I sat in the Gilded Hearth this morning. My usual haunt. The smell of Enchanted brews and semi-magical pastries filled the air.

I sat in my usual spot, in a chair near the windows. Usual drink. Blue multi-coloured calming brew and

Today had grabbed some brochures and was looking them over while I had my breakfast.

They were brochures advertising the Mage Guilds services on the counter. I grabbed a handful.

Soot, was curled up in a sunny spot near the fireplace. Avoiding me. I think my confrontation with the dumb adventurers yesterday had scared him off. The usual few people filled the cafe.

The fireplace was interesting. The Gilded Hearth was named because of the the enchanted golden fireplace at the centre of the cafe.

It wasn’t powered by wood or coal, but by a perpetual flame enchanted centuries ago by a wandering fire mage. The flame flickered with shifting colours—gold, crimson, and sapphire—responding to the energy of the cafe’s patrons.

Most mornings it was quiet. Like today - it was a gentle, blue-tinged flicker, creating a serene atmosphere.

One flyer caught my eye: ‘Exclusive Barrier Enchantment Package! First Consultation Free!’ I put that one to the side.

I skimmed the headlines.

'Lost Something Important? Try Guild-Approved Locator Spells!' No guarantees if it’s been eaten by a magical creature. Discount for lost pets.

'Personalised Illusion Displays for Parties, Performances, and Proposals!' Make your event unforgettable (or make your guests forget—your choice).

'Need a Potion? Specialising in Love, Luck, and Mildly Legal Remedies!' Side effects include glowing skin, mild dizziness, and questionable life choices.

'Adventurer’s Companion Charms: For Good Fortune, Strong Blades, and Fewer Mimics!' Guaranteed effectiveness, or your money back (if you survive).

'Spells for Hire: Fireballs, Frost Walls, or Something More Subtle?'Competitive rates. No refunds for accidental scorched ceilings.

'Meticulous Fortune Telling—Cheaper Than the Guild!'

'Your future is murky, but your coin purse is clear.' (Best for vague answers.)

'Want to Sell Your Soul? Please Don’t—But If You Already Did, I Offer Buyback Negotiations!'Discreet service. No questions asked.

'Magical Pet Training! Tame Your Gryphons, Dragons, or Aggressive Garden Gnomes!'

Also offering familiar matchmaking services.

'Looking for a Tutor? Speciality in Wand Techniques, Rune Theory, and Patience.' Beginner-friendly! Also offering lessons in avoiding magical explosions. I put this one to the side. For the opposite reason.

Mages were a funny lot.

Every single one of those brochures was off in a subtle way — yet I still wanted to follow-up on all of them.

Focus. Gotta keep to my agenda.

On the agenda was — visiting the Adventurers Guild to take a look at their archive, learning basic magic, installing magical barriers on the manor, learning to be a knight, dealing with the key and maybe a vacation.

The old house had started to generate tasks. I suddenly understood why I had always seen my co-workers always shopping for furniture. It felt like the house always was generating more things to do to fix it. It also started to feel like I was doing too many things.

Maybe I needed an assistant or servants? Aren’t I pretending to be an aristocrat?

I thought about getting some servants. I thought about starting a to-do list. I cancelled both thoughts.

This isn’t what I want.

My goal was to be the ultimate tourist.

I think the key was never having a to-do list at all. Living life without a to-do list of any sort. No calendar. Just wake up do whatever I wanted to do all day.

I didn’t want to be one of those guys with and endless backlog of things to do. I wanted adventure. Doing things. Not planning things.

So. I decided. If I couldn’t remember it. I wouldn’t do it.

Just go with the flow. It was the opposite of the regimented life I had lead. I had lived one-spreadsheet cell at a time.

I looked at the cat sleeping in the fireplace. I wanted to live like him.

Maybe do 1 or 2 things a day? Don’t forget I’m immortal. It’s pointless to rush.

Learning basic magic and getting a magic barrier installed could both be accomplished by visiting the mages guild.

I pocketed the two brochures, putting the rest back on the counter as I left.

Soot briefly stretched and glanced at me with its golden eyes as if understanding my thoughts, then lazily blinked in approval before curling back up to sleep.

***

I waved down a gondola and directed it to the Mages guild. The Gondola rocked gently as it glided down the Grand Canal, the lifeblood of Vallenport.

The water shimmered with faint, indistinguishable traces of magic, it’s surface catching the reflecting of tall, elegant spires and vibrant shopfronts that lined the canals edges.

The gondolier was a beastman. Not sure the species, he had sleek otter-like features. Working his long pole with ease. The journey was smooth.

I leaned back against the curved wooden seat, feeling the boat sway underneath me. The air was crisp. Dry day today, so the water didn’t smell. Only a little like brine. I smelled fresh-baked bread and the smell of magic too. Overhead, enchanted lanterns floated helter-skelter, their unnecessary golden light floating in the morning sun.

The canals were busy with activity. It was just after breakfast, the 9th bell, after all. Larger merchant barges drifted past, stacked with crates glowing with protective enchantments. Smaller gondolas like the one I was riding darted in and out of narrow side channels, ferrying passengers to destinations unknown.

The Gondola passed underneath an intricately carved stone bridge. I glanced up at the archway. Runes etched in the stone glowed. I recognised a warding spell. A reinforcement rune. A reason why this bridge had survived for so long.

After the bridge I saw the towering spires of the Mages Guild.

The style of the buildings changed the closer we got to the guild. The colourful and whimsical facades of market and shops gave way to more stately, refined architecture. Homes of scholars, guild members and affluent members. A few mages towers were in sight. The canals edges were now lined with polished stone and water seemed to flow with a smoother rhythm.

The gondolier pulled up to a sleek marble dock. The guilds emblem — a starburst wrapped in flowing runes — emblazoned on the pier.

‘The Mages Guild,’ the gondolier said. His voice was deep, smooth. I paid him. He gave me a toothy smile as I stepped onto the docks.

I turned to look at the the guild. Felt the hum of magic. It was almost tangible here. An [S-Class] wizard had build this place. It felt ancient.

The actual guild itself was small. It appeared as a modest three-story building, blending into Vallenport’s architecture. The only thing that marked it was its symbol. A starburst surrounded by glowing runes. Also in Draconic.

‘Through Knowledge, Power; Through Power, Wisdom.’

The arched doors, carved with swirling runes, parted as I approached. Responding to my presence.

The air shifted. Felt cooler, heavier and more alive with magic as I stepped inside.

An endlessly sized atrium opened up before me. A breathtaking expanse that stretched impossibly upwards, defying the logic and constraints of ordinary architecture.

Floors spiralled around a central shaft of shimmering light, edges lined with gold railings with glowing wards. Floating staircases shifted between levels. Vanishing and reappearing to suit the needs of the passengers. The ceiling if there even was one — seemed like a vortex of light an colour, pulsing faintly with energy of the guild’s enchantments.

My gaze was drawn towards the floating orb in the centre. [The Warden’s Eye]. I couldn’t help but [Appraise] it. I felt it look over at me as well.

===The Warden’s Eye

A clone of a Watcher’s Eye

Hint: It sees all. It watches all. It never sleeps.

===

A clue. A big clue. So how many of these things are floating around watching this world? How can I get access to this eye?

I put the matter aside. Go with the flow. I reminded myself.

[The Warden’s Eye] was a sphere of swirling light suspended in the heart of the atrium. It cast no shadows, its soft glow illuminating every corner. It moved around subtly, as if alive and watching everything. Around it were floating platforms, connecting to the guild’s upper levels.

The air smelled like magic, a little like ozone, the smell of old parchment and polished stone. All around, the place buzzed with activity. The mages all wore grey robes, their cuffs reflecting their ranks. I could tell the apprentices. Their young faces and eager attitudes betraying them. They scuttled along in robes with silver trim.

The higher class wizards all had different coloured trim. Gold, Silver, Platinum. I had no idea, too lazy to [Appraise]. That was another rule I set for myself. I wanted to be surprised. If I Appraised everything. There would be no surprises. The higher class wizards leaned on railings on higher levels, engaged in quiet but intense discussions.

I walked in. My boots clicked softly on the marble floor. The floor was beautiful. Light silver marbled etched with glowing ley-line patterns. A magical fountain gurgled gently to my left.

A young mage sat a console nearby. Summoning a holographic diagram of a spell circle.

I felt the energy. A blend of relentless curiosity. A contrast to the lackadaisical attitude of the Dragons towards magic.

I walked towards the reception desk. I was manned by a gnome who’s spectacles were nearly as large as their face. A clone of the one I had seen the other day at the Adventurers Guild.

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As I walked towards the reception I heard snippets of conversation. ‘Astral anomalies’ and ‘ley-line disturbances,’ and failed magic circles’ floated in the air. I heard debates.

I had already pinned my [A-Class] adventurers badge to my coat.

I arrived at the desk and asked my question. ‘Let me ask you something,’ I began. My tone was light but curious. ‘Do you know the gnome who works at the Adventurers Hall?’

The gnome blinked. His quill paused. All of the other quills filling in parchment floating in the air also paused before they began moving.

‘My cousin.’ Said the gnome, his voice clipped but efficient. ‘Of course. With all of the updates whee sends me. Absolute stickler for the rules. Horrible handwriting.’

His sticking to the rules had already bitten me once.

‘Seems like a lot of gnomes end up working as receptionists. Coincidence?’

The gnome straightened his spectacles and gave Tavalor a pointed look, as if weighing whether the question was worth his time. Finally, he let out a long-suffering sigh. ‘Reception work, my dear adventurer, is not a coincidence. It is a necessity. Gnomes live for order. Do you have any idea how chaotic places like this would be without someone capable of maintaining order? Wizards are hopeless with paperwork, adventurers can barely string two coherent sentences together when they're registering loot, and don't even get me started on battle mages who think ‘clerical’ is a type of healing spell’

'So it's... a calling?' I asked, amused.

'More like a curse,' the gnome muttered, though there was a faint gleam of pride in his eyes. 'Gnomes have a natural knack for managing details others overlook. We excel at cataloguing, organising, and, yes, occasionally enforcing rules when necessary. It’s thankless work, but someone has to do it.'

Before I could continue my questions, an attendant approaches, a young kid with bright eyes and an enthusiastic demeanour.

'Lord Tavalor?' he asks, eyeing the badge clipped discreetly to Tavalor’s coat. 'The vice-magus has been expecting you. This way, please.'

I suppressed a sigh. I had hoped for a quiet inquiry, not an audience.

***

We moved from room to room. Taking floating staircase after floating staircase in such a chaotic manner that I was hopelessly lost after three sets of stairs.

‘Would you like a tour?’ Asked the young man as they walked.

‘Sure.’ He had saved me asking.

First he pointed at one of the consoles that I had seen when walking in.

‘That's the Infinite spell archive. It’s a dimensional construct, allowing mages to access every recorded spell stored within the guild’s history. When a mage places their hand on the central console, the archive responds by displaying their desired topic in a holographic format.’ The young man said that with pride in his voice.

‘What’s your name?’ I asked him.

‘Fenwick, m’lord. Fenwick Glimmergear.’

I gave him a bow. ‘Pleasure to meet you Fenwick.’ I said. I liked the kids enthusiasm. He bowed back.

Next was the Arcane Hall, a grand chamber where dozens of mages worked in quiet concentration. 'Here, our members conduct research into everything from spell refinement to theoretical magic. That young apprentice over there,' he gestured toward a hunched figure surrounded by floating sigils, 'is developing a new method to stabilise elemental surges.'

They passed through the Guild Library, a cavernous room with shelves that reached impossibly high. 'Every recorded spell in Vallenport’s history resides here, along with tomes on magical theory, ancient languages, and even a few… speculative texts.' His voice dropped slightly, his eyes glittering. 'We do keep the restricted section carefully monitored.'

I raised a brow, but Fenwick moved on briskly.

Next, they entered the Training Halls, a series of open spaces where spells crackled and flashed like miniature thunderstorms. Apprentices practised defensive wards and conjurations under the watchful eyes of their instructors. 'This is where practical skill is honed,' Fenwick explained. 'Of course, our more advanced members have private chambers for experimentation.' His tone carried the faintest hint of arrogance.

Finally, they reached the Enchanter’s Wing, a quieter area filled with the scent of herbs and glowing runic circles etched into the floors. Enchanters worked meticulously, imbuing objects with layers of magic.

I looked on interestedly. Very different to Draconic magic. We simply imbued magic into an item with an emotion attached. They drew circuits and magic circles to enchant it. A modern approach.

***

We arrived at the end of the tour to an office at the top floor. A nondescript door.

The door opened revealing a grand chamber lined with glowing runic symbols and bookshelves that stretch impossibly high. The floors, ceilings and desk were all white with gold trim.

The man who stood at the centre of the room was the vice-magus.

Fenwick bowed to him and left.

I observed him.

‘I am Elarian Thorne. Lord Tavalor. It’s not often we host adventurers of your calibre. To what do we owe the pleasure?’

Elarian was tall elf with silver hair. His robes were fancier. Still the same mages grey. They had a high stiff collar and a longer train. The patterns on the edges of his robe were intricate and pulsed faintly with energy.

' Two things. First I’m curious. I’m here to learn,' I replied simply, keeping his tone polite but firm.

‘Are you serious about this?’ Asked Elarian. ‘You are [A-Class already. Seems pointless.’

‘What do we have in life except curiosity’ I replied. ‘Also, I’m a Southerner. The way you wild magic is ... structured. Foreign. I want to understand its nuances.’

Elarian seemed surprised. He thought for a moment.

Elarian studied him for a moment, then nodded. 'We can accommodate your ambition. I’ll assign you one of our senior instructors—someone who can challenge you while respecting your… unique talents.' His lips curved into a faint smile. 'It will not be an easy journey, Lord Tavalor. But I suspect you already know that.'

‘Oh and what was the second?’ Asked Elarian.

‘I need a magic barrier.’ I replied.

I levitated the brochure towards him.

He read the brochure then burnt it to a crisp with a sneer. ‘Too low class for you.’ He said.

‘The person I’ll send over will also take care of that for you.’ He said.

He pulled out a communication stone. I pulled out mine and touched his to mine - swapping details.

‘If there’s anything else. Don’t hesitate to reach out.’ Said the Elf with a smile.

As I walked out I thought to myself, that went much easier than I had expected.

I looked down at my [A-Class] badge. The badge and being [A-Class] had probably done all of the heavy lifting.

***

Elarian sat down at his desk, tapping it lightly to reveal a globe floating - a much larger communication stone.

Six transparent faces all popped up. All of them core-members of the Mages Council.

Elarian sat back in his chair and spoke: ‘I just met Lord Tavalor. The new [A-Class] Adventurer.’

‘So why call this emergency meeting?’ Asked one of the men. A gruff looking dwarf asked. He was covered in soot, he had just left his forge.

Elarian leaned forward. ‘It was the [The Warden’s Eye]. It couldn’t determine his ranking.

Three sighs. Two gasps. And several non-responses filled the room.

‘Could you tell?’ asked another. The picture was a shadow. A blank spot.

‘I couldn’t feel anything,’ said Elarian. ‘But I could tell from his physical body. He’s strong. A true Southern Barbarian.’He paused before continuing. ‘He’s probably Peak [A-Class] just based on his physical body alone.’

He paused to let the others take it in. All of the others also were lost in their own thoughts.

‘He came because he was curious about magic. Who should we send over?’ Continued Elarian.

They were all surprised at that.

‘Strange for a Barbarian.’ A woman's voice. It came from a half orc woman. A towering figure clad in enchanted battle robes reinforced with light armour. Her green skin was scarred from countless battles, and her braided hair was streaked with fiery red.

Another of the six spoke — a man in glasses and a white robe: ‘What about Her?’ he asked.

‘Absolutely not.’ Replied the half-orc woman.

‘Her?’ replied the shadow. Then the shadow laughed. ‘She’s perfect.’

‘Her?’ echoed Elarian. He sat back in his chair. A thoughtful look across his face.

Then the elf smiled as well. ‘It’ll get her out of our hair at least.’

***

Fenwick had escorted me out. Before I left I asked him for a recommendation. This place was so bureaucratic. The veiled scrutiny and mock-politeness of the Mages Guild had put me off. I wanted something home-ey. BBQ.

Visiting the mages guild had settled a debate in my mind though.

I would much rather be an adventurer than a mage.

The place was full of the things he hated. Corporations. Bureaucracy. The fake-politeness that Elarian had showed him had turned him off.

Hanging out with ordinary people is way better.

The Ember’s Edge was exactly what I expected. The tavern stood modestly at the edge of Vallenport’s dock district, its stone and timber exterior weathered by time and sea air. It lacked the ostentatious flourishes of the city’s more upscale establishments, but as Tavalor stepped inside, he immediately felt the pull of something raw and elemental—a primal warmth emanating from the heart of the room.

The first thing he noticed was the fire-pit. It dominated the space, its magical flames leaping and swirling in hues of orange, red, and violet. The flames weren’t mere tools for cooking—they seemed alive, twisting in mesmerising patterns as though performing a dance for the patrons.

The air carried a heady mix of wood-smoke, roasted meat, and the faint crackle of magic, tingling faintly against Tavalor’s skin.

The tavern itself was both rustic and welcoming. Thick wooden beams crisscrossed the ceiling, blackened in places from stray sparks.

The furniture was sturdy and well-used—scarred tables and benches etched with adventurers’ names, runes, and the occasional crude drawing. Shields, axes, and banners hung from the walls, hinting at the tavern’s long-standing reputation as a gathering place for warriors and mages alike.

As I stepped further inside, conversations ebbed briefly, patrons casting curious glances my way. Adventurers, merchants, and dock-hands made up the crowd, their rough-spun cloaks and travel-worn boots a stark contrast to Tavalor’s tailored attire.

They looked away after spotting the badge.

'First time here, eh?' A gruff voice cut through the din. A burly man behind the bar—bald, with a beard streaked in grey—grinned as Tavalor approached. His apron was charred at the edges, and his arms were thick with scars. 'Welcome to the Ember’s Edge. Name’s Brast. What’ll it be?'

I scanned the room again, intrigued by the mingling of magic and earthiness. The tavern’s fire-pit chefs moved deftly around the flames, turning spits laden with wyvern haunches and skewered sea serpent steaks, their rune-carved tools glowing faintly with enchantments. Bowls of roasted sunroot vegetables and loaves of emberbread were passed from the fire-pit to waiting hands, accompanied by tankards of frothy ale that sparkled faintly in the light.

'I’ll take a recommendation,' I said, my tone casual as I leaned against the bar.

Brast barked a laugh. 'Smart choice. First-timers get the Wyvern Flame Platter—charred wyvern steak, sunroot skewers, and a pint of our ember ale. If that doesn’t bring you back, nothing will.'

A short while later, I found myself seated near the fire-pit, my plate steaming before me. The wyvern steak was seared to perfection, its edges crackling with faint magical embers. Each bite was smoky, tender, and infused with just a hint of spice, as if the flames themselves had seasoned it. The sunroot skewers were sweet and earthy, their glaze leaving a faint warmth on his tongue. The ember ale was darker than he expected, with a deep, rich flavour and a magical warmth that spread through his chest like the glow of a hearth on a cold night.

As I ate, I let the tavern’s energy wash over me. A bard played a lively tune in the corner, adventurers swapped exaggerated tales of glory, and the firelight flickered across the room, painting everything in shades of gold and crimson.

For the first time since arriving in Vallenport, I felt like I had stumbled upon something real—not gilded or over-designed, but raw and alive. I raised his tankard to himself, smirking faintly.

'Not bad,' he murmured, watching the fire dance. 'Not bad at all.'

As I ate, the tavern’s usual energy began to shift. Conversations dipped, then rose again in a more focused murmur, and I caught snippets of words drifting through the air: '[A-Class] adventurer,' 'new to the city,' and 'Southern barbarian.'

I sighed inwardly. I took a sip of my ember ale. The growing attention was impossible to ignore. I was a dragon - we have good hearing. Sure enough, a group of adventurers broke off from their table near the bar and sauntered towards him.

Their leader, a tall woman with a great-sword strapped to her back, gave me a wide grin, more curious that confrontational.

Here we go.

‘You’re the new [A-Class], aren’t you?’ she asked, stopping just short of my table. Her voice carried the practised confidence of someone used to commanding attention.

I looked up. Taking my time to finish another sip before I replied. ‘That depends. Are you here to congratulate me or challenge me?’

The group all chuckled at that. The woman’s grin widened. ‘Neither —for now. I’m Mara,’ she said, pulling out a chair and sitting down without waiting for permission. Her companions — a wiry rouge with a patchy beard and a dwarf in chainmail followed suit. Taking the remaining seats at the table.

‘I heard stories,’ said the dwarf, his voice rough and gravelly. He leaned forward, his tankard sloshing a bit of foam of the table. ‘They say you took down a whole bandit crew single-handedly.’

What a joke.

I raised my eyebrow. ‘Do they?’

‘Yeah,’ the rogue also chimed in. He leaned back in has chair with a smirk. ‘Some folks are even saying you have some dragon-blood in you.’

I rolled my eyes at that.

‘You’re one of those magical hybrids from the south right?’ pointing to my horns.

I nodded. Taking a sip of my drink afterwards.

‘People love their stories.’ I said. Putting my tankard down. ‘And exaggerations definitely a pastimes here.’ I looked around the room.

Mara studied me, her grin softening into something more thoughtful. ‘You’re not denying it. That’s interesting.’

‘Is there a question in all of this?’ I asked, leaning back and crossing my arms.

Mara chuckled, resting her elbows on the table. ‘Fair enough. What’s an [A-Class] adventurer doing in a place like Vallenport? Most people your rank are out doing epic deeds, not dining in taverns.’

‘Maybe I’m just resting.’ I replied smoothly.

The dwarf snorted: ‘You don’t look like someone who rests. You’ve got that edge to you — the kind that comes from scrapping your way to the top.’

True. I agreed internally.

When I had done the transformation magic. The form that I had transformed to wasn’t my own. It was Tavalor.

First. He was very handsome. Pale. Delicate features. Long black hair. He looked like a male model.

He was also an ancient dragon and a battle maniac who wore that experience on his face. That arrogance. Pride.

I met the dwarf’s gaze, unflinching. ‘I suppose you could say that. Maybe I just like the food here.’

The rouge grinned. ‘Fair enough mate. But if you’re sticking around Vallenport you should know people are gonna talk. An [A-Class] doesn’t just show up in this city without making waves.

‘Let them talk.’ I replied. ‘At least it keeps things interesting.’

Mara rose from her seat, giving me another appraising look. ‘I like you’ she said. ‘Not like that. I mean — if you ever want to team up, let us know.’

She strapped the great-sword back onto her shoulders. ‘We’re the Iron Tides,’ she tapped their emblem on her chest. A metal badge of a stylised crashing wave. ‘We’re not [A-Class], but we’re not bad.’

‘I’ll keep that in mind.’ I watched them as they went back to their table.

As they walked away, the rogue threw a glance over his shoulder. ‘See ya around, Lord Tavalor.’

I shook my head, amused. I turned my attention back to my tankard. The fire-pit cracked softly. The chatter of the inn returned to its usual hum.

Vallenport is starting to get interesting. I thought to myself.