(Nathan)

Nathan awoke to incessant pounding at his door. He had barely slept after extended rounds at the hospital.

Toward the end of his shift, a pregnant elven couple had checked in. The woman was in active labor, and with her consent, Nathan used Triage to detect that the fetus was in a breech position. [Triage] was an Arcane ability from his Physician framework. It allowed him to detect poisons, diseases, injuries, unusual anatomy, and other abnormalities.

With no one on shift who had a teleport ability, they performed the difficult delivery the old-fashioned way. Hours later, after delivering a healthy baby, Nathan finally crawled into bed, desperate for some well-earned sleep. The banging continued.

“There are other menders!” Nathan shouted at the door. Without enough rest, he’d be no good to anyone. He had learned that the hard way. Besides, there were others in the guild if it was a genuine emergency.

By the grace of the Mother, the noise stopped, and the intruder seemed to take the hint: Nathan wasn’t going to answer. Rolling onto his side, he closed his eyes, letting exhaustion pull him under.

Wham! Wham! Wham! Muffled words came from the other side of the door.

“Go away,” Nathan shouted into his pillow. ‘Mother bless the inventor of the runelock door,’ he thought. Without a master key, no one was getting through, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be annoying. He grabbed his pillow and buried his head under it, hoping to muffle the noise. When he thought they’d given up, he began drifting back to sleep, relishing the quiet.

The bed, the walls, and the entire room shook from the next impact. He’d just fallen asleep again, only to be yanked back to wakefulness. He sat up, the pillow sliding from his face to his lap. Runelock doors were good at keeping people out; nearly impossible to break. It was often easier to break through the surrounding walls— a trademark of someone he knew all too well.

‘He’s home,’ Nathan thought. ‘I wonder how much it’d cost to reinforce the entire room—not just the walls, but the floors, ceiling, and windows too.’

Wham. The room jolted again, and a hairline fracture shot across the stone wall. The framed photo of him and his younger brother jumped off the wall, hitting the floor, its glass pane long gone from the first time this had happened.

Nathan knew only one person who treated locked doors like suggestions. Wham. The crack spiderwebbed from the center of the wall. There was no one else with enough strength—or disregard—to knock down a stone wall purely out of inconvenience. Wham. The final blow left a bare fist jutting through the stone. It disappeared, and the kicking began. It didn’t stop until a person-sized hole had formed. When the dust finally settled, a large, armor-clad elf ducked through the gap and stepped into the room.

“Dorian,” Nathan said, glaring at his younger brother.

The unstoppable elf and his team had been away on an extended contract for weeks, and life was always quieter when his brother was out adventuring.

“Big brother!” the seven-and-a-half-foot elf called out in his velvet voice. Dorian was the tallest elf either of them had ever met, thanks to one of his passives. He was exceptionally handsome, with turquoise eyes flecked with gold, and dark slate-blue hair, worn short on the sides and spiked longer on top.

Though Nathan was technically older by a couple of years, elven society regarded them as the same generation. Based on their physical appearance, few people would correctly guess which sibling was older. That hadn’t always been the case, but Dorian’s Might and Presence orbs had changed things. Now, he’d always be taller, stronger, and more attractive than his older brother.

The nickname was fine when they were kids, but now it grated on Nathan. He jabbed a finger at Dorian. “Don’t you ‘Big brother’ me.” Then he pointed to the door. “Why can’t you use the door like a normal person?

“Even I can’t use a door if it’s locked,” Dorian said with a shrug. Chunks of stone clattered to the floor as he brushed the dust from his shoulders.

“I locked it for a reason,” Nathan said.

“The sun is up. You’ve slept enough.” Dorian walked to the window and yanked the curtains open, flooding the room with harsh sunlight and making Nathan squint against the glare.

“You’re telling Wedge this time,” Nathan said, glancing at the pile of rubble that used to be the wall. A few curious guildmates peeked through the hole, but Nathan waved them away, signaling everything was fine.

“You should seize every day if you want to be ready for your Adventuring exam.” Dorian strode to the wardrobe, grabbing clothes and tossing them at Nathan.

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Nathan groaned, flopping back onto the bed as his brother continued burying him in clothes. “Not this again.”

“Come on, brother. I’ve already beaten you to common rank, and that was nearly two years ago.” Dorian balled up a pair of socks and hurled them at Nathan with a casual show of his super strength, one of his passive abilities. Both Nathan and the socks made a solid thump on impact.

“Oof,” Nathan grunted as the socks hit his leg. “But I’m needed here. My job at the hospital keeps me plenty busy.” He stared up at the ceiling, rubbing his soon-to-be-bruised thigh.

“It’s always the same excuses,” Dorian said, mimicking Nathan’s voice. “I haven’t unlocked all my abilities. My patients need me. I’m not ready yet.”

“And yet,” Nathan sat up, fixing his brother with a steady look, “those are all true.”

“Not anymore.” Dorian dropped onto the bed and opened his hand, revealing a palm-sized disk. Like all glyphs, it had a solid band of dark metal around the edge, but this one had a silk center.

“A swift glyph?” Nathan blinked in surprise.

Dorian nodded, holding it out firmly toward his brother. “I want you to use it.”

Nathan’s olive complexion paled at the thought of using another glyph. He desperately wanted to become an adventurer, to help people. But every time he dreamed of it, those dreams became nightmares. A dark secret gnawed at him—a malignancy growing inside him.

It was true—he could help more people with new abilities, but then the corruption would grow with him. The only thing he wanted more than becoming an adventurer was to keep everyone safe from what festered inside him. “You’re far too generous,” he said, shaking his head. “I can’t.” He pushed at Dorian’s hand, but it held fast.

“I’m not going anywhere until you do.” Dorian insisted, crossing his arms.

‘What if it manifests with…?’ Nathan couldn’t even bring himself to think of the orb. He had carried this burden alone for over four decades, and if he had his way, he’d carry it to his grave. The glyph still sat in Dorian’s hand, gleaming softly in the light.

“If this is the price of adventuring with my brother, then I’ll gladly pay it.” Glyphs were more common than orbs, but still expensive. Dorian’s offer was generous, but like always, he never stopped to consider if Nathan actually wanted it.

Nathan closed his eyes and sighed. There was no way out of this. “Can I put pants on first?”

Dorian laughed. “Sure, brother.” He clapped Nathan on the back. “But you know, some of the best stories start without pants.”

Nathan couldn’t resist that stupid smile. The number of poorly planned schemes it had gotten them into over the years was staggering. As much as he hated to admit it, he loved the sound of his brother’s laughter—it was warm, comforting, and genuine.

Dorian stood, turned, and gave Nathan as much privacy as a three-walled room could offer. He bent down and picked up the framed photo of the two of them. It was taken shortly after they had arrived at Nightshade as children, back when Nathan had still been the bigger brother. The guild had taken them both in as wards.

Nathan grumbled as he reluctantly got up to get dressed, pulling on his tunic—a deep purple, the guild’s color. There wasn’t an official dress code, per se, but wearing something in Nightshade’s color was encouraged.

Dorian turned around as Nathan finished zipping up his pants. “Now that you’ve got the proper attire…” Dorian flipped the glyph into the air. Nathan caught it easily, stuffing it into his pants pocket. The metal band was warm from Dorian’s hand, and the silk center was almost unnaturally soft.

“I probably shouldn’t do it on an empty stomach, either. I’ll… find you after I’ve had breakfast.”

“Some of us don’t have the luxury of sleeping all day. I’ve already had breakfast, but you may be onto something with the idea of Second Breakfast.”

‘That boy is always hungry,’ Nathan thought. But then again, it made sense—his massive frame needed a lot of calories to maintain that physique. Nathan’s physician side didn’t have an off switch, which made him an excellent healer, but not always a good friend.

“You’re coming with me?” Nathan frowned. He had hoped to slip away and let Dorian forget about it—like he had for almost two years now.

“I told you, I’m not leaving your side until you use that glyph.” Dorian pointed at Nathan’s pocket and stepped closer. “Besides, I’d bet good gems that’s not the only glyph you’ve got stashed away somewhere, just waiting to be used.”

‘I hate it when he’s right.’ Nathan quickly moved ahead of his brother before his eyes confirmed Dorian’s suspicions. To make a point of his own, Nathan walked up to the runelock door beside the gaping hole in the wall and unlocked it. The mechanisms clicked into place with a unified thud. “And this is how to use a door.” He pulled it open and stepped through.

“I like mine better.” Dorian ducked through the new ‘door’ he’d just installed himself.

“Dorian!” a voice bellowed. Nathan watched the unstoppable elf flinch at the sound of his name. They were only halfway down the dorm stairwell, but it sounded like Wedge had already found Dorian’s new door.

Twenty minutes later, Dorian had finished Second Breakfast and was now waiting, impatiently tapping his foot, while Nathan deliberately ate as slowly as possible. Nathan sighed. Normally, Dorian would get bored and run off to cause chaos elsewhere.

Instead, Dorian took full advantage of his captive audience, using the opportunity to regale them with tales of his last contract, complete with his usual heroics. He was careful to follow the guild rules about not sharing the mission’s objective and stuck to the action-packed details.

Dorian’s archetype was Juggernaut, meaning he was the tip of the spear for his team. He was always the first to see action and the last to leave. Even Nathan had to admit, his brother told the best stories.

Dorian enthralled everyone with his tale, even Meekan, who had sat down next to Nathan to listen. A kitsune, her large, black-tipped orange ears sat perked atop her head, a clear marker of her heritage.

The playful kitsune leaned in, bumping her shoulder against Nathan’s. It was their unspoken way of checking in with each other. A bump back meant everything was fine, a shrug meant something was on his mind, and a shake of the head said not to ask.

Nathan shook his head and glanced up from his breakfast at his brother. Meekan gave his arm a reassuring squeeze.

“Princess,” Dorian said, pausing his story to nod at Meekan before diving back in. Nathan had eaten as slowly as possible, but still found himself with an empty plate.

‘Maybe he won’t notice?’ Nathan picked up his mug, taking the last sip as he set it down.

Dorian leaned across the table and gave Nathan’s stomach a playful pat. “Now that you’ve got your pants on and a full belly, how about that glyph?”