The hallway of the Ox and Ember was quiet, warmed by the distant murmur of the common room below. James let his shoulders sag the moment they reached their rooms. The key felt heavy in his hand, heavier than it should have been.

  “Finally,” he muttered. “A bed that isn’t plotting my death.”

  Vhara stood beside him, arms loosely crossed, scanning the corridor like she expected a tavern brawl to materialize out of thin air. Mira had come upstairs only to help Vhara settle in, not because she had a room here. She gently took the key from Vhara before the orc could accidentally rip the handle off.

  “Here, let me,” she said. “Just… be gentle with the hinges.”

  Mira eased the key into the lock and pushed the door open a crack.

  Then she froze.

  Her spine stiffened. The color drained from her face so fast it was like someone had pulled a stopper.

  “Oh… no.”

  James blinked. “What now? Did the room explode? Please tell me it didn’t explode.”

  Mira turned toward them slowly. Her eyes glistened. Her voice trembled.

  “I forgot something. Something important.”

  James leaned on the doorframe, bracing himself. “How bad are we talking? Minor inconvenience or life-changing catastrophe?”

  “My party,” Mira whispered. “The adventurers in the forest… the ones who attacked Vhara… they’re dead.”

  She swallowed hard. “I have to report it to the Adventurer Guild. Their deaths… it’s my responsibility.”

  Silence spilled into the hallway.

  Vhara stepped forward calmly. “They attacked me. I defended myself. Their weakness killed them.”

  Mira winced, but she didn’t argue.

  James rubbed his face.

  Of course. More paperwork. Why wouldn’t there be?

  “You shouldn’t go alone,” he said. “We’ll go together.”

  Mira nodded, wiping her eyes quickly with the back of her hand. She straightened her shoulders, trying to reclaim some dignity.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I… I can’t face the Guild alone. Not for this.”

  Vhara lifted her chin. “I will stand beside you. I did nothing wrong.”

  James sighed. “Great. Perfect. Love that for us. First day in Min City and we’re already filing death reports.”

  He pushed the key into his pocket.

  “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go break the news before I lose the will to walk.”

  They stepped out into the afternoon streets. Merchants argued, carts squeaked, someone nearly ran over James with a basket of onions, and Min City buzzed like it always did when the sun was high.

  Ahead of them, the tall silhouette of the Adventurer Guild rose into view.

  And Mira, though still pale, walked with purpose.

  Today, she was not running from her past.

  She was facing it.

  The Adventurer Guild rose above the street like a squat stone fortress, its doors wide open. Daylight didn’t stop the noise; laughter, metal clinking, and someone passionately arguing about whose fireball had burned whose eyebrows echoed out onto the street.

  James pushed the door open.

  Warm air rolled out first, thick with sweat, roasted meat, spilled ale, and the unmistakable tang of a wet cloak that no one had bothered to hang properly. A bard was sawing his way through a tune in the corner. Two adventurers arm-wrestled on a table that looked seconds away from collapsing. A mage snored face-down on the counter while the receptionist ignored him entirely.

  No one noticed them come in.

  Until they noticed Vhara.

  Conversation dipped. Not fully silent, but close enough to make the hairs on James’s neck prickle. A few adventurers leaned away, one man nearly falling off his stool.

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  Mira swallowed hard and approached the front desk.

  The receptionist, a slim man with a tied-back ponytail and bags under his eyes deep enough to hide a small dagger, finally glanced up.

  At first he blinked in confusion.

  Then recognition hit.

  “Mira…?”

  His voice softened in surprise. “You’re back already?”

  Mira nodded shakily. “I… yes. But the others… my party…”

  Her fingers tightened around her staff. “They didn’t make it.”

  The receptionist’s expression fell. He set aside the ledger and straightened.

  “You should speak with the Guild Master. This isn’t something we handle at the desk.”

  His gaze flicked briefly to Vhara, not in accusation but in unease, before he stepped out from behind the counter.

  “Please, follow me.”

  Vhara arched an eyebrow. “I see nothing wrong.”

  James whispered, “Please don’t say that inside a building full of armed people.”

  They followed the receptionist through a narrow corridor lined with quest boards, bounty posters, and a very sad-looking potted plant that deserved better. At the end, he knocked twice on a heavy door.

  “Guild Master? A report… and you should probably hear it.”

  A deep voice replied, “Bring them in.”

  The receptionist opened the door and ushered them inside.

  The Guild Master sat behind a broad oak desk buried under scrolls, stamps, half-finished reports, and a mug that smelled like it had lived several lives. He was a broad-shouldered man with streaks of gray in his beard, sharp eyes, and an aura that said he could break a boulder with paperwork alone.

  He took one look at the three of them.

  First Mira.

  Then James.

  Then Vhara.

  His eyebrows rose a fraction.

  “Sit,” he said.

  They obeyed, Mira folding into her chair like a nervous student, James slumping like a man already regretting life choices, and Vhara sitting perfectly upright, every inch of her saying she feared nothing in the room.

  The Guild Master folded his hands.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  Mira breathed in slowly and began. She recounted the ambush, the fear, her party accusing Vhara of being a threat simply for being an orc, and the moment everything erupted.

  Her voice cracked twice. She kept going.

  James filled in gaps, details Mira had missed or downplayed, confirming Vhara acted only after being attacked.

  Vhara simply said, “They struck first. I ended it.”

  Silence followed.

  The Guild Master leaned back, considering them.

  “So,” he said at last, “your party committed aggression without provocation, against a non-hostile individual, based on race alone.”

  Mira nodded weakly.

  “Yes,” the Guild Master said firmly. “Then the fault is theirs. Death by reckless action. Self-defense is not a crime.”

  Mira exhaled shakily, relief washing over her.

  James relaxed an inch.

  Vhara looked vindicated. “As I said.”

  But the Guild Master wasn’t done.

  He turned his attention to James.

  “You’re not a registered adventurer, but you carry yourself like one. You fight like one. And you seem to keep surviving things adventurers normally die horribly in.”

  James blinked. “What? No. I’m not… I mean, I cook. That’s it.”

  The Guild Master’s gaze sharpened. “You sparred evenly with an orc warrior. Most humans don’t even spar evenly with their own reflections.”

  James opened his mouth, then closed it.

  Damn it, Nyinwyn.

  “You’re strong,” the Guild Master continued. “And we always need more strong adventurers. You’d earn coin. Good coin.”

  Vhara lifted a hand. “I want to join.”

  “That is allowed,” the Guild Master said. “Strength is all that matters.”

  Mira shot James a hopeful look. “Come on. You’re strong. You’re capable. And… it would be nice to stay together.”

  James groaned into his hands.

  Why is emotional blackmail so effective…

  After a long moment, he sighed.

  “Fine. I’ll join.”

  Mira lit up. Vhara nodded in approval.

  The Guild Master smiled faintly and pulled open a drawer.

  “Excellent. Then let’s handle paperwork.”

  He dropped a thick stack of forms onto the desk with a heavy thud.

  James stared at it.

  “…That is too many forms.”

  “It’s the standard contract,” the Guild Master said. “Clause one: The guild is not responsible for any injuries, dismemberment, curses, poisons, hauntings, explosions, implosions, regrown limbs, lost limbs, or limbs gained without consent.”

  James blinked. “What?”

  “Clause two: The guild is not liable for failed resurrection attempts or any resurrection attempts that unexpectedly succeed.”

  “Unexpectedly succeed?! How… Never mind.”

  The Guild Master continued, utterly unfazed.

  “Clause three: In the event of death, no refunds will be issued for registration, gear, or emotional damage.”

  James whispered, “This is unhinged.”

  Vhara nodded thoughtfully. “Logical. Death happens.”

  Mira covered her mouth to hide her laughter.

  James grabbed the quill with the resignation of someone signing a pact with a mildly bored demon.

  “Fine. I’ll sign.”

  He scribbled his name.

  The Guild Master stamped it decisively.

  “Congratulations. You are now registered adventurers.”

  James paid the registration fee, his coin pouch grew depressingly light, and he turned to Vhara with a defeated sigh.

  “I hope you become a very successful adventurer. I’ve already invested too much in you.”

  Vhara considered this. “I will not disappoint.”

  Evening had settled in by the time they left the guild. Lanterns flickered to life, merchants shouted their last-minute deals, and someone attempted to juggle flaming torches with questionable confidence.

  James’s stomach growled loudly.

  Mira’s followed.

  Then Vhara’s stomach growled like a distant thunderstorm.

  James winced. “Okay. Yes. Food. Definitely food.”

  They reached the Ox and Ember moments later.

  James went straight to the counter. “Evening. Any dinner left?”

  The innkeeper shook his head. “Too early. Kitchen’s not prepped yet.”

  James blinked. “Then… could I use your kitchen?”

  The innkeeper raised an eyebrow. “If something breaks, you pay.”

  “Deal. I’ll use my own ingredients.”

  “Fine. This way.”

  He led James to the back.

  The kitchen door creaked open.

  James stopped dead.

  The kitchen was a crime scene.

  A truly horrifying mix of grease, chaos, and questionable lifeforms.

  Pots stacked in dangerous towers. A cutting board permanently stained a color not found in nature. Something scuttled behind a sack of flour. A pan moved slightly. On its own.

  James stared.

  “…Wonderful,” he whispered. “Perfect.

  I think I just saw Ratatouille.

  Or Splinter. Could be either.”

  From behind him the innkeeper called, “What?”

  “Nothing,” James said quickly. “Lovely kitchen.”

  And with that, the disaster cooking was about to begin.

  Author’s Note