The fire in the guildhall’s hearth had burned low, its warmth barely reaching the edges of the large room. Most of the adventurers had retired for the night, leaving behind the faint scent of stale ale and worn leather. Guildmaster Hargrave, thick-set and weathered like the oaken beams that held up the roof, settled deeper into his chair. The shadows played across his face, highlighting the lines that years of hard decisions had etched into his features.
Across the table, Calen sat hunched, stirring the last of his drink with a single finger. His face was a map of scars, each one earned from some battle or skirmish in his youth. He spoke little, even on good days, preferring to let the younger adventurers fill the silence with their boasts and laughter. Tonight, though, there was a sharpness in his eyes, a tension in the set of his jaw.
“You think she’s the answer to all our problems, don’t you?” Calen's voice was low, gravelly, the sort that carried even when whispered. He cast a glance toward the shadows beyond the hearth, where the dark corners seemed to listen in. “She’s got half the guild thinking she’s some kind of hero, but you know better than that, Hargrave. I know you do.”
Hargrave sighed, rubbing a hand over his stubbled chin. “It’s not about what I think, Calen. It’s about what people need to believe. Ellie shows up, starts doing the impossible—or at least makes it look that way—and suddenly we’re getting work from places that used to pass us by. Good for the guild, good for the town. So what if there’s a bit of mythmaking in the mix?”
Calen scowled, leaning forward until the firelight turned his face into a mask of shadows. “It’s more than just stories. You see how she carries herself—like she’s waiting for the ground to give way beneath her. And those powers she’s got? You ever notice how she flinches when someone brings them up? There’s fear in her, Hargrave, and it’s not the kind you get from facing bandits or beasts. It’s something deeper.”
Hargrave didn’t answer right away. He stared into the embers, letting the quiet settle between them like dust. Calen was right about one thing—there was a tension to Ellie, a brittleness beneath her polite smiles that even a man like Hargrave couldn’t ignore. But there was also something else, something that made him want to believe in the idea of her, even if he knew better.
“Maybe she’s afraid,” he admitted, his voice thoughtful. “But she’s done right by us so far. And like it or not, the king’s taken an interest. If she keeps the capital’s eyes on Greymire, maybe we’ll get a chance to make something more of this place. Don’t you want that?”
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Calen snorted, a harsh sound that echoed off the stone walls. “You think the king cares about some backwater guild on the edge of nowhere? He’s got his sights on her because he thinks she’s useful. They all do. And once they find out she’s not the miracle they’re hoping for, they’ll toss her aside. You know it as well as I do.”
Hargrave’s jaw tightened, a muscle twitching beneath his beard. “And if she is what they think she is? If she’s more than we’ve seen so far?”
“Then we’ve got a different kind of problem,” Calen shot back. He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ve seen power like that before, Hargrave, back in the war days. It doesn’t come without cost. Whatever she’s running from, it’ll find its way here sooner or later. And when it does, do you really think the guild’s ready for that?”
The question hung in the air, heavy as smoke. Hargrave felt the weight of it settle on his shoulders, and he glanced toward the window, where the darkness pressed against the glass. The truth was, he didn’t know. But in this world, there was never any real certainty—just choices and the consequences that followed.
He shook his head slowly, taking another swig from his tankard. “Maybe we’re not ready,” he admitted. “But we’re better off than we were before she came. And if trouble does follow her here, then we’ll face it like we’ve faced everything else—together.”
Calen’s gaze didn’t waver, but he let out a rough sigh, as if the fight had drained out of him. “You’re putting a lot of faith in someone you barely know, Hargrave. Someone who doesn’t even trust herself.”
Hargrave’s lips twitched into a faint, rueful smile. “You don’t survive in this line of work without learning to take risks, old friend. Besides, I’ve got a feeling about her. She’s not like the others who come through here, looking for glory and quick coin. She’s carrying something heavier than any of us know. Maybe that’ll break her, or maybe it’ll make her stronger. But until then, she’s one of us. And I’ll stand by her.”
Calen shook his head, but there was no more fight in his voice. He rubbed a hand over his face, the weariness showing in every line. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you when it all goes south. I’d rather face a hundred trolls than whatever mess she’s dragging behind her.”
Hargrave let out a quiet laugh, though there was no real mirth in it. “If it comes to that, Calen, I’ll buy you the first round when we’re through.”
They fell into a silence that stretched long, the fire popping softly in the hearth. Hargrave turned back to the flames, letting his mind drift to the memories of old battles, old mistakes. And somewhere in those thoughts, a small, stubborn hope held on—that maybe, just maybe, Ellie could be the exception. The one who could defy all those odds.
But as he looked back at Calen, saw the grim set of the man’s face, he knew they were both thinking the same thing: hope was a fragile thing, easily shattered. And the world outside the warmth of the guildhall was cold and unforgiving.