Julia led William away from the quiet solitude of the stone bridge, plunging back into the intricate network of Aver City's streets. Her pace was brisk again, purposeful, yet William, his internal pattern-recognition subroutines now keenly focused on her, noticed the subtle deviations continued. As they neared a wide plaza dominated by buildings bearing ornate crests he vaguely associated with merchant houses, she quickly ducked down a narrower, parallel alley. Later, she deliberately crossed a busy thoroughfare mid-block rather than continuing to a seemingly more logical intersection further ahead. “Pathing algorithm remains suboptimal for efficiency,” he observed internally. “Avoidance pattern targeting specific districts or landmarks strongly indicated. High probability target zones correlate with potential Blackcombe family holdings or influence.” He understood her reluctance now, the heavy weight of the name she carried in this city, but the inefficiency still grated against his analytical sensibilities. His concern for her, however, tempered the critique. “This level of constant vigilance must be exhausting. Increased stress load is counterproductive to optimal functioning.”

  After another ten minutes of navigating the urban maze, they emerged onto a bustling square in what Julia had called the Commons District. Dominating one side stood their destination: the capital’s Adventurers Guild headquarters. It was a world away from the sturdy but modest outpost in Sharwood. This was a statement piece. a grand, multi-story structure built from massive blocks of weathered grey stone and dark, heavy timber beams. Intricate carvings flanked the arched entranceway, depicting stylized monsters and heroic figures. Banners bearing the Guild’s crest, the crossed sword and staff over a shield, hung limply in the still air. Adventurers of every description streamed in and out, a chaotic mix of classes, armour types, and weaponry. Guild HQ: Aver City. Scale: Significantly larger than Sharwood branch (~5x estimated footprint). Implies central command structure, higher resource allocation, greater operational scope, and considerably more paperwork.

  Julia paused almost imperceptibly at the threshold, taking a short, steadying breath before pushing open the heavy, double doors.

  A wave of sound, heat, and smell crashed over William. The vast common room roared with life, a chaotic symphony compared to Sharwood's muted hum. A powerfully built warrior with an axe almost as large as himself bellowed a laugh that rattled nearby tankards. A lean ranger in studded leather argued fiercely over a crumpled map with two grim-faced men in Guild livery. Near the massive central hearth, where some unidentifiable beast roasted on a spit, adventurers jostled for space, their voices raised in boasts, arguments, and shared stories. Gleaming breastplates rubbed against patched leather. Ornate staffs leaned beside dented shields. The air vibrated with energy, thick with the smells of roast meat, spilled ale, pipe smoke, sweat, damp wool, metal polish, and the faint, sharp tang of lingering disinfectant herbs trying valiantly to mask less pleasant odours. Occupancy rate: High. Noise level: Exceeding safe dB limits for prolonged exposure. Hygiene protocols: Questionable. Overall ambiance: Controlled anarchy. “Surprisingly functional ecosystem, considering the high concentration of heavily armed individuals and readily available alcohol,” William noted. “Social cohesion maintained through shared profession and probable intervention by designated enforcers (bouncers).”

  Julia scanned the room, her shoulders visibly tightening, her gaze briefly flicking towards a few individuals who glanced their way before quickly looking away, recognition, perhaps, but not welcome. William realised this return, for her, was fraught with social and political complexity far beyond his own simple status as an anomaly. She navigated the throng with practiced grace, heading directly for the long, heavily scarred bar dominating one wall.

  Behind it, a burly man with a truly impressive, beer-stained walrus moustache was wiping down the counter with a damp cloth, his movements economical and long-practiced. He looked up as they approached, his eyes crinkling at the corners, then widening in broad recognition as he focused on Julia.

  “Well, blast my barrels, if it isn't Julia Blackcombe!” he boomed, his voice easily cutting through the considerable din, causing several nearby heads to turn. William saw Julia flinch almost imperceptibly at the use of her family name, her back stiffening slightly. User discomfort detected. Trigger: Public use of 'Blackcombe' surname. Sensitivity level: High. “Subtlety,” William thought dryly, observing the bartender, “clearly not a primary parameter in this individual's social interaction protocols.” “Been more than a season, lass!” the bartender continued jovially. “Thought the wilds had claimed you for good!”

  Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

  Julia forced a polite, tight smile. “Hello, Max. Still polishing this old wood, I see.” She subtly, almost casually, rested her hand near her belt, ensuring the small, circular metal disc clipped there was visible. It was etched with the Guild’s sword-and-staff crest and a series of complex runes William didn't recognise, but one symbol stood out, rendered in what looked like inlaid silver. A single, stylized letter 'A'. Rank indicator observed: 'A'. Hierarchical position: Assumed high.

  Max's gaze flickered down to the badge. The boisterous bonhomie instantly deflated, replaced by a more serious, respectful demeanour. He even straightened up slightly. “Ah. Right then. A-rank business, is it?” His voice was several decibels lower now. “What can old Max do for the Guild's finest?”

  “We need to see Guildmaster Borin,” Julia stated, her voice calm and level, all business now. “Edward should have arrived earlier, reporting urgent intelligence from the Sharwood region.”

  Max nodded, leaning forward slightly over the counter, his expression turning grave. “Aye, Edward came through. Like a storm front, he did. Straight up to see the Guildmaster, wouldn't take no for an answer. Said Sharwood was seeing goblin probes, coordinated.” He dropped his voice further, glancing around conspiratorially. “The timing's bad, lass. Borin's been locked in meetings since sunup. Report after report… bad news from the southern border, patrols gone missing north of Tallenfall, and now Edward's news from Shardwood...” He shook his head. “Something's brewing, Julia. Something big. Word is Neverus isn't just stirring. He's making a major move south.” Threat assessment update: Multiple reports indicating coordinated, potentially large-scale enemy action across several fronts. Probability of imminent major conflict: Trending towards certainty.

  “Is Edward still with him?” Julia asked, ignoring the rumours, focused on the objective.

  “Aye, fourth floor, Guildmaster's private council room.” Max confirmed. “Stairs are at the back, past the kitchens. Got Guild Guard posted today, things are tense. But,” he winked, tapping the spot where her badge was visible, “tell 'em Max sent you, show 'em that. They'll let an A-ranker pass.”

  “Thank you, Max.” With a brief nod, Julia turned, William falling into step behind her as she cut a path through the less crowded edges of the pub towards the rear staircase.

  The contrast between floors was immediate and stark. They left the roaring chaos below, ascending stairs muffled by thick, dark carpeting. Polished wood panels lined the corridor walls, interspersed with heavy tapestries depicting heroic battles or intricate maps of Aver. The air was quieter here, smelling faintly of beeswax and old parchment. Doors were closed, conversations behind them muted, serious. This was clearly the administrative and command level. Transition from public access/social hub to restricted operational/command level confirmed.

  The fourth-floor landing opened into a wider corridor, guarded by two individuals who made the rowdy adventurers downstairs look like amateurs. They stood flanking a heavy, rune-carved door, clad head-to-toe in gleaming, functional plate armour, identical sets bearing the Guild's crest on the breastplate. Their faces were hidden behind closed helms, visors down, and their gauntleted hands rested firmly on the pommels of the large swords sheathed at their hips. They stood utterly still, radiating disciplined menace. Security protocol: Tier 1 personnel. Equipment: Standardized heavy plate, longswords. Stance: Alert, prepared. Access level: Highly restricted. “Okay,” William thought, feeling distinctly underdressed and out of place. “Definitely meeting someone in upper management.”

  One guard raised a gauntleted hand as they approached. “Halt,” the voice was deep, muffled by the helm, utterly devoid of inflection. “State your purpose.”

  Julia stopped, standing straight, her earlier unease masked by pure professionalism now. She presented her badge clearly. “Julia Blackcombe, A-rank,” she stated, her voice ringing with quiet authority in the hushed corridor. “And my associate, William. We were directed by Max from the common room. We're expected, here to join Edward's debriefing with Guildmaster Borin regarding the Tallenwood situation.”