The Order's small outpost in Aramore didn't look like much from the outside. Tucked between two grand merchant halls and overshadowed by a towering cathedral, it resembled little more than a weathered barracks. But inside, the air pulsed with life.
Nathan followed Arlen through its narrow halls, his boots echoing against the stone floor. The scent of oil, parchment, and steel lingered in the air.
They passed rooms filled with trainees in prayer or sparring in silence. Scrolls lined some walls. Weapon racks lined others.
It wasn't home.
But it could be.
After a quick check-in, Arlen guided Nathan to a secluded chamber—stone walls, an array of magical detection runes etched into the floor, and a single glowing crystal hovering in the center.
"Testing," Arlen said, motioning to it. "Basic Order procedure. We need to know where you stand magically, mentally, physically."
Nathan eyed the crystal. "And if I blow it up?"
Arlen smirked. "Then you'll be interesting."
Nathan placed his palm against the crystal. Light surged—first blue, then violet, then erratic flashes of red, gold, and dark silver. The rune circle sparked and hummed, as if confused.
The crystal shattered.
Silence.
Arlen raised a brow. "You're lucky we have spares."
The next tests were more practical. Sparring with a few ranked fighters, most of whom he either held even with or narrowly beat. No Nova. No threadstone. Just skill.
Then came the written portions. Geography. Protocol. History of the kingdom.
He bombed half of it.
But no one expected perfection.
Later that evening, Nathan sat on a wooden bench just outside the Order's building, watching merchants pack up their stalls. The city buzzed even as dusk fell, lanterns flickering to life and casting long shadows on cobbled streets.
Kaela would've told him to scout the place twice before relaxing. Garrick would've mocked the architecture. Jynn would've challenged every passing mage to a duel.
Nathan smiled faintly.
He didn't feel like a hero. He didn't feel like anything, really—just tired. Not from the tests. Not from the journey. But from the weight of expectation.
He looked down at his hands. Still bruised. Still shaking slightly from the fight he lost.
That beast. That mistake.
He couldn't let it happen again.
Inside, Arlen waited with two others—an older woman in light armor and a thin man with an ornate staff. They motioned him in.
"You're not quite Order material," the woman said bluntly. "You don't pray. You don't follow the Code. You don't even know half the history."
Nathan shrugged. "I'm not here to wear gold."
The man smiled. "But you have value. We could use someone... flexible. Someone not bound by red tape."
"We call it auxiliary status," Arlen explained. "Mercenary in title, but you work with us. Access to resources, training, missions. Just not bound by our traditions."
Nathan looked between them, then down at the small emblem they offered—simpler than the Order's crest, just a silver thread coiled into a blade.
He took it.
"When do I start?"
The woman grinned. "You already did."
The next morning came with no ceremony, no horns, no grand declarations. Just sunlight slipping through the narrow window of Nathan's new room and the sound of boots thudding outside in the hallway.
He clipped the emblem to his belt and stepped out.
There wasn't much to prepare—no initiation ritual or oath. As a mercenary under the Order's banner, his role was more flexible. He was expected to fight, to scout, to take contracts and act in the Order's interest. Not quite a paladin. Not bound by their vows. But trusted enough to wear their mark.
He passed by a few familiar faces in the hallway—Arlen among them, leaning against a doorframe eating dried fruit from a cloth pouch.
"Nice badge," Arlen said with a smirk. "Now you're one of us. Kinda."
Nathan raised a brow. "That supposed to make me feel honored?"
"Nope. Just makes it easier to yell at you when something explodes."
They walked side by side down to the central room. The orb above the round table pulsed with soft light—tracking missions and field reports.
The woman from yesterday—Sirah, he'd learned—stood at the table, skimming over a few glowing maps. She glanced up.
"Good. You're up. We won't throw you into the deep end just yet. But we could use your help."
"With what?" Nathan asked.
"Patrol duty," she said, handing him a folded note. "Outside the south gate. Routine stuff. There've been strange movements near one of the merchant routes—nothing too serious, but we're stretched thin. Just keep eyes open and report anything unusual."
Nathan unfolded the note and scanned it. Directions. Landmarks. A few names of potential contacts. One name caught his attention:
Elias Varn. Cartographer.
"Alone?" he asked.
Sirah shook her head. "You'll have a partner. Not a paladin—one of ours."
A voice chimed in from behind. "That would be me."
Nathan turned to see a tall young man in plain traveler's gear, a short sword strapped to his back and a scarf tied loosely around his neck. His hair was a mess of dark curls and his posture relaxed to the point of near-slouch.
"Name's Theo," the guy said, offering a lazy wave. "Mercenary, guide, occasional liar. But only when I'm cold."
"…Right," Nathan said. "I'm Nathan."
"Yeah, I know. Word travels fast around here. Let's go, newbie. Don't want to keep the spooky merchant road waiting."
Nathan followed Theo through the base's back exit, out onto the busy streets of Aramore. The market buzzed—traders shouting, animals braying, metal clinking. Somewhere in the distance, music played from a street performer's lute. The smell of spice and smoke drifted through the air.
It was strange, walking through it all with an emblem on his belt. People noticed. Some nodded in respect. Others stepped out of the way. Children pointed.
Nathan didn't feel like he'd earned it yet.
Maybe that was the point.
As they passed through the south gate and out onto the road, Theo tossed him a piece of jerky and said, "So… you're the guy that tried to solo a Scarspawn."
Nathan chewed slowly. "That story really got around?"
Theo chuckled. "Arlen made it sound like you punched it in the face and then screamed something about destiny."
"…I didn't scream anything."
"Uh huh. Sure."
Nathan rolled his eyes, but the tension in his chest eased just a little. The road ahead stretched long and open, winding through grassy hills and distant woods.
Theo broke the silence. "You always this quiet, or is this your dramatic brooding phase?"
Nathan gave him a look. "Do you always talk this much?"
"Absolutely," Theo said cheerfully. "Silence gives the mind too much room to spiral. You start thinking about the world, your place in it, all the things you've messed up—then bam. Existential crisis."
"Sounds like experience talking."
Theo nodded solemnly. "Three-time survivor."
Nathan snorted, despite himself.
They walked in silence for a while after that, boots crunching over the dirt path. Occasionally, a cart would roll past, merchants or farmers heading toward Aramore with goods strapped high. Every time they saw Nathan's emblem, they offered a nod or a greeting—not the kind you give to royalty, but the kind you give to someone who might keep you safe when things go dark.
Nathan wasn't sure he deserved that either. But he acknowledged each one with a short nod.
Around midday, they veered off the main road toward a narrow forest trail. Trees stretched overhead, branches forming a kind of natural archway. Birds chirped in bursts, then silenced again as if the woods were listening.
"Cartographer's hut should be just up ahead," Theo said, pushing a low branch aside. "Elias Varn. Used to be with the Order. Retired, but kept his ears open."
Nathan slowed. "You trust him?"
Theo shrugged. "I trust that he hates monsters, and knows the terrain better than most. That's usually enough."
A few minutes later, the trees broke into a small clearing, and there it was: a modest wooden cabin, sloped roof patched with old metal, moss creeping up the side. Smoke drifted lazily from the chimney.
Nathan followed Theo to the door. He knocked once.
A long pause. Then the door creaked open.
Elias Varn stood in the frame, tall and lean, with gray in his beard and sharp, calculating eyes. He wore a tattered cloak and ink-stained gloves, and a compass hung from his belt like a dagger.
"Didn't expect a welcome party," he said dryly. "Or that someone would send me a new recruit with haunted eyes."
Theo smiled. "That's Nathan. He screams destiny."
Nathan gave him a flat look. "Still didn't scream anything."
Elias chuckled once, then stepped aside. "Come in. Maps are on the table. Tea if you want it."
The cabin was cluttered but organized—stacks of parchment, rolled-up charts, carved models of the surrounding region. A large map lay across the central table, pinned down with stones. Red marks dotted one section near a ridge close to the trade route.
"What's this?" Nathan asked.
"Merchant caravans have reported tremors," Elias said. "Ground shaking, trees falling without cause. No confirmed sightings of beasts, but tracks were found. Heavy ones. Bipedal. Deep."
"Scarspawn?" Nathan asked automatically.
Elias looked up. "That's the fear. But no corruption left behind. No decay. Something else."
Theo leaned over the table. "We're to check it out. Report back."
Elias nodded. "You'll want to leave before sundown."
Nathan studied the map, then looked at Theo. "How close do we get?"
Theo shrugged. "Close enough to see what we're dealing with. Far enough to run if we have to."
Elias grunted. "Very Smart."
Nathan gave a dry smile. "I'm trying not to die again."
Theo grabbed a marked scroll and tucked it into his pack. "Let's move. I want to make it back before the stew's gone. Only decent meal they serve all week."
They stepped back outside. The sun had begun its slow descent, casting long shadows across the trees. Nathan glanced once more at the woods behind them.
Another patrol. Another unknown.
But this time, he wasn't alone.
He adjusted the silver-threaded emblem at his belt.
"Let's go."