Zariel had spent too long moping and reminiscing on the streets of Revenshein. He was not that initiate paladin any longer. No, he was the strongest paladin. One that had conquered Zantori Citadel. His sword and shield had no equal. He turned to the crowd. Without casting a spell, the paladin silenced them with his glare. Zariel got on his mount, a two-legged wyrm with iridescent wings, and set out with a determined look in his eye.

  There was an explanation. He would lay it before Casttee and the rest and ask for their forgiveness. This was a misunderstanding, one that could be mended. In the end, he and his guild would be whole once again. He rode at full speed towards the Guilds’ Quarter. There, he’d throw open the doors to the hall and speak to his friends earnestly.

  “Mail!”

  A high-pitched, whiny voice screeched in his ear.

  “Mail for Zariel!”

  The paladin sighed.

  “Mail for—HEY!”

  A small, furious light hovered before Zariel’s face.

  “DID YOU JUST TRY TO BLOW ME AWAY?”

  He groaned.

  “No.”

  The fairy’s wings fluttered faster than the eye could see. She had no issue keeping up with the breakneck pace Zariel maintained as he dashed through the Commerce District.

  A praran, small creatures that every adventurer received upon completing their level 15 quest.

  While some took great effort in fawning over their prarans, accessorizing them and giving them fanciful names, Zariel had taken a more simple approach.

  “I HAVE MAIL! YOU BIG BULLY!”

  “Go back home, Praran,” Zariel said firmly. “I instructed you not to disturb me until I returned from Zantori Citadel.”

  The light praran’s glimmer made it difficult to see her figure, but Zariel knew she had assumed her go-to stance of placing her hands on her hips and sticking her head out in annoyance.

  “Not to disturb you until you returned—looks like you returned just fine to me!” she snapped.

  “That’s not—”

  “Not just returned, but triumphant too! Praran Street is abuzz with news that you were the first to conquer Zantori Citadel!”

  She hovered just in front of his eyes.

  “Of course, I was quick to tell all of them that it was my advice that got you through those grueling boss battles.”

  “Go. Home.”

  He waved his hand in front of his face, slowly enough that it gave Praran more than enough time to react.

  “Grrrr! Fine, I’ll leave and take that letter from the cleric with me!”

  Zariel tugged on the reins, causing his wyrm to slide across the road. A warrior and a chanter dove out of the way, unable to complete their transaction thanks to the massive beast that would have flattened them otherwise.

  “Letter from a cleric?”

  The paladin reached for the floating orb of light, but it quickly dodged out of the way.

  “Nope!” Praran said. “Too late, I’m going home!”

  She began to fly away. Slowly.

  Zariel sat on his mount and waited.

  “I’m leaving and nothing you say will make me stay!”

  Her beating wings kept her stationary.

  “No matter how much you beg!”

  He did not take his praran with him as much as other adventurers took theirs, but he knew her well enough by now.

  The shimmering light grew closer.

  “But if you say you couldn’t have done Zantori Citadel without me…”

  “I couldn’t have done Zantori Citadel with you.”

  Suddenly, the constant sound of fluttering wings vanished.

  The fairy plummeted through the air like a stone as the light around her vanished.

  She was no larger than a finger, if that. Praran lay on the ground, her hands over her heart and a beaming smile on her face.

  “He couldn’t have done it without me…” she said sweetly, stretching her hand up to Zariel.

  “I said I couldn’t have done it with you,” Zariel clarified. “And I didn’t.”

  The fairy leaned up off the ground and glared at the giant paladin.

  “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Oh gods! Why has he forsaken me?” Praran clutched her heart, lamenting the horrible betrayal she had suffered.

  Before she could finish her dramatic performance, a galloping horse came barreling down the road.

  Zariel had stopped just in front of the Auction House, the Commerce District’s busiest area.

  It was where many adventurers set up their own shops so that others could buy goods directly without bidding at the broker.

  No listing fees for the seller. No turbulent bidding wars for the buyer.

  But others took a different approach.

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  “Two-hundred thousand gold for these daggers from Smelted Depths!” a gunner shouted from atop his horse. “Fifty-thousand cheaper than the Auction House!”

  His voice boomed throughout the street. He did not care who heard him, he only cared how many.

  Praran was too absorbed in her dramatics that she did not see the hooves about to crush her.

  Zariel snapped his reins.

  The horse bounced off the wyrm’s thick scales, sending the gunner and his horse careening into one of the less-busy alleyways while its rider continued yelling about the incredible deal he was offering.

  Praran soared into the air and slammed into Zariel’s cheek.

  “You saved me!” she exclaimed, grabbing his cheek in her tiny arms. “Zariel, you’re the—"

  “The letter.”

  The mere act of moving his jaw to speak propelled her backwards.

  She huffed. Tapping her foot in the air before ultimately giving in.

  “Fine!”

  Miraculously, the tiny praran pulled out a full-sized envelope.

  It was Praran magic, a different kind than that of warlocks and sorcerers.

  She dropped it into his hand and glared, but he was already opening up the letter with unusual urgency.

  He was concerned, though she could not have known why.

  There was only one cleric he cared about at the moment. Zariel hoped that this letter was from her.

  The fairy hovered over Zariel’s shoulder, scanning the parchment alongside Zariel.

  “Leaih?” she blurted. “Who’s that?”

  He crumpled up the paper and crushed it in his palm.

  “Eeep!”

  A holy fire incinerated it into ash. Then, the ashes too vanished into vapor.

  Praran eyed him warily.

  “Are you going to explain—”

  “Head down to Orel and find her mansion,” he ordered.

  She had never seen him like this before. There was a determined, unyielding look in his eyes.

  Praran did not know what was so special about the letter, but she would do anything to help Zariel. Considering he never asked her for anything, this was a rare opportunity to actually do something for him.

  “On my way!” she announced as she flew through the crowd of merchants and customers. “See you in Orel! I can’t wait, our first adventure in so long!”

  Her bubbling voice rang in his ears. She was overjoyed.

  Zariel wasn’t.

  Leaih.

  That name had been on the wall below his. She knew something. If she was the mastermind behind what had happened at Zantori Citadel, then he would make her answer for the crime of robbing Casttee and his guild of their raid clear.

  He looked towards the Guilds’ Quarter, giving it once last look before tugging on the reins.

  “I’ll come back with answers,” he muttered under his breath. “I swear.”

  “Is this it?”

  Zariel stood at the base of a green hill covered with trimmed, flourishing grass. On top of the hill was a white mansion with several floors and dozens of rooms. And that was just what he could see from the bottom of the hill.

  A humble wooden gate extended around the perimeter, as if it deterred people from walking up the cobblestone path on the other side of the boundary. It was so small that Zariel could have simply stepped over it if he wished.

  “Mhmm!” Praran hummed. “This is it, all right. It sure beats our humble home, doesn’t it, Zariel?”

  The paladin did not reply. He opened the latch on the gate and entered the property.

  “Go home.”

  The gate closed behind him.

  “I’ll be quiet!”

  A tap on his helmet.

  “Leaih won’t even know I’m hiding in there! Please! After living in that cramped box of ours, I just have to see how the wealthy in Orel live!”

  The fairy couldn’t see his expression under the metal visor of his helmet, but she didn’t need to. His answer was obvious.

  She sighed, sliding into a melodic hum as she turned her back on the paladin.

  “If you need me, you know how to summon me.”

  The paladin was already marching up the hill.

  “You do know how to summon me, right?”

  Praran’s voice was a distant squeak, as were the subsequent curses she levied at her master.

  Zariel’s gaze was set squarely on the mansion at the top of the hill.

  He walked with a steady pace, each step of his boots landing precisely without delay. The extravagant, arching cherry blossoms that covered the walkway did not interest him. Nor did the families of exotic birds and colorful insects flying through the air.

  Leaih. Zantor. The mysterious boss of light and dark.

  It was all a blur to him. There were pieces and fragments he could see in his mind’s eye, but not understand. He remembered a warrior swinging relentlessly. Evo the gunner placing her rifle on his shoulder. That boss had summoned oblivion. And oblivion had come.

  Somehow, he had survived.

  He shook his head, pushing those confusing and contradicting thoughts far from his mind.

  Birds chirped all around him. The wind carried the sweet scent of flowers and fruit. Before him stood the white door to the mansion. It was a different kind of white than the mysterious foe’s. Theirs had been unfeeling and cold. This white was pure, unbleshmished, and somehow, good. In a way, it was even inviting. It was not too different from the golden light that all paladin’s wielded, but few mastered.

  Laughter. Not from one person, but from multiple. Men and women’s. Genuine, joyous laughter. Flowing, pleasant music emanated from beyond the walls. It sickened him. Casttee and his guild had been deprived of their rightful victory, and they were laughing. Zariel pushed the door, sending it crashing into the wall. Inside was a lavish parlor, with many satin couches and ornate chairs on the ground floor. There were six people. His eyes fell on one familiar gunner leaning against the fireplace.

  Evo.

  Zariel was almost certain, though he had not realized her hair was the same fiery tone as the flames in the fireplace.

  “That makes seven,” said the cleric, sitting in the chair beside her. “Welcome Zariel.”

  The bard stopped playing her harplin and gave a friendly wave.

  He looked around and realized what he had stumbled into.

  They were all familiar to him.

  He knew their faces. He remembered their names.

  A warrior, ForNot.

  A chanter, Marcatan.

  A warlock. Eclipse.

  A gunner, Evo.

  A bard, Arctic.

  A cleric, Leaih.

  The same classes as those on the wall.

  He drew his sword and shield.

  “Woah pal, this ain’t the arena,” Evo said. “Though it’s probably bigger…”

  The warrior, standing near to the door, drew her axes.

  “A true fighter can make any place an arena,” she growled. “Duel me, paladin.”

  The axes confirmed his suspicion. If this was an ambush, they would need more than seven.

  He began to channel his light into his sword.

  “Stop!”

  Leaih the cleric ran in between them.

  “P-please, this isn’t the time nor the place—” she urged, turning to the warrior, “especially not the place.”

  ForNot spat on the ground, causing Leaih to flinch as the glob hit the rug.

  “I have waited long enough, tell me why you have summoned us here, cleric,” the warrior ordered.

  Leaih looked up at Zariel and forced a weak smile.

  “Sorry,” she said. “You can take off your helmet. I promise that no harm will befall you here.”

  Genuine sincerity.

  It was almost overshadowed by the warrior’s scowl, or by the chanter’s meditative mutterings from the corner of the room.

  Even so, her promise was judged by Zariel and found worthy.

  He sheathed his sword and took off his helmet.

  Leaih stood on her toes and tried her best to peer over the paladin’s shoulders.

  “No one came with you?” she asked, looking down the cobblestone path.

  Zariel briefly glanced at the inside of his helmet.

  “No,” he said confidently.

  The cleric pursed her lips and closed the door behind him.

  “That’s a shame, I guess he didn’t get my letter…”

  Standing by the shelves on the balcony overlooking the parlor, Eclipse the Warlock slammed a book shut.

  “Perhaps he did receive it but did not care to answer,” he suggested. “Rogues are self-serving. It is their nature. S is no different.”

  “You two have met before?” Leaih asked.

  The warlock walked down the stairs, joining the other six.

  “No, but I did some light research before coming here,” Eclipse explained. “Two noteworthy items. S is infamous for scamming new adventurers. He is also quite high ranked in the arena.”

  There was the sound of stifled laughter. Faint, but noticeable.

  Yet no one was laughing.

  “Not high ranked enough,” ForNot said. “I’ve never encountered this ‘S’, nor do I care to.”

  She pointed an axe at Leaih.

  “Cleric, explain why you have called us—agh—"

  The warrior’s knees buckled.

  “Are you all right?” Leaih asked, preparing her wand.

  ForNot waved her off. “Fine, just a head—ARGH!”

  She fell to the ground, clutching her side.

  “Ranked high enough to do this,” a voice said.

  Something was not right. Zariel drew his sword and shield, and others drew their own weapons.

  “I’ll take care of this,” Evo said, spinning a pistol around her finger.

  [EvoFlare Mk. III]

  A flash of light engulfed the room.

  “Gotcha.”

  When Zariel’s vision finally returned, a hooded rogue stood over the wounded warrior, rubbing his eyes. Immediately, ForNot grabbed her axes and leapt to her feet. The rogue had no idea what he had set in motion.

  “NO!”