[Baker].

His father was a [Baker], his father before him was a [Baker], and Myles himself was destined to be an amazing [Baker]. His family had created such things as the pretzel bun, the Kessian Roll, and a delicious dessert copied the world over called the cinnamon roll.

Yes, the Chase family was one that wanted for nothing, worked well with their hands, and enjoyed something that many families strived for their entire lives for…

“How can you say you aren’t happy!”

“Because I’m not happy, Dad.”

“You have everything you could ever want! You have your family, friends, a promising future with real potential! Why aren’t you happy?”

Unfortunately, this wasn’t the first time that Myles Chase and his father were having this discussion. As usual, Myles tried to explain that he wasn’t happy with everything being handed to him. He didn’t want to just coast his way through life. He really wanted to make a difference, but his class was set as [Baker] since the day he could hold knead dough. There was almost nothing he could do about it.

“So, you’re going to risk your life in that blasted dungeon!”

But almost nothing wasn’t the same thing as nothing.

If his grandfather were still alive, he’d have understood.

“Yes, I am!” Myles had this conversation in his head a million and one times. Every time, he’d kept his cool. His dad understood where he was coming from. Everyone wished him well, and he left with a song in his heart and a loaf of bread for the ride to the dungeon staging area on the great floating city where the grand dungeon rested.

Unfortunately, the first rule of being an adventurer, or a dungeon runner for that matter, was rearing its ugly head.

No plan stands up to the first encounter.

“Dad, I’m going to run it, become an adventurer, and make my own way in the world.”

“What, as a [Soldier]? A [Bandit]? Do you know what becomes of those low divers?” his father growled. “They’re fodder for the army and the merc companies. I will not see a son of mine become a grunt!”

The fire behind his voice was hotter than the kitchen during the summer festival season. It almost made him back down, but he was eighteen now. It was his life to lead, and if he backed down now, how could he become more? “Dad, I know…”

“Don’t Dad me, Myles!” the forge of his voice roared. “If you’re going to go, you have to give up calling me that. If you walk out that door, you won’t be my son anymore.”

The words were like a knife to the heart, twisted with the darkness in his eyes. “Dad…”

But the forge wouldn't be quelled.

Maximus Chase stood his ground as well as any trained [Solider] could. His eyes were cold as blue ice, and his gaze unyielding as tempered steel as he set the terms to their encounter.

“No. You are either a part of this family or you aren’t, Myles. So, put that bag away, put on your apron, and come take your part of the orders, or don’t.”

It was times like this he wished his mother hadn’t died.

Then again, he always wished that.

Taking a deep breath, Myles let it out in a long sigh. “I don’t want to leave like this.”

The fires flickered in his eyes for only a moment before the embers took life again. “But you want to leave!”

“Yes!”

Myles tried not to match his father’s tone, but it was hard. He took after his father in more ways than he wanted to sometimes. Maximus was a passionate man, and his family was no exception. If anything, his emotions were two-fold when it came to them. His smile was warmer, his laugh bolder, and his anger sharper.

He thought that the mountain of a man might try to wrestle him to the ground and make him go back to his room like he used to when Myles didn’t want to go to bed or wear pants as a child, but that wasn’t to be.

Maximus came as close to a sneer as Myles had ever seen, turned his back, put on his apron, and closed the door behind him.

In some ways, that was worse.

Just like that, Myles was alone, staring in the glowing crystal light of the house while the oven began to reach temperature. He could feel they were almost there from the way the house began to warm.

Then, the rhythmic pounding of steel on wood began.

That meant Maximus would be separating the dough that had been left to rise the night before into half arm lengths before putting them on the stoneware. In about five minutes, he’d begin filling the ovens with the loaves before the staff got in.

Then, he’d start making jokes about how lazy they were as they began taking another batch to turn into cinnamon rolls.

Myles needed to be gone by then. He didn’t need them to ask why he wasn’t working.

The guilt in his chest began to rise like bile as he hesitated. He couldn’t stop looking at that door, listening to the familiar sounds of moving stoneware and flopping dough or the smell of flour, yeast, cinnamon, sugar, and more.

He couldn’t stop thinking of his father, of how he just wished he could make him understand why. Before he could try again, the memory of his mother washed over him, and he sighed as some peace came from the familiar memory.

His parents had been arguing about what was best for the family after they’d received commendation of [Royal Baker]. Maximus was vehement that moving away from the city was wrong, that they couldn’t get proper shipping to deliver the best food, and about all the walk-in business they’d lose, but his mother Cella thought that the country would be easier to expand in and the increased income from the commendation and the expansion would easily cover the house guards they’d need in the wilds.

When the conversation became circular, his father left to cool off and think while his mother just sighed.

“Your father is a stubborn man, Myles,” she’d tell him. “He can’t see both sides without it being rammed down his throat sometimes.” Then, a smile touched her face as she slipped him a piece of cinnamon roll. “He means well, but he can be as stubborn as an ass about it in the meantime while he’s thinking.”

In the end, he was glad they’d stayed in the city. It gave him his way out. He didn’t want to disappoint his father, or the man that once had been once he left that room, but his heart wasn’t in the bakery anymore. The world was just too large to be only baked goods.

No, he had to rise to the occasion.

He had to follow his heart.

He had to try his hand at the dungeon, change his class, and serve the world in a different way. He could be a [Medic] healing the wounded, a [Scout] finding those that had been lost, kidnapped, or worse, or even a [Researcher] would be better than being a [Baker]. At least then he could be outside learning about creatures and monsters to help the adventurers. Maybe he could even open a library somewhere.

As Myles opened the door to the alley, he thought he heard something and turned around, but the door was still closed, and the smell of cinnamon was starting to waft in. Just another normal day at the bakery had begun.

With or without Myles.

As the cold, predawn air met his face, the [Baker]’s son took a deep breath, let out his anger and sadness, and walked out onto the dew-soaked pavers that made up the street. It soaked the soles of his shoes, but it didn’t get any deeper than that.

Today was a new day, and he couldn’t afford to waste it.

After all, registration was only open until noon tomorrow.