The moment Aiden solidified from nothingness, the air in the War Room Beta practically crackled with raw, untamed tension. Every single member of the White Eagle Party, battle-hardened adventurers though they were, reacted with an instinct honed over countless close calls and monster fights. This wasn't some clumsy goblin ambush; this was an impossibility.
Sascha, his face a mask of utter disbelief, had his hand on the hilt of Excalibur faster than a blink. The legendary sword, still sheathed, seemed to hum with a low, eager thrum, sensing conflict.
"What in the blazes?!" he practically roared, his voice laced with shock and a rising aggression, his eyes narrowed to slits on the silent, unmoving figure that had simply appeared. "Who—what—are you?!" His initial shock, the kind that makes your gut clench and your hair stand on end, quickly melted into a familiar suspicion, a bristly, almost aggressive possessive protectiveness that was his undeniable trademark when it came to his friends, his party. And he guarded his own fiercely.
Sona, meanwhile, let out a small, terrified gasp, stumbling back a step, almost tripping over her own feet. Her hands, without conscious thought, began to glow faintly, a shimmering, protective ward already forming around her, an uncontrolled burst of her formidable, though often shyly restrained, magic.
"He just… appeared!" she whispered, her voice laced with a tremor of pure awe and a good dose of fear. It was like watching a ghost become solid.
Lucille, ever the tactician, didn't draw a weapon, but her posture became as rigid as a drawn bowstring, coiled and ready to spring into action. Her sharp gaze was glued to Aiden, trying to dissect the impossible, to fit this sudden apparition into her meticulously organized world of tactics and logic. "Guildmaster, what on earth is the meaning of this?" she demanded, her voice sharp enough to cut glass, piercing through the stunned silence. "You said a new member, not… a damn ghost materializing in front of us!"
Miriam, the rogue, was already halfway into a fighting crouch, her hands flashing to the hilts of the curved daggers strapped to her hips. Her usual playful smirk was completely gone, replaced by a fierce, almost feral alertness. Her eyes, usually dancing with mischief, were cold and assessing.
"Creepy," she muttered under her breath, a low growl in her voice, her eyes darting like a trapped bird between Aiden and Guildmaster Elara. "Seriously creepy. Is this some kind of new Guild trick, Elara? 'Surprise your adventurers into a heart attack and see if they can still fight'?"
But it was Arianne who truly stood out from the immediate, jumpy reactions of the others. While they were consumed by wariness and a ready-to-fight stance, the ancient paladin seemed to fall into a strange trance. Her wise elven eyes, usually so calm and serene, widened, gleaming with a mixture of wonder, recognition, and something that looked eerily like a profound, forgotten memory resurfacing from the mists of time.
Her staff, usually a source of gentle, healing light, now vibrated almost imperceptibly, a faint, unheard hum that seemed to resonate with the presence of the newcomer.
"A Pathfinder," she breathed, the words barely audible, a sacred whisper lost in the sudden tension, a name pulled from the deepest, oldest lore. "By the ancient spirits… they still exist."
Elara, sensing the rapidly spiraling tension, stepped forward, her voice calm but firm, cutting through the rising panic like a well-aimed blade.
"Stand down, White Eagle! All of you! There is no threat here. This is Aiden, your new teammate. And yes, Arianne, they still exist. Your history serves you well." Her gaze flickered to the elf, a fleeting hint of respect in her eyes for Arianne's almost instantaneous recognition. "He is here by my summons, on behalf of the Royal Families."
Sascha, however, wasn't about to stand down just yet. He took a deliberate, challenging step closer to Aiden, his hand still tight on Excalibur's hilt. His muscles bunched under his armor.
"No threat? Guildmaster, this… thing… just popped out of thin air like a bad illusion! We don't know who he is, or what he wants. How do we know he's not some kind of spy? Some sneaky dark wizard trying to get close to us and then backstab us when we're not looking?" His voice was thick with suspicion, his usual bravado mixed with genuine concern for his friends.
"My party's safety comes first, and I won't have some shadow sneaking around our backs!"
Aiden, still utterly silent, merely tilted his helmeted head slightly. It was an almost imperceptible movement, but it somehow conveyed a sense of acknowledgment, perhaps even a hint of mild, detached amusement, at Sascha's furious outburst.
Sona, though still looking thoroughly unnerved, slowly lowered her glowing hands, the magical aura around her fading.
"But Guildmaster… he's so… quiet. And he just… appeared like that. It's really, really unsettling. How do we trust someone who can just… vanish?"
"Unsettling, perhaps, Sona, but not hostile," Elara countered, her voice laced with an unusual patience she didn't often extend. "Aiden is here by direct request of the Royal Families, just as I explained a moment ago. He is from the Pathfinders Order, an organization that has watched over Caledonia for millennia, long before any of our current kingdoms, or even our oldest legends, were even a speck on a map."
Lucille crossed her arms, her analytical mind already racing, trying to categorize this anomaly.
"An order that 'watches over us' but no one's ever heard of them? That's… mighty convenient, Guildmaster. What exactly does a 'Pathfinder' do? Is he a rogue? An assassin? Or just a highly skilled illusionist who likes to play terrifyingly unsettling games with people's nerves?" Her tone was skeptical, bordering on accusatory. "And why now? Why send one of them for this mission, when we've handled countless dangers before?"
Miriam scoffed, rolling her eyes, but her gaze never left Aiden.
"Or just some creepy guy who hides in shadows because he's got no real fighting skills to show off. Being 'invisible' is great for sneaking around and peeking into places you shouldn't, but it doesn't win a brawl against a pack of goblins, much less a dragon. You need muscle, Guildmaster, not some silent stalker." She eyed Aiden critically, her rogue's instincts telling her to be extremely wary of anything so unnatural, so unseen. "Show us what you got, 'Pathfinder', besides a knack for giving people heart attacks."
Elara opened her mouth, about to launch into her carefully prepared explanation of the Pathfinders and their unique abilities. But before she could get a word out, Arianne, still in her almost trance-like state, calmly stepped forward, her ancient eyes fixed on Aiden, a serene smile gracing her lips. The guildmaster paused, a flicker of surprise on her face.
"Guildmaster, allow me," Arianne said, her voice soft but resonating with the weight of centuries. "My younger friends here lack the benefit of history. The Pathfinders… they are not a Guild, nor a conventional order as we understand them today. They are much, much older. Think of the forests before the first axe struck wood, the mountains before the first mine was dug. The Pathfinders were there. They are the original guardians of the true balance, the ones who walked the shadowy paths between realms, long before our current magical understanding was even conceived."
She paused, her gaze distant, as if seeing visions from the deep past. "My own Paladin Order, in its most ancient texts, whispered of them. Not in loud proclamations, but in hushed, reverent tones. Stories of shadowy figures who would appear and disappear like mist, protecting sacred sites from unseen corruptions, guiding lost travelers through impossible labyrinths, or striking down evils that even the combined might of kings could not touch."
Sascha scowled. "Whispers and stories? Arianne, you can't be serious. We're talking about a real mission, not some ancient fairy tale."
"Oh, but these 'fairy tales' were often very real, Sascha," Arianne replied, her tone gentle but firm. "My order, in its nascent years, encountered them. One story, passed down through the centuries, speaks of a great plague of shadow-beasts that swept through the western lands, threatening to consume all light. Our knights, clad in shining armor, fought bravely, but they were being overwhelmed. And then… the Pathfinders appeared. Not as an army, but as silent, surgical strikes. They moved like ghosts through the chaos, silencing the shadow-beasts before they could even utter a sound. They disappeared as swiftly as they came, leaving only the fallen monsters and a newfound sense of hope. Their knowledge of these ancient evils, of the real threats that lurk beyond our comprehension, is unmatched."
Sona listened, wide-eyed, a new sense of wonder replacing her fear. "So they're like… super-ancient, super-secret heroes?"
"More than heroes, dear Sona," Arianne corrected gently. "They are the vital bridge between forgotten knowledge and current needs. They are keepers of balance, arbiters of profound cosmic forces. They wield abilities that would seem like miracles to us now, but for them, they are simply… the Path." She looked directly at Aiden, her expression unreadable but filled with profound respect. "They are masters of stealth, infiltration, and observation. Their very presence is often undetectable, their movements unseen. They can manipulate perception, bend minor realities to their will, allowing them to traverse environments, evade detection, and strike with absolute precision where others cannot even comprehend."
Miriam, however, remained skeptical, tapping her daggers against her leg. "Alright, fancy historical lecture, Arianne. Sounds great on paper. But what does he do, specifically? Beyond making creepy entrances and being a walking history book. You talk about 'manipulating perception' and 'bending realities.' What does that even mean in a real fight? Can he swing a sword? Can he cast a firebolt? Or is he just going to stand there looking mysterious while we do all the work?" She eyed Aiden with a challenging glint in her eyes, wanting more than just historical anecdotes. "What did he 'observe' in the Guild Hall earlier that proves he's more than just a spooky shadow who likes to make dramatic entrances and gives lectures?"
Aiden, who had remained utterly still and silent, finally moved. His hand, clad in a fitted black glove, slowly rose into the dim light of the war room. He opened his palm, and resting there, glinting softly, was a large, ornate ring with a prominent, uncut emerald embedded in it. It was a distinctive piece, easily recognizable to anyone who spent even a little time in the bustling Guild Hall.
Without a single word, Aiden flicked his wrist with a barely perceptible movement. The ring spun through the air, a glinting arc, heading straight for the Guildmaster.
Elara, her reflexes honed by years of dealing with unpredictable adventurers and dangerous artifacts, caught it gracefully, her fingers closing around the cold metal with a soft clink. She brought it closer, examining the emerald, then the intricate carvings on the band, a small frown creasing her brow.
A slow, dawning realization spread across her face. Her eyebrows subtly rose in surprise.
"This ring…" she murmured, her gaze lifting from the jewelry to Aiden, who was now holding her gaze steadily, then shifting sharply to Miriam. "This is Borin Stonebeard's ring, isn't it? The dwarven veteran adventurer. He was just outside when you all arrived, practically preening and boasting about his latest haul, wearing this very ring on his stubby finger."
Miriam's eyes, usually so quick and playful, darted away for a fraction of a second, a fleeting flicker of surprise and a touch of almost caught mischief. She quickly recovered, shrugging nonchalantly, trying to feign ignorance. "Borin? Who's Borin? Never heard of the old grump. Sounds like a made-up name to me."
Elara, wasn't fooled for a second. She let out a deep, exasperated sigh that spoke volumes about her long experience with Miriam's antics.
"Miriam, stop trying to play innocent. You know perfectly well who Borin is. Did you… acquire this ring just before you came in here?"
Miriam bit her lip, then let out a small, defiant huff. "Well, he was flashing it around like a magpie with a shiny pebble, wasn't he? It was practically begging to be 'liberated' from his finger. And honestly," she added, a sly grin starting to peek through, a dangerous spark in her eyes, "that kind of blatant display of wealth is just begging for someone to… redistribute it. Besides, he winked at me earlier. I figured he practically invited it. It was just a little, you know, 'friendly' pickpocket. A simple training exercise, nothing illegal."
A small, almost inaudible groan escaped Sona. "Miriam! You didn't! We're supposed to be meeting the Guildmaster, not stealing from other adventurers right outside the war room!"
"Relax, Sona, it was harmless fun," Miriam countered, though her eyes kept flicking to Aiden, who remained utterly motionless, his helmeted head still tilted just so. He hadn't said a single word, hadn't made another grand gesture, yet his silent presence and that single act of producing the ring were somehow more impactful, more unnerving, than any loud accusation or elaborate magical display could have been. It was a subtle, cutting demonstration of his skill.
Elara pinched the bridge of her nose, a familiar gesture of frustration.
"Miriam, we will discuss your 'training exercises' and Borin's missing property later. Perhaps with Borin himself present, along with the Guild's disciplinary committee. But for now…" She held up the ring, then looked pointedly at Aiden, a glimmer of grudging admiration in her eyes, mixed with a hint of awe. "This is an example. Aiden detected Miriam's… activity, identified the target, and retrieved the item without anyone, not even Miriam, realizing he was doing so. He moved without a sound, without a trace, and saw what was happening even when it was meant to be unseen. This is the kind of subtle capability he brings. This is what a Pathfinder can do. He is the quiet blade that finds the heart of the enemy before they even know they are being hunted, and he can find secrets hidden in plain sight."
Sascha, however, remained stubbornly unimpressed, perhaps even more agitated now that his rogue party member's "skill" had been so effortlessly, even humiliatingly, outmaneuvered by this silent phantom. His sense of pride, his self-proclaimed heroism and his dominant role in the party, demanded a more direct, overt, and physical challenge. He couldn't wrap his head around a hero who didn't announce their presence with a shout and a cleaving sword. This silent, unreadable person challenged everything he believed a hero should be, everything he had worked so hard to embody.
"Alright, 'Pathfinder'," Sascha said, his voice dripping with skepticism and a rising anger that bordered on hostile. He took another deliberate, challenging step forward, his hand tightening around Excalibur's hilt until his knuckles were white.
"Sneaking around and playing parlor games with rings is one thing. That's for petty thieves, not heroes. But a true hero faces his challenges head-on, in the light, where everyone can see his strength. If you're going to join my party, if you're going to call yourself a warrior, then you need to prove you're more than just a phantom. You need to prove you can fight, really fight, with honor and strength, like a man."
Elara's eyes snapped to him, instantly recognizing the dangerous shift in his demeanor, the escalating aggression.
"Sascha, don't be foolish! This is not the time or place for such foolish antics! We have a critical, kingdom-altering mission to discuss! Stand down, now!" she barked, her patience completely gone, her voice cracking like a whip.
But Sascha ignored her, his gaze locked, almost obsessively, on Aiden's unreadable, helmeted face. His jaw was set, a challenge in every line of his body. "What do you say, 'Pathfinder'? A quick match in the training hall. Me and Excalibur, against… whatever it is you do. Prove you're worth more than just a cheap parlor trick, a shadow in the corner. Or are you just going to hide?"
His words hung heavy in the air, a challenge thrown down like a gauntlet. The tension, which Elara had momentarily defused, spiked again, even higher this time, crackling with raw, aggressive energy. Sona gasped, "Sascha, no! You heard the Guildmaster! This isn't right! Don't be rash!"
Lucille frowned deeply, a clear warning in her eyes, though she remained silent, calculating the potential outcomes. Miriam, surprisingly, seemed intrigued despite her earlier wariness, a dangerous spark of anticipation in her eyes, a hint of her usual mischief returning – this could be entertaining. Arianne watched, her gaze serene, but a strange, knowing glint in her ancient eyes seemed to track something unseen, something profound unfolding before them.
Without another word, Sascha, his face a mask of determined challenge, drew Excalibur. The legendary sword slid from its sheath with a whisper of steel, a sound that always commanded attention and silenced a room. Its blade, polished to a mirror sheen, pulsed with a faint, regal blue light, a testament to its immense power and ancient lineage. The air around it seemed to shimmer with raw magical energy. He leveled it directly at Aiden's chest, the tip of the blade a stark, accusing point, unwavering. "Well? Are you a hero or just a shadow, Pathfinder? Show me your strength!"
But then, utterly unexpected phenomenon occurred. The vibrant blue light from Excalibur's blade began to flicker erratically, pulsing with an unnatural, almost frantic rhythm. A low, almost mournful humming resonated from the sword itself, growing louder, more distressed, a sound of deep discomfort and aversion. The blade began to vibrate, violently, not with power, but with a strange, almost frantic energy, a shuddering motion that nearly wrenched it from Sascha's grip. It was a vibration that seemed to emanate from shame, from reluctance, from a profound sense of discomfort and refusal. Excalibur, the legendary sword of heroes, trembled and physically pulled back in Sascha's hand, as if it recoiled from something deeply profound, something it instinctively recognized as far beyond its current wielder's understanding, or at the very least, something it instinctively knew not to challenge. It was as if the ancient blade itself was rebuking its wielder for his arrogant challenge, a silent but undeniable refusal to be raised against the being before it.
The entire party, even the stern Guildmaster Elara, was stunned in confusion. Sascha stared at his vibrating sword, his mouth slightly agape, utterly bewildered. This had never happened before. Excalibur had always responded to his will, eager for battle. But now, it was actively resisting him, shying away. Only Arianne remained unperturbed, her eyes fixed on Aiden with an even deeper reverence. The legendary sword, a beacon of heroism, had shown its true colors, and it was not on Sascha's side in this challenge.