Lane Macklemore felt like a waste. For all the resources poured into him and the advantages he was given, he’d done disappointingly little with his life.

He didn’t grow up privileged by any means but as the son of a moderately successful hunter, his family had been well off. His father had instilled a strong work ethic in his children, of the firm belief that one needed to work for their fortunes and strong foundations meant nothing if what was built atop them was shabby.

The problems started with Lane having no idea what he wanted his contribution to the family legacy to look like. His siblings naturally fell into hunting. The second son, Lucas, took to it especially, like a fish to water, using their father’s connections and experience to quickly rise through the ranks. Lane had apprenticed at One For All for a bit, running errands in exchange for training, but he had no love for the life. Moreover, he knew he had no talent for it. It didn’t take long to become disheartened with the idea of joining a guild officially.

Joining the Hall was an act of desperation. He was no genius when it came to magic and had only a basic fire affinity. However, the appeal of the Grand Hall was that it was a place of opportunity for all. So long as one was willing to work hard, anyone could become the next Harvest Hero, or so went the dream. He’d joined the Hall with the hope of finding what he wanted to do with his life.

And he did.

Becoming a learned man and a competent caster were just bonuses to meeting the love of his life, Alyssa Filagree. The former knight of Victory, former hunter, and current instructor for the Hall with sharp eyes and a sharper tongue.

He'd been fascinated by the redhead from the moment she stopped into his Introduction to Fire Magics class, grumbling about teaching idiotic brats while nursing a hangover. That fascination was supplemented by a determination to make the woman remember his name as she never bothered to address a single acolyte properly, directing them with “hey, you” and “you bastards over there”.

By the end of his first acolyte year, she still refused to call him by name. He wasn’t in love with her, but his determination had become something of an obsession. A point of pride. He signed up for her next class, and the one after that. Before he knew it, she’d actually remembered his name and he was head over heels in love.

He knew from the beginning that pursuing Alyssa wouldn’t be easy. She had a past, one she preferred to drink away rather than discuss, and an abrasive attitude. Worse, he was starting from an unfavorable position.

But Lane proved he was his father’s son after all. He found hope in the fact that Alyssa showed no interest in anyone else and pursued it doggedly. The positive effects of his efforts spurred him on further. She softened to him, as much as she softened to anyone. He was searching for a career to dedicate himself to, preparing for their future, and readying himself to confess.

Then the disastrous night at Lourianne Tome’s party happened and all his dreams were poured down the drain. Lane didn’t know why he blurted out his feelings. Maybe the stress of holding them in for so many years made him snap. Maybe it was the deceptively strong drinks and their strange effects. Maybe it was the sight of her chatting with an old friend.

Whatever it was, the words were spoken and judgment delivered. Alyssa wasn’t interested. She thought of Lane as a brother and would never see him as anything more because he wasn’t her type. Years of unrequited love, spoiled and tossed out like rotten fruit.

What truly boggled him was not that he’d been rejected but the reason why. He thought he was exactly her type, certainty born out of logical deduction. Alyssa was an attractive woman and had many suitors over the years.

Rich gentlemen, sappy poets, brawny idiots, arrogant academics, charming rogues. All of them had been sent away, none with more gusto than the domineering types propped up as ideal partners and his exact opposite. Lane thought Alyssa was a woman who wanted someone to look after her. Saints knew she needed it. He didn’t even take offense when Cynthia called him her wife. Who cared if they did things a little different from norma? He would have been happy.

But their happily ever after wasn’t meant to be.

Lane was lost. He’d put so much of himself into his crush, he didn’t know what to do without it. He also couldn’t keep pining away, no matter how much he wanted to. It’d be easy to blame his behavior on the drink, take a step back, and fall into familiar routines. Could even convince himself that he might change her mind if he remained persistent.

The problem was his pride. Very little having the story of his rejection passed around the hall by the many witnesses, but some. If he wanted his shredded ego to survive, he couldn’t keep on her heels like a whiny puppy. He needed to do something. Get on with his life. Maybe get laid.

Instead, he drank.

It worked well enough for Alyssa and it filled the time. Didn’t make him feel better but if he drank enough, he didn’t feel much of anything and that was good enough in the short term.

That drinking led to him following the young man with ginger hair into a brightly lit basement. His name was Deen and Lane didn’t know him very well. They happened to enjoy drinking in the same cheap tavern. One day, as the drunk tended to do, they began chatting with undue familiarity, pouring out their hearts to one another.

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They had a lot in common, both being young men native to Quest. Including heartbreak. It was nice to talk to someone he was reasonably sure wasn’t secretly laughing at his circumstances. Lane ended up sharing his concerns about a lack of direction in his life and Deen invited him to a gathering. His new friend was vague on details but promised three things.

The first was that it was being hosted by the guilds. It was a smart thing to lead with as it gave whatever it was legitimacy.

The second was that there would be free drink and food. Which would have been enough to convince to come on its own, legitimate gathering or not.

The last thing was that they had a demonstration planned. Deen guaranteed that witnessing it would change Lane’s mind and being a part of it would change his life. Staring down a whole lot of nothing, it was an attractive proposal.

The basement was fairly crowded, filled with hunters. What caught Lane’s attention was the number of groups represented. Hunters didn’t wear uniforms but they were loyal to their guilds and represented their affiliations in small ways. Independent hunters were even easier to spot. Lane saw a fair number of both and at least four guilds represented.

Deen interrupted his contemplation by guiding him to the refreshment tables. Three older boys in nice shirts and aprons stood behind them, serving. Lane was initially excited about the free feast but quickly lost his zeal once the taste hit his tongue. Ever since Lou’s party, he found himself unimpressed by most cuisine.

“I’m so glad you decided to come,” Deen said excitedly as he waited for the boys to load a plate with tiny sandwiches and fruit.

“Not that I know why I’m here.”

“I’ll explain all of that.” The redheaded man guided Lane to a discreet area after grabbing his food and stuffing a drink in Lane’s hand. “I suppose you know about the mess with the north?”

“I do.” Someone would have to be deaf and blind to be unaware of the trouble brewing. They would have to be stupid to willingly involve themselves in it. “Don’t tell me this is a recruitment pitch.”

“Eh, yes and no. Wait, wait! Hear me out. These hunters are here for that but we’re just trying to help people. Give those born without talent or privilege a way of making the most of their lives and ambitions.”

It took effort not to scoff at his new friend’s idealistic words and excited tone. “You think you have the answer to the poor and the destitute?”

To Lane’s surprise, Deen’s smile didn’t abate the tiniest fraction. “We do. Like anything, it isn’t perfect, but it’s a chance. A truly equal opportunity in that it is available to anyone, regardless of their blood or affinity, and that it has no limits. Any man can reach the heights of power as the Harvest Hero if they dedicate themselves.”

Lane didn’t remark on the man co-opting the Hall’s slogan. “And what is this amazing field or process?”

“Have you ever heard of summoning?”

Of course he’d heard of it. The Hall was big but not so big that he didn’t know of all the disciplines it offered having spent years as an acolyte. Despite its unpopularity, summoning was a well-researched discipline, those who practiced it uncommonly dedicated to it. More than any other field, summoners returned to the Hall to donate their knowledge and resources to the next generation. It was a dedicated community if not a very close one.

But if he had never heard of summoning before, he would certainly have known about it after meeting Lou. The woman was famous for many things and not least of which was her status as a summoner of some ability.

Lane’s mouth twisted with disdain. “Summoning? Really? That’s your answer to all of life’s problems? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“What about the idea is ridiculous?”

“Summoning’s been around for a long time. If it was the answer to all the world’s problems that you think it is, don’t you think someone would have discovered so by now?”

“Why would the people in a position to know want to solve our problems?” Lane paused, stumped by the question, and Deen pounced on the silence. “This kingdom was founded during a period of great strife. In the chaos following the Great War, there was no law. There were no rights of the people. There was no such thing as fair. There were only the soldiers that fought, the generals that led them, and the enemies they needed to fight. The powerful ruled without censor and they used that freedom to horde all the resources of our new home. A tradition that persisted until we built a kingdom where the unfortunate labor for the further glory of the lucky, rather than improving their lives and the lives of their families.”

Lane scoffed. “I admit, it’s not fair but nothing is. Besides, there’s nothing holding anyone back. Quest is a city of opportunities. Anybody can make their mark.”

“Sure, anyone can…if they survive fighting monsters and men. How many people have what it takes to face death, day in and day out? How many great fighters die to a bit of bad luck or passing bad weather?”

“Bad luck can happen to anyone, anytime, doing anything.”

“There is a world of difference between the dangerous of summoning and those of hunting. And a lot more can be done to mitigate them.”

Lane grunted, having to admit the other man was right. “But who cares? I don’t need another creature that can throw around fire, I do that well enough on my own. There’s no point.”

Deen shook his head while smiling. “That’s the problem. This kingdom was founded on war so we all think of magic in terms of combat, but summoning can be, is, so much more. Elementals aren’t weapons. They are sources of knowledge. New thoughts, new ideals, and new ways of doing things. Or, sometimes, they are masters of what we think we have mastered. As an acolyte, I’m sure you don’t need another weapon. But what could you do with, say, a creature that could teach you to wield your fire with such control that you could rival a master masseuse with a physical affinity, using heat to relax tense muscles?”

“…why would I want to be a masseuse?”

Deen lightly punched his shoulder. “That’s not the point! The point is you never thought about using your magic that way, have you?”

“No.” It was novel, but Lane wouldn’t say it was a good idea. Or feasible.

“That’s what we’re offering, Lane. To broaden people’s perspectives. To give them opportunities they’ve never dreamed of.”

“And what’s it going to cost them?” Nothing was free. He wasn’t so cynical that he would doubt charity, even the Hall practiced it with their scholarships, but rampant generosity was unsustainable. The world ran on gold.

“That’s the beautiful thing. A summoner only needs knowledge and knowledge needs nothing but time.”

“You want to train summoners for free? With no restrictions?”

“We’re a community. We expect those the community helps to help it in turn. Share what they learn and their services. Donate what they can when they want. More importantly, we insist that our members carry on our mission. One person can’t change the world but fifty? A hundred? A thousand?” Deen shrugged, his smile silly. “I think we can make a good dent in the mess, eh?”