The Hall turned into a temporary potion hall still smelled like crushed herbs and burned ingredients..
Harold stood at the front table, sleeves rolled to his elbows, a half-finished glass flask steaming gently in his hands. Around the room, his students — mostly younger adults — hunched over their own crude mixtures, each one focused on steadying the flow of mana through water, powder, and flame.
"Careful with the temperature Tim," Harold said without looking. "If your flame control waivers, the binding will—"
A soft pop and a startled yelp.
"—separate," he finished, sighing.
Before he could say more, the door to the hall creaked open and one of his personal guards stepped through — older, stocky, with deep scars up one forearm.
"My Lord," he said quietly, voice respectful. "The Thornwalkers are back."
Harold straightened immediately. The flask hissed as he set it aside.
All around the room, the students froze.
"Aww come on," muttered one. Another slumped in visible disappointment.
Harold held up a hand. "Keep working. You're not just brewing — you're training your control. Keep refining it. Healing and stamina potions only. When you can stabilize your flow through the entire process, we'll move on to something harder."
He looked around at the small sea of frustrated faces, then added, "And remember: someone has to make all the potions we burn through like water. Your potions are funding the Landing right now."
That earned a few reluctant grins.
As he turned to leave, his eyes met Elia's — she was sitting near the back, her half-finished flask trembling slightly on the burner. Her brow was furrowed, lips tight. Like she wanted to say something.
But she didn't.
She just gave a small nod and looked back down at her work.
Harold hesitated a heartbeat, then stepped through the door.
Outside, the evening air was crisp with the scent of cut wood and dust. A faint wind carried the sound of hammers striking rhythmically against the skeleton frame of the new school building. Closer to the palisade, raised voices barked measurements as someone guided a beam into place over the adventurer's guild hall frame.
They weren't going to make the deadline he'd set.
Not unless someone pulled a miracle out of their ass in the next few hours.
He frowned slightly but didn't stop. The Thornwalkers were back — and that meant Vera was back. He was eager to see how they had done. He picked up his pace, boots striking the packed dirt of the pathway between buildings, heading toward the Lord's Hall where they would have popped back out again.
The sky above was painted deep gold and purple, the last light bleeding through the treetops to the west.
It was going to be a long night.
Harold pushed open the door to his office, expecting a report.
Instead, he walked into chaos.
Blood stained the rug. Dorrin and Tresh were on the floor, leaning against the far wall — both pale, both with hastily rebound wounds soaking through with fresh crimson. Vera was crouched beside Tresh, hands slick as she tried to reinforce a tourniquet. Lyn was with Dorrin, her face tight, breath shallow as she worked.
Maggs stood silently by the door, bow slung and blood across one sleeve, watching everything with that unflinching stone-faced calm.
Harold's heart kicked.
"Dammit," he muttered, stepping fully inside. "Has no one given them a healing potion?"
He turned sharply, calling over his shoulder. "Ellis!"
One of the two guards posted outside stepped in quickly. "Sir?"
Harold threw a hand toward the floor, exasperated. "They're bleeding out on the first rug made in the Landing. Really, guys? Not one of you thought to grab a healing potion?"
Ellis flushed, paling slightly. "I— I'll get them. Now, my Lord."
He bolted.
Harold crossed to Vera, crouched down opposite her as she pressed a bandage against Tresh's side. "I'm sorry. You should have been treated the moment you got back."
Tresh shook his head, sweat beading at his brow. "Not your fault, sir. Portal spit us out and the wounds just… opened back up."
"Figured it was part of the cost," Dorrin muttered from the side, voice rough. "Pretty on-brand, right?"
Harold gave him a look. "Don't joke when you're bleeding."
"Not bleeding bleeding," Dorrin said. "Just… leaking."
"You're an idiot," Lyn muttered fondly.
Harold looked to Vera, who gave him a small nod of acknowledgment.
"Thank you," she said simply. "For sending us. For trusting us."
Before Harold could respond, Ellis returned at a fast jog, clutching two glass bottles. Harold stood and took one, passed it to Vera, and crouched again to press the other into Dorrin's hand.
"Here. Proper batch. Fresh this morning. Elia's crew is finally getting the stabilizer right. Honey is surprisingly tricky when you start out."
Dorrin uncorked it with his teeth and downed the potion in two gulps. He grimaced, then blinked rapidly as color began to return to his face.
"Okay," he exhaled. "Yeah. That's the good stuff."
Tresh followed suit, coughing once as he swallowed. Then his head lolled back against the wall.
"Think I just felt my liver stitch itself together," he said.
"Don't push yourselves," Harold warned, standing again. "You made it back alive. That's enough."
He looked around the room at the five of them — tired, bloodied, alive. Whatever they'd done, it had been hard.
Harold moved behind his desk, scanning the surface for something. His eyes narrowed slightly when he didn't find it.
Then he crouched, pulled open the bottom drawer, and retrieved a wrapped bundle of cloth. He set it on the table and carefully unwrapped it — revealing the hobgoblin totem.
It pulsed with a low, steady glow. Faint veins of red light shimmered beneath the surface, like the last coals of a dying fire.
He stared at it for a moment, then nodded to himself.
"I see you succeeded," he said softly, almost to the totem. Then he looked up at Vera and her team. "You've done more for the Landing than you realize."
His gaze settled on Vera. "You and your team… you're proving to be very effective."
Vera gave a faint nod — her version of a proud smile.
Harold straightened. "Tell me how it went."
Vera took a breath and began. "We were pulled into an instance right at the edge of a town. We were met by the town's mayor who entreated us to delay a goblin army."
She paused. "So we made sure the goblins had a very long difficult walk."
As she spoke, Harold listened closely. When she mentioned the "goblin army," his brow lifted slightly. When she described what they started to gather to delay them, his eyes narrowed, and a slow, knowing smile crept across his face.
He held up a hand.
"Wait. Stop right there."
Vera fell quiet, instantly alert.
Lyn glanced at Maggs. "He's doing the smile again," she whispered. "That's his 'oh this is useful' face."
Tresh just mumbled, "Uh oh," from the floor, mostly-healed and not entirely sitting up yet.
Harold ignored the murmuring. He turned to the door and called out, "Ellis!"
The guard appeared almost immediately, still slightly flushed from his earlier mistake.
"Sir?"
"Find Margaret. Now. Bring her here immediately, please."
"Yes, Lord," Ellis said, turning sharply on his heel and heading out at a jog.
Harold turned back to the team, his fingers lightly resting on the totem.
He glanced again at the totem, the soft glow reflecting in his eyes. He calmly sat there and assessed the people that were in the office.
Vera still stood there, calm and composed. The dirt and soot streaked across her arms, the worn gear, the ash-stained scarf — none of it dulled her presence. If anything, it made her look more capable. Her long blonde hair was tied back in a braid that was coming loose at the ends, frayed from days of fighting and marching.
Harold's gaze lingered, not out of attraction, but assessment. She looked like someone who belonged in this world — not just surviving, but shaping it. Vera met his eyes and nodded once, quiet and steady.
Harold smiled faintly, then glanced at the others. "Well," he said, clapping his hands lightly, "while we wait for Margaret… can I offer you something? Coffee? Perks of being the lord."
Lyn's head whipped around like a hawk spotting prey. "You have coffee? Real coffee?"
Harold chuckled. "Somebody raided the last shipment from the Quartermaster. And by somebody, I mean me."
Dorrin, who was leaning back against the wall with one arm slung across his chest, perked up. "You know, I think the bleeding's stopped."
Thresh raised his hand without opening his eyes. "Coffee heals all wounds."
Maggs didn't move. She just gave the barest glance in Harold's direction and gave a grunt that might've meant "sure" or "die quietly."
Harold turned toward the sideboard behind his desk and started setting out cups. "That's what I like. A motivated team."
"Tea, if you have any," Vera said behind him. Her voice was still level, but there was the faintest trace of amusement at the corners.
Harold looked back with a smirk. "Tea for the Ice Queen. Noted."
"Oh my god, you heard it?" Lyn gasped. "She laughed! That counts! This is it — this is the emotional growth arc!"
Harold actually laughed at that, warm and genuine. "You know," he said as he started to scoop grounds into a small tin press, "I've read a lot of those arcs. They usually take a few more chapters."
Lyn beamed. "Oh we're already in Act Two. The stoic veteran reveals a hidden heart of gold. I livefor it."
Harold grinned as he set the kettle on a small spirit-burner. "How long have you two been working together?" he asked, glancing at Lyn and Vera.
Lyn stretched out on the edge of a nearby bench, arms behind her head. "Since we came through the portal, basically. I found her brooding dramatically over a cliff and decided she looked like she needed a friend."
Vera gave her a sideways glance. "I was hunting."
"Brooding while hunting," Lyn corrected. "It was very poetic."
Harold chuckled. "And you two?" he asked, looking at Dorrin and Thresh.
"Cousins," Thresh said, lifting a hand without sitting up. "Grew up in the Smokies. Been hunting together since we could hold bows."
"Also been getting into trouble together since then," Dorrin added with a lopsided grin.
"They tried to pick a fight with a forest cat two weeks after landing," Lyn said cheerfully. "It didn't go well. But it did make for a good team origin story."
"I maintain we won that fight," Dorrin said, pointing at the scar near his temple. "It ran away, didn't it?"
"It had already eaten your leg and got bored," Maggs muttered from her corner.
Harold laughed again, pouring steaming water into the tea mug first and handing it to Vera with a polite nod. She accepted it, fingers wrapping around the cup like it was the first warmth she'd had in days.
He passed a coffee to Lyn next, who took a dramatic sip and sighed in mock ecstasy.
Dorrin and Thresh each took theirs with a quiet word of thanks. Maggs accepted her mug wordlessly and gave a faint nod.
Before the conversation could drift further, the door opened again — brisk steps, confident pacing.
Margaret.
She entered in full stride, rough notebook in hand and expression already sharp — though she slowed slightly upon seeing the group assembled, still battle-marked and sipping drinks like a worn-down mercenary squad from some war story.
"They made it back half an hour ago," Harold said before she could speak. "And they brought something worth a conversation."
Margaret nodded once. "Then I assume you're all going to ruin my night."
Thresh raised his mug in salute. "I live to serve, ma'am."
Harold smirked and gestured toward the table. "Take a seat, Margaret. You're going to want to hear this."
He reached into his drawer, pulled out the softly glowing totem, and set it on the desk.
Margaret's eyes narrowed. She didn't sit — just circled toward Harold's side of the desk, arms folded, gaze locked on the totem.
"Alright," Harold said, eyes on Vera. "Tell the story again. From the beginning."
Vera gave a slow nod, her tone even but precise.
"We were assigned to defend a frontier village from an incoming goblin army. The system event dropped us inside the town with minimal supplies and where the mayor gave us a task. Hold the line. Delay the horde until reinforcements could arrive. They didn't tell us how long to delay, just as long as you can."
"That's a long time to hold out alone," Margaret said.
Vera nodded. " We marched out two and a half days from the village. Took everything we could carry — tools, traps, anything useful — and started preparing traps and fallback points. We scouted the goblin warcamp, marked their advance routes, and used the terrain to ambush who we could."
"We slowed them with everything," Lyn cut in brightly. "Crude trip mines, spike pits, rolling log traps. Poisoned supplies. Lured a forest troll into their rear flank."
"Ambushed scout groups," Maggs added. "Sniped hobgoblin officers. Sabatogoed supply wagons."
"Tresh got a bottle of gutrot into their water reserves," Dorrin said proudly. "At least two of their squads dropped out, puking blood. Which was surprising actually…you'd think goblins would be able to handle it better."
Margaret's eyebrows rose slowly.
Harold leaned back in his chair, trying to keep his face neutral. He was failing.
Vera continued, calm and steady. "By the time they were within 5 hours of the village, we'd reduced their forces by at least a quarter. Confused them. Made them think we were a larger force. Then when they formed up to move onto the town we set the largest firetrap we had made off on top of their formation.. Took out two more of their officers there before we were forced to retreat."
'We moved back to a choke point where we tried to hold them as long as we could. We did hold until the Hob regulars moved onto us and we had to fall back. That's where we took all the injuries."
Harold's lips twitched, but he stayed quiet. Lyn wasn't as composed.
"He smiled," she said loudly, pointing an accusing finger. "Vera, he's smiling. That's our win condition."
"I'm not smiling," Harold said flatly. "I'm evaluating."
"You're glowing like the totem," Dorrin muttered.
Margaret finally moved, stepping up beside Vera, her eyes scanning over the Thornwalkers with a slightly different intensity now. Less critical. More… weighing.
"You delayed an organized superior force, sowed confusion, and targeted command structures," she said. "With no outside support."
"And only minor wounds," Vera added. "Nothing permanent."
Margaret's eyes lingered a moment longer on the group before they finally settled on Vera — sharp and measuring.
Then she turned toward Harold, voice casual but with a steel thread running through it.
"Coffee for me too."
Harold didn't look up from the totem. "Come on, that stuff is valuable. I'm not running a café in here."
Margaret said nothing.
She just stared at him.
Harold sighed loudly, muttered something under his breath, and got up with exaggerated reluctance. "Unbelievable. One day I'm going to run out of beans and then you'll all know true suffering."
"You'll manage," Margaret replied, still focused on Vera. She waited a moment longer before speaking again.
"What's your background, Vera?"
The room went still. Not tense — but alert.
Vera stood a little straighter, her expression as calm as ever. She looked Margaret in the eye, then answered without hesitation.
"I was a scout in the Swedish Army. Light reconnaissance and forward infiltration. Six years of active service. One tour in Afghanistan."
Lyn let out a low whistle.
Even Maggs blinked, just once.
Margaret didn't react — not immediately — but there was a flicker of something behind her eyes. Interest. Approval, maybe.
"Explains a lot," Margaret murmured. "Your unit?"
"I was in the scout platoon for the 311th Airborne squadron," Vera said.
Harold returned then, setting a mug in front of Margaret with the weary dignity of a man forced to share something precious. "Here. But now we're even for that mess with the stone counters."
Margaret ignored him entirely. Her focus was still on Vera.
"You're disciplined," she said. "You think ahead. You don't flinch from hard choices."
Vera gave a small shrug. "You pick up what you need to survive."
Harold leaned against the edge of the desk, sipping from his own mug. "And you've made yourself useful. More than useful."
Margaret didn't look away from Vera — not even when she started speaking again.
"To be clear," she said, voice calm, "the Thornwalkers came in the second wave of refugees. They weren't a unit. They came together by happenstance — hunting, during the chaos of those first weeks."
Harold tilted his head, listening.
"Thresh," Margaret continued, "was the one who first warned us of the goblins that night. Him and Dorrin. They delayed the initial wave long enough for the adventurers to scramble, and for the Legion to finish the rest."
Thresh blinked at that, mug halfway to his lips.
"Vera," Margaret went on, "has asked more questions around the Landing than anyone else. She's pulled at every loose thread she could find. She's triggered the oath clause on at least a dozen people who came straight to me afterward."
Now the Thornwalkers were really paying attention. Lyn's expression had turned openly confused. Maggs was watching like she was tracking prey. Dorrin and Thresh shared a glance.
Harold exhaled slowly. "You were assessing her as a threat."
"I was," Margaret said. "And I don't think I was wrong to be cautious. She's good. Which makes her dangerous, I originally thought she was an agent for someone else."
She turned slightly now — not facing Harold entirely, but enough to shift the conversation directly to him.
"But now I believe she's noticed something else. "
Harold frowned slightly. "The divide between our waves."
Margaret nodded once. "There's a growing distinction between the two groups that came through. The first wave — your wave — who've had a month to learn and expected what was going to happen. And the second, who dropped into a world already half-spoken for. That divide is going to matter."
Her eyes flicked back to Vera.
"I think it's time we read her in. Oath her, and tell her everything."
There was a pause in the room — a subtle shift in air pressure, like the walls had leaned in to listen.
Vera didn't speak. But her brow furrowed just slightly — not in fear or resistance, but in recognition. She quietly looked on as dots began to connect in her head. "How could you know…"
Lyn blinked. "Wait, read in? What does that mean?"
Maggs said nothing. Just stared at Harold with faint suspicion.
Thresh whispered to Dorrin, "I think this is that moment in spy movies where we get the envelope."
Harold glanced at each of them, then finally back at Vera.
"You've done good work," Harold said. "Not just now. Since the beginning. And more importantly — you're asking the right questions."
He reached into his desk and pulled out a small slate — different from the others. Older. It bore the emblem of his authority etched into the surface by the system itself: a sprig of new growth laid across a single upright blade.
The Sprig and the Blade.
Harold placed it gently on the table between them.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly, looking at Vera. "But take the oath. And we'll tell you what's really going on."
He held her gaze.
"If you refuse… then you won't be allowed to leave this room without taking a different oath. You already know too much."
There was a long silence. The only sounds were the faint crackle of a lantern and the muted noises of construction continuing outside.
Maggs tensed slightly. Lyn was frozen. Dorrin's hand tightened on his mug while Thresh looked like he was about to say something and thought better of it.
Vera, for her part, didn't flinch. She just looked at the slate, then at Harold, then back again. Her voice was steady when she finally spoke.
"What's the oath bind me to?"
Margaret stepped forward now, voice calm. "You swear to hold confidential what is said in this room and what will be revealed to you after. You swear not to betray the Landing — not just Harold, but the people who live and work under his protection. And you swear to serve the truth of this domain's purpose, even if you don't always agree with its direction."
Vera gave the slate another glance. Then nodded once.
"Fine. I'll take it."
She reached forward, picked it up, Harold held the other end and coached her through the words of the oath to him. When she was done Harold repeated his oath back to her. To serve and protect the people of Landing.
Harold exhaled slowly. Margaret looked faintly relieved.
Lyn blinked rapidly. "Okay. So… are we in trouble? Because that felt like we might be in trouble."
Margaret turned toward her, expression unreadable. "You're about to learn the stakes. If you want out, you can take the same oath."
Harold nodded to the others. "You've all earned the right to know. But the door closes behind you. This isn't a story you can walk away from."
Lyn raised both hands. "No take-backsies. I'm in."
Thresh looked at Dorrin. "What do you think?"
"I think we already fell down the rabbit hole," Dorrin muttered. "Might as well find out where it leads."
All four followed Vera's lead and took the oath in turn — one by one, each slate flare confirming their agreement.
Harold waited until the last light faded, then slowly walked to the map on the wall.