It was strange to have breakfast in one place. For the years I had been a salary-man, I would grab breakfast on the road. A pastry on the way to work.

Now I had the leisure to take my time for breakfast. It was nice. I had decided to follow human routines even though they were no longer required. It gave me somewhat of a purpose or grounding. Otherwise the only things that kept me going would be whatever obsessions I had at the time.

Like the days I had spent exploring the Sanctuary. With nothing to break up the routine - the days had all blurred into one after a while.

I had picked my spot. The Gilded Hearth was a charming little cafe in a quiet little corner of Vallenport’s market district. The name came from the enchanted golden fireplace at the centre of the cafe. The warm light flickered across the polished wooden floors and walls covered in intricate carvings of mythical creatures. All the wood made the place homely.

It smelled delightful. The smell of enchanted brews and fresh pastries. I had debated with myself whether to back to the Giant Bird yesterday and get an omelette but decided that pastries were definitely better. I wanted my equivalent of coffee and a pastry.

There was no coffee in this world. Enchanted brews made up for it. An enchanted brew was a hybrid of a drinkable potion and a spell. A blend of alchemical skill, culinary artistry, and arcane energy, designed to do more than quench thirst—it uplifts the spirit, sharpens the mind, or soothes the soul.

Every cup was different. They shifted colours reflecting the magic properties. Invigorating Brews were bright amber or fiery orange, flickering as if alive. Calming Brews were cool blues and greens, swirling like ocean waves. Inspirational Brews were silvery hues with faint sparkles, mimicking starlight.

I picked an Invigorating Brew. And a crescentfruit tart. Everything arrived on a wooden tray. The enchanted brew arrived in a nicely carved wooden mug. It shifted many shades of orange.

I sipped it. It began with warm spiced note - cinnamon or ginger. Before it changed into something tangy. Like I had smelled an orange.

Tastes Orange-ish? I though to myself. So what did the Calming or Inspirational Brews taste like? I wondered.

I did feel awake now.

I looked around. Delicate wisps of steam rise from cups on every table, their colours shifting depending on the drink's magical properties—blues, oranges and silvers. The cafe’s tables were mismatched but artfully arranged. Each carved with different runes. They all had different reactions. Some tables hum gently when touched, creating a calming vibration, while others warm slightly in the chill of the morning.

The light came from small enchanted lanterns that floated overhead, their soft light adjusting to suit the mood.

At the centre of the cafe was the pastry counter. Glass display counter showing of the pastries on floating shelves. Crescentfruit tarts that glowed faintly in the light, sunrise croissants that shimmer like dew at dawn, and starberry muffins that sparkle like the night sky. And the owner. Brenna. She greeted every customer by name, her magical quill scribbling down orders before they were even spoken aloud.

I bit into the crescentfruit tart. I couldn’t taste the moonlight. That was what it was described at on the counter.

Apparently the fruit was harvested by moonlight and baked into tarts before dawn to preserve its magical properties. Some legends claimed crescentfruit orchards were first planted by moon elves, who blessed the trees to bear fruit that would reflect the phases of the moon.

It just tasted like a buttery, flaky tart. The crescentfruit tasted sweet and tangy. A very light honey-orange flavour. Good. To much orange flavoured stuff with the brew - though. I wanted something plainer. More vanilla. But it was very good. Best desert I had in Gemworld so far.

Brenna’s familiar, a sleek black cat with golden eyes named Soot, curled up in a sunny spot near the fireplace. A few other people in the cafe as well.

My thoughts turned back to yesterdays annoying events. I had slept pretty well after the break-in that happened. Although I had slept on the floor. All of the old furniture had crumbled to pieces. It was okay. I was a Dragon. I was comfortable enough. Even in human form.

I thought of Gordos’ sweaty face. He was too enthusiastic. He probably knew something. I thought of the irritation of having to organise someone to repair the door. It was an old door so probably expensive. Also my furniture was arriving today. A lot to do today.

After asking the owner Brenna - I left the Gilded Hearth with a communication stone and the details of a Dwarf who was an expert in repairing wooden materials named Brolin.

The communication stones were cool. I had noticed the stones yesterday. Especially the real-estate agent using it. They had figured out how to program small magic circles - circuits into a magic stone. The equivalent of a magical phone.

***

Back home - the aftermath of the break in looked much worse. The pristine door - which had looked elegant and imposing yesterday lay in ruins. The wood charred and warped, the hinges dangling. Like broken limbs.

I called Brolin and locked a time later in the afternoon.

Annoying. I thought to myself. I used a levitation spell to clean up the mess. While I was doing so I noticed something glinting among the rubble. I floated it towards me.

It was an iron key. Intricately engraved with runes that seem to hum faintly under his touch.

Is this what they were after?

The delivery wagon creaked as it rolled up to the front of the Manor. I was interrupted from studying the key and pocketed it.

My furniture arrived. It arrived on a rickety wooden delivery wagon. The movers were a trio. Two humans and one beastman. A bear. He had a human face and bear fur and ears. He looked like a life size teddy-bear with a human face.

The bear was the foreman. He hopped down from the wagon, brushing sawdust from his trousers. 'Morning, m’lord! Got everything here—safe, sound, and enchanted as promised. Where do you want it all?'

I gestured lazily toward the open entryway, still bearing the marks of the previous night’s attack. 'Inside, obviously,' he replied drily. 'Please try not to scratch anything. It’s new.'

The team of movers—two broad-shouldered humans and a teddy-bear—set to work, hauling piece after piece from the wagon. They struggled to manoeuvre the enchanted pieces through the splintered entryway. I had emptied out the entire furniture store. This place was big.

First came the dragon-wood desk, its dark, polished surface gleaming in the morning light. The engravings of coiled dragons along its edges almost seemed to shift as it was carried inside. One of the movers gave a low whistle. 'Now, that’s a beauty,' he muttered, adjusting his grip.

'Careful with that!' the foreman barked. 'It’s worth more than your month’s wages.'

Next came the self-cleaning settee, a plush velvet piece that shimmered faintly as the movers struggled to angle it through the splintered doorway. The golden embroidery seemed to shift under the sunlight, depicting scenes of mythical beasts that subtly came to life when no one was looking.

The human grunted as he tried to steady the settee. 'This thing better clean itself after we’ve hauled it up all those stairs,' he muttered, earning a chuckle from the others.

The delivery continued, each piece more extravagant than the last. A massive dining table of moon-oak required all three movers to lift it, its surface glowing faintly with constellations. They staggered into the dining hall, the table humming softly in protest when it grazed the door-frame.

One piece—a magical mirror—began floating on its own, causing the movers to stumble. Tavalor deftly casts a grounding charm to stabilise it, earning nervous chuckles from the crew.

Then came the living hearth rug, a piece woven with fire-resistant phoenix feathers. It was rolled up tightly, but as the movers unrolled it in the entry hall, a faint warmth spread across the stone floors. The human crouched down, pressing a hand to the fibres. 'Feels like standing by a fire,' he said, eyes wide.

Tavalor nodded approvingly. 'It’ll keep the place comfortable in winter,' he said. 'And it’s fireproof. Convenient, considering recent events.'

The movers worked tirelessly, bringing in the grand floating crystal chandelier, which hovered obediently behind them as if it knew its place was at the ceiling. It cast prisms of light onto the walls, drawing curious glances from the workers as it adjusted its glow to the changing daylight.

All was going smoothly until they reached the magical mirror, destined for the master bedroom. The oval-shaped mirror, framed with intricate silver ivy, began to float the moment the movers unloaded it.

'Uh… boss?' one of the humans called nervously, stepping back as the mirror wobbled in the air. 'This one’s got a mind of its own.'

The foreman cursed under his breath, trying to steady the enchanted piece. 'This isn’t in the delivery instructions!'

The mirror tilted precariously, casting shimmering, distorted reflections onto the walls as it floated higher. Tavalor sighed, stepping forward with a flick of his hand. A sliver of his aura settled over the mirror, forcing it back to the ground.

'There,' he said calmly, brushing off his sleeves. 'Let’s not make this any harder than it has to be.'

The movers chuckled nervously, guiding the now-still mirror inside. 'Thanks for that, m’lord,' the foreman said with a sheepish grin.

By the time the last piece—a sunstone wardrobe glowing faintly gold—was carefully carried to its room, the movers were sweating and tired but visibly impressed by the sheer opulence of the manor’s new furnishings.

The foreman clapped his hands together, surveying the now-bustling manor. 'Well, m’lord, that should do it. Everything’s in place. Though I’d keep an eye on that mirror—it’s got a temper.'

‘Good work.’ I tipped them a couple of gold.

After they left I stood in the entryway, eyeing all of the pieces in the manor. For the first time, it felt like more than an empty house. It felt like a home.

***

In the afternoon Brolin arrived. I heard him before I saw him. First I head his grumbling. Grumbling about the cost of rare wood and the 'reckless mages' who keep him in business, how hard it was to find the place, the weather. Next I heard the sound of his tool belt. Clinking on his waist.

Brolin had a furrowed brow and a demeanour that suggests he’s been fixing other people’s messes since the day he learned to swing a hammer. A pair of magic goggles on his head. His beard was a cascade of silver streaked with hints of ash. He was short - like most dwarves. Solidly built. Broad shoulders. Barrel chest. He wore a sturdy leather apron over a faded grey tunic and reinforced trousers.

Brolin shook my hands. His hands were rough and calloused. Strong handshake. Strong enough that I felt his strength as a Dragon. The handshake softened his demeanour.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Brolin spotted the door: 'What in the Nine Halls did you do to this poor door? It’s crying for help!'

I explained last nights incident.

Brolin snorted. 'What kind of noble doesn’t have wards strong enough to stop petty thieves? You’re lucky they didn’t make off with more.'

I only smiled in reply.

A thought struck me. This had nothing to do with robbery. Who the hell would rob a deserted manor?

I decided that I wasn’t going to have nothing to do with the key anymore. I’d hand it off to the Adventurers Guild or the Mages Guild and let them handle it. I was the ultimate tourist after all.

I decided to drop it of to the Adventurers Guild later.

Lost in my thoughts. Brolin worked quickly and methodically, his enchanted tools allowing him to repair damage that would take a team of ordinary craftsmen days to fix.

It was interesting to watch Brolin work. He was as much a rune-smith as a carpenter, inscribing protective enchantments into his repairs to ensure they last.

He was done it fifteen minutes. He cost quite a bit through. A hundred gold. A hundred. For. A. Door.

'You know, if you’d just warded this thing properly, I wouldn’t have to charge you double.'

I paid it. I was annoyed. But I remembered that I was rich.

***

I went to the Adventurers Guild by gondola later that day.

It was a big building. Made of enchanted stone that shifted colours throughout the day, reflecting the sunlight in the morning and glowing faintly at night. Its entrance was flanked by two towering statues—one of a heroic knight and the other of a sly rogue, both carved with incredible detail.

I found the statues kinda funny. Why the rogue? A rogue of all things.

I walked through the entrance. Above the massive double doors was the guild’s crest: a crossed sword and staff encircled by a golden dragon eating its tail. There was a motto written underneath in Draconic. Strength, wisdom, and eternal pursuit.

Interesting.

It was busy inside. A hustle and bustle of adventurers—muscular warriors, cloaked rogues, and excitable magic casters. People in the process of doing things. Moving in clusters from the Guild Board, to the main hall, to the bar and kitchen and back out.

The entrance led to the main hall. A grand hall with vaulted ceilings and enchanted chandeliers that floated lazily above the crowd, their lights adjusting based on the time of day. Long wooden tables fill the room, scarred from countless knife games and spilled drinks. A roaring hearth on one end was enchanted to crackle with blue fire, keeping the hall warm and welcoming.

On one wall was the Guild Board. A towering quest board dominates one wall, covered with notices ranging from low-risk tasks (finding lost pets or delivering messages) to high-risk adventures (slaying wyverns or exploring ancient ruins). Magical runes highlight particularly urgent or lucrative jobs.

A reception desk stood next to the Guild Board. I handed the key to the key to the guild receptionist, a gnome with overly large spectacles, who examined it with wide-eyed curiosity.

'You should register as an adventurer before we process this,' the gnome suggests. 'We can’t let non-guild members claim such high-risk items.'

‘I don’t want to claim it.’ I said. ‘I want to hand it over.’

‘We don’t accept hand-overs of high-risk items like this.’

‘Why? What a strange rule?’

The gnome quirked an eyebrow, clearly used to such questions. 'Oh, it’s not strange at all, m’lord,' she said, leaning forward conspiratorially. 'You see, items like this—dungeon keys, cursed relics, artefacts with unknown origins—they’re trouble. Big trouble.'

She tapped a glowing rune on her desk for emphasis. 'If we just started taking in every high-risk magical object someone found lying around, this Guild would be overrun with disasters waiting to happen. Imagine: cursed swords whispering nightmares in the vaults, enchanted mirrors summoning spirits in the middle of the night, dungeon keys opening portals to who-knows-where. It’d be chaos!'

I frowned, gesturing to the key in my hand. 'But I don’t want it. Surely your Guild is better equipped to deal with something like this than I am?'

The receptionist smiled patiently, as if addressing a particularly slow student. 'That’s what everyone says. But here’s the thing: whoever brings in a high-risk artefact becomes its custodian, at least until its nature is fully understood. That’s the rule. It’s a trust issue. If you’re handing it over, we need to know you’ve done your due diligence, that you’re not just offloading a ticking magical time bomb onto us. And we especially don’t take these kinds of things from new registrants. No offence.'

I furrowed my brows: 'You make it sound as though I planned to find this thing.'

'Intent doesn’t matter, m’lord,' the gnome said cheerily. 'Responsibility does. By registering it with us, you’ve acknowledged it as your discovery. That makes you the one responsible for ensuring it’s handled properly. Until we know exactly what this key unlocks, you’re its rightful caretaker.'

I sighed heavily.

'Only if you’re not careful,' the receptionist quipped, her grin as bright as the enchanted quill floating by her side. 'But look on the bright side—if it leads to treasure, you’ll get the credit. And if it leads to disaster… well, at least you’ll have an exciting story to tell.'

I reluctantly agreed to get tested to log the key. At least having the Adventurers Guild at my back would help with the paperwork involved every time I fire-balled someone.

***

I followed the gnome receptionist through a side door and down a narrow hallway. I could feel the hallway humming with residual magic.

The walls were lined with busts - statues of famous adventurers from the shoulder up - commemorating past adventures and their feats. The faces stared at me with mix of expressions — from solemnity to bravado.

I smiled. Showboating even in retirement. I thought.

The receptionist led me to a heavy, rune-etched door, pushing it open to reveal the magic evaluation chamber. It was a vast room, containing a big rock on one side and enchanted dummies dummies lined up in a row on the far end. The dummies glowed with defensive wards. The air smelled of ozone and burnt wood, remnants of the countless spells cast in this space.

‘Two parts to this,’ said the gnome adjusting her oversized glasses. ‘Touch the rock to evaluate your power level first.’ She said pointing at the big rock.

‘Second’ she pointed at the dummies ‘knock down as many of those dummies as you can in sixty seconds. Creativity and precision are key—this isn’t about brute force.’

I glanced at the enchanted dummies, their plastic smiling faces were irritating. ‘Is this really necessary?’

The receptionist’s grin widened. 'Guild rules, m’lord. Besides, don’t you want to prove you’re not just another pampered noble?'

‘Also how are adventurers ranked? I’m from the South.’ I lied. ‘We do things differently.’

The gnome agreed with the fake explanation and broke things down. They used the alphabet system.

[E-Class] - (1-star)

[D-Class] - (2-star)

[C-Class] - (3-star)

[B-Class] - (4-star)

[A-Class] - (5-star)

[S-Class] - (6-star)

Not a simpler system than the stars. But I understood some things now.

I had been too lazy to appraise people these days. I had realised that I had been growing more powerful as I slept. I could feel it. Sleep it turned out - was Dragons main strengthening method. And I had woken up at the peak of strength already. It was pointless to [Appraise]. I mostly relied on [Dragon Sight] to count the number of circles.

‘Are there a lot of [S-Class]’s I asked?

‘They are legendary adventurers. The Chief Adventurer. The Chief Royal Knight. The General. The Chief of the Mages. Most E- and [D-Class] adventures are common. Rarer are the B and [C-Class].’

‘Do the mages use the same system?’

The gnome nodded.

I hadn’t seen a single [S-Class] level to compare how strong I was - but I thought I might be the strongest person on this continent. At least I had a vague measuring stick.

A small crowd of adventurers began gathering around the observation window, sensing a show. Whispers rippled through the group. 'A noble taking the test? Thistle be good.'

First I went to the testing stone. The stone had 6 bars carved on the front of it. One for each star.

I suppressed my strength as much as possible. Only using a tiny sliver of it. I touched the stone. I wanted to hit the 3rd bar. I couldn’t suppress my magic any lower than what I already had.

Fourth bar. Damn. This is gonna be a problem.

A ripple of surprise spread through the crowd. He was strong. But he didn’t look it. I had chosen to disguise as a Southern Aristocrat and my clothes fit the persona. I wore all green. A dark green high collared long coat - crafted from enchanted linen that shimmered int he light. Subtle gold threads all long cuffs and hems. The patterns of southern starbursts and flowing rives. Underneath - a silk tunic, fitted trousers, high boots polished to a mirrored shine.

With my long hair and skinny appearance. I looked the part. Elegant and foppish.

Even the gnome was surprised by my performance. I think she assumed I was weak because I wanted to hand the key over. She paid more attention to the second part of the test.

With a resigned sigh, I stepped into the centre of the room, rolling my shoulders to loosen up: ‘Let’s get this over with.’

The dummies sprang to life as the countdown started. Their glowing eyes locking onto me. I raised my hand casually. Tossed a fireball. The first dummy went down in a burst of flame, the fire-bolt striking it with pinpoint accuracy.

The second dummy lunged forward, only to be stopped by another fireball. It collapsed with an almost comical thud.

The crowd outside let out an impressed murmur.

I smiled and moved swiftly. Fireball after fireball. A chain of controlled bursts all hitting three dummies in succession. One, two, three — they collapsed like dominoes. Flames flickering out before they could scorch the floor.

The last dummy, I tossed a tiny fireball. It flew quickly, slicing a hole through the centre of the final dummy’s head.

Thirty seconds. The room fell quiet. Only the smell of singed wood hung in the air. Then came the cheers and whistles from gathered adventurers.

‘Did you see that — chain spell fireballs? Accurate as hell.’

‘Not bad for a noble. Bet he’s hiding some tricks up his sleeve.’

The receptionist re-entered the room, clapping her hands. 'Impressive! We’ve got adventurers here who can’t even handle one dummy without setting themselves on fire.' She waved a glowing quill that scribbled something on a floating parchment. 'You’re officially classified as a A-Class adventurer. Congratulations!'

The aristocrat froze mid-step. 'I beg your pardon? A-Class?'

'You’ve got the skill for it, m’lord. Most folks take years to reach A-Class. You’ve just made quite the impression.'

Around him, the murmurs of the adventurers grew louder. Some looked impressed; others, envious.

'Welcome to the guild!' the receptionist said brightly, clearly enjoying his discomfort.

***

In a room in the back the gnome gave me more details about the guild and finished off my application.

'You’re officially registered. Welcome to the guild!' The gnome handed him a gleaming badge engraved with his name and rank.

It was a circular badge, roughly the size of a palm, with a raised insignia of the Guild’s crest: a crossed sword and staff encircled by a coiled dragon. Around the edge, glowing runes detailed the adventurer’s rank (from [E-class]to [S-class] and their unique registration number. Mine glowed platinum, indicating my status. I turned it over in my hand admiring its gleam. Its surface seems to ripple like liquid under direct sunlight, giving it an otherworldly sheen.

I sighed. This is going to bring me more trouble than it’s worth. I had gone a bit overboard.

The gnome then did the paperwork to register the key. With the key officially registered the gnome revealed its faint magical signature. Causing it to glimmer in the light.

'It’s a dungeon key,' she explained. 'Old magic, likely tied to something underground. Could be treasure, could be trouble. I’d keep an eye on it.'

I asked for them to put up a mission about the key. 10 gold reward for any information to do with the key. And left.

***

I had dinner at the Giant Bird again. This time, I decided to indulge in their speciality: Skyflame Fowl, a dish renowned for its fiery preparation. The fowl arrived sizzling, its skin crackling with faint magical embers, and the aroma carried a mix of smoky richness and exotic spices. Alongside it, I ordered a glass of Moonlit Elven Mead, a pale, golden wine said to be brewed under the full moon and infused with hints of wildflower honey and starlight essence.

The wine shimmered faintly in its glass, catching the flickering glow of the enchanted lanterns that lit the restaurant. I leaned back in my chair, savouring the first bite of the Skyflame Fowl. The heat from the spices was balanced perfectly by the smoky sweetness, and each bite seemed to release a wave of warmth that spread through my chest.

I twirled the badge in my hand as I ate. The soft hum of conversation from the other diners blended with the occasional clang of kitchenware, creating a soothing backdrop to my thoughts.

‘A-level adventurer,' I murmured, amused. 'This city never ceases to surprise me.'

The waitress was the same as yesterday. A catgirl. She noticed the badge in my hand.

'[A-Class]?' The catgirl paused mid-step, her tray of enchanted drinks hovering just slightly off balance. Her sharp eyes flicked down to the badge I had been twirling idly in my hand. 'Are you the new [A-Class] adventurer they’re talking about?' she asked, her tone a mix of curiosity and awe.

I glanced up from my plate of Skyflame Fowl, raising an eyebrow. Her expression was earnest, though tinged with that faint spark of excitement that often accompanied the mention of adventurers in this city. Clearly, word had travelled fast—faster than I’d expected, considering the guild's usual chaos.

'Not really,’ I said lightly, slipping the badge into my pocket. The faint glow disappeared as I leaned back in my chair. 'What are they saying?'

Her lips quirked into a smile, and she shifted her weight slightly, resting the tray on her hip. 'They are saying that. Well — that — mostly that you’ve been keeping to yourself until now—just showed up out of nowhere, stirring things up.'

'I hardly think registering a key qualifies as stirring anything up,' I replied, cutting another piece of the Skyflame Fowl. The heat of the spices still lingered on my tongue, warm and fiery. 'Though I suppose the Guild does love to overreact.'

The waitress tilted her head, studying me with a keen interest that bordered on amusement: 'It’s not every day someone jumps straight to [A-Class], you know. Most folks take years to earn a badge like that.'

She set the tray down on a nearby table and folded her arms, her curiosity getting the better of her: 'So what’s the story, then? Some grand adventure? A legendary beast you took down?'

I chuckled softly, shaking my head: 'No beasts, no legends. Just a bit of fire magic and a lot of paperwork. Hardly worth the gossip.'

Her brow furrowed, clearly unconvinced. 'Fire magic and paperwork don’t make someone [A-Class]. There’s more to it than that, isn’t there?'

I didn’t answer. Letting the silence linger long enough for her to realise she wasn’t going to get more out of m: 'The food’s excellent, by the way,' I said, changing the subject as I gestured to my plate. 'Pass my compliments to the chef.'

The waitress gave me a long look, her curiosity still lingering, but she was sharp enough to know when to let it go. 'I will,' she said, picking up her tray again. 'But don’t think this is the last you’ll hear about it. People talk, especially when it comes to new adventurers with shiny badges.'

I smirked faintly, raising my glass of Moonlit Elven Mead in a mock toast. 'Let them talk. I’m sure they’ll make the story far more exciting than the truth.'

She laughed softly, shaking her head as she turned to head back to the kitchen. 'They already have,' she said over her shoulder, leaving me to finish my meal and my thoughts in peace.