A City of Stone and Fire
The gates of Halcyra opened wide at dusk.
Thane stepped into the city beneath a sky burning orange, his gray cloak draped over his shoulders like ash clinging to an ember. The noise was immediate—vendors yelling, wheels grinding, boots clattering on stone. He hadn't seen this many people in his entire life.
And none of them looked his way.
That was fine.
He wasn't here to be seen.
The Adventurer's Guild tower rose from the city's center like a fortress of iron and blackened glass. No banners. No murals. Just a single sign hammered into the wall:
ADVENTURER'S GUILD — HALCYRA CHAPTER
"Power Defines Rights."
He walked through its tall steel doors, past guards, past clerks, past adventurers laughing over drinks or scanning the mission board.
And straight to the registration counter.
A woman with tight braids and sharper eyes looked up at him.
"You don't look like much."
"I'm not here to look like anything."
"Hmph." She grabbed a form. "Name?"
"Thane."
"No last name?"
"Just Thane."
She didn't press.
"Age?"
"Fifteen."
She stopped writing.
"Combat experience?"
"Yes."
"Proof?"
"I can show you."
That made her raise her eyebrows.
Minutes later, Thane stood in the Guild's lower arena—a training coliseum used to assess new applicants. The room circled above with balconies, where seasoned adventurers leaned on railings, bored and curious.
The woman from registration had passed his request up the chain.
And now he stood across from a man in black leather armor with a blade longer than Thane's torso and an insignia sewn onto his shoulder:
A-rank.
A hush fell over the room as the proctor shouted:
"BEGIN!"
The Rank A man rushed forward, sword raised high in an overhead strike.
Most would've dodged.
Thane didn't move.
He didn't chant.
He didn't reach for a wand.
He simply thought—
Firebolt.
And the spell exploded from his palm, crackling straight into the man's plated chest.
The A-rank was knocked back five feet. He skidded across the dirt floor, recovered fast—but looked rattled.
The crowd stirred.
"Did he just…?"
"There was no incantation…"
"And no staff?!"
The A-rank came again, this time with more caution.
Thane shifted low and raised his hand again—
Magma Sword.
The blade burst to life in his hand—fully formed, glowing orange, vibrating with heat.
The crowd gasped.
"A mage… with a sword?!"
"That's conjured—he summoned that blade!"
"Impossible…"
Thane stepped forward and engaged.
They traded five blows.
The A-rank tried to overwhelm him with weight and reach, but Thane ducked inside his guard and slashed across his leg, forcing him back.
Then—Flame Arc.
Thane cast it mid-swing.
The fire surged with the momentum of his cut.
The A-rank flew backward, weapon flying from his grip.
The arena fell dead silent.
A voice broke the hush from above.
"That's enough."
Everyone turned.
The Vice Guildmaster stood at the railing—an older man in long gray robes trimmed with red, scars crossing his jaw and forearm. His rank insignia: SS.
He leapt down from the balcony and landed without a sound.
The A-rank bowed and limped off.
The old man faced Thane.
"Again," he said simply.
Thane squared up.
The Vice Guildmaster raised a hand—no weapon.
But the air compressed.
Thane saw it too late.
A rush of kinetic force slammed into him and sent him skidding back ten feet, boots dragging grooves through the sand.
He didn't even chant…
The old man watched him closely.
"Silent casting, huh? Let's see if it holds up."
Thane cast Flame Ward and charged in.
They clashed—not with blades, but with energy.
The Vice Guildmaster flung invisible force and fire from the air, manipulating raw mana like it was clay. Thane answered with Lava Geyser, then followed with Burning Chain mid-jump, swinging the conjured blade like it weighed nothing.
The audience didn't cheer.
They didn't move.
They watched in stunned silence.
Thane couldn't win.
But he didn't lose.
He landed every strike he could, avoided every spell he sensed, and stayed on his feet.
When his mana hit zero, he dropped to one knee, gasping.
And the Vice Guildmaster raised a hand.
"Enough."
He walked over.
Offered Thane a hand.
"You're not F-rank," he said.
Thane didn't take the hand.
He stood on his own.
"I know."
The old man grinned.
"You've got no mentor, no guild, no paperwork… but gods help me, you've got potential."
He turned to the clerk nearby.
"Put him down as a provisional B-rank. That's as high as I'm allowed without council approval. But mark him for reevaluation."
The clerk scribbled furiously.
Thane blinked.
Then nodded.
As he left the arena, whispers followed him.
"Did you see that?"
"He cast without speaking."
"And no focus…?"
"Even the Vice Guildmaster stepped in…"
Thane walked out of the training floor and into the city light, his new metal tag clinking quietly in his hand.
On it:
B.