The atmosphere changed the higher they climbed.
With each step, the noise of the guildhall thinned—laughter dulled, boots softened, the dense press of resonance easing into something restrained. The Song was still present, but here it no longer flowed freely. It was contained. Disciplined. Bent inward rather than allowed to spill.
The Guildmaster's office sat directly above the hall.
It was not what Sawyer expected.
Quiet—not silent, nothing in the settlement ever truly was—but insulated. The constant thrum that filled the streets and bled into every public space faded here, muffled by stone, wood, and intention. The walls were lined with bookshelves rather than banners, packed tight with ledgers bound in dark leather and scroll cases labeled in precise, uniform script. No trophies. No visible declarations of authority.
The guild's insignia was carved directly into the floorboards—set at the center of the room, unmoving. Everything else seemed to orient itself around it.
This was not a place for ceremony.
It was a place for decisions.
A man waited inside.
Erika did not knock.
She opened the door in stride, a brief ripple of intent preceding her like a warning chord struck too softly to be called a threat. The air shifted as the room acknowledged her presence.
Behind a worn wooden desk sat the Guildmaster.
He did not rise.
He did not smile.
He looked up from the document he had been reviewing and set it aside with deliberate care. His hands folded atop the desk as his gaze settled on Sawyer—not curious, not hostile.
Recognizing.
"Welcome, Hunter."
The words lingered.
A simple greeting. A deliberate one.
Sawyer stopped just short of the insignia. Agnes and the others slowed with him, the door closing softly behind them. The room seemed to tighten—not physically, but in attention—like a breath held for a moment that had finally arrived.
"Guildmaster," Erika said, her voice professional, edged. "This is Sawyer."
She knows, Aluna realized at once.
Agnes reacted a heartbeat later. "Wha—how do you—"
A coin flashed through the air.
It spun lazily, catching the light as it rose and fell, the soft chime of metal cutting cleanly through the tension. Kristaphs' fingers closed around it with practiced ease, as though he had never stopped moving at all.
The rogue didn't look surprised.
Neither did the man behind the desk.
Kristaphs rolled the coin across his knuckles once, then let it disappear into his sleeve as if it had never existed. The faint chime faded, and with it went the last trace of casualness in the room.
The Guildmaster's eyes never left Sawyer.
"Formality first," he said at last, voice level and unhurried. "It saves time later."
He rose then—not abruptly, not to assert dominance, but because the moment demanded it. Standing, he was slightly shorter than Sawyer, though his presence filled the space in a way height never could. He stepped out from behind the desk and placed one foot over the guild's insignia carved into the floor.
"I am Helbrecht," he said. "Master of this settlement's Adventurer's Guild. By charter, I am responsible for contracts issued within these walls, disputes that arise from them, and the conduct of those who bear our mark."
Helbrecht inclined his head. His eyes now met Sawyer's at an even angle.
"And you," he continued, "are Sawyer. No surname. No registry imprint. Zero history. One rumor."
He pointed directly at Sawyer's wound.
"You killed a Concierge."
"Single-handedly," Erika added quickly. "According to your witnesses."
Sawyer remained steadfast. Not a single twitch. Not a single tell.
The Guildmaster studied him for another heartbeat, then gestured with an open palm toward the carved insignia at their feet.
"Stand there," Helbrecht said. "On the mark."
Sawyer complied.
The moment his boot crossed the carved lines, the Song shifted—tightened, drawing inward like a lens focusing. It did not press him. It simply observed.
Erika watched closely.
"Tell me," Helbrecht said, voice calm, "how you killed the Concierge."
The words landed heavily.
Agnes stiffened. Aluna's fingers curled reflexively. Bran's jaw set.
Sawyer did not hesitate.
"I shattered its head."
"Clearly," Erika said. "The on-site report lists the probable cause of death as catastrophic trauma to the brain."
"Lines up with what the party reported," Helbrecht added.
His eyes narrowed a fraction.
"And?"
"The beast fell."
The atmosphere huddled inward.
The silence that followed was not empty. It pressed inward, dense and uncomfortable, the Song drawing tight around the words Sawyer had chosen. The carved insignia beneath his feet seemed to listen more closely than before.
Erika stared at him.
Not in disbelief. Not in confusion.
In restrained irritation.
"That's it?" she said.
Her voice was controlled, but only just. "You shattered its head. That's your explanation?"
Sawyer met her gaze. "Yes."
Erika exhaled sharply through her nose and turned away, pacing two steps before spinning back.
"No," she said. "That's not an explanation. That's a result."
She stopped directly in front of him now, close enough that the faint residual pressure of her aura brushed his chest.
"Do you have any idea how many adventurers could shatter the head of an Apex under ideal conditions?"
Sawyer considered. "Enough."
Her jaw tightened.
"The Concierge was not a simple beast," Erika snapped. "It was a Song-bound servitor. Anchored. Reinforced. Protected by layered harmonics that adapt in real time to hostile intent."
She gestured sharply, tracing invisible lines in the air.
"You don't just hit something like that and expect it to work."
Sawyer's expression did not change.
"It did."
"That's not the point!"
Her voice cracked for the first time. The Song reacted instantly, resonance spiking as if the room itself flinched.
Agnes shifted uneasily. Bran glanced toward the door. Aluna's eyes flicked to Helbrecht.
Erika caught herself, drawing in a breath—but the frustration did not dissipate.
"You're standing here," she said more quietly, "after killing a Church-adjacent servitor in a way that left no uncontrolled mana surge, no harmonic backlash, and no residual corruption—and you think 'the beast fell' is sufficient?"
Sawyer held her gaze.
"It answers the question you asked."
Her lips parted.
For a brief, dangerous second, her killing intent stirred—not unleashed, but present. A pressure like steel drawn just enough to gleam.
"That answer will get you killed," Erika said flatly.
Sawyer blinked once.
"Noted."
That was when Helbrecht intervened.
"Erika."
The word was not loud.
It did not carry force.
It carried authority.
Her shoulders stiffened. She turned slightly toward him, breathing shallow, hands clenched at her sides.
"Vice Guildmaster," Helbrecht continued, "step back."
She hesitated.
Then obeyed.
Two measured steps. No more. No less.
The pressure in the room eased as Helbrecht turned his attention back to Sawyer.
"Understand this," he said evenly. "Erika is not angry because your answer is insufficient."
His eyes flicked briefly to her, then returned.
"She is angry because it implies something very specific."
Sawyer waited.
Helbrecht folded his hands behind his back.
"If you shattered the Concierge's head without engaging its harmonic defenses—without clashing with its Song—then one of two things must be true."
The room leaned closer.
"Either you possess a technique unknown to us," Helbrecht said, "or you are lying."
Erika's eyes snapped back to Sawyer.
Sawyer neither denied nor accepted either possibility.
"You bypassed it," Erika said. "We don't know how. But you slipped past the rules our world operates under."
Sawyer exhaled slowly.
"I saw a way to kill it. I executed."
"That's impossible," she shot back.
Helbrecht raised a hand.
"Erika."
She stopped mid-sentence, visibly forcing herself to rein in whatever followed.
Helbrecht turned back to Sawyer.
"When you say you shattered its head," he asked, "do you mean physically—or structurally?"
Sawyer answered after a moment.
"Both."
Helbrecht nodded, as if that clarified rather than complicated matters.
"And you felt no resistance?"
Sawyer's silence answered him.
Erika let out a sharp, incredulous laugh before she could stop herself. She turned away, rubbing her temple.
"Do you have any idea how that sounds?"
Sawyer watched her.
"Truthfully?"
She looked back.
He said frankly. "No."
The words landed harder than any raised voice.
Erika froze.
Helbrecht closed his eyes briefly, then opened them.
"That is enough."
He stepped forward, deliberately placing himself between them.
"Erika, you are reacting as a combatant," Helbrecht said. "Not as an administrator."
She bristled.
"Because he refuses to explain himself."
"He is answering honestly," Helbrecht replied. "Which is more than we usually get."
Her fists loosened, just slightly.
Helbrecht looked to Sawyer again.
"Truthfully, we do not care how, why, or when you killed the Concierge. The Guild does not mourn fortunate outcomes—especially when an Apex threat is removed without collateral damage."
He glanced briefly at Aluna before continuing.
"The problem is the Church. To them, a loyal servant of God has been killed without warning, without justification."
A familiar hymn stirred faintly—one carried only by a particular boon.
"Even asylum status will not stop the Inquisition."
"But that is precisely why this conversation matters."
He turned back to Erika.
"And why your aptitude test will matter even more."
She inhaled, then exhaled slowly, regaining control inch by inch.
Erika stood still.
Contained.
When she turned back to Sawyer, the fire was gone from her eyes.
What replaced it was assessment.
"You're not wrong," she said quietly. "But you're not helping."
She looked to Helbrecht—not for permission, but acknowledgment.
He gave a single, imperceptible nod.
Erika straightened fully.
"…Fine," she said, voice even. "If you insist on standing behind ignorance as neutrality, then we proceed the only way the Guild knows how."
She stepped past Sawyer, boots crossing the carved insignia without hesitation.
"You want protection," she continued, moving toward the door. "You want the Church to hesitate before deciding what you are?"
She stopped just short of the threshold and glanced back.
Her gaze was not hostile.
It was evaluative.
"Then you'll earn it."
Helbrecht's mouth curved—just barely.
"Follow her," he said. "That evaluation will tell us far more than this conversation ever could."
Erika placed a hand on the door.
Paused.
"Try not to make me regret this," she said dryly. "Hunter."
The door opened.
And the Guild shifted around that decision like a living thing.