Claine enters Vesta’s office. She had knocked, hearing no reply, but the door wasn’t locked. She figured the [Receptionist] simply hadn’t heard her knock—she never leaves the door unlocked whenever she leaves.

Her thought turns out to have been correct. Vesta’s here, standing behind her desk with her hands on it. She’s arguing with a man in a Guild employee outfit: a dark jacket, trousers of cut of the same cloth, and a ridiculous-looking flappy piece of fabric hanging from his neck. Claine recognizes him by sight, but not by name. It’s the Guild’s porter, here every week or so. The horned girl’s here too, sitting on the floor and doodling on a piece of paper.

“…I don’t care if it goes over the allotment or if it’s not in the budget, we need those lights!” Vesta yells at the man.

“Marienne’s not going to like it. Dwarven mage-lights without any explanation? Come on, give me something I can tell her,” he tries to argue.

“She can damn well come ask me personally if she wants to know!”

“Uh, am I interruptin’ something?” Claine asks.

Vesta reins in her irate expression. “No, Tolvus here was just leaving. Just get me the lights. And don’t forget about the floater,” she insists on her demands.

Tolvus’s eyebrow twitches. “Vesta, I’m not going to get my arse chewed out just because you want to read in a brighter—”

“That’s not at all what this is about.” Vesta cuts off the man. She narrows her eyes at him, then sighs, and says, “Fine. If anyone bothers you about it, tell them it’s [Guildkeep]’s orders and to complain at me.”

“Finally. That’s all I asked, some assurance you won’t hang me out to dry,” replies the man, relaxing a little. “Was that all, or did you have more outlandish demands?”

“No. Thank you, Tolvus. Will they make it on the next week’s delivery?”

The man shrugs. “Couldn’t tell you. Depends on their availability. Worst case, we have to order from the capital, and that’ll take at least a month.”

“I see. Let’s hope it won’t come to that. Goodbye, Tolvus.”

Dismissed by Vesta, the man nods and walks past Claine to leave the room. The little girl continues her scribbling with intense concentration. Claine considers approaching her to take a closer look, but decides to handle the matter she came here for first.

“So,” she addresses Vesta, “we talked yer request over, and we’re gonna do it. Can ye share the details?“

“Excellent,” an invisible weight seems to leave Vesta’s shoulders. “But shouldn’t the others be here to hear it out too?”

“See, that’s what I asked,” Claine grumbles. “But everyone had stuff to do. Sid said she’s gonna go tell her mom so that she doesn’t worry. Sammy went to pick up his helmet from the armorer. I reckon he’s antsy to finally be doin’ something. Zavelle’s…I ain’t actually sure what her deal was.”

“I see. Have a seat—this’ll take a while,” Vesta says, gesturing at the wooden chair in front of her work desk. She sits on another, much more comfortable-looking chair behind it.

Claine takes a little look around. Vesta’s desk is clear, save for a pot of colorful flowers that frankly does not fit the room. At the back, behind Vesta and her fancy cushioned seat, there’s a large bookshelf spanning the entire wall. It’s full of tomes and folders and the occasional messy stack of papers and parchments. Claine can scarcely see the timber of the wall behind it. The other walls have paintings of vistas of the world—seas, meadows, great forests, and whatnot. Whether real or imagined places, Claine can’t tell. For example, the painting of a horizon of the great blue, with the sky’s tell-tale green iridescence of a magical storm brewing, could very well depict an actual voyage in the west or the southwest.

This observation leads Claine to another observation. It’s bright in the room with nary a window or light fixture in sight.

“What do ye need mage-lights for? Ye’ve got some here already,” she decides to ask.

“Oh, I need dwarven ones in specific. The reason’s a sensitive one, but let’s just call it a matter of Guild safety,” Vesta explains.

This doesn’t strike Claine as particularly convincing. It’s not like dwarven mage-lights are anathema to stealth Skills or anything. No more than regular light is, at least. At most, the technology would reduce the building’s magic levels somewhat. Which might make it a slightly unpleasant place to be for powerful spellcasters, but nothing more.

But if Vesta doesn’t want to explain it, it’s not for Claine to pry. She lets the matter drop. “Whatever ye say. Wanna get to business now?”

“Yes, let’s.” Vesta clears her throat. “I would like you four to visit a location in the high-magic region. It should take about five days to travel to, and I will take steps to ensure the danger is minimal. This much I told the others yesterday, as I’m sure you know.”

Claine gives her a nod.

“The place I want you to go to is the grave of a…close friend of mine. No—a tomb, to be more precise. I don’t want anyone robbing her resting place, and that’s best ensured by letting none know where it is. You understand, yes?”

“Aye. Grave-robbers are some of the lowest scum there is.”

Vesta smiles. “I’m glad we see eye to eye. The tomb does have a guardian, but still, being circumspect never hurt anyone. Said guardian should not trouble you, provided that you do not rashly anger it. I’ll have instructions for you on how to deal with it.”

“Gotcha.”

“I’d like you to deliver her two things. The first is these Capricious Maidens,” Vesta points at the pot of flowers on her desk. “A strange thing to bring for a grave visitation, I know, but it’s her custom, not mine. The second is this.”

Vesta pulls open a drawer of her desk and takes something out. A rolled piece of vellum secured with a string; a scroll. She places it on the desk. “You can have a look at it, if you’re interested.”

Claine picks up the scroll and unties the string. She gingerly unrolls it—these things can fall apart from the slightest disturbance if they’re old enough, so you can never be too sure—and takes a look at the contents. It’s a spell scroll, sure enough. Glyphs and circles and writing. But the writing’s as illegible as the rest of it. No, not illegible…

“…Why’s the writin’ in reverse? Is this a fake?”

Vesta grins. “Why, no, it’s a perfectly functional scroll of [Projection]. With some warding on it, of course, to prevent tracking spells. But of course, Killi did use her handy [Reverse Spellform] Skill on it.”

“Right. What’s it do?” Claine asks, while rolling and tying the scroll back up.

“You’ll find out when you activate it there, by her grave. Which is what I want you to do with it.”

“Sure, that shouldn’t be a problem. As long as we can get there,” Claine says, steering the conversation on as she places the scroll back on the desk.

“Yes, with regards to that. You shouldn’t have any problems with the local monsters. Just you and Sammy should be able to handle the expected threats. But it’s the unexpected threats you need to worry about, which is where the rest of your half-party will help.”

Claine impatiently drums her right hand’s fingers against her left arm. “Aye, aye, no need to give me the newbie spiel. I ain’t underestimatin’ the power of numbers. More eyes on the field, shorter turns on night watch.”

Vesta chuckles. “Forgive me, I’ve been stuck on lecture mode for a while, thanks to a certain little girl,” she looks over at Drava, scribbling and humming to herself.

Claine scoots her chair a little closer to the desk and leans over on it. She whispers to Vesta, “How’s she holdin’ up, anyroad? And why’s she so small? Been botherin’ me since yesterday.”

The elf sighs, “Not you too…I’ll explain some other time. If anyone asks, she’s a shifter.” She then looks Claine in the eyes solemnly, and explains in a hushed voice, “Drava’s hanging in there. I worry that she’s trying too hard to escape what happened. That will make grappling with it harder, but for now, she needs to both be and feel safe.”

Claine sits back straight on her chair. “Right. Back on topic, the five days of travel oughta be the hardest part?”

“Yes, but of course, it may take a longer or a shorter time, depending on how the terrain shifts. I should also mention that it’s possible you may encounter monsters that aren’t local to the area,” Vesta says with seriousness.

“Really? What makes ye think that?”

“The recent Waygate malfunctions. While I hope it’s just idiots bringing in high technology, there are some more dangerous explanations for it. A large-scale magical disturbance, for example. Those tend to result in monster migrations,” she explains.

Claine furrows her brows. “Huh. Didn’t know that was a thing.”

“The effects are only really apparent here at the frontier and southward. Anyway, we won’t know what’s causing it before someone gets off their arse and does the quest I posted. That’s why I’ve got you something for the worst-case scenario.”

Vesta opens a drawer again and rifles through it. She clearly doesn’t find what she’s looking for, as she slams it shut and opens another, rifling through more items.

“Somethin’ missin’?” Claine asks as Vesta continues opening and closing drawers.

“Yes, I was supposed to have some items for your safety, but…I seem to have misplaced…” Vesta looks through the final drawer on her desk, not finding said items. Suddenly, she halts, her eyes fixed on Drava, still drawing.

“Drava, darling?”

Engrossed in artistry, the girl does not reply. Vesta gets up from her seat. “Excuse me for a moment, Claine.”

“Go ahead, do your parentin’.”

“I’m not…whatever,” she storms off towards the girl. Claine looks over her shoulder at them.

Vesta crouches next to the girl and addresses her. “Drava,” she says. “Drava, please don’t pretend to not hear me.” Drava pretends to not hear her.

The [Receptionist] waits for a moment, then breaks the news. “I know you took the rings Killi brought me, Drava.”

The girl freezes.

“You’re not in trouble, and I’m not mad at you. But Claine and her friends need them.”

Only now does her head slowly turn to look at Vesta. The elf wears a patient smile on her face, but to a child who’s done something wrong, even that feels scary.

“Come on. Would you tell me where they are?”

“I-I haven’t taken anything,” she tries to explain her way out of this.

Vesta raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t take you for a liar, Drava. Unless—did you break one of them by accident? Is that why you’re hiding it?”

“I didn’t break them!” Drava inadvertently confesses.

“So, you did take them,” Vesta remarks dryly as the girl’s expression turns into one of panic. The elf relents a little and tries a different approach.

“Don’t worry. Have I lied to you so far?” she asks the girl.

“…No.”

“So, why don’t you believe me when I say that I’m not mad?”

“Because…” Drava fails to find a reason. Instead, she apologizes, “…I took them. I’m sorry.”

Vesta pats her head. “It’s okay. Where did you put them?”

“I…gave them to my dolls.”

Her dolls? Claine’s rather glad that the girl likes them, but…

“Ye know, I gotta ask ye to give some of ‘em back. I didn’t expect you’d yoink the whole chestful,” she comes out with the cold reality.

The disappointment on the girl’s face is palpable. She opens her mouth to shout no, but then realizes that perhaps it isn’t the best course of action now that she’s been caught with one misdeed already. Forsooth, sound vindication she should craft, to convince the [Wizard-Pirate] of the merits of her claim to yon clothen comrades.

“…I don’t wanna,” she articulates her argument with a sullen demeanor, “They’re my friends.”

Claine doesn’t know how to deal with this. “Uh,” is all she can say. Another victory for logic, Drava celebrates, but too hastily. For one person here does know how to deal with this, and with her.

“Drava,” Vesta says with a gentle tone. “They’re Claine’s friends too. And a part of her adventuring party too,” she gives an urging ‘work-with-me-here’ look to Claine.

She does work with her. “Uhh, aye. They’re me friends alright.”

Drava does not accept this approach outright. She is suspicious of this.

“Really? What are their names then?” she asks the conniving cajoler trying to take her friends away.

Claine looks her dead in the eyes. “Uhhh,” she says in a stunning comeback.

Vesta comes to her rescue again. “Psst, Drava. Claine only knows their code names. You see, that’s what keeps the dolls’ adventurer lives separate from their real lives.”

Drava’s eyes go wide. “I didn’t know they were adventurers!”

“They are, and that’s why Claine needs some of them back. She’s going on an adventure to help Aunty Vesta out,” the elf explains.

“Like [Heroes]!” Drava exclaims, practically glowing as she stares at Claine with newfound admiration.

“Uhhhh, aye,” Claine says. “So can I have a couple of ‘em back?”

“Okay! But promise to keep them safe!”

She promises, and thus the gallant Queen Drava deigns to escort these commoners through contest territory into her chambers, where her subjects await to be transferred over to Claine the (newly promoted) Court Wizard of Dolltopia. An exchange of troops and treasure occurs, with terms and ratifications being laid down on enchanted contract paper.

“…Do I really gotta do this?” Claine asks. Vesta pokes her with her elbow.

“Fine, fine,” The [Wizard-Pirate] fishes her personal seal out of her pockets, then stamps the mundane piece of paper.

“The pact is sealed!” Drava declares. “Here’s the rings! You may take three of my strongest [Knights]! We shall hold a farewell party for them!”

“Aye, aye, Your Majesty,” Claine mutters, accepting the rings and grabbing three dolls at random. Drava hops next to the dollpile and begins inviting participants to her celebration.

“Thanks for playing along with her,” Vesta says to Claine.

She looks a bit embarrassed. “Nah, it was nothin’. I just don’t know how to deal with kids.” The wizard looks at the three rings in her palm. They look like they’re made of simple metals—copper, steel, and brass, each with a single round bead of hollow crystal attached to them. It’s a rather large bead

“So, what are these?” Claine asks.

“They’re for the worst-case scenario. Hand me one and I’ll show you.”

Claine does. Vesta takes the ring between her thumb and index finger, the bead pointing outward. She hits it sharply against the wall. Somehow, the thin sphere is still intact.

“The bead’s quite hard to break by accident, as you can see. But if you rotate it like this—” Vesta spins the bead halfway around; it causes an audible click. “—it becomes fragile enough that you could break it by squeezing hard with your fingers. I can’t show you that part, or I’d have to get you a new one. You’ll have to trust me on it.

“Turn orb, break orb. Gotcha,” Claine says and waits for Vesta to explain further.

“The ring’s orb is paired with mine,” the elf lifts up her left arm and pulls down her shirt’s white sleeve, revealing a bracelet made of similar orbs. There’s dozens of them.

“When you break your bead, it’ll break one of my beads. If that happens, I’ll start using my Skills,” she says, implication hanging heavy in the air.

Claine doesn’t miss it. But she has a hard time believing it. “Are ye tryin’ to imply…?”

“I’m not implying anything,” Vesta says, pulling her sleeve back down. “I have a life-saving Skill, one I can use on others. Yes, at long range. It’s not a well-kept secret anymore, but still, please don’t go advertising the fact around.”

It’s not difficult to connect the dots. Claine stares at Vesta’s left wrist. “The other orbs. Ye had over thirty…no, over forty of them? Each one someone’s life?”

Vesta nods. “It’s the best system I’ve come up with. The only flaw is that when my Skill’s recharging…well, there have been times when I’ve wondered if I’m doing more harm than good. That people are taking unnecessary risks due to these. Trusting their fate to a flimsy bauble. But I can’t just not use it, not when it can save those precious to me.”

The sudden somberness makes Claine go silent. Then she remarks, “…I didn’t know you thought so much of me.”

Momentarily, Vesta looks confused. “Hm? Oh—” her expression turns understanding, “—sorry, I didn’t exactly mean you.”

“Huh?”

“We’ve known each other for what, three months now? You’re a very likable person, and I trust you, but…this and that are different things. I have to do a lot of moral math with my Skill, which isn’t a good thing, but I wouldn’t normally give these out to you. Maybe to Sidney, but only because I knew her grandfather.”

“Gee, thanks,” Claine harrumphs with a scowl. “Why give them to us now, then?” she asks.

“I told you. For the worst-case scenario. I can make exceptions to my hypocritical rules, thank you very much. It didn’t sit right with me to send you to possible danger on my behalf without doing everything I can for your safety.”

“Oh. Thanks,” Claine thanks Vesta again, this time meaning it. The elf offers her the ring back, which she takes.

“You’ll want to make sure that you’re each wearing the right rings. It would be a terrible tragedy if I used the Skill on the wrong person because some people put on each other’s rings after a heated night in the same tent,” Vesta says, giving Claine a pointed look.

“W-We ain’t like that yet—I mean, that ain’t even remotely likely!” Claine sputters.

“Japes aside, this ring’s yours. You should wear it so you don’t lose it,” the [Receptionist] says, pointing at the medium-sized copper ring. Claine puts it on her left hand’s index finger.

“Huh. It fits perfectly,” she wonders aloud.

“I should hope so—I had it made to your exact size,” Vesta claims.

Claine looks doubtful. “When’d you measure me fingers?”

Vesta just grins in reply. Claine’s put off by this. “No, seriously. That’s creepy.”

The elf’s smile fades. “Ah, sorry. It’s just [Receptionist] tricks. [Sensory Algebra], to be precise. Helps to not have to to count coins or weigh monster parts. Or to take measurements, as it happens.”

Vesta indicates which ring’s for Zavelle (the small brass one) and which for Sidney (the large iron one). It’s not a particularly difficult thing to remember, considering that Zavelle’s ring likely wouldn’t fit Sid anyways. Here, an obvious question comes to Claine’s mind.

“Where’s Sammy’s ring?” she asks.

“Unfortunately, he doesn’t get one,” Vesta replies. “My Skill has some limitations, which mean it won’t work on him. If anyone needs to be left behind to be eaten by a gorehowler while the rest escape, make sure it’s not him.”

Claine just grimaces and nods. Vesta continues on.

“Now, unless you have more questions about the rings, let’s go over the route to the tomb and the guardian…”

⁂

Mid-day. A cowled figure walks back and forth in front of the Guild. She has what looks like a floating metal platter with loops and hooks on its sides following her. The platter’s large enough that two people could comfortably sit on it back-to-back and not fall off—assuming the device carried their weight.

She walks over to the carpenter’s building, as the man’s brough some of his chairs outside on display. Might as well rest her feet now; there will be plenty of walking in the upcoming days. Vacantly, she stares at the other side of the street, the people milling about. The cobbler’s establishment and a barber. Rumor has it that he’s seen less business since Zavelle came to town, but Claine wasn’t here to witness the barber’s so-called ‘good business days’.

Then she hears a familiar voice and feels excitement and joy bubbling up from inside her. Tall, muscular, and impossibly beautiful—Claine wonders, how in the world did Sid say yes to her, the mousy wizard that she is? Her…girlfriend? Partner? S‑Sweetheart? Whatever she is, she’s waving her hand at Claine, smiling broadly, as she walks closer. Claine stands up and waves back. But what should she do when Sid’s here? Hug her? Is that acceptable, at this point in the relationship? On the other hand, Sid has always been a physical person, as far as she’s known her. Hugging others at a hair trigger. Why is it that she feels concerned about the idea now? What if she—

Sidney dashes the last few steps, wrapping Claine in her arms and spinning around, squeezing mightily. Laughing in that infectious way of hers, bringing a smile to Claine’s face too. What was she worried about again?

When Sid puts her down (too early for her liking), they swap stories about what they’ve been up to. Sid explains about telling her mother that she’s going on her first real adventure. It turns out that she’s never gone very far to the south, all of her previous trips to the high-magic region been shorter than a day. Unusual for an adventurer around these parts.

“That’s because I didn’t even want to be an adventurer at first. Mom practically forced me to it after she found out about my class change to [Thief]. I’m glad she did, I am. Who knows what trouble I’d have gotten into if I’d kept at picking pockets for a few more years?”

They talk of this and that and other things. Sid shows off a knife made out of a dark metal that her mother bequeathed to her. An inheritance from Sid’s grandfather, apparently.

Claine doesn’t go into details of the job just yet, not wanting to re-explain to the other two members of her party. Instead, she fishes through her pockets—there’s so many of them in this cowl that watching her trying to find anything is always amusing. At least for Sid.

She finds what she’s looking for: the iron ring. Claine nonchalantly offers it to Sid, who blinks in surprise at it. Then she makes the widest grin Claine’s ever seen her do.

“This early into things? I think we’re rushing, but…yes, sweetie,” Sid says, taking the ring and putting it on her left hand’s ring finger.

Claine processes things for a moment. Or tries to, but she fails, locking up completely.

Sid fans the flames, inspecting the ring on her finger. “Iron, huh? Iron. Not necessarily what I’d have chosen, sweetie. Would you like me to get you one too?” she says with a laugh.

This additional pressure kicks her brain into pushing the thoughts out into her conscious mind. And her heart into pumping blood to her face.

“I-I-I-I di-di-didn’t—” she frantically tries to explain that it’s just a ring, but her body rebels, her tongue goes on strike.

“Bwahaha! You should see the look on your face! Don’t worry, I’m kidding. It’s clear this ain’t a proposal,” Sid lets her girlfriend off the hook.

“…Please don’t tease me too hard in public, Sid,” she murmurs.

And to her credit, Sid does tone down the teasing. Shortly afterwards, Zavelle appears with two large leather bags of essential supplies. Zavelle drops them at the ground and plops down on a chair. At this rate, the carpenter’s liable to start charging them.

Claine hands Zavelle her ring and briefly explains to the two how to use them. And that’s when a veritable mountain of luggage comes around the corner, ambling towards them.

It is, of course, resident [Paladin] Sammy. He looks to be more prepared for a hundred-day journey than a tenday one. The ground quakes and dust covers the sun when he lays down his bags, and this is only slightly exaggerated.

“We ready to go?” he asks.

Two out of three women are surprised. Claine just sighs and shakes her head. Once again, it’s time for a round of Get Sammy To Not Overburden The Party. She looks at the mound of baggage and the much smaller floater and estimates that over a half of it has to go before they can leave town.