They moved on, leaving the relative openness of the main street for a network of narrow, winding alleys.

  "What was that performance you put on in the tavern? We agreed not to draw attention to ourselves!" Isla said indignantly as they found themselves in an empty alleyway.

  "What? That drunk started it," Aren retorted, waving his hand dismissively.

  "What's gotten into you? You weren't like this in the castle. I thought you were a cultured and calm librarian."

  Aren paused, considering her words. She was right; he had been much more reserved in the castle, surrounded by the elite. Well, I'm not going to display an attitude in the home of a Dominion's Duke, but that drunk in some backwater tavern was asking for it.

  "I'll be more restrained, alright? Now, let's not stand around; we don't have time," Aren assured Isla, though he wasn't sure he believed himself.

  "Wait, I need to check the map." Isla pulled a folded piece of paper from her pocket and unfolded it. It was a hand-copied map of Stormia, lacking in detail but marking key locations and roads.

  "Alright," she began, tracing a winding line with her finger, "we should have turned right back there, but we can get through this alleyway." She abruptly raised her head, as if suddenly certain of the correct path, and, without refolding the map, started walking quickly.

  The noisy sounds of the city faded, replaced by a quieter, more secretive atmosphere. Shadows stretched long and deep, even under the midday sun. The air here was cooler, carrying a mixed scent of stale ale, garbage, and something vaguely... floral? Aren couldn't quite place it.

  They rarely encountered passersby along the way. Isla lowered her head when she saw patrolling guards, but they were engrossed in their own conversation.

  Laundry hung from windows overhead, a colorful tapestry of everyday life. The cobblestones underfoot were uneven, worn smooth by countless steps over the years. Occasionally, animals darted across their path, clearly this world's versions of cats and dogs, though subtly different from those on Earth. One of the dogs ran up and sniffed Aren from behind. He turned, grumbling, but then patted the dog. Its fur felt almost like a cat's, and it continued on its way. Isla smiled at the sight and commented that Aren was a favorite among animals, suggesting he should take up residence in the forest. Aren waved her off again and kept walking.

  After several turns, Isla stopped, pointing to a large, imposing structure looming at the end of the alley. "Here it is," she announced, a hint of triumph in her voice. "The Adventurers' Guild."

  In contrast to the ornate, almost whimsical architecture of the castle, the Guild was a monument to practicality. It was a massive three-story building constructed of sturdy gray stone, its walls thick and unyielding. Windows were few, and those that existed were small and reinforced with iron bars. The entrance consisted of two heavy wooden doors studded with iron, and above the door was the guild's symbol: a large bird resembling a harpy or phoenix, holding a compass and a sword. The place felt more like a fortress than a gathering spot.

  Inside, the guildhall was a hive of activity, though noticeably different from the noisy tavern. The main hall was vast, with a high, vaulted ceiling supported by thick stone columns. The air buzzed with a low hum of energy, a palpable sense of purpose, and perhaps a hint of danger. It smelled fresh, as if everything had just been cleaned with a fragrant herbal solution mingled with the sharper smells of sweat-soaked leather and oiled steel. Adventurers of all stripes filled the space. A grizzled warrior, his chainmail glinting dully beneath a worn leather jerkin, meticulously sharpened his broadsword with a whetstone, the rasping sound echoing through the hall. A slender mage, her fingers stained with ink, pored over a complex diagram, tracing the arcane symbols with a quill, her brow furrowed in concentration. A pair of archers, their longbows resting against the wall, meticulously fletched arrows, their movements precise and economical, their eyes constantly scanning the room with a hunter's alertness.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  At the far end of the hall, a raised platform served as a reception area. A stern-faced woman with tightly braided gray hair and a formidable gaze sat behind a large wooden desk, scrutinizing everyone who approached.

  Aren and Isla joined the short queue. Isla covered her face as much as possible. When their turn came, Aren stepped forward. "We're looking for work. Any opportunities for a couple of... resourceful individuals?" He tried to inject the same veiled meaning he had used with the bartender, but the woman's expression remained unchanged.

  "Look at the board," she replied curtly, jerking her thumb toward a large bulletin board that occupied one wall of the hall. It was covered in a chaotic jumble of parchment scraps, each detailing a different task or request.

  Aren and Isla headed to the board, their eyes scanning the various postings.

  - "Caravan Escort to Oakhaven. Experienced fighters required. Beware of Goblin raiders. Reward: 30 silver. 50 for Ether Wielders."

  - "Herb Gathering: Need 10 sprigs of Moonpetal, found only in the forest haunted by Ether spirits. Reward: 1 gold, plus alchemical supplies."

  - "Search for Ether Artifact on Whitecrown Mountain. Many say they've seen an artifact there, but no one has been able to bring it back. They say it disappears when approached. Reward: 10 gold."

  - "Guard Noble's Manor during his absence. 5 silver coins per night."

  Aren frowned, scanning the announcements. "Goblins, Ether spirits? An artifact? Sounds... charming."

  Isla, however, seemed more intrigued. "What interesting tasks. It's a shame I'm not an adventurer."

  "Quiet, you'll give us away."

  "Oops." Isla covered her mouth with both hands.

  "All these tasks seem quite ordinary, no dirty work. Maybe we should ask about the information broker."

  They returned to the secretary.

  "Information costs money, boy. And our broker doesn't deal with penniless travelers. You'll find what you're looking for on the second floor, if you can afford it. But don't waste his time."

  "The second floor, you say? Much obliged." He strode quickly toward the stairs. Isla barely kept up, nearly losing the cowl covering her face.

  The second floor was quieter than the main hall, the air thick with the scent of incense and old parchment. Several doors lined the long corridor, each marked with different symbols. They stopped before a door adorned with a stylized rolled scroll. Isla whispered, "Just get the information, and please, no more trouble." Aren silently nodded, suppressing a sarcastic retort. He raised his hand and knocked, a sharp, confident rap that echoed in the silent corridor. A moment of silence, then a voice, raspy and world-weary, responded from within: "Enter, if you must."

  The room inside was dimly lit, the only source of light a small window. Shelves overflowing with books, scrolls, and strange devices lined the walls. It resembled Jaxx'im's laboratory, but much poorer. A man sat behind a desk who looked to be about Aren's real age, though his face was etched with deep wrinkles, and his eyes held weariness and knowledge. He was dressed in dark, nondescript clothing, and glasses perched precariously on his nose. This was undoubtedly the information broker.

  "I hope you have coins with you, youngsters."

  Aren leaned forward, his voice low. "We're looking for... more dangerous work, with a reward to match."

  The broker raised an eyebrow skeptically. "And you think I know about such things?"

  "Let's just say I have a hunch," Aren replied.

  The broker sighed, a long, drawn-out sound. "Alright. I might be able to help you. But my services aren't free. However," he added, a glint in his eyes, "for 10 gold, and one small favor, I'll point you in the right direction."

  10 gold? Is that expensive?

  Isla, who had been standing silently beside Aren, finally spoke. "A favor? What kind of favor?"

  The broker pulled a small, intricately carved wooden box from under the table. "Deliver this. To one of my... associates. In the Shadow Quarter. Without opening it, of course. He'll tell you what you want to know. Gold first."

  Aren exchanged a look with Isla. She stepped forward and placed her entire coin pouch on the table. "That should be enough."

  The information broker took the pouch and opened it, peering inside. He shook it slightly and stashed it under the table. "Good. Here's the box. Deliver it there." He handed them a parchment with a map of the city and a marked location. It was far from the guild, near the wall on the opposite side of the city. If Aren and Isla wanted to return to the castle before dinner, they would have to hurry.

  Aren took the box, and Isla took the parchment. Penniless, they quickly headed for the exit, silently understanding that they needed to pick up the pace, perhaps even run through the empty streets. As they passed through one of the alleys, Aren felt a shiver run down his spine. He turned sharply, but there was no one around. I have a bad feeling about this.