By the time Micah had gotten home that day he had convinced himself he was being silly again. He could always save up his allowance to buy ingredients in bulk in a few months, just like everyone else had to do when they wanted something.

In the meanwhile, he pondered over which other potions he could next attempt if he could afford the ingredients. He tried not to devolve into unrealistic fancies, like mana potions, and thought of potions that would make him more handsome instead, or taller, or let him run faster. Maybe a potion that would make him smarter so he could cheat on his exams? He chuckled at the thought.

It calmed him, as always, the daydreaming, and it helped pass the time as he prepared this week’s healing potion. He always made one every week, just in case.

His parents were visiting his sister, so he had the house to himself. He readied his knife to make a tiny cut in the palm of his hand for a few drops of blood.

Then his hand slipped.

Micah cursed in a stream much like the blood flowing from the wound. It was running down his hand and dripping all over the floor! He rushed to hold it over the glass bottle before it could do any more damage. The blood streaked through the water in plumes of smoke. When they reached the bottom, they had already dissolved.

With his other hand, Micah reached awkwardly under his bed to fish out the waterskin that held last week’s healing potion. He juggled it open and, careful not to spill anything, pressed its opening against the cut in his hand so neither liquid would spill. The potion was close to expiring anyway, but it did stop the bleeding. It would take a few days of regular application for the wound to heal.

Micah finished by drying it off with a cloth and sighed. Frustrated, he tossed the flask back on his bed, pinched out his candle and threw himself down next to it.

He hated this!

He hated having to cut himself for the blood he needed for healing potions that he could only use to heal the cuts he made because he needed blood for healing potions. He knew he needed the practice, otherwise, he had no way of leveling up, but it just was so frustrating. A potion a week. A constant pain in his left hand. That was his life now.

He sat up with a glare and stared out his window. He needed to get into to that Tower. Now.

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

Even though he’d decided on it, pulling through was a different matter entirely. The only reason Micah made his way to the Climber’s Guild was that day was because it was Friday afternoon and he had nothing better to do. He'd convinced himself he wasn’t going to enter right away anyway. He just wanted some information. For that, he filled a small flask with healing potion and took some of his savings with him before he headed out.

The Climber’s Guild was a massive stone building connected to an even taller stone wall that surrounded the city’s Tower, both to keep things in and keep people out. It had six branches as far as he knew, with countless other tiny buildings that were dotted around it.

By the time Micah had reached the massive gate of his nearest branch, he was sweating. Sweating from the trepidation. Were people looking at him? They had to be, right? Someone bumped past him and he realized he was holding up traffic.

Idiot! Don’t just stand there in front of the doors, he yelled at himself. He just had to … he had to … he stepped inside in the building, slowly, one foot after another. Left, right. He checked to see if anyone was stopping him. The guards glanced at him, but that was it. No? Okay. That was great. Just great. Micah just headed on in then.

The building was full despite the time, and many of the people there were clearly Climbers. Micah wondered if they had all just left the Tower. They were milling about, sitting on benches or at tables, talking with each other, reading the signs and papers on partition walls. Most stood in line at desks at the far side of the room, trading in loot. Micah heard the tell-tale clinking of coins. He gulped and pressed down on the wound in his left hand.

At the end of the hall, there were countless receptions spanning the distance. Micah shuffled his way over to the nearest one. It reached almost all the way to his shoulders and he could barely see beyond it. Everyone in here had to be twice as tall as him, he probably looked ridiculous. They were all frowning at him, he thought. They had to be. But when he looked up … up, up … nobody seemed to notice him. The receptionist’s smile didn’t give anything away.

“Good afternoon,” she greeted him. “My name is Linda. How may I help you, young man?”

Young man?

“H-hello,” Micah stammered. If his heart had been racing, it was hammering now in his chest. What had he been thinking, coming here? He couldn’t do this. He wondered if it was too late to back out now. He could pretend to ask for directions, right? Linda was frowning at him a little already. Of course she was, Micah thought. He was just standing there. Quick, say something!

“Are you here to enter the Tower?” she asked.

“Yes!” he blurted out. No! His mind screamed. Now it was too late. What was he doing? “I mean, not right now, of course. I was just— I was wondering. Do I have to like, pay a fee or pass a test?”

Linda’s smile relaxed a bit and she leaned on the counter.

“Oh, I can help you with that. You have questions, right?"

Micah nodded.

"Well, you can enter the Tower as soon as you obtain a combat Class or Path ... ” she looked him up and down, “in a few years? Otherwise, you have to be escorted by someone who does have a combat Class or Path and has proven himself to the Guild.”

“A combat Class?” Micah asked.

“Yes, a Class that lets you fight especially well. Something like [Cook] wouldn’t work too well, while [Gourmet] would. If you want to know whether or not your Class and Path are suitable, feel free to ask.”

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

“So there is no age requirement?” Micah asked. No matter how much he listened to other people’s conversations, he had never been able to find that out. As far as he knew, the Guild took all kinds.

Linda frowned at him when he asked.

“No, there isn’t,” she said. “Do you perhaps have a Class already?”

For a moment, Micah was stumped by the question. His mind was preparing to lie, but nobody had ever asked him that directly before. It was just a question.

“Yes,” he said with all the pent-up pride he had from the last two years. “I do.”

Then he panicked. Oh no, oh no, oh no. He couldn’t tell her he was an alchemist, could he? Would she even believe him? Was alchemist even a combat Class?!

Micah quickly thought back to the list of basic Classes they’d been forced to learn in class, and he tried to find one that wasn’t [Fighter]. If he was going to lie, he needed a Class he could convincingly lie about having. What was close to alchemist that could fight? What could he do? Linda was still waiting.

“No!” he said to buy himself some time. “I mean, uhm … “

Now she was openly frowning at him. In disappointment? She didn’t seem angry, that much Micah could tell. Did she perhaps think he was lying?

“[Cantrips]!” he said and regretted it.

He regretted every word that was coming from his lips right now. Cantrips wasn’t a Class, it was a Path. And it probably wasn’t even a combat one. All it could teach you were, well, cantrips. Tricks. Simple spells that could make people go ooh and ah, not anything that could kill a monster. But it was too late now. Micah had already said it.

“I mean, uhm … “ he mumbled, “I have the Cantrips Path, not a Class … “ He bowed his head and held up a single finger, a small flame dancing atop. It was trying to bite him. He would have to scold it for that later.

Cantrips had been all Micah could think of because he could do that one trick, [Candle]. He could feel Linda’s gaze on him and suddenly, he swore he could feel her smile.

“That’s amazing!” she said.

Micah looked up again.

“How old are you?” She was beaming.

“Thirteen?” he said, half a question.

“Your parents must be proud.”

Micah didn’t know how to react to that.

“Uhm, does it count as a combat Path?” he asked instead.

“It does. I’m sure it’ll lead to a great Class for you in time, and it has many great branches. It will serve you well when you join the Climber’s Guild in a few years.”

Micah had been growing a smile as she spoke, his hopes rising, only for her to shut him down.

“In a few years?”

“Mhm,” Linda nodded. “Most people enter the Tower around fifteen for their first time. Have you applied to a school yet? They take children who got their Paths early for afternoon classes and training. That way, you’ll get a headstart on your classmates. By the time you graduate, you’ll probably be able to enter the Tower all on your own.”

“But, but—” Micah stammered. His heart felt like it had dropped somewhere. Where, he didn’t know. “You said there was no age requirement!”

Linda seemed surprised that he’d raised his voice.

“There isn’t,” she said more slowly. “But you can’t just go into the Tower without any training. It’s not safe.”

Micah felt betrayed. So he would have to wait another two years after all? He would have to spend another two years cutting and rehealing his hand every week to make mundane healing potions all the while he saved up for months to buy a handful of ingredients?

As if sensing his distress, Linda leaned over to him and spoke softly.

“Listen, …?”

“Micah,” he spat.

“Listen, Micah. When did you get your Path?”

“A few weeks ago,” he lied.

“And you want to enter the Tower right away… Of course.” Linda sighed. “The Tower may be a pillar of this city, Micah, and I’m sure you’ve heard many wonderful stories about it, but it’s a dangerous place. That wall we built around it? It isn’t just to keep people out, you know? It’s to keep things in. Even we are afraid of it, afraid that some night, the monsters inside won’t be satisfied with their floors anymore. That they’ll come out. I couldn’t live with myself if I let a young boy like you just go on in, especially unprepared.”

"Young boy?" Micah thought. What happened to "young man?"

“Unprepared?” Micah asked. “How am I supposed to prepare?”

Linda smiled. Because he'd asked something reasonable?

“We offer basic guides to the Tower that you can buy here if you like. You also need equipment and training. All schools in this city offer combat training to people seeking to climb the Tower.”

She probably thought he was going to listen to her advice, listen to a compromise and train. It sounded reasonable, after all, but Micah crushed that.

“I don’t have the money for all that,” he said, trying to sound most heart-broken. It wasn’t hard.

“Your parents-”

“Are poor,” he cut her off, almost a shout. He was doing something horrible, lying about that, but it worked. Linda hesitated. Micah imagined she was thinking about how best to dissuade him, to talk him out of this.

“You can earn money in the city,” she said. “The community centers always offer chores for children to do.”

“I want to earn money in the Tower;” Micah said. He was fed up with it. “I don’t want to just frolic around with dreams of grandeur like some starry-eyed idiot. I need more than what chores can offer.”

“Still, Micah, you can’t just-”

“Is there any rule that says that I can’t?” Micah cut her off, again. He was being a brat, he knew, and brats had very loud voices when they needed to.

“No,” Linda said with pursed lips.

“Then tell me how to get in.”

Linda held up a finger. A warning.

“I can’t refuse you access to the Tower, but I can refuse you service. Your behavior would be more than enough for that.”

She looked around and Micah realized he had created a small scene for the people around him. Most of the looks he got assured him he was playing his role well. He shrunk away from them. Linda saw them, too. She leaned over and spoke in a soothing, almost pleading voice. She actually was worried about him, Micah realized, and it hurt.

“I won’t be the one to send you to your death, Micah. Just think about this. There are monsters in there. You can’t handle that. I can promise you that.”

Micah looked away. Was it really worth it? But … he couldn’t turn back, now. Not after all he had said.

“Thank you for your candor,” he said, his voice trembling. “And for worrying about me, but I’ll be careful. I promise.” Micah stepped back, almost into a person waiting behind him. He glanced up. Their face looked like they wanted to have a word with him, too. Maybe with a belt.

“I’ll just go to another receptionist, then?” Micah asked, backing away from them both.

Linda shook her head sadly.

“Let’s talk about this, Micah,” she called. “At least-”

He fled.