The afternoon light caught the stone streets at a low angle, turning mortar seams into thin veins of gold. Heat lingered in the rockwork, stored from the day's climb, radiating upward in a way that made shadows feel heavier than they should have been. The settlement had settled into its second rhythm—less hurried than morning, more alert than dusk. Merchants called out in lower voices. Deliveries finished. Foot traffic thinned into knots and pairs instead of streams.
Beneath it all, the Song adjusted.
Not forceful. Not directive. It eased pressure instead of applying it, loosening the invisible hands that guided crowds during peak hours. People drifted more freely now, paths overlapping without friction, movements coinciding by preference rather than compulsion.
Sawyer walked within that loosened flow, satchel tapping against his hip in a steady counter-beat. The work still clung to him—not fatigue, exactly, but residue. The kind that came from paying attention for hours on end. Measuring sightlines. Counting steps. Noting which walls leaned and which had been rebuilt recently, and which repairs had been cosmetic rather than structural.
Surveying left no visible marks, but it rewired the way you looked at a place.
His report was already turned in. Stamped. Filed. Cross-checked.
Twice.
That alone still hadn't quite settled.
Two days, he thought, exhaling slowly.
"—Sawyer?"
The voice cut cleanly through the Song's hum.
He looked up.
Agnes stood half a street away, one hand lifted in a frozen wave like she wasn't yet sure whether he was actually there or a trick of expectation. Afternoon light caught in her hair, bright enough to draw the eye even against stone. Behind her, the rest of the party clustered loosely, occupying the street the way veterans did—present without obstructing.
Bran leaned against a timber post, arms crossed, weight on one heel like gravity was optional. Aluna stood a step apart from the others, hood down, gaze already on Sawyer as if she'd locked on him before Agnes spoke. Faust blinked once, twice, the distant look of someone pulled abruptly out of a long internal calculation. Kristaphs stood straight-backed as ever, hands folded at his belt, posture formal without being stiff.
Agnes closed the distance in three brisk steps.
"There you are," she said, relief plain and unguarded.
"We were starting to think the guild had swallowed you whole."
"Only partially," Sawyer said.
"It chewed first."
Bran snorted. Faust made a sound halfway between a cough and a laugh.
Agnes looked him over—quick, practiced, the check of someone used to accounting for injuries—then her shoulders eased.
"You look intact," she said.
"That's a good sign."
"So far."
She tilted her head.
"How's it been?"
Sawyer considered the question longer than was polite.
"Productive," he said at last.
Agnes squinted at him.
"There goes the single-word replies again."
"It's the most accurate one I have."
Aluna's lips curved faintly.
"Nothing has changed," she said.
"Several somethings have," Sawyer replied.
Faust finally focused properly on him.
"Surveying, probably," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.
"Entry-level. I hated those. Big wastes of time."
"Correct," Sawyer agreed.
Kristaphs studied Sawyer's stance, his breathing, the way he held himself in the Song.
"And yet," he said, measured,
"you don't look like someone who feels like they wasted their time."
Sawyer met his gaze evenly.
"The guild doesn't like complaints."
"That," Bran said, pushing off the post,
"is the most ominous endorsement I've heard all week."
Agnes laughed, then gestured down the street with her thumb.
"We were heading back anyway. Walk with us?"
They fell into step without needing to negotiate positions. The Song smoothed the transition, nudging paths together until they moved like they had never separated at all. Sawyer felt the subtle adjustment—space clearing ahead of them, foot traffic bending just enough to keep their pace uninterrupted.
Two days apart, and the rhythm returned immediately.
"So," Agnes said, aiming for casual and missing by a narrow margin,
"anything interesting happen while you were gone?"
Sawyer glanced ahead. Hesitated.
Aluna noticed. She always did.
"Define interesting," she said.
"The receptionist called me by name," Sawyer said.
The group slowed—not stopped, but enough that the Song had to reweave itself around them.
"…Oh," Agnes said carefully.
"That kind of interesting."
Bran's grin widened.
"You're kidding."
"No."
Faust added a thought.
"That implies they favor you."
Kristaphs nodded once.
"Or administrative attention."
"They accepted your report already?" Kristaphs asked.
"Yesterday," Sawyer said.
"And again this morning."
"Again?" Agnes echoed, head snapping toward him.
"They reviewed it for accuracy," Sawyer said.
"Then for efficiency."
Faust stopped walking entirely this time.
"What? I had to redo mine four times!"
"Were you a receptionist before? I can't imagine a guy like you behind a desk." Bran joked.
"Maybe you've got some pretty handwriting," he teased while letting out a chuckle.
Agnes stared at him for a long moment. Too long, like she had been lost in her own dreams while standing. She then turned and resumed walking with exaggerated calm.
"Okay," she said.
"Okay. That's fine."
A noticeable pause cut her words.
"That's… fine."
"What's wrong with you?" Bran observed.
Kristaphs barely stopped himself from grinning.
They went another dozen steps before Agnes halted so abruptly Sawyer nearly ran into her.
"Wait," she said slowly.
"Ranks."
Sawyer stopped with her. The others formed a loose semicircle without conscious effort.
"You've been an adventurer," Agnes continued, counting silently on her fingers,
"for two days."
"Yes."
"What's your rank?"
"Bronze, First Marked."
The word landed heavier than it should have. The Song tightened—not around Sawyer, but around the attention focused on him.
Aluna's eyes widened.
"Already?"
Bran let out a low whistle.
"No way."
Kristaphs exhaled through his nose, something between surprise and reluctant approval.
"First marked?"
Sawyer nodded.
For half a second, nobody spoke.
Then Agnes made a sound that might have been a laugh or a shout and grabbed Sawyer by the shoulders.
"That's—are you serious?"
He nodded again, a little helplessly.
"Yes?"
Bran clapped him on the back hard enough to jolt his satchel.
"Two days," he said, grinning.
"Took me three weeks."
"Four," Agnes corrected automatically, then stopped herself and laughed.
"Four weeks. And I complained the whole time."
Faust looked genuinely stunned.
"Two days… I suffered for four weeks."
Aluna smiled, small but unmistakably bright.
"Congratulations."
Kristaphs regarded Sawyer for a long moment, weighing something unseen. Then he inclined his head.
"Well earned," he said, and there was no reservation in it.
Agnes released Sawyer and immediately began pacing in a tight circle, hands moving as she spoke to herself.
"Okay. Okay. That changes things."
"What changes?" Sawyer asked.
She stopped and pointed at him like she'd been waiting for the cue.
"You do."
Bran raised an eyebrow.
"You thinking what I'm thinking?"
Agnes grinned, sharp and decisive.
"Apprentice."
Sawyer blinked.
"What?"
"The guild allows it," she said quickly, already assembling the argument.
"Newly marked adventurers—starting from first mark—can attach to higher-ranked parties as apprentice members. No contract share. No vote. You observe, assist, learn."
"Witness status," Kristaphs added.
"Intended to accelerate individual growth while minimizing liability."
Faust nodded slowly.
"It's… effective. When supervised."
Aluna looked directly at Sawyer.
"You'd be with us as a temporary member of the party," she said simply, as if that settled the matter.
Sawyer opened his mouth, then closed it again. The Song pressed in—not urging, not pulling—just attentive, like the settlement itself was listening.
"I don't want to impose," he said finally.
Agnes waved the concern away.
"You wouldn't be imposing. And besides—"
Her smile softened, then sharpened with resolve.
"It's not the first time we traveled together."
Bran nodded once.
"It was a one-hour walk, but she's not wrong."
Kristaphs folded his hands again.
"The guild will watch you regardless," he said.
"Better they see you under competent supervision."
Faust adjusted his glasses.
"There are… advantages. Data access. Exposure. Higher-order commissions."
Aluna tilted her head.
"And you won't be alone," she added quietly.
A tinge of purpose and direction in her words.
Sawyer let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
"If the guild approves."
Agnes was already turning toward the hall.
"Then what are we waiting for?"
They broke into a faster pace, boots striking stone in overlapping rhythm. The Song surged to meet them, smoothing corners, clearing space, carrying them forward with practiced ease.
Ahead, the guildhall rose from the street like an anchor set deep into the settlement.
Agnes reached the doors first. She didn't hesitate. Pushing through the doors with momentum to spare.
The guildhall swallowed them in noise and motion—the layered hum of voices, boots, shifting resonance. The Song here was denser, more disciplined, its pressure firming the instant they crossed the threshold, aligning traffic and smoothing their hurried entry into something that looked intentional.
Sawyer barely had time to orient before—
"Oh. You're back."
The receptionist looked up from her desk, stylus pausing mid-scratch. Her eyes flicked from Agnes to Bran, to Kristaphs—registered, dismissed—then landed on Sawyer.
Recognition clicked.
"You," she said, not unkindly.
Sawyer stopped.
"…Yes."
Her mouth curved, faint but real.
"One moment. Viceguildmaster—"
She rose without waiting for confirmation and disappeared through the side door.
Agnes blinked.
"That was fast."
"That was ominous," Bran muttered.
Faust adjusted his glasses.
"You really are favored."
"See?" Kristaphs said quietly.
"Administrative attention."
The door opened again.
Erika stepped out.
She looked exactly as she always did—composed, sharp-edged, irritation worn like armor rather than expressed outright. Her gaze swept the group, paused on Sawyer for half a beat too long, then returned to the receptionist.
"Again? Is this urgent," Erika said. Half deflated.
"It's him again," the receptionist replied smoothly.
"And a party."
Erika's eyes narrowed. Almost sure what word would follow next.
"Don't tell me—"
Agnes straightened.
"Viceguildmaster. We're formally declaring Sawyer as an apprentice member under our party."
Erika looked at her. Then at Bran. Faust. Kristaphs.
"…are you certain?" she asked.
"Yes," Agnes said without flinching.
Erika exhaled through her nose and folded her arms.
"State your ranks and party callsign."
"Third marked Silver holders," Kristaphs answered immediately.
"All except Aluna."
Erika's gaze shifted.
Aluna stepped forward, posture calm, voice even.
"Unmarked Gold holder. Representing Mazurka as their leader."
The hall didn't quiet—but the attention around them sharpened. Not enough to draw a crowd. Enough to draw interest.
Erika closed her eyes for a brief, controlled second.
"…noted," she said.
"And of course this is happening today."
She opened her eyes and fixed them on Sawyer.
"You, single-marked Bronze holder."
"Yes, ma'am," Sawyer said.
"You qualify," Erika said flatly. Already given up.
"On paper."
Agnes leaned in.
"And in practice."
"Yes, yes," Erika shot back.
She looked to Kristaphs.
"You accept responsibility?"
"Yes."
"To you," she said to Agnes,
"he answers operationally."
"Yes."
"To the guild," she continued, eyes flicking back to Sawyer,
"you answer always."
Sawyer nodded.
"Understood."
Erika held his gaze another second, searching for something—hesitation, fear, arrogance. Whatever she was looking for, she didn't find it.
"…Fine," she said at last.
"Apprentice status approved. Temporary. Revocable."
Agnes grinned like she'd just won a wager.
"Don't smile," Erika warned her.
"You're on the watch now."
Aluna stepped aside, already scanning the commission board. Her eyes moved with intent, not browsing—selecting.
"This one," she said, tapping parchment.
"Escort. Short-range. Civilian caravan. Two-day route."
Erika followed her gaze.
"An acceptable commission."
"Movement focus," Aluna replied.
"And observation."
Erika sighed.
"Indeed."
She waved a hand.
"Take it. File before dusk."
Agnes was already moving.
"Bran—gear check. Faust—supplies. Kristaphs—route confirmation."
They scattered instantly, momentum snapping into place like a machine thrown into motion.
Sawyer stayed where he was.
The hall surged around him—boots passing, voices overlapping, the Song pressing and pulling as tasks aligned and paths crossed. Declarations were being made. Papers stamped. Preparations unfolding at speed he hadn't initiated and couldn't slow.
He stood in the center of it, satchel still at his hip, heart thudding as if he'd stepped into sudden weather.
A storm, he thought distantly.
And he was already in it. Unmoving.
He locked eyes with the viceguildmaster. For a long silent moment in spite of the chaos. Not a single word was spoken between the two. But her face screamed and he listened…try harder.