"So here I am, detained again," Cassandra muttered to herself, shaking her head as she inspected the shackles binding her hands. The weight of the restraints scraped across the scarred table as she lowered her head and scratched her nose. The guard standing at the door glared at her while she scratched her nose slowly.

It wasn't her fault that their "friends" had been killed when someone attacked the detention jail at the north gate. Ten guards and six prisoners had perished in the fire that burned the jail to the ground. The only small consolation was that the guard who had beaten her and spat in her food was dead. Small favors, indeed. Sadly, six other prisoners had lost their lives.

'I should have stayed in the house,' Cassandra thought. She had been waiting for the past hour for "The Baron." She had no clue who he was; all she had heard was the Baron this and the Baron that. "The Baron will teach you a lesson," they had said. Shaking her head as she stared at a wooden cup of water beside her, she wished it were coffee. And no, she absolutely refused to touch the cup. The mere idea that someone could have spit in it disgusted her.

She had already figured out how to free herself from the shackles, estimating that it would take less than twelve seconds. Once she had that figured out, she began to imagine what the Baron might look like. She pictured everything from an old geezer to a fat, balding man who always stuffed his face.

The door swung open, and in walked a young man in his early twenties, sporting a five o'clock shadow and dimples reminiscent of Tom Selleck's. "Oh god, I love those dimples," Cassandra thought, straightening up. Standing close to six feet tall, he had a cleft chin and a square jaw. His wavy light brown hair cascaded down to his shoulders, begging to be combed through. He wore a white button-down shirt, a black jacket, and pants, paired with black mid-calf boots. A strange medallion depicting the scale of justice hung around his neck, indicating that this world used the same imagery to symbolize justice.

"Damn! He's not fat or bald!" Cassandra couldn't help but admire his physique and dimples. Then, she heard a snort and laughter from a young girl standing behind him. The girl had blue hair, blue eyes, and long pointed ears that screamed "elf." She was about the same height as Cassandra, who stood at five feet tall. Freckles dotted the bridge of the girl's perky little nose, and laughter danced in her blue eyes. Cassandra could almost hear an echo of the girl's laughter in her head. Panicking for a second, she screamed in her mind, "GET THE HELL OUT OF MY HEAD!" while glaring at the girl.

Then Cassandra closed her eyes and started singing "Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall."

The elf was stunned by the sudden mental yell, nearly collapsing to the ground. Fortunately, the man caught her before she fell, helping her to a nearby chair. After ensuring the elf was seated safely, he turned his attention to the young woman before him. Not just any woman, but a teenage girl singing a strange song he had never heard before. What in the seven hells was beer?

Slamming his hand on the table with a loud bang, the girl flinches for a moment but continues to sing under her breath. He glances at the elf, who shakes her head, indicating that she can't penetrate the girl's mind.

Pulling out a chair to sit down, he is about to slam his hand on the table again when the girl speaks without opening her eyes.

"Careful, you might get a splinter. The table is poorly crafted," Cassandra says, opening her right eye as the man's hand hovers above the table.

"What did you do to my friend?" he said.

Cassandra felt a shiver run down her spine as she was captivated by his Sam Elliott-like voice. She closed her eyes briefly, trying to compose herself. It wasn't fair that a man combining two of her dream men into one had such an effect on her. Taking a deep breath to regain her composure, she opened her eyes and tilted her head to one side, glancing at him and then at the elf before returning her gaze to him.

"You know, you have cute dimples." Smirking internally, she tries to throw the man off balance.

A slight blush creeps up his neck to his cheeks, followed by surprise, frustration, and finally anger. Cassandra stares at him impassively, waiting for him to collect himself, while silently chuckling. The elf snorts again, suppressing a laugh, and sits up, giving Cassandra a wink.

"I'll talk to you, but no mind reading, please. I've been beaten, almost killed, and harassed in the past week, and I'm really tired. Not to mention having my food spat on and being served dirty water to drink!" Cassandra complains.

The man glances at the mug of water next to her, and she waves her unshackled hand dismissively toward the cup. "I have no clue if it's dirty water or if someone spit in it. Hell, I don't even know if Chuckles over there spat in it or if it was some other guard. They seem to blame me for their friends' deaths," she says, nodding towards the guard at the door who glares at her while she sits back with her arms crossed.

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He turns and glares at the guard. "You can leave." He then turns back to Cassandra as the guard gives her one final glare before departing.

"Alright. My name is Sandra Hope, but I prefer to be called Cassandra. I was assaulted by one of my group mates while we were exploring the Rat Dungeon." She shivers at the memory. "He tried to strangle me and rape me, while the rest just stood by and watched. They left me for dead when they thought he had killed me. When I regained consciousness, I used my illusion magic to escape the dungeon and made my way here."

Raising her hand to silence him before he can speak, she continues. "The reason I was fleeing is that a woman came looking for me. She was furious with the man for supposedly killing me. She said she was going to sell me to some eastern lords for training or extract my magic core to put it into a sex golem. All the while, she complained about losing money."

He is about to interject, but Cassandra raises her hand again to halt him. "No, I can't read minds." Hoping to catch them off guard so the elf can't read her thoughts.

The man furrows his brow and turns to look at the elf, while Cassandra starts singing under her breath, "The Yellow Submarine."

The elf tosses her hair back and bows her head towards Cassandra. "My name is Clare Thoughts. I am a mental mage. It's a pleasure to meet you, Cassandra. Your file with the Adventurer Guild doesn't mention that you have mental powers to block my telepathy." She glances down at the shackles on the table, her eyes widening slightly, as the man beside her straightens up, as if he had just been informed that Cassandra had managed to free herself.

Cassandra smirks and shrugs, "They forgot to lock them." She wasn't going to disclose that she had escaped from them. Being a magician and an escape artist in her former life had its advantages. As for blocking mental powers, she had no clue other than what she had seen in TV shows about repetitive lyrics or solving math problems to prevent mind reading. It seemed to work. Maybe a math problem next; she was good at math in school and even considered becoming an accountant at one point. However, due to financial constraints and her puppet show barely covering the rent for her one-room flat, that path remained unexplored.

As for the shackles, she had been practicing escaping from them for almost twenty years as part of her magician's act. It was doubtful she could make a living doing that in this world.

He grabs the shackles and glares at her, "These are magical shackles designed to dampen a mage's power. How did you get out?"

With a slight smirk, she winks at Clare and says, "Magic," casually inspecting her nails on her right hand.

Tossing the shackles down on the table and sitting down, he exclaims, "You're nothing like what your files said! We have three witnesses who claimed you died in the dungeon and were absorbed by it. The same witnesses you accused of trying to kill you!" He looks frustrated. "Your profile states that you are timid, have weak spellcraft, and are believed to be Light-based with no hint of healing abilities. Yet here you are, not scared but rather cocky and full of yourself. So who are you?"

With conviction, Cassandra sits up straight in the chair and stares directly into the man's eyes, struggling to maintain her composure. "I am Sandra Hope, but I prefer to go by Cassandra. I felt that name suits me better. When they attacked me as Sandra Hope, I could no longer bear being bullied and stepped on. I adopted a new outlook on life, embodying the spirit of someone who wants to live. The new me, Cassandra King, has awakened, and I will determine my own path, not be dictated by a bunch of thugs. If you don't believe me, I propose a drop of my blood on the Slate card. The Slate is a magical artifact that cannot be falsified, right?" She stares at him with determination, her arms crossed, daring him to refute her claim.

Closing his eyes, the man receives a telepathic message from Clare confirming that the girl is speaking the truth, albeit with a slight hint of deception in her words. He retrieves the Slate with her name on it and places it on the table.

Cassandra picks it up and looks at her name on the Slate, indicating that she is ranked one with nineteen missions completed and one mission failed. Thirty-one missions are required to reach rank two, and she has been fined ten silver for the failed mission.

"Crap, ten silver for failing that mission." She lays the Slate back on the table. "That's so unfair!"

"Fair or not, we need you to put a drop of blood on the slate," he glares at her.

Shrugging, Cassandra says, "Well, what do you want me to do? Bite myself?" She waves her hand dismissively over the Slate.

Taking a deep breath, he retrieves a dagger with a dragon-shaped handle and places it on the table.

"Wow! That's beautiful." Cassandra is tempted to reach out and pick it up but restrains herself. Looking up at the man, she asks, "May I touch it?"

He nods, and Clare tilts her head, staring at the man intently.

Cassandra gently picks up the ornate blade, holding it in her hands and admiring it with awe. She had a collection of knives, nearly a thousand of them in her apartment that she had accumulated over the years. However, none came close to this one, except for a few that she had custom-made. As she touches the dagger, she can feel the magic emanating from it. The name "Cutter" comes to her mind.

"Hmm, Cutter, please be nice and don't hurt me too much. I only need a drop of blood, not a pool of blood, although I know you're capable of it." She taps the blade's point with her finger, pricking herself and causing a drop of blood to appear. She touches the Slate, and it begins to glow green as her name, Cassandra Keep, replaces Sandra Hope. Below her name, it states, "AKA Sandra Hope." The mission count updates to twenty completed missions with no failures.

Cassandra pats the dagger affectionately before carefully placing it back on the table. She leans back in her chair, looking smugly at both of them.