The morning sun stretched and rose from beyond the horizon. Its gentle rays bounced off a mirror and fell like a warm blanket on Norman's sleeping face. He woke up with a smile and stood up to put on his clothes. They were a perfect fit, fluffy at the ends and embellished with intricate patterns all over the white and blue satin. Norman saw his reflection in the mirror. He smiled with a toothy grin, though his eyes felt the emptiest they had ever been. A servant with a dark blue suit and parted hair stepped in.

"Are you ready, master Tobias?" Shauna asked.

Norman turned, smiling. "Of course. Is the table set?"

She blinked. "Yes, you may enter."

Norman walked through a hall garnished with chromatic glass, followed by servants on both sides. Even if the decoration seemed flashy, it was a practical way to divert rays of sunshine inside and light up the rooms. They saved electricity, not that money was ever the problem. While the white rooms would otherwise be plain, the prismatic light made everything colorful, like the inside of a rainbow. Through the double doors was a round room with water flowing down the walls. It rushed to a shallow pond, with a small walkway to a round marble table in the center. On one of the benches sat a tall woman towering over Norman. She was dressed in dark shades of red, matching her lipstick, luscious tentacle-like hair, and freckles splattered over her cheeks.

She watched down her nose as Norman sat on the opposite chair and looked up at her.

"Good morning, love." Norman smiled.

"Thank you, honey." Annabella sipped tea. "Care to some tea?"

"Most certainly." Norman took hold of his cup.

Her long arm stretched over to pick up the porcelain teapot and poured his cup full.

"Sugar? Honey?" She asked.

"Oh, darling. You know I drink mine black." Norman shook his head.

"It has been merely ten years since we last drank tea together." Annabelle held her smile with all she could.

"Has it been that long? How time flies with life." Norman laughed.

Annabelle smirked back at him before diverting her eyes to the servants watching from the side.

"Honey bunny and I are going to talk privately for a bit if that is alright." She said.

The servants left the room with anxious looks on their faces.

"Can I still call you honey?" Norman asked.

"You are supposed to," Annabelle said with a pressing voice. "So, how has your research progressed?"

"Well, let's see. My research in Atlas was all but burned at stake, so I had to get by with what I could save. My trip abroad went fine, though. Alanland was a bit of a letdown in terms of research, but I made some interesting observations in Albion."

"So, you haven't accomplished anything?" Annabelle sipped some tea.

"Not exactly," Norman's smile wavered. He couldn't say anything more to that. "Then, how is your life?"

"Politics, making connections, attending gatherings, the usual. Trying to hold integrity and social position in the family has been a sufficient challenge, to say the least."

"Hmm, so nothing new." Norman sipped tea. "Did you have any personal goals?"

"Yes, had." Annabelle put the cup down. "I told all about them during the wedding."

"Oh, I must have forgotten," Norman smirked.

The doors opened to servants bringing in breakfast. It was compiled from the consumers and based on previously observed eating habits. Of course, it also had to be both nutritious and high quality, regardless of what it was.

Aside from drinks and bread, there were two silver domes. Lifted, they revealed the main course. For Annabelle, there was a fruit salad with bits of cheese and sour dressing on top.

"Here you go, lady Annabelle." The servant said, holding the dome.

Another servant looked at Norman, who had an expecting grin. For Norman, there was a hamburger, just as he requested. Two patties made from quality beef, with melted premium cheese on top. Fresh vegetables from the garden, homemade buns, and mayo made from the finest ingredients. All in a neat package, help together with a knife piercing through.

"Your burger, sir Tobias." The servant held himself together.

"Thank you." Norman smiled with the widest of smiles. "I will be having this every morning."

"As you wish."

The two enjoyed a silent meal together. Not much remained but satisfaction and a full stomach.

"I also heard you made some friends." Annabelle cleaned her mouth with a napkin.

"Is it that surprising for you?"

"I took you for a solitary person, yet I heard rumors you got yourself an apprentice."

"It doesn't matter anymore, does it?" Norman asked, unimpressed.

"About what matters, I want you to go and get a healer for your skin." Annabelle pointed at the reddish spots all over his face.

"Sorry, dear, but these are more than scars to me."

"I wouldn't dare to talk back to someone you owe a fortune to."

"...And how big are we talking about?" Norman asked.

"seventeen million qit, or 175 million doli. Straight from our treasury to those island freaks."

Norman went a bit pale. Even his smile could not persist.

"Well, that explains why mom and dad were so angry."

"Don't forget me. I was the one that had to make the exchange. Honestly, I was prepared to end myself during the visit." Annabelle had to cover her face in shame.

"So that was the final nail to the coffin?"

"Rather the first shovels of dirt."

"Well, I've been in that coffin for a long time." Norman stretched.

"Still, it was nice for you to cooperate for once."

"There wasn't much of choice." Norman frowned.

"I didn't threaten you to come here." Annabelle raised her brow.

"Whatever. It's not like the fun was bound to last." Norman sighed.

"Oh, I thought you were going to scheme the most ingenious of plots to try and escape from your parents yet again." Annabelle leaned closer to whisper. "Or did you think of ending them?"

"Glistening Dorado, what the hell is wrong with you?" Norman snapped.

Annabelle's smug grin turned sour. "I must have misjudged you.

"Oh, yeah? Did I disappoint you? Was I not the perfect image of a mage you pictured me as?"

"Nevermind." Annabelle rolled her eyes.

"Are you enjoying this? Because I'm having the best time of my life right now." Norman waved his hands in the air with his head wobbling from side to side.

"If it's hard to believe, there was no choice on my end either. I only hope that you don't do anything stupid and ruin this any further." Annabelle sighed. "At least I didn't marry a total whack job."

"So we're going to play house for the rest of our lives, barbie?"

"If the house was any worse than this, I would not bother."

"Thank's for the compliment. I'll be sure to deliver it to my parents." Norman stood up. "See you at lunch, honey."

"Wait a moment, buster." She said.

Norman saw Annabelle tower him like a dark shadow with her head almost touching the ceiling.

"We both know why we are here."

Under her eyes, Norman felt stalked like food in a microwave, but with none of the excitement.

"That's not just something to cross over from the bucket list, you know?"

"We are both adults, strictly supervised by our parents, but still. They want it before they die, and we will not be young forever. You can't keep avoiding the issue."

"Having a kid shouldn't be an issue."

"Oh, come on. It's simple. We make it happen, let the nannies do the work, and then attend graduation. We can both go on with our lives." Her pitch and flopping hands told all about it.

"You would really bring a child to an unloving family?"

"I never said I wouldn't love them." Annabelle shrugged. "We need to invest time and effort so that they don't turn into..."

"Me?" Norman was ready to leave the room.

"Well, I was going to say trouble, but I think you got the point."

"Well, would you like to go on a date first or?" Norman tried a desperate dodge.

Annabelle glared down on Norman's flustered face like an eagle.

"You really think that would work on me?"

"...Maybe?"

"You got lucky. I got so many places and stores we need to go through as a couple. Westley, Doumagoo, Maruno…" She counted with her fingers.

"Um, sure, any place you want." Norman felt like having dodged the biggest bullet in his life, at least for a while.

"Oh, thank you, honey." Annabelle sent out a kiss.

"Alright." Norman dodged it. "First thing tomorrow?" He rubbed his neck.

"I will have to check my calendar, but as soon as possible." Annabelle walked away cheerfully. "Bye, honey!"

Norman watched the giant woman lean her head so she fit through the door. He was left standing alone in the sounds of water.

"Right, honey."

On the other side of the world, in the capital of Guerreterra, Galsioi, the main Guild office of Milieu, got another customer. One brawny person marched inside, waited in line, and after an hour and a half, could finally sit opposite a worker.

"There is nothing wrong with your CV, Mr. Cumhaill. I suppose you are interested in joining a party?" The worker looked past his thick glasses.

"Yeah." Diarmuid nodded.

"Is there any type of work you are interested in? This will be used to search for compatible parties and party member applications."

"Well, I'm not against mercenary work, but something little more passive would do for now, like being a bodyguard."

"Protective services, I see." The worker typed on his computer. "You are rank A; would you want to limit the search for that level parties? Doing so would increase offers but also give you lower-paying quests."

"Well, I need money sooner than later, so maybe expand it down a few ranks." Diarmuid lowered his hands.

"Understood. Would you like local work?"

"I don't mind going to other continents, well, maybe not Azuma. I don't like their food."

"I presume you would prefer parties closer to us." The worker kept typing.

"That's fine."

"Thank you, that will be all. We will be in contact by email. You will be given access to our website to check on the applications. You are not required to visit our offices until further notice."

"How many do I have to read through?" Diarmuid rose from the chair.

"Do not worry. While many would be willing to accept you, we will organize the parties, for example, by category of your chosen work they do, so you will be able to pick what interests you most."

"Okay, well, I'll be sure to look them up."

"Good day to you, Mr. Cumhaill."

"Bye." Diarmuid went out of the door.

Diarmuid sighed with relief since he would not need to buy another ticket to the office, but there was another problem. While working in the military, he had a work phone; now, he had no device. This problem could be solved as soon as he returned home.

Though large, his family home was far from clean, in condition, or quiet for the fact. Yearly repairs made it habitable, but mold and moisture had already done their damage. For how rotten and damp the smell of moss was, there were no other options for them.

Walking past the grand corridor, Diarmuid knocked on one of the doors, decorated with flowers and with a sign that said: "keep away."

"Sis, I need your computer." He said.

"No," Georgia yelled from the other side.

"Come on. I need it for a job."

"No, get your own!"

"Ma!" Diarmuid yelled. "Georgia's hogging the computer again!"

A raspy voice yelled from the top of her ruined lungs from upstairs. "Shut yer asses! I'm sleeping here!"

"I was checking if I got a job, and she won't let me, ma!" Diarmuid yelled.

"For Lugh's sake, Georgia, give the damn thing to your brother!"

"But ma!" She yelled back.

"No yapping!" She coughed. "It's the only one in the house, so you better share it, or none of ya will have it!"

"Ugh." She sighed. "Fine."

Tippy taps of footsteps came to the door and handed the old laptop from the crack, and slammed the door shut.

Diarmuid went to the only quiet place in the house: the kitchen, mainly because there is rarely anything interesting there. He put the laptop on the handcrafted yet old and scratched table and sat on a small chair that he had to balance his left buttock on.

"Let's see." Diarmuid opened the lid carefully.

By constantly bouncing back and forth from his notes and the screen, he could log in to the website. The inbox had a few messages, one of which was the list of applications.

"Gee, there's a bunch." Diarmuid took out his reading glasses.

"Whatcha doing, Dir?" Aeron asked, hunched under the table.

"Aeron, what are you doing there?" Diarmuid lifted the whole piece of furniture.

"Looking for breadcrumbs." He said.

"There's some bread in the fridge." Diarmuid pointed.

"I already ate mine." Aeron sulked.

A small yet clear growl came from Aeron's stomach. He would need to hang on until the next relief aid money comes by the end of the month. The food would never last until then. No matter how much the family saved or starved, no money or food would be left for the last week. The week of hunger, they would call it. There were still two weeks until the aid.

"If you're still hungry, you can eat mine," Diarmuid said.

"Really?" Aeron's face lifted.

"Just go eat it elsewhere. I'm trying to find a job. Then you can eat butter on bread as much as we want." Diarmuid smiled as much as his rugged face could.

"Right!" Aeron shuffled to the fridge and escaped with two pieces of bread in his mouth.

While the applications were plenty, many of them were uninteresting at best and disgusting at worst. Guarding royalty, escorting VIPs, protecting buildings. Diarmuid swiped through them all with his eyes drooping from disappointment and boredom.

"Wow, five figures." Luka leaned over Diarmuid's shoulder with his bushy hair.

"Luka! Since when you've been there?" Diarmuid jumped a bit.

"I went for a glass of water and saw you were ogling that screen," Luka said disinterestedly." Found a new job?"

"Just looking."

"Those look quite good." Luka scrolled through the offers with his sharp eyes.

"It's not all about the pay." Diarmuid sighed.

"But we would be eating well with that." Luka raised his brow.

"Would you be fine eating well with blood money?"

"What do you mean?" Luka asked.

"Everything from the Guild side has to be legal, but you need to learn to read between the lines. The job application can be whatever, but as long as nothing comes from it and money is paid to the Guild and through them to us, you can perform almost any type of work. Work like mine is full of it, so are these forms."

"Not that." Luka shook his head. "I mean, why does it matter?"

Diarmuid turned and saw his brother's uninterested face. Though he looked calm, deep down, he was terrified. Poverty has the power to change people, for better or worse. Sympathy and apathy are two faces of the same used-up coin thrown out from the pockets of the rich and left on the streets.

"There are plenty of ways to earn money, dirty or clean. Underground work is a gamble, and I don't want to risk you or myself for that." Diarmuid explained.

"Then I'll do it," Luka said.

"Luka, you're a smart kid, but that world will spit you out. Only those willing to sell their soul can survive, yet none of that money will fill the void."

"Hmph. You're just too soft, Dir." Luka walked away.

It was a disappointing sight for both of them.

Diarmuid continued going through the applications, which made him almost fall asleep. Even the lowest-paying ones could be enough if he donated most of them to his family. They blended together, swirled around, and cluttered his brain.

Then, a bright light. A spark of hope. A name.

"Hah, why not?" Diarmuid smiled.

The next day, after arguing again for the right to use the laptop, Diarmuid made a video call to the office.

"Mr. Cumhaill, you seem to have made your mind." The worker said.

"Yeah, this one is fine."

"A C-rank party, barely fitting the criteria. They have no other criteria except for a worker ranked B or higher. This is most likely an attempt to raise their party rank. Is that alright with you?"

"Then there will be better jobs too, right? Diarmuid didn't see a problem.

"That is for you to negotiate." The worker had none of the optimism.

"Then I'll take it." Diarmuid nodded.

"I will send your application to the party. Most likely, you will hear from us very soon. Be prepared."

"For what?" Diarmuid asked.

"For your trip. The party is in Pohjola. For the finalization, you need to be physically present."

"...And?"

"You have to pay for the trip yourself." The worker said.

A cold sweat broke on Diarmuid's face.

"Yeah, sure. I'll be ready then." He tried to smile.

"Goodbye, Mr. Cumhaill." The worker ended the call.

On a small island near the gulf of Tanlen was a small, quiet house. That was until someone burst through the door.

"Orel!" Andras yelled.

"What?" Orel could hear it from his room.

"There's a letter from the Guild! Someone wants to join us!"

"Really?" Orel ran out of his room.

They gathered around the dinner table, and Orel could finally read the letter.

"It's an A rank." Orel couldn't believe his eyes. "Previously worked in the ADF."

"What's ADF?" Andras asked.

"Let me check." Orel took out his phone. "It's Albian Defence Forces…" His smile dropped.

Andras could see the shock on Orel's face. He was still not over what happened that night. Tuja could hear Orel squirming in his bed, suffering from constant nightmares.

"I mean, he's an ex-soldier. Maybe he didn't like it there." Andras tried to help the mood. "If you don't like it, we don't have to accept the offer."

"I don't know." Orel's eyes wandered off.

"Is there a picture of him?"

"No, but he'll come to the office if we accept to discuss this."

"Then it's alright, isn't it? Let's just say yes." Andras encouraged.

"I don't know!" Orel snapped.

"Take every chance you get." Deras stepped inside. "Also, damn it, Andras! Don't go leaving me to dock the ship by myself!"

"Sorry," Andras was too excited when he opened the letter.

"Orel, you need to shake that attitude. You can't go on if you fuss up with every choice." Deras walked over. "What are you going to do?"

Andras and Deras switched their gazes to Orel. His eyes couldn't find an escape. If not for the wind slapping against the windows, the silence was deafening.

"Guess we're going." He decided.