Millbrook's main street bustled with activity as Ren and Vermillion made their way toward the town center. Merchants hawked their wares from stalls that floated a few inches off the ground, adventurers in various states of equipment readiness discussed contracts and gate schedules, and children darted between the adults, their laughter mixing with the general din of commerce.
"It's so... alive," Ren murmured, taking in the sights.
"Gate towns always are," Vermillion replied, her hood pulled low to shadow her face. Despite the concealment, Ren noticed how conversations seemed to pause as they passed, how eyes lingered a moment too long. "Where there's danger, there's opportunity. Where there's opportunity, there's gold. Where there's gold..."
"There are people," Ren finished.
The Adventurer's Guild dominated the central square—a massive stone building three stories tall with banners depicting various class symbols hanging from its walls. Crystal formations flanked the entrance, pulsing with a steady blue light that suggested some kind of magical security or monitoring system.
"Remember," Vermillion whispered as they approached the entrance, "let them underestimate you. It will serve us well."
The guild's interior was impressive—high vaulted ceilings, quest boards covered in parchments of various colors indicating difficulty levels, and dozens of people in groups discussing strategies or celebrating successful expeditions. The air hummed with barely contained energy, the accumulated auras of hundreds of awakened individuals.
Behind a long wooden counter, several guild clerks handled registrations, renewals, and contract assignments. Ren approached the one with the shortest line—a middle-aged woman with graying hair and the tired but efficient demeanor of someone who'd processed thousands of applications.
"Can I help you?" she asked without looking up from her paperwork.
"I'd like to register as an adventurer," Ren said.
"First time?" She glanced up, then did a double-take as she noticed Vermillion standing behind him. "Both of you?"
"Just me," Ren replied. "She's... already registered elsewhere."
The clerk nodded, pulling out a fresh form and a crystal device. "Name?"
"Ren Duskbane."
She scribbled on the form, then activated the crystal scanner. "Age and place of awakening?"
"Eighteen. And it was... a private ceremony. Family tradition."
The clerk raised an eyebrow but didn't press. "Hold out your hand for the class reading."
Ren extended his hand toward the crystal scanner, feeling the dragon wives' attention sharpen in his mind. He could sense their collective will focusing on something—masking, concealing, presenting a false face to the world.
The scanner glowed softly, cycling through a few colors before settling on a dim, barely perceptible light.
The clerk looked at the readout and her expression immediately shifted to one of poorly concealed disappointment.
"Oh," she said, her tone now noticeably less interested. "F-rank. Flame Mage, basic fire manipulation." She wrote the information on his form with obvious haste. "That'll be five silver for the registration fee."
Behind him, Ren heard a snort of laughter from someone in the crowd.
"Another F-rank wannabe," a voice said loud enough to be heard. "Guild's getting desperate if they're taking bottom-feeders like that."
"Flame Mage too," another voice added with amusement. "Bet he can barely light a candle. Most F-ranks can't even sustain a proper flame for more than a few seconds."
The clerk stamped his registration card—a thin bronze plate that felt cheap in his hands. "Welcome to the Adventurer's Guild," she said in a monotone voice that suggested she'd rather be anywhere else. "F-rank adventurers are limited to F and E-rank contracts only. You'll need to complete at least ten successful contracts before you can attempt a rank advancement test."
She pointed toward a corner of the guild hall where a smaller quest board sat largely ignored. "F-rank contracts are over there. Mostly herb gathering, rat extermination, and message delivery. Nothing dangerous."
As Ren took his registration card, he caught sight of the looks he was receiving from other adventurers. Pity from some, disdain from others, and complete dismissal from most. He was beneath their notice—just another weakling trying to play at being a hero.
"Come on," Vermillion said quietly, tugging on his arm. "Let's look at those contracts."
They walked toward the F-rank board, and Ren couldn't help but notice how the crowd seemed to part for them—not out of respect, but to avoid contamination by association. The whispers followed them.
"Look at him. Thinks he's going to make it as an adventurer with F-rank fire magic."
"Give it a week. He'll be running home to mommy after his first slime encounter."
"At least he's got a pretty companion. Wonder what she sees in a loser like that."
The last comment made Vermillion's steps falter slightly, and Ren felt a sudden spike of heat in the air around them. Through their bond, he could sense her barely contained fury at the insults being directed his way.
*Easy,* he thought to her. *This is what we wanted, remember?*
*I know,* her mental voice was tight with controlled rage. *But hearing them dismiss you like that... it makes me want to show them what real fire looks like.*
The F-rank quest board was depressing. "Collect 20 Silverleaf herbs from the Whispering Woods." "Exterminate rat infestation in Miller's warehouse." "Deliver message to Farmer Thompson's nephew in Oakvale." The rewards were pathetic—a few copper coins for hours of work.
"This is humiliating," Ren muttered under his breath.
"This is perfect," Vermillion corrected. "They see you as weak, harmless, beneath their attention. That gives us freedom to operate, to grow stronger without drawing the wrong kind of notice."
She had a point, but it still stung. In his old life, he'd been dismissed and looked down upon. Here, with the power of seven dragons coursing through his veins, he was still being treated like trash.
"Besides," Vermillion added with a sly smile, "wait until they see what an 'F-rank Flame Mage' can actually accomplish. Their assumptions will become our greatest advantage."
A commotion near the main quest board caught their attention. A group of well-equipped adventurers were arguing loudly about some contract.
"I'm telling you, it should be a C-rank minimum!" one of them was saying. "Three teams have already failed to clear that gate!"
"The evaluation committee classified it as D-rank," another replied. "We stick to the official rating."
"Then the evaluation committee is full of idiots," the first adventurer shot back. "That gate has killed more people than some B-rank dungeons."
Ren found himself drawn toward the conversation, curiosity overriding his desire to avoid attention.
The contract in question was posted on the D-rank board: "Clear the Frosted Caverns Gate - Reward: 50 Gold Pieces. Warning: Ice-type monsters confirmed. Cold resistance recommended."
Fifty gold pieces. More money than Ren could earn from a hundred F-rank contracts.
"You thinking what I think you're thinking?" Vermillion asked quietly.
"That maybe it's time to show these people what they're dealing with?" Ren replied.
"Absolutely not," she said firmly. "Too soon, too public, too dangerous. You're still learning to control our power. Attempting a D-rank gate alone would be suicide, even with dragon magic."
She was right, of course. But as they walked away from the guild, F-rank registration card burning like a brand of shame in his pocket, Ren couldn't shake the feeling that he was meant for more than collecting herbs and killing rats.
In his mind, the other dragon wives whispered their agreement.
*Patience, beloved,* they counseled. *Your time will come.*
*And when it does,* the storm dragon added with crackling intensity, *they will learn to fear the name Ren Duskbane.*
For now, though, he was just another F-rank failure in a guild full of heroes.
He could live with that.
For a little while.