(Dylan)

From the outside, the League of Adventurers’ Hall looked like any other grand bureaucratic building, with its symmetrical columns, uplighting, and large central dome. As Dylan stepped through the bronze doors, he took in the grand lobby: marble walls, columns, clean lines, and intricate geometric shapes framing everything.

He looked up at the kaleidoscopic stained-glass dome high above. Even at night, the prismatic colors were beautiful—he couldn’t imagine how they’d look during the day. At the center of the lobby, a waterfall staircase cascaded down from the second floor, spilling onto the first.

Charles seemed to be looking around as much as Dylan.

“Is this your first time here?” Dylan asked, tilting his head toward Charles, noting the elf’s glances around the lobby.

“No,” Charles muttered absently, his eyes still drifting from one archway to the next.

They entered on the first floor. Dozens of archways lined the walls, each with its own ASMR-inducing sign listing a different hall or office. Dylan read a few: Crafting Hall, Contracts Hall, Information Hall, Relationships Hall, and Fred’s Office.

The last one stood out because the door looked familiar—a simple red door. He’d seen a similar one on Market Street, and the sign also mentioned someone named Fred. All the other doors had ornate carvings and dark purple wood, reminding him of the plum floors at Ebonscale. Charles still looked lost.

“You sure you know where we’re going?” Dylan asked, raising an eyebrow as he glanced between Charles and the signs.

“Yes.” Charles turned, searching the signs on the other side of the lobby.

Dylan didn’t believe him. He looked up at the fancy metal railings spanning between the tall stonework columns on the second floor. It was a relief to see someone in this world believed in structural safety features. If he could just convince them the terror tubes needed railings too…

Two hallways, one on each side, shot out from the center of the lobby. Expansive murals caught his attention—they moved. From afar, he watched an epic battle unfold, a hero defeating a giant monster. It led to another heroic scene, then another. Curious, he wondered when they’d repeat. Charles hadn’t moved, still checking the signs.

“Because it looks like you’re lost,” Dylan teased, folding his arms across his chest as he watched Charles’s eyes dart from sign to sign.

“I’m not lost,” Charles said, a flicker of frustration crossing his face. “It’s just been a while.”

The third floor was too high up to get a good look, and there wasn’t an obvious way to reach it. The grand lobby echoed with official bureaucratic business.

A citrine-scaled draconi with a twin-axed crest excused herself as she walked past Dylan, hauling a cart filled with leather, fabrics, and threads. She made her way to the Crafting Hall. He wanted to follow and see if she was making a delivery or fashioning something for herself.

The Crafting Hall sounded like it had a lot of cool stuff. He debated asking Charles if they could check it out after registration. ‘I’m literally on fire’ switched to ‘it stabs when I touch it,’ and Dylan changed his mind. The Crafting Hall could wait until after registration and the hospital.

Turning back toward the doors they’d entered, Dylan asked, “Is there a directory we could check?”

“Directories don’t work here. The rooms keep moving around,” Charles said, taking two steps forward to look at another sign, his mouth moving silently as he read it to himself.

“Yeah, they’re constantly remodeling back on Earth, too,” Dylan said, still looking for a directory.

“No, the building doesn’t change; the offices just rearrange themselves sometimes.”

“On their own? How do they do that?” He gave up on the directory and rejoined Charles.

“Magic.”

“If the offices magically move, why can’t the directories magically update?” Dylan asked, trying to understand how magic worked.

“I don’t know. My guess would be for security reasons.” Charles found what he was looking for. He pointed to an archway all the way in the back corner and said, “This way.”

The sign displayed: Registration Hall. Dylan didn’t think they could fit much of anything in that tiny corner, let alone an entire hall. He was about to say something when an actual mountain of a man emerged from the Contracts Hall. The walking gray statue wore leather boots, chainmail pants, and a leather harness across his chest.

Dylan did a double take. While Abs had a disgustingly fit frame, this giant stone man had an actual chiseled physique, rock-hard abs—the works. Dylan couldn’t say it was Maybelline because this guy was fucking born with it. He looked up at the seven-and-a-quarter-foot-tall gray giant and stared as he moseyed by.

The sight from behind was even more amazing. Dylan couldn’t blink, let alone turn away, transfixed by the pair of well-proportioned, curvy, thick aegis strapped to the man’s back. He started tapping Charles’ shoulder repeatedly.

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“What?” Charles asked, swatting Dylan’s hand to stop it from tapping him.

“Two shields, Charles. He’s got two of ‘em,” Dylan said. ‘The best offense is a good defense,’ he thought, chuckling. He’d never dreamed of anything as crazy as dual-wielding shields. What other marvelous things would magic show him?

“Come on.” Charles took hold of Dylan’s arm, dragging him toward the Registration Hall.

“So, what do they do here?” Dylan asked, sidestepping closer to Charles, curiosity pushing him forward.

Without stopping, Charles looked up at the ceiling and said, “Contracts.”

Dylan followed his gaze, looking up as well. The stained glass really was pretty. Distracted by the novelty of it all, Dylan didn’t notice when Charles pushed the button next to the double, curved doors.

Ding! Dylan’s face went pale as he shot Charles a look of confusion, betrayal, and terror.

“Not the terror tube!” Dylan exclaimed. He made a run for it, but Charles still had a grip on his arm and held firm. “No,” he cried, “not again!”

“Stop acting like a yearling and get in the geolift,” Charles said, tossing him in.

The doors closed, and Dylan buried his face into the rugged elf’s shoulder, holding on for dear life. Charles sighed as the chubby man hugged him. When the doors opened, both were relieved to step out.

“Why are there no railings?” Dylan demanded once free of the stupid geolift.

“Railings? What for?”

“So, I don’t fall and get caught between the wall and the lift.”

“You can’t. There’s a containment field. It’s just transparent.”

“Invisible railings? Jesus, someone should put up a warning sign.”

“Why would anyone put up a warning sign saying the geolift is safe to use?” Charles ignored him and started down the hall.

“What are contracts?” Dylan asked, following him.

“That’s complicated,” Charles said, reading the signs above the door again.

Dylan read the brain-tingling signs: Adventurer’s Ability Registration, Adventurer’s Written Exam Room, Adventurer’s Practical Exam Room, and Mundane Registrations. Charles was leading them to that last room. The hallway rumbled with the sounds of distant explosions as they walked past the Adventurer’s Practical Exam Room. Dylan wondered which Michael Bay movie they were playing in there. Then he remembered this wasn’t a movie theater, and those were probably real explosions. He picked up his pace, following close behind Charles.

Charles grasped the doorknob. With a twist and a pull, he opened it, motioning for Dylan to go in ahead of him.

While this room had a different feel, it still carried that fancy-as-fuck vibe. The architects had incorporated wood elements into the suite, something he’d seen little of since arriving in Dartmouth. Only the ceiling and floors kept their strict marble compositions.

Rich, plum-colored panels lined the walls, each plank gleaming with a deep, warm luster. Intricate moldings framed the panels, creating a sense of timeless elegance. Even the furniture matched, with rounded corners and a lacquered finish. Padded chairs lined the closest wall, serving as the waiting area. Dylan's eyes landed on the counter running the length of the room, separating them from the lone attendant.

If he didn’t know any better, he could’ve assumed they’d walked into one of those elegant Victorian bank lobbies back on Earth. Except, of course, he was on an alien planet—and there was an ostentatiously dressed elf standing behind the counter.

Dylan didn’t know what he was looking at. He looked like a time-traveling elf role-playing as an 18th-century human.

‘What in the shit fuck is this?’ he wanted to ask.

Abs, Charles, and the handful of other elves he’d seen all had straight or, at most, wavy hair, but this guy’s golden, tightly curled ringlets bounced at his jawline. His wine-colored jacket had a long, stiff collar that stopped just shy of the bottom of his obviously permed curls.

Dylan was tempted to feel if the crushed velvet was as soft as it appeared. The front of the jacket featured embroidered chevrons, flowers, and leaves in golden yellows, oranges, and white. The double-backed sleeve cuffs had the same intricate details as the front.

The jacket swooped back, revealing a tight-fitting black vest fastened with a row of purple gemstone buttons. High-waisted pants disappeared under the vest, made from the same wine-colored velvet as the jacket. Dylan had to know, so he approached the counter to peer over it.

‘I knew it.’ The pants stopped just above his knees with an inch-wide black band. Tight white socks ran down from his knees, disappearing into polished white shoes. On his tiptoes now, he strained to lean further and confirmed the shoes had inch-high heels. Only slightly disappointed, he wondered, ‘Where’s the tricorn hat?’

“Ahem.” The pretentious elf cleared his throat loudly. Dylan looked up to see a neckpiece inches from his face. White like his socks, it wrapped around the elf’s neck like a wide, stocky, poofy necktie.

“Sorry,” Dylan said, planting both feet back on the ground and taking a half step back to give the elf some space. Dylan noticed a pin on the jacket. His brain buzzed as the letters translated: Marlin.

“Marlin?” Dylan asked. He thought he looked more like a Miles or a Rupert, honestly.

“Yes, sir,” Marlin said in his proper posh accent.

“Like the fish?” Dylan asked. Marlin turned to Charles, verifying what he’d heard was correct. An exhausted Charles shrugged. Dylan also turned to Charles and asked, “Do you guys have marlin on Mother of Dragons?”

“Yes,” Charles said, giving him another worried look. “He’s standing right here in front of us.”

“He can also hear you,” Marlin leaned in, lowering his voice slightly as he addressed both of them.

“I suspect he has a concussion,” Charles said, stepping up to the counter a few feet from Dylan and leaning against it.

“That is unfortunate,” Marlin said.

“Indeed,” Charles agreed.

“Do you have an appointment?” Marlin reached into a drawer and pulled out a thin stone tablet, about the size and shape of an iPad.

Dylan turned to Charles and said, “I thought you said we didn’t need an appointment.”

“We don’t,” Charles said.

“Please accept my apologies, but we do not take walk-ins this late in the evening. If you would like to stop by during the day tomorrow, there will be someone who can assist. Or I can schedule an appointment for another evening.” Marlin tapped the stone tablet, and a holographic overlay appeared, like a screen.

“Whoa,” Dylan marveled. “Is that an iStone?” He frowned. That didn’t sound right. “iRock, no. The iSlate?” He gave up guessing.

Marlin flicked his fingers, the display scrolling in response, and asked, “Is he alright?”

Charles raised both hands in a shrug. “Unsure. I found him this way.”

Still mesmerized by the rockPad, Dylan pointed and asked, “What’s that?”

“Technology,” Marlin said. He gave Dylan a quizzical expression and looked back at Charles. “Pardon me. Has he ever seen technology before?”

Charles looked at Dylan and asked, “How does a world with eight billion people not have technology?”

Dylan rolled his eyes and said, “We have technology. I mean, how—”

“Eight billion?” Marlin interrupted. “On a single world?”

“And you couldn’t imagine the waste they generate…” Charles said, still processing their earlier conversation. “But we’re not here to report that crime. He’s a refugee, and we need to get him into the system.”