Myrina walked like the street belonged to her—like the cobblestones had been laid just to keep up with her boots.
I walked like the street might suddenly remember I existed and decide I'd been a mistake.
"Stop hovering," she said without looking back. "You're going to wear a hole through my shadow."
"I'm not hovering," I muttered, because arguing was easier than admitting my heart had been sprinting since sunrise.
She glanced over her shoulder, grin already loaded. "You're hovering."
I tightened my grip on the cord under my shirt. The guild emblem pressed cold against my chest—heavier than metal had any right to be. Like it was checking to see if I'd run away in the night… and staying heavy so I wouldn't.
Myrina slowed just enough for me to catch up without having to jog like an idiot.
"Nervous?" she asked.
"No."
She made a little sound—half laugh, half scoff—that meant liar, but she didn't push. Myrina almost never pushed when it mattered. She nudged.
"Good," she said. "Stay nervous. It keeps you from doing something stupid."
"That doesn't sound like advice."
"That sounds like perfect advice." She bumped my shoulder with hers—light, confident—like she could knock fear out of me through bone. "First day of errands. Don't make me regret ten silver."
Ten silver.
The number clinked inside my skull like it had gotten stuck between my ears and refused to leave.
"I'm not going to waste it," I said, too quiet to count.
Myrina stopped at the guild doors, palm on the wood. For a heartbeat her grin softened—just enough to show there was something gentle under all the sharpness.
"You'll be fine," she said. "Errands don't bite."
I stared at her gloves instead of her eyes. Leather scuffed at the knuckles. Cuts already healing on her hands like her skin had learned to recover out of spite.
"People bite," I said.
Myrina barked one laugh. "Yeah. That's the fun part."
Then she pushed the door open and strode in like she'd never been afraid of anything in her life.
I followed.
Heat and noise hit me like a shove. My gaze dropped automatically.
Hands.
Tankards. Quills. Coins. Fingers tapping impatience into tabletops. A bandaged wrist slamming a fist down hard enough to rattle cups.
Hands were honest. Hands told you what a person planned to do before their face tried to pretend otherwise.
Myrina didn't stop. She cut straight across the hall toward the main quest board—the big one, for real adventurers—and I trailed behind her like a misplaced shadow trying to pretend it belonged.
Near the benches, Barrek sat in his usual corner like the guild had been built around him. Tankard welded to one hand, sword hand relaxed but ready—like even drinking was something he did halfway to a fight.
He spotted us and lifted his drink in mock salute. "Well, well. The pup didn't bolt."
My face went hot. I kept my eyes on his sword hand: scarred knuckles, loose grip, the lazy confidence of someone who'd survived enough to get bored about it.
Myrina swung a glare at him that wasn't really a glare. "Morning, Barrek. Try not to die of boredom today."
Barrek snorted. "I'd have to stop watching you run your mouth first."
A couple veterans nearby leaned in, grinning like they'd just been handed a free show.
One of them—a woman with a braid as thick as rope—jerked her chin at me. "That the errand boy?"
"G-minus royalty," another man called, loud enough for half the hall. "Careful, kid. Paper cuts are vicious."
Laughter rolled over me.
It stung—not because it was sharp, but because it was easy. Like they'd looked at me and already decided who I was, and their decision didn't require my permission.
Myrina's palm landed on my head, firm and grounding. "He's going to outlive all of you," she said. "He's too stubborn to die."
Barrek tipped his tankard at me. "That so, pup?"
I nodded. Too fast.
Barrek chuckled. "He nods like a bird."
Something in me snapped—not big, not heroic. Just… reflex.
"Better than flapping my mouth like you," I blurted.
The words hung in the air.
For a heartbeat, the noise around us dipped like the room itself had leaned closer to listen.
Myrina froze.
Barrek froze.
Then Barrek threw his head back and laughed like I'd gifted him the best joke of the week. The braided woman slapped the table so hard her tankard jumped.
"Ha!" she barked. "He's got teeth."
My face went hotter. I hadn't meant to— I'd just… reacted. Like a cornered animal finding out it had claws.
Barrek pointed at me with his tankard. "All right, pup. I'll allow it. But if you're joining the guild, you better learn the most important skill."
Myrina groaned like she could already feel the headache forming.
Barrek leaned forward. "When a veteran tells you to do something stupid, you say—"
"No," Myrina and I said at the same time.
Barrek's grin widened. "Good. You're learning."
Myrina hooked her thumb toward the errand board on the side wall—smaller, messier, papers pinned at odd angles like nobody respected them enough to keep them straight.
"Go," she told me. "Pick something from the errand board. Something that won't get you killed, maimed, or eaten."
"That's… specific."
"You're welcome." She turned away, already scanning the main board. "I'm heading out. Don't wander."
I followed her gaze without meaning to.
Pinned among the big parchments was a notice with C-RANK REQUESTED stamped across the top. Myrina's expression sharpened. She tore it down with one clean motion, like she'd been waiting for it.
"Hey," Barrek called after her. "Don't drag the kid into anything dumb."
Myrina didn't look back. "I only drag him into smart dumb things."
Then she was gone—already pushing through the crowd, already sliding into the guild's rhythm like the hall had been built to fit her.
And I was left in front of the errand board like someone had set me down and forgotten to come back.
I stared at the pinned papers.
My brain tried to read them all at once and failed.
Delivery — south district — two bundles.Carry water — temple steps — morning only.Chimney sweep — bring your own brush.Find missing cat — answers to…
I swallowed and leaned closer, squinting. My fingers hovered near the parchment but didn't touch. If I touched it, it meant I'd chosen. If I chose, I could choose wrong.
Behind me, boots scraped.
Someone cleared their throat.
I didn't move fast enough.
"Kid," a man said, impatient. "You going to stare at that paper until it turns into gold?"
My face burned. I shifted aside, but my eyes stayed locked on the board like it was the only solid thing in the room.
"I'm… choosing," I said, and it came out thin.
"Well choose with your feet somewhere else," he muttered. "Some of us have work."
I stepped back too far and nearly bumped into someone else.
"Watch it," she snapped.
"Still here, pup?" Barrek's rough voice carried. "Board's not going to bite. Might bore you to death, though."
The veterans laughed again—softer this time. Still sharp. But less hungry.
"Maybe he can't read," the braided woman called, not unkind, just loud.
"I can read," I snapped, too quick.
"Prove it," someone else said.
My throat tightened. I could feel attention turning—eyes swinging my direction like blades.
I forced myself to point at the first parchment my gaze landed on.
"Delivery to… the south district," I read, stumbling only once.
"Look at him go," Barrek said. "Next he'll read a whole sentence."
Heat crawled up my neck. I wanted to disappear into my shirt.
"Hey."
A small voice—close, careful.
I flinched and turned too fast.
Mya stood there with her satchel hugged tight against her chest like armor. She didn't look right at my face. Her gaze dipped to my hands—like she understood the rule without anyone needing to explain it.
"Hi," she said.
My throat tried to close. I pried it open.
"H-hi."
Barrek boomed from behind us, delighted. "Ah. Reinforcements."
Mya startled at his volume, shoulders jumping.
Beside her stood a woman with ink-stained fingertips and a small leather case clipped to her belt. Same dark hair as Mya, but her posture was straighter—sharper. Her eyes were the kind that didn't soften unless they chose to.
"You're Trey," she said.
I stared at her hands: long fingers, clean nails with dark stains at the edges—ink, herbs, something that said she worked with mixtures that could heal… or harm.
"Yes."
Mya swallowed. "This is my mother. Elenya."
Elenya gave a short nod—neither warm nor cold. Measured.
"I don't like the look of this place," she said, voice meant only for us.
Barrek leaned over his bench like he couldn't help himself. "Don't worry, alchemist. We don't bite. Not unless you start it."
Elenya's eyes flicked to him. "Is that so?"
Barrek's grin faltered for half a heartbeat.
The braided woman laughed. "Careful, Barrek. She might poison you."
Elenya didn't smile. "If I poison anyone, it'll be because they deserve it."
For a moment, the veterans went quiet—as if the guild itself had blinked.
Then Barrek barked a laugh, loud and pleased. "Ha! I like her."
Mya exhaled like she'd been holding her breath for days.
Elenya's gaze returned to me. "So. You're staring at paper. Is that how the guild trains children now?"
My face heated. "I was… choosing."
Mya's voice came out small but stubborn. "He's thinking."
Elenya arched an eyebrow at her daughter. "Thinking is fine. Thinking too long gets you stepped on."
Mya flushed. "I— I can help him."
My heart thumped.
"You don't have to," I blurted, because accepting help felt like admitting weakness.
Mya's fingers tightened on her satchel strap. "I want to."
Elenya studied us both like she was weighing something valuable and fragile.
Then she nodded once. "All right. If you're doing an errand, you're doing one with supervision."
"M-Mother—"
"I'll walk you there," Elenya said. "Then I'll go. I'm not hovering. I'm preventing stupidity."
That… should have embarrassed me.
Instead, it felt like a rope tossed across deep water.
From the counter, Nerissa's voice floated over, bright and familiar. "Mya? Elenya? Look at you two. Back so soon?"
Nerissa leaned forward with her easy smile, like the guild hadn't swallowed her whole and taught her to smile through chaos.
Mya's posture loosened. "Hi, Nerissa."
Elenya's gaze softened—just a notch. "Receptionist."
"Nerissa," Nerissa corrected, amused. "You make it sound like a title."
"It is a title," Elenya said. "This place runs because of you."
Nerissa's smile sharpened. "Flattery. Dangerous in here."
For the first time, Elenya's mouth twitched—almost a smile.
Nerissa's eyes slid to me. "Trey. First errand day?"
I nodded too fast. "Yes."
"Breathe," Nerissa said quietly. "You're not in trouble."
Only then did I realize I'd been holding my breath. I let it out.
Mya stepped closer to the board beside me. She didn't take over. She didn't crowd. She just… stood shoulder-to-shoulder, like she was offering her presence as a shield.
"What do you want?" she asked, gentle.
I stared at the papers, then at her hands as she pointed softly to a few choices. "I… want something safe."
Mya nodded like that was the most reasonable request anyone had ever made. "Safe is good."
"And useful," Elenya added.
"And doable," Nerissa said, tapping a finger against the board. "Don't take 'carry barrels' unless you want your arms to fall off."
Barrek called, "Take it! Build character!"
Elenya didn't even raise her voice. "Build character somewhere else."
Barrek lifted both hands. "All right, all right."
Mya scanned the board and tapped a parchment that looked newer than most—darker ink, neater hand.
"Herbalist request," she murmured. "Garden help."
Elenya's eyes sharpened. "Which herbalist?"
"Mistress Orla."
Elenya nodded slowly. "Orla's stern. Fair. Doesn't tolerate nonsense."
My stomach tightened. "Stern sounds… not safe."
Mya's lips twitched. "Stern is safe. It means she'll tell you when you're wrong instead of letting you ruin something."
That made awful, perfect sense.
Nerissa slid a finger along the parchment. "Garden help is good for beginners. Mostly sorting and bundling. Sometimes pulling weeds if Orla's in a mood."
Mya looked at me. "We could do it together."
The we landed like a hand on my shoulder. Heavy. Warm.
"What if I mess it up?" I asked before I could stop myself.
Mya shook her head quickly. "We won't."
Elenya cut in, practical as a blade. "If you work together, you split the work. And if you split the work, you split the reward."
I swallowed. "Okay."
Nerissa pulled out a form. "Names here."
Mya stepped forward and wrote her name neatly, like she'd never once had to fight ink.
Then it was my turn.
My hand hovered over the quill like it was a weapon and I wasn't sure which end was safe.
"It's just your name, Trey," Nerissa said softly.
I stared at my fingers—then at the quill—and forced my hand to obey. Trembling, I wrote:
Trey Austere.
The letters looked like they'd been dragged out of me, but they were legible. Real.
Mya glanced at it. "You write nice."
"It's… just letters."
"It's still nice," she said, quiet and stubborn.
My ears warmed.
Nerissa stamped the form. "Orla's place is west lane, behind the dye shop."
Mya nodded. "I know it."
Elenya touched her daughter's shoulder. "I'll walk you there. Then I go back to the shop. I have orders."
Mya nodded, then looked at me. "Ready?"
I forced my shoulders down. "Ready."
Barrek called after us, "Don't let the weeds win, pup!"
A veteran woman added, "And if Orla yells, just nod. Everyone nods."
I nodded automatically—then realized what I'd done and wanted the street to swallow me.
Barrek laughed, delighted.
Mya's mouth twitched like she was fighting a smile.
Elenya's eyes flicked to my nod. "You nod a lot."
"I know."
"Stop," Elenya said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.
I tried. My neck felt like it belonged to someone else.
Outside, the air felt thinner. Cleaner. Like you could breathe without being judged for it.
Mya walked beside me. Elenya walked slightly behind—close enough I felt her presence like weight, like protection, like expectation.
We passed carts and vendors. Somewhere, bread baked—warm yeast and hope.
Mya glanced at me while pretending not to. "Did you sleep?"
"Not much."
"Because of the guild?"
I stared at her hands gripping her satchel strap. "Because of the ten silver."
Elenya's steps slowed a fraction—listening without saying she was listening.
Mya's eyes widened. "It was that much?"
I nodded once. Slow. Careful. "My sister… didn't hesitate."
"Myrina is… strong," Mya whispered.
"Yeah," I said, and the word came out like a sigh.
Elenya finally spoke, voice low. "Strength isn't free, boy. If she paid ten silver, she expects you to grow into it."
My stomach tightened. "I know."
Elenya's gaze pinned me for a beat. "Do you?"
I swallowed. "I'm trying."
Her eyes held mine—then slid away. "Good. Trying is the minimum."
We reached a narrow lane that smelled like dye and wet cloth. Behind the dye shop sat a fenced garden, green spilling over uneven boards like it couldn't be contained.
A sign hung on the gate in neat letters:
ORLA — HERBS & REMEDIES
Elenya stopped. "This is it."
Mya nodded. "Thank you."
Elenya didn't leave immediately. Her eyes moved over the garden with practiced assessment—like she was already measuring what might go wrong and how fast she could fix it.
Then she looked at me.
"If Orla's apprentice gives you trouble," she said, "walk away. You don't owe anyone your pride."
My throat tightened. "Yes, ma'am."
Elenya's eyebrow lifted slightly at my politeness.
Mya's cheeks colored.
Elenya leaned toward her daughter, voice lower. "When you're done, you go straight back to the guild. No wandering. No detours."
"I know," Mya said quickly.
Then Elenya looked at me one last time. "Trey."
I stiffened.
"Don't make my daughter carry everything while you panic."
My face heated. "I won't."
Elenya nodded once and turned away—already moving like fear was something that wasted time.
Mya watched her go until she disappeared.
Then she exhaled hard, like she'd been holding in a storm.
"She's…" I started.
"Scary?" Mya offered, quiet.
I hesitated. "A little."
"She's nice," Mya said. "Just… sharp."
"Sharp is safe," I echoed.
Mya blinked at me, surprised. "You listened."
"I listen," I muttered. "I just don't… talk."
Her hands fidgeted with her satchel strap, but she looked pleased anyway.
We pushed the gate open and stepped into the garden.
The smell hit immediately—earth, crushed leaves, something bitter and clean that made my nose sting. It smelled like medicine and patience and work.
A woman stood at a table stacked with bundles of herbs. Gray hair pulled back tight. Sleeves rolled up. Hands moving fast, tying twine like she'd been doing it since before the guild had been built.
She looked up.
Her gaze landed on Mya first, then flicked to the cord under my shirt—like she could see the emblem through fabric.
"Guild kids," she said. Not an insult. A fact.
Mya dipped her head. "Good morning, Mistress Orla."
Orla's eyes narrowed. "Alchemist's girl."
Mya nodded. "Yes."
Orla's gaze shifted to me.
My throat tightened. I watched her hands—rough, stained green, nails short. Working hands. Honest hands.
"Trey," I said. "Trey Austere."
Orla grunted. "Austere. Myrina's brother."
My stomach dropped. "You know her?"
"Everyone knows her." Orla jerked her chin toward three baskets on the ground. "You two took the garden errand? Then work."
She pointed like the baskets were enemies to be defeated.
"Mixed bundles from yesterday. I need them sorted by use and tied properly. Fever herbs there. Digestive there. Sleep there."
I blinked. "How do we—"
Orla's eyes snapped to me. "You read."
My stomach tightened. "I—"
"You have eyes, don't you?" Orla snapped, impatience sharp as a knife edge.
Mya stepped in quickly. "There are labels, Trey. Look."
She pointed to small wooden tags stuck into the bundles. The writing was neat and clear.
My throat loosened. "Okay."
Orla's voice stayed sharp. "Don't bruise the leaves. Don't mix the roots. If you make a mistake, you start over."
I almost nodded, caught myself at the last second, and froze like my own neck had betrayed me.
Orla's eyes narrowed. "Don't nod at me like you understand if you don't."
My face burned. "I… understand."
"Prove it," Orla said. "Tell me what fever herbs smell like."
My mind went blank.
Mya gently lifted a bundle. "Minty," she said. "And a little bitter."
Orla's eyes flicked to her. "Good. Sleep herbs?"
"Sweet," Mya answered, sniffing. "Like dried flowers."
Orla grunted approval, then looked at me. "Digestive."
I leaned in and inhaled carefully.
Sharp. Peppery. Like it wanted to crawl into my nose and punch me for being curious.
"Like… pepper," I said.
Orla's mouth twitched—almost amusement. "Close enough. Start."
We did.
At first my fingers felt clumsy. I lifted a bundle too tight and the leaves cracked faintly.
My stomach dropped like I'd broken something expensive.
Mya's hand darted in, steadying the bundle without snatching it away. "Slow," she whispered. "Like this."
She demonstrated—letting the bundle rest in her palm as she turned it, reading the tag without squeezing.
I copied her.
My hands shook less when I matched her pace.
We sorted in quiet, except for rustling leaves and twine scraping. For a few minutes it felt like we might actually succeed without anything going wrong.
Then a shadow fell across the table.
A lanky teen stood there—older than us by years, hair tied back with cloth, apron stained green. His hands were stained like he worked, but his expression said he hated that he had to.
He looked at our piles, then at our cords.
His face twisted like he'd stepped in something.
"Seriously?" he said. "Orla's hiring guild kids now?"
Orla didn't even look up. "Shut your mouth, Dain."
Dain's lips curled. "They're going to ruin your stock."
Mya stiffened, fingers tightening around the twine.
I stared at Dain's hands. Long fingers. Stained. Idle—too idle, like he was used to talking instead of doing.
"We're being careful," Mya said, small but firm.
Dain snorted. "Careful. Sure. Guild kids are always careful until they drop something and cry."
My body tried to shrink. Shoulders pulling in without permission.
Orla's hands paused. "Dain."
Dain spread his hands. "What? It's true."
Orla finally looked up. Her eyes were hard. "You want to complain, take it outside."
Dain's gaze slid to me. "This one looks like he'd faint if you sneezed at him."
Heat crawled up my neck.
My mouth opened. Nothing came out.
I swallowed—hard—forced air into my lungs like I was dragging it up from deep water.
"I don't faint," I said.
Dain blinked, then laughed like it was adorable. "That's what they all say."
Orla's voice snapped. "Dain. Either help or leave."
Dain's grin sharpened. "Fine. I'll help."
He leaned in and snatched a bundle from my pile. His grip was rough. The leaves crinkled.
My stomach dropped.
Mya's voice went sharp—sharper than I'd heard it yet. "Don't squeeze it."
Dain paused, surprised.
Mya's cheeks were pink, but her eyes were locked on his hand. "You'll bruise it."
Dain stared at her, then smirked. "Look at you. Alchemist's girl thinks she's Orla."
Orla's tone turned cold. "Alchemist's girl knows what she's talking about. You don't."
Dain's smirk faltered.
He dropped the bundle back down—less rough this time—and clicked his tongue.
"Whatever," he muttered. "I'm going to prep the drying racks."
He walked off with stiff shoulders.
Mya's hands shook slightly when she returned to tying twine.
"You okay?" I asked.
She glanced at me quickly, then away. "Yes."
Her voice was too tight.
I watched her fingers fight the twine, then steadied mine—because Elenya's warning still rang in my ears.
Don't make her carry everything while you panic.
"I'm sorry," I said, quiet.
Mya blinked. "For what?"
"For… being what he said."
Mya shook her head hard. "He's annoying. That's all."
"I should've said something else," I murmured.
"You did," Mya said. "You spoke."
And somehow that sounded like praise—like it counted.
Orla watched us without making it obvious.
After a while, she grunted. "Your fever pile is neat."
Mya's shoulders loosened.
Orla's gaze slid to mine. "Your digestive pile is… acceptable."
That word hit like a reward.
I swallowed. "Thank you."
Orla snorted. "Don't thank me. Finish."
We worked until the baskets were sorted and the bundles tied. Orla inspected them with a critical eye, tugging a knot here, sniffing a bundle there like she could smell lies in leaves.
Dain returned once, saw Orla checking, and hovered like he wanted to speak but didn't dare.
Orla finally nodded once.
"Done," she said. "You didn't ruin anything."
Mya exhaled like she'd been holding a boulder.
My shoulders dropped like I'd been carrying a stone I didn't notice until it was gone.
Orla grabbed a stamped slip from a shelf, pressed with the guild crest. "Take this back. Nerissa will pay you."
Mya accepted it with both hands.
Orla's eyes flicked to me. "Trey."
My stomach tightened. "Yes?"
Orla's gaze stayed blunt. "You're slow. But you're not careless."
I didn't know what to do with that. My throat tightened anyway.
"I—"
Orla waved a hand. "Go."
We stepped out into the dye-scented lane.
Mya held the stamped slip against her chest like it might blow away.
As I walked, the emblem under my shirt shifted with each step—cold iron, steady weight—
and then, for a heartbeat—
warm.
Like it approved.
Like it remembered.