Chapter 11

Elara woke as the evening light stretched long shadows across the opulent guest room of the Hayes Estate. The disorientation of a deep, midday sleep clung to her, making the velvet canopy above feel like a fragment of a dream. She sat up, stretching until her joints popped, and took a quick inventory of her belongings. The Moonpetal Herb's influence still thrummed faintly in her marrow, a reminder of everything she had survived. She wasn't one to sit still in a gilded cage, no matter how comfortable the bed. She made her way downstairs, the soles of her boots clicking against the polished stone floors. A guard stood at the main entrance, his posture rigid. "If I leave for the night, will I be allowed back in?" Elara asked. The guard dipped his head in a formal nod. "Of course. You are a guest of the Hayes family. The gates remain open to you at all hours." Elara offered him a bright, practiced smile. "Good to know. And the tournament? When does the real show start?" "The opening ceremonies begin in two days," the guard replied. "Arrangements for seating and the final bracket registrations are being handled tomorrow. I believe a seat has already been reserved for you." "Perfect. I'll be back before the ghosts start wandering." Elara stepped out into the cooling air of Stonegate. The city was a different beast at dusk; the orange glow of magelamps began to flicker to life, casting a warm hue over the bustling streets. She wandered for a while, letting her feet take her where they wanted. At one point, she found herself in a narrow alley between two tall, gabled houses. Curiosity got the better of her. She found a series of handholds on the timber framing and hauled herself up, moving with a grace that surprised even her. From the rooftop, Stonegate opened up—a sea of stone and slate. She caught a glimpse of the central plaza and the massive coliseum in the distance. A window creaked open on the floor below. Elara froze, then scrambled back down the wall with frantic haste. She hit the cobblestones and kept moving, ducking into the main thoroughfare before anyone could point a finger at the girl climbing houses. The sound of rhythmic hammering drew her toward a side street. A sign hanging over a heavy oak door depicted a glowing anvil. Elara pushed inside, the heat of a forge hitting her like a physical wall. Several warriors were loitering near the front, their levels hovering between thirty and forty. They were eyeing the weapon racks with the hungry look of men who spent their lives breaking things. A burly man with a beard so thick it looked like it could stop an arrow looked up from a sharpening stone. His eyes narrowed, sweeping over Elara's gear and posture. He stood, wiping soot from his hands. "A battle healer," the man whispered, his voice carrying a gravelly weight. "Don't see many of your lot in a common smithy. Most are tucked away in temples or noble retinues." Elara didn't flinch. She raised her hands, palms up, showing the callouses and the steady set of her fingers. "My hands are my weapons, mostly. But I've got gear that needs a new home and a few questions about the future." Gareth let out a boisterous laugh that shook his apron. "Ha! Straight to the point. I like it. I'm Gareth. It's a rare treat to see a healer who looks like she knows how to throw a punch. What can this humble smith do for a lady of your unique... talents?" "I've got a sword and some daggers I'm looking to offload," Elara said, gesturing to her pack. "I don't have much use for them anymore. And I wanted to ask about Ashfall Dragon scales. How hard are they to work with?" Gareth shrugged at the mention of the weapons. "I can take 'em off your hands. Bring 'em by tomorrow when I've got the ledger open for trade-ins. But Ashfall scales?" He whistled low. "That's heavy-duty stuff. Hard as the mountain itself. Best used for reinforcing heavy plate or shields. For someone like you? It'd be like wearing a stone coffin. You'd lose all that agility." Elara leaned against a workbench. "So what would you recommend for someone who needs to move fast but doesn't want to die the first time a blade connects?" Gareth rubbed his beard, his eyes thoughtful. "Gale Puma hide. It's rare, mind you, but it's the gold standard for close-combat casters. It's light as silk but carries a natural resistance to kinetic force. It breathes with you. If you could get your hands on enough for a suit of light armor, I could work it into something that wouldn't slow your casting or your feet." "And the cost?" Elara asked. "If I don't happen to have a dead puma in my back pocket?" Gareth began tapping his fingers on the table, calculating. "To buy the hide outright? You're looking at a small fortune. To have me manufacture it if you provide the materials? Still not cheap. Maybe fifty silver for the labor and the secondary materials. But the pumas themselves? They're nasty. They haunt the high ridges of Stonehaven mountain. Fast as a breeze and just as hard to catch." Elara nodded, a plan already forming. "Stonehaven mountain. Good to know. I'll see you tomorrow with those weapons, Gareth." She left the smithy with the smell of coal smoke clinging to her hair. The idea of hunting a Gale Puma felt right. It was a goal, something tangible beyond just surviving the next hour. The night grew colder, and Elara eventually made her way back to the Hayes Estate. She slipped into her room, the silence of the mansion a sharp contrast to the heat of the forge. She fell into bed and slept a dreamless, heavy sleep until the morning sun began to peek through the curtains. The next morning, Stonegate was a hive of activity. Elara grabbed a skewer of grilled meat from a street stall, the grease staining the parchment wrapper as she walked. She found herself in a quieter district, where the buildings were older and the air smelled of parchment and dust. She pushed open the door to a bookstore. It was deserted, the silence so thick it felt like it was pressing against her ears. Rows upon rows of leather-bound spines stretched toward a high, shadowed ceiling. An old man appeared from behind a stack of folios. He moved with a slow, deliberate grace, his eyes sharp behind spectacles. "Welcome," he said. "I am Caleb. You'll find no scrolls of fireballs or strength charms here, young lady. This is a house of literature and history." Elara hummed, running a finger along a shelf. "Good. I've had enough magic for one week. What do books go for in a place like this?" "Depending on the rarity and the condition," Caleb said, adjusting his glasses. "Most general histories or classic works run between thirty and fifty silver. Some of the more... specialized volumes can go much higher." Elara stopped at a section on ancient orders. "What about the Azure Guard? Ever heard of them?" Caleb's eyebrows shot up. He walked toward her, his interest piqued. "The Azure Guard? That is an old name. A very old name. They were a cult of healers, secretive and legendary. Some say they could mend a heart while it was still beating, or turn the tide of a plague with a single prayer. Most of their records were lost centuries ago. Why do you ask? Do you have an interest in lost mythologies?" Elara smirked, her gaze lingering on the old man. "You could say I've run into a bit of their handiwork." "Is that so?" Caleb's voice turned inquisitive. "They are a fascinating study. Very few people even know the name anymore." "Just theoretically," Elara said, her smirk widening. "If someone were to find, say, original diaries or history books belonging to the Azure Guard... what would they be worth to a collector like you?" Caleb's expression went dead serious. He leaned in, his voice dropping an octave. "Theoretically? An original Azure Guard tome would be a centerpiece for any royal library. A diary? That would be priceless. It wouldn't just be a book; it would be a map to a lost philosophy of healing. If such a thing truly existed and was brought to me, I would offer a sum that could buy a small manor. Why? Are you claiming to have found one?" Elara laughed softly and began to back toward the door. "Like I said—theoretical. But it's good to know the market value of history." As she stepped out, she could feel Caleb's eyes on her back. He had clearly made the connection, but she didn't care. Information was currency, and she had just confirmed she was sitting on a gold mine of paper and ink. She visited another bookstore a few blocks away, but this one was the polar opposite. It was packed with adventurers and students, the air thick with the smell of sweat and cheap ink. She spent nearly three hours browsing the skill book section, hoping to find something that would nudge her [Identify] skill into leveling up, but the prices were astronomical and the contents mostly redundant. A male attendant eventually approached her, looking a bit harried. "Excuse me, miss. If you aren't going to purchase a volume, I have to ask you to pay the browsing fee or move along. We're quite crowded today." "Just checking the competition," Elara said. "What's the damage for a basic combat theory book?" "The prices are clearly marked," the attendant said, looking relieved she wasn't going to argue. "Most start at forty silver." Elara frowned. "Forty? For stuff I can learn by getting kicked in the ribs? I'll pass." She left the store and headed toward a restaurant she had spotted earlier. It featured a balcony overlooking a large plaza. She sat down and ordered a flatbread topped with cheese and herbs that tasted remarkably like a rustic pizza. As she ate, she watched the flow of the city below. When the waiter returned to clear her plate, she gestured toward the center of the city. "The Adventurers Guild. Which way?" "Huge building near the central library, miss," the waiter pointed. "Can't miss it. Look for the crowd of people looking for trouble." The guild was exactly as described. It was a massive, imposing structure of grey stone. The doors were wide enough for a wagon to pass through, and the interior was a cacophony of shouting, clanking armor, and the rustle of parchment. Job postings covered the walls in overlapping layers. As Elara walked through the main hall, a gruff warrior with a level fifty-eight tag on his chest stepped into her path. "You a healer?" he asked, his eyes scanning her robes. "Our group is heading into the lower crypts. We need a steady hand. Good split of the loot." "Not interested," Elara said, stepping around him. A mage in blue robes and a knight in polished steel approached her next, but she gave them the same short shrift. She noticed the way their faces fell. It was a pattern—groups of four or five fighters all looking for the same thing. *Healers are rare,* she thought. *Or at least, healers who are willing to risk their necks with strangers are.* She made her way to the main desk, where an attendant was processing a stack of badges. "I want to become an adventurer," Elara said. The attendant didn't look up. "Level? There's a ten silver fee for the registration and processing if you're aiming for Silver. Copper is free if you're under level ten, but you don't look like a Copper." "I'm looking at Silver," Elara said. "How does the tag system work? Can I get a higher one if my level warrants it?" The attendant finally looked up, offering a professional, slightly tired smile. "The tags are based on your primary class and your verified level. Silver is for levels thirty to forty-nine. You can request a higher tag, like Gold or Quartz, but it's risky. If you take a job rated for a Gold rank and you can't pull your weight, the guild isn't responsible for your funeral. And the tags are class-specific. They tell other adventurers exactly what you bring to the table." Elara didn't hesitate. She pulled ten silver from her pouch and slid them across the counter. "Silver, then. Healer." The attendant processed the payment and handed her a heavy, metallic badge. Elara felt a pulse of magic as she took it. [Aetheric Sense revealed nothing. A small herb was engraved in it, likely the symbol for healers.] "There you go. Silver Rank Healer. Keep it visible if you're looking for work." "Why are there so few of us here?" Elara asked, gesturing to the desperate-looking warriors. "I've been asked to join three groups just walking from the door to this desk." The attendant sighed. "Healers are always in demand, but most of them take the easy path. Cities hire them for clinics, the military scoops them up for the front lines, or the colleges keep them for research. Being an adventurer is dangerous. Most healers would rather have a steady paycheck and a roof that doesn't leak." "And what about hybrid classes?" Elara asked. "Why don't more people just learn a bit of both?" The attendant nodded. "It's the investment. Trying to level up combat skills and healing skills at the same time usually means you're mediocre at both. Most people prefer to specialize. A 'battle healer' sounds good in theory, but in practice, they usually die because they're too busy swinging a sword to cast a ward, or vice versa." "I guess I'll just have to be the exception," Elara said, pinning the badge to her cloak. She left the guild and headed back to the Hayes Estate. The sun was dipping below the horizon again, painting the sky in bruises of purple and gold. When she arrived, a servant handed her a sealed envelope containing the documentation for the tournament—her seat assignment and the rules of engagement for the spectators and participants. She spent the rest of the evening wandering the more vibrant parts of the city, enjoying the music from the taverns and the general sense of celebration. Stonegate was preparing for its big anniversary, and the energy was infectious. By the time she returned to her room, she was feeling the effects of a few celebratory drinks. Her head was light, her movements a little too loose. She sat on the edge of the bed and focused. "[Rejuvenation]," she whispered. A cool, refreshing wave of energy washed over her. The fog in her brain cleared instantly. The warmth of the alcohol vanished, replaced by a sharp, cold clarity. She frowned, feeling the sudden loss of the pleasant buzz. It was a useful trick for staying sharp, but it made for a very abrupt end to the night. She lay back, staring at the ceiling, thinking about the Gale Puma and the tournament to come. Tomorrow, she would sell her weapons and prepare for the hunt. *** Elara sells her bow, sword, and daggers to Gareth, who offers a fair price. ════════════════════════════════════════