The worn stone road curved gently uphill — and there it was.

  Trowell.

  Low walls, reinforced gates that stood more for tradition than defense. Inside: a maze of narrow streets, weathered timber-and-stone houses, makeshift markets, and the bittersweet scent of rust, leather, and old spices.

  The wagon veered away from the main road, taking a side path. They passed abandoned fields and empty storage barns until reaching a simple but organized property: a row of tents, a few supply sheds, and, in the center, a banner — a falcon perched on a sword: the crest of the Viscount, lord of Trowell.

  Gunnar eyed the disorganized rows of recruits. They were just like him — farm boys. Sweaty faces, calloused hands, plain clothes, feet bare or wrapped in rags. They knew more about hoes than blades.

  As he stepped down from the cart, he watched Tolvad and Beric head off in another direction. They’d join the same campaign — just not together. Not yet.

  At the entrance, he gave his name and village. A soldier barely looked up.

  “That tent’s yours. Supplies in the shed. You leave tomorrow. Until then… if you want to see the city, go. But be back before the second trumpet. You’re lucky — it’s still early.”

  We just got here, and they’re already sending us off again, Gunnar thought, shoulders tight as he walked away.

  Outside his assigned tent, slightly adrift, he spotted Alek — the guide who had led their caravan — standing with Darrek and two other men. They spoke quietly.

  Not knowing anyone else, Gunnar approached. He greeted Alek with a cautious smile. The man rolled his eyes — clearly recognized him — but didn’t shoo him away.

  That’s when she appeared.

  Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

  Tall, sharp posture, cape fluttering in the wind. Her eyes swept across the group as if no one existed. She handed a scroll to Darrek, her voice calm and crisp:

  “Good. You’re all here. Updated orders. Meeting in the small hall after the first trumpet.”

  And just like that, she turned on her heel and walked away.

  Gunnar blinked, stunned.

  “Do I stink or something?” he muttered, trying to play off the sting.

  One of the men snorted quietly.

  “It’s not you. It’s her. Ranker. They look at us like we’re fresh clay.”

  Gunnar turned, surprised.

  “Ranker?”

  Alek nodded, more patient now.

  “First time seeing one, huh?”

  “Yeah…” Gunnar admitted.

  The other man extended a hand.

  “Jeliel. From Havest. Adventurer — Copper rank.”

  “Gunnar. Dunverin.”

  A firm handshake. Respectful.

  After a short pause, Jeliel asked:

  “First assignment?”

  “And first time away from home.”

  Jeliel chuckled, understanding.

  “The world’s bigger — and weirder — than it looks.”

  He gestured toward the sheds at the back.

  “Trowell draws adventurers from all over. Minerals, rare herbs, good trade routes. And since it’s not too close to the Wastelands, the danger’s… manageable.”

  Alek watched Gunnar thoughtfully.

  “Ever thought about stopping by the Association hall?”

  “Me?” Gunnar furrowed his brow. “Never crossed my mind.”

  Jeliel smiled.

  “Doesn’t hurt to check. Especially when you’re just getting started.”

  Alek added:

  “There are perks. Might seem small — until they really matter.”

  “Like what?” Gunnar asked.

  “Message boards with simple jobs — delivery, collection, guard duty. Easy way to earn some coin.”

  Jeliel chimed in:

  “There’s also the member trade system. Potions, maps, used gear. You can save a good bit.”

  Then Alek mentioned the final perk, in a lower tone:

  “And the best part — message delivery. You can send letters home with mission caravans. Fast, safe… cheap.”

  Gunnar crossed his arms, considering.

  “Sounds… useful.”

  Jeliel gave him a friendly pat on the arm.

  “Won’t change the world. But when you’re far from home... it helps.”

  In the distance, Darrek signaled with a nod.

  Jeliel stepped away but called back:

  “If you’re coming, meet me at the big shed before sunrise. Don’t be late — the line’s a nightmare.”

  “Before sunrise?!” Gunnar echoed, half in disbelief.

  Jeliel just laughed:

  “You’ll understand when you see it.”

  Alek, already turning to leave, added:

  “If you go on your own, it’s easy. Just past the market. Discreet door, crest hanging above it. Can’t miss it.”

  Left alone, Gunnar let out a breath.

  “Maybe it’s worth checking out… but that early?” he muttered, and began walking through the camp.