Wyva had been escorted through the city riding on the coat-tails of mad woman. She had rushed through the paperwork and bolted out of the Temple before they had a chance to review.
They walked several throws north when they approached a building with the sigil from his visions.
This was the guildhall, he thought upon laying his eyes on the unique symbol.
This was quickly reevaluated when the doors were thrown open to reveal a tavern of revelry.
The air inside was a thick, swirling miasma of noise and scent – stale ale, sweat, cheap perfume, and the low hum of a hundred conversations all happening at once. It was a visceral shock after the hushed reverence and sterile grandeur of the Temple Hall.
Wyva followed Allegra, feeling exposed, like a freshly polished coin tossed into a muddy street.
The eyes on him here weren't assessing his potential; they were merely curious, or perhaps amused, at the sight of their newly appointed guildmate, trailing after the notorious Allegra.
His earlier confidence, the radiant certainty from the platform, felt like a fragile shell cracking under the weight of this new reality.
Allegra navigated the packed room with a kind of joyful abandon, her green, curly hair a vibrant, bouncing halo around her head.
Her robes, a faded white that showed past ceremony, were loose and stained, suggesting a long-standing war with cleanliness.
She laughed loudly at something someone shouted, her head tilting back, revealing a flash of white teeth. The scent of strong drink clung to her like a second skin, a potent counterpoint to the faint, sweet smell of incense that also emanated from her.
An alcoholic priestess. The label felt less like a description and more like a challenge, and Allegra seemed to embody it with intentional glee.
She didn't find a quiet corner; instead, she elbowed her way towards a large, round table already occupied by a boisterous group who greeted her with cheers and slaps on the back.
"Make room, heathens!" she crowed, somehow creating space for herself and gesturing for Wyva to squeeze in beside her. "Brought a fresh one! Straight from the gods' own casting couch!"
Wyva squeezed onto the bench, feeling utterly out of place. The people around the table were loud, their laughter frequent and booming. They wore a mix of practical clothing and worn leather, some bearing scars or tattoos that hinted at rougher lives.
This was the Burning Tempest?
He had pictured disciplined warriors, perhaps ascetic monks dedicated to their sacred duty. Not... this. The vision of himself, sharp and powerful, felt increasingly distant, like a dream rapidly fading upon waking.
Allegra didn't bother with a server.She simply reached across the table, snagging a half-empty mug from someone, draining it in one gulp, and then signaling with a flourish. "Replenish the well, my dears! And bring out the good stuff! My new Guardian here needs a proper welcome!"
Her eyes, bright and a little wild, landed on Wyva. "Don't look so stiff, kid! Loosen up! Destiny's a party, not a funeral!"
A bottle was passed down the table towards her – a dark glass bottle that Wyva recognized instantly. El Sharaab wine. His hometown's vintage.
Allegra took the bottle. She picked up a clean mug from a stack nearby, held it poised, and tilted the bottle. A small splash of deep red wine pooled in the bottom of the mug. Then, with a shrug that sent her curls bouncing, she set the mug down and raised the bottle directly to her lips, taking a long, deep, unapologetic drink.
Wyva stared, the simple act feeling like a profound betrayal of the wine, of his home, of the very idea of decorum. This was the person guiding him into his future?
Doubt, cold and heavy, settled in his gut. The vision had shown him power, purpose, the symbol of the Burning Tempest. But it hadn't shown him this.
Allegra lowered the bottle with a sigh of satisfaction, wiping her mouth with both the back and palm of her hand, leaving a smear of red.
"Right then, elf boy," she said.
Wyva shook his head and sighed, "that's an unprofessional term."
"Who cares? Questions! Ask away! Though be warned, my answers are like my pouring technique – a little... freestyle."
Wyva hesitated, unsure how to even frame his questions in this environment. He wanted to know about training, about the Titans they fought, about the sacred duty. But looking at Allegra, surrounded by this raucous group, those questions felt naive, out of place. He tried a different approach, focusing on the people.
"The Burning Tempest," he began, his voice quiet amidst the noise. "Are... are all the guardians like... this?"He gestured vaguely around the table.
Allegra threw her head back and laughed, a loud, unrestrained sound that drew more attention.
"Like this? Gods no!" she choked out, wiping a tear from her eye.
"Some are even worse! The thing is this is just a tavern that we own. So most of the people here are customers from other guilds. They got reformed pirates, disgraced scholars, prophets who talk to squirrels... oh, and a guy who's pretty sure he's a teacup!" She giggled again, taking another swig from the bottle.
"Don't get me wrong Tempest is messed up kid, but we're also the ones who didn't quite fit anywhere else. The gods pick 'em, and we... polish 'em up. Or just point 'em in the right direction and hope for the best!"
She paused, her eyes fixing on something across the room. "Look at him!" she exclaimed, nudging Wyva and pointing with the bottle. "See that fellow with the beard made of actual bees? Brilliant! He's from the Long Cauldron, three years ago he lost a bet with a nature spirit. Still insists it helps him track."
She shook her head, a wide, amused smile on her face. "Never a dull moment in the as a Guardian. Never a dull moment."
Wyva followed her gaze, spotting the man she indicated, a large, imposing figure with a truly astonishing, buzzing beard. He looked back at Allegra, then at the chaotic table, then back at the man with the bees.
This wasn't the disciplined, noble calling of his mother's legacy.
This was... something else entirely.
"So... the training," Wyva tried again, clinging to the one concept that still felt somewhat grounded. "Is it... structured?"
Allegra took another drink from the bottle.
"Structured? Hmm. Define structured." She tapped a finger against her mug.
"We teach you how not to die! That's pretty structured, right? Learn to swing a sword, maybe throw a fireball if you've got the knack, learn which mushrooms not to eat... essential life skills!"
She shrugged. "It's more about... finding your own spark. We just provide the tinder. And occasionally, a bucket of water when you set yourself alight." She winked again, then her attention was completely captured by the arrival of a platter of roasted meat at their table.
"Food! Finally! Don't just sit there, Alven! Grab a leg! You'll need your strength! Your trainer is going to be a prick who knows nothing but work!"
She dove into the food with gusto, her earlier conversation about training and death forgotten. Wyva watched her, the vibrant chaos of the tavern swirling around him.
He had come to Haraan expecting his destiny to be confirmed, a glorious path laid bare. Instead, he had found Allegra, a drunken priestess who talked of misfits and bee-beards, and a faction that seemed less like a noble order and more like a collection of delightful disasters.
The doubt that had begun as a prickle was now a full-blown ache. Perhaps the gods had chosen him, but perhaps they had also sent him to the wrong place entirely.
Had it been a lie?
Or had he simply misunderstood the nature of the organization marked with the flame?
Allegra's talk of misfits, bee-beards, and chaotic training methods chipped away at the noble image he'd carried of the Burning Tempest. He had felt so certain on the platform, so ready to step into greatness.
Now, he just felt lost and profoundly uncomfortable.
Allegra, her face smeared with grease, gestured at the platter with a half-eaten drumstick.
"Come on! Don't be shy! Fuel for the fire! Trust me, once Koa gets here you'll pray you didn't have an empty stomach!"
Her eyes, bright and a little unfocused, held a genuine warmth, a simple invitation to partake.
Wyva looked at the roast. It was glistening, the skin crackling, the aroma rich and savory. His stomach, which had been twisted with anxiety moments ago, gave a faint, unexpected rumble. He hadn't realized how hungry he was.
He looked at the faces around the table – loud, rough, eccentric, yes, but also seemingly open, unjudging. They weren't the austere figures he'd expected, but they were… here.
And he was here with them.
He thought of his family, the quiet pride in their eyes when they spoke of his Keeva. They had raised him to be resilient, to face challenges head-on, even the unexpected ones.
His destiny, as pronounced by the gods and claimed by this chaotic group, might not be the one he'd neatly planned, but it was, undeniably, his now.
Running wouldn't change the selection.
Pretending it wasn't happening wouldn't make Allegra disappear.
He was here. With the misfits and the bee-beards and the priestess who drank wine like water.
A slow breath filled his lungs, deeper than any he'd taken since stepping onto the Selection stage. It wasn't resignation, not entirely.
More like a reluctant acknowledgment.
The path was set, even if it led through a noisy tavern filled with strange people. He could stand apart, starving and miserable, or he could take a single, small step forward.
His hand, the same hand that had rested on the crystal ball, trembled slightly as he reached towards the platter.
His fingers brushed against the warm, slightly greasy skin of the roast. He hesitated for just a fraction of a second, the weight of the decision, however small, feeling immense. Then, he closed his fingers around a piece, pulling it free.
He didn't look at anyone as he raised the meat to his lips. The first bite was hot, flavorful, grounding. It was just food, but in that moment, it felt like more. It was an acknowledgment.
A concession.
A tiny, deliberate act of stepping onto the path, however uncertain, however chaotic, that had been laid out for him. He was Wyva of El Sharaab, chosen Guardian, and his first step into the Burning Tempest was taking a bite of roasted meat in a loud, crowded tavern, surrounded by the unexpected faces of his new destiny.