Chapter 7
Dorian Lionsreach had many talents.
Crisis response.
Swordsmanship.
Inspirational shouting.
Unintentional leadership.
Adaptation was not among them.
He stood in the center of the Silver Ember Guild hall, hands planted on his hips, staring at the newly posted notice board like it had personally insulted him.
UPDATED OPERATIONAL PROTOCOLS — BY ORDER OF THE GUILD MASTER
Dorian read it again.
Then again.
Then out loud.
"'Rotational patrol leadership.'"
"'No single-point heroic deployment.'"
"'Delegation encouraged.'"
He looked up slowly.
"...Encouraged."
The chicken clucked from atop the railing.
Dorian pointed at it. "Don't."
The chicken blinked.
Dorian paced.
"This," he muttered, "is what happens when heroes discover balance."
A clerk approached carefully. "Sir Dorian?"
"Yes."
"Do we... still panic?"
Dorian thought about it.
"...Yes," he decided. "But quietly."
The first problem occurred within the hour.
A messenger burst through the doors, breathless.
"Sir Dorian! Minor monster sighting near the outer farms!"
Dorian snapped to attention. "Details!"
"Two creatures. Low threat. Already retreating."
Dorian nodded. "Good. Mobilize—"
He stopped.
"...Wait."
The clerk tilted her head. "Sir?"
Dorian stared at the board.
Rowan's handwriting glared back at him.
"...We delegate," Dorian said slowly, like the words tasted wrong.
The messenger blinked. "Delegate... to who?"
Dorian scanned the room.
His eyes landed on a very enthusiastic new recruit.
"You," Dorian said.
The recruit straightened. "Me?"
"Yes. Congratulations. You are now leadership."
The recruit beamed. "Sir!"
Dorian leaned in. "Do not die."
The recruit nodded enthusiastically and sprinted out.
Dorian watched him go.
"...I hate this," he muttered.
The chicken clucked.
"Yes," Dorian agreed. "Exactly."
The second problem was the chair.
It had been moved.
This was unacceptable.
Dorian returned to his usual command position to find his chair replaced by a smaller one.
He stared at it.
"...Who did this."
A clerk raised her hand timidly. "Guild Mistress Valebright suggested rotating seating to discourage hierarchy fixation."
Dorian stared.
"...She touched my chair."
"Yes."
Dorian inhaled sharply.
"...I will allow this," he said with strained dignity. "For harmony."
He sat.
The chair creaked.
Dorian glared at it. "You will not embarrass me."
The chair held.
Barely.
By midday, Dorian had reorganized the entire guild twice.
Not because it was necessary.
But because he needed to feel useful.
He paced again, reading reports.
Everything was... fine.
No fires.
No invasions.
No screaming.
This was deeply unsettling.
Rowan passed through the hall quietly, unarmored, carrying paperwork.
Dorian froze.
"...Why are you walking like that," Dorian demanded.
Rowan glanced up. "Like what."
"Casually."
Rowan frowned. "I'm married."
"That's not a posture," Dorian snapped.
Rowan shrugged. "It's comfortable."
Dorian squinted. "You're hiding pain."
Rowan smiled faintly. "I'm managing it."
Dorian recoiled. "That's worse."
Lila followed Rowan, clipboard tucked under her arm.
She smiled at Dorian. "Good morning."
"It's afternoon," Dorian said weakly.
"Yes," she agreed. "Time passes."
Rowan paused. "Anything urgent?"
Dorian opened his mouth.
Closed it.
"...No."
Rowan nodded. "Good."
He and Lila continued on.
Dorian stared after them.
"...I am not emotionally equipped for this," he muttered.
The third problem was entirely Dorian's fault.
He called an emergency meeting.
No one knew why.
They gathered anyway.
Dorian stood at the front, arms crossed.
"Alright," he said. "New policy."
The room tensed.
"We are not," Dorian said slowly, "allowed to assume Rowan will solve everything."
Silence.
A veteran adventurer frowned. "But he usually—"
"He will not," Dorian snapped. "He will advise."
The room murmured.
"And," Dorian added, "we will stop calling him 'unstoppable.'"
Someone gasped.
"That word invites hubris."
The chicken clucked loudly.
"Yes," Dorian said. "See? Even morale agrees."
A clerk raised a hand. "Sir... is the Guild Master retiring?"
Dorian's heart skipped.
"No," he said quickly. "He's... reallocating."
The murmurs grew.
Dorian panicked.
"And if he were retiring," Dorian continued loudly, "which he is not, I would obviously take over."
The room went silent.
Every eye turned to him.
"...You?" someone asked.
Dorian straightened. "Yes."
A pause.
Then laughter.
Dorian stared.
"...Stop."
The laughter intensified.
Dorian pointed. "This is not funny."
The chicken clucked.
Dorian collapsed into the chair.
"...I hate all of you."
Rowan found Dorian later in the map room, staring at pins like they'd personally betrayed him.
"You're spiraling," Rowan observed calmly.
Dorian didn't look up. "You're walking without armor."
"Yes."
"You didn't fight anything today."
"No."
"You delegated."
"Yes."
"You smiled at a clerk."
"...I might have."
Dorian turned slowly. "Who are you."
Rowan smiled faintly. "Someone learning."
Dorian groaned and buried his face in his hands.
"I don't know how to protect you if you won't let me panic."
Rowan blinked.
"...You protect me by trusting me."
Dorian peeked through his fingers. "That feels irresponsible."
Rowan shrugged. "So does marriage."
Dorian snorted despite himself.
"...You're really doing this," Dorian said quietly.
"Yes."
"And you're okay."
Rowan nodded. "I am."
Dorian leaned back.
"...Fine," he muttered. "But if you die, I'm telling everyone it was love."
Rowan smiled. "Fair."
The chicken clucked approvingly.
Dorian glanced at it. "...You're on thin ice."
By evening, the guild was still standing.
Nothing exploded.
No one screamed.
Dorian paced one last time, exhausted.
"...I suppose," he admitted to no one in particular, "that this could work."
The chair creaked.
Dorian glared. "Don't ruin this."
The chicken hopped down and followed him.
Dorian sighed. "I'm surrounded by traitors."
But somewhere beneath the chaos, something unfamiliar stirred.
Not fear.
Not control.
Trust.
Dorian hated it.
Dorian Lionsreach made a decision.
This was, historically, where things went wrong.
He stood in the guild's strategy room with a quill in one hand and a list in the other, staring at the words like they might rearrange themselves into something sensible if he glared hard enough.
Things Rowan Is No Longer Allowed to Do (Temporarily)
The list was already too long.
He added another line anyway.
– Lift suspiciously large objects
The chicken clucked.
"Yes," Dorian agreed. "I'm being reasonable."
A clerk hovered nearby, visibly nervous. "Sir Dorian... is this list approved?"
Dorian waved the quill. "It's preventative."
"...Preventing what?"
"Tragedy," Dorian said firmly. "Or worse. Emotional growth."
The clerk nodded slowly. "Should I... post it?"
Dorian hesitated.
He imagined Rowan's face if he saw it.
"...No," Dorian said. "Hide it."
The chicken hopped onto the table and pecked the list.
Dorian snatched it away. "Absolutely not."
The chair creaked.
Dorian spun. "I AM CALM."
The disaster began, as disasters often did, with good intentions and poor timing.
A merchant delegation arrived unannounced.
They were loud, cheerful, and extremely impressed with themselves.
"We were told the Guild Master was... available?" one of them said, adjusting his fine coat.
Dorian smiled tightly. "He is... selectively available."
"What does that mean?"
"It means," Dorian said, "that I am here."
The merchants exchanged looks.
"...Oh," one said.
Dorian bristled. "Oh?"
"Yes," the man continued. "We were hoping for... the legend."
Dorian leaned in, smiling dangerously. "You're getting the logistics."
Rowan arrived mid-sentence, unarmored, holding a ledger.
Dorian froze.
Rowan blinked. "Am I interrupting?"
The merchants lit up instantly.
"Guild Master!"
Dorian groaned. "Of course."
Rowan glanced at Dorian. "What's wrong?"
Dorian hissed, "They want you to intimidate them."
Rowan looked at the merchants.
They smiled eagerly.
"...I don't want to intimidate anyone," Rowan said calmly.
The merchants blinked. "You don't?"
"No," Rowan replied. "I want to understand the issue."
Dorian stared.
The merchants hesitated. "...That's... acceptable."
They explained — tariffs, shipping delays, complaints that usually ended with Rowan looming until the problem vanished.
Rowan listened.
Asked questions.
Took notes.
Lila appeared quietly at his side, adding clarifications, gently reframing demands.
Within minutes, the tension dissolved.
The merchants left satisfied.
Dorian stood there, stunned.
"...You didn't threaten them."
"No."
"You didn't glare."
"I frowned once."
"That barely counts."
Rowan smiled faintly. "I'm trying something new."
Dorian crossed his arms. "It worked."
"Yes."
"...I hate that."
The second escalation was entirely accidental.
Dorian, still unsettled, decided to implement Protocol Adjusted Vigilance, which sounded reasonable until it involved whistles.
Many whistles.
The guild courtyard filled with shrill blasts as guards tested "alert readiness."
Rowan stepped outside, winced, and covered one ear.
Lila frowned. "Why is it so loud?"
Dorian jogged over. "Training."
Rowan squinted. "For what?"
"Everything," Dorian replied proudly.
Rowan lowered his hand. "Dorian."
"Yes?"
"This feels unnecessary."
Dorian gestured wildly. "You're injured!"
"I am resting," Rowan corrected.
"You're smiling!"
"Yes."
"You didn't punch anything today!"
Rowan paused. "...That's good."
Dorian looked betrayed.
Lila stepped between them. "Dorian, stop."
He froze.
"...Stop what?"
"Trying to protect Rowan by controlling the world."
Dorian opened his mouth.
Closed it.
"...I don't know how else to do it."
Rowan softened. "You trust me."
Dorian swallowed.
"...I do."
"Then trust me to say when I need help."
The whistles died down.
The guards relaxed.
The chicken clucked approvingly.
Dorian sighed. "Fine."
Then immediately added, "But I'm watching you."
Rowan smiled. "I know."
The real test came just before sunset.
A report arrived — minor disturbance near the old watchtower.
Low threat.
Normally ignored.
Dorian stiffened. "I'll handle it."
Rowan shook his head. "Send a team."
Dorian hesitated. "You sure?"
"Yes."
The team returned an hour later, successful, unharmed.
Rowan nodded in approval.
Dorian stared at the report.
"...That was efficient."
"Yes."
"...And you didn't go."
"No."
Dorian rubbed his face. "This is deeply upsetting."
Rowan chuckled.
That evening, Rowan and Lila prepared to leave the guild.
Dorian lingered, watching them with narrowed eyes.
"You're really going home," he said.
"Yes."
"Together."
"Yes."
"To... rest."
"Yes."
Dorian exhaled. "...Okay."
He paused.
"...You're happier."
Rowan nodded. "I am."
Dorian looked away. "Good."
They turned to leave.
Dorian cleared his throat. "Rowan."
"Yes?"
"...If this works," Dorian said quietly, "I will take partial credit."
Rowan smiled. "You already do."
The chicken clucked triumphantly.
Dorian groaned. "You too?"
Later that night, Dorian sat alone in the map room, legs stretched out, staring at the quiet guild.
No alarms.
No panic.
No Rowan-shaped shadow looming over everything.
"...Huh," he murmured.
The chair creaked.
Dorian smiled faintly.
"...Fine," he admitted. "Maybe this is okay."
The chicken hopped onto his knee.
Dorian sighed. "Don't get used to it."
But for the first time since Rowan began changing, Dorian didn't feel like the world was ending.
It just felt... different.
And somehow, still standing.