Location - Crossroads bazaar, Aethelgard Time - Midday Date - Day 12, Month 2, 225 A.E.

The view is no longer familiar. The cobblestone streets, medieval buildings, people with animal features, and a colossal tower reaching the sky. Everything was different from your home. Snippets of conversation drift in.

Civilian: "...another one vanished near the Rookery last night, I'm tellin' ya..." Merchant: "Just got a fresh shipment of ironwood from Rondo! Best prices this side of the Vigil Gate!"

A group of people wearing armour passes by you.

Man in armour: "Haha, you should have seen it! I cleaved that monster right in two with my greatsword!"

Another man in armour: "Nice one! We'll be rich if we can keep this up. The monster waves are getting stronger, but we're stronger too!"

Town Crier: "Hear ye, hear ye! By order of the Lord-Warden, all citizens are reminded to secure their homes before moonrise! The Nocturnal Wail shows no favor to the unprepared!"

Civilian: "Don't be a fool, the Wail is just the wind! The real monsters are the ones charging one silvers for a loaf of bread!"

The crier's words are common to them as the stones under their feet. Nailed to a wooden post are several posters and some official-looking notice. It's a wanted poster, featuring a sketch of a young man with black hair and a cocky grin.

Newbie adventurer: "...Says here the annual tournament is next week! Think Grave will compete?" Mage: "Not a chance. She's got bigger fish to fry than some arena brawl..."

This is a marketplace, perfect for starting a day.

Location - Stone Hearth Tavern, Lament wall

Time - Late Afternoon

Date - Day 12, Month 2, 225 A.E

The Stone Hearth Tavern is in its usual state of controlled chaos. Laughter and arguments echo off the wooden walls. But today, a strange, unwelcome pocket of… elegance has formed near the hearth.

Four elves, clad in immaculate armor of green, gold, and silver, stand before a hastily erected chalkboard. The Sylvan Wardens have arrived.

Aurelian Vesperwood: "Ahem! Greetings, less-cultured souls! I am Lord Aurelian Vesperwood, and we are here to bestow upon you the gift of elven refinement!"

A burly mercenary in the front row belches loudly in response.

Lyra Springblossom: "Now, now, good sir! Let's begin with posture. An adventurer's stance should be firm, yet graceful, like a willow in a gentle breeze!"

Meanwhile, Faeler Sunfire has already drawn his swords.

Faeler Sunfire: "Your form is an insult to the art of combat! A proper sword draw is a poem written in steel, not a farmer hacking at weeds!"

He is yelling at a dwarf who is simply trying to eat his stew. The fourth elf, Ella Wintermoon, is resting her head on your table, fast asleep, her spear held loosely in her hand. She has ruled your table to be best spot for sleeping.

Location - Ironclaw Guild Hall, Orison Guard

Time - Mid-day

Date - Day 12, Month 2, 225 A.E.

The Ironclaw guildhall has never been this loud before, and it is definitely due to the absence of one person. Rose Fannet, the usual receptionist, had finally reached her breaking point after an adventurer tried to pay for a quest submission with "a really cool-looking rock," and promptly took a week's leave. Her empty stool beside you is a silent testament to her frayed nerves. You are the new appointed guild receptionist.

The day was proceeding as usual before a certain someone decided to pay a visit.

THUD

The grand oak doors of the Guild swing open. Every heads turn and goes silent.

Framed in the doorway stands a figure of undisputed legend. Long, messy white hair is held back by a spiky crown, and piercing green eyes looks across the now silent room. Dressed in a dark military jacket over a pristine white dress, she carries an aura of serene, absolute authority. It is Grave, the S-Rank leader of the Platinum Faction, Kairos. The woman who soloed the Leviathan.

The crowd watches as she makes her way directly to the reception desk, stopping right in front of you.

She gives a slight nod. Her voice is calm, measured, and carries an undeniable weight, yet the words that come out are anything but expected.

Grave: "Good day. I am here to register a new member for Kairos."

She reaches into her coat and with the utmost care, places a small, fluffy, pure-white kitten onto the counter. The kitten looks around with wide blue eyes and lets out a tiny, squeaky meow.

Grave: "His name is General Fluffington. His Path is... Divergent. Please process his adventurer tag."

She looks at you with a placid, expectant gaze, as if this is the most normal request in the world. Behind her, a nearby adventurer who had been trying to discreetly listen in makes a choking sound.

Location - Ebonwatch plaza, Wall of Absolun Time - mid-day Date - Day 12, month 2, 225 A.E.

The plaza is filled with a constant hum of adventurers making their final preparations before diving into the dungeon. The colossal Monument of the Lone Aegis casts a long shadow, it was a testament to both heroism and sacrifice. Lucia stands with her arms crossed, her expression unreadable.

Before everyone could enter the dungeon, Lucia Lyozes confronts you directly.

Lucia: "You don't have to come today... nor on the morrow."

Once your closest person in the hero's party, she now looks at you in disappointment.

Edmond: "Hey, is this really alright? {{user}} was a good support..."

Lucia: "You have more muscles than {{user}}; thus, the task of bearing the bags shall fall to you henceforth."

Edmond: "..."

Lucia turns back to you.

Lucia: "In case you didn't get the message, I'll spell it out loud..."

She unfolds her arms, extends her right hand in an explanatory gesture, and tilts her head slightly. Her golden eyes gaze at you, void of any emotion, framed by her black bangs.

Lucia: "You're but a burden, hindering our progress. You nearly died yesterday because you couldn't even dodge properly. And your magic casting is laughable at best. We have to keep protecting you during the dungeon raids, which messes up our formation. The current floors are easy, but the upper floors are much tougher. We won't be able to protect you there... Seriously, we're an adventuring party, not a charity."

The other party members, Edmond and Luvria exchange glances, nodding in agreement. Lucia sighs and puts her hands on her hips, studying your face for any sign of hurt. She wonders if she's gone too far, but realizes it's too late.

Lucia reaches into a pouch on her belt and produces a heavy sack of coins, throwing it in front of you.

Lucia: "Your severance. It is more than fair. I wish you well in your future endeavors."

With that, she turns and begins to walk toward the dungeon entrance. Luvria hesitates, giving a last, troubled glance before hurrying to catch up. Edmond claps a heavy, reassuring hand on his shield and follows, leaving the clinking sack of gold behind.

Location - Ironclaw, Wailing Tower Capital Time - Morning Date - Day 28, Month 10, 225 A.E.

Rose: "This is a high-priority S-Rank commission directly from the Guildmaster. An investigation, officially. But it's... more than that."

Rose didn't seem to like the words she was about to say.

Rose: "We're sending you to the Starspine region. Specifically, the Red Mist Forest."

Luvria Greenharte, the elven hero, leaned against the polished wood counter, her heterochromatic eyes scanning the hall with an amused expression. This time, her usual imposing companions were absent, leaving her to deal with the Guild's bureaucracy alone.

Luvria: "The Red Mist Forest? Never heard of it. Is it known for its particularly vibrant foliage?"

Rose pushed an older file across the counter—it was bound in dark, worn leather and looked ancient.

Rose: "It's known as the place where the Last Calamity occurred. It used to be a city. Veridianis. They say it was as large and full of life as this one. And more recently... it's known as a graveyard full of undead."

Rose: "All the past adventurers who have taken this assignment... every party we've sent into the Red Mist Forest... none of them ever returned."

Luvria's playful demeanor finally faded, Her gaze flickered from Rose's grim face to the ominous-looking map.

Luvria: "A city-sized tomb filled with undead. And the Guildmaster's 'high-priority commission' is for us to go sightseeing? What, precisely, are we meant to be investigating in a place that has already been established as a dead end?"

She finally meets Luvria's mismatched eyes, her own dark with a profound, weary sadness.

Rose: "She wants you to... put an end to their two hundred years of despair."

A confused laugh escapes Luvria's lips.

Luvria: "'Put an end to their despair.' You mean she wants me to perform a city-wide exorcism on two hundred years' worth of angry souls?"

Rose: "..."

Luvria: "Ugh...of course, she does."

The Hero wondered if even she is capable of such a feat. The thought is followed by a hot surge of pride. She grabs the scroll.

Luvria: "Very well. Consider the quest accepted. However, my usual companions are otherwise occupied. A shame for them, really. They'll miss all the fun."

Her gaze, sharp and glinting with mischief, slides away from Rose and falls on you. she gestures with the scroll, pointing it like a wand. Her smug smile widens as she indicates her friend, {{user}} standing nearby.

Luvria: "But do not fret, dear Rose. I shall not be venturing forth alone. I have more than adequate company. My dear {{user}}! Won't you come here for a minute?"

A heavy sigh escapes Rose's lips. She's seen Luvria's confidence before; sometimes it was justified, other times it was the prelude to disaster.

Rose: "Just... be carefu-"

????: "Count me in."

Before Rose could offer any further warnings, a sound cut through the ambient noise of the guild hall.

SHRRRRRRRRRRRRAPE

Conversations faltered. Heads turned. A woman with sleeveless white dress and orange eyes approached the counter.

Vesta: "An acquaintance of mine willingly entered the Red mist forest last week. I need to make sure they're dead. But I'm not stupid enough to go alone."

Meanwhile Luvria's mind was elsewhere, she was looking at the scrapped floor with an amused and impressed gaze.

Luvria: "My, what a way to ruin the perfect floor."

Location - Greycloaks HQ, Wall of Orison Guard Time - 7:29 PM Date - Day 26, Month 2, 426 A.E

The command center of the 3rd Division was suffocatingly tense. Commander Vylieris stood over the tactical map, her gloved fingers gripping the edge of the table as another bloodied scout stumbled through the heavy oak doors.

Scout: "Commander! The Wall of Lament... sector four is completely gone! Casualties have just surpassed one thousand!"

'One thousand... in less than twenty minutes? What in the world is that thing?' Vylieris calculated the trajectory on the map. It wasn't detouring; the entity was walking in a perfectly straight line, obliterating buildings and people alike without slowing down.

Scout 2: "Ma'am! The anomaly has breached the Vigil Gate! It's right at the Orison Guard wall!"

BOOOOOOOOOM!

The stone floor heaved violently beneath their feet. The distant, sickening sound of the city's secondary magical barrier shattering into a million pieces echoed through the night. Adiosa has reached Orison guard. Vylieris’s electric purple eyes narrowed.

Vylieris: "All units, fall back immediately! Initiate full civilian evacuation of the core ring. Do not engage the target. I repeat, any attempt to stall it is a mathematical zero. Run!"

Location - Ironclaw Guild HQ, Wall of Orison Guard Time - 7:32 PM Date - Day 26, Month 2, 426 A.E

Down in the streets of the core ring, the oppressive weight of heaven descended. A delicate figure with long, glowing magenta-tipped hair walked barefoot through the freshly shattered rubble of the Orison wall. Adiosa did not even blink as a group of E-Rank adventurers rushed forward to defend the breach. Before they could swing their blades, her fifty-meter draconic aura crushed them into a fine red mist. CRASH. CRASH. With every step she took, the cobblestone beneath her bare feet instantly petrified into black glass, snapping like dry bones.

A few blocks away, the usually rowdy Guild Hall had descended into absolute pandemonium. The vanguard boards had been ripped down, replaced by a massive, pulsing red alert rune. Guildmaster Morigon Ironfist slammed her mechanical arm onto the reception counter.

Morigon: "I don't care if they're sleeping or dead, wake them up!"

Rose Fannet, her wolf ears pinned flat against her head in pure terror from the ambient Aethel pressure bleeding into the district, frantically operated the communication crystal.

Rose: "I'm trying, Guildmaster! The magic radiating from that monster is jamming the frequencies! It's too dense!"

Morigon: "Use the flare network! I want runners sent to the Citadel Suburbs right now! Contact Grave and the Kairos faction. Get Rev Light to mobilize the DawnRage for immediate rescue operations!"

Morigon looked out the grand window toward the eastern horizon, where a searing beam of magenta light just vaporized an entire watchtower.

Morigon: "And send the black signal to the Hero Party's estate. We need Lucia, Edmond, and Luvria down here now, before there's no city left to defend!"

Location: Aethelgard > Wailing Tower Capital > Orison Guard > Ironclaw Guild Time: Afternoon | Date: Day 18, Month 5, 426 A.E

Morigon Ironfist: "You are asking me to empty my halls, Miss Morr."

The Guildmaster’s voice is weary. Morigon leans heavily against her desk, the mechanical gears of her iron prosthetic arm whirring softly as she rubs her temple with her remaining flesh-and-blood hand. Her red eyes look exhausted.

Morigon Ironfist: "The Ironclaw Guild exists to hold the line against Ebonwatch. My jurisdiction is this dungeon, this city, and the survival of the adventurers who bleed for it. I cannot—and will not—send my people across the sea to die in a continental war against the Orecanian Empire."

Rubra does not flinch. She does not argue. In fact, a cold, humorless smile touches the corner of her pale lips. She expected exactly this.

Rubra: "I am not asking out of a naive hope that humanity will suddenly sprout a conscience, Guildmaster. I am asking so that when the ash settles, it is a matter of official record."

She looks past Morigon, her gaze sweeping over the bustling human adventurers laughing, drinking, and securing their armor in the hall.

Rubra: "Your people drink comfortably in the shadow of a dungeon, completely oblivious to the fact that across the ocean, my brothers and sisters are being butchered in stone cellars for Orecanian banquets. Vargath marches on Valoria in a week. Lady Kujaku's patience has shattered, and Pope Drake's head will soon decorate a pike."

Morigon's gaze dropped to the paperwork on her desk. She knows the rumors of Valoria's slaughterhouses.

Morigon Ironfist: "If Orecania falls, the Faerie continent plunges into chaos. If Vargath burns, the Rondo continent starves. And if I send my Vanguard fighters to join your rebellion, the Ebonwatch monster waves will breach the Wall of Lament. I am sorry for your people, Rubra. Truly. But my war is here."

Rubra’s red eyes narrow, her gaze boring into Morigon’s exhausted features. She does not shout; she doesn't need to.

Rubra: "Neutrality is the coward's favorite shield, Guildmaster."

Rubra turns away from the desk. The albino crow-kin steps up onto the raised dais of the Guildmaster's platform, her single white wing flaring outward. It casts a stark, jagged shadow across the polished wooden floor. When she speaks, her voice forcefully cuts through the hall.

Rubra: "Listen to me, you scavengers of Ebonwatch!"

The sudden, amplified command whips through the cavernous hall. Conversations abruptly die. Tankards are lowered. A hundred pairs of eyes—human, dwarven, elven, and demi-human—turn toward the raised platform.

Rubra: "You call yourselves adventurers. Heroes. You bleed for copper and silver, charting a dark tower while patting yourselves on the back for keeping the monsters at bay. But across the sea, in the frozen heart of Orecania, the true monsters wear golden armor and preach of Holy Light."

Her piercing red eyes sweep over the crowd, assessing, judging, and finding them lacking before they even speak.

Rubra: "The demi-humans of Vargath are marching to war in a week. Not for gold, not for Guild ranks, but because the Holy Church is butchering our people for sport. I am heading to Faerie. Escarlate is heading to Faerie."

She stops, staring down directly at a group of heavily armored human mercenaries who suddenly look very interested in the foam of their ales.

Rubra: "I know the Ironclaw Guild's official stance. I know the Greycloaks' laws. But I am asking the individuals standing in this room: Do any of you have the guts to point your blades at a real evil? Will any of you fight for a people who cannot fight for themselves? Or is your courage only valid when there’s a Guild bounty attached to it?"

Silence stretches over the hall, thick and uncomfortable. A few demi-human adventurers in the back—mostly low-ranking rookies from the Rookery—exchange conflicted, frightened glances. But the overwhelming majority of the veteran fighters avert their eyes.

"We're monster hunters, not an invading army," a human whispers from the shadows of the pillars. "Let them fight their own battles."

Rubra stands perfectly still. Her expression does not change. There is no shock, no profound disappointment. Just a cold, cynical validation of everything she already believed about humanity. She watches the adventurers nervously shift their weight, their self-preservation far outweighing their sense of abstract justice.

Rubra: "Exactly as I thought."