Rowan frowned in confusion, glancing at Annie and seeing his expression reflected back.

  Before either of them could say anything, Silvia piped up. “I vote yes.”

  Zoe nodded to the rowdy archer. “Thank you,” she said, taking in the rest of the group. “I’ve been in Litwick for a week, and I haven’t been able to find a capable team at the right level of strength. The temple has paired me with a few different parties, but none of them are suitable for what I require.”

  “And that would be?” Annie frowned, crossing her arms.

  She didn’t seem all that enthused by the opportunity, but Rowan found himself curious. Having a healer would be a massive boon. And with the way Zoe had asked, it seemed like she was interested in a more permanent arrangement.

  Annie’s gruff approach didn’t seem to deter the healer. “Two things,” she continued. “Firstly, a smaller group. Between four and six members. More than that and the chance of grievous injury drops significantly.”

  Omi snorted. “You want us to get hurt?”

  Zoe tilted her head. “Not you particularly, no. It doesn't matter to me who gets injured, as long as I get to rectify it,” she looked back at Annie. “And secondly, any team I join needs to contain someone capable of protecting me from harm.”

  “Told you. Sideways.” Silvia's smile widened. “I love it.”

  “I appreciate your vote of confidence,” Zoe nodded, seemingly not bothered by being called strange. “Your group fits both of those criteria. You are obviously capable, judging by the amount of dead goblins in this cavern. And having a mage among your number heightens your combat ability to an enviable degree.”

  Nemir stepped closer, his brow squinting in thought. “Having a healer join our group would be a boon,” he said, shooting Annie a questioning glance.

  As much as the swordsman was the de-facto leader of the team, a decision as big as taking in another member wasn’t something he could make on his own.

  “It would let us take on more dangerous quests,” she muttered, rubbing her chin, appraising the white-haired woman. “But we don’t know anything about you. And this isn’t the place for a discussion like this one.”

  Zoe nodded. “What time would be amenable to you?”

  “Are you staying here, or joining us back to the city?” Annie asked.

  “My contract states I am to assist the Steel Fist in completing a quest. With the goblins no longer here, that means helping them with the Stalker nest,” she sighed. “Unfortunately, I will be spending the night here.”

  “Alright, then we can have this conversation once we’re all back in the city,” Annie said. “That gives us some time to talk among ourselves.”

  Zoe nodded. “Thank you for your consideration.”

  Rowan found himself smiling. There was something strangely disarming about the girl. Like she was in her own little world, unconcerned with anything besides what caught her eye.

  If she does join us, we’ll be more than qualified to take on Silver-rank quests. And if Nemir advances, we might be one of the strongest teams in the city.

  Having a mage, a healer, and a warrior with an Aura would allow them to venture deeper into the Wilds. To take on threats that would in turn push the rest of the team closer to advancing.

  Lost in thought, Rowan didn’t notice as Zoe took a step closer to him, eyeing him with a curious expression. “You are strange,” she said, slowly circling him.

  “Umm, right back at you?” He replied, watching the scene in amusement.

  “I can sense a well of power inside you, yet for some reason, your Core is still infantile,” she stopped moving, standing in front of Rowan with an appraising look in her eyes. “Are you incompetent?”

  Omi burst out laughing. “I’m with you Sil. She’s got my vote.”

  Rowan’s eye twitched.

  I feel like I should be offended.

  Calling him incompetent had struck a nerve, but she’d said it with such a calm curiosity that Rowan couldn’t help but shake his head. “No, I don’t think I am,” he chuckled. “Are you asking because of my age?”

  Zoe nodded. “Yes. Mages usually Awaken earlier than other people. Meaning you had years to advance your Core. So why didn’t you?”

  Her approach might have been disarming, but that didn’t mean he would go spilling his secrets to her. Especially considering how dangerous that knowledge could be.

  I’m tempted to tell her I’ve only been a mage for less than half a year just to see the look on her face. But that seems like a slight overreaction to being called incompetent.

  He could see the rest of the team waiting for his answer. Rowan appreciated that none of them had pried into his past, but now that someone else had asked a question, their curiosity was almost palpable.

  “It’s a long story. One that I don’t feel like telling right now,” he said with a small smile. “Suffice it to say, I had my reasons.”

  Zoe listened intently to his answer, taking it in stride. “I would be interested in hearing it when you feel comfortable telling it,” she said, giving the team one final glance before walking away to the camp Killian and his team had set up.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Rowan sighed, running a hand through his hair. “She’s infuriatingly sincere.”

  Annie snorted. “Alright, we’ve wasted enough time. How long do you need before you have some mana to throw around?”

  He pulled his focus to his Core. His reserves were at less than a tenth. The potion had been steadily doing its work in the background, but without meditating, it was slow going.

  “I’ll be good to go in half an hour or so,” he said. “We should be able to make it back before nightfall.”

  “Then get to it,” she shooed him away. “I’ve had enough of dimly lit caverns for a few weeks. At least.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he saluted, moving away to a quiet corner.

  Kai flew down, no longer needing to hide. Rowan hadn’t wanted the little bugger to be near in case a fight broke out. He was much more suited to surprise attacks.

  His familiar settled in his lap, nuzzling his beak into Rowan’s chest. He smiled, lightly stroking his soft feathers and closing his eyes.

  Meditating wasn’t his favorite thing in the world, but there were some things that made it bearable.

  .

  .

  .

  The trek back to Litwick was thankfully uneventful. They ran across another pack of Vinesnakes, but with Rowan no longer holding back, it took less than a minute for them to turn into charred corpses.

  “Well, that was certainly an eventful outing,” Nemir said, his broad shoulders finally relaxing as they entered the safety of the city walls. “What’s the plan? Are we turning in the quest right away?”

  “Why wait,” Omi shrugged. “Might as well get it done with.”

  “Do all of us need to go?” Silvia grumbled, raising an arm, wincing as she took a sniff. “I’m sweaty, smelly, and covered in blood. What I want is a nice relaxing bath, and a tall glass of something strong.”

  “I’m with her,” Annie said, wiping the dust from her face. “You boys can take care of it. We’re gonna go get cleaned up,” she put her arm around Sil’s shoulders, walking away before the three of them could protest.

  Kai flew after them, landing on Annie’s shoulder and shaking his wings. Silvia immediately started scratching his beak, and the three of them left.

  Omi watched them go with a frown, staring down at his tattered appearance, his leather armor scratched up and bloody. “Can I…?” he asked, glancing at Nemir.

  The swordsman sighed. “Sure,” he glanced at Rowan. “What about you?”

  Rowan shrugged. “I’ll go with you,” he smirked. “Who knows who you’ll piss off without someone to keep you in check.”

  Omi snorted. “Try not to get yourselves killed,” he waved, walking away.

  Nemir frowned, crossing his arms. “I still think we shouldn’t have needed to pay them off,” he muttered. “The Guild exists for a reason. Letting quests expire should be discouraged, not rewarded.”

  “It’s just gold,” Rowan said as they made their way towards the Guild Hall.

  “It isn’t about the gold,” Nemir muttered.

  Rowan sighed. “I didn’t like it any more than you did,” he said, eyeing the swordsman. “It felt suspiciously close to losing. And I think neither of us enjoy that.”

  Nemir grimaced. “Exactly.” He clenched his fist. “If I had my Aura, that wouldn’t have happened.”

  Rowan wasn’t so sure that was true. He’d been there, and Killian hadn’t hesitated. Even when there was a mage involved. Having a Silver-rank on top of that would have probably cut down on the amount they gave him, but Rowan doubted it’d cut it down to zero.

  “Don’t beat yourself up over it,” Rowan said, rummaging through his pockets, and pulling out a handful of silver coins. He threw them into a hat in front of a youth performing on the street, skillfully plucking away at the strings of a lyre.

  The boy’s eyes widened in surprise at the amount, and he muttered a quick thank you.

  “It’s just how things work here,” Rowan said as they continued further into the city, the smell of freshly cooked meat hitting their noses. His stomach rumbling.

  “Annie didn’t look angry, she looked more annoyed. Which definitely wouldn’t have been the case if they’d been doing something really untoward,” he said, walking around a bickering pair of merchants.

  Both were selling basic healing potions—which were the equivalent of throwing a mildly effective herb into boiling water. The amount of impurities in them meant the cooldown between uses was around a month. A substantial difference from the one week that Omi now needed to wait, and an even larger difference between the one day Rowan would need to.

  They were capable of dealing with superficial wounds, while the higher-grade potions healed wounds like the one Rowan suffered with ease.

  But Litwick wasn’t exactly filled with skilled alchemists. Or blacksmiths. Or really any profession of note. So potions like these ones ended up in use more often than they should have.

  There weren’t many adventurers that risked venturing into the Wilds with an active cooldown. Meaning that at any given moment, a number of them were out of commission.

  Nemir sighed. “You’re right. But I don’t have to like it.”

  “No, you don’t.” Rowan chuckled. “It’ll even out. Pretty soon, you’ll be a Silver-rank too, and then you get to throw your weight around,” he smirked, nudging him with his shoulder. “So enough righteous indignation. We have more important things to talk about.”

  Nemir laughed, his posture relaxing. “Let’s hope so.” A hungry expression crossed his face—one Rowan recognized all too well.

  “It was right there.” Nemir whispered. “At the end, when I deflected its last strike.” His eyes closed, his tone softening as if he were reliving the moment. “I’ve been pushing at this mountain for years, even before I Awakened. But during that fight, I finally felt something give.”

  Nemir rarely opened up like this. Over the past few months, Rowan had suspected the swordsman came from nobility—his bearing and discipline hinted at it—but he’d never outright said so.

  This all but confirmed it.

  “Which one are you going for?” Rowan asked.

  It could be Vigor, he thought. Nemir certainly has the stature for it.

  Rowan’s gaze swept over his companion. He himself was taller than most, but he still had to crane his head upwards to look at Nemir. Being tall and broad helped with Vigor because there was simply more to work with. It made understanding the Concept easier—more tangible—because the body itself became the foundation of power.

  It probably isn’t Haste, he decided.

  While Nemir was quick for his size, besides Rowan, he was the slowest member of their team.

  It’s probably Might, Rowan concluded. That’s what the hobgoblin had. Fighting against it is what led to his breakthrough.

  Might was straightforward but deceptively complex. To comprehend it, a warrior needed to have complete mastery over their body. But more than that, they needed to embody it. To be Mighty, in the truest sense of the word.

  Nemir’s fight against the hobgoblin wasn’t just a clash of strength but a test of refinement.

  Rowan had grown up surrounded by warriors who had mastered their Aura’s. Even as a child, he’d become familiar with their weight. Each one was distinct in its own way. Yet, as different as they were, all of them originated from the same three root Concepts: Strength, Dexterity, and Vitality.

  Manifesting an Aura outside the body wasn’t natural. It required not only incredible control, but also an immense willpower. To shape an Aura around a blade, spear, or even bow meant treating the weapon as an extension of the self. It wasn’t enough to swing harder or faster. The wielder had to connect their Intent to the Concept they were chasing.

  Rowan’s father had once described it as trying to paint on water—impossible, until you understood the medium.

  “Might,” Nemir said, his voice cutting through Rowan’s reminiscing. “It was always going to be the path I followed.”

  He smiled faintly, glancing at his friend. “Might suits you,” Rowan said. “It’s steady, reliable. A shield, and a hammer.”

  Nemir nodded, his expression distant but determined. “I’ll get there,” he said. “Sooner rather than later.”

  Rowan felt his own desire for advancement flare up. He’d been avoiding it. Pushing it off in favor of either exploring the Wilds, or mastering his spells in the Plateau. Working on his Core for the next week would be dull and monotonous, but it was time to get it done.

  The five levels he’d get for advancing to Orange would certainly prove useful, though they were secondary to gaining another affinity.

  His fight against the shaman had left him closer to death than he’d care to admit. And if at all possible, dying was something Rowan wanted to avoid.

  There was only one way to make sure of that.

  Tomorrow, he decided. No stopping until I’m done.

  It had already been a long day, and with the sun setting, Rowan was feeling exhaustion slowly creeping in. After a good night’s rest, he’d get started. But there was something else they needed to do first.

  They uncovered which tribe was moving into the region, and that was a piece of information the Guild would definitely want to know.

  His feet dragged as they walked through the streets, making their way to the Guild Hall. When they reached it, Rowan pushed open the heavy doors, walking into the rowdy tavern.