The door exploded open hard enough that the lamp flame jumped.
Barrek filled the doorway like a wall that learned how to walk. Behind him, a young receptionist clung to his sleeve with both hands like she was trying to stop a wagon with bare fingers. Her face was pale. Her knuckles looked ready to snap.
"Sir—" she pleaded. "This is restricted—!"
Barrek didn't even look at her.
He looked at me.
His eyes were wide.
Not angry.
Worried.
"Pup!" he boomed. "So you woke up!"
The receptionist looked like she might cry from pure stress.
Barrek took a step inside and the floor creaked like it had opinions about his weight.
More boots followed.
Ruth pushed in behind him, braid swinging, her expression sharp and relieved at the same time.
Joren slipped in too, trying to look casual and failing so badly it made my chest pinch.
Two more veterans hovered in the doorway like rules were suggestions for other people.
The receptionist's face went even paler.
Then Nerissa appeared behind them, calm as if she'd ordered a storm and it arrived exactly on schedule.
"Vira," Nerissa said gently.
The receptionist snapped her gaze to Nerissa like a drowning person finding shore.
"It's okay," Nerissa added. "Let him in."
Vira released Barrek's sleeve instantly, hands shaking as she clasped them to her chest. "Yes, Miss Nerissa," she whispered, like she'd just been spared execution.
Barrek marched to my bedside and then—
Stopped.
Like he didn't know what to do once he got close enough to see I was real.
He cleared his throat. The sound was rough, like gravel trying to apologize.
"You scared us," he muttered.
Ruth crossed her arms. "He looked dead."
Joren nodded fast. "Like a dead fish."
Barrek's head snapped toward him. "Don't say it like that."
Joren winced. "I mean… he's fine now."
The room felt smaller with all of them in it.
Safer.
Weirder.
I swallowed.
"I'm fine," I said.
My voice surprised me—steady.
And before fear could steal it back, I added the next part.
"And my sister is fine too."
Every face turned.
Even Barrek's big mouth stopped.
Ruth's eyes narrowed. "You sure?"
"Yes." I curled my fingers around the emblem under my shirt like it was a vow I could hold. "I'm sure she's still out there."
The words came out like a promise to myself.
"She's not dead until I confirm it myself," I said. "At least… she's not dead for me."
Joren stared like I'd slapped him awake.
Ruth's shoulders loosened a fraction.
Barrek's mouth spread into a grin that tried to be loud and failed. Something wet shone at the corner of his eye.
He pretended it wasn't there.
"That's my pup," he rumbled.
Then he barked a laugh—too loud, too sudden—like he had to crush the fear under noise.
"We're having a long drink tonight!!"
"Barrek—" Ruth started.
Barrek ignored her completely.
His hands grabbed me under the arms like I was a sack of flour.
I yelped.
"Wait—!"
He lifted me.
High.
My stomach climbed into my throat.
Then he tossed me—
Not hard.
But enough that my soul tried to exit my body in protest.
"STOP!" I shouted, voice hitting a pitch I didn't know I owned. "PUT ME DOWN! I AM NOT A TANKARD!"
Joren burst out laughing like he'd been starving for it.
Ruth's mouth twitched, fighting a smile.
Barrek caught me easily and cackled. "Look at him! He's got lungs now!"
"I always had lungs!" I snapped, gripping his wrist like that would stop gravity.
"Not like that," Joren wheezed.
Barrek lifted me again—
And the air changed.
Like someone opened a door to winter and let it walk inside.
Barrek froze mid-motion.
Ruth's posture locked.
Joren's laughter died in his throat.
Even the veterans in the doorway straightened like children caught stealing.
Footsteps entered.
Heavy.
Measured.
A man stepped into the room.
He was tall.
Taller than Barrek.
Long golden hair fell past his shoulders like a lion's mane. His beard was short and neat—disciplined wildness. His eyes were gold too.
Not coin-gold.
Predator-gold.
He wore simple clothes. No armor. No crest.
He didn't need them.
The room already understood he was dangerous.
Behind him, Nerissa stood calm.
And behind Nerissa, Vira looked like she'd been marched to her own funeral.
My mouth moved before my brain could stop it.
"Who is this uncle?"
Vira made a choking sound.
"Mind your—!" she squeaked.
Nerissa sighed like she'd expected this from me specifically.
Barrek's eyes bulged.
Joren slapped a hand over his mouth like he could shove my words back inside.
The tall man looked at me.
Then—very slowly—his mouth curved.
Not a smile.
A decision.
"Out," he said to the veterans.
One word.
That was all.
Barrek—Barrek, who argued with storms—straightened like he'd been caught by his mother.
"Yes, Guild Master," he rumbled.
He set me down gently.
That alone told me everything.
Ruth dipped her head and backed away without a single complaint.
Joren shuffled toward the door, eyes wide.
The other veterans spilled out like water poured from a cup.
No jokes.
No protests.
Just obedience.
The door shut behind them.
The room felt colder.
Or maybe the Guild Master simply took up all the warmth by existing.
He stepped closer.
Each step pressed on my chest.
When I finally dared to look up, I caught the thin scar under his left eye.
I forced myself to meet his gaze.
Gold.
Lion-gold.
He inclined his head slightly, like a noble acknowledging a peasant who'd surprised him.
"Theopard Erdallion," he said. "Guild Master of the Azuris Adventurers' Guild."
My blood went cold.
I reacted.
Not cool.
Not brave.
My body flung itself into desperate respect—I slid forward and pressed my forehead down like I'd seen priests do.
The bandage tugged. Pain flared.
I ignored it.
"S-Sir!"
From somewhere outside, I heard Barrek's muffled laugh.
I hated him.
The Guild Master's voice drifted down like tea poured into a cup.
"Look at you," he said, amused. "Yesterday you were like a dead fish… and today you are completely fine."
Heat crawled into my ears. I stayed face-down anyway.
Behind him, Nerissa coughed once—small and polite—like she was reminding the room we were still human.
The Guild Master's amusement faded.
His voice didn't get louder.
It got heavier.
"You spoke of your sister," he said.
My breath caught.
"You spoke of the dungeon," he continued, and the air tightened around the word like a noose.
"And you spoke of strength."
I swallowed.
My fingers curled into the bedsheet like it could anchor me.
"I can make you strong," he said.
My heart slammed.
It should've felt like rescue.
It felt like stepping onto a blade and trusting it not to cut.
"But it will come with a price and it will not be pleasant," he added.
I lifted my head just enough to breathe.
He didn't blink.
"If you want strength," he said quietly, "you'll earn it. It will be hell."
The fear didn't leave.
It just stopped being in charge.
"I'll do it," I said.
Rough.
True.
Theopard studied me for a long moment.
Then he nodded once.
Not approval.
Permission.
"Then here is my condition," he said, sharp and clean.
"Stand."
My feet felt far away.
My forehead pulsed under the bandage.
My stomach flipped.
His gaze didn't move.
"Show me your resolve."
The room held its breath.