The main hall of the Arkania Guild was a hive of activity. The air was saturated with the aroma of meat stews, the acrid smell of sweat and metal, and a constant murmur that rose and fell like the tide.

  Darian waited before the main counter. It wasn't Garrick who came to receive him, but Valerius, the Guild Master. He was an imposing man, with silver hair and a scar running down his neck, but his eyes, though severe, showed a glint of respect.

  "Darian of Ravel," Valerius said, dropping a leather bag that clinked heavily onto the counter. "You've brought vital information. What you and Aria faced at Low Mountain shouldn't have been there. The Spectral Knight, the shadows that hunted you, and the instability of that fifth floor are warnings the Guild won't ignore. Here's your pay for the mission's success and the recovered data."

  Valerius then produced an object that gleamed with a dull tone beneath the torches: a solid bronze disc, rough and heavy.

  "From today, you cease to be an aspirant," Valerius pronounced with a nod. "Welcome to the Guild, Bronze-rank adventurer. Carry this badge with pride; it's the mark of someone who knows how to stay standing when darkness tries to drag them down."

  Darian took the badge, feeling its real weight. He was no longer a village boy; he was, officially, an adventurer.

  "You've earned it," said Aria, appearing at his side as they stepped into the fresh afternoon air.

  They walked toward the "Traveler's Rest" inn. Aria noticed him distant, his gaze fixed on the ground, as if still processing the echo of screams in the dungeon, the ceiling's collapse, and the cold of the specter's sword.

  "Darian," she stopped him before reaching the door. "You're acting strange. What happened down there... that ability you used to dodge attacks and predict the collapse... it wasn't luck."

  Darian sighed, feeling mental exhaustion burning at his temples.

  "Aria, truly, I'm exhausted. I feel like my head is going to explode. I need to process everything that happened on that fifth floor. I promise you, when I'm calmer, I'll tell you everything I saw and how I did it."

  Aria studied him a second, saw the sincerity in his exhaustion, and nodded.

  "Alright. Rest. Tomorrow we'll handle the rest."

  The following morning, Darian visited the Great Library. In an ancient tome about the "Hosts of the Demon King," he found what he sought. His fingers trembled as he read the names of the Four Generals: Seth the bulwark, Krug the blade, Nyssa the voice of blood... and Sarion, the Archmage.

  The record simply named Sarion as one of the pillars of the enemy army under the Demon King's command. Darian closed the book, confused. It didn't add up. The grimoire's vision had shown him Sarion facing his own king, being called traitor for protecting humans. "Why do the books say he served the Demon King, while my vision shows a rebellion?" he wondered. There were pieces that didn't fit into the history everyone knew.

  At noon, he met Aria in the main square, before the imposing statue of Alterion. The square overflowed with life: merchants shouting, children playing, and the sound of water from the central fountain. Aria contemplated the hero's statue with the respect any Imperial citizen felt for humanity's savior.

  "It's magnificent, don't you think?" she commented. "Without him, none of this would exist."

  Darian nodded, though Sarion's name kept hammering in his mind.

  "Let's go," he said. "We need equipment if we're going to continue with this."

  They reached "The Iron Anvil." Inside, the heat was suffocating and the hammer's noise constant. Thorgar, a smith with arms like tree trunks and a braided beard that always seemed to have sparks trapped in it, received them with a thunderous laugh that vibrated in Darian's chest.

  "Aria! Damn it, you're still alive!" Thorgar roared with a thick, cheerful voice. "What brings you to my humble forge? Did you break another bow trying to pierce rocks?"

  Aria smiled with irony.

  "Almost, old friend. I come with Darian. He's a new official adventurer."

  Darian stepped forward naturally.

  "Hello, Thorgar. We have this budget," he said pointing to the mission bag. "It's for the information we brought from Low Mountain; Aria and I managed to get out of there after defeating a specter and we need equipment that can truly hold up. I don't want my gear failing before the first thing that attacks us."

  Thorgar let out a guffaw and slapped Darian's shoulder with a force that nearly made him stagger.

  "That's the spirit! If you survived a specter with those clothes, you need proper metal! For that price, lad, I can give you reinforced leather armor, greaves, and a tempered steel sword that would make a capital guard jealous."

  While Thorgar prepared the equipment, Aria took the opportunity to explain the dungeon system to Darian in simple terms (Rank E, D, C, B, A, and S).

  "Low Mountain was an E that mutated. Puerto Vell, our next destination, is a Rank D that just jumped to C. That means stronger monsters and more treacherous terrain."

  Just as Darian finished adjusting his new leather boots, a young messenger with the Guild's insignia ran into the forge, dodging anvils and a couple of customers examining shields.

  "Aria! Darian!" the youth shouted, catching his breath while leaning on his knees. "Instructor Garrick requests your presence immediately in the war room. It's a maximum priority matter. Master Valerius awaits you."

  Aria and Darian exchanged a quick glance. Thorgar, who was cleaning one of the tables, let out an amused snort. "Well, seems the rest ended before it began. Go, don't make the higher-ups wait!"

  Upon reaching the Guild, they crossed the main hall and climbed toward the restricted zone. In the war room, Garrick was leaning over a table full of nautical maps and scrolls with red urgency seals. His face was more rigid than usual, illuminated by the flickering light of crystal lamps.

  "Urgent reports have arrived from Puerto Vell," Garrick said without preamble, pointing to the port city on the coastal map. "It's a dungeon that used to be Rank D, but recent reports indicate aggressive mutation. It has jumped to Rank C in a matter of days. There are reports of creatures acting erratically outside their levels and sightings of shadows similar to those you mentioned in your report. It resembles too closely what you experienced at Low Mountain."

  Darian felt the bronze badge on his chest grow cold. The mystery hadn't stayed behind in the cave; it seemed to be spreading.

  "The Puerto Vell Guild has requested support from adventurers with recent field experience with these anomalies," Garrick continued, handing them a wax-sealed envelope. "Master Valerius has decided that you two are the most qualified to investigate and serve as support to local teams. You depart tomorrow at dawn on the first carriage south. Don't lower your guard; if Low Mountain was a warning, Puerto Vell could be the storm."

  Upon leaving the building, the sun was finally setting over Arkania, dyeing the towers an intense, almost bloody orange. Darian looked at Aria, who adjusted the strap of her new bow with silent determination.

  "Puerto Vell," she murmured. "They say there, the sea isn't the only thing hiding secrets."

  "Then it's the perfect place for us," Darian replied.

  As he walked toward the inn to prepare his things, the young man touched the pocket where he kept his notes about Sarion. He knew this new mission wasn't just Guild work; it was his opportunity to find the truth that the library of Arkania couldn't, or wouldn't, tell him.