(Charles)

  Charles finished packing the medium-sized duffel bag with flak. There were fourteen loaves—two weeks’ worth of meals—though he’d only need a single serving since he planned on leaving with Dylan tomorrow. He zipped the bag closed, keeping the pretense that the upcoming conversation wasn’t preordained. There were several unknown variables, but Charles did his best to account for as many as possible.

  He’d purposefully only given Dylan a single serving of flak upon his return, promising to bring more later—a tidy excuse to see him again the next day.

  The plan was to stop by and convince both Dylan and Nathan that taking Dylan with him was in their best interests. Charles shook his head, knowing it was his fault that Guildmaster Maeve knew not only Dylan’s location but, more importantly, his identity.

  He’d already resized and dropped off a single outfit, complete with a new pair of boots. Dylan had somehow melted his old pair. An impressive feat, considering they were made of naturally heat-resistant material. Additionally, the former chubby man had lost a considerable amount of weight and dropped many sizes in just two weeks. All of his clothes would need to be resized.

  Dylan had revealed a side of himself during the trial that Charles hadn’t even considered. Who could have expected to find such a dedicated and driven soul inside an ignorant person? Not Charles, but perhaps he was too quick to judge Dylan.

  On top of his own responsibility to protect Dylan, there might be an adventurer worth training underneath that soft exterior. It would certainly give more meaning to the next three months if training Dylan wasn’t just an excuse to keep him hidden and on the move.

  The oval door to the arborhearth swung open as Charles stepped down. He’d already resized another wardrobe for Dylan and planned to use its delivery as a backup excuse to meet with him again if their first conversation wasn’t enough. Delivering the rest of the four months of flak would provide yet another opportunity if all else failed.

  Dylan was a bit of a loose cannon, his mind drifting all over the place as he scrambled to grasp what should’ve been basic concepts. But the man had been born on another world, one without magic if he was to be believed. Charles had also seen Dylan’s inflexibility when he’d made his mind up about something.

  ‘Just like a therapod,’ Charles thought. ‘They need to think it was their idea all along.’ But even if that wasn’t enough, he had other options.

  He hoped to avoid resorting to abduction. While he’d always be a product of Ebonscale, having spent the better part of a century, first as an orphaned ward and later as a guild member, he didn’t want to follow in their, assumedly, nefarious footsteps of trafficking in sentient beings. Even if it was in Dylan’s best interests.

  No. He’d convince Dylan it was a great opportunity, and if that failed, he’d exploit Nathan’s self-worth issues to persuade the mender that he was the better choice to care for Dylan and try again.

  Charles had nothing against Nathan. The mender was resourceful, kept his word, and genuinely appeared to care about what happened to Dylan. Nathan had promised and delivered on providing a proper place to bake a large batch of flak. It was an acceptable size, private, clean, stocked with the requested ingredients, and reserved for an entire day longer than required.

  Charles waited until the meetings and farewell ceremonies had concluded to make his move. He’d learned the times of the meetings with the guildmaster and anticipated that one or more of them would fail. Nightshade trials were notoriously deceptive, involving unnecessary mind games about keeping secrets. It baffled him how anyone failed—no one should have to be told to keep a secret. That was just common sense.

  Nathan should have finished a late lunch—a pescatarian dish, judging by his usual preferences. And Dylan should be in his room, having no use of the dining hall while on flak. The plan was to intercept Nathan on his way back to the dorms and speak with him first, tagging along after their conversation to follow up with Dylan.

  For more than one reason, he hoped Dylan had failed the trial. First, it might get the idiotic notion of joining up with a guild out of his head, but, more importantly, it’d be one less reason to stick around Nightshade. And fewer reasons to stay meant he’d be more flexible to the idea of leaving.

  Another reason to have Dylan around was to brush up on his soft skills. Not that Charles was a naturally congenial person, but what people skills he had were rusty, at best. It’d also give him the opportunity to cross-examine what happened on the quest. Knowing what was fact and what was fiction would help dive deeper into Dylan, testing how far he could be safely—or unsafely—pushed.

  Also, he’d love to figure out what it was about Dylan that draconi found irresistible.

  ‘That’s unfortunate,’ Charles thought as he found Dylan already with Nathan. They were walking back to the dorms together. Speaking with them individually would’ve reduced the number of variables he had to deal with at once, but he’d planned for this conversation as well.

  Nathan had the heart of a mender and a tendency to put everyone in front of his own needs. That meant Dylan was the key, and Charles needed to show Nathan that Dylan was a priority to him.

  “Dylan,” Charles said, greeting him first before giving a nod to the prismatic elf. “Nathan.”

  “Charles!” Dylan said. His arms went up, signaling he was about to spring another hug on him. Charles swung the duffel bag in between them as a shield, another reason to always bring something when going to speak with Dylan. Now he’d only have to suffer through the inevitable goodbye hug.

  “I’ve brought you some more flak.”

  “Thanks.” Dylan disarmed him by taking the duffel bag off his hands. Starvation seemed to have softened his previous distaste for flak; he’d been very vocal and animated in his complaints before leaving, but now he seemed almost amicable to it.

  “So, how did your trial go?” Charles forced a tight-lipped smile.

  The duffel bag dropped an inch as Dylan’s shoulder slumped. “I failed.”

  Now Charles had to hide a genuine smile. “That’s terrible news,” he lied, and Nathan gave him a strange look.

  “It’s okay,” Dylan said, shrugging and handling it much better than Charles expected. “The guildmaster is giving me another shot.”

  Dylan had a way of speaking that used actual words but arranged them incoherently—such as now. Guild trials were always a one-time deal, and from what little he knew about Nightshade, they weren’t an exception.

  ‘Another deception,’ Charles realized, the second chance suddenly making sense. The guildmaster at Nightshade had assumed Dylan would pass, so they let him take the trial to avoid appearing desperate. A failed gamble on their part. They should have just offered him membership, as Guildmaster Maeve had done. But there was no way Charles was going to share her invitation with Dylan. Too much of a risk that he might get desperate enough to consider her offer if he failed the trial a second time.

  “Are you going to try again?” Charles asked, still hoping Dylan might change his mind.

  “Yep, and Nathan’s going to train me.”

  Charles caught the micro expression on Nathan’s face as Dylan spoke. Either the prismatic elf was more self-destructive than he’d let on, or someone had already planted the idea Dylan needed a more experienced hand. Either way, it worked in Charles’ favor.

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  Switching his plan involved a simple pivot from offering to teach Dylan a trade to offering to train him as a common-ranked adventurer. The results would be the same.

  “So, Nathan’s going to take you on some contracts?” Charles asked, baiting the hook. Nathan would likely feel comfortable with contracts at the hospital, which, unless Dylan had chosen the path of a mender, wouldn’t be of much use to him.

  Had Nathan been a bit more experienced, he might have seen that he was in an ideal position to train Dylan on extermination contracts. Anyone of sound body and mind could complete unranked contracts. Having a mender tag along would’ve been ideal, and far less expensive than what Charles had in mind.

  That was Charles’ plan anyway, only he’d have to supplement mending abilities with consumables. He’d make a shopping list after seeing what contracts were available along his route.

  “I’m not sure,” Dylan said, looking to Nathan for the answer.

  “Actually, Dylan. I wanted to talk to you about that.”

  Charles read Nathan’s posture and tone immediately. This would be much easier than expected. All he had to do was let it play out.

  “Yeah?”

  “I want to give you the best shot at passing your trial.”

  Dylan nodded, waiting for the other boot to drop. “Yeah…?”

  “But I’m not sure that I’m the best person to train you. I’m not even a common-ranked adventurer.”

  Dylan shrugged, suggesting he wasn’t buying into Nathan’s pity party. “Pretty sure Runemist, her entire team, and Wedge were all common-ranked adventurers…”

  Charles saw where Dylan was heading. Unfortunately, it made sense, and it was about to give Nathan a confidence boost. Charles couldn’t risk them thinking they didn’t need a common-ranked adventurer. He’d have to nudge them back on track.

  Dylan shrugged and said, “They all helped me, and I still failed. Not sure—”

  “When is the next trial?” Charles asked before Dylan could finish his thought.

  “Three and a half months,” Nathan said. “Why? Is there enough flak? I could rent another—”

  Charles waved off the need for another batch of flak. “No, I was just wondering how much time I have to get back into shape.”

  “What do you mean, ‘get back into shape?’” Dylan gave him a wary glance, eyeing him up and down. “You’re already ripped.”

  And he was right—Charles had always kept up on his physical fitness. He’d just stopped taking contracts that required him to use a weapon.

  This wasn’t his preferred conversation. But if insinuating he was interested in joining Nightshade would get Dylan to come with him, then he’d consider it. He had community service contracts to complete anyway, and to get access to common-ranked contracts again, he’d need to join a guild, eventually.

  “I like to be prepared,” Charles said.

  “You’re thinking of joining Nightshade?” Nathan asked.

  “Thinking about it, yeah.”

  “That’s great.” Dylan seemed thrilled with the idea.

  Nathan narrowed his eyes on Charles and kept glancing over to Dylan, exactly as planned. Charles could see his gears turning and waited for the prismatic elf to reach the inevitable conclusion.

  “Charles…” Nathan said.

  He scratched his cheek. “Yes?”

  “Would you be interested in a Nightshade quest?”

  “But I’m not a guild member,” Charles said, feigning ignorance.

  “Well, I’ve gotten approval to offer a quest to train Dylan with non-guild resources.”

  Charles responded with a noncommittal, “Hmm.” He wanted to appear reserved, so Nathan would convince himself and Dylan this was a good deal.

  “I mean, until you join a guild, you’d be training with unranked contracts anyway, right?”

  Charles crossed his arms as he listened and then nodded.

  “They’d be relatively safe to bring Dylan on, and if you’re going to do them anyway…”

  Charles frowned, pretending to think about it.

  “And… and a quest would more than cover the consumable costs of adventuring without a mender.”

  ‘True,’ Charles thought. He was about to invest a substantial amount of gems in keeping Dylan safe, and a quest would help offset it—possibly negating it entirely.

  “I’d offer to come along…” Nathan’s voice trailed off a moment in self-doubt. “But I’m still unlocking my mending abilities and would probably just get in the way.”

  Charles couldn’t have said it better himself, and he spoke up before Dylan could derail this plan with his unfounded optimism.

  “That’s okay. My arborhearth only fits two,” Charles said, lying again.

  Nathan made another odd face. Charles could rearrange it to add another room or toss them both in the same room together after making it a bit bigger. But neither of them knew that—another reason he kept the details of his abilities to himself.

  Charles looked up from fake contemplation, turned to Dylan, and asked, “What about you? What do you think?” He was careful to keep his tone neutral and undecided.

  Sometimes Charles suspected Dylan to be much more perceptive—or clever—than he let on, and this was one of them. Dylan’s initial glance at the question held traces of fear, almost as if he’d seen past the carefully crafted facade and glimpsed his true visage. Only a handful of individuals had seen what Charles was truly capable of, and even fewer remained alive.

  But before Dylan could answer, Nathan interjected yet another reason for Dylan to go with him.

  “Until we find something else you can eat, it might be best if you were with the only person I know who can make flak…” Nathan had unintentionally brought up starvation—another tool Charles had thought to use to convince Dylan, if necessary.

  He couldn’t believe how well this conversation was going. Too well, sadly. Nothing went this smoothly without an orchestration set in motion by a meticulous, skilled, and very interested party.

  ‘But who?’ he wondered.

  ‘Could be either guildmaster.’ While luck and a long life might get some to uncommon-ranked adventurer, becoming rare-ranked—the minimum for a guildmaster—required a brilliant mind, iron will, and peak physical fitness on top of Destiny’s favor. Not to mention the decades of hard-earned experience dealing with challenges that were on a level that even Charles found tedious to conceptualize.

  ‘A Warden, perhaps?’ The not-so-secret agents of the League were always a possibility, especially if Dylan had caught the attention of Guildmaster Maeve. They always monitored powerful individuals like her, and she was investing an increasingly substantial amount of resources in finding him. Charles feared she was looking for something more than a face-to-face meeting.

  “Yeah,” Dylan said. “That’s a fair point.” His hand rested on his stomach as he sighed, coming to terms with the idea. His eyes looked up to meet Charles’ impassive stare. They were filled with emotions: vulnerable, wary, and hopeful.

  Charles understood the first two. They were common when forced to make a choice out of necessity. But that last one was dangerous—a weakness in the man. Unfounded hope often led to preventable mistakes. And some mistakes were more deadly than others.

  Dylan shifted his stance, mustering the courage to ask his question.

  “Will you help me?”

  “What are you asking for, exactly?” Charles tilted his head, biding his time as he waited for Dylan to bite, hook, line, and sinker.

  The unspoken request would suffice, but the subconscious was an active listener, and getting Dylan to say it out loud would be best.

  “Help me prepare for the next trial. I know I’ve got a lot to learn and not much to offer in return, but will you take me with you? Please.”

  With both of them now on board, there was only one thing left to do—reluctantly accept.

  “You mentioned a quest?”

  “Yes,” Nathan said. “It’s standard—covering any repairs, replacements, and reimbursements for consumables and equipment upon completion, along with the usual guild standing, which you’ll have access once you’re a guild member. But, having already been a guild member before, you probably knew all that…”

  Charles nodded slowly, glancing in Dylan’s direction. “And you’re sure this is what you want?”

  “No,” Dylan said, answering honestly. “But it is what I need.”

  ‘This is about survival for him,’ Charles thought as he gleaned another insight into the husky man’s perplexing mind. Survival was an intimately familiar concept for Charles, most of his own decisions were predicated on it.

  To most mundane individuals, becoming an adventurer was a path to fame, fortune, and power. And while that was often the case, it wasn’t the full extent of being an adventurer. Responsibility and service to others wasn’t glorified or even mentioned in recruiting advertisements. So, it surprised Charles to learn that Dylan’s desire to become an adventurer might run deeper than wish fulfillment. He still needed to learn more about why Dylan felt this way, but it gave Charles another reason to train him properly.

  “Alright,” Charles said. “I’ll train him.”

  “Thank you,” Nathan said.

  “Yes!” Dylan hissed as he pumped his fist.

  Charles, having nothing to defend himself with this time, watched helplessly as an overjoyed Dylan came at him with another hug. It was tight and uncomfortable, but he stood there stoically, waiting for Dylan to get it out of his system.

  “Maybe I’ll get a chance to try out my new ability,” Dylan said after letting him go.

  “There’s not much to loot with unranked contracts, but it doesn’t hurt to try.”

  “Oh, I meant the new one I just got.”

  Charles raised an eyebrow. “What type of glyph did you use?”

  “Nathan gave me an Arcane orb.”

  Charles blinked. ‘An orb?’ he wondered. The prismatic elf must have a severely guilty conscience to have given him such an extravagant gift.

  “Impressive.”

  “Yeah, it’s called Tome of Knowledge, and it pairs with my new passive, Detect Magic—one records while the other references.”

  Charles clenched his jaw to stop himself from frowning. Dylan had just shared two more reasons why training him was going to be a pain in the ass. First, he had a knack for oversharing and blurting out whatever came to mind. Second, his new ability and passive sounded like it was going to be trouble to work around.

  He didn’t like the idea of anyone knowing what his abilities did. That kind of knowledge was easy to weaponize. But if Dylan was going to be an adventurer, that was one powerful weapon to have.

  “I need to pick up a few things for the trip. My arborhearth is parked near the stables. Meet me there tomorrow by midday so we can head out. You should have ample time to pack your things and say farewell.”

  This time, when Dylan approached, Charles held out a hand to stop him.

  He’d already suffered through one hug and wasn’t about to increase his weekly quota.