Sebas had barely stepped out of the inn when he noticed the eyes. At first, it was subtle—a faint unease prickling the back of his neck. But as he walked through the busy market square, weaving between bustling merchants and shouting hawkers, the feeling grew stronger. Someone was watching him.
The previous night’s events weighed heavily on his mind. The gift of scales, the ancient tongues, and the fire of Tiameth coursing through him—all of it made him feel exposed, as if the world could see the mark left by the Dragon Queen. He adjusted his cloak, trying to shake off the discomfort, but the sensation refused to leave.
He continued to the Adventurers’ Guild, his pace quickening. The sooner he reached the sanctuary of the guild hall, the better. However, as he rounded a corner, a sharp whistle cut through the air. A group of armored guards stepped out from a side street, blocking his path.
“You there!” one of them barked. His breastplate bore the emblem of the local magistrate—a crimson lion against a black field. “Halt! We need to speak with you.”
Sebas froze, his heart pounding. The guards’ leader, a burly man with a thick beard, stepped forward. His gaze was sharp, and his hand rested casually on the hilt of his sword.
“We’ve had reports of unusual magic in the area,” the man continued. “An unfamiliar tongue, spoken in flames. Know anything about that?”
Sebas’s mind raced. The ancient tongues were not meant for mortal ears. Had someone overheard him practicing? He opened his mouth to deny it, but a voice from the shadows interrupted.
“Gentlemen, I believe you’re mistaken.”
From an alley nearby, Marek emerged, his trademark smirk firmly in place. The rogue’s movements were casual, but his eyes gleamed with sharp intent. “This one’s just a rookie adventurer. Hardly the type to be dabbling in dangerous magics.”
The bearded guard frowned. “And who might you be?”
Marek spread his hands in mock innocence. “A concerned citizen. Now, if you’ll excuse us, my friend and I have guild business to attend to.”
Sebas barely had time to react before Marek grabbed his arm, steering him away from the guards. “Come on, fledgling,” he muttered under his breath. “You’re making this far too interesting for your own good.”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
---
Marek led Sebas through a maze of back alleys, moving with practiced ease. They emerged behind the Adventurers’ Guild, where Marek stopped, his expression unusually serious.
“You’ve got to be more careful,” he said, releasing Sebas’s arm. “The moment you started whispering those dragon words, you painted a target on your back.”
Sebas glared at him. “I didn’t ask for your help.”
Marek rolled his eyes. “No, but you needed it. Trust me, the local powers don’t like surprises. If they think you’re a threat, they’ll come down on you hard.”
Before Sebas could respond, Marek pushed open a side door, beckoning him inside. The air inside the guild was a mix of smoke and the tang of ink. Instead of the main hall, Marek had brought him to a small office tucked away on the second floor. A heavy wooden desk dominated the room, its surface cluttered with maps, contracts, and quills.
Behind the desk sat a figure Sebas recognized immediately: the guild leader, Sir Aldric Vael. A towering man with broad shoulders and a weathered face, Aldric was a legend in the region. His silver hair and scarred armor spoke of countless battles, and the aura of authority around him was palpable.
Aldric looked up from a scroll, his piercing blue eyes locking onto Sebas. “So, you’re the one causing a stir,” he said, his voice deep and steady.
Sebas stiffened, unsure how to respond. Marek stepped forward, his tone light. “Don’t be too hard on him, boss. He’s new. Still figuring out which way is up.”
Aldric’s gaze didn’t waver. “Leave us, Marek.”
Marek hesitated, then nodded. “Don’t scare him too much,” he quipped before slipping out of the room.
The door closed, leaving Sebas alone with the guild leader. Aldric leaned back in his chair, studying him.
“You’re not just some greenhorn adventurer, are you?” Aldric said finally.
Sebas swallowed hard. “I… I’m trying to be. That’s why I came to the guild.”
Aldric raised an eyebrow. “Then explain the language of dragons. And the power I can feel radiating off you.”
Sebas hesitated. How much could he reveal? The truth about Tiameth, his pact, and the transformation he’d undergone was dangerous knowledge. Yet, lying to someone like Aldric felt equally perilous.
“It’s… complicated,” Sebas said finally. “I made a pact. With someone powerful.”
Aldric’s expression didn’t change. “A warlock, then.”
Sebas nodded reluctantly.
The guild leader leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Listen carefully, boy. This world isn’t kind to those who make deals with powers beyond their understanding. You’ll find no shortage of enemies—and very few allies. But if you’re serious about becoming an adventurer, you’ll need more than just raw power. You’ll need discipline, strategy, and allies who can watch your back.”
Sebas’s mind spun. The weight of Aldric’s words settled on him like a heavy cloak. He wasn’t just playing with fire; he was walking a path fraught with danger.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Sebas said quietly.
Aldric nodded, satisfied. “Good. Now, get out of my office. And tell Marek to stop bringing strays in through the back door.”
---
As Sebas descended the stairs, he found Marek waiting for him in the main hall. The rogue’s smirk returned as he saw Sebas’s expression.
“Tough love, huh?” Marek said.
Sebas shook his head. “He’s right. I need to be smarter about this.”
Marek clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit. Now, let’s get a drink. You’ve earned it.”
As they made their way to the guild’s bustling tavern, Sebas couldn’t shake the feeling that his path was only growing more complicated. The whispers of power, the eyes of local authorities, and the presence of someone like Aldric all pointed to one thing: his journey was just beginning, and the stakes were higher than he’d ever imagined.