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Chapter 7
Silverstream's morning crowd was loud, restless, and judgmental.
Ren felt it the moment he stepped into the Triarc Guild's outer hall with his father. It wasn't just the noise of boots on stone or the metallic clink of weapons—it was the looks.
Disdain.
Amusement.
Thinly veiled contempt.
Well-dressed youths stood in small groups, their clothes clean, their posture confident. Some wore family crests stitched into their sleeves. Others carried practice weapons far too expensive for simple training tools. They laughed loudly, carefree, as if the guild already belonged to them.
Then there was Ren and Kael.
Simple clothes. Worn boots. A faint scent of dried herbs that clung to Kael's coat no matter how much he brushed it.
Whispers followed them.
"Another one."
"Do they really think they can afford it?"
"Poor folk always dream too big."
Ren kept his expression neutral, but his grip on Kael's hand tightened slightly.
Kael felt it.
He didn't look angry—just tired.
They stopped before the registration counter, where a guild official stood with a bored expression, already judging them before a word was spoken.
"What business?" the man asked flatly.
Kael cleared his throat. "My son wishes to join the guild. I'd like to understand the requirements."
A few nearby youths snickered openly.
The official's eyebrow twitched upward. "Your son?"
He looked Ren up and down once.
Then twice.
A five-year-old. No noble badge. No escort. No visible wealth.
The official exhaled slowly, as if already exhausted. "Very well. I'll explain—once."
His voice rose just enough for others to hear.
"There are three ways to join the Triarc Guild."
Silence fell—not respectful, but curious.
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The Price of Wealth
"First," the official said, raising one finger, "direct payment."
He named the sum clearly.
"Ten thousand silver crowns."
A murmur rippled through the hall.
Some nodded, unimpressed. Others smirked.
Kael's shoulders stiffened.
Ren didn't need Appraisal to understand the implication. Ten thousand silver wasn't a test—it was a wall. A wall meant to keep people like them out.
"For wealthy families," the official continued coolly, "this is the simplest route. No testing. No risk. Immediate registration."
One of the well-dressed boys laughed softly. "Cheap, really."
Ren memorized his face.
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The Path of Favors
The official raised a second finger.
"Second—recommendation by an official guild member."
Kael asked carefully, "What does that involve?"
The man gave a thin smile. "Connections. Reputation. Or… persuasion."
Several adults nearby exchanged knowing looks.
Coin under the table.
Ren felt something cold settle in his chest.
This path wasn't meant for talent.
It was meant for influence.
---
The Free Path No One Laughs At
Finally, the official raised a third finger.
"Third—the Triarc Youth Competition."
That got attention.
"Held once every two years. Open to children aged six to eleven. Entry is free."
Laughter broke out immediately.
"Free? Then everyone applies."
"Poor kids dreaming again."
But the official continued, unbothered.
"Only the first, second, and third place winners receive full guild membership."
The laughter died.
Everyone knew what that meant.
Only three.
Out of hundreds.
"Others may receive temporary notice," the official added, "but nothing guaranteed."
Kael remained silent.
Ren's heart beat faster.
This wasn't fear.
This was recognition.
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A Father's Question
Outside the guild hall, Kael stopped walking.
The noise of Silverstream flowed around them, but for a moment, it felt distant.
Kael crouched down, meeting Ren at eye level.
"Ren," he said quietly, "I need to ask you something—and I need you to answer honestly."
Ren nodded.
"That competition… it will be hard. People will look down on you. Some will try to hurt you—not just physically."
Ren didn't look away.
Kael swallowed. "I won't force you. If you say no, we walk away. We live our lives. That's enough for me."
Ren was silent for a long moment.
Then he spoke.
"I want to join the guild."
Kael blinked.
Ren continued, voice steady despite his age.
"Ever since I woke up… I knew this world was bigger than Oakhaven. I want to learn. I want to grow stronger. I don't want to watch from the outside."
He clenched his small fists.
"This isn't about money. It's my dream."
The words hit harder than Kael expected.
He searched Ren's face and saw no fear—only resolve.
Slowly, Kael smiled. Not proudly.
But fiercely.
"Then we try," he said. "No matter what anyone says."
---
Scorn and Steel
As they walked away, the whispers returned.
"Does he really think his kid stands a chance?"
"Competition's for nobles and prodigies."
"Poor people should know their place."
Ren heard every word.
And remembered them.
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An Old Adventurer's Approval
That night, Darin listened quietly as Kael explained everything.
When Ren finished, Darin laughed—a rough, honest sound.
"Good," he said. "That third path's the only one worth walking."
Kael frowned. "You don't think it's reckless?"
Darin shook his head. "Reckless is paying coin you don't have or begging officials who don't care. Competition at least gives you a chance."
He looked at Ren. "But make no mistake. They won't go easy on you because you're poor."
Ren met his gaze. "I don't want them to."
That earned a nod.
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A Dream Forged in Contempt
Late that night, Ren stood alone, staring at the distant silhouette of the guild.
Three paths.
One closed by wealth.
One poisoned by corruption.
One earned through blood, effort, and will.
They had laughed at him.
Dismissed him.
But the competition didn't care where you came from.
Only how far you could go.
Ren whispered to himself, barely audible.
"I'll enter… and I'll win."
Not to prove them wrong.
But to prove—to himself—that this dream was worth everything.
The countdown had begun.