Sage remained rooted in place, taking in the vibrant scene around him. The upgraded Guild Hall buzzed with an energy it had never possessed before.
Voices mingled in a lively chaos. Adventurers registering for quests, Commissioners haggling over rewards, and footsteps softly echoing across the polished marble floor.
The sounds were constant yet not overwhelming, like a finely tuned machine finally operating at its intended scale.
If he closed his eyes, Sage could almost sense the underlying rhythm: ambition layered over order, greed tempered by rules, hunger channeled into paths he controlled.
But his focus was not on the crowd; it was fixed intently on the figure behind the reception desk.
Boren stood there, his large hands gripping a pen that seemed comically small between his fingers. His noble robes, still slightly too snug and ill-suited for desk work, strained as he leaned forward to listen to someone speak.
