. Such tasks prove that your guild will be worth the office's time."
Her eyes flicked up to us, as if to say: You're just another party dreaming too big.
Alenya's jaw tightened, but her voice was calm. "Then we'll take on such a task."
The receptionist studied her for a moment before nodding slowly. She slid a slip of parchment across the counter. "Then this is your first step. Complete it, and we'll talk again if there is any."
The parchment bore the office's seal, stamped in red. Alenya took it carefully.
We emerged from the office and onto the busy street. Torren softly whistled. "Special contribution, I notice. Sounds like they're weighing whether we're worth the lines of ink it would take to sign our names on paper."
Bram snarled. "Or they'd rather have us dead before they waste their paper."
Sela remained silent, though her hand did clench around her bowstring.
Alenya stood in front of me, her own eyes burning with the same determination she had displayed in Syrelle's Realm. "This is the start. We'll see it through."
I gazed at her once more, peaceful and unflappable. "Then steel yourself. The world does not make room for dreams until you do."