Dallion returned to the real world, still gasping for air. The “test” had proven to be far more exhausting than he had expected. At first, he thought it had been deceivingly easy—he had faced bigger opponents for longer amounts of time, and with fewer points in body. With March, though, the exhaustion seemed to have a delayed effect, reaching its peak minutes after the fight was over.

Given his poor performance, Dallion wasn’t surprised at the stares he got. What surprised him was the silence that followed. From his experience back on Earth, usually this was the point at which the mocking began. There was no mocking here.

“He’s good to go,” March said, returning the pyramid to its place on the shelf. “Get the paperwork done. Did he pay the fee?”

“Err, yes.” Estezol straightened up, snapping from his momentary daze. “Yes, ma’am he has.”

“Good. Finish up, give him an emblem.” March glanced at Dallion, then smiled. “And give him something to eat. My treat.”

“You mean he made it?” Nitiello asked, eyes as wide as teacups.

“He’s rough around the edges, but he’ll do. You can chat with your echo, if you want the details.” Without another word, the woman left the room, leaving only silence behind her.

All glances continued to be focused on Dallion.

This is a bit uncomfortable, he thought. Was he supposed to fail? The cockiness inside him urged for him to make a snarky comment. The confused part wasn’t sure what he should do. After several seconds, a compromise was reached.

“So, about that food?” Dallion broke the silence with a smile. “Anything particular in mind or do I get to choose?”

The questions had their effect. It was as if a temporary enchantment had been removed. With a wince the trio returned to their dice gambling. Nitiello shook his head briefly in disappointment, then unceremoniously ignored Dallion as if the boy wasn’t there. Estezol immediately got the hint, for he grabbed Dallion by the hand and quickly dragged him into the corridor.

“You’ve no idea how lucky you are,” he whispered once the two were clear from the training room. “March hasn’t passed anyone from the first try in years.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“Both, to be honest. Usually, she fails candidates a few times to test their determination. The fact that she didn’t, means she saw something in you. Where did you come from again?”

“Oh, a small village at the edge of the empire.” Dallion tried to be as dismissive as possible. “I doubt you’ve heard it. Nothing happens there. Even merchants avoid it.”

“Any noble lineage?”

“Err, not that I know of…” Dallion lied. Well, technically it wasn’t a lie. His family back on Earth didn’t have a drop of noble blood in their veins. Also, being a village chief wasn’t technically a noble.

“You must have been blessed by the Seven. I’d suggest you don’t tell anyone about your trial, but it’s already too late?”

“In what way?” Dallion didn’t like the sound of that.

“Rumors always surround anyone accepted by March. The fact that she’s shown a special liking towards you is bound to cause certain…” he paused for a moment, searching for the appropriate word. “…curiosity. Adzorg will probably share the fact with everyone who goes to the training room.”

“Adzorg?”

“Captian Nitiello Adzorg,” the bearded man clarified. “Despite the exchange you witnessed, he was a big deal in the guild. Still is. For one thing, he’s the one who made all the training items in the room. Granted, he’s been a bit out of it lately, but have no illusions, he’s not just some random old man.”

That explained the echo Dallion had seen during his test fight. It was extremely well crafted, and unlike the echoes he’d had experience with lately, very useful. As it turned out, the real purpose of echoes was to serve as guides and assistants—something like a Star Trek hologram. Dallion, of course, hadn’t asked whether they could be used for punishment. That was one answer he preferred not to the know for the moment.

As they reached the first floor of the building, Dallion instinctively turned towards the main room he’d been led from.

“Not that way,” Estezol grabbed his arm. “We’re going to the garden.”

The name sounded suspiciously like another awakened domain, but turned out to be an actual small garden in the back of the building. Several people were there, guild members by the looks of it, chatting and eating at small wooden tables on the grass.

Estezol took Dallion to one of the two tables under a gazebo and sat down. Moments later, a silent mountain of muscles approached.

“The usual for me,” Estezol said, not in the least intimidated by the seven-foot giant. “And a full course for the rookie. He’s had the March treatment.”

The large “waiter” smirked, then left without a word. In Dallion’s mind he could see the giant breaking tables with his hands or head for fun. Hopefully, he’d never have to witness such a sight.

“Normally, I’d treat you to something better, being the first time and all, but all the good cooks are asleep at this time of day.”

Good to know, Dallion thought. Although the breakfast he’d had wasn’t half bad.

“Well, let me officially congratulate you on joining the Icepicker Guild. I’d have done so earlier, but you caught us all off guard.” Now that several minutes had passed since the “March incident,” the short, bearded man had regained his oratory skills. The way he talked made Dallion think of a car salesman on TV. There was no denying, though, that he did it with a lot more charm. “Now, keep in mind that the first few months you’ll only be a trial member.”

Dallion started opening his mouth to express his thanks, only to get interrupted before he could utter half a word.

“I know, I know.” Estezol sighed, more theatrically than necessary. “It’s just a rule thing. You’ve nothing to worry about, though. Almost every temp has become a permanent member soon enough. As long as you don’t have serious problems with the law or the city guard, you’re in.”

It was interesting to note that there was a distinction between the two. Dallion made a mental note to learn the reason for this as soon as possible.

“Once you’re done eating, I’ll give you a temporary emblem. Keep it with you at all times and don’t lose it. It’s a guarantee that you’re part of the guild. In a week or so, when your mentor is decided, you’ll be given an individual one.”

“Nice.” That sounded more like it. “Think I’ll be in March’s group?”

“Captains don’t pick newbies,” Estezol laughed. “Even lieutenants rarely get to pick. Usually, the old dogs get to pick and choose. It’s pretty much luck, though all of them are pretty good. Some are harsher than others. They’ll take care of you during your trial period. When they feel you’re ready, you’ll officially become a junior member.”

The conversation quickly focused on the further workings of the guild. As much as Dallion expected it to follow the game guild and fantasy book practices, it turned out that there was a much more corporate tilt than he had expected. From what he could make out, while the guild master ran the guild along with two vices, he answered to a number of financial backers. According to Estezol, the backers never meddled with guild affairs, but expected a steady income from guild activities.

Beneath the guild master were the captains, who organized large-scale missions—realm runs, as they called them. In addition, the captains had a field of guild specialization. March was responsible for arcane realm missions, Nitiello was formally in charge of guild training. There were several more captains, whom Estezol mentioned in passing, all relating to areas that Dallion didn’t need to know at this point. Every captain had a few aids, or lieutenants, who assisted in the work. Beneath were the common members divided in three groups: senior, normal, and junior. In addition, a complex system of ranks and roles determined a person’s significance and pay in relation to the guild.

Dallion, like every newbie, was going to start as a level one pack rat, or a “support member” as was the official title. His role would be to carry things from place to place, both in the awakened realms and in real life, and learn the ropes. Also, there were the scouts, the forgers, the fighters, the orators, and the menders, to name only the basic ones. Dallion’s music skills, once developed, could easily earn him a spot in the orator group.

Fifteen minutes into the conversation, the mountain of muscles arrived with a platter of food for Dallion, and a stiff drink in a small cup for Estezol. Without waiting for an invitation, Dallion started eating.

“And the level doesn’t depend on the role?” He asked after a few mouthfuls.

“Levels only apply to the rank. Juniors don’t have ranks, but the rest have seven each—one for each moon. When you choose your role, you start as a level one. Based on how well you do your tasks, you go up, until you reach level seven. At that point, you have your master quest. When you pass that, you’re a senior.”

“And when I become a senior level seven?” Dallion asked eagerly. “Do I become a lieutenant?”

“When you’re a level seven, you become an elite. Any senior member can be a lieutenant. It’s more of the captain’s choice.”

Elite… it had a nice ring to it. All Dallion had to do was rise fifteen ranks to get there.

“And how’s this related to my awakening level?”

“Hmm.” Estezol finished the rest of his drink, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “That’s slightly more complicated.”

“Ah.” Because things weren’t so far?

“There’s no set rule, but in general you need to be a double digit to become a senior guild member. There have been exceptions. Sometimes a prodigy appears who blasts the competition away before they reach level ten. Spellcrafters are like that, but good luck running into a mage.” Estezol snorted.

“Guilds don’t like them much?”

“Oh, quite the contrary. Guilds would love to have anyone with spellcraft. Between the Order, the Imperial Academy, and the Imperial court, there aren’t many left. If you had any such skills, we wouldn’t be talking right now. More than likely I’d have to bow in your presence.” The bearded man laughed.

Dallion joined in, although didn’t get the joke.

“Bottom line. Every guild has a different value. Some guilds focus on earning money, others to increase their influence in the city. We pick up the things left behind. We are the ones who pick up fallen ice, and we stick up for one another."

With that, the conversation about guild structure was pretty much over. The topic shifted to life in the city itself, including several must see areas. Judging by Estezol’s description, most of them weren’t places he’d visit, and the rest were places that Hannah would kick him out if he did.

After half an hour, once Dallion had finished all of his food, he returned to the entrance room with Estezol, where he was given his very own guild emblem. The emblem was no larger than a coin, stamped with the crest of the guild on one side and an empty hourglass on the other, but to Dallion it felt like getting his driver’s license. The simple piece of bluish silver gave him the right to mend and improve within the city limits. He could start working for Hannah now, as well as earn enough money for himself. But that wasn’t all! The guild hadn’t just given him a license to earn money; it had given him the means to learn more about his awakening powers and develop them under the guidance of others.