A busy day echoed through the streets in front of the mercenary guild. New recruits buzzed with excitement after receiving their ranks, while seasoned veterans prepared to chase harder, more dangerous contracts. Some boarded shuttles to other systems, others quietly gave up the mercenary dream altogether after witnessing yesterday’s display of power.

  They were in it for credits—just not enough to risk their lives.

  Jason and Tahuuk noticed the shift immediately as they crossed the square and passed the fountain. The street teemed with people buying gear, comparing weapons, or scrolling through the fresh batch of requests. Many faces were unfamiliar: eager, restless, inexperienced—easy to spot by the unweathered air around them.

  They pushed through the crowd and entered the guild building, heading straight for the large display board near the counter. A few others stood there too, murmuring as they searched for their names. Jason and Tahuuk scanned the list from top to bottom.

  They found themselves a little past the midpoint.

  Jason — Silver III

  Tahuuk — Silver III

  Perfect, Jason thought. High enough to earn real money, low enough not to attract too many eyes. Tahuuk seemed pleased as well—though his expression said he wouldn’t have minded a rank or two higher.

  Their first official job as a mercenary duo awaited.

  Hault was back behind the counter, with the clerk finally relaxed now that he wasn’t drowning in work alone.

  “Well, well—look what the winds dragged in. Our rising duo,” Hault called out, grinning. Jason and Tahuuk approached, sharing a quiet look of satisfaction.

  “You boys pulled Silver Three, right? Honestly, the two of you showed the skill of Silver Two—maybe even Silver One—but rules are rules. You need a handful of requests under your belt before re-ranking. Still…” Hault leaned forward with a warmer smile. “Welcome to the family.”

  Jason felt an emotion surface that he hadn’t felt in a very long time, a feeling of belonging, an ounce of home.

  “On that note,” Hault continued, “you two already have a sponsor!”

  Jason’s shoulders tightened.

  “The Dalkion Merchant Guild filed a request specifically for you. Well—technically their clients asked for you—but since you prevented their base from exploding, they’re giving this one to you and even raising the reward.”

  A small chill crawled up Jason’s spine. Something about it felt… off. Stopping a bomb shouldn’t create personal attention. Should it?

  “What’s the request?” he asked.

  “You’re escorting two people—siblings. They need to reach Bastille so they can board a shuttle to another system. Keep them safe until they’re inside city limits. The request is in your datapad.”

  A notification pinged. At the bottom, they were required to sign as a duo.

  Jason paused.

  “We need a name…”

  Tahuuk frowned in thought. “Maybe… the Warriors?”

  Jason resisted the urge to sigh. Blunt. Then a memory flickered—a voice from the arena, chanting a nickname.

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  “The Magicians,” he offered quietly. “How does that sound?”

  “Like bringing magic to a fight…” Tahuuk nodded. “Sounds passable. But I still like Warriors,” he muttered.

  Jason allowed a small smile. The Magicians—a bridge between who he was and who he was becoming.

  Hault glanced at the datapad and waved someone over from the crowd.

  “Alright then. Your request begins now. These are the people you’ll be escorting.”

  “They’re already here?” Jason asked—

  —and froze.

  Time slowed. A warm pulse rose in his chest. His breath thinned. For a moment, he thought hyperfocus was activating again—but it wasn’t strain this time. It was something softer.

  Stepping out of the crowd was the woman with eastern features—the same one who had looked at him with admiration in the line outside the gate. Beside her stood the same man who had shielded her with his cloak.

  As they approached, they greeted the duo politely. Jason barely heard them. He was too focused on the glimmer in her eyes, the softness in her expression.

  “Hey! Why are you just standing there?” her brother barked, snapping Jason out of the trance.

  “Ah—sorry…” Jason shook both their hands quickly, embarrassed. A glance at the woman showed she too had flushed, a shy smile tugging at her lips.

  “Stop staring!” her brother snapped again, waving a hand in front of Jason’s face.

  Before he could finish lecturing him—

  —everything in the lobby went silent.

  The air turned heavy. Footsteps—slow, deliberate—descended the stairs.

  A bald, broad-shouldered man appeared wearing hardened leather armor and a deep red cape clasped with fur. The emblem of a lion’s head stared outward from his shoulder.

  Lion.

  The guild master.

  Without looking at anyone else, he walked straight toward the front doors and pushed them open.

  Outside stood around forty mercenaries—every one bearing the grey hood or insignia of the Grey Sight Guild.

  Hault followed him out immediately. The other instructors—Viper and Josh—fell in behind him like the formation of an old war unit.

  Lion surveyed the street, the rooftops, the line of Grey Sight members. His voice rolled out calm and low, yet carrying through the entire block.

  “Bringing this many men here… I assume the Grey Sight Guild understands the weight of threatening us. So—what brings you to my doorstep?”

  The question alone made some of the newer Grey Sight recruits tremble. Jason noticed the eastern woman shrink behind someone just as he himself ducked behind a few bodies, instinctively trying to hide.

  “We have a contract from a noble,” one Grey Sight member shouted. “Two individuals are here inside this building. We’re taking them.”

  Lion glanced back once—just long enough for the three instructors to step beside him—then faced forward again.

  “Those behind us,” Lion said, “are either members of our pack… or clients under our protection. You will not lay a hand on them while they stand in my city.”

  It was a simple sentence.

  A simple boundary.

  But it struck like a death threat.

  A few impulsive Grey Sight rookies stepped forward, ready to rush. Their seniors tried to stop them—but too late.

  They sprinted toward Lion—

  —and suddenly Hault stood before them.

  He grabbed both by the throats—one in each hand—lifted them effortlessly, and slammed them into the stone. A sickening crack split the air. Blood trickled from their ears.

  A message made perfectly clear.

  “Go back,” Lion commanded.

  He turned away with the same unhurried calm he had arrived with.

  But one Grey Sight leader shouted after him:

  “We can’t touch you in the city—but outside? Valion will take over. And he always succeeds.”

  A flicker—barely visible—crossed Lion’s expression. Concern.

  Jason caught it.

  He knew that name.

  Valion.

  The legendary gunslinger.

  Another nanium-ranked mercenary—the only other one in the nearby systems besides Lion.