Seraphina turned away from the terraces, steps asured, gaze drifting toward the Communal Hall.
Selene followed silently, indigo robes whispering with each stride, erald eyes soft but amused. A private smile touched her lips—a quiet acknowledgnt of the absurdity that had just unfolded.
“The duel you participated in,” Selene began evenly, “will be forwarded to your instructor. Arcane Theory—Practicals. Observation counts as much as action. Even watching earns credit. Students study technique, strategy, mana control.”
“Oh, that’s nice.”
“Yes. It’s part of the curriculum. Students are expected to demonstrate controlled mana manipulation throughout the sester. And you are not required to attend classes for the rest of the day.”
Seraphina’s gaze flicked to the mage lantern along the walkway. She inclined her head.
“Duel participants get a day or two to recover,” Selene continued. “Sotis more. Expending mana is taxing.”
A subtle pulse of heat traced along Seraphina’s collarbone, the Living Dress regulating her flow. She brushed a silver-tipped strand from her face, a faint, wry smile curling at the corner of her mouth.
“Good. I plan to use my freedom efficiently… preferably in peace.”
Selene’s lips curved, unreadable. “Wise choice. Recuperation and observation often teach more than action alone.”
After a few strides, Selene added, voice low and dry, “You earned ten percent of the total wager pool. Your prize.”
Seraphina glanced sideways. “Ten percent? Not half? Not all?”
“Nope. That would’ve been excessive,” Selene replied with a quiet chuckle. “Ten percent is impressive enough for soone who refuses classification.”
“How much are we talking?” Seraphina tilted her head, analytical.
“Enough,” Selene said, faint smile tugging at her lips.
A subtle glimr of curiosity passed over Seraphina’s eyes.
“You… have a slate, right? To record payouts?”
“I… don’t,” she admitted.
Figures, Selene thought, shaking her head. “I’ll get you one later. Slates serve as writing tablets, ledgers, and communicators. They receive notices, record contracts, and hold vaulted credits. You’ll find it… useful.”
“Efficient,” Seraphina observed.
“Precisely.”
“Then I shall enjoy my ten percent,” she said, a restrained curl at the corner of her mouth. “Unexpectedly… motivating.”
Selene’s laugh was quiet. “As expected.”
“You should eat before your next chaos theory lecture,” Selene added.
“Observation requires sustenance,” she noted, a faint glimr of amusent in her eyes.
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Selene’s eyes softened briefly.
“You handled the elite student with more restraint than I anticipated. But they’re the type who’ll be eager for another duel. Best you avoid unnecessary conversation with them—for now.”
Seraphina’s gaze flicked briefly toward Selene. “Noted.”
Selene raised an eyebrow. “Caution suits you.”
Seraphina inclined her head, expression neutral. “I can manage.”
“Of course.”
“May I leave the grounds for a few hours?” Seraphina inquired.
“Yes. Go on. See you later.”
Near the Communal Hall, Bran, Liora, and Calden were waiting. Their faces brightened as she approached.
“You handled that brilliantly!” Bran grinned. “And you’re unhard. We were worried.”
Liora’s smile widened. “Nice silver winnings, by the way. I never doubted you.”
Calden nodded, teasing. “You should’ve seen our calculations beforehand. We knew you’d pull it off.”
Seraphina smirked faintly. “Naturally. Thanks, though.”
“We know you’re free for the rest of the day,” Liora added. “Why not join us for lunch?”
Seraphina shook her head, still smiling. “Not today. I’m planning to take a walk, unwind a little.”
Bran tilted his head thoughtfully. “Well… you could register with the Adventurer Guild. Keep track of contracts, gold, and all that.”
Seraphina inclined her head once, warmly. “I’ll do that. Catch you all later.”
They shared a final nod, pleased and relieved. Seraphina waved lightly and continued on her path, the corners of her mouth hinting at quiet amusent.
Hearthwood received her without comnt. Walkways grown rather than built, bridges threaded with ivy and magelight. The air carried wood sap, resin, and warm spice.
Food stalls lined the lower terraces—steaming buns, glazed grain cakes, skewered roots and ats—all mutinying against her empty stomach. No starter pouch. No coin. Narrative generosity had skipped this transaction.
Clatter of trays, sizzling from open grills, the murmur of patrons’ conversations—ambient, unremarkable, familiar.
Her gaze lifted. Across the square, half-hidden beneath elderwood boughs:
ADVENTURERS’ GUILD — HEARTWOOD BRANCH
“Yes,” she murmured. “That will suffice.”
Inside, the guild was quieter than expected. Timber counters. Layered notice boards. A few tired, muddy adventurers. No ceremony. Only administration.
“Registration?” the clerk asked.
“Yes. I require paid work.”
Forms followed: na, origin (vague), capabilities (unhelpfully vague), classification…
“…Unclassified?”
“Yes.”
He hesitated, then gestured toward the boards. “Available contracts are posted. Select one within your capacity. Bring it to the desk for binding.”
She inclined her head and crossed the hall.
The notices were arranged by tier—local, regional, hazardous. Inked sigils marked difficulty and estimated mana strain. So were already claid, leaving faint squares where parchnt had been removed.
Seraphina read without haste.
Escort duty. Quarry clearance. Boundary patrol.
Her gaze moved lower.
Gathering requisition—Apothecary of Hearthwood. Wildleaf and dusk-moss. Northern paths. Low risk. Two hours. Standard compensation.
Efficient. Minimal confrontation. Imdiate return.
She removed the slip and returned to the counter.
“Botanical requisition,” the clerk said. “Low-tier. Paynt issued upon verified delivery. Mana imprint required for contract binding.”
He produced a narrow strip of treated vellum and a simple silvered ring.
“Guild-bound. Tracks contract acceptance, contains a spatial pocket for secured items. Standard issue.”
Seraphina accepted the ring and slid it onto her finger. Space unfolded inward—structured, contained, responsive.
Stable.
“Acceptable,” she murmured.
The clerk placed the vellum before her. “Channel a trace of mana to bind.”
A subtle pulse of heat traced along her fingertip, the Living Dress regulating her flow as she allowed a asured thread into the script. The ink shimred once, then settled.
“Bound,” the clerk confird. “Return the gathered materials within the stated interval. Delays reduce compensation.”
“Understood.”
He paused, assessing her. “Unclassified status does not exempt you from guild conduct.”
“I would expect otherwise.”
A brief nod.
“Then you may proceed.”
Outside, her living dress adjusted: leather trousers suited for movent, reinforced jacket, boots fitted for uneven terrain. Functional. Balanced.
She tested her stride.
“Better,” she said quietly. “Appropriately attired.”
Hunger remained; contract secured—spectacle to requisition, theory to coin.
“Wildleaf,” she murmured. “No combustion required.”
The forest did not object. It simply opened. Rustle of leaves, distant creek, occasional birdcall—quiet, steady, unobtrusive.
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