The boy at our door looked like he'd sprinted across the whole city and argued with the wind the entire way.
His chest hitched so hard his collar bounced. Sweat glued his hair into dark strands, and when he braced a palm against the doorframe, his fingers trembled like they couldn't decide whether to hold him up or bolt.
Myrina didn't step back.
She didn't step forward either.
She turned—only slightly—just enough that her hand could rest near the knife by the counter. Not raised. Not threatening.
Just there.
Like her body remembered danger even when her face tried to pretend it didn't.
"C–C-rank… Myrina Austere?" the boy rasped.
Myrina's eyes checked his hands first—empty—then the guild sash tangled across his shoulder. Only then did she meet his gaze.
"That's me."
The boy swallowed and bowed so fast his fringe slapped his forehead. "T-Todd. Guild runner. I— I'm sorry for barging in. Nerissa sent me."
I stayed where Myrina had told me to stay, half-hidden behind the chair, perched on the edge like a nervous bird. My hands were clasped so tightly my knuckles ached.
I didn't look at Todd's face.
I looked at his hands.
If someone was going to hurt you, it usually started with the hands.
Myrina shoved a cup at him like she was arming a soldier. "Drink."
Todd drank like the water had personally offended him. It ran down his chin before he wiped it away with the back of his wrist.
Myrina shut the door with her heel and set the knife down.
Not far.
Todd blinked like he'd only just noticed I existed.
Myrina jerked her chin. "That's Trey. My brother."
Todd's eyes dropped immediately to the cord under my shirt.
My emblem.
My stomach tightened—sharp, instant—as if someone had yanked a string inside me.
Todd's expression brightened too quickly. The smile of someone who'd found a coin in the gutter and decided fate was flirting.
"Oh! You're the new kid, right? G-minus?"
I didn't answer fast enough. My tongue felt glued to my teeth.
Todd kept going anyway, words tumbling like a cart with a broken wheel. "Which means you're my junior. Right?"
His fingers tapped the rim of the cup. Tap—tap—tap. Too fast. Too nervous.
He sat up straighter, puffed his chest, and declared, "I'm F-plus."
He said it like the world should rearrange itself around the fact.
My mouth opened before my brain could stop it. "Oh."
Todd nodded, satisfied. "Yeah."
Myrina's lips twitched. "Congratulations, Todd. You've successfully outranked a ten-year-old."
Todd's ears went red. "I— I didn't mean— it's just— guild ranks matter."
"They do," Myrina agreed, and the humor slid right out of her voice like a blade leaving a sheath. "So talk."
Todd seemed grateful for seriousness—something he could hide behind.
He set the cup down with both hands, as if steadying it would steady him too.
"There's an urgent request," he said. "Directly from the capital."
The word capital landed like a stone in my gut.
Myrina's gaze sharpened. "From Avalonia's heart?"
Todd nodded fast. "Seal and everything. The guild's been told to gather all experienced adventurers by tomorrow morning. The details will be announced at the hall by an expedition commander."
Myrina didn't look surprised.
She looked like someone who'd been listening to thunder for days, waiting for the storm to finally arrive.
"Who's the commander?" she asked.
"They didn't tell me," Todd said. "Nerissa said the name would be announced publicly."
"What did the message actually say?" Myrina pressed.
"Not much," Todd admitted. "Just… urgent. Come prepared for travel. And—"
He hesitated.
Myrina didn't blink. "And?"
Todd swallowed. "It said they want fighters who've faced miasma… and those willing to enter deep dungeon."
The room went quiet so suddenly it felt like someone had stuffed cloth into the air.
Deep.
My mind tried to tie that word to something safe.
It failed.
Myrina exhaled through her nose, slow and controlled. "All right."
Todd glanced at me again, then back at her. "So I should… deliver this to the veterans too."
Myrina nodded once. "Go."
Todd practically launched off the chair. The legs squealed. He bowed again. "Yes, ma'am. Sorry again."
He got to the door, then paused like the memory hit him late.
"Oh—and Nerissa said the hall will be packed. Don't be late."
Myrina lifted two fingers in a casual salute. "Tell her I heard."
Todd fled into the street like a startled cat.
When the door clicked shut, the house felt smaller. Like it had less air in it.
I stared at the table's wood grain, tracing the lines with my eyes like they might spell out a way to stop what was coming.
Myrina didn't sit.
She paced once—two steps, turn—then stopped and looked at me.
"Don't make that face," she said.
"I'm not making a face," I lied.
"Yes, you are." She rubbed her forehead like she could massage worry out of her skull. "It's the same face you made when you were five and you thought the bathwater was a sea monster."
"That was—"
"Traumatic," she finished, deadpan.
A sound escaped me. Not a laugh.
Not not a laugh either.
For half a heartbeat, her eyes softened.
Then the fear crawled back up my throat.
"What is the dungeon?" I asked.
Myrina's gaze drifted past me, like she was staring at a place she didn't want to remember. "You want the surface story?"
I nodded.
"The Great Abyss Dungeon sits where Avalonia and what's left of Chimmeria glare at each other across a scar in the world," she said. Calm voice. Heavy words. "It's a hole. A wound. People go in, the world tries to swallow them… and sometimes it spits treasure back out."
"That's not—"
"It's accurate," she cut in.
I swallowed. My throat felt too narrow for air.
"You've never been there?" I asked, quietly.
"I've never been beyond Azuris and the nearby villages," she said. Honest. Flat. Tired. "I've spent my life doing local quests—keeping roofs from collapsing and farmers from being eaten. Everything I know about the dungeon comes from other adventurers' stories."
The way she said it—no pride, no shame, just truth—made my chest pinch.
"So why would you go?" I asked.
Myrina's mouth opened.
Closed.
She looked away.
I hated the silence more than any scary answer.
"I'm not saying I will," she said, and it sounded like she was arguing with herself. "I'm saying we listen tomorrow."
I nodded too quickly.
Myrina sighed. "Stop nodding like your head's about to fall off."
I tried.
I really did.
That night we did chores the way people do when they're pretending the world hasn't tilted. We cleaned. We ate stew and acted like taste mattered. Myrina made one more joke about Todd's F-plus like it was a rare illness, and I laughed because she wanted me to.
But when I lay down, the dark felt thicker than usual.
Like it had corners.
Like it had teeth.
***
The next morning, Myrina moved like someone who hadn't slept and decided to fight the day out of spite.
She tied her hair back. Tightened her belt. Checked her satchel twice. She even whistled while she worked.
The whistle sounded fake.
Outside, the air bit sharp and clean enough to sting my nose. Azuris smelled like salt, damp stone, and distant fish—comforting things.
My stomach didn't care.
I hovered close to Myrina's elbow like it was an anchor.
She bumped me with her shoulder. "Still hovering."
"I'm not hovering," I muttered.
"You're hovering with extra worry."
I stared at her gloved hand swinging at her side. "Are you going?"
Myrina didn't look at me. "Maybe yes. Maybe no. I don't know."
"That's not—"
"I know." She glanced over with a grin that didn't reach her eyes. "But if I tell you 'yes' right now, you'll start breathing like a dying fish again."
"I don't—"
"You do."
Heat crawled up my neck.
She slowed her stride so I wouldn't trip over myself trying to keep up. Her voice softened, just a little. "Trey. We'll hear what they say. Then we decide."
"You don't know it'll be okay," I said.
"Nope," she agreed, far too cheerfully.
My stomach lurched.
Then she leaned closer like she was about to share the secret of the universe. "But you know what helps with worry?"
I blinked. "What?"
"Food."
I stared at her.
"After we get to the guild," she said, "you go to the market and get something good. Something greasy. Something that tries to kill you with salt."
"I don't want—"
"Not optional." Her tone snapped into command. "I'm ordering you as your superior officer."
"You're not an officer."
"I am in this house."
Despite myself, relief warmed my ribs. She was still Myrina. Not a statue carved out of fear.
"I don't like the market," I admitted.
Myrina's grin sharpened. "Because you're scared to go alone?"
My mouth locked.
"…Yes."
She made a pleased sound like she'd caught a fish with her bare hands. "Then take someone with you. Mya. Finn. Someone. Worst case, ask Barrek."
I stopped walking for half a heartbeat.
Barrek beside me in a crowded market—his shoulders like a wall, his voice like a shovel—made my skin crawl.
"I'll go alone," I said instantly.
Myrina burst out laughing. "See? Problem solved."
"That's not— you—"
"You just needed proper motivation."
I tried not to smile.
I failed.
When the guild hall came into view, I finally understood what Todd meant by packed.
Carriages clogged the street. Horses snorted fog into the cold air. Adventurers tightened straps and checked blades. Someone wrestled a barrel onto a wagon while loudly insulting the wheel as if the wheel had done it on purpose.
Near one of the cleaner carriages stood two soldiers in armor so polished it looked freshly born. The Avalonia crest caught the light on their chests—bright enough that my eyes flinched away.
Their hands were relaxed, but ready.
Different from guild hands.
Guild hands were calloused and casual, always half-reckless.
These hands were disciplined.
Like they'd been trained to kill without emotion.
I tugged Myrina's sleeve. "Are those soldiers?"
Myrina's eyes narrowed. "Looks like it."
"You've seen them before?"
"Not up close." She watched them for a long moment. "I know the crest. I don't know the people."
That didn't help.
Inside the hall, noise hit like a wall—voices stacked on voices, sharp with questions and worry. The air smelled of leather, oil, sweat, and steel.
Too many bodies.
Too close.
Everyone braced like they expected the floor to open beneath them.
A small platform had been dragged near the main quest board.
And on it stood a man who looked like he'd been built for war and then never allowed to stop.
Silver-steel armor edged in gold. Crest stamped proud on his chest. A massive sword on his back. A shield thick enough to stop a charging beast.
Golden beard.
Eyes like hammered iron.
When he spoke, the hall obeyed.
"Silence."
One word, and it felt like it pressed against my ribs.
Murmurs died in waves.
"My name is Garrand Vox Myrmidon," he said. "High noble of Avalonia's capital. Expedition commander under the crown."
A ripple moved through the hall at the word noble—equal parts awe and resentment.
Someone near us muttered, "That's not some city lord. That's a capital name."
I looked at Myrina's hands.
Her fingers had gone still again.
Garrand's voice stayed steady, like a drumbeat. "An expedition team was ambushed within the Great Abyss Dungeon. Floor forty-three."
"Forty-three?" someone shouted. "That deep?"
"Who the hell was down there?" another barked.
Garrand didn't react. His expression didn't change.
But the pressure in the air did—like the room had suddenly become smaller and there was less space to breathe.
"Those who were down there," Garrand said, "were loyal to Avalonia."
That wasn't an answer.
Boots scraped. Someone cursed under their breath.
Garrand continued like dissent was background noise. "We have reason to believe Chimmerian forces were involved. The floor must be retaken. Our people must be retrieved."
"You want us to fight Chimmerians underground?" a man shouted.
"If you don't want to, sit down!" a woman snapped back.
A third voice, quieter but colder, muttered, "Chimmerians don't fight fair."
That line chilled me more than the rest. It wasn't bravado.
It was experience.
I tugged Myrina's sleeve again. "Floor forty-three?" I whispered. "Is the dungeon… like a tower? Why do they call it floors?"
"It's underground," Myrina murmured, bending down so her words wouldn't carry. "Like stairs that don't end. People call them floors because no one can agree what else to call them."
"And why is it… so dangerous?"
Her eyes flicked to the crowd, then back to me. "Deeper means thicker miasma. Less air that wants you alive."
My throat tightened until swallowing hurt.
Garrand lifted a gauntleted hand. "We are recruiting from all eight cities. Fighters. Scouts. Healers. Anyone with proven guild experience."
A veteran near the front spat. "Proven means what? B-rank and up?"
Garrand tilted his head slightly. His voice didn't get louder.
It didn't need to.
"Proven means you have survived what most do not. Your guild records will speak."
Looks passed between adventurers like silent arguments.
Myrina's jaw tightened.
I felt it like a warning bell.
"Don't," I whispered.
Myrina didn't look at me. "We're listening," she murmured back, but it sounded like she was trying to convince herself too.
Garrand's gaze swept the room again, and his voice sharpened.
"And now… the reward."
The entire hall leaned forward like pulled by the same invisible hook.
"For successful completion," Garrand said, "each participant will receive one platinum coin."
The hall didn't roar.
It cracked.
"A platinum?!" someone laughed, like it had to be a joke.
"That's noble money," another hissed.
"One coin and you don't work again," a woman whispered, almost reverent.
"You buy land," someone said. "A real roof. A house that doesn't shake in storms."
My chest tightened.
I turned to Myrina.
She changed.
Not dramatically.
Not with a shout.
Worse than that.
Her shoulders squared. Her eyes hardened. Something inside her slid into place like a lock clicking shut.
"I'm going," she said.
The words hit harder than Garrand's announcement.
"Myrina—"
She looked at me then, and her grin came back—small, stubborn, awful.
"Trey," she said. "A platinum."