Stella explained at length where they could get lunch as the pair cleaned up and dressed. The market had plenty of street food, and there were taverns dotting the roads to the docks, each with specialties like savory pies or baked fish.
But, as the pair stepped out into the noon sunlight, reality set in.
The guild loomed much like its guildmaster, a presence that could not be ignored given the turmoil surrounding the hero’s existence. The pair shared a look, Stella sighing audibly.
“It’s my day off,” she mumbled.
“Maybe you can get a second day off?” Hallvar hazarded, knowing it was unlikely.
After some stalling, the long-suffering hero and the off-hours guild staff went inside. It was midday, so the rest of the staff were lingering around.
Hallvar ran through greetings and a quick set of introductions as Stella did something with their guild card nearby.
Ribbon was named Zarin. She reminded Hallvar of the old knight, even with a near-identical name, pronounced differently. Zair-in was pretty similar to Keer-an regardless.
Hallvar did some mental math from a guess at the guild employee’s age and decided, yeah, actually… being named after the famous lady knight Kiran was possible and probable.
Brass was actually Rami, though everyone agreed that Brass was an excellent nickname for the systems mage. There was a quiet dignity to it that suited the man, who looked like half the academics Hallvar remembered working with in college.
They all seemed very enthusiastic about Hallvar regaining their voice, giving the adventurer a warm welcome to the guild.
The only confusing part was a back-and-forth about pronouns, after which Hallvar was declared vode. Stella handed them their card and promised to explain it later, directing Hallvar to the stairwell.
adventurer's guild
Name: Hallvar Nyman
Age: 32
Class: Beastmaster
Subclass:
Place of Origin: Hero of Amnasín
attributes str 11 ∙ awa 14 ∙ cha 6
agi 10 ∙ con 10 ∙ int 12
dex 12 ∙ end 18 ∙ luc 6
Nyman, right. That was a little embarrassing to see. In dreaming up a new name, Hallvar briefly considered surnames, specifically finding new-man a funny option. As a former-girl, Nyman was pretty hilarious. It seemed the system drew on that memory and made it fact.
The designation of hero on their place of origin was both concerning and interesting. It could be of use later or it could attract an annoying amount of attention. Maybe Hallvar could flash the card to merchants with their thumb over that piece.
No new changes in their stats. Hallvar was half-hoping that strength or even charisma would have bumped up miraculously. No, that would be too helpful.
The upstairs of the guild consisted of a long hallway with closed doors along the way. Did the guildmaster live here? Did the other workers live here? Their destination was made evident – a set of double doors awaited, open and flanked by banners with the guild’s insignia.
“Sir, I brought Hallvar – the Foreigner – as requested.”
Based on everything they knew about the guildmaster, Hallvar should be afraid, hesitant at minimum. Yet…
The guildmaster sat at his large desk with a balance book in front of him, an actual abacus on the side for aid with counting or whatever abacus-es did. A teacup sat cold and half empty near his left side.
He looked like an accountant in this moment. His hair was more salt than pepper, but the guildmaster retained a sense of dogged vitality. An unremarkable accountant who hiked on the weekends or did some form of surprisingly athletic activity for a man who wore dress shoes daily.
Normal. Weirdly normal. Was that what unnerved everyone? Hallvar still didn’t get it, but they sat in the chair politely to find out.
“Stella, I need you to take a message to the Court Mage. You’ll be escorted to him when you arrive at the castle gate.” The guildmaster folded up a piece of paper and applied a wax seal to it, waving it around to help cool it off.
She took the paper, following up with a prudent question. “It’s my day off today. May I move my day off to tomorrow, sir?”
The guildmaster seemed surprised, but he gave no indication as to why. “Unfortunately, I need you to deliver that message; the Court Mage will travel back with you, I suspect. But, yes, consider tomorrow your day off.”
Stella nodded. She squeezed Hallvar’s shoulder before leaving on her errand. How long did it take to get to the castle, and to return?
They looked at the guildmaster with vague anticipation; he returned the gaze with an equal sense of patient waiting.
The hero didn’t look like anything special; most adventurers didn’t at the amateur level. It took specialization into a subclass for the majority of adventurers to develop a sense of style, a unique nature.
“Hallvar, was it?” Since this meeting was at Viktor’s request, he spoke first. The question of the hero’s name was largely a polite pretense, as Kiran informed the guildmaster of most details beforehand.
“We must wait for the Court Mage’s arrival to discuss our plan, but in the meantime, make yourself comfortable.”
The guildmaster gestured toward a set of armchairs and a filled bookcase. “Read, if you’d like. If you have questions, I have no guarantee of a satisfying answer, but I’ll make an effort.”
It was a courtesy Viktor rarely extended. He wasn’t known for providing detailed, helpful information.
There were a dozen questions Hallvar could ask, but one escaped before they could think. “Why?”
Viktor considered the hero’s weary frustration. The question wasn’t aimed at the guildmaster’s offer of information or anything else he said aloud. No, it was a broader complaint.
He provided an answer.
“In an effort to bolster his own forces, the King-Consort summoned heroes. I am inexorably bound to the Court Mage, who in turn serves the Queen. If he can recover a lost asset – you – while destroying an asset of the Queen – me – he will.”
Hallvar settled back in their chair, mildly stumped by the stupidity of it all. “Is it that simple?”
“No,” Viktor answered, closing the balance book and cleaning up his desk. “Nothing ever is.”
“Start with the heroes,” Hallvar insisted.
The guildmaster found that statement amusing. The demand was reasonable, but so few people made actual demands of him these days that it was cute, laughable.
“Heroes are considered property of the Crown, more or less. A hundred odd years have passed since the last heroes, so policies are archaic but still in place. The Court Mage will know. The King-Consort summoned heroes while the Queen was away in Staareaux, so she would be unable to interfere. Rumor has it that he’s asked at least one of the heroes to oath loyalty to him already.”
Hallvar found that entire explanation frustrating. Property of the Crown? They didn’t sign up for this hero shit, and they certainly didn’t belong to anyone.
“And I’ll be expected to oath loyalty?”
“That is the question.” The guildmaster went through a drawer in his desk and pulled out a few objects, before moving towards a window.
Hallvar watched with growing realization as the man approached the window cautiously, scanning the entire skyline before settling on a bench under the sill. He looked like an accountant but acted like movie character, like a detective or a secret agent. Poised, watchful, wary.
“If the King-Consort acquires you before the Queen, yes. You’ll be asked to oath loyalty. Your interaction with the guild will have tainted you in the King-Consort’s eyes, therefore he cannot afford to let you remain unbound.”
The man packed a pipe and lit it to smoke by the window, as to not disturb the hero more than necessary. It was weirdly considerate, but perhaps routine. The guildmaster probably had a good vantage point from that spot.
Hallvar still needed more answers. “Why does he hate the guild?”
The guildmaster scoffed. “He hates me. The guild is merely an incidental in this conflict.”
He turned his gaze toward Hallvar, eyeing the supposed hero as if judging their worth. “We will do everything in our power to wait for the Queen’s arrival; however, if the King-Consort finds you, he will take every ounce of rudeness or resistance toward him as an indication that you have been corrupted. It may be worth playing the part of subservient hero if the worst occurs.”
Thinking about how they reacted to Leon or to the princess’ judgment, Hallvar shook their head. “I used to be really meek, but I can’t hide my reactions anymore. It comes out without thinking.”
The guildmaster almost laughed, his shoulders shifting as if the urge struck and was repressed.
“You do take after the Knight Kiran and her earnestness, it seems.”
“She says you’re ‘irritatingly arrogant but somehow reliable’ which I think is a compliment from her.”
The duskscale had not taken effect yet, but instead of snapping back, Viktor blinked owlishly at the insult-by-proxy from the hero.
Hallvar continued while waving their hand around, talkative and curious about the guildmaster’s thoughts.
“She told me I would make a terrible soldier but a great hermit if I learned to stop asking stupid questions. By my judgment, being a hero gives me at least another week of stupid questions before people get to be annoyed.”
“Do tell,” the guildmaster prompted. He had nothing else to do, and the hero was right that their ignorance wasn’t their own fault.
“I have two for you,” they said without a moment’s hesitation. “Is that fantasy weed? That question won’t work, hang on. Does whatever you put in your pipe alter your mood or change your energy?”
“That’s one.”
Hallvar grumbled at the lack of an answer but continued. “Why are people afraid of you? I couldn’t tell at the casino-brothel thing because of the communication barrier, but in the guild, everyone is painfully respectful to you. I could see that in body language.”
Viktor continued smoking and watching out the window, undeterred by the hero’s self-proclaimed stupid questions. “Are you not afraid of me?”
It was a fair response, Hallvar guessed. “No. I know I should be, but I’m not.”
“Why?”
It was Hallvar’s turn to fight for the best words. That answer was complicated, and they didn’t want to get into incredible detail right now, as it concerned their past life. A more basic answer would work.
“My dad was always a funny guy, liked to play pranks. His favorites were waiting for me around corners to startle me or taking pictures of me from a distance to text me cryptically. In this world, you’re obviously dangerous and capable, but I think your game of startling people just reminds me of my dad.”
It felt strange to remember their dead dad, who would not recognize the person they were now. If some version of heaven existed, was Dad watching this stranger who replaced his daughter? What did he think? Was he proud?
“Sentimental,” came the sole reply from the guildmaster.
Hallvar snapped back, irritated that their moment of fond remembrance was reduced to a single, judging word. “You didn't answer either of my questions.”
The guildmaster blew smoke as a form of response, watching the hero shift in frustration.
The answer was delivered slowly, patiently; the guildmaster had a king’s ransom of patience for the unintentionally dumb hero who confessed to a weakness for Viktor’s antics. Call that sentimental.
“Duskscale makes the world quieter. It is primarily used for insomnia and nervous conditions.”
Hallvar wondered whether duskscale was a plant or literally a scale of some beast. It could be either. How would you smoke a beast-scale? Powdered?
“You have a condition?” They asked as politely as they could.
Hallvar was lucky that the guildmaster found their curiosity amusing. It wasn’t often Viktor met someone with an entirely alien perspective on the world.
“No, my awareness is 30,” The guildmaster stated, adding on clarification after a pause. “Which is the natural limit of attributes.”
The hero lacked context for what that could mean. If awareness was perception, both physical and social, and the ability to interpret surroundings for danger or other cues, then a very high perception was intense.
“Does that hurt?” Hallvar remembered stories of overstimulation circling the internet. “Is the awareness why you're scary?”
It was hard to think of this old gentleman as intimidating when he just mentioned that the world was too much sometimes, and he needed to smoke to deal with it. If anything, the information made Hallvar feel more empathy for the guildmaster than anything.
Viktor continued to provide non-information. “If I remember correctly, last year's rumor is still circulating that I'm a mercenary hiding in Amnasín because it's the only natural refuge from the dragon I allegedly pissed off.”
The rumor was unintentionally close to a truth within Viktor’s life. He did run afoul of a dragon in his youth but escaped with his life and a blessing of luck after amusing the riddle-presenting beast.
Hallvar skipped over the immediate concern that dragons existed, internally swearing to revisit that point. “That doesn't answer my question.”
They did find it interesting that the guildmaster spoke in a lofty, precise manner – not like Leon’s arrogant feigned nobility – but he dropped a rugged phrase like pissed off without so much as a second thought.
The guildmaster watched an adventurer leave the building, walking toward the city center. His mask of ambivalence remained intact as he all but scolded Hallvar.
“The reason why I'm scary is best demonstrated, not told, so we should wait for the Court Mage and his healing capabilities as a precaution.”
“Mhm, I think you’re just trying to scare me,” Hallvar retorted, intentionally provoking the guildmaster.
They – the guildmaster and the Court Mage – all needed Hallvar alive, so the hero felt no true threat from this discussion. Even if they understood why the guildmaster was so scary to others, Hallvar doubted the fear would have prevented this sass.
Hallvar was several near-death experiences into this world, and they were absolutely done with its bullshit. They would die insulting the thing that killed them, that was for sure.
“Stand up,” the guildmaster ordered, gesturing to an open space in the office.
The hero was curious about a demonstration of ability but not informed enough to dread the potential. They couldn’t fear what they didn’t understand. Besides, Hallvar didn’t intend to back down now, not after talking a big game.
They rapidly understood why the open floor was necessary, as a magical burden sunk its claws deep into their body and pulled Hallvar downward.
Viktor found that loss of balance and an inability to stand was a frequent result of stacking paralysis and exhaustion together.
A litany of notifications pressed into Hallvar’s thoughts.
new affliction
Paralysis (08m remaining)
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
➳ movement is severely reduced, affected by Strength and Endurance
new affliction
Exhaustion (04m remaining)
➳ stamina is depleted at a constant rate
new debuff
Weaken (02m remaining)
➳ reduce Strength and Agility attribute by 30%
new debuff
Stun (02m remaining)
➳ reduce Intelligence and Awareness attribute by 30%
To Hallvar’s credit, they did learn a few things from Kiran.
She didn’t use the same afflictions or debuffs that the guildmaster did, but her own strategy included poison, chemical burn, and thorns – all of which Hallvar experienced at least once in the last few days of training.
Her primary advice was to save the panic for later, to find a way to quickly overcome or get rid of effects that caused damage over time. React first, panic later.
Hallvar did just that.
The exhaustion paired with the sudden attribute changes to create muscle fatigue and a mind fog. Paralysis made it extremely difficult to move – not impossible, but almost like a painless muscle cramp, limbs stiff and unyielding.
They activated [ skill: bull rush ] as the guildmaster approached, a cat trotting over to a trapped mouse.
“See, Hallvar, I may not be fit for group combat, but with a single opponent, I only need to buy a moment of opportunity.”
[ skill: bull rush ] canceled out the weaken debuff, returning Hallvar’s strength to its normal, paltry 11 and resetting their agility as well. The fatigue dwindled, with the remaining exhaustion feeling completely normal.
Was that how Hallvar lived, in this world? Exhausted and continuing to fight?
The paralysis kept the hero from standing, though as they strained against it, the system relayed a new message.
new active skill: trap breaker
requirements: endurance 15; experience multiple afflictions at once.
Nullify 1 affliction every 12 hours.
reset timer: n/a
Hallvar was tired of feeling like a weak, pathetic nobody who could be bossed around by the most self-righteous of pricks. This rage wasn’t projected at the guildmaster, but instead at Leon, at the assholes who beat Hallvar up and left them for dead, at the entire premise of this world.
The guildmaster was close now, pointing the mouthpiece of his pipe toward Hallvar’s neck as a mock weapon.
They used [ skill: trap breaker ] and forced themselves upwards, grabbing at the guildmaster’s arm to block the attack from the mock weapon.
The man moved faster than Hallvar could sense or understand with their dulled awareness and slashed intelligence. A curved blade pressed against the front of their throat; the guildmaster watched with a hawklike glare – without human emotion or empathy – as Hallvar came to terms with this threat.
“My vein is lower down,” Hallvar said stubbornly, continuing to hold onto the guildmaster’s right arm, the injured one holding the pipe.
“Your voice box is here,” the guildmaster said softly. He maintained perfect pressure on the knife, not enough to cut, but enough to inform Hallvar that he could. “I wouldn’t want you calling for help.”
The pair stared at each other for too long. One processing defeat, the other merely waiting for the hero to understand.
“I still think this is cool rather than scary,” Hallvar said, conceding the end of the demonstration by letting go of the guildmaster’s arm.
This time, Viktor did laugh.
“What?” came the incredulous question from the guildmaster. He removed the knife with a flick of his hand, sheathing it almost as fast as it was drawn.
Hallvar squinted.
More than a minute left on the stun debuff meant their mental faculties weren’t as good as they could be.
Yet, Hallvar was certain that the knife disappeared into thin air as the guildmaster moved.
“Where did it go?” they asked, mindlessly rubbing their throat.
“Where did what go?” the guildmaster asked, returning to his perch. His pleasure at the hero’s tenacity showed through, a subtle hint of approval in his gaze as he watched Hallvar recover.
“The knife.” Hallvar stumbled back to the chair, flopping down as if they ran a marathon. Exhaustion was a terrible affliction.
The guildmaster continued his game. “What knife?”
“Oh, fuck off, don’t gaslight me.”
With time for the duskscale to settle into his system, Viktor was feeling less misanthropic than usual. Still roguish and proud, but with more capacity to appreciate less apt minds.
“Why are you here?” the guildmaster queried.
Hallvar furrowed their brow; Viktor was well-aware that this question may need to be repeated, at least until the debuff wore off.
“You wanted to meet with me?”
“Not this exact meeting. You know that the King-Consort may cause trouble because of your connection to me. Wouldn’t it be smarter to simply leave? The fifth hero is missing, absent, never was and never will be.”
Hallvar was dumbstruck by this line of questioning. Yes, they could leave. It was the smartest thing, now that the guildmaster mentioned it.
But it didn’t feel right.
“I like it here.”
Hallvar leaned back in the chair, waving a hand around as they spoke, staring at the ceiling. “I don’t know. I like the guild. Y’all’ve been kind to me in ways that I can’t understand, I’m sure. It wouldn’t feel good to pack up and abandon this place.”
“There are other guilds.” Viktor doubted the adventurer knew of that fact. “An Adventurer’s Guild in every nation, multiple in the countries whose landscape is difficult to traverse. I merely run the Amnasín branch.”
That was new information to Hallvar. They prodded the system to show a world map. It was mostly blank with a rough outline of Amnasín near the bottom.
“Still,” Hallvar continued, making a note to buy a world map. “I like this guild. Grim, Ikraam, Tyrus. Rami and Zarin seem nice too. I like you, for some insane reason. Probably dad issues. And I definitely like Stella.”
They sighed. “Even without the people, it’s… it’s hard to imagine leaving Amnasín. I don’t know anywhere else. My guild card says I’m 32, but I don’t have those years of experience. I only have a month or two of knowledge, most of it flawed and wrong. Yet it’s all rooted here.”
The conversation lapsed into quiet contemplation. The debuffs and afflictions were gone, leaving Hallvar feeling odd but whole and hale once more. They closed their eyes and rested, thinking about the question of why remain?
They truly felt no malice from the guildmaster; he’d proven that if he wanted Hallvar gone, there was ample opportunity and little the supposed hero could do about it.
“May I offer some advice?” Viktor said after a few minutes had passed. He’d returned to his window seat where he watched Hallvar haul themselves upright.
The adventurer chuckled wryly, rubbing their eyes. “Uh oh. You’re not the type to ask permission first. Must be some cutting advice.”
The guildmaster tilted his head in acknowledgement. Yes, the advice was pointed with clear intent, but not in the manner the hero presumed.
“As I said, my awareness is as high as it can go without further augmentation. There is little that happens in my guild that I do not perceive, if I am present as a witness.”
Hallvar was unsure where this was going. Did the awareness attribute have something to do with whether to stay in the capital?
“That being said, keep your markings below Stella’s collar unless you want me to know exactly when and where you fucked. I may intentionally spy, but certainly not for that knowledge.”
The hero stared like a deer in the headlights until it all clicked into place.
“Nooo,” came the melodramatic groan from Hallvar, who buried their face in their hands. Their ears were almost the same color as their hair, hot with shame and indignity. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
They weren’t embarrassed about the sex part. It was specifically the guildmaster knowing immediately from a glance that was mortifying, especially considering all the dad comparisons.
A horrifying thought jumped to mind.
“Will the Court Mage know too?”
The guildmaster laughed again, a sharp bark of a sound. “Yes, he will, but he’s tactful whereas I find it amusing to annoy you.”
Hallvar slumped into the tidy little chair, trying to absorb into the fabric and disappear from this reality. If it worked once, maybe it would work a second time, preferably without requiring death.
While the hero’s awareness 14 took stock of every minute detail of their clothing, trying to gauge if anything was off about their own appearance – buttons in the wrong buttonhole, lipstick on the collar, perfume, did Stella wear perfume? – their charisma 6 decided it didn’t care to fuck with the social norms here.
They tapped their fingers on the wood of the chair’s arm, the human equivalent of a kitten preparing to pounce on its parent. With a mischievous resolve, Hallvar stood and approached the guildmaster, crossing their arms as they looked down at the seated man.
Viktor didn’t move. It was hard to feel threatened in his own office, especially when he sat with intention – his injured right arm holding the pipe, facing the window, his much more mobile and deadly left arm exactly the correct height to punch the hero’s softer parts.
“If you’re going to annoy me anyways,” the hero began, a half-cocked smirk on their face. “And you have to be responsible for me and keep me safe, well… for now… then I’m going to pretend you’re my dad.”
It was the guildmaster’s turn to be visibly confused. His brows knitted together as he looked at Hallvar, waiting for an explanation of this new stupidity.
“There it is! The universal look of parental disapproval! See, you’ll be great at this. If you hate the idea of being Guildmaster Dad, then I can call you Uncle Viktor. No! Uncle Vik. That sounds perfect. Kiran said you adore when people use your first name.”
“Surely you didn’t injure your head from the afflictions,” definitely-not Uncle Vik said with the tone of someone who was considering homicide. To be fair, the misanthropic Viktor considered homicide frequently, so the tone was close to his normal cadence.
“No! The great thing about endurance is that I’m healthy as a horse. Or whatever fantasy equivalent you use here.”
The guildmaster stared pointedly, yet again waiting for any explanation whatsoever.
Hallvar grinned, leaning over so they could annoy the man on a more personal level. “See, your plan was flawed, Uncle Vik. Leave me to train with Kiran for a while, that’ll make me stronger. Well, Kiran says you’ve fought her before, so you know that her favorite non-combat move is taunting.”
The guildmaster interrupted dryly. “Her favorite combat move is taunting, as well.”
“Exactly. She called me boy for close to two weeks and she was the first person who knew my name. Do you know how irritating that is?”
The man grunted a response, going back to smoking if the stupid hero wanted to draw out their point.
“So, Uncle Vik—”
“Viktor, if you insist on being an ass.”
That made Hallvar happy, seeing their obnoxious efforts result in tangible results.
“So, Viktor – that is better, thank you – if I’m going to stick around here, you’re the closest thing to family I have. I’ll accept your rude remarks and jabs as long as I can do the same. I heard you laugh at me, I know I entertain you somehow.”
They stood up, giving the guildmaster his space back.
“But I have a deal for you. I don’t know how long it’ll take for Stella to return with the Court Mage –”
“It’s 30 minutes in a carriage there. Anton is busy with the heroes, so he will leave at his next break, which could be hours from now.”
“Oh, fuck.” Hallvar was surprised at the wait, but they were accustomed to cars and buses, not horse-drawn carriages. “Okay, then yeah, my deal is extra important if we’re waiting that long.”
They continued. “Here’s the deal. You either let me try your fantasy weed or tell me where the liquor cabinet is – you are not a sober man, don’t pretend – and I’ll answer whatever questions you have about my world.”
The hero could tell the proposition was tempting because the guildmaster ignored them for quite some time, long enough to be uncomfortable. It felt like one of the man’s games, however, so Hallvar waited stubbornly for an answer.
“Any question?”
With a growing grin, Hallvar confirmed. “Any question I know the answer to. But part of this is that I’m tired of being an outsider so I’m treating you like family and I expect you to do the same with your Grinch-y, withered heart.”
“Grinch-y?” The guildmaster tactfully avoided the sentimental portion.
“That’s an answer I could provide if I had a drink in my hand.”
Hallvar didn’t like to get drunk, that was true, but playing this cat and mouse with the guildmaster would be a lot easier if they had a touch of alcohol in them. This entire ordeal was awkward and Hallvar was riding the wave of targeted idiocy with the hopes that the guildmaster would cave.
If not, the next few hours would be painfully boring.
A long-suffering sigh came from the guildmaster.
“There.” He pointed to a closed cabinet near the bookshelves. “This duskscale will put you to sleep. If you insist on trying it, I can arrange for a less potent order.”
Hallvar was happy to find actual glasses in the cabinet, not ceramic or wooden cups. They sniffed a few decanters before pouring out a portion.
A pitcher of fresh water sat atop the cabinet, so they brought a cup for the guildmaster. Hallvar might be irritating and stubborn, but they were kind at heart.
“Move the chair closer.” Viktor ordered. “It’s my office so I plan to sit where I’m comfortable.”
Once they were settled at a reasonable speaking distance, he held something out for the hero to take. “Do you know what that is?”
Hallvar accepted the object gingerly. They recognized it from the guildmaster’s usual attire – it was the horseshoe-shaped brooch that was constantly pinned on the man’s lapel.
There were a series of beads along the curve of the metal, two big ones on the outside, three small round ones, and a few flat spacers in odd places. It felt like a code, one of those cryptograms you could solve by identifying that 6=A therefore 7=B and so on.
“No, but I’ve seen others wear them.” The leather merchant and his wife both had one. Kiran didn’t, but Hallvar wasn’t sure if that was a function of her hermit lifestyle rather than an actual choice.
“Did you have marriage customs in your world?”
Hallvar’s confusion showed on their face. “Yeah, it’s different in other nations, but in my culture a girl wore a special ring to announce that she was engaged, and then the pair wore matching rings to indicate that they married legally.”
The guildmaster hummed in thought, watching a caravan pass from the capital down the forest path. “Not too dissimilar, then.”
The hero was unsure where to start with their line of questioning. This brooch was a marriage thing? Was the guildmaster married? To whom? Why were there a bunch of beads? Was that the number of wives? Husbands?
“Uh, so—”
Viktor anticipated the confusion. “Yes, I am married. I am not sure what legal marriage means in your world, but in most nations, the hiwode brooch is enough proof.”
The idea of beads equating to the number of marital partners haunted Hallvar so much that they just stopped thinking about it. Viktor with a single wife was odd to consider, let alone six.
“Why are you telling me this?” Hallvar managed to ask, trying to return the brooch.
The guildmaster gestured at it. “The large beads – the kind that look like two teacup saucers pressed together – indicate a single partner in marriage. You buy the brooch and the partner bead together; the brooch is never empty.”
Okay, there were two of those beads. One at the beginning and one at the end.
“… so two wives?” Hallvar hazarded.
“One wife,” Viktor corrected. “The flat spacers that bracket her bead indicate she is dead.”
The hero went pale with realization of the horrible minefield they were stomping in. There were more of those flat spacers, bracketing the small round beads. Two dead, one living.
“Kids,” they stated quietly with growing horror. The dad jokes were funny until they weren’t.
“Yes.”
Hallvar stuttered over an apology, trying to make up for their earlier ignorance. “I’m sorry, I- I didn’t mean to be cruel. You can forget the whole—”
The guildmaster interrupted them, taking the brooch and returning it to its place. “Do you think the King-Consort will let you roam freely if you swear an oath to him?”
Dumbfounded, Hallvar blinked at the man. The dots existed, Hallvar knew, but they failed to connect them.
“Ignoring all sentimentality, all stupidity of our agreement – you declared us family. I would be a fool to turn down an offer of familial loyalty from a hero, someone with greater potential than any natural born person here.”
The guildmaster let Hallvar process that information as they wished.
It took time. The hero nursed their drink as they pondered the implications. Was this a business transaction only? Was that a bad thing, or could Hallvar live with it? Was Hallvar stupid for proposing this arrangement to begin with? Why did they even suggest the dad thing?
“And… if you don’t ignore sentiment?” They asked quietly, hoping for a nice answer.
Viktor was uncharacteristically hesitant as he replied. “I enjoyed being a father but it was a lifetime ago, a different person entirely. My remaining child lives too close to my home country; I’m not permitted to leave Amnasín.”
There was nothing to say to that. Hallvar didn’t know if they had a response or if they were capable of finding an appropriate condolence. They felt it might take a few days before they could really appreciate the weight of the discussion. By then, the moment would be long gone.
“I promised you an answer to any questions about my world.” That seemed like a pathetic offer to the profound information Viktor provided. “Did you have one in mind?”
“Yes.”
“Shoot,” Hallvar said, lounging in their chair.
The guildmaster eyed the hero as if assessing them. He asked the question bluntly, yellow eyes watching for subtle reactions on Hallvar’s face.
“When did you lose your dad?”
Hallvar shouldn’t be shocked. The guildmaster was clearly an expert at finding weak points and pressing for information. Still, they were caught off guard, wide-eyed and blindsided.
They knew from this tumultuous meeting that Viktor would allow a delayed response. Hallvar fought to get their emotions under control – wrangling shock, regret, embarrassment, and sadness – before they provided an answer.
“A month before I died. Three months ago in total.”
“How did you die?”
The discussion Hallvar was dreading. It felt different with Viktor than with Stella, even if they hinted at this heavy topic just hours prior.
Perhaps with Stella, Hallvar wanted to put on their best face, to seem like they were put together and… strong wasn’t the word.... That they were capable. That they weren’t a mess of a creature, barely held together with magical endurance and nothing more.
The guildmaster knew Hallvar was a mess, though. That they were dumb and argumentative, incapable of holding their own, in need of being saved not once but multiple times by mages and knights alike.
The supposed hero downed the rest of their drink in one go, letting it burn the back of their throat. It tasted like heat and wood and cloves.
They avoided the guildmaster’s fixed gaze as they fiddled with the empty glass in their lap, fingers running over the decorative nubs along the bottom edge.
Hallvar felt stupid having to gather up this much courage for one word. One single, stupid word. They clenched their jaw and exhaled, looking finally into Viktor’s hunter stare.
“Suicide.”
That moment of bravado faded and Hallvar looked down and away, ashamed and exposed. Having a knife at their throat was less vulnerable than this. Being naked, confessing that they were once a girl was less vulnerable than this.
Viktor was not immune to the weight of the situation. While he felt little about the reality of death, he understood what this meant for the hero.
It was exactly that – a hero, someone summoned from another world, taken at the moment of their self-enacted death, thrown into a new reality with no language, no words. A stranger who didn’t know who they were, what they were, their age or nationality. A foreigner who clung to the first person who showed them a scrap of kindness, to the guild that allowed them to find meager but satisfying success.
A child who wanted to project a beloved parent onto the guildmaster, to find any ship in a storm, even if that ship was a scarred, abrasive assassin.
“Do you regret it?”
“Yes.”
Hallvar didn’t wait to respond, though they couldn’t make eye contact. “I don’t think about it all the time, but when I do, it hurts. I miss my life. I can’t describe how comfortable and easy it was compared to here. I won’t… I can’t dismiss what my former self felt in order to…” They paused, struggling to admit to the thing again.
“At first, I was just… resigned to survive here. Doing it because I had to, without much thought or choice. I guess I was hoping that when language eventually happened, things would make sense. I could put off the hard feelings until then.”
They sighed, thinking about how Viktor didn’t sign up for any of this. The guildmaster probably didn’t care.
“It… My old life feels like a story, a piece of fiction. My dad is just a character I really like. My memories are me playing pretend as a silly girl fucking up her own life, hoping things get better.”
They shook their head to clear it, rubbing their face and scratching their beard. It was a stark sign that the girl they were was gone. Too much detective television got to them, as they recognized a hand over their mouth as body language for discomfort and secrets.
“Fuck, I don’t know. I can’t go back, even if I wanted to. And today I got a little taste of hope and normalcy, so it’ll get better.”
Hallvar felt stupid and dumb all over again. They couldn’t even cry, which was probably a result from being testosterone-fueled now. Their few queer friends back home said something like that T made you sweat and not cry and E made you emotional. Was it true? Did the system know what testosterone was?
The hero was startled out of dissociation by a hand on their head. Viktor. His right hand, his injured one. That felt poignant somehow, like a connection through different vulnerabilities.
“I had all daughters,” the guildmaster said, politely looking into the distance to spare Hallvar the eye contact. “So even though you turned out elsewise, I understand enough. Besides, Anton will be thrilled to have a son.”
Hallvar blinked, the sudden revelation distracting them from the emotional situation. “Anton? The Court Mage is your husband?”
“Why is that surprising?” Viktor took back the glassware without commentary, taking it over to the liquor cabinet.
“I’ve only seen you interact once, and you looked like you wanted to kill each other the whole time.”
The guildmaster returned with a cup of water, handing it off without acknowledging the kindness.
“Sometimes murderous obsession becomes love. I would advise against it, however. You might lose an eye – or an arm.”
“What?”
The implications hit Hallvar like a brick, while Viktor just laughed at the poor boy. Maybe the hero was a pathetic little creature, but apparently, they were Viktor’s and the Guild’s pathetic little creature to mold as he pleased.
And, with some work, Hallvar could become something, someone of note. Whether the hero believed it internally or not.