Five Castoffs Who Had Been Chosen By No One
After the lingering silence, they began to move forward.
One by one, the Lost Children rose and approached the wooden counter where Loki waited. No triumphant cheers. No eager enthusiasm. Just the measured footsteps of people who had come to a sobering realization:
*There was no going back.*
Only forward.
As their chosen names were inscribed in the registration ledger, Loki presented each with a small rectangular plate of lightweight, unassuming metal. Nothing ornate. Nothing flashy. Yet it bore immense significance:
An adventurer's plaque.
Their first official identification in this world.
Ren studied his in silence. The cool metal rested heavily in his palm despite its physical lightness. No elaborate designs—just his newly chosen name and the association's emblem stamped into the surface.
The plaque weighed little.
The responsibility it represented weighed everything.
With this, they ceased being mere outsiders. They had taken their first step into this world's hierarchy—starting at the very bottom as the weakest, most expendable links.
But still—
It was a beginning.
A tentative step... toward survival in Midgard.
---
As the last plaque was distributed, the room settled into an uneasy quiet. The confusion and alienation hadn't fully dissipated from any of them.
Loki resumed his position behind the counter, arms crossed, his expression now more approachable—or at least less severe than before.
"Listen well," he began, his gaze traveling across their faces. "Before you can undertake official guild quests, there's an essential initiation you must complete."
All attention focused on him.
"Basic combat training... and class specialization," Loki continued. "This will determine your foundational role."
"Class specialization?" The silver-haired man swirled his drink absently. "Explain these 'roles'."
Loki's lips quirked. "Straight to the point. I like that."
He leaned forward slightly as he elaborated:
"Your class forms the core of your capabilities. It dictates your initial skill set and future advancement paths. Choose Swordsman, for instance, and you might later specialize as a Knight, Crusader, or Dark Knight."
His tone grew more serious.
"With time and experience, you'll qualify for advanced specializations to strengthen your chosen path. But first... you must master the fundamentals."
Ren absorbed this silently.
*Classes... Roles... Skills.*
Fragments of some elaborate system governing this world. The rules seemed predetermined, immutable—and they, the Lost Children, were merely new pieces being placed on the board.
"Where do we receive this training?" The silver-haired man's calm voice cut through the murmurs.
Loki gestured vaguely toward the city beyond the tavern walls.
"Swordsmen train near the northern gate. Mages study in the eastern tower. The northern church handles priestly vocations. As for Thieves and Archers... seek the southern district."
With fluid grace, the silver-haired man rose from his chair. His sharp eyes evaluated those still seated before pointing decisively at several individuals.
"You—spectacles and green hair. You—the disheveled one. The blonde woman at the end. And... the muscular one in the corner."
His selections provoked startled looks but no protests. After exchanging uncertain glances, the chosen ones stood and followed him out without ceremony.
Ren watched their departure blankly.
He hadn't been selected.
Perhaps he appeared too frail. Or perhaps... the silver-haired man simply saw nothing worth cultivating in him.
The observation didn't anger him. It merely... was.
"I'll take my leave as well."
Another voice disrupted the quiet.
A black-haired man with shoulder-length locks grabbed his plaque and strode toward the boisterous veteran adventurers carousing in the corner.
Six remained.
Including Ren.
As the atmosphere settled into uncomfortable silence, a gravelly voice called out from behind them.
"Hey Loki! These the fresh meat?"
A grizzled warrior sauntered over—his scarred light armor and jagged grin broadcasting years of hard experience.
"Registered today," Loki confirmed with a nod.
The veteran's assessing gaze landed on the largest remaining candidate.
"We need a new tank after... what happened last mission. The big one'll do."
All eyes turned to the burly man in question.
Loki arched an eyebrow but deferred. "His choice, not mine."
Suddenly the focus shifted entirely to the muscular man—his decision now carrying unexpected weight.
Ren observed quietly.
This world's rules were becoming clear:
The decisive prospered.
The strong dictated.
The quick to act advanced.
And him?
Still seated. Still calculating his first move.
---
"Well then."
The brown-haired man's cheerful voice broke the tension as he rose and stretched. "Looks like we're the last picks."
Ren glanced around.
Indeed.
Only their motley group remained:
Himself.
The affable brown-haired man.
An awkwardly enthusiastic redhead.
Two girls—one dark-haired and watchful, the other braided and bubbly.
No more appraising looks from veteran parties.
No more recruitment offers.
They were the unchosen. The overlooked.
The brown-haired man grinned, dispelling the awkward atmosphere with a wave.
"What say we form our own party?" he proposed. "Not like we've got better options, yeah?"
His chuckle carried more resignation than humor.
Ren considered the offer. He knew nothing of these people.
Their capabilities.
Their trustworthiness.
But he knew this much:
Alone, he wouldn't last a day.
"...I'm in," Ren said quietly, with finality.
The short-haired girl nodded once. "Better than waiting around."
"Oooh! This'll be fun!" The braided girl practically vibrated with excitement.
The redhead scratched his neck sheepishly. "Guess I'm with you guys too."
And so—without grand oaths or ceremonial pledges—
five castoffs who had been chosen by no one...
...chose each other.
"Alright then," the brown-haired man said enthusiastically as he stood up. "How about we get out of here? It's getting late... and some fresh air might help us think."
Before stepping away, he paused and smiled at them.
"Oh right, I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Arata."
Ren nodded slowly, committing the name to memory. Arata seemed like an approachable sort—relaxed, yet with his own way of filling awkward silences.
The short-haired girl stepped forward calmly and looked at each of them in turn.
"I'm Lina," she said quietly. "Nice to meet you all."
Ren studied her expression. Though composed, there was a quiet firmness in her eyes—like someone who wasn't easily shaken.
Next, the red-haired man, who had seemed hesitant earlier, raised his hand slightly.
"I'm Kiel... uh, that's all I've got," he said, avoiding eye contact.
Ren smiled faintly. His voice was unremarkable, but something in his tone carried a familiar warmth and awkwardness.
"Hey! I'm Clara!" The girl with braids stepped forward with a light step and a bright grin. "Looks like we'll be spending a lot of time together, huh?"
Her energy was like a small light slipping into the dim room. Of the five of them, she was the brightest—at least on the surface.
Finally, all eyes turned to Ren.
He glanced down at the plaque in his hand... then back at them.
"My name is... Ren."
His voice was soft, but not uncertain.
"I'm glad to meet you all."
An awkward smile formed on his face. But when the other four returned it—each in their own way—something warm began to bloom in his chest.
For the first time since he had opened his eyes in this unfamiliar world—
He didn't feel alone.