The Lower City Adventurer’s Guild was exactly what you’d expect: a three-story building that had seen better days, filled with mid-rank summoners who hadn’t been able to make the cut in the elite guilds of the upper district.
Alex entered, Grim following—currently in his 80-centiter form, trying to look as unthreatening as possible.
The lobby was moderately busy. Adventurers checking mission boards. Administrative staff processing paperwork. A few casual glances his way, then disinterest when they saw his cheap clothes and tiny companion.
Alex approached the reception counter. A woman in her forties with gray hair and a seen-it-all expression looked up from her paperwork.
"Help you," she said in a monotone.
"I’d like to register as an adventurer," Alex said.
"Registration fee: 100 crowns. Initial rank assessnt: 50 crowns. Total 150." Her tone didn’t change. This was clearly her hundredth registration of the day.
Alex counted out the money—painful, considering how little he had, but necessary.
The receptionist took it, handed him a form. "Fill this out. Summon your companion for rank assessnt."
Alex filled out the form. Na, age, summoner history (he left the Celestial Academy part deliberately vague), companion type.
When he got to "Companion Rank," he hesitated.
The receptionist noticed. "You don’t know your own companion’s rank," she said flatly. It wasn’t a question.
"It’s... complicated," Alex said. "The academy scan was inconclusive. That’s why I’m here."
She sighed. "Fine. Summon him, we’ll scan him properly."
Grim was already standing there, but technically he needed to "summon" him officially. Alex made the gesture.
Grim didn’t change—he was already materialized—but the system lights recognized the formal summoning.
The receptionist took out a scanning crystal. Passed it over Grim.
The crystal glowed. Flickered. Made a confused error sound.
"Hmm," the receptionist murmured, frowning. "That’s weird. Give a second."
She tried again. Sa results.
"Your companion is... confusing the scanner," she said. "The energy signature is registering as multiple ranks simultaneously. The system is having trouble classifying him."
"What does that an?" Alex asked, his stomach sinking.
"It ans," said a new voice behind him, "that your companion is interesting."
Alex turned. A man in his fifties, stocky build, scars crisscrossing his forearms, approached. He wore the badge of a Guild Master—three silver stars.
"Marcus Holloway," he introduced himself. "I run this branch. And in twenty-three years of doing this, I’ve never seen a scan that confused."
He crouched down, studying Grim closely.
The tiny skeleton—currently only 80 centiters—stood completely still. Trying to be innocuous.
"A skeleton," Holloway said. "With armor and a real scythe. That’s... unusual for low ranks. Where did you summon him from?"
"Celestial Academy," Alex said. "Before I was... before I left."
"Ah. One of those cases." Holloway’s eyes softened slightly with sothing that might have been sympathy. "Let guess: they told you your companion was useless. Kicked you out. Now you’re trying to survive in the Lower City."
Alex didn’t respond. He didn’t need to.
"I’ve seen your type before," Holloway continued. "Underestimated summoners, dismissed, discarded. Sotis, those are the best ones. Sotis, those are the most dangerous ones."
He reached out to touch Grim’s armor—
Grim stepped back slightly. The red lights in his sockets flickered. Warning.
Holloway raised his hands. "Easy, little one. Just looking, not touching."
He straightened up, turning to the receptionist. "Classify him as provisional F-Rank. We can reevaluate after he completes so missions."
"But sir," the receptionist protested, "the scan is—"
"Inconclusive, I know. But look at the kid." Holloway pointed at Alex. "Level 15, if I’m reading his aura right. You know how many ’F-Rank’ summoners survive to reach level 15? Zero. Statistically zero."
He turned back to Alex.
"So either your academy records are wrong, or your companion evolved sohow, or you’re hiding sothing. I don’t care which. The guild doesn’t ask too many questions—we only care if you can do the job."
"I can do the job," Alex said firmly.
"We’ll test that." Holloway signaled to the receptionist. "Give him Iron classification. Access to E and D Rank missions. If he survives a month, we’ll promote him."
"Iron?" Alex had read about the guild’s ranking system. Iron was the lowest tier—basically novices with weak companions.
"I know you can probably handle more," Holloway said quietly. "But high rank ans high scrutiny. And sothing tells you prefer low profile."
Alex’s eyes widened slightly. Did this man know? Was he guessing?
Holloway leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper only Alex could hear:
"Hmm, an F-Rank summoner... how odd that you’re still alive."
A pause. Then he added, with what almost could have been humor:
"Though that creature with its plastic scythe is adorable."
Grim—still holding his very real dark steel scythe—turned his skull to look directly at Holloway.
The red lights in his sockets glowed. Steady. Unblinking.
Watching.
The mont stretched. Holloway held eye contact with the skeleton, not flinching.
Then he smiled—not threatening, just... aware.
"Welco to the Guild, kid. Try not to die in your first week."
He walked away, returning to his office, leaving Alex standing there feeling like he’d just passed so kind of test he didn’t fully understand.
The receptionist processed his registration. Handed him a cheap tal badge—Iron Classification, with his na engraved.
"Missions are on that board," she pointed. "Payouts range from 50-300 crowns depending on difficulty. Don’t take anything above your rank or the guild won’t cover rescue costs if things go bad."
"Understood," Alex said, pocketing his badge.
As he left the guild, Grim still at his side, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Holloway knew. Not everything—probably not about the Reaper Fragnt or the Ancient Gods—but he knew Alex was more than he appeared.
And for so reason, he’d chosen to help instead of report.
Why?
His phone vibrated. A ssage from an unknown number:
"We saw your guild registration. Smart. But it’s not enough. The Forsaken Circle still wants to talk. Warehouse 13, tonight, midnight. Last offer. - R"
Alex stared at the ssage for a long mont. Then he looked at Grim.
The skeleton had shifted back to his ter-and-a-half form—more intimidating, but not so much as to be obvious.
"What do you think?" Alex asked. "Forsaken Circle? Potential allies or obvious trap?"
Grim couldn’t answer in Latent form. But he turned his skull toward the harbor district—the direction of Warehouse 13—and the lights in his sockets pulsed once.
Your decision. I follow.
"Yeah," Alex murmured. "That seems to be your answer for everything."
He checked his phone again. The guild system had sent notification of his registration. He was officially in the system now.
Which ant the Celestial Temple would know where to find him if they wanted to.
He had less than eighteen hours before the Paladin’s grace period ended.
"Alright," he said out loud, making a decision. "Tonight, Warehouse 13. Let’s et this Forsaken Circle, see what they want. Maybe they have information. Maybe they have answers about what you really are."
He looked at Grim.
"Because let’s be honest—I still don’t fully understand what you are. Reaper Fragnt. One of seven. Sealed by the Gods. All of that sounds... important. And terrifying. And probably suicidal."
Grim tilted his skull. Yes.
"But you also saved my life. Multiple tis. So I guess we’re in this together."
He started walking toward his shitty apartnt, needing to sleep properly before the midnight eting.
Grim followed, his footsteps making soft clicks against the pavent. Every few seconds, his height shifted—ter and a half, then 80 centiters, then a ter, then back to ter and a half. Like he was testing his new shape control, finding what was most comfortable.
And as they walked through the waking streets of the Lower City, neither noticed the figures watching from the shadows.
A Paladin in silver-white armor, watching with an inscrutable expression.
A summoner with a spectral raven on her shoulder, smiling behind a mask.
A hooded figure who slled of incense and divine authority, writing in a book that glowed with holy light.
And deep within a temple that existed halfway out of reality, seven Ancient Gods sat on thrones of eternal light, leaning forward, their eyes focusing on a single point:
A nineteen-year-old boy with a skeleton who called himself Grim.
"The First Fragnt has awakened," said one of the Gods, their voice like distant thunder.
"The seal weakens," said another.
"The other six will begin awakening soon," said a third.
"And when the seven are reunited..." the fourth God didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.
"Should we intervene now?" asked the fifth. "Destroy the master before he grows too strong."
"No," said the sixth God, the oldest, the one who had lived longer than stars. "The Reaper chose this mortal for a reason. Let the ga play out. We will watch. We will wait."
"And if he completes the reunion?" asked the seventh God. "If he restores the Reaper to full power?"
The seven Gods looked at each other.
None answered.
Because they all knew the answer.
If the Reaper were restored—if the seven fragnts reintegrated—
Then not even the Gods would be safe.
The end of all things would no longer be a distant threat.
It would be inevitable.
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