Aura stepped out of the inn, and the morning air brushed his face with a faint chill.
The old city was slowly waking — the calls of vendors echoing through narrow streets, the shuffle of boots over damp cobblestones, and the smell of fresh bread rising from small stone ovens, breathing life into the dawn.
He walked with steady steps, while Falco glided beside him, his sharp eyes scanning the people and wooden carts below with cautious attention.
Aura murmured under his breath,
— "Didn't think the city would look like this… everything here feels alive, like it's pulsing with strange energy."
Falco replied in his calm, grounded voice,
— "This place is called Eithnera. It's the mercenary capital of the Eastern Continent. Anyone who wants to carve a path of their own—starts here."
After a few minutes weaving through the crowded streets, Aura stopped before a massive building with iron-black gates.
Above them, an old golden script shimmered faintly:
"Mercenary Guild — Eithnera Main Branch."
He stepped inside. Eyes began to turn toward him.
The hall was alive with all kinds of warriors — some arguing over contracts, others boasting of wounds or showing off their blades.
Along the walls hung boards packed with colorful notices — bounties, job requests, and warnings of deadly missions.
At the reception desk stood a woman with short crimson hair and piercing blue eyes. Her gaze was sharp, but curious.
— "Haven't seen you before. You here to register?"
Aura nodded.
— "Yeah. I'm applying for guild membership."
She handed him a parchment stamped with a crimson seal.
— "Fill this out — name, origin, soul rank, and primary weapon."
He hesitated for a moment, then wrote:
> Name: Aura
Origin: Undefined
Soul Level: Gray Point
Weapon: Endblade
When he handed it back, the woman raised an eyebrow.
— "A gray soul? That's one of the lowest tiers… honestly, I don't expect you to last a day out there."
Falco's low voice came from behind him, steady and amused:
— "You'll be surprised who survives."
She frowned slightly but ignored the talking hawk, pointing toward a narrow corridor behind her.
— "Through that door. First test for new recruits. Pass it, and you'll get your official rank."
Aura walked down the corridor, its stone walls glowing faintly from embedded crystals.
At the end was a wide circular chamber, runes etched into the floor forming several glowing circles.
An elderly man stood in the center — long white beard, eyes calm and filled with quiet experience.
— "Step forward, young man. Place your hand upon the first circle."
Aura obeyed, laying his palm on the glowing sigil.
For a moment, nothing. Then light surged upward, flowing through his arm and shoulder like liquid fire.
He clenched his teeth as heat coursed through him — not painful, but probing, as if the magic was reading the essence of his soul.
The old man murmured softly,
— "A gray soul… haven't seen one of those in ages. Feeble, yet… there's something unusual about it. A strange pulse."
The light faded.
A sigil flared briefly on the wall behind them:
Rank: F
The elder looked up, meeting Aura's eyes.
— "You are hereby registered as a Rank-F mercenary. The road ahead will be long and merciless… but sometimes, the weakest souls carry the most dangerous power."
Aura left the hall, finding Falco waiting near the doorway.
The hawk tilted his head, a faint smirk in his tone.
— "Rank F, huh? A humble start—but a start nonetheless."
Aura smiled faintly.
— "The rank doesn't matter… only the journey."
And with that, he stepped out of the guild's gates — unaware that this single step would mark the beginning of a transformation that would change his fate forever.