Night swept the city streets in Hakarth’s business district clean. With evening, the crowds had moved towards restaurants and commerce, freed of the constraints of the daily grind. Nevertheless, it remained a brightly lit, albeit stark metropolis. Gray trees hovered at the edges of the cobbled roads, where they would not be run over during the daylight hours by trains, handcarts, or bicycles. Flowers crushed up against their roots, heavy heads bright with a myriad of colors that remained saturated year-around with help from batonists among the Organics – those wielders who dealt with magic related to living things. The train had roared past not half an hour before, lightbringers enchanting lamps up and down the street to life. Those lamps glowed now with a faint light that oscillated between silver and gold, cold and warm.

Merigold stood next to one such lamp, staring up at the brick façade of a building with clear glass windows and thick marble accents. Its doors were largely iron, studded with the brass rivets that would allow them to be disassembled and assembled again if repairs were needed; the iron was too heavy to be lifted by an ordinary man in one piece. There were runes etched into the brickwork above the door, their meaning inscrutable to anyone who was not an Illuminator. Below them was a wooden sign painted with the words, “Radvik Combat Guild, Explorers.”

Straightening her shoulders and adjusting the bookbag on her shoulder, Merigold pushed through the front door. Within was a space roughly the size of the foyer in her parent’s home. It was not ostentatiously large, but large enough to handle a number of clients at once. It was not by any means a rich space; the walls were uncovered wood rather than tile, left a little too long without any of the oils that would keep it from drying and splitting. Paper bulletins were nailed to the wood at intervals, most detailing contracts taken on by the guild, directions for interested clients, and other humdrum details associated with the everyday life of a guild. Clearly, the space was also not furnished for comfort, since there were no chairs or any amenities that might someone choose to loiter on the guild premises. On the left side of the room, however, there was a table, and a woman seated on a stool behind it. Her brown hair was braided behind her back, and she wore athletic clothes, which made sense for one of the combat guilds. She was watching Merigold expectantly, and tapping her foot on the wooden floor.

“I have an appointment,” Merigold said, coming to the counter. “For six o’clock.”

“Merigold Lee,” the woman stated, looking mostly bored. Wordlessly, she reached for a thin stack of papers near her right hand, and uncapped a bottle of ink by her left. Dipping a narrow brush in the ink, she pushed both towards Merigold. “Standard contract,” she said, “it details the internship and hiring process, and has a little information about the guild beyond what you might find in our pamphlets.”

The woman gestured at a spread of pamphlets on one end of the desk. Merigold followed her hand unnecessarily with her eyes, and then picked up the contract. The woman stared off into one corner of the room, giving her some space to read.

It was, as promised, a fairly standard contract, of the type Merigold would have worked on as a Drafter in her early years of employ. Pursing her lips as she read, she tried not to let her dissatisfaction show on her face; she still spent entirely too much time trying to come up with ways she could pursue her old dreams despite her Awakening. The farther she got in the contract, however, the more thinly her lips pressed together. A standard contract, certainly, but not a well-written one. There were spelling mistakes in no fewer than three places. The terms of employment were vague, but not quite so vague as the requirements for becoming an intern.

“It says I’m required to take a test,” Merigold said stoicly.

“Eros will test you,” the other woman said unhelpfully. Merigold fixed her with a momentary stare, but no details were forthcoming.

“It also—”

“I know what our contract says. It hasn’t changed in months, and I was there when we hired the Drafter. Are you planning to sign or not? It’s up to you.”

Merigold signed her name on the bottom of the document.

“Great,” the woman said, taking it from her. “Now, what type of magic do you have.”

Taking a slow breath, Merigold answered, “I’m a necromancer.”

For half a beat, the woman stared at her. She set the signed contract on the table.

“A what?”

“A necromancer,” Merigold repeated calmly.

The woman looked from her to the contract, furrowed her brows slightly, and then picked it up again and gestured towards a doorway near the desk. It led into a narrow hallway that split off to two doors and a stairwell, under which was a narrow, slightly sagging bench.

“Come on, I’ll take you to Eros. You can set your bag on the bench here and I’ll keep an eye on it.”

“I won’t need anything for the test?” Merigold asked quizzically. The woman looked back at her, bemused.

“Just what kind of test do you think you have to take at a combat guild, necromancer?” she asked, pushing open one of the doors. Merigold set her bag down and entered alone. The woman, clearly, had no intention of going with her.

On the other side of the door was a large, empty room with brick walls and a brick floor, both of which were heavily damaged. There were chunks missing from bricks every few feet. Singe marks spread at harsh diagonals across the floor, and it looked like something sharp had been dragged across several feet of brickwork to her left. Orbs of light hung high up in the air, casting a shadow-less, pale light over everything.

A man stood in the center of the space. He watched her walk in, running a hand across the stubble along his jaw, and narrowing eyes the color of the iron door through which she had entered. Like the woman, he wore practical athletic clothes, but unlike her, he also wore a thick cuirass with brass buckles, heavy boots, and a war hammer very obviously strapped to one hip.

“You must be Merigold,” he said, coming towards her and pressing his fists together in greeting. She echoed the gesture. “I’m Eros, one of three masters of the Radvik guild. I heard you come recommended by one of our Initiates.”

“That is correct,” she said. He seemed amused by the rigidity of her stance.

“I assume they said nothing about a test, as requested. Do try not to be too nervous.” He rubbed his hands together, looking around the open space.

“So tell me, what sort of magic do you have?”

Merigold had an inkling this question was going to be asked frequently, and that it would hollow her stomach out a little more each time she had to answer it.

“A necromancer,” she stated coolly.

Eros broke into immediate laughter. When he was done, he looked at her, and slowly sobered.

“You’re absolutely serious? A necromancer in a combat guild? Do you think a bandit, much less an erowits, will wait for ten, twenty, thirty minutes while you pick out the perfect corpse and complete all your rituals? Corpses don’t travel well, I’m told, or will you run yourself ragged commanding your followers to shamble up mountains and through bogs?” he asked, still half-laughing. Merigold did not know what to say. She just stood a little more rigid, cheeks burning as she looked slightly past him.

“Well,” he coughed with what she took for a bit of forced discomfort, “far be it from me to judge before even seeing what you bring to the table, am I right? So.”

He took a few steps towards the center of the room, turned, and clapped his hands together.

“This is a test of your abilities, Merigold Lee. Show me what you’ve got.”

Merigold felt the heat in her cheeks reach a new intensity. It suddenly seemed ludicrous to her that she had not expected some sort of test when she stepped through the door of the Radvik guild.

“I’m not trying to be unreasonable. You can use weapons rather than magic,” Eros stated. “I imagine you didn’t bring any. Just a moment.”

He strode past her out the door of the room, and returned momentarily carrying a smaller war hammer, and an incredibly small arbalest that she could carry in one hand. She took them awkwardly, having never held either in her life. Eros did not comment on it, and returned to the center of the room.

“I’ll make this simple for you, Merigold.” He spread his arms, and three balls of fire erupted into the space between them, each roughly the size of her fist. “Destroy just one of these, by any means, in the next ten minutes, and I will consider your test a success. One hit from either of those weapons will be equal to the task. But watch out - these spheres can leave a nasty burn. Are you ready?”

She hefted the warm hammer in both hands, hooking the arbalest into the band of her pants, and nodded uncertainly. Eros flicked his fingers. The flaming spheres immediately spun apart, ricocheting off the brick walls of the room in all directions. The movement caught her by surprise. Instinctually, Merigold ducked as one of the spheres flew at her face. Then she pitched back as something heavy slammed into her stomach, knocking the air from her lungs. Her head cracked against the brick and she sat up, gasping for breath.

There was a sphere of fire inches from her nose.

Sucking in a breath of hot air and choking on it, she tried to scramble back. The ball shot away, leaving behind only the scent of smoke and ozone. Merigold knew it was only by Eros’s command that the spheres continued to rocket around the brick room while she dragged herself to her feet and cast around for the hammer. It was on the floor several feet from her, where she had dropped it. The arbalest was closer.

Merigold picked it up, notching the thin bolt in the back of it and trying to train it on one of the spheres. They moved incredibly fast. Her arm began to ache just following them around the room, and she snapped her teeth in frustration. Dropping the arbalest, she dove for the hammer. All three spheres shot at her, one leaving a smoldering singe mark on the bricks where her feet had been seconds before. When her knee hit a brick she cursed under her breath, but she had the hammer.

For two seconds.

Then it flew from her hands, struck by one of the fiery spheres. Numbed by the impact, her fingers refused to cooperate when she tried to ball them into a fist to protect her face. Another sphere crashed into her back, sending her careening forward face-first. Tears rolled down her face, uncontrollable. She had smacked her nose hard, and was not quite sure, for a moment, which direction was up.

Merigodl flopped over. A flaming sphere arched past overhead, shooting from her field of view. Another followed. Her chest heaved. Her mouth tasted of salt. She could hardly breathe through her smarting nose. Hair had come loose to stick to her cheeks and lips.

Moaning, she forced herself up and dragged herself to one wall of the room. She could feel Eros watching her, and did not give him the pleasure of meeting his gaze. It was impossible to tell how much time had passed. Two minutes? Ten?

Eros clapped his hands together, and the fiery spheres disappeared in the blink of an eye. Merigold watched him through bleary eyes as he approached, holding out a hand to help her up. She only realized when she took his hand that there were blisters across her knuckles.

“Merigold,” he said, making sure she was steady before he let her go, “I don’t think this is going to work. I can’t call this a pass.”

She coughed, trying to clear the mucus from her throat. Eros shook his head.

“I wish you the best, eh.” He said. “Somewhere else.” Eros started to walk away, gesturing for her to follow, but Merigold did not move.

“It doesn’t matter if I pass,” she said stubbornly. He looked back, eyebrow raised.

“What?”

“Your contract,” she informed him, “it only says I have to take the test, not pass it, to become an intern. I took your test.”

He stared at her, at a loss for words. Merigold tried to force her shoulders straighter, and regretted it instantly. She had slammed her back too hard on the brick floor to stand straight.

“Disobeying a Drafter contract singed by the contractee means invoking the terms of forfeiture. Your Drafter must have told you what those were, in this case.” Merigold did not know what the terms of forfeiture might be, but they had to be humiliating, at the very least. Her bluff, anyway, appeared to be a success. Eros was still staring at her, but a strange smile had split his rugged face.

“Interesting,” he said aloud. “Alright then, Initiate. I expect you next week, with the rest of the new recruits. But don’t expect everything to go so smoothly. The journey to apprenticeship has no loopholes, and if you die, the guild bears no responsibility.”

She merely bowed her head, exhausted. Eros turned and left her there, probably, she suspected, because he now knew he needed to find a new, and better, Drafter to review the contracts he used.

A Drafter like she should have been.

Merigold looked at the war hammer on the bricks several feet away. Petulant, she walked over, and considered kicking it across the bricks. Instead, she knelt and picked it up, then collected the arbalest, and left both on the table with woman out front. Whoever that woman was, she said nothing when Merigold quietly collected her bag, pressed a handkerchief to her stinging nose, and made her way out the front door.