Approaching the counter, my stomach twisted with nerves. I had been waiting for this day for what felt like forever, but now that I was here, I had a whole new problem—the receptionist was stunning. Dark hair, dark eyes, a slim figure with just the right curves, and lips so perfect they seemed painted. Her only flaw? She was human.

I managed to stammer through my registration, but now my nerves had taken on a whole new shape.

“Sixty percent,” she said, her tone sharp and businesslike. “That’s how many of you poor, unprepared, classless loners don’t come back from the sewers after the first trip. Did you hear me? You have a sixty percent chance of being torn apart by oversized rats in the dark.”

I swallowed hard, but she wasn’t done.

“I get it—you have no money for equipment. No friends to go with. No training. But my advice? Don’t go. Wait for some other idiot who’s just as desperate and go together. Because if you go alone, you will die. Understood?”

I stared at her perfect red lips for far too long before realizing she had finished speaking. Her dark eyes locked onto mine, cold and unyielding as ice picks.

“Uh… yeah. I—I understand.”

“And you’re still going?” she asked, unimpressed.

“Yes.”

With a sigh, she thrust a piece of paper at me. The moment I took it, she slammed her counter shut, leaving me standing at the now-closed station like an idiot. I looked down at the paper.

Name: Rylan, Ralov’s son

Age: 15

Race: Tel’ani

Guild Rank: Wood

Level: 1

Class: Commoner 1

HP: 9

Stats:

* STR: 15

* DEX: 14

* CON: 17

* INT: 11

* WIS: 17

* CHA: 15

My entire life, reduced to a set of numbers. And not even all the numbers—Wood-level members weren’t worth the full test. But I was technically a member now.

I flipped the paper over.

Quest: Clear out Dire Rats from the city sewers.

Rank: Wood - Copper

Reward: 1 Copper Dek or 2 in Guild Credit per rat tail

The city sewers are a constant breeding ground for Dire Rats. The Adventurer’s Guild uses this quest to train its newest members. Kill the rats and bring their tails in for the reward.

Dire Rats are dangerous in large numbers. Be wary of Filth Fever.

Don’t die.

I took a deep breath, glancing around the room. There had to be a way to improve my chances of survival. Dying would be a bit inconvenient.

***

Bella turned her back on the counter, pressing her hands against the smooth wood as she took a slow, measured breath. The window was shut now, the conversation over, but the weight of it clung to her like a damp cloak.

She had seen it in his eyes—that mix of determination and desperation, the kind that never ended well. He was too young, too green, and worst of all, too alone. Another reckless idiot with no money, no allies, and no real chance.

Her fingers curled into fists, nails biting into her palms.

Sixty percent.

It was more than just a number. It was a reality she had watched play out time and time again. She had registered plenty of adventurers—some bold, some cocky, some trembling so hard they could barely hold the pen. But the loners? They were the worst. The ones who thought sheer willpower would be enough. They always left, and most never came back.

Bella hunched forward, elbows on the desk, burying her face in her hands.

“I’m not going to cry. I’m not going to cry.”

The words were barely more than a whisper, a desperate chant she clung to like a prayer. But the pressure in her chest only grew tighter, heavier, until it finally broke. A choked sob escaped, and then another.

She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing herself to breathe through the ache.

Then she straightened, wiped her face, and forced the mask back on.

***

The Adventurer’s Guild Hall was the largest and wealthiest building I had ever set foot in—though, to be fair, I had only seen the main hall. Massive wooden doors opened into a sprawling chamber, its high ceiling supported by thick exposed beams adorned with the skulls of long-dead monsters. Floating magical lights bobbed lazily near the rafters, illuminating the room in a warm, golden glow. The high, arched windows let in shafts of morning sunlight, giving the space a welcoming air, despite the faint smell of sweat, old beer, and blood that clung to the stone walls.

The floor was worn smooth in places where countless boots had passed, the stone chipped and marred in others, bearing the marks of dropped weapons, fallen mugs, and the occasional brawl. Richly woven rugs covered the colder parts of the floor, offering islands of comfort amidst the hard stone. To one side, long, scarred wooden tables sat in neat rows, adventurers lounging on their benches as they ate. The smell of sausage and eggs wafted from the kitchen, mixing with the sharper scents of polished leather, sweat, and smoke from the open hearth.

At the far end of the hall, a series of counters lined the wall, most of them shuttered for now. This was where the guild staff handled registrations, quest assignments, and verifications. The walls behind them were lined with maps—detailed sketches of Nadoria and its surroundings, old routes carved by trade and war. A large quest board stood nearby, covered in parchment scraps listing available jobs, the ink barely dry on some of them.

I scanned the room. Only a handful of adventurers were eating their breakfast, none of them paying me much attention. I needed advice, and advice was usually free.

The adventurer I approached was tall—easily over six feet if he had been standing—and built like a warhorse. Thick, unkempt brown hair framed his face, and his wild green eyes regarded me with a mixture of amusement and irritation. He chewed his food slowly, his timing deliberate, as if he had already decided whether or not I was worth his time.

“What?” His voice was rough, edged with boredom, but his lips curled into a bemused smirk.

I swallowed, then asked, “Looking for advice. How do I survive the sewers without a class?”

He snorted. “Ha! You’re dead.” He set his drink down with a dull thunk. “My advice? Get a class. Or at least some damn gear.”

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

I exhaled slowly. Not helpful.

“I’m guessing she told you there’s a sixty percent chance I won’t come back?” The man grinned, raising his mug again. “Yeah, she told you sixty percent? That’s for humans. You purple fuckers? Closer to seventy, maybe eighty. Can’t for the life of me figure out why.” He took another drink, completely unbothered by the grim statistics.

I stared at him. “Any other advice?”

He nodded, then fished a ten-sided copper coin from his pocket, spinning it between his fingers before pressing it onto the table with a firm snap.

“Write a letter to your family. Have someone hold it for a day. If you live, you can pick it up. If you die, at least they won’t be waiting on you.”

I stared at the coin. That was… morbid. But also practical.

“Thanks,” I muttered, pocketing the dek. Free money was free money, even if it was out of pity.

I moved on, bothered by how indifferent everyone seemed. Get a shield. Don’t go alone. Wait until some other idiot wants to go. All the advice required time or money—two things I didn’t have.

My stomach sank, a cold weight settling in my gut.

Almost done.

Then, I guess, I go die.

“Sit.”

I turned at the voice. The command was calm, but firm.

I hesitated, glancing at the man who had spoken—not the same one as before. This one was older, broader, with streaks of gray peppering his dark brown hair and beard. His hazel eyes were deep-set, weathered, and harder to read than the others.

When I didn’t immediately move, he gestured to the seat across from him.

I sat.

“Have you eaten?”

I blinked. “No.”

A copper dek landed on the table between us. The man nodded toward the kitchen. “Get some food.”

I wasn’t about to argue. Free food was free food, and I hadn’t expected to be eating today. I grabbed a plate, piled on eggs and sausage, and shoveled it down like I hadn’t eaten in days.

The man let me eat in silence for a while before he spoke again.

“I’ve been here four years.” His voice was quieter now, less amused, more resigned. “I’ve seen plenty of desperate kids come in here, walk out that door, and never come back.” He took a sip of his drink. “I’ve seen people ask for advice. But I’ve never seen anyone keep asking after the first person or two.”

I paused mid-bite, swallowing. “I’d rather not die. And advice is usually free.”

A slow, rumbling chuckle escaped him, deep and knowing. “Yeah… You’re still screwed.” He leaned back. “Hurry up and finish eating. We’ll see about improving your chances.”

***

“What is this?”

We hadn’t left the guild, just moved to another section of the hall. I stood in what could only be a store for adventuring gear, the walls cluttered with shelves and racks of worn but functional equipment.

“Basic Gear Store,” the man said. “I recommend taking Guild Credit at first. You’ll be able to spend it here.”

He grabbed a small wooden shield from the rack and shoved it into my arms. It was heavier than I expected. “Take that. The sewers are supposedly cramped, so… here.”

A club—iron-capped—was suddenly in my other hand. I barely had time to adjust my grip before he asked,

“You have a knife?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Couple torches and a fire kit.” He turned to the quartermaster, a stocky, balding human sitting behind the counter, barely visible in the dim light. “Club, light wooden shield, three torches, and a tinderbox.”

The quartermaster grunted, flipping through his ledger. “Hmm. Three point sixty-three silver.”

I cringed. That was… a lot of money.

The man beside me didn’t hesitate. “Rolland Beckson.”

The quartermaster barely looked up. “Mr. Beckson. Got it.”

I tensed as Rolland Beckson clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder and started steering me toward the exit. “You heard him, right? Make it four silver. Interest and all that. You’ve got a year to pay it back. Won’t take you that long.”

Before I knew it, I was back outside, pushed out into the streets of Nadoria with my new gear.

“Three torches,” Beckson said, already turning back toward the guild. “That’ll give you about three hours of light.”

His eyes met mine one last time.

“Don’t die.”

***

When people think of sewers, they imagine narrow tunnels, slick with filth, where stagnant pools of foul-smelling excrement fester in the dark. But this—this wasn’t a sewer.

Nadoria didn’t have sewers. The city’s storm drains were designed to handle the torrential downpours that battered the region during the wet seasons. But that didn’t make them any less disgusting. The tunnels were still cramped and damp, the walls slick with condensation, the air thick with the musty stench of mold and mildew. The occasional pungent burst of piss—not horned or hornless piss, but rat piss—drifted through the passages in sharp, acrid waves.

Which, honestly, might be worse.

I kept my breathing steady, forcing myself to ignore the stench, the damp chill clinging to my skin, the faint sound of dripping water echoing from unseen tunnels. Chalk. I should have brought chalk to mark my path. But it was too late for that. I’d stick to a straight route today—at least that way, I’d only have to watch my front and back.

At least, that was the plan.

A skittering sound to my left made my pulse spike. I froze, my grip tightening around the wooden shield strapped to my arm. My heart hammered in my chest, breath caught in my throat. But after a second, a small, dark shape scurried across the path.

Just a rat.

I exhaled shakily and pressed on, my torch flickering as it burned lower. The faint glisten of moisture along the stone walls made the light dance in eerie patterns. Then—movement ahead.

Two small, beady eyes caught the glow of my torch, reflecting back at me from the darkness. Larger than the others.

My stomach twisted.

This was it. A Dire Rat.

My heart pounded, sending a jolt of pain through my ribs as I slowly set the torch down on a dry ledge and tightened my grip on the club. I could take one. Just one. I’d kill it, cut off the tail, bring it back for the guild’s reward. Maybe even haul the carcass home for food.

I could do this.

A sound behind me.

A soft scrape of claws against stone.

I spun, every muscle in my body seizing with terror.

“Shit!”

The second rat was already lunging. I swung wildly, but I hadn’t judged the angle right—I missed.

The filthy creature thrashed its head and sank its teeth deep into my arm. A sharp, searing pain shot through me as it clamped down, its long, yellowed incisors piercing flesh. I gritted my teeth, choking back a scream, trying to shake it off—

Pain. Another jolt of agony stabbed through my calf. I looked down—a third one was latched onto my leg, gnawing furiously.

Then it bit me again.

Panic surged through me. I flung my arm wildly, thrashing until the rat on my forearm came loose, its tiny claws raking over my skin as it tumbled away. My leg throbbed in protest, but I didn’t stop to check the wound.

I needed the torch.

I grabbed it with a shaking hand and ran.

The blood in my ears was deafening, drowning out everything but my own panicked breath and the scramble of claws behind me. The torchlight bounced wildly with my movement, flickering erratically against the tunnel walls.

Then—my foot caught on something.

A loose stone, a crack in the floor—I didn’t know.

I lurched forward, the torch flying from my grasp, tumbling end over end as I crashed onto the cold stone floor.

I barely had time to push myself up before I heard the horrifying splash.

The torch hit the stagnant water, its flame sputtering out instantly.

Darkness.

Total, suffocating blackness.

My chest seized, terror flooding through me, thick and cold. I couldn’t see. I couldn’t hear anything over the sound of my own ragged breathing—

And then—

Pain.

Something sank its teeth into me again.

And the darkness…

_______________________________________

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