Kael led me away from the main thoroughfare, down a slope into a more crowded, dirtier part of town. The buildings here were low and cramped, the air thick with the smell of stale ale and waste. This was the Novice Quarter.
He stopped at a long, wooden barracks. A single lantern smoked by the door.
Kael: Your new home. A bunk, a locker, two meals from the Guild kitchen. Don't start fights. Don't steal. Do your assigned work. That's it.
He pushed the door open.
The dormitory was one long room, lined with triple-stacked bunks. The air was close, smelling of unwashed bodies and damp straw. Maybe two dozen men and women—all human, I noticed—looked up from their bunks or from mending gear. Their eyes were flat, tired, assessing.
Kael: New blood. Name's Leon. He's under Guild Master Albert's eye. Let him be.
A ripple went through the room. 'Under Albert's eye' didn't mean protection. It meant suspicion. The stares turned from curiosity to wary dismissal. A problem for the Guild Master was not their problem.
Kael pointed to an empty bottom bunk in a far corner. The thin mattress was stained, the blanket rough.
Kael: That's yours. Locker's under it. Be at the Guild steps at first bell. Don't be late.
He left. The door shut, and I was alone with the silence of strangers.
I sat on the bunk. The low murmurs that had stopped resumed.
Voice 1: …no gear, no window. Useless.
Voice 2: Albert's pet. Means he's broken. Don't get involved.
Voice 3: Looks like he'd fold in a stiff wind.
I lay back, staring at the slats of the bunk above me. The day pressed down on me—the cave, the stone wolf, the goblin, the solid crystal in my pocket, the beastman guard's distrustful sniff. My body ached with a deep weariness.
A shadow fell across me. A lanky man with a tired face stood there, holding a wooden bowl. It held a lump of grey stew and a heel of hard bread.
Man: Guild ration. You miss the hall, you go hungry. Take it.
Leon: Thanks.
I took the bowl. The stew was lukewarm and tasteless. It was the best thing I'd ever eaten.
Man: Rolf. Been here three weeks. You're the talk. The one with no window.
So word traveled fast, even here.
Leon: Seems like it.
Rolf: How'd you even get a kill? No stats, no skill. They say it was a goblin.
Leon: I stabbed it.
He barked a short, surprised laugh.
Rolf: Simple. Well, good luck, Stabber. You'll need it.
He moved away. I ate, feeling the eyes on me, hearing the fragments of a dozen hard-luck stories from across the room. Everyone here was at the bottom. I was somehow beneath them.
As the single lantern was dimmed for the night, the ritual began. All around the room, people muttered the same word into the dark.
"Status."
Brief, private blue lights flickered across young, tired faces as they checked their vital signs, their meager stats, maybe their progress. A nightly prayer to the system that defined their worth.
I closed my eyes and said nothing.
---
Dawn came with the clang of a bell. The dormitory emptied rapidly. I followed the flow to a trough of cold water to splash my face, then headed to the Guild.
Albert was waiting in his study. His elven assistant was nowhere to be seen.
Albert: Today, you observe. You will accompany Gillian, the herb-collector, to the Eastern Woodline. You will not assist. You will not speak unless spoken to. You will watch. Report back what you see.
A test.
At the small postern gate, a stout woman with her hair in a practical braid and hands stained with soil was waiting. Gillian. She looked me over with sharp, sceptical eyes.
Gillian: Albert's shadow? Fine. You stay behind me, stay quiet, and don't touch my plants. Especially the Silverleaf.
We passed through the gate. The 'Eastern Woodline' was just a strip of tamed forest, patrolled and cleared of major nests, within sight of the wall. Guards watched from the palisade above.
Gillian got to work with efficient speed, identifying leaves and roots, clipping them into her basket. I watched, as ordered. I also watched the woods.
A rustle. A small creature, like a rabbit but with crystalline fur, hopped from a bush. It froze, nose twitching. It looked at Gillian, then turned its head. Its shiny black eyes locked onto me.
It stared. It didn't run. It took a curious hop toward me.
Gillian saw it. She went still, her hand dropping to a hatchet at her belt. The creature ignored her completely. It took another hop, unafraid, inquisitive.
Then, a low snarl from a thicket. A larger shape emerged—a wood-lynx, spines bristling along its back. Its predator's gaze fixed first on the crystal rabbit, then snapped to me.
This time, it saw me.
Its head lowered, lips pulling back from sharp teeth. A deep, warning growl vibrated in the air. It took one step toward me, then another, its focus splitting between me and the rabbit. I was a living thing in its territory.
Gillian's breath caught. "Don't move," she whispered, her voice tight.
The lynx's muscles coiled. It was deciding. The rabbit chose that moment to bolt. The lynx's head jerked toward the movement, instinct overriding its assessment of me. With a frustrated yowl, it whirled and launched itself after the fleeing rabbit, vanishing into the undergrowth.
The clearing was silent again.
Gillian let out a shaky breath. She looked at me, her earlier scepticism replaced by cold unease.
Gillian: It saw you. It marked you. But it hesitated. In ten years of doing this, I've never seen a wood-lynx hesitate. It's always attack or flee. You made it… think.
Leon: What does that mean?
Gillian: It means you're not normal. Something's off. And in here, 'off' gets you killed.
She gathered her basket, her movements quick and tense. "We're going back. Now."
We walked back to the gate in heavy silence. She didn't look back as she headed straight for the Guild Hall.
I was left standing inside the wall. The test was complete.
The result was clear. The traps ignored me. The monsters saw me, but I confused them. I didn't fit.
I was a wrong note in a song everyone else knew by heart. And sooner or later, someone—or something—was going to try and silence me.