Rowan didn't have to wait long.
A side door behind the counter opened, and a man stepped out, scanning the room once before his eyes settled on Rowan.
"You," the man said, motioning with two fingers. "Come with me."
Rowan stood immediately.
The man wore no armor, only a dark coat lined with faint silver threading along the cuffs. His presence was calm but firm—the kind that didn't need to raise its voice to be obeyed.
They walked through a narrow hallway and entered a smaller room lit by soft crystal lamps. A circular table sat at the center, its surface etched with faint runes that pulsed slowly, almost lazily.
"Sit," the man said.
Rowan did.
The door closed behind them.
"I'm Marik," the man said, taking a seat across from him. "Senior examiner. This won't take long if you answer honestly."
Rowan nodded. "I'll do my best."
Marik's eyes flicked briefly to Rowan's hands, then back to his face. "Name?"
"Rowan Richards."
"Age?"
"…Eighteen," Rowan answered after a moment.
"Origin?"
Rowan hesitated.
Marik noticed. "You can be vague. Travelers often are."
"I came from far away," Rowan said carefully. "I don't plan on returning."
Marik studied him for a few seconds, then nodded. "Fair enough."
He picked up a small, flat device from the table. It looked like a shard of translucent stone, dull and unremarkable.
"This is a basic mana calibrator," Marik explained. "It doesn't measure quantity. Only flow and stability."
Rowan's chest tightened slightly.
"Place your hand on it," Marik said. "And relax."
Rowan did neither of those things.
He placed his palm on the stone—but instead of relaxing, he withdrew. Not outwardly, but inwardly. He imagined his mana settling, sinking deep beneath the surface, like water retreating into underground channels.
The stone remained dull.
Marik frowned slightly.
"Again," he said.
Rowan took a slow breath and tried once more—this time allowing a thread of mana to rise, thin and controlled.
The stone flickered.
Then went dark.
Marik leaned forward.
"That's… odd."
He adjusted the crystal, tapped its edge, and gestured for Rowan to keep his hand there. The runes on the table brightened faintly, reacting to the calibrator.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the crystal vibrated.
Not violently—but insistently.
A low hum filled the room, growing sharper by the second. The runes flared once, then dimmed abruptly.
Silence returned.
Rowan pulled his hand back immediately. "Did I do something wrong?"
Marik stared at the crystal.
"No," he said slowly. "You didn't do anything at all."
That worried Rowan more than any accusation.
Marik set the device down carefully, as if it might break. "Your mana didn't flow through the calibrator. It… avoided it."
Rowan forced his expression to stay neutral. "Is that bad?"
Marik exhaled softly. "It's uncommon."
He studied Rowan again—this time not with curiosity, but caution.
"Most people have mana like a stream," Marik continued. "Some like rivers. Yours…" He paused, choosing his words. "It behaves like depth."
Rowan didn't respond.
After a moment, Marik shook his head. "It doesn't matter for now."
"For now?" Rowan repeated.
Marik smiled faintly. "The guild doesn't exist to solve mysteries on day one. You'll be registered at the lowest rank. No privileges. No special access."
Rowan felt a surprising sense of relief. "That's fine."
"You'll receive a temporary tag," Marik said, standing. "Low-risk requests only. Observation period applies."
"Observation?"
Marik met his gaze. "We watch. You work. If nothing breaks, we proceed."
Rowan nodded. "Understood."
Marik opened the door and gestured for him to follow.
As they returned to the main hall, Rowan felt it again—that subtle pressure deep in his chest. Not strong. Not demanding.
Aware.
He ignored it.
At the counter, the woman from earlier handed him a small metal tag, simple and unadorned.
"Don't lose it," she said. "And don't try anything clever."
"I won't," Rowan replied.
She studied him for a second, then added, "People like you tend to attract attention. Try not to."
Rowan managed a polite smile and stepped away.
Outside, the air felt lighter.
Rowan stood on the stone steps of the guild, turning the tag over in his hand. No power. No status. Just a mark that said you exist here now.
"That's fine," he murmured. "I can work with that."
As he pocketed the tag, warmth stirred faintly within him.
This time, it wasn't sudden.
It was… patient.
Rowan looked toward the forest beyond the village, his expression unreadable.
Whatever was watching him hadn't retreated.
It was waiting.
And somehow, Rowan knew—
This was only the beginning of the contract he hadn't agreed to yet.