The morning light in Greymire broke through the haze of early autumn, filtering softly through the windows of the guild hall. Ellie sat in the corner, nursing a cup of watered-down ale, her fingers tracing absent-minded patterns in the condensation on the wooden table. She had been there for less than an hour, but already, the sense of being watched clung to her like the mist that hung in the town square.

It hadn’t taken long. The rumors were spreading faster than she could have imagined. Whispers trailed behind her as she walked the streets, and in the quiet corners of the guild, her name had become a murmur of awe and curiosity. The adventurers, who only days ago had spared her little more than a passing glance, now looked at her with reverence.

"Ellie Liddell," someone had whispered as she entered that morning, "the one who took down the beast in the mountains."

The simple act of walking through the door had drawn stares. She kept her gaze down, wishing for the heavy cloak of anonymity she had come here seeking. Instead, she wore the cloak of a legend, one that grew larger and more unwieldy with each passing moment.

A shadow fell across her table. She looked up to see Haldor, one of the older adventurers, his broad frame blocking out the sunlight. He stroked his gray-streaked beard as he leaned on the back of a chair, his eyes narrowing at her with something that bordered on skepticism but was softened by a kind of grudging respect.

“They’re all talking about you, you know,” he said, his voice rough like gravel. “The girl who slayed a mountain beast with nothing but a whisper and a flick of her wrist.”

Ellie winced. She opened her mouth to correct him, to explain for the hundredth time that it hadn’t been anything like that, but the words stuck, as if the lie had grown roots, tangling itself into her voice. She swallowed and forced a weak smile instead.

“I don’t know what they saw.” She hoped the understatement might pass unnoticed. “I didn’t do much.”

Haldor snorted, settling himself into the chair across from her. “Didn’t do much? Half the town thinks you’re some kind of prodigy. Most of the guild’s never seen magic like that.”

“I’m not—” She tried again, but the wave of awe in his voice, the insistence that she was something special, silenced her. She had tried to tell them before. Every attempt had fallen flat, met with disbelief or, worse, with knowing grins and sly winks. Her silence had been read as humility, her hesitation as mastery.

Haldor chuckled, the sound deep and throaty. “Ah, don’t be modest, girl. No one’s asking you to be humble in this business. Hell, half of being an adventurer is just what people think you can do. Keep ’em guessing.”

Ellie blinked at him, unsure whether the advice was sound or a death sentence. But before she could respond, the doors to the guild hall swung open, and a group of adventurers entered, laughing and talking loudly. Their eyes fell on Ellie almost immediately, and the laughter faltered into a respectful hush.

There it was again. That shift in the air.

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They drifted toward her like iron filings to a magnet. One by one, they gathered around her table, each offering a different version of the same story, embellishments and flourishes added with every retelling. Some spoke of how she’d conjured a storm to blind the creature. Others were certain she’d banished it with a single glance.

The pressure built, twisting tighter around her chest.

“Ellie, show us something!” A voice cut through the murmur of the crowd, bold and impatient. It came from a young adventurer near the front, the one who had boasted just yesterday of being kin to a dragon slayer. His grin was wide, eyes gleaming with excitement. “Come on, just a spell—nothing too big.”

The others nodded, murmuring in agreement. “Yeah, show us how you did it.”

Ellie’s heart leapt into her throat. She glanced around, searching for an escape, but the room had closed in around her, the walls of expectation closing like a vice. Her hands twitched involuntarily toward the worn leather of her belt, where a dagger was sheathed. She had no intention of using it, but the cold metal gave her some measure of control, an anchor in the storm of attention.

“I—I can’t,” she said, her voice too small, too quiet in the eager noise of the crowd.

“Can’t?” Haldor raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair with a knowing smirk. “Or won’t?”

She shook her head, willing them to understand, but her silence only seemed to deepen the mystery in their eyes. Their curiosity was relentless, and as she sat there, the weight of their belief pressed harder, suffocating her under its insistence.

Ellie swallowed. If she refused outright, if she made too much of a scene, they’d ask questions. They’d poke at her story until it unraveled, and she couldn’t afford that—not now, not when things had gone so far. But the idea of faking something, of playing into their expectations, made her stomach churn with guilt.

“Maybe it’s too dangerous to show us,” a low voice murmured from the shadows, the speaker's face hidden beneath the hood of their cloak. The suggestion slithered through the group like a spark in dry grass, igniting murmurs of unease.

A woman with intricate tattoos winding up her arms, their dark ink coiling like serpents, gave a slow, knowing nod. “She probably can’t. Not here. Not without setting half the guildhall ablaze.”

“Of course.” The cloaked figure chuckled softly, a sound that barely rose above the crowd’s whispers. “We wouldn’t want that to happen again, would we?”

The woman’s eyes flickered with a sharp glint of memory. “No, we certainly wouldn’t.”

A ripple of agreement moved through them, and Ellie felt a strange mixture of relief and dread. They had given her an out, but at the cost of cementing her reputation further. She hadn’t needed to say a word. The myth was already building itself.

“I suppose you’re right,” Haldor said after a moment, stroking his beard again. His eyes glittered as though he’d uncovered some great truth. “She’s playing it smart. Don’t want to waste that kind of power on us, eh?”

Ellie forced a smile, though it felt like a mask slipping over her face. “Something like that.”

The adventurers chuckled, murmuring their admiration, and slowly, the crowd began to disperse, satisfied for now. Haldor lingered a moment longer, his gaze still sharp as he studied her, but eventually, even he rose from the table, giving her a nod of respect.

As the last of them moved away, Ellie exhaled, her breath shaky. She stared down into her cup, the watered-down ale untouched, her mind spinning. Every word, every look, every expectation had wrapped itself around her like vines, pulling her deeper into a role she hadn’t chosen.

She wasn’t Ellie Liddell, the powerful mage. She was Elnora Valquinn, the girl with weak magic, who had run away from her life, only to find herself imprisoned by another lie.

And now, that lie had a life of its own.