Luckborn

The Aurelia Adventurer's Guild was not what Otter expected. For starters, it was small—a tiny one-story building nestled between a cooper and a candlemaker. Otter had imagined it to be a grand place, one to rival the Academy itself. But this…

He looked at his companions. "Are we in the right place?"

Milo nodded and pointed to the sign hanging over the door. A crossed sword and wand was the unmistakable crest of the Adventurer's Guild.

Otter shrugged and pushed through the door.

It took a moment for him to register the change. Inside, the stonework was dark, rough, and pitted in places like it had seen actual damage and been patched without much care for appearance. Wide beams of aged oak lined the interior, blackened from smoke or spellfire or time. The place smelled like oil, sweat, ink, and boiled meat.

It was also loud.

Voices echoed off the walls, sharp and overlapping. Someone laughed raucously from an upper gallery. A group of armored veterans bickered over a table map near the entrance, their weapons still sheathed but very real. A scarred retriever—maybe a retired familiar—lay sprawled across a rug that might once have been ornate, now matted with boot prints and trailing threads.

Otter did a double-take. An upper gallery? This was a small one-story building, yet the interior looked to be the size of the mess hall at the Academy.

Milo whistled. "This is some high-tier magic."

"How do you mean?" Jasper asked.

"Just look at this place. Do you know how much extra-dimensional space we're standing in?"

Jasper shook his head.

"I've heard of spells that can create a space this big, but they're seventh tier. And the space is only temporary. To create this, some very high-level Spell Lords had to work together to make this permanent."

"Oh," Jasper mouthed, then shot a look at Otter like most of that had gone right over his head.

Otter hovered just inside the doorway with the others, trying not to look too out of place. Their Academy uniforms were tucked away for the summer, replaced with the practical gear they had accumulated—armor, weapons, and backpacks. Still, they looked green—and they knew it.

A clerk waved them over from behind a battered reception desk. She was a compact woman in her fifties with short gray hair, a quill tucked behind one ear, and ink stains on every fingertip. "How can I help you?"

"We're reporting for duty, ma'am," said Sage in a calm voice. "New recruits from the Academy."

The woman looked them up and down. "You folk keep getting younger every year. Names?"

Sage rattled off their names.

"Yep, okay, from now on you're Team 17-B. Understood?"

"We don't get to pick our own team name?" asked Jasper.

She barked a laugh. "Not until you've earned it. Now, orientation is through that door, second on the left. Don't touch anything unless it's nailed down. Or even then. Just don't touch anything."

"Yes, ma'am," they chorused.

They followed the hallway, where the floor slanted slightly left for no reason, and a torch floated untethered in the middle of the corridor like it had forgotten which wall it belonged to.

"Charming place," Erin muttered.

The room through the second door on the left was a bit more familiar. A lectern stood at the front beneath a half-faded guild crest. Wooden benches lined the walls, and a handful of other students were already seated. Otter vaguely recognized a couple of them, but couldn't put a name to the faces. A few wore armor. One was chewing jerky with the kind of determination that made Otter instinctively protect his satchel.

The group claimed a bench near the center. Sage sat with perfect posture. Erin looked around with measured interest. Jasper stretched out like he owned the place.

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Otter… tried not to look like a first-year.

The room quieted when the side door banged open.

A tall man strode in from a different door, boots clapping loud against the floor, and took a position behind the lectern. He wore a heavy coat with rolled sleeves, a leather pauldron on one shoulder, and a gold-ringed badge that read: Handler Greaves. His face was hard-lined but alert, with a white scar that bisected one brow and vanished into his hairline.

"I'm Handler Greaves," he said. "If you perform well this summer, I'll be the one filling out recommendations for full membership. If you mess up badly enough, I'll be the one singing off on death benefits."

Otter wasn't sure if that was supposed to be a joke, but no one laughed.

"This isn't the Academy," Greaves went on. "You're not here to learn spells or recite monster taxonomy. You're here to carry messages, clean up messes, and—on very rare occasions—assist licensed Guild members in the field. You're auxiliary. You are not adventurers. Not yet."

Otter felt Milo shrink slightly beside him. He sat up straighter.

"I'll be assigning you tasks individually after this meeting. You follow orders to the letter. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," came the mixed chorus of voices.

"Good. Now, for orientation. There's a bunk room here, but it ain't comfortable. If you can find better accommodations, feel free. We don't feed you. You feed yourselves. You'll be given a badge that identifies you as a guild member. The only perk that comes with that is a fifteen percent discount at any weapon smith or armor smith in the city. If you are attached to a full-ranking team, you are to follow their orders as if they were mine. Failure to follow orders will result in immediate dismissal. Expect some hazing. It's all part of the job."

Otter looked at Erin. Hazing? Hadn't he already dealt with enough of that? She met his eyes and nodded.

Greaves stepped out from behind the lectern. "Orientation over. When I call your team, join me in my office for your first assignment."

***

Otter's group was the last one to be called in. The other teams wore a variety of expressions after receiving their assignments, ranging from disappointed to horrified. None looked happy.

The office was purely utilitarian. The walls were bare stone. The desk was scarred oak and held a single lamp that sputtered and hissed. A heavy coat hung on a hook by the door. The only decoration was a battered map of the region, tacked to a corkboard and pinned with a few dull brass markers.

Greaves gestured for them to stand in front of the desk—there were no chairs.

"Your first assignment," he said without preamble, pulling a rolled parchment from the desk drawer. "You're heading to a tract called Stonetrail Glen. Agricultural holding. Sheep, mostly. Quiet sector outside the southern perimeter. A local shepherd filed a report three days ago—claimed he spotted something 'wrong' in the glade near his property."

"Wrong how?" asked Erin.

Greaves unrolled the parchment and flattened it on the desk. "Didn't say Kaosling outright, but his description matches: small critter, disproportionate limbs, eyes like glass marbles, and a noise that made his skin crawl."

Otter swallowed. "And no one's followed up yet?"

"Too far out. Too low on the threat board. Guild's stretched thin this week thanks to a thing in the east." He didn't elaborate. "That's where you come in. Your job is to investigate. Confirm or disprove."

Sage leaned forward slightly. "And if it is Kaosling?"

"You do nothing," Greaves said flatly. "You observe, mark the area, and get back here. Do not engage. Do not provoke. Do not test your luck."

He stood and tapped a marked spot on the map. "It's a solid day's travel by foot. You'll depart tomorrow morning. Pack light but smart. Expect to overnight. The shepherd's name is Tennin. He'll be your contact."

Jasper rubbed the back of his neck. "What do we ask him?"

Greaves raised a brow. "What he saw. When. Where. Did anything die? Has anything changed? Check for signs—terrain warping, corrupted vegetation, sound distortion, anything off-pattern. You've had Kaos Theory. Use it."

Milo looked nervous. "Is there a chance it's nothing?"

"Always," Greaves said. "But you treat it like it's something. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," they said together.

"Report back no later than dusk the day after tomorrow. That's three days. One to get there, one to investigate, one to return. If you're late, I'll assume you're dead and send a full team to investigate. Don't make me do that. Questions?"

Otter glanced at his team. No one spoke.

"Good," Greaves said. "Dismissed."

***

"Well. That was delightfully grim," Jasper said once the door to Greaves' office shut behind them.

"I don't think he blinked once," Milo muttered, adjusting his satchel strap. "Does he even have pupils?"

"He's efficient," Sage said, already mentally cataloging her packing list. "And thorough. I prefer that over false encouragement."

"Sure," Jasper said, "but a little false encouragement might've been nice. Maybe something like, 'Don't worry, you got this,' or, 'Here's a muffin.'"

Erin snorted. "You want a muffin?"

"I always want a muffin."

"At least we're not fighting anything," Otter reminded them, trying to sound steadier than he felt. "We just look, listen, and report."

"Famous last words," Jasper muttered.

Erin glanced at Otter. "You okay with this?"

He shrugged. "I'm… glad it's something real. Something that matters. Not just another simulation. But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nervous."

"Good," Sage said without irony. "It means you'll be cautious."

Milo gave a small laugh. "That's the most comforting thing I've heard all day."

They started walking, their boots echoing faintly against the stone floor.

"Still," Jasper said, "Possible Kaosling. Day outside the city. No backup. No sleep. Not exactly the internship I imagined."

"What did you imagine?" Erin asked.

"I dunno. Filing. Delivering potions. Maybe organizing monster parts alphabetically."

"That's what I was hoping for," said Milo.

Jasper rolled his eyes. "Of course you were."