Evan awoke with a groan, his memories returning in shards. The spectral Lich—his desperate struggle against it, the lingering ache that pulsed through his entire body. The taste of victory was tarnished by the bitter truth that he had needed help.

An attempt to lift his arms was met with an abrupt halt, a sharp pain shooting through his left arm like a searing bolt. His eyes squinted in pain, and he cursed internally as his breath escaped his lips. The agony forced his vision to narrow, the edges growing black as he fought to stay conscious. “By the goddess, that hurt,” he thought, the words internalized as the pain slowly ebbed away, leaving behind a relentless, pervasive ache. Every inch of his body throbbed.

Lying still, Evan surveyed his surroundings—a stretch of fabric overhead, poles supporting it—a makeshift tent that screamed unfamiliarity. “I’m in a tent? This definitely isn’t my tent.” He thought. as he strained his ears, voices murmuring nearby, their meaning lost to him.

The scent of burning wood and something cooking stirred his hunger, a stark reminder of the last time he had eaten.

“How long have I been out?” The fear of discovery surged, his brain working overtime to piece together what had transpired. Groaning, he attempted to sit up, met with a renewed wave of searing pain. Naked and disoriented, panic set in, each movement a reminder that he should probably still be lying down.

With a wince, Evan tried to stand, his left leg protesting with every movement. Lightning bolts of pain shot through him, and he bit back another groan, his hand instinctively clutching his injured arm. Looking around the inside of the tent, he noticed a set of clothes lay strewn nearby.

Limping over, he hastily dressed, each movement suppressing agony that flared with every tug of fabric against his bruised and battered body.

The tent’s entrance was pulled back as Evan contemplated his next move. A woman entered, eyes widening at the sight of him. A bowl slipped from her hands as she hastily retreated, calling for assistance. A rugged man joined her, and they exchanged hushed words, their attention turning to Evan.

The woman’s gaze softened with concern as she approached. “You’re awake,” she remarked, her voice gentle. “What happened to you? We found you near the boss-level room. Are you alone? Where are your party members?”

Evan attempted to speak, but his voice betrayed him again, a strained, raspy sound escaping his lips. Frustration and panic flashed across his face as he tried to convey his questions, the pain in his eyes mirroring the discomfort coursing through his body.

The woman’s hand rested on his shoulder, a gesture of reassurance that caused Evan to grunt in pain. “Oh, I’m sorry. Honestly, I am amazed you are even alive right now. We all thought you were dead,” she said.

Evan staggered, his leg collapsing, the struggle evident in his attempts to remain standing.

The man’s sympathetic tone filled the air, “Easy now. It seems like you’ve been through a lot. Take your time to recover. We found you all alone, and the boss-level room had bodies. Were they your party members?”

Evan’s mind raced with thoughts of the soldiers that had pursued him through the dungeon, now mingling with the possibility of their demise at the boss level. “They didn’t survive the fight with whatever the dungeon had summoned for them.” Thought Evan.

The conflicting emotions of pain and happiness played across his face as he managed a weak nod, confirming their suspicions. “Best to make them think I am a sole survivor.” reasoned Evan.

“Why did you enter the room with so many people?” the man inquired, shaking his head. “You surely had to know that it would enrage the dungeon. Goddess above, I hate to think what monster it summoned for you to fight.”

The woman intervened, guiding Evan’s attention back to the bedroll he had occupied.

“Rest for now. We’ll get you out of this dungeon and back to the adventurer’s guild in the closest town. The healer there can take a look at you.”

Evan looked at the bedroll, darkness creeping into his vision as he fell forward, the echoes of a judgmental voice whispering in the recesses of his mind.

“Pathetic,” the dragon sneered as Evan succumbed to unconsciousness.

----------------------------------------

Evan slowly woke to voices talking over him.

“…. You found him where? And he was still alive? He must possess an extraordinary will to survive.”

“…. What about the bodies in the Boss room? You said they were his party? It sounds like he was lucky. He must have been the last one left after they killed whatever it was. Though I would say, he paid almost as dearly. The damage to his leg is quite severe. He is lucky we didn’t have to cut it off. His arm has quite the cut running down its length. A sword strike most certainly caused that. Not to mention the amount of cuts and bruises he has all over his body; whatever he went through, I will be amazed if he fully recovers.”

Evan opened his eyes, blinking a few times as he tried to clear them as he adjusted to the soft glow filtering through a modestly sized window draped with faded, threadbare curtains. The feeble morning light painted the room in muted hues. Turning his head, Evan could glimpse the swaying branches of unfamiliar trees and the distant murmur of a bustling fantasy town.

The bed, a singular refuge in the room Evan found himself in, occupied the centre of the room. The faded quilt, its colours muted by countless washes, was neatly spread over Evan, the sides hanging down the mattress, offering a semblance of comfort despite its age.

Faint echoes of distant chatter and the occasional clatter of footsteps seeped through the door, a subtle reminder that Evan was not alone. He tried to speak. Only a whisper groaning sound came out. He tried again, but nothing. Panicking, Evan tried to sit up. A hand forced him back down into the bed.

An old grey-haired man pressed his hand on Evan. He looked like someone who had seen many battles over his lifetime. His face was heavily scarred, as was the hand that held Evan. Beside him was the man Evan had seen in the dungeon. He was discussing something with the other person in the room. Evan did a double-take. The last person of the three in the room was not a human. She was a Foxkin. Evan had only ever seen a handful of the Beast race before. Then never really came to StormKeep, where Evan grew up. It wasn’t known as a place that was safe for Beast people.

The grey-haired man scrutinized Evan with a discerning gaze. “So, you’ve been through quite the ordeal, young one. My name is Alden. Alden Ironheart,” he said, examining Evan’s eyes. “Your left leg took a beating from the boss. It’ll heal, but you might feel occasional pain. And your voice… that might take some time. You’ve damaged it significantly. In all my years, I have never seen someone’s throat burned like yours was. You were lucky that alone didn’t kill you.”

Evan nodded, absorbing the information. The other two in the room listened intently, their expressions mirroring a mixture of relief, concern and curiosity.

The grey-haired man Alden continued, “Rest will be your best medicine. Give yourself time to recover. I’ve worked all the magic I could to help you. I don’t have a high enough level of magic to help you beyond this. It will take time for you to recover from the blood loss and just the sheer amount of you that was injured.”

“What’s your name, lad?” Asked the Foxkin woman.

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Evan hesitated, contemplating the weight of his past and the anonymity of his future. He motioned for something to write with. “If I choose a new identity to shield myself from the past, no one here should know who I am. So, who do I want to be is more the question. Do I stick with my name? This is Kairos’s body; do I stick with his name? No. Too many people are looking for him. Hmm. I know. I will make a name from both. Something that combines both my old self and the new me.” Thought Evan.

The adventurers exchanged glances as the foxkin handed Evan a sheet of paper and a quill. Evan thought about what to call himself. After working through a few possibilities, Evan wrote down his mix of names. Evan Ros. A blend of both his name and Kairos’s name.

The Foxkin woman nodded as she read the name. “Rest, Mr Ros. You’ll heal, physically and otherwise. The guild will look out for you for the time being. Once you are up and about, we will look at testing you, and you can start to work back the money your healing has cost.”

As Evan lay on the bed, surrounded by the unfamiliar room. He watched the three leave the room, discussing quietly among themselves. He was injured, and now he had a debt to the guide.

“Great. Couldn’t make life any easier for me, hey goddess.” Thought Evan. “I need to get up and moving before I owe this Guide even more.”

In the following weeks, time became Evan’s ally and an elusive phantom, slipping through his fingers like grains of sand. Each sunrise brought with it a new layer of healing, a gradual mending of his battered body. The pain that once racked his body began to relinquish its grip, giving way to a more manageable discomfort. Evan, though far from the peak of his physical strength, felt the return of his strength coursing through his veins as each day passed.

Initially viewed as a haven, his room transformed into a prison of slow recovery. Alden came by once every few days to use his healing magic as it slowly worked its subtle wonders. Evan spent his days in a routine of introspection, an isolation of training his mind.

The Foxkin woman, Lyra, became a familiar presence during these moments of quiet contemplation. She shared stories of the guild, its diverse members and their backgrounds. She explained that she was the Guide leader’s right-hand woman. She oversaw much of what went on as they forged a connection over simple meals.

Lyra always wore the same clothing; her attire, a blend of practical leather and embroidered fabric, showcased her balance between the wild and the civilized. She had mentioned that it reduced the amount of time it would take her to get ready in the mornings if she didn’t have to think about what she was wearing.

Although she was not tall like the rest of her race, she stood at a modest height. Her fur was a lush blend of russet and white, resembling the changing hues of autumn leaves, and soft, pointed ears constantly twitched as she spoke. Her amber eyes exuded wisdom and warmth, capturing the essence of her character. Lyra’s lithe frame moved with a graceful fluidity, a testament to her agility. Around her neck, a delicate pendant dangled, glinting softly in the light. Etched with intricate symbols, it hinted at her spiritual connection to the world around her.

Evan’s emotions were like a turbulent sea during these times. Frustration, like a relentless tide, often surged within him. As Evan’s strength continued to grow, the walls of his sanctuary expanded. After Alden gave him the okay, Lyra helped him as he ventured beyond the confines of his room, stepping into the heartbeat of the guild itself.

The building unfolded like a labyrinth before him, interconnected spaces that buzzed with the energy of purpose and a never-ending workload. Notice boards adorned the main hall, displaying many quests and bounties. Evan quickly found the training area after following his ear to the clash of blades and the chants of spellcasters.

In the main hall, tables adorned with maps and trinkets, mugs of ale clinking together in a harmonious cacophony of conversation. The guide he had been a part of back when he was still in the village of Stormkeep was nothing like this one. Stories flowed like the finest mead, weaving a tapestry of triumphs and tribulations. Each adventurer contributed their unique hue to the shared narrative.

The adventures in the main hall slowly grew used to Evan. Some regarded him with curiosity, their eyes filled with unspoken questions, while others offered nods of acknowledgment, recognizing a kindred.

Amongst this group was Brogar, a burly dwarf with a demeanour as sturdy as the mountains he hailed from. His beard, a cascade of fiery red and streaks of grey, framed a face etched with countless tales of battles fought and won. Brogar’s arms, covered with intricate tattoos depicting ancient dwarven runes, testified to a life of tradition and honour. The sturdy belt that always collected on everything held pouches and tools. Each clinked softly with each step.

Brogar became Evan’s companion most evenings, imparting wisdom with hearty laughter that resonated like a hearty echo through the main hall as he drank numerous amounts of ale.

As the weeks unfolded, His training in the fighting sword forms became a battleground of emotions. Every misstep, every falter, and every time the blade slipped from his grip stoked the flames of self-doubt. Using one blade only, he worked hard to adjust to the difference in bodies. Yet, within the levels of frustration, there were small victories—tiny flames that refused to be extinguished.

His old self had trained for years to fight as he had against the dragon Kairos’s body, which, on the other hand, was soft, like a delicate flower. He had not put much training into the physical aspect, only into his magic. Evan pushed hard, doing pushups, sit-ups and running every day, hoping to slowly work his body into fighting shape to build the muscle he had in his previous body. Each push-up completed, every mile run, and every successful strike with the sword whispered promises of advancement.

However, The inability to wield the magic latent in Kairos’s body left him feeling incomplete, a mere echo of the potential he sensed within his new body. It was as if a locked door taunted him, the promise of power just out of reach. He was told that his control and ability to use magic were vastly underdeveloped for his age. After thinking long about the reasons why, the answer fell into his lap one day when the dragon decided they needed to discuss their agreement.

“Human. We need to discuss our agreement.” Came the dragon Ardentrex’s voice.

“Gah.” Screamed Evan. As he dropped his sword, the voice pounded like a drum inside his head. “Can’t you ever speak a little bit more quietly? You are going to get me killed one day with the way you do this.”

“We must speak, but I will try to speak slower for your feeble mind.” Said Ardentrex.

“I am not feeble-minded, dammit. Just don’t shout your voice into my head, and we will be fine.”

“Very well then. I will speak in this lower tone. Now, on to the agreement. I require this body to complete a task I need to finish.” Said Ardentrex.

“I’m sorry. You what? What task could you possibly have? You dead, remember.” Replied Evan, shaking his head. “And we didn’t agree on you just using my body whenever you wanted.”

“With my death, a void has formed within dragon society. The protections I put in place will fade if I do not fix them again. I need to promote my replacement as a protector and to do this. I need this body to travel.” Sighed Ardentrex, tiredness laced the explanation.

“Still doesn’t help me understand why this is my problem, Mr Ardentrex dragon king, or whatever you said your name was. Also, Ardentrex is way too long. I’m gonna call you umm. I know. I’ll call you Ard. That’s an easy one to remember.”

“WHAT!.” Roared Ardentrex.

“Agrh. Stop yelling in my head.” Groaned Evan. “You have no idea how much that hurts.”

“You dare call me Ard. I have killed creatures for far less an insult human trash.” Ardentrex yelled in Evan’s head. His voice was like a hammer striking the anvil.

“Ok. Ok. Ok. We will work on the nickname. Where exactly do you need to go anyway?” Said Evan as he rubbed his aching head.

“I need to travel to the mountains, to Drakon’s roost. There is a village there.”

“Ahh.” Said Evan as he wondered if he had heard the name before. “Where exactly is that?”

Ardentrex paused for a long time before he answered the question. “It is near the Celestia Magica Institute. You have heard it right, human.”

“Of course I have. I’m not that sheltered, you know. I mean, everyone has heard of the institute. Only the most famous place to learn magic in all the settled lands.” replied Evan.

“We must head there now. If we head there, I will teach you how to use your magic.”

“Hold up there dragon. I can’t just leave here now. I have a debt to the guild of Sylvanreach now. First, we pay back the debt, then we will head to your village of Roost thing, Okay?” said Evan. “Besides, it isn’t a quick journey, you know. The city of Arcadia is a three-week journey from here.”

Evan walked through the halls as Ardentrex pushed for him to reconsider. Entering into the Training hall. Evan grabbed a training sword and began to work through the warm-up exercises. Midway through a series of Shadow Sword movements, Lyra approached him.

“Well, Well. At it again, Evan. You know, I have seasoned adventurers who don’t put in as much practice as you do.” Chuckled Lyra. “But I am here to inform you that Alden has decided that you are well enough now to take the guide’s entrance exam. That is because we can not find anything about you ever having been registered with the guide before.”

“Shit.” Thought Evan. “I forgot they would look up my guide registration. Evan Ros doesn’t exist. Shit.”

“Pathetic. You are as stupid as a newborn fish. I am still amazed you have survived this long.” Came Ardentrex’s voice, mocking Evan once again.

“Evan. Hey Evan. You there?” Said Kyra as she waved her hand in front of Evan’s face.

“Ah yeah, sorry, Kyra.” Replied Evan. “When is the exam booked?”

“We will run a few others through the exam as well. So follow me, and I’ll take you. Do you know how each adventurer’s score is marked and how the Guide card we issue works?” Asked Lyra.

“Ahh. Maybe you can explain it again.” Said Evan.

“It was a long time ago when I got my last update. And a whole other life.” thought Evan. “Wouldn’t hurt to get a refresher.”

“Ok, follow me, and I’ll explain it as I take you to the exam area.” Said Lyra as she walked towards the training hall door.