Chapter Seventy-Five: The Hero's Guild

  The grand hall of Mount Olympus University pulsed with a quiet, ancient rhythm—the kind born from a heart that had never ceased beating through centuries. Incantations hummed the same song, moving through the stone, threads of forgotten secrets woven deep into the marble’s veins. Towering columns stretched high, amplifying that rhythm, their surfaces smoothed by the touch of countless hands and the weight of time itself, standing witness to the ebb and flow of generations.

  The air hung heavy, alive with that unrelenting pulse—a tension so thick it crawled along the skin, sinking into bones like the prelude to a storm. And in that rhythm, a new note lingered—a stranger’s whisper curling at the edges of each breath, waiting.

  Rows of students shifted in their seats, a sea of restless bodies. The chairs were arranged with almost unnerving precision. Eyes fixed on the empty stage, the quiet voices that swirled through the hall were like an incantation, waiting for a trigger to unleash whatever they had been summoned to hear.

  Jace sat beside Dex, Ell, and Alice, their group a small island of tension in the churning sea. The silence between them was thick, heavy with unspoken worries. It wasn’t the comfortable quiet that came from familiarity—it was the kind that pressed against your lungs, begging for someone to crack it open.

  Dex obliged, leaning in with his trademark smirk, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “So… anyone else getting some serious ‘possessed by evil’ vibes from Thistle?” His voice was low, sharp like the edge of a dagger.

  Jace’s eyes flickered across the room, scanning for any sign of Thistle. But as expected, he wasn’t there.

  “Something is definitely off, but…” Jace said. There was a part of him that didn’t want to voice the thought forming in his mind—

  “I don’t think—I don’t know.” His voice trailed off. Truth was, he didn’t know. Thistle was acting odd, but everyone was under a lot of stress with the change. And when he had used Soul Sense, he didn’t pick up anything odd. But then again, he hadn’t seen anything off with Sophie either, until it was too late. Maybe, whatever this was, it was beyond his rank.

  Dex let out a low chuckle, but it lacked his usual spark. “Oh, come on. The disappearing act? The attitude? The ‘accident’ with Blackwood. It’s textbook demon behavior. He’s either possessed or going through one hell of a mood swing.”

  Alice, quiet until now, shifted in her seat. Her fingers traced invisible patterns on the armrest, something thoughtful in her movement. “I’ve seen it too,” she said softly, her eyes catching Jace’s. She didn’t need to elaborate; they both knew what she meant. That flicker behind Thistle’s eyes. The way shadows seemed to cling to him just a little too long, like something waiting to step through from the other side.

  Dex scoffed, but there was no humor in it. “I like the guy, don’t get me wrong. We’ve been through… well, what we’ve all been through. But if he is…” Dex mouthed the next word quietly, “Possessed, we have to be ready to face that.”

  The words hit harder than Jace expected. It was one thing to think it, another to see it in Dex’s eyes—Dex, who usually dismissed anything serious with a casual shrug. Now, though, even he seemed rattled, and that did more to unsettle Jace than anything else.

  Jace looked to the empty stage and let out a slow sigh.

  “Let’s keep an eye on him. But no jumping to conclusions. Not yet.”

  And then, a creak. No, not just a creak—a groan, low and ancient, rolling from the far end of the hall. The grand bronze doors, older than anyone could reasonably guess, shuddered in protest as they slowly swung open. The room, alive with conversation, went abruptly, unnervingly still.

  In the doorway stood a shadow, broad and towering. Brutus Ironclad. Cyclops. Master of Artifacts and Potions. Walking armory and professional scowler. Though, he always seemed friendly enough when you got him talking.

  “Is he bigger?” a voice whispered, barely audible.

  “Or angrier,” came the response, just as soft.

  Brutus’s single eye glowed faintly, molten like a distant forge, sweeping over the crowd like a spotlight designed to incinerate. He moved with deliberate, slow steps, each one landing like a hammer blow, echoing through the hall. His armor gleamed beneath the flickering torchlight, and yet it wasn’t the sheer size of him or his presence that held the room. It was that look—quiet and heavy, the kind that promised you weren’t walking out of here the same as you came in.

  Behind him, a smaller figure stepped into view, almost eclipsed by his bulk: Molly, Chosen of Hecate, from the Society of Hermes. Molly, who had never once arrived in a room without looking slightly out of sync with reality.

  Brutus stopped at the center, and the torches flickered, as though they were the ones holding their breath. He folded his arms across his chest, and when he spoke, his voice rumbled like a rockslide down a mountain, all gravel and distant thunder. “Today,” he growled, each word scraping its way through the hall, “you step beyond the walls of theory and lecture.”

  If it was possible for silence to be more silent, this was it. The hall fell into a void, and even the shadows seemed to pull back in anticipation of what came next.

  “This University,” Brutus continued, “is not a sanctuary. It’s a forge. You are the iron. And the fires that await you…” His single eye flared, focusing in on a few unfortunate souls who visibly wilted under his gaze. “They will either shape you into heroes. Or something far worse.”

  The silence stretched, thick and heavy, before he spoke again, his voice steady, carrying the vision of what was to come. “Each of you, Two-Star and above, will be eligible to undertake a Hero’s Task. These aren’t mere errands. Some may seem routine, but many of these tasks dance on the edge of danger and flirt with death. Given the current circumstances for all Travelers, I wouldn’t fault anyone for choosing the safer path. But understand this—once a task is accepted, it must be completed. There’s no backing out without facing severe consequences. You must be ready to face death, because that’s the path laid before you by the gods themselves. And should you choose it, that path might just lead you to the Hero’s Guild.”

  He paused, eyes scanning the room as a few students shifted in their seats. “Of course, you’re free to opt-out. But for those who remain, I’ll assume you’re ready to continue.”

  A murmur rippled through the crowd as a handful of students gathered their things and quietly left. Alice leaned in toward Jace, her voice low but excited. “I’ve heard about this. Every school and most cities have a Patron Guild, and they try to recruit the top graduates.”

  “Guild?” Jace asked, blinking in surprise. He realized, not for the first time, how much he still didn’t know about the world beyond Olympus.

  “Yeah,” Alice said, eyes gleaming with the thrill of being the one with answers. “They’re woven into the fabric of society. Six major guilds, plus a bunch of smaller ones. I was reading about them in the library. Olympus’ Patron Guild is the Hero’s Guild. They’ve got outposts in all the major cities across Mythica. Their whole thing is about righting wrongs, fighting for justice, all that heroic stuff. Monster slaying, town-saving—the works. Pretty badass.”

  Ell snorted, leaning back in her chair with a sly grin. “Don’t jump at the first guild that flashes you a shiny badge. The Heroes' is a big one, and I’ve heard a lot of good things. But there are tons of guilds out there, and some of the smaller ones? Way cooler. When we graduate, we’ll definitely want a guild. But we’ve got time to shop around.”

  Dex nodded, his voice more serious. “The right guild opens doors. The wrong one slams them shut.”

  “Exactly,” Ell added, crossing her arms. “Schools like to cozy up to their Patron Guilds, try to nudge students in that direction. It’s totally biased, but despite that, we should absolutely do this. The first quests are supposed to be super easy. Fetch quests, investigations, small monster cleanups. Nothing we can’t handle. Plus, even if we don’t end up joining the Hero’s Guild, getting an official invitation can put us on the radar of other guilds.”

  Jace gave a thoughtful nod. The scatter of voices gradually faded, and the room fell into a thick, anticipatory silence.

  When it was clear no one else would be leaving, he stepped forward again.

  Brutus raised his hand, and the room quieted instantly, as if he’d pulled the plug on all sound. Then, with a low, gravelly mutter that sounded almost like an old man grumbling about “kids these days,” he sighed. “For those who stuck around,” he gestured lazily toward Molly, “she’s gonna walk you through the Hero’s Guild Mission, our ‘Call to Adventure’, as it were. Philosophy, rules, all that.” He waved a hand dismissively, his voice dipping into a half-mutter. “Hate these damn announcements.”

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Molly stepped forward with kind but unflappable confidence. She spoke, her voice soft, intimate, and seemed to brush the ear of every student at once. The strange part? Her lips never quite matched her words. They were always just a beat off, like some kind of surreal dream—or a nightmare. It had always been like this when he saw her.

  “My name is Molly Eidolon, Chosen of Hecate,” she said, her voice smooth and unhurried, yet cutting through the room with a quiet authority. “Goddess of the night, the moon’s witch, speaker for the shadows,” she continued, her words flowing like a soft breeze, yet laced with a hint of something far more dangerous beneath the surface.

  Molly’s presence wasn’t one to fill a room with noise or gestures. It was the quiet that followed her, a stillness that swallowed sound like a dense fog. The room seemed to recognize the shift, all sound dying out, leaving only the faint clack of her boots against the polished stage.

  She didn’t need to speak loudly; the hall wasn’t silent by accident. Her voice slid through the space like smoke, curling and spreading, finding every ear without needing to reach for it. There was no echo, no fanfare. Just her voice, low and certain, like she was reciting something older than language itself.

  “Do you know why you’re here?” Her tone was sharp, soft as velvet, but it had the kind of edge that cut deeper than any blade. Her gaze flicked toward Jace, pale and strange, as though she wasn’t looking at him, but through him—beyond him. “Same reason I was,” she said, almost to herself. “To tip the scales, before the balance crumbles.”

  She stepped forward, the scent of something herbal—sharp and earthy—lingering in the air behind her. Jace caught a whiff, and for a second, his mind tugged at the familiarity—mint? Wormwood? Whatever it was, it clung to her as tightly as the shadows did.

  “Order,” she said, her hand drifting through the air as if sketching the shape of something only she could see, “is the spark of creation. It molds the Infinite Potential—raw, formless—an artist poised before a blank canvas. With the first stroke, it breathes life into the void, transforming emptiness into something vibrant, something real. Order is the hand that shapes, carving beauty from the chaos of possibility.” Her fingers drew invisible strokes, and as she moved, a golden painting formed mid-air, a web woven of shimmering light.

  Jace felt it in his gut, a pull, a sense that something larger was at work, even if he couldn’t see it. He had felt this before—the tug of magic, the raw force of creation. But this time, it was different, the strings were wound tighter, the very essence of what they wielded was fragile.

  “Life strives to create Order. Every spell you cast,” Molly continued, her voice softer, but no less commanding, “is a thread in your tapestry. A single note in the symphony of existence. We take raw Potential, and we mold it into something more. We make the formless take form. We create.”

  Jace’s breath caught in his throat. He could see it—every spell, every gesture, every incantation was a struggle to force the universe to obey—to bring Order to the chaos that lurked just beneath the surface.

  “But Chaos,” she said, her voice lowering to a near-whisper, “Chaos doesn’t create. It unravels. It gnaws at the threads, undoes what’s been made, pulls apart what’s been woven. Chaos doesn’t just touch Potential—it destroys it. Like a child that doesn’t want anyone else to play with their toys, so destroys them instead.”

  Her eyes fixed on Jace again, a knowing glimmer there, as if she’d seen the end of things and had come back to warn him. “You think you’re safe because you know the rules? You’re not. Chaos doesn’t care about rules. It devours them, rips them apart, until there’s nothing left but emptiness. And when Chaos wins—there’s no more silence, Jace. Just the absence of everything.”

  The air in the room grew colder. Jace could feel the hairs on his neck rising, a chill creeping down his spine. He clenched his fists, trying to push away the unease that had settled over him, but it was like trying to shake off a nightmare that clung too tight.

  “Monsters,” Molly said, her voice soft, but not without bite, “are born from Chaos. They spawn in the places where Order is weakest, where the threads have frayed too far. That’s why they return, Jace. That’s why no matter how many you kill, they come back.”

  Jace could see it in their eyes—the same fear, the same realization that had wormed its way into his own thoughts. This wasn’t just about quests or reputation. This was bigger.

  Molly continued, her eyes distant again, as if watching something just beyond their understanding. “When Chaos wins, the world doesn’t just end. It comes apart. Piece by piece, thread by thread, until there’s nothing left. No gods, no monsters, no magic. Just the Infinite End.”

  Her words sank deep into Jace, wrapping around his thoughts like ivy, growing, twisting, suffocating. He wanted to pull away, to dismiss it as some grand metaphor, but there was something in her voice, something so calm, so certain, that he couldn’t shake.

  “Experience, or EXP, is the currency of growth—whether personal, cosmic, or something far beyond. It’s earned when we stand against Chaos, lock eyes with it, and emerge changed. But the real strength doesn’t lie in just surviving. It’s in what we do after—in the pause, the breath we take to forge the lessons of battle into something enduring. That’s where the true power lies. We call it Cultivation, Focus, or Spending EXP. Every hard-won victory leaves its mark, not just on the world, but deep within us, sharpening our skills, fortifying our essence, aligning our very aether to something greater.”

  “Many of you may have wondered why everything in our world follows the pattern of six,” she continued, her voice soft but cutting—silk dragged across stone. “Affinities, monsters, even the metals we forge into weapons, they all follow the same path. And it is no coincidence. The Six reflects the eternal struggle between Order and Chaos, a battle that rages within each of us.”

  With a flick of her finger, she traced an unseen circle in the air. It shimmered to life, glowing gold, splitting into six perfect segments. “When you focus your energy, when you spend those hard-earned experience points, you’re not just unlocking new abilities. You’re slicing through the Chaos inside you, shaping it, bending it to your will. Each rank you ascend is another step in that battle—a victory that draws you closer to mastering the forces that shape this world.”

  The glowing segments pulsed with energy, each one humming with meaning. “The Six Ranks resonate through everything we do, everything we see: Reaction. Sensation. Formation. Creation. Ascension. Divination.”

  Molly’s gaze swept the room. “This pattern repeats endlessly. Your Speaker Rank, from the Bronze Reactionaire to the exalted Divinium Champion, mirrors this journey. Every ability, every monster, every challenge you face—it all follows this path.”

  She paused, her eyes narrowing as she leaned forward, voice thick with meaning. “Think of it this way: A child, when frustrated, lashes out—Chaos at its most primal. But as they grow, they start to learn control, though it’s still raw, still driven by emotion. A teenager, filled with anger or passion, responds to the world impulsively, still guided by that wild Chaos. And then, as they mature, they begin to reason. To use logic. To carve Order from the Chaos.”

  Her voice grew quieter, more intimate, as though she were sharing a secret only they had been meant to hear. “As they grow wiser still, they begin to see beyond Chaos—to understand creation, to live life as an art. That’s when magic transforms. It becomes more than power. It becomes expression.”

  Jace shifted in his seat, a restless energy stirring within him. His own abilities had often felt raw, though there had been moments, glimpses of something more refined, something controlled—something beautiful.

  “The Six Ranks,” Molly continued, her voice rhythmic and sure, “mirror this evolution. At first, your power is reactive, chaotic, a child’s tantrum. But as you climb, it becomes emotional, driven by feeling but still untamed. Then, it becomes precise, deliberate. And when you reach the higher levels, your magic stops being about brute force. It becomes art—your art. Something uniquely yours.”

  The six-part circle flared brighter, casting long shadows over the faces in the room. “But that’s not the end. For those few who push further, past the limits of understanding, your abilities become second nature—an extension of your being, as effortless as breathing. That is the Ascended level, the Spiritual. Beyond that?”

  She paused, her gaze holding a thousand words in a breath. “Few ever reach it. But those who do approach divinity. At that point, it’s no longer about power. It’s about harmony. Perfect alignment with the world, with yourself, with the forces that shape all universes.”

  The room was thick with silence, the air humming with Molly’s words, and Jace felt them resonate deep within him, stirring something raw and untapped. The thought of magic flowing through him as easily as breath felt impossible—yet tantalizing. There was a pull there, a hunger, a need to reach for something more.

  “You’re in this fight,” Molly said, her voice dropping to a near whisper as she stepped closer. Her gaze latched onto Jace, intense and unwavering, before flicking to another student.

  “Every action you take. Every spell. Every life you save or destroy. You’re weaving the threads. But if you stop, if you falter…”

  She didn’t finish the thought. She didn’t need to. Jace swallowed hard, his throat dry.

  “And if Chaos wins?” Molly’s voice was a soft breeze now, so quiet it was barely more than a breath. “It doesn’t just take life. It erases it. The end of everything. The silence after the final note. A last chapter that brooks no room for new stories, no new beginnings, only the cold end of all.”

  She let the silence stretch then, as if to prove her point. The hall was so still; it felt like time had paused, waiting for something—anything—to break the tension. But nothing came. Just the cold, creeping pressure of her words.

  Finally, Molly turned, her fingers tracing that invisible pattern in the air once more. “That’s why we fight,” she said, her voice distant now. “Not for glory. Not for power. But for Order. To keep the world from unraveling. And that is the Call of the Hero’s Guild, that is the Mission.”

  Abruptly, with a curt bow, Molly stepped back, ceding the stage to Brutus. As they passed each other, Jace caught a fleeting exchange between them.

  “I told you to motivate them, not terrify them,” Brutus murmured, his tone dry but tinged with disapproval.

  Molly’s lips curved into a faint, almost mischievous smile. “Fear is motivation,“ she replied, her eyes glinting as she moved past him.

  “Thank you, Miss Eidolon,” he said loudly, clearing his throat. “That was, uh... potent.” She offered another small bow, her movements graceful and measured, before he continued speaking. “Now that it’s over and no one else seems inclined to leave, please form into parties of five. Send your chosen party leader up to receive your quest, which will be distributed at random. Neat and orderly now, form a line.”

  He glanced over the students before continuing. “If you don’t have a party, or can’t decide on a leader, form a line with Miss Molly, and she’ll assign you by lot.”

  The students sprang into motion, organizing themselves into groups. Jace, Dex, Alice, and Ell quickly realized they had almost everything they needed—but they were one short.

  After a quick vote, they settled on Ell as the leader, despite her uncharacteristic reluctance. Jace noticed a flicker of genuine nervousness in her, a rare sight, but he was confident she’d handle it well. Her strategic mind and versatile powerset made her the obvious choice. The vote was nearly unanimous—three against one.

  Jace and the rest queued up to collect their quest, while Ell made her way over to Molly to find a fifth teammate.