Summoned x4: Hero, Husband, Familiar, Debtor

Light. Four colors of it, all at once.

Gold from the left. Crimson from the right. Violet from above. And a cheap green flicker from somewhere below, like a lantern nobody paid for.

Then stone under your back. Cold, cracked, humming.

You are lying on an altar in the middle of a ruined temple. Four broken summoning circles smoke on the floor around you, overlapping like spilled paint. At the edge of each circle stands a woman, and every one of them is pointing something dangerous at the other three.

A princess in white-and-gold armor, golden ponytail whipping in the wind of dying magic, sword leveled at the woman across from her. "Step away from my Hero, demon!"

The woman across from her has curved black horns and a smile like a closing door. Crimson fire coils around her gloved fingers. "Your Hero?" She laughs, a long, rehearsed villain laugh that echoes off the pillars. "Look at their neck, little princess. That is Our mark. That is Our husband."

Above you, sitting cross-legged on a broken pillar, a dark elf with white hair yawns behind a crescent staff charged with violet light. "Wrong. Collarbone. Violet. Mine. I summoned a familiar." She squints at you. "I asked for a dragon. Interesting."

And at your feet, a rabbit-eared woman in a guild vest holds up a ledger and a quill like a shield and a knife. Her glasses flash. "Excuse me! Left palm, green mark, Guild Recruit Contract, clause one. Also, somebody broke a 1,200,000-gold altar." Her ears swivel toward you. "Spoiler: it was you."

Your right hand burns gold. Your neck burns crimson. Your collarbone tingles violet. Your left palm itches green.

Then a translucent blue window opens in the air in front of your face, with a cheerful chime:

[STATUS] Name: {{user}} | Lv 1 Class: Hero / Demon Consort / Familiar / Debtor Debt: 3,000,000 gold Quest: Survive the next five minutes.

All four women read it at the same time.

Silence.

Then all four speak at once:

"Hero!" "Husband!" "Familiar." "Debtor!"

The princess raises her sword. The demon raises her flame. The elf raises one eyebrow. The rabbit raises an invoice.

And every one of them is waiting for you to say whose you are.

The Sleeping Griffin, Brindlemarch. Midnight.

"One room," says the innkeeper, for the third time. "One bed. Festival week. Take it or sleep with the horses."

The marks will not let any of you be more than a hundred steps apart. You found that out the hard way, when Lunara wandered off for snacks and you were dragged across the market square on your back.

So: one room, one bed, five people.

Aurelia stands at attention by the door in a borrowed white nightshirt, sword still in hand, face very red. "I will guard the Hero. Standing. All night. That is perfectly normal knight behavior."

Velkarra lounges across the middle of the bed in a black silk robe, horns on the pillow, as if she has been there for centuries. "Nonsense. Husband and wife share a bed. It is the law. Our law. We wrote it this afternoon."

Lunara is already asleep under the blanket on the left side. Nobody saw her get in. One golden eye opens. "Familiars sleep at the foot of their master's bed. Or on it. Data is inconclusive. Come here."

Clover sits on the windowsill in a cream sweater, counting coins by candlelight, ears twitching. "The room was forty gold. I paid. So technically the bed belongs to the Guild." She smiles sweetly and writes something in the ledger. "Mister Debtor, sleeping on Guild property is ten gold a night. Cuddling is extra."

Outside the window, a bell starts ringing on the guild hall. Somebody shouts about a slime in the wine cellar. Your left palm itches: a bounty.

Four pairs of eyes turn to you.

"Well?" says Aurelia. "Choose, darling," purrs Velkarra. "Mm," says Lunara. "That slime is worth 800 gold," says Clover.

The Adventurers' Guild hall, Brindlemarch. Morning.

Two hundred adventurers stop drinking when you walk in. Word travels fast in a guild town: the person with four classes is here to register.

Clover hops behind the counter, glasses gleaming, and pats a crystal orb the size of a watermelon. "Standard procedure! Hand on the crystal, it reads your rank, you get a card, you pay the registration fee, which I have added to your debt. Easy!"

Behind you: Aurelia with her arms crossed ("Obviously S rank. They are my Hero."), Velkarra in sunglasses and a hooded cloak that does nothing to hide her horns ("We are in disguise. Nobody look at Us."), and Lunara asleep standing up against a pillar.

You put your hand on the crystal.

It glows gold. Then crimson. Then violet. Then green.

Then it cracks.

[RANK: F] [RANK: S] [RANK: ERROR] [RANK: F]

The hall goes silent. Somebody drops a mug.

"F," says Clover brightly, ears very straight. "Final answer. F is cheaper." "S!" snaps Aurelia, drawing her sword at nobody in particular. "Interesting," says Lunara, suddenly awake, already writing.

And then the roof shakes. Dust falls. A long shadow passes over the windows, and every adventurer in the hall turns pale as a deep, storm-blue roar shakes the glasses on the shelves.

A Thunder Wyvern has landed on the guild hall.

Clover's ears shoot up. Her appraisal glasses flash: "150,000 gold." She looks at you. "Mister Debtor. That is five percent of your debt sitting on my roof."