The guildhall door creaked as Ellie pushed it open, its weight surprising her. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of ale, sweat, and wet leather, the familiar scent of people who had spent their lives in battle, or near enough to it.

The low murmur of voices paused for just a moment when she stepped in, but the silence was brief, like a ripple in still water quickly smoothed over. Adventurers returned to their drinks, their maps, their conversations about the jobs they had taken and the monsters they had slain.

“Did you hear about the dragon at Dreadmoor Pass?” A cloaked figure nursing a drink leaned over a table scattered with empty mugs. “They say it’s been picking off caravans like a wolf with sheep.”

The cloaked figure's words echoed in Ellie’s mind, the mention of a dragon stirring dread within her. The thought of facing such a creature felt overwhelming. She hoped she wouldn't be fighting any dragons soon.

“Dragon?” Across the hall, a young adventurer clinked his tankard against another. “More like a lizard pretending to be one. My uncle fought a real dragon last summer and lived to tell the tale. You lot wouldn’t last a day against it.”

As the conversation resumed, punctuated by laughter and bravado, Ellie stood in the doorway, her fingers clenching the rough fabric of her cloak, her heart beating too fast. The room was lit by high windows, the light slanting in across tables crowded with armor and weapons—the remnants of a hunt or battle drying in the warmth.

Along the far wall, a long counter stretched, where a few adventurers waited to speak with the guild’s staff—clerks who took down requests, recorded rewards, and kept the machinery of this dangerous trade running smoothly. At the center of it all was the guild registrar, a woman with a sharp gaze and hands that moved as efficiently as a scribe’s.

Ellie swallowed, steeling herself, and walked to the counter. She kept her pace measured, her steps soft against the stone floor. There was no reason for anyone to notice her—just another person, looking to join the long list of names that passed through here each day.

The registrar looked up as she approached, her quill pausing mid-scratch. Her eyes, pale and quick, scanned Ellie with the practiced precision of someone who had seen hundreds, maybe thousands, like her.

“Name?” Her voice was clipped, formal.

“Ellie,” she said, her voice steady enough. “Ellie Liddell.”

She raised an eyebrow, not at the name, but at the fact that she offered no more than that. Most new adventurers, she gathered, came with a story, some boast or explanation of their skill or lineage. Ellie had none to offer, and silence seemed the safest thing.

The registrar dipped her quill in ink and began to write her name into the thick ledger before him. “And your class?”

She had anticipated this. “Mage.”

Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

Ellie hoped the single word would pass without question, but the registrar’s quill stilled.

The registrar looked up again, this time with a sharper interest. “Mage, you say?” Her gaze moved over her once more, assessing her plain clothes, her lack of any visible sigils, wands, or enchanted items. “No offense, but you don’t look like a mage.”

“None taken.” Ellie felt her palms grow damp, but she kept her face neutral. “I travel light.”

The registrar’s mouth twitched, almost into a smile, but she didn’t press her on it.

Instead, she set the quill down and leaned back, folding her arms across her chest and gathering the attention of some adventurers in the room. “You understand that, for registration, we need some form of verification. A simple demonstration of your magic will do.”

Ellie’s pulse quickened. This was exactly what she had feared—some public test that would expose her for the fraud she was. Her magic was weak, pitiful compared to what adventurers like these would expect. But she couldn’t refuse outright; that would only make things worse. She had to think, quickly.

“I’d rather not,” she said, with a calmness she didn’t feel.

The registrar’s eyebrows rose further. “Rather not?”

It’s not necessary,” Ellie kept her voice low, trying to sound as if her reasons were too important, too secret to explain. “My magic isn’t the kind that needs to be shown.”

The registrar studied her for a long moment, her pale eyes narrowing in thought. Ellie could feel the weight of the room pressing on her, the distant clinking of mugs and armor suddenly too loud, too close. She held her gaze, refusing to blink or falter, hoping that something in her expression, in the quiet steadiness of her voice, would be enough.

And then, to her surprise, the registrar nodded, just once. “I see.” She picked up the quill again, though slower this time, as if considering something more carefully. “It’s not the first time a mage has been reluctant to show their hand. I’ve known those who prefer to keep their powers… reserved, until necessary.”

Ellie blinked, but caught herself before her surprise could show.

“You’ll be starting at the lowest rank, of course.” The registrar scratched her name into the ledger’s final column. “If you wish to prove yourself, there will be no shortage of work for you here. Though you might find our clients less forgiving than I am.”

She looked up from the ledger again, her eyes holding hers for just a second too long. “Don’t think we won’t expect results.”

Ellie forced herself to nod. “Of course.”

The registrar pushed a small, round medallion across the counter—a copper token, stamped with the guild’s insignia. It was lighter than she expected when she picked it up, though it felt heavier in its meaning.

She had passed, though barely. She had registered, but only by skirting the edge of discovery. She couldn’t tell whether it was luck or some unintended consequence of the way she had spoken, but she was now officially Ellie Liddell, adventurer.

“Welcome to the guild,” the registrar said, her tone more professional now. “Your first job can be posted tomorrow.”

Ellie nodded again, grateful for the permission to leave. She turned away from the counter, clutching the token in her palm, and slipped through the bustling room toward the door. Her shoulders felt tight, as though someone might tap her on the back at any moment, demand she turn and reveal herself for the fraud she was. But no one did. No one stopped her.

When she stepped out of the guildhall and back into the cold air of the square, she allowed herself to breathe again. The wind brushed her face, and the weight of her own name, her own lie, settled deeper into her chest. She had done it.

For now, at least, Ellie Liddell had a place in Greymire.