The sound didn't fade after the crystal shattered.
If anything, it sharpened.
Voices dropped, conversations slowed, and the guild hall—once lively and indifferent—felt suddenly aware of us. The broken magic crest sat atop its pedestal, fractured cleanly through its core. Thin lines of light leaked from the cracks, unstable mana dispersing like breath on cold glass.
I stared at it longer than I should have.
So this was the result.
Footsteps echoed from the entrance.
The guildmaster entered without announcement, his presence alone enough to silence the room. Aror wasn't imposing in the way armored knights were, nor sharp like mages steeped in arrogance. He carried himself with the quiet certainty of someone who had outlived chaos and learned how to weigh it properly.
His eyes went straight to the crystal.
He stopped in front of the pedestal and crouched, studying the fractures closely. For a moment, he said nothing. Sophie stood rigid beside us, her fingers clenched at her sides.
"This isn't overload," Aror finally said.
Sophie blinked. "Sir?"
"And it isn't sabotage either." He rose, turning slightly. "The magic crest malfunctioned."
The word rippled through the nearby adventurers. Sophie looked as though she wanted to argue—but stopped herself.
"I've overseen assessments for three decades," Aror continued calmly. "I've never seen a standard crest break."
His gaze shifted.
Straight to me.
"And you two," he said, already turning away. "Inside. Now."
The guildmaster's office was quieter than the hall, thick walls muting the outside world. Shelves of records lined the walls, each spine marked with dates and regions. The door shut behind us with a weight that made my shoulders tense.
Aror sat behind his desk and folded his hands. Sophie stood to the side, silent.
"This isn't an accusation," he said. "But explanations are required."
I nodded.
"Names."
"Tessia," Tess said smoothly.
"Rio," I followed.
"Origin?"
"We're common-born," Tess replied without hesitation. "Neighbors since childhood."
"From where?"
"A village in the south-east," I said. "We left recently."
Aror listened without interruption. His expression didn't change, but I could feel the scrutiny—not hostile, not trusting. Measuring.
Common-born. No academy. No backing.
He believed us enough.
Not completely.
"Very well," Aror said at last. "The guild will not charge you for the crystal. Equipment failure falls under our responsibility."
Sophie visibly relaxed.
"It's past noon," he added. "You're free to go. However—" His eyes hardened slightly. "If the guild summons you, you will return immediately."
"Yes, sir," we answered.
As we turned to leave, he spoke again.
"Try not to break any more crests."
The inn smelled like stew and warm bread.
Mrs. Perl stood behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, directing her daughter through chores. The girl—Lina—was scrubbing a table with exaggerated seriousness, her brows furrowed like she was facing a life-or-death task.
"You missed a spot," Mrs. Perl said.
"I didn't," Lina argued.
She looked. She had.
Mrs. Perl sighed, then noticed us. "Rooms are ready. You both look half-dead."
We didn't argue.
Our rooms were next to each other—separate doors, separate spaces—but the balconies outside connected through a low stone divider. Simple, clean, quiet.
The moment I sat on the bed, something inside me loosened.
And I laughed.
It slipped out before I could stop it—short, breathless, real.
"We did it," I said, staring at the ceiling. "We're actually registered."
Adventurers.
The word didn't feel distant anymore. It felt close. Achievable.
Tess smiled.
But I noticed it this time.
It was the same smile she used when she was hiding something.
"You okay?" I asked.
"Of course," she said. "Just… thinking."
She lay down, turning slightly away. I didn't push. My own mind was crowded—titles, responsibilities, her birthday approaching, the weight of the future.
Yet strangely, it didn't overwhelm me.
It excited me.
Later, as exhaustion faded into something quieter, I stepped onto the balcony. Tess was already there on her side, leaning against the railing as the sky deepened into evening.
"Tess," I said. "Earlier… you mentioned this town was small. How big is the kingdom, really?"
She glanced at me, then nodded.
"There are nineteen states," she said. "And one royal capital."
"That many?" I muttered.
"Yes. Each state governs itself locally, but all answer directly to the crown. The capital—Regalis—lies in the north-west, far from borders and conflict zones."
"Strategic," I said.
"Very," Tess agreed.
She continued, voice calm and steady. "Some states are fertile plains. Others focus on trade, military strength, or monster containment. Places like Luneth Vale feed the kingdom. Ironreach trains its soldiers. Verdannis controls river trade."
I listened.
"And my village?" I asked quietly.
She turned to face me.
"You were born in Aurivale," she said. "In the south-east. The name means first light—a place founded to represent a new beginning."
The name settled into me.
Aurivale.
"And right beside it," she added, "lies the Eldrathil Woods. Ancient. Dangerous. Most people never venture deep."
The forest again.
"…That puts Regalis and Aurivale at opposite ends," I said.
"Yes," Tess replied. "Two ends of the kingdom."
I stared out at the darkening horizon.
"…Feels fitting," I murmured.
She didn't contradict me.
That evening, we ate quietly.
Nothing dramatic happened. No monsters. No messengers. Just lantern light, distant laughter, and the steady presence of someone sitting beside me—not in the same room, but close enough.
For the first time, my dream didn't feel fragile.
It felt real.
And as night settled over Dustford, I realized something else.
The Rio who walked into the guild that morning—the careful, restrained one—was already gone.
In his place stood someone lighter.
Someone hopeful.
Someone who had finally taken his first step forward.