The night was heavy with the stench of smoke and burned flesh as we put the black flame camp behind us. The swamp stretched on endlessly, shrouded in mist, the faint glow of the inferno still visible behind us like a dying star on the horizon.
We didn't stop to rest. Not yet. Gavin led the way, silent as ever, his broad shoulders cutting through the reeds. Arya kept pace beside me, glancing over her shoulder now and then as if expecting The Hand to come leaping out of the shadows at any moment.
I couldn't stop thinking about him either. His voice still echoed in my mind: You'll make it interesting… when Sigma comes for you.
That name—Sigma. I'd heard it whispered in the mines, in drunken mutterings and fearful curses. The fallen Sword Saint, they called him. The shadow behind the black flame.
And now I knew he was coming for me.
At dawn, we finally stopped on a stretch of high ground. Gavin crouched and drew a crude map in the dirt with his dagger.
"Here," he said, stabbing the point of the blade into a smudge of green. "Ashridge. A town on the edge of the northern frontier. That's where we're heading next."
"A town?" Arya raised an eyebrow, brushing a lock of hair out of her eyes. "Not exactly subtle, don't you think?"
Gavin gave her a flat look. "Not subtle. Necessary. Ashridge has an Adventurers' Guild. Contracts, information, resources. You're no longer just surviving now—you're fighting back. And to do that, you need allies. You need training. And you need better gear than that scrap of steel you're carrying."
I glanced down at my sword. It still bore a faint smear of the Hand's blood from the night before.
Gavin continued, "The guildmaster there owes me a favor. He'll see to it you're entered into their ranks. With your names on the board, you'll have access to missions—and coin. And every mission you take will sharpen your blade and make you harder to kill."
He looked at me directly, his scarred face set in grim lines.
"If you're serious about this," he said, "then Ashridge is where you prove it."
I nodded without hesitation.
"I'm serious," I said.
Arya smirked faintly. "Oh, he's serious all right. Almost got himself killed trying to prove it."
I shot her a glance, but she only chuckled softly and rose to her feet.
"Then it's settled," Gavin said. "We move."
We traveled the better part of the day in silence. The terrain began to change as we left the swamp behind, the air growing drier and the ground firmer beneath our boots. Low hills rolled across the horizon, and in the distance, I could see smoke curling lazily from chimneys—Ashridge.
By the time we reached the outskirts, the sun was setting, casting the town in warm amber light.
Ashridge wasn't large, but it was alive in a way the swamp never was. Merchants called out from their stalls in the square, children ran laughing through the dusty streets, and adventurers in mismatched armor lounged outside taverns with tankards of ale.
Everywhere I looked, swords and shields and bows gleamed in the fading light.
I felt strangely out of place.
We made our way to a squat stone building at the end of the square. Above the door hung a faded wooden sign, carved with the symbol of crossed swords and a coiled serpent—The Adventurers' Guild.
Gavin pushed the door open and ushered us inside.
The interior was warm and loud, filled with the smell of roasted meat and the sound of clinking coin. Adventurers of all shapes and sizes milled about, haggling over contracts, comparing weapons, or drinking around the fire.
Behind a long oak counter stood a balding man with a wiry frame and sharp eyes. He looked up as we approached, and his face broke into a wide grin.
"Gavin Moore," he said. "Well, I'll be damned. I thought you'd drunk yourself to death by now."
"Not yet," Gavin replied dryly.
The man chuckled and extended a hand. "You're lucky," he said. "That favor you're calling in? Still good. Barely."
Gavin motioned to Arya and me. "These two. I want them registered. Effective immediately."
The man raised an eyebrow, his sharp eyes appraising us. "They don't look like much."
"They will," Gavin said simply.
That seemed to satisfy him. He pulled two sheets of parchment from under the counter and shoved quills into our hands.
"Names," he said.
I hesitated only briefly before writing mine in shaky letters: Lynn Holt.
Arya scrawled hers more confidently: Arya Moran.
The man took the papers back and stamped them with the guild's seal.
"There," he said. "Congratulations. You're now adventurers. Don't die on your first mission, eh?"
He handed us each a brass token stamped with the crossed-swords insignia.
"You're listed as Copper rank for now," he explained. "Take jobs off the board. Bring back proof. Climb the ranks, and maybe you'll live long enough to see Silver. Or Gold if you're lucky."
Arya twirled her token between her fingers and smirked. "We'll see about that."
Gavin clapped me on the shoulder.
"This is your next step," he said quietly. "Don't waste it."
We spent the night at the guild's inn, and for the first time in weeks, I slept in a real bed.
But sleep didn't come easily.
I kept thinking about the Hand. About Sigma. About the camp burning behind us and the promise of more blood to come.
I'd stopped running.
But I knew this was only the beginning of the hunt.
When dawn came, Arya and I stood before the job board, scanning the rows of contracts pinned to the wood.
Bounties. Beast hunts. Escort missions. Missing persons.
Each one was another step toward becoming stronger. Toward facing Sigma.
I reached out and tore one from the board.
Arya grinned.
"Well then," she said. "Let's see what you're really made of… hunter."