The journey began without ceremony.
No trumpet. No sense of destiny. Just dust.
It clung to my boots first—fine, gray, stubborn—then crept up my cloak, settling into the seams and folds until it felt like part of the fabric. Every breath carried the taste of earth. The road beneath us was uneven, scarred by years of carts passing without anyone bothering to fix what broke. Stones shifted underfoot. Old ruts forced us to walk wider than necessary.
I found myself watching a merchant caravan ahead of us, halted because of a snapped axle. Three men argued loudly while a fourth tried to wedge a plank beneath the wheel. It wasn't dramatic. Just slow, frustrating, and inefficient.
Normal travel was fragile.
In the palace, movement had always been seamless. Roads were maintained before they cracked. Delays were absorbed by servants, schedules, and authority. Here, a single mistake stopped everything.
I hadn't realized how much of my life had been protected by context.
Tess walked beside me, her hood low, posture relaxed. Too relaxed. She didn't hesitate, didn't look around like someone tasting freedom for the first time. She blended in—not awkwardly, not nervously—but naturally.
That unsettled me more than the dust.
Freedom felt smaller than I had imagined.
By noon, the land dipped and buildings appeared ahead—low, clustered, unimpressive. No walls. Just a shallow ditch and two wooden posts marking the road.
A sign hung crookedly between them.
Dustford
The name fit.
Nothing about the town stood out. That was the point. A place that existed because roads crossed here, not because anyone wanted to be here.
Two guards stepped forward as we approached. Their armor was worn, practical, without insignia. They didn't bow. They didn't stare.
"Halt," one said, voice flat. "Purpose of entry?"
"We're travelers," I replied.
"Guild cards?"
"No."
"Merchant license?"
"No."
That earned a glance, not suspicion—assessment.
"Entrance fee," he said. "Twenty copper each."
I paid without comment.
As we passed, the other guard gestured lazily toward the interior. "If you're staying, you'll want to register. Adventurer's Guild or Merchant's Guild. Your choice."
Adventurer.
The word settled into my thoughts quietly.
Dustford smelled like baked bread, animals, and something faintly sour. People moved without urgency. A butcher argued prices. Children ran between carts. A man slept against a wall despite the hour.
No one cared who we were.
We asked the guard for an inn. He recommended one with mild indifference.
"Morning Dew Inn," he said. "Not cheap."
By evening, we understood what he meant.
Five copper for a night—expensive by local standards—but it included a meal. We took two separate rooms. The food was simple and filling. The bed was stiff. I slept anyway.
The next morning, we went to the Adventurer's Guild.
The building was larger than expected, stone instead of wood, with a crest carved above the door. Inside, the air buzzed with noise—voices, laughter, argument. People glanced our way briefly, then lost interest.
A young woman stood behind the counter, flipping through papers with practiced efficiency. When she noticed us approach, she looked up, her expression open but businesslike.
"First time?" she asked.
"Yes," I replied.
"Any prior registration at another guild?"
"No."
She nodded. "Alright. I'm Sophie."
She explained the basics without embellishment.
"All adventurers start at Bronze," she said. "From there—Copper, Silver, Gold, Diamond, Platinum."
She hesitated, then added, "And Obsidian."
Someone nearby scoffed.
Sophie didn't react. "Obsidian has only been reached once. By the first Hero. Touya. And even then, only officially."
That ended the laughter.
"You'll need to complete at least one mission to keep your registration active," she continued. "Fail to do so, and you'll have to re-register."
The fee was two silver.
We paid.
When it came time to write our names, my hand paused.
I thought of the weight a surname carried. Of the expectations it dragged behind it. Of the attention it invited without permission.
I wrote only Rio.
Tess did the same.
Sophie glanced at the parchment, shrugged, and moved on.
"Combat type?"
"Sword and magic," I answered.
She blinked. "Both?"
"Yes."
She raised an eyebrow, but nodded.
"And you?"
"Support magic," Tess replied calmly.
I turned to her before I could stop myself.
"You know magic?"
She met my gaze evenly. "Some."
"Affinity check," she said. "Standard procedure."
Tess stepped forward first.
She rested her hand against the sphere.
At first, nothing happened.
Then the crystal glowed.
Green light bloomed from within, steady and deep. A heartbeat later, white followed—soft, unmistakable. The glow intensified, brighter than most I had seen during academy demonstrations.
The noise in the guild softened.
Sophie stiffened.
"Earth… and healing," she said slowly. "That's… impressive."
Whispers spread.
Two elements. Strong mana.
Rare.
Tess withdrew her hand calmly, though I noticed her fingers curl slightly at her side.
When I stepped forward, I didn't feel anticipation.
I felt uncertainty.
The moment my hand touched the crystal, color exploded outward.
The light was blinding. Heat radiated sharply, the crystal vibrating violently before cracking with a sound like glass under pressure.
The sphere shattered.
Silence slammed down across the guild hall.
Someone gasped.
"That's impossible—"
"I've never seen—"
Panic edged the air, sharp and sudden.
Sophie reacted instantly.
"Equipment malfunction!" she snapped, stepping forward and covering the shattered remains. "Everyone calm down. The sphere was already unstable—"
Her voice was firm, controlled.
The noise wavered, then settled into uneasy murmurs.
She looked at me.
For just a moment, her composure cracked.
Then—
A shadow fell across the counter.
"…Guildmaster?" Sophie said sharply. "What are you doing here?"
The room went silent.
The Guildmaster stood at the entrance, eyes fixed not on the crowd—
But on the broken crystal.
And on me.