(Dylan)

Dylan knew this street would lead to the city limits and directly to Nightshade. He adjusted his pace, feeling more at ease with each familiar landmark. Getting the lay of the land made him more confident. Knowing what to expect was the unifying theme to everything that made Dylan feel safe.

Back on Earth, Dartmouth would have been considered a mid-sized town. Walking everywhere had given Dylan a new perspective on just how large Dartmouth really was. He’d never walked this much in his life. The blisters on his feet callused, and his well-fitting boots helped prevent any more from forming.

“I had planned on waiting until tomorrow, but it seems you’ve already put some thought into it,” Nathan said, glancing at Dylan. “Did you really mean what you said to Charles about joining a guild?”

Dylan nodded. “Yes, unless there’s another job that can teach me more about magic?”

Nathan tilted his head, considering for a moment before replying, “Perhaps working directly for the League.

“Huh, I honestly thought you were going to say no.”

Nathan furrowed his brow. “Why would I lie?”

Dylan shrugged. “People say lots of things to recruit you to a cause.”

“I’m not trying to fill a quota or anything like that.” A flicker of hurt crossed Nathan’s face. “Part of your contract is to help you find a job that’s meaningful to you.”

“So, you don’t get a kickback if I join your guild? No referral code or anything like that?” Dylan asked.

Nathan shook his head. “Not for Nightshade. Other guilds might, though I’m not sure what a referral code is.”

Dylan waved a hand. “Never mind about the code.” Working for the League had never occurred to him as a possibility before. “What could I do at the League?”

“I think they have a research division. I know the League tracks down, studies, and contains magic, especially restricted forms. Actually, that’s a lot of what Nightshade does. Minus the whole ‘hunting down dangerous people’ part.”

Learning that the League had their own black ops division was unsettling. ‘They can’t learn about the magic inside of me. It was bad enough when only one person knew,’ Dylan thought. Working for them wasn’t an option. “I don’t think I’d like working for the League very much.”

“Well, you’d still have to work with the League if you joined a guild,” Nathan said.

“How many guilds are there?” Dylan asked out loud.

“In the universe? Or just on Mother of Dragons?” Nathan guided them down a street on their right.

“Jeez, I forgot about the whole multiple worlds thing.”

“There are at least a dozen guilds nearby. Some of them are even universal—having strongholds on different worlds, like Ebonscale,” Nathan said.

“And out of these dozen guilds, which one could teach me the most about magic?”

“Nightshade, without a doubt. The full title is Nightshade, Guild of the Arcane, and our motto is: ‘Knowledge, to seek and protect.’ Which is why I initially brought it up. You’re exceptionally curious; always asking questions upon questions. It’s a perfect match, in my opinion.”

Even Dylan had to admit, it sounded like the guild would be right up his alley. “I really appreciate your patience with me. You’ve even answered most of my questions.”

“Of course.” Nathan gave him a reassuring nod.

Dylan spotted the stronghold buildings rising in the distance, surrounded by endless fields. Excitement surged through him at the thought of becoming an adventurer. He picked up the pace, adding a spring to his step, pushing the grav-slab a bit faster.

“I’m so excited.” Dylan smacked the grav-slab in front of him three times to spend his pent-up energy.

‘That’s going to leave a mark,’ Dylan thought. His hand stung, except for the numb spots. He kept the grav-slab moving with one arm while shaking out his injured hand.

Dylan sucked air through his teeth. “Ow. Did I break it?”

“What?” Nathan blinked, clearly lost in thought.

“Can you use your magic to see if I broke my hand?” Dylan’s suspicion was confirmed as Nathan’s eyes shifted to orange.

“Dylan!” Nathan admonished him. “Mother, grant me patience. How did you fracture your hand? I’ve been here this whole time!”

“I…” Dylan looked away sheepishly. “Got excited.”

Nathan took hold of Dylan’s fractured hand, his touch warm. As the spell activated, magic coursed through Dylan’s body, gathering at the injured bone. The sensation was faint at first—a tingling, then an itching that spread under his skin, prickling as the bone worked to knit itself back together. It would take some time to complete, but Dylan quickly got used to the sensation.

Nathan frowned, shaking his head at Dylan’s hand. “I’m not sure if it’s just you or your entire race, but you have a very low healing factor.”

Dylan’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“My healing ability multiplies the base healing factor along with any delayed release healing effects. It’s just not very effective on you.”

Nathan took over for Dylan, pushing the grav-slab. Steering was the easier job, and Dylan managed with his good hand. Once parked outside the dorm, they worked quickly, hauling the contents from the grav-slab to Dylan’s room.

Dylan took a step back and admired the wardrobe. It was only partially full, but it was more than enough to give him options—a luxury he wasn’t used to.

Dylan stood triumphantly in front of his wardrobe, hands on his hips. “I’ve decided…” he said.

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Nathan turned, squinting, and guessed, “On… tomorrow’s outfit?”

“What? No.” Dylan shook his head. “I’ve decided I’m going to join Nightshade.” His grin widened, and he looked like he might hug the prismatic elf. “We’re going to be guildies!”

“Oh, that’s great.” Nathan gave him a genuine smile. “We should start training for the trial tomorrow.”

“When’s the trial?”

“They’re leaving the day after tomorrow for this trial.” Nathan glanced sideways at Dylan, assessing him. “But I was thinking we could start preparing for the next one.”

“And when’s that?”

“In four months.”

“Four months?!” Dylan’s eyes widened in disbelief. “I can’t wait that long.”

Nathan raised an eyebrow. “Are you planning on going somewhere in the meantime?”

“Yeah.” Dylan nodded. “On adventures or contracts or whatever you call them.”

Nathan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I just don’t think you’re ready for the trial.”

Dylan looked himself over. “Sure, I’m a tad overweight, with a bum hand, and limited dietary options. But I won’t let that stop me.”

“Good,” Nathan said with a faint smile. “Those are all things we can work on.” He paused, his expression softening. “For the next trial. So, I need you to be patient in the meantime.”

“Aw, come on, let me go. I can do it.”

Nathan gave him a skeptical look. “Says the man who fractured his hand pushing a grav-slab—a device specifically designed so that even the young or frail can operate it. There’s far too much risk to your health right now. Maybe in a few months, after we’ve improved your physical condition.”

Dylan’s shoulders slumped as he shot Nathan a disappointed look. “I see what you’re doing. It’s already gone down to a ‘maybe.’”

“I just don’t want you to get hurt, or worse.”

Dylan planted his hands on his hips, a defiant edge in his stance. “I’ve already had worse. That didn’t, and won’t, stop me.”

Nathan shook his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “You’re very persistent. I’ll give you that. I promise, once your body’s as tough as your attitude, we’ll go to Wedge and ask him to add you to the trial.”

Dylan glared at him for a moment, then his expression softened as a devious idea came to him. “Are you hungry?” he asked. “It’s been a while since you’ve eaten. You should grab something. I’ll be here, since, you know, I can’t eat.”

Nathan took his time answering. Just when Dylan thought he had caught on to the plan, Nathan asked, “You remember the restroom next door, right?”

Dylan rolled his eyes. “For the love of… Yes, Nathan, I remember where the restrooms are. Now go eat.”

Nathan lingered at the doorway for a moment, his expression torn, before finally leaving the room. Dylan waited for his footsteps to fade, then began counting to one hundred in his head.

‘… Ninety-eight, ninety-nine, and one hundred.’

He pressed himself against the doorframe and peeked into the hall, checking for Nathan. No sign of him. Dylan tiptoed out and walked three doors down, ready to duck and run if Nathan returned early. After double-checking that the coast was clear, he quickly rapped a knuckle on the runelock door.

There was no answer at first, and Dylan was about to leave when he heard the telltale scrape of a chair. Moments later, the door swung open.

“Good evening, Dylan,” Wedge said, leaning casually against the doorframe. “I hope your day was less eventful than mine.”

“Thanks,” Dylan flashed him a quick smile. “Hey, listen, are you in charge of signups for the trials by any chance?” He already knew the answer but tried to play it cool.

“Yes, are you interested in signing up?”

Dylan gave him a big grin. “I am.”

“Does Nathan know about this?”

“He said I’d be a good match for the guild.” Dylan didn’t lie, but he knew it wasn’t the complete truth either.

“We are leaving the day after tomorrow. Will you have enough time to prepare yourself?” Wedge asked.

“How long will the trials take?”

“This question gives me pause. Why do you wish to partake if you do not know everything it entails?”

“When you go on a contract, does it always go according to the plan?”

“No.”

“I’m going to learn everything I can about magic,” Dylan said flatly. “And I don’t know what that entails yet. Do you?” He crossed his arms, raising his eyebrows.

Wedge took his point. “Fourteen days. Meet me in the armory after breakfast tomorrow. I hope heights do not bother you.”

Dylan tilted his head. “Heights?”

Wedge strode past Dylan, closing the runelock door with a soft click. After taking a few steps, he paused. “Have you eaten already?”

Dylan sighed, venting his frustration. “Yeah, I’ll be good until tomorrow morning.”

“The dining hall will be full soon. Plenty of chances to ask questions and prepare for the trial.” Wedge resumed his walk down the hall.

Dylan returned to his room, his mind racing with thoughts of the trials and the challenges that awaited him. How would he prepare? And, more troubling, how would he tell Nathan? The knot in his stomach tightened as a knock came from the open doorway, pulling him from his thoughts.

Nathan popped his head in and gave the doorframe another quick knock. “Hey, would you mind helping me bring down my things from my old quarters?”

“As long as it doesn’t involve any terror tubes.” Dylan shuddered.

“Terror tubes?” Nathan shot him a puzzled look.

“It’s like an elevator, but circular. Invisible walls and a rock disk with neon lights pulsing in the dark,” Dylan said.

“That sounds like a geo-lift. Does it bring you up and down to different floors?”

“I’m pretty sure its primary function is a torture device, but yeah, it also does that.”

Nathan shook his head. “There aren’t any geo-lifts in the dorms that I’m aware of.”

Together, they made their way up to Nathan’s old room, the quiet hallway amplifying their footsteps.

“Whoa, what happened?” Dylan stared at the man-sized hole in the wall.

“Dorian.”

“Is that some kind of explosive device?” Dylan asked, eyebrows raised.

“Basically.”

Nathan purposefully opened the runelock door to his old quarters, casually ignoring the gaping hole in the wall. Together, they began clearing the room, hauling Nathan’s personal effects one by one to his new quarters. The quiet shuffle of their footsteps and the creak of furniture filled the time as they worked in determined silence. Nathan paused for a moment to look back at his empty room as if saying his goodbyes.

Dylan carefully made the last trip down the stairs, holding a picture frame in both hands, mindful of the missing glass between the frame and the image. He wondered briefly who was in the photo, sensing its importance to Nathan.

Dylan handed Nathan the picture frame as he walked into the room. “Who’s in the picture?” he asked.

“That’s me.” Nathan pointed to the taller elf, which Dylan could have guessed—their hair color was identical.

“And who’s the smaller kid?” Dylan gestured with his chin.

“Dorian, my brother.”

“That’s Dorian?” Dylan blinked in disbelief. “He’s the one who knocked a hole in the wall?” He glanced back at the damage. “But he’s so small.”

“That’s the difference a Might orb makes. Now he’s much bigger than me, and strong enough to knock down walls with his bare hands.”

“Wait, he just punched through the wall? With his fists? Without magic explosions?” Dylan couldn’t decide if he was more disappointed or impressed.

“Just his fists,” Nathan repeated wearily.

“What does he look like now?”

“You can’t miss him.” Nathan frowned. “He’s the tallest, handsomest elf you’ve ever seen. Just ask him.”

“Better looking than you?” Dylan couldn’t believe it. The prismatic elf was exceptionally good looking.

“Much,” Nathan scoffed.

Dylan sat on the bed as the prismatic elf meticulously put his things away. He absently flipped through the pages of a handwritten book he couldn’t read.

Nathan froze, shooting him a concerned look. “What are you doing with my diary?”

Dylan shrugged. “Don’t worry, I can’t read.”

“You can’t… read?” Nathan’s concern only grew.

Dylan sighed, tossing the journal on the nightstand where he’d found it. The right moment to mention the trial kept slipping away. His words got stuck somewhere between his thoughts and his tongue. When Nathan placed the framed picture on the desk, it felt like the final touch—his new quarters were complete.

“I’m going to turn in for the night,” Nathan said, rubbing his stiff neck. “You should probably do the same. You’ll need a good night’s rest if you want to train tomorrow.”

“About that.” Dylan was still searching for the words.

Nathan stifled a yawn, his shoulders slumping as the day’s fatigue caught up with him. Dylan couldn’t help but notice the tiredness behind those eyes.

“About what?” Nathan asked.

Dylan waved dismissively. “It can probably wait until tomorrow. Sleep well.”

“Good night, Dylan.”

Dylan shut the runelock door with a quiet click and trudged back to his room, guilt gnawing at him for not telling his friend the whole truth. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. He’d clear it up in the morning.