They stepped into the broad avenue of Ashlock Bridge, where the bridge ran across a flowing river canal that cut through the continent. But that was not why the place was named Ashlock Bridge.
That title went to the bridge of stone that had ashlock tree veins growing along it and supporting its weight.
The buildings were overly crowded, and the street walk was no different, filled mostly with humans, a few dwarves, half-elves, and goliaths. The half-giants had grey skin and dark markings.
They walked past streetlamps glowing with bottled wisps and entered a quieter backstreet.
Lanterns flickered above the smoky tavern doors. A drunken beggar lifted his hands, asking for coin, but they sadly shook their heads.
A hooded courier dashed past them with a glowing satchel. The brothers shared knowing smiles. They were probably a carrier working for the storefront.
They ducked into a plain-looking building, but no matter how plain it looked on the outside, it was warm on the inside.
A bell jingled overhead as they opened and closed the door, and the smells of parchment and oil covered them.
It was a smell the two boys had grown up around and grown used to. This place was home to them—a place where they slept, ate, and now worked.
"How did it go?" Cassandra asked. She didn't look up at them.
Her sharp old eyes barely left the scrying glass as she glanced at the clock. The automaton bird would start chirping any minute now.
Behind her desk hung a map of the entire continent—or rather, the entire city. A map of the Eternal City of Calvessan.
There were places and dots marked out more centrally, and that was where she conducted business.
"It was goblins," Damian said, placing the satchel on her desk in a way that told her he was exhausted.
"Dragon's Shield, I am exhausted," Darrow said and slumped into one of the chairs in the room.
She looked over the scrying glass at him. This was an enchanted piece of transparent glass framed in wood and metal that allowed one to scry distant places.
Cassandra raised an eyebrow at him.
"There were spears and teeth and—"
"You didn't tell us they were goblins," Damian started, and he heard Cassandra sigh.
"Yes, what's the problem?" she asked.
"They're dangerous and criminals. They can go all murderhobo out of nowhere."
"Well, you look fine. I knew what I was doing." She waved her hand dismissively.
She didn't even bother looking up, her focus was on the fighters competing in this years Festival of Blades.
"Damian," Darrow said, looking between his brother and their aunt, but as always, neither listened.
"This is the job, Damian. Some jobs are more dangerous than others." She looked up at them, hoping they wouldn't be so naïve.
They shouldn't have been surprised, but on the other hand, the goblins were dangerous. She looked at him, and he looked back, neither willing to give ground.
"So, when are you going to let us join the guild?" Darrow asked, and for a moment, she watched the other boy shift.
"You too?" she asked Damian, then groaned.
And that's why she liked Darrow—the boy was at least straight to the point, unlike his brother, who spoke like an overly cautious fencer.
He nodded.
"Fine, let's make a deal."
"What deal?" Darrow said, jumping up from the chair and skidding to a stop. He wrapped his arm around Damian and pretended to huddle.
Damian had a smile growing on his face then.
"Okay, what's the plan?" he asked.
"What are your levels?" she asked.
In most cases, this information was kept private, even among adventurers, who instead used general ranking systems.
You couldn't just go around asking people's levels—most wouldn't tell the truth, which led to duels or assassinations of those thought to be stronger or weaker than they really were.
"Still level five," she said when they didn't answer.
"Yeah, it's only because of our class."
"Shh, I told you never to speak of that class," she hissed.
"It's our class. What's the problem with it?"
Well, it was simple. Cassandra knew the class was rare, and the way they got it was the problem. The circumstances surrounding it were the problem.
It was a secret she kept from the boys, and as for the class, she kept that from the rest of the world.
She didn't know what the Nobles would do to them—and even worse, the class was turning out to be useless.
The [Mourn Twin] class. All she had seen it do was tell the two boys when the other was in danger or where the other was.
She knew Damian was a level five [Duelist] and Darrow a level five [Initiate Spy], but they were both also level five [Mourn Twins].
"Okay, here's what we're going to do. I'll give you two options: reach level ten in any of your classes,"
The boys' expressions suggested they knew how unlikely that was, "or show me you can make five hundred silver."
"That's oddly specific."
"It's how much you need to live in the city on your own."
"Deal." Darrow slammed his hand against the table.
"So, if we can do either, we can join any guild?" Damian asked, arching an eyebrow.
"Yes," she said.
After the conversation, the two brothers collapsed onto the couch in the back room of the office, which also doubled as their living room.
Darrow placed the guild posters they had collected on the table.
"You know we can't join until we reach level ten."
"Yeah, but we could go check it out. No harm in it."
"What are you thinking?" Damian asked.
"Listen, we can probably join a guild or work as porters, make money that way, and level up when we are inside one of the portal dungeons."
"Two birds with one stone," Damian said.
"Exactly!"
In the Eternal City, portals were a common feature. They appeared everywhere, and that's why adventurers were a common sight.
The portals were ranked similarly to adventurers—from Bronze Rank to Mythril Rank—based on the monsters inside and the dangers they posed.
Darrow then grabbed the posters they had been collecting all week and started flipping through them.
"White Dragon Guild," Darrow said, lifting the poster.
Damian shook his head.
"That guild only allows Gold Ranks to join," he said.
He lifted a few other posters—The Blade Hunters, Grand Legion, Hydra's Bane—all had strict entry requirements.
In the end, they figured their plan as contracted porters was the only way they'd gain access to a portal dungeon and earn the money Cassandra demanded.
They sat there for a while and joked about starting a guild of their own, but laughed it off.
"The Guild of Two," Darrow said.
"Great name. Sounds very exclusive," Damian said.
They both laughed, not knowing how close they would come to that.
After a while, when Damian left to get something to eat and do chores, Darrow looked around to make sure he was alone.
He pulled out a folded letter and quietly opened it. On top, it was sealed with the mark of the Rogue's Gallery.
This was an exclusive guild that catered to all sorts of rogues—from [Rogue]s and [Cutpurses] to the deadliest [Assassins]. It was infamously secretive, and he had been a low-level member for months now.
His eyes went wide as he read the letter.
Be careful, members are disappearing.
Darrow's breath caught in his throat. He folded it quickly and shoved it back into his coat.
—
The next day, morning light filtered through the shutters, and Damian was the first to wake. He jumped out of his bed, stretched, and groaned from yesterday's chase.
Darrow was still in bed, snoring annoyingly, until Damian kicked him awake.
"What time is it? Never mind, it's too early," Darrow muttered, pulling the blanket over himself again.
"You're snoring," Damian said, standing over him.
Darrow just grumbled but didn't get up.
When Darrow finally woke, he found Damian stuffing his face with stale bread and honey.
Cassandra was already gone. She'd left a note that was very clear about what they had to do if they wanted to join a guild or make their own way.
Damian sighed and folded the note. She always did this when she had a big job, never trusting anyone else with her fixer work.
"So… guild today?" Darrow muttered.
Damian nodded and rubbed sleep from his eyes. He looked out the window and wondered what the day would bring.
Maybe he'd even level up. But first, he had to get ready—they had to go to the Guild Union building and sign up as contractors willing to help any guild through a dungeon.
"We should try the White Dragons."
"You know they'll never take us."
"Well, it's better than your two-man guild idea."
"Whatever."
"How about the Rogue's Gallery. You always wanted to join them."
"Uhm," Darrow looked nervously around.
Damian narrowed his eyes.
"When did you?"
"A couple of months back," Darrow said, looking sheepish at the admission.
The poster for the Rogue's Gallery was no different from the others; in fact, it was a copy of one of the famous guild posters—except for the dagger and snake stamped in the corner.
Darrow quickly folded the poster and tossed it aside. "No problem. Don't worry about it."
Damian knew his brother well. He knew they were special—and if Darrow got himself into trouble, he would know. So he didn't worry about it much.
The streets buzzed with morning traffic. Spirit carriages rattled past. Food vendors shouted loudly about their wares. The mornings on the bridge were filled with the echoes of the previous night's festivities. They passed by a stammering [Bard] from one of the parades and a steaming sewer grate. The castle in the distance cast a long shadow over part of Principal City, and storefronts were just beginning to open.
They cut through a side street—and that's when they found trouble. They were well acquainted with the streets of Ashlock Bridge, so it should have gone smoothly.
A whistle cut through the alley, and they froze. Their eyes darted left and right. It could have been goblins here to kidnap them, an escaped revenant from the portals, or even assassins—but it was none of those.
Instead, it was a local gang—upstarts no older than Damian and Darrow. There were five boys, all in ragged yet functional clothing. The kind you wore to show you had style but weren't afraid to get dirty.
Their leader was a dwarf wearing a vest coat with a steel collar that ran all the way down. He was tall for a dwarf, and apart from their similar fashion, they all wore dark clothing.
The goliath in their clique cracked his knuckles. The two brothers raised an eyebrow each.
The dwarf smirked.
"Long time no see, Basrik," Darrow waved.
"Don't play games with me, ye fool."
"Who, me? Never."
"What do you want, Basrik?" Damian asked—straight to the point.
"I heard you two think you're tough," Basrik said, twirling a rune-carved pipe as his eyes shifted to Damian.
Damian exchanged a glance with Darrow.
"Not really. We know we are." Darrow shrugged.
The gang laughed mockingly. The humans and goliaths chuckled. Basrik sneered.
"Tell them to give us whatever they've got," one of his lackeys said.
"Yeah, let's see how tough they are," the half-giant added.
"Come on, guys. We're just passing through," Darrow said, trying to calm them down.
"They say ye fight well. But can ye beat us all?" Basrik said, looking from Darrow to Damian. "Or you can just give us what you've got."
Damian tilted his head. He wasn't wrong. Thanks to Cassandra, they both knew how to fight.
They shrugged in casual unison, making the gang hesitate. Basrik and his friends frowned at their confidence.
"I'll have a go," one of the boys with a mohawk said, stepping forward.
Damian folded his arms and raised an eyebrow. He studied the boy's stance, then looked aside. One of the other boys looked nervous.
"Basrik, your friend over there looks a bit nervous," Darrow said.
They had both noticed the weak link. Cassandra had taught them to spot that in any situation.
"You'd rush us," Damian nodded to the mohawked boy. "Then Basrik, you'd swing too."
"The nervous one would trip over his boots," Darrow added.
"Darrow, you can take the big guy, right?" Damian asked, glancing at his rogue brother.
The half-giant shifted uncomfortably, angry and wary.
"Well, he looks tough, but it's doable," Darrow shrugged.
Damian turned to the last two and gestured.
"Once I take down Basrik and your friend, you two will run."
Basrik and his upstarts grew even more uncomfortable. There were only so many who could speak so confidently—and Basrik knew it.
The grin that had lingered on his face faded.
Damian gave him a faint smile.
"Come on then," Darrow taunted, stretching.
Basrik hesitated. All eyes turned to him. It was his turn, but he said nothing. In fact, he laughed and chuckled.
"Are we fighting or not?" Damian asked.
"Because you'd lose," Darrow added, taunting.
They all went quiet. Silence lingered—until a city watch whistle shrieked nearby, snapping all their heads toward the sound.
Two armoured watchmen strode into the alley.
"What's this? Street fighting?" one of the guards asked, his hand moving to a wand on his waist.
Damian stepped forward smoothly, and Darrow instantly put on his friendliest grin.
"No trouble here, sirs."
The gang shifted nervously, looking trapped between the guards and the twins.
"We were just headed to the city square," Darrow said quickly, politely.
"Just cutting through the alley to apply at the Union of Guilds," Damian added.
"And you boys?" the watchman asked, his steel knights' helm glistening.
"We are just giving them directions," Basrik said.
Damian nodded earnestly.
"We want honest work," Darrow said.
The watchmen exchanged looks.
They sighed and gestured for the gang to scatter.
It seemed that was what Basrik had been waiting for. Together with his gang, they slunk away, glaring.
"Stay out of trouble," one of the watchmen said, shaking his head.
Damian bowed slightly, showing exaggerated respect. It was never bad to show respect—Cassandra had taught them that.