By the time we reached Ashvale proper, the sun was already dipping below the jagged horizon, casting the town in long, red shadows.
Ashvale was nothing like Highridge. Where Highridge was orderly and walled, Ashvale was sprawling and chaotic, a patchwork of crooked streets and buildings stacked on top of one another like mismatched bricks. Smoke rose from dozens of chimneys, carrying with it the scents of roasted meat, forge-fire, and unwashed bodies.
Bragg left us at the outskirts, still muttering about his cargo and the damage to his wagons. Not that I cared. We'd done our part. His goods were here, and the rest was his problem.
Arya stood next to me at the edge of the plaza, her hood drawn low. Her eyes scanned the streets with a mix of suspicion and calculation.
"This place reeks of trouble," she murmured.
I couldn't disagree.
But it also reeked of opportunity.
Ashvale was a guild town—one of the largest outside of the capital. Its guildhall stood at the center of everything: a massive stone keep, its sigil painted across banners that hung from every tower. People of all kinds streamed in and out—sellswords with patched armor, mages in long robes, beast hunters leading strange creatures in chains.
This was where adventurers came to prove themselves.
And if we wanted to climb the ranks, this was where we needed to be.
---
The guild hall's doors were twice as tall as a man and twice as wide. They opened into a vast hall lit by dozens of chandeliers, with long wooden tables where mercenaries drank and dice clattered. Boards full of parchment notices covered the walls—contracts, requests, bounties.
A clerk behind a counter looked up as we approached.
"Names?" he asked, already reaching for his quill.
"Holt and Moran," I said.
He flipped through a ledger, found our names, and nodded.
"Highridge branch," he muttered. "You're expected. Report upstairs. Second office on the right."
We did as told, climbing a narrow staircase to the administrative wing.
Inside the indicated office, a tall woman in guild colors sat behind a desk, her expression cool and unreadable.
"So," she began without preamble, "you're the ones who cut down Cragg the Hammer in Ashvale Pass."
I nodded stiffly.
She studied us for a long moment before leaning back in her chair.
"Not bad for newcomers," she said finally. "We could use more like you in Ashvale. But don't let it go to your heads. You've barely scratched the surface of what's out there."
Her gaze shifted to the stack of papers on her desk. She picked one at random and handed it across to me.
"Your next step," she said.
I unrolled it and scanned the words.
A-Class Assignment: Missing Miners in the Hollowing Caves. Possible beast activity. Investigate, neutralize any threats, and recover survivors if possible. Reward: 300 silver and guild credit.
Arya glanced at it and snorted softly.
"Beasts," she muttered. "Always beasts."
The woman behind the desk smirked faintly.
"You'd rather fight men? Fine by me. They bleed just the same."
I folded the contract and tucked it into my coat.
"When do we leave?" I asked.
"Dawn," she replied. "Gear up and get some rest. You'll need it."
---
We found an inn not far from the hall. The rooms were small and smelled faintly of smoke, but the beds were soft enough.
Over a quiet dinner of stew and bread, Arya finally spoke.
"This is where it really begins," she said, not looking up from her bowl.
I looked at her, puzzled.
"What do you mean?"
Her fingers tightened around her spoon.
"I mean we can't keep thinking like rats in a trap," she said. "We have to start thinking like hunters. Every job. Every fight. We're not just trying to survive anymore."
I thought of the brute in Ashvale Pass. Of the way the journeymen had looked at us afterward—not as weaklings anymore, but as equals.
I nodded slowly.
"You're right," I said.
For the first time that day, she looked at me and almost smiled.
---
The next morning, we were at the guild gates before sunrise.
A small pack was waiting for us—two other apprentices and a journeyman leader, a grizzled veteran named Soren who carried two swords strapped across his back.
He eyed us up and down as we approached, then jerked his chin toward the road.
"Try not to get killed," he grunted.
We set off toward the Hollowing Caves under a sky painted with the first streaks of dawn.
The air was crisp and cold, the path winding through pine forests that whispered secrets as we passed.
And as the guild keep disappeared behind us, I felt something tighten in my chest—a knot of determination.
We were no longer just trying to prove ourselves to the guild.
We were proving ourselves to each other.
And to ourselves.
No matter what waited in those caves, we would walk in with blades drawn and heads high.
Because we weren't prey anymore.
We were swords.