The wheels clacked over smooth stone as the carriage climbed the hill toward the Guild's high seat in Brailenthorne, capital of adventuring law and legacy. Pine trees blurred past the open slats in the wooden paneling. The curtains were drawn back, letting in the scent of distant rain.
Inside, it was quiet.
Ysarre Veln sat across from Prince Caelen, armor polished but unadorned, her longsword resting point-down at her feet. Guildmaster Hale sat beside Caelen, unrolling a set of parchment slips—each one bearing a name and symbol of a voting council member.
"Twelve seats," Hale said, tapping the top page. "You need seven votes for advancement. Five confirmed support. Two are undecided. Three will be hostile unless you charm them or scare them."
—Guildmaster Hale
Ysarre leaned her head against the wooden wall.
"I don't threaten unless someone draws first."
—Ysarre Veln
"Then I'll speak. You just stand tall and answer what needs answering."
—Caelen
Hale continued, voice clipped with strategy.
> "The Iron Faith seat wants discipline. Don't mention Hollowspire's collapse—say 'cleansing action.' The Western Trade Guild cares about border security. Emphasize your suppression of the Ashfen uprising."
"And for the Eastern Province... just don't say anything. They hate talking."
—Guildmaster Hale
Ysarre gave a single raised eyebrow.
"You want me to walk into a room of high chairs and old titles and pretend I care what they think?"
—Ysarre Veln
"No," Caelen said, meeting her gaze. "I want you to remind them why they should care what you think."
—Prince Caelen
The rain finally broke outside, pattering softly against the carriage roof. The moment passed quietly.
Hale finally folded the parchment and tucked it away.
"If Tenrin had come, you'd be splitting the vote. But now… it's just you. That makes it cleaner. And heavier."
—Guildmaster Hale
Ysarre didn't respond.
She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again.
"When it's done—regardless of how they vote—I go back to the frontier."
—Ysarre Veln
Caelen nodded slowly.
"Just make sure you return with a number they can't ignore."
—Prince Caelen
Outside, the Guild tower came into view—rising like a monument of steel and crystal over the hills.
_____________________________________
The sound of hooves approached—fast and rhythmic, kicking up gravel as a rider in guild livery pulled alongside the carriage, raising a sealed letter high.
The escorting knight whistled once, and the carriage eased to a halt.
Guildmaster Hale cracked the door, rain spotting the polished wood.
"Urgent news Sir"
—Guild Courier
Hale's expression sharpened. Black seal meant priority—events that altered protocol, rankings, or law. He took the envelope and unsealed it with a flick of his guild signet.
He read.
Once.
Twice.
Then slowly passed it to Caelen and sat back, lips pressed thin.
Caelen read aloud under his breath:
> "Subject: Kaleid Renhallow. Certified Ranked: Level 8."
"Achievement: Cleared third recorded Level 10-class dungeon—the Nightmare Vale Labyrinth, solo."
"Validation complete. Witnesses: None. Core destroyed confirmed."
Historical Rank—the youngest to reach Level 8 on record at 22 years of age."
—Message
Silence followed.
Even Ysarre's eyes shifted toward the letter, unreadable.
Hale muttered as he took the scroll back.
"He's not just rising. He's already past us."
—Guildmaster Hale
"No records broken like that since the Sable Triumvirate the hero reached Level 10.More than century ago though."
—Caelen
> "Three Level 10s dungeon alone…" Hale murmured. "Most Level 8s go their whole lives without facing one. Most never even find one."
Ysarre didn't react. Her voice was quiet, but dry.
"And now the council gets another reminder of who they really dealing with."
—Ysarre Veln
"Not kings,not guildmasters can handle people like him."
"Just pure power."
—Ysarre Veln
Caelen met her eyes across the moving shadows of the cabin.
Outside, the rain had stopped. The Guild tower drew closer.
And the shadows they cast inside the carriage had grown longer.