Ellie had barely stepped foot into the sprawling halls of the capital's guildhouse when she felt the weight of their eyes on her. The grand building, a fortress of stone and enchantment, loomed like a temple to adventurers and mages, its corridors echoing with murmurs of power. High ceilings were etched with ancient symbols, glittering softly under the glow of hovering orbs. Her stomach knotted as she was led deeper into the heart of it.

The room they entered was vast, humming with the quiet murmur of important men and women who had gathered. Their robes were rich, embroidered with the colors and sigils of the most powerful factions in the city.

Some had the unmistakable aura of magic clinging to them, like an invisible second skin. Others, hardened and battle-scarred, sat with steely eyes that spoke of survival through unimaginable things—including but not limited to chimeras, basilisks, and the most dangerous of all foul beasts: killer rabbits.

Ellie swallowed hard, feeling herself shrink under their gaze. She wasn’t supposed to be here. She wasn’t—

"Lady Ellie of Greymire."

Her breath caught as the voice rang out. The guildmaster strode toward her, beaming, his robes shimmering like liquid silver. His hair, white as frost, framed a face that bore the calm confidence of a man who knew he commanded the room.

Ellie felt her pulse race as he extended his hand. She took it, her own fingers trembling.

“The woman who single-handedly defeated a dark sorcerer and stood undefeated against mercenaries and assassins alike.” His voice carried through the room with a kind of practiced elegance. “It is an honor to welcome you to our halls.”

Ellie wanted to shrink away, to tell him it was all a misunderstanding. That she wasn’t a warrior, not a hero—just someone in the wrong place at the wrong time. But the words wouldn’t come. Her throat felt tight, her heart pounding in her ears. She forced a smile instead, hoping it was enough to mask the panic rising inside her.

A thick silence settled over the room, every eye on her, waiting.

She swallowed, her lips parting to speak, but only a soft, almost inaudible “thank you” slipped out.

The pause that followed felt like an eternity. She was sure they’d all seen through her, that they knew she was a fraud. She braced herself for the inevitable—laughter, disappointment, disbelief.

But instead, the guildmaster’s smile widened. “Humility.” He turned toward the assembled guild members. “A true mark of greatness.”

Ellie’s stomach flipped.

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

To her disbelief, murmurs of approval rippled through the room. "So modest," one man whispered. "Such restraint," another added, nodding as though her silence carried some profound meaning. Ellie’s chest tightened as she stood, frozen, listening to them admire her for something she hadn’t done.

“She doesn’t need to flaunt her power,” a mage murmured, his eyes alight with respect. “That’s how you know she’s truly dangerous.”

Ellie blinked, her confusion deepening. Dangerous? They had taken her silence, her discomfort, and twisted it into something... more. Something legendary.

The guildmaster gestured to a grand table at the center of the hall, laden with exotic foods and wine that sparkled under the soft light of enchanted orbs. “Come, sit with us. We’ve prepared a feast in your honor. Share your insights with us.”

Her heart sank. Share her insights? She didn’t have any. She didn’t even know why they had summoned her here in the first place.

Ellie took her seat, her fingers brushing nervously against the edge of the table. The food was unfamiliar—exotic meats, fruits that shimmered like scales, bread still steaming from the ovens. She reached for a glass of wine, her hand shaking slightly. Maybe a drink would calm her nerves.

But the conversations around her quickly turned toward topics she didn’t understand—campaigns, political maneuvers, dark forces gathering at the kingdom’s borders. And in every conversation, her name kept surfacing, as though she were a critical player in these unfolding events.

A woman across from her leaned forward, her voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “You must have seen so much, Lady Ellie. Tell me—how did you manage to defeat that sorcerer in Greymire? What spell did you use?”

Ellie’s breath hitched. “I… uh, well…” She faltered, her mind scrambling for something—anything—to say.

A man to her left chuckled. “Ah, let the lady enjoy her meal, Lauris. No need to dissect every battle. A master never reveals all their secrets.”

Ellie’s cheeks flushed with heat. She quickly nodded, pretending to sip from her glass, though the wine nearly slipped from her fingers. The more she tried to stay quiet, the more they seemed to misinterpret her silence as wisdom, her awkwardness as grace.

When she fumbled with her utensils, nearly dropping her knife, the same approving murmurs followed. “Such focus,” a woman muttered. “You can see it in her eyes. She’s always thinking ahead.”

Ellie bit her lip, resisting the urge to tell them they were wrong. But the lie had already grown too big. It had wrapped around her, swallowed her whole.

As the feast dragged on, the tension in the room began to shift. Conversations grew darker, more serious. Talk of political power plays and rumors of dark magic creeping toward the kingdom’s borders filled the space around her. Ellie’s head spun, her hands clutching the edge of the table as though it could keep her grounded in a world she no longer recognized.

By the time the evening drew to a close, Ellie was exhausted. Her limbs felt heavy, her mind sluggish with the weight of keeping up the facade. She excused herself quietly, retreating from the hall as quickly as she could manage without raising suspicion.

In her chambers, she collapsed onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Her chest tightened with a feeling she couldn’t quite name—something between dread and disbelief. They had built a legend around her, one she couldn’t escape. They wanted a hero. A savior.

But Ellie knew she wasn’t that person. Not even close.

She closed her eyes, wishing desperately that she had never left Greymire.