The air in the assessment chamber smelled faintly of ozone and old parchment, a sterile contrast to the humid, earthy scent of the summer morning Kian had left behind.
Sunlight, sliced into sharp geometric shapes by the high windows of the Central Guild Tower, dusted the polished obsidian floor where the prospective heroes stood.
Kian was leaning against a cool stone pillar, watching the last few examinees fail their basic aptitude test with predictable bursts of smoke and frustrated shouting.
He wasn't shouting. He was humming a jaunty, off-key tune and meticulously wiping a smudge of dried apricot jam off the cuff of his linen tunic.
His anxiety, a tight little knot in his stomach, was being thoroughly suppressed by a relentless wave of casual, slightly arrogant charm. It was the only armor he owned.
"Next! Kian of Sector 7. Please approach the Activation Crystal." The voice belonged to a Guild Administrator named Lyra, a sharp, imposing woman whose silver-threaded robes looked impossibly crisp. She didn't look up from her data slate.
Kian pushed himself off the pillar, offering a friendly, utterly unnecessary wave to the remaining crowd of hopefuls.
He walked with a loose, easy stride that made him look like he was heading to a picnic, not the most consequential moment of his life.
The Activation Crystal sat on a pedestal in the center of the room. It was a massive, faceted hunk of clear quartz that pulsed with a soft, internal blue light.
When a person placed their hand on it, the system's magic within would identify their class, rank, and primary skill set. This was the moment everything changed.
"Place your hand flat on the surface, Kian. Do not attempt to force the flow. Let the system analyze your nature." Lyra's voice was dry, professional, and entirely devoid of hope for him.
Kian knew his reputation preceded him. A handsome slacker from the outer sectors. They expected "Unranked Laborer" or maybe "F-Rank Baker."
Kian smiled, a genuine, blindingly attractive curve of his lips, and placed his palm firmly on the cool, smooth quartz.
There was no smoke. No shout. No frustrated groan.
There was silence. A deep, heavy, resonating silence that felt like the entire chamber had been plunged into the bottom of a still lake.
The blue light of the crystal didn't just pulse, it flared. It turned from pale blue to a brilliant, incandescent gold, surging up Kian's arm and washing over the room.
The air crackled, making the hairs on Kian's neck stand up. The intensity was so great that Lyra finally looked up, her expression shifting from boredom to stunned alarm.
The light subsided as quickly as it had erupted, leaving Kian standing there, utterly unchanged, save for a faint, golden shimmer around his fingertips.
Lyra's data slate made a series of panicked, high-pitched beeps. She stared at the screen, then at Kian, then back at the screen, as if convinced the device had malfunctioned.
"Kian. Your… your results. This is unprecedented." Her voice was a low, startled whisper.
Kian, feeling the knot of anxiety finally start to loosen, tried a joke. "Did I break it? Is my class 'Crystal Maintenance Technician'?"
Lyra ignored him, clearing her throat and adopting a voice of severe authority that didn't quite hide the tremor of disbelief.
"Kian. Class: Jester Saint. Rank: SSS."
A collective gasp swept through the remaining examinees. SSS. The highest rank. Reserved for legends. For world-savers.
"Primary Skill Tree..." Lyra paused, her eyes scanning the digital scroll on her slate. "Primary Skill Tree: Cathartic Resonance. Tier: Unique. Description: Healing magic effectiveness scales directly with the subject's experience of genuine, positive emotion, primarily Joy. Secondary Skill: Pun Mastery, Minor Aetheric Disruption."
The silence returned, but this time it was one of utter bewilderment.
Kian blinked. He straightened his tunic. "So what you're telling me is," he said, holding up two fingers, "I have to tell jokes to heal people?"
Lyra pinched the bridge of her nose. "According to the system, yes. Your power level is astronomical. Your methodology is absurd."
Word of the SSS-Rank Jester Saint spread through the Guild Tower with the speed of wildfire.
By the time Kian was escorted to the Department Head's office, he was already infamous. He spent the next three hours in bureaucratic hell, signing forms, listening to baffled explanations of his class, and politely declining offers to have his portrait painted for the Hall of Heroes.
He finally emerged, clutching a new system-issued ID chip and a packet of instructions that mostly consisted of warnings not to misuse his power to cause "non-lethal but embarrassing public spectacles." He still felt light-headed. SSS. He, Kian, the guy who once spilled soup on a duke, was SSS.
He was instructed to report immediately to the elite Valkyrie Task Force, the premier raiding party in Aethel, led by the legendary Seraphina. He was to be their new Healer.
The Valkyrie Task Force's headquarters was located in a sleek, isolated annex on the top floor.
It was all polished chrome and reinforced anti-magic glass. It looked less like a hero's base and more like a minimalist art museum designed to withstand an orbital bombardment.
Kian pushed open the heavy automatic doors and stepped into a large briefing room. The atmosphere was immediately heavy, serious, and focused, like walking into a library during finals week. There were three people waiting for him.
One was Gideon, an A-Rank Berserker. He was built like a mountain range, with thick, muscled arms crossed over a chestplate, and a jaw set in a permanent scowl. He looked like the kind of man who ate granite for breakfast.
The second was Lyra, the Administrator from the assessment chamber. She was now standing by a holographic map, looking stressed. She gave Kian a look that plainly said, "I am still recovering from your existence."
And then there was the third.
She was standing at the main console, ignoring everyone. This was Seraphina. The Glacial Valkyrie.
Kian had seen her picture on every propaganda poster and news broadcast, but the images didn't do her justice.
She was stunning in a way that defied casual beauty. She wore an incredibly intricate suit of silver and white armor that moved with her as if it were a second skin.
Her hair, the color of fresh snow, was pulled back severely, and her eyes were a shocking, crystalline blue that seemed to absorb the light around them.
She was graceful, imposing, and radiating an aura of total, unapproachable competence.
She also looked incredibly tired. There were faint shadows under her eyes that only Kian, with his talent for noticing small, irrelevant details, picked up on.
"Ah, Kian, finally." Lyra stepped forward, her voice tight. "This is your new team. Gideon, say hello."
Gideon grunted, a sound that could have meant anything from "hello" to "I hate all life."
Kian smiled brightly. "Gideon. Pleasure. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone about the time you cried watching that documentary about baby penguins."
Gideon's massive face flushed a dangerous shade of scarlet. "I… I never!"
"Just teasing," Kian chirped, moving toward Seraphina. "The name is Kian. And you must be Seraphina. The legend. Honestly, your armor is fantastic. Very intimidating. Does it come in different colors? Maybe a nice cerulean?"
Seraphina didn't flinch. She didn't blink. She turned slowly, her icy blue gaze locking onto his face. It was a look of pure, unadulterated, professional disdain.
"Jester Saint," she stated, her voice a low, smooth alto, utterly devoid of warmth. It felt like walking into a blizzard. "Your file is... comprehensive. And highly disturbing. You are an SSS-rank anomaly."
"Anomaly," Kian echoed, putting a hand over his heart dramatically. "I like that. Sounds much cooler than 'Clown Doctor'."
"You will refer to yourself by your designated title." She spoke every word with clinical precision. "I have no time for incompetence, Kian. My task force is currently preparing for an incursion into the Abyssal Scar, the single most dangerous dungeon currently accessible. You are a Healer. You will perform your function. Nothing else."
Kian leaned in conspiratorially. "I have a feeling we are going to be great friends, Seraphina. I can tell. We have chemistry. It's like, you're the cold, serious type, and I'm the handsome, slightly annoying type. It's a classic."
Seraphina's expression remained rock solid. "I require a healer. I do not require a friend, a type, or a clown. I require healing, activated by 'Joy,' correct?"
"That's the core mechanic," Kian confirmed, already thinking of his material. "A deep belly laugh gets an SSS-rank heal. A snort gets an A-rank barrier."
"Understood." Seraphina stepped away from the console and picked up her greatsword, a massive blade of polished silver that hummed with stored magic. "We will test your functionality immediately. Gideon, provide a target."
Gideon, still smarting from the penguin comment, hesitantly drew a small, utilitarian knife. "Uh, Seraphina, you want me to cut myself?"
"No. We will need something durable." Seraphina walked over to a heavy wooden training dummy positioned in the corner.
She didn't waste time or energy. With a single, lightning fast movement, she brought the flat of her enormous sword down against the dummy's wooden shoulder.
There was a sickening crack. A large, splinted chunk of the dummy's shoulder flew across the room and shattered against the far wall. The dummy's frame was structurally compromised.
"Target damaged," Seraphina announced, looking at Kian. "Heal it."
Kian stared at the shattered dummy. "It's wood, Seraphina. I don't think my magic works on inanimate objects."
"Try."
Kian sighed. He was being tested. Fine. He walked up to the splintered dummy, put a hand on the broken shoulder, and adopted a serious, professional demeanor.
"Alright, Wooden Bob. Why did the bicycle fall over?"
Gideon frowned. "Why?"
"Because it was two tired!" Kian finished with a flourish.
Gideon let out a short, bark-like laugh that sounded like a dry cough. Lyra rolled her eyes but let out a small, quiet puff of air from her nose.
Seraphina merely watched. Her face was blank.
Kian felt the magic pool in his core, but it didn't flow. The splintered wood remained splintered.
"See?" Seraphina said, dropping her sword point to the floor. "Ineffective."
"No, no, wait." Kian held up a finger. "Gideon laughed. A little bit. I think I got a micro-heal on the surrounding air particles. Not on the wood, though. The point is, I have to make the target laugh. Or feel joy. Wooden Bob doesn't have a soul, so he can't feel joy."
"Then we will use a subject who can," Seraphina said simply. She turned to Gideon. "Gideon. Attack me."
Gideon stared at her in utter disbelief. "Attack you, Seraphina? With respect, I'd rather stick my hand in a lightning trap."
"That is an order."
Gideon swallowed hard, his huge frame trembling slightly. He drew his sword, a large but practical blade, and lunged, aiming a cautious slash at her armored thigh.
Seraphina didn't even use her own sword. She simply brought up her armored forearm and met his attack.
The sound of metal on metal was a sharp, ringing CLANG!
The impact sent a shockwave up Gideon's arm, and his massive body staggered back three steps. His hand trembled as he held the sword.
"Slight damage registered on the armor plating," Seraphina noted, examining her forearm. She barely had a scratch. "Kian. Heal the damage."
"Again, it's armor," Kian pointed out. "I need emotional contact."
"Then we will ensure emotional contact," Seraphina said, looking at Gideon. "Gideon, you are now injured. You are in pain."
"I am not," Gideon muttered miserably.
"You are experiencing acute phantom pain in the limb used for impact. I have ordered it so. Now, Kian, heal him."
Kian walked over to Gideon, who was still rubbing his forearm. He sensed Gideon's true emotion, terror of Seraphina, not pain from the blow. Kian decided to go with the source of the emotion.
"Gideon, I have a great joke about the System's ridiculous bureaucracy," Kian started.
Gideon's eyes widened. "Please, no. Seraphina will make me file a report on why I laughed."
Seraphina gave Kian a withering look. "Focus."
Kian ignored her. "So a Guild Administrator, a Goblin, and a High Elf walk into a tavern. The Administrator says, 'I need a room for the night, but my budget only covers a single cot and a mandatory seven-page expense report.' The Goblin says, 'I'll take the cot, but I need to steal it first.' And the High Elf says..." Kian paused for effect, "...'Actually, I have a few notes on the tavern's architectural integrity and historical inaccuracies. I shall be filing a formal complaint.'"
Gideon looked at Kian, then at Lyra, then at Seraphina, then back at Kian.
The fear in his eyes warred with the recognition of the truth in the joke. He let out a suppressed, strangled choke that was definitely a laugh, followed by a wheezing cough.
Kian felt the magic click. It flowed, not into the armor, but into Gideon's arm, smoothing the strain, relaxing the muscles that had tensed against the shock.
Gideon looked down at his arm. "Huh. That actually felt... nice. Like a warm cup of tea."
Seraphina stared at Kian. She had seen the magical energy transfer. She had heard the laugh. Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"Inefficient," she declared. "Your skill activation is entirely dependent on external factors and requires time. In the Abyssal Scar, we do not have time for protracted comedy routines."
"I can be fast!" Kian protested. "Why did the healer get kicked out of the dungeon?"
Seraphina waited, stone-faced.
"He kept running out of mana!" Kian snapped his fingers.
Nothing.
Seraphina turned away, picking up her sword again. "Your efforts are inadequate. The joke itself is predictable, and the delivery lacks novelty. You must learn to adapt your humor to the high pressure environment of the raid."
Kian felt a flicker of annoyance, but it was quickly replaced by a sense of determination. She was challenging him. Not on his power, but on his art.
"Listen, Seraphina," Kian said, his voice dropping slightly, losing some of its forced cheerfulness. "I know this isn't ideal. I know you'd rather have a standard, boring Healer who just clicks a button. But I'm SSS-Rank. That means my power is the real deal. I just need a subject who appreciates true comedic genius."
Seraphina paused, her back to him. She slowly turned her head, fixing him with her pale blue gaze over her shoulder.
The light from the high windows caught the silver sheen of her armor and the icy intensity of her eyes. She was mesmerizing.
"Then your ultimate target," she said, her voice quiet but ringing with finality, "must be me. I am the tank. I will take the damage. And I am telling you, Kian, I have not experienced genuine positive emotion from a humorous premise in approximately seven years. I find humor to be an unnecessary complication."
She looked straight at him, challenging him with the absolute confidence of a warrior who had never known defeat.
"I am your challenge, Jester Saint. Make me laugh. Or fail us all."
The words hung in the air, a challenge, a warning, and the very foundation of their partnership. The handsome, goofy man and the cold, stunning woman.
The stakes were set, the fate of the raid, and perhaps, the fate of her stone cold heart.
Lyra quickly dismissed Gideon to prepare for the deployment, leaving Kian and Seraphina alone in the vast, echoing room.
Lyra busied herself with the holographic map, pretending she wasn't eavesdropping on the tense silence.
"We leave for the Abyssal Scar at midnight," Seraphina said, not looking at Kian. She walked to the console, bringing up a complex tactical display showing a dark, twisting subterranean labyrinth. "You will be provided with a standard issue uniform and supplies. Be punctual."
Kian watched her, appreciating the clean, sharp lines of her profile, the way she moved with restrained power. "Midnight. Got it. But look, before we go. I think we need to establish some ground rules. Just for morale."
Seraphina folded her arms, the movement causing a subtle shift in the light on her armor. "There is one rule, follow orders."
"Two rules," Kian countered easily. "One, follow orders. Two, you have to tell me your favorite color. It helps me gauge your inner light. Which helps with the healing." He was making it up entirely, but it sounded little reasonable.
Seraphina's lips pressed into a thin, unmoving line. "My favorite color is irrelevant."
"No, it's totally relevant," Kian insisted, stepping closer. He noticed the minute details now, the tiny, almost invisible scratch on the shoulder plate of her armor, the way her fingers kept tapping a subtle, nervous rhythm against her gauntlet. "Is it silver? Because of the armor? Or maybe a dark, serious color? Like charcoal?"
"It is... the color of a fresh snowfall at dawn," she said, the description slipping out before she could catch herself.
It was a poetic, intensely visual phrase that seemed wildly out of place coming from her. She immediately regretted it, her eyes widening almost imperceptibly.
Kian smiled, a soft, genuine smile that had nothing to do with jokes. "That's beautiful, Seraphina. That's a lovely color."
"It is a meteorological observation," she corrected him flatly. "It is not beautiful. It is simply a hue."
"Right. A hue that is beautiful." Kian took another small step closer, lowering his voice. "Look, I know what you think. You think I'm a joke. But I'm going to keep you alive in that Scar. I'm SSS-Rank for a reason. And the reason is, I will never let despair win. I'll fight it with every bad pun, every awful dad joke, every piece of light I have. Just trust me once. Okay?"
He extended his hand, not for a handshake, but just to offer it, palm up.
Seraphina stared at his hand. It was a well kept hand, not rough like Gideon's, but not soft either. It was the hand of someone who knew how to use subtle magic, someone who had worked hard to perfect a frivolous craft.
She looked at his face, searching for the insincerity, the mockery, the arrogance she expected from someone so highly ranked and so casual. She found only a deep, earnest honesty.
After a long moment, she slowly, deliberately, turned away from his offered hand.
"Do not touch me, Kian," she ordered, her voice firm. "Physical contact is unnecessary and can compromise tactical integrity. Just be ready at midnight."
She marched out of the room, her silver greatsword clicking lightly against the floor with every perfectly measured step, leaving Kian standing there, hand still slightly extended, with Lyra watching him with a complex mixture of pity and professional fascination.
"She didn't refuse my joke," Kian noted to Lyra, dropping his hand. "She refused my premise. That's progress."
Lyra sighed, rubbing her temples. "She's going to kill you, Kian. And I'm going to have to file the paperwork."
Kian just grinned. He already knew Seraphina wasn't going to kill him. He was going to make her laugh first. And maybe, just maybe, make her forget what color the snow was for a minute.