We searched three more streets before accepting the truth.

  “No library,” Faith said.

  “Doesn’t look like it.” I turned a full circle, scanning the buildings one more time. Residential homes, workshops, a blacksmith’s forge. No sign of any public repository of knowledge.

  “We could check the town hall,” I offered. “But I doubt they’ll have ancient records on cursed swords just lying around for visitors.”

  Faith made a noncommittal sound.

  The sun had dropped lower. Time to meet the others.

  We made our way back toward the square, taking a different route through the residential district. Children played in a courtyard, their laughter echoing off stone walls. An old woman swept her doorstep, pausing to watch us pass with mild curiosity.

  Normal. Peaceful.

  Strange how I’d stopped finding that comforting.

  The square opened before us—cobblestones arranged in concentric circles around a central fountain. A few merchants had begun packing their stalls for the evening. No sign of Isabella or Aria yet.

  “We’re early,” Faith said.

  A wooden bench sat beneath an oak tree at the square’s edge. We claimed it, settling into the worn wood.

  I let my gaze drift across the fountain. Water trickled from a carved stone fish, probably meant to be a salmon. The sculptor had given it an oddly cheerful expression.

  “Remember that coffee shop?” Faith asked. “The one near your old apartment?”

  I blinked, pulled from my observation of the fountain. “The one with the broken espresso machine?”

  “That’s the one.” Faith leaned back against the bench. “You used to complain about their tea selection.”

  “Because they only had Earl Grey and English Breakfast. That’s not a selection, that’s a formality.”

  “You still ordered it every time.”

  “The pastries were good.”

  Faith’s lips curved slightly. “You got the same croissant every visit.”

  “Consistency is a virtue.” I stretched my legs out, crossing them at the ankles. “Besides, why experiment when you’ve found something that works?”

  “You’re the most boring engineer I’ve ever met.”

  “Was.” The correction slipped out automatically. “Was the most boring engineer.”

  Faith’s smile faded. “Right.”

  Silence settled between us. Not uncomfortable exactly, but weighted.

  “I miss it sometimes,” Faith said quietly. “The boring parts. Arguing about tea selections. Complaining about your coworkers who never refilled the printer.”

  “Mark.” I shook my head. “That bastard used the last sheet and just… walked away. Every time.”

  “You kept a tally on a sticky note.”

  “Thirty-seven incidents in three months. I had documentation.”

  Faith laughed—genuine and unguarded. The sound pulled something loose in my chest.

  “God, we were so normal back then,” she said.

  “Were we?” I watched the fountain’s cheerful fish. “You were secretly hunting vampires.”

  “And you were secretly a demon princess with amnesia.”

  “I didn’t know that part.”

  “Neither did I.” Faith’s hand rested on Durendal’s pommel. “I mean. You were just… Liam. My boyfriend who obsessed over printer paper and tea varieties.”

  “I was a delight.”

  “You really weren’t.”

  I glanced at her. “You stayed anyway.”

  “I did.”

  Another pause. The merchants finished packing. One waved to another as they departed, calling something about meeting at the tavern later.

  “Do you regret it?” Faith asked. “Any of it?”

  The question hung there.

  Did I regret waking up in Lily’s body? Discovering my parents were the literal Devil and Mother of Demons? Becoming something fundamentally inhuman?

  “No,” I said.

  Faith’s eyebrows rose.

  “I mean it.” I turned to face her properly. “It’s been terrifying and confusing and sometimes completely fucking insane. But no. I don’t regret it.”

  “Even though you lost your old life?”

  “I didn’t really have an old life. I had a job and an apartment and exactly one person I cared about.” I held her gaze. “Now I have friends, family, power, purpose. I belong somewhere.”

  Faith’s expression shifted into something complicated. “And what about that one person you cared about?”

  “She’s sitting right next to me.”

  Red eyes met mine. “I’m not the same person anymore.”

  “Neither am I.”

  “Lily—”

  “There they are,” I said, spotting familiar figures approaching across the square.

  Aria waved enthusiastically, practically bouncing with each step. Isabella walked beside her with measured grace, carrying a leather satchel.

  Faith fell silent as they approached.

  Whatever she’d been about to say would have to wait.

  * * *

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  “Found exactly what you wanted!” Aria announced, waving a piece of parchment like a victory banner.

  Isabella walked beside her, composed as always, carrying a leather satchel that hadn’t been there before.

  Faith straightened from the bench. “What did you find?”

  Aria thrust the parchment toward her. “Goblins! Just like you asked for.”

  Faith took the parchment, scanning its contents. I leaned over to read.

  The writing was surprisingly neat—printed in block letters that looked official. Standard quest format. Location, estimated numbers, reward.

  My eyes dropped to the bottom line.

  Reward: 8 silver coins

  I frowned. “Is that a lot?”

  “No clue,” Aria said cheerfully.

  Either we were working for pennies, or that bookstore was charging an absolute fortune. Probably both.

  “We had to register as ‘adventurers,’” Isabella said, managing to make the word sound vaguely distasteful. “Apparently it’s a formalized mercenary system in this world.”

  Aria pulled something from her pocket—a small bronze plaque with symbols etched across its surface. “Bronze rank! We’re officially bottom-tier.”

  “Exciting,” I said.

  “Well?” Aria looked between Faith and me. “What about you two? Find anything on the sword?”

  “We found a store,” I said. “The shopkeeper wanted two hundred gold for a single book.”

  “He was also an asshole about it,” Faith added.

  Aria’s eyes widened. “Two hundred? You should’ve just taken it.”

  “I didn’t want to cause a commotion.”

  Isabella nodded. “Probably wise. Drawing attention this early would complicate things.”

  I pushed off the bench. “Well, Faith and I should probably get registered too if we want to take that quest.”

  A laugh escaped before I could stop it.

  Faith glanced at me. “What?”

  “I just—” I shook my head. “I didn’t think this world would be even more cliché than I assumed. An actual adventurer’s guild. Next you’ll tell me some tough guy tried to harass you during registration.”

  Aria’s expression flickered. “Actually—”

  “There wasn’t,” Isabella interrupted smoothly. “The clerk was perfectly professional.”

  “Disappointing,” I said. “Is there a registration fee?”

  “One silver,” Aria said. “But they’ll deduct it from your first quest if you’re short.”

  “How convenient.” I stretched my arms overhead, working out the stiffness from sitting. “Where’d you get the money for yours?”

  “We met an adventurer earlier,” Isabella said. “He was generous enough to part with his coin pouch.”

  Aria grinned. “We fucked him senseless.”

  Faith made a strangled sound, somewhere between a cough and a choke.

  I ignored her. “How much did you get?”

  “About twenty gold,” Isabella said.

  “And how much is that in silver?”

  “One gold equals ten silver. So two hundred.”

  I did the math automatically. “That means the book was worth about a two hundred and fifty quests like this one.”

  “Overpriced,” Faith muttered.

  “Extremely.” I started toward the square’s edge, following the direction Isabella and Aria had come from. “Okay then. Let’s go register and hunt some goblins. We can worry about the book after we’ve got actual currency.”

  Aria fell into step beside me. “The guild hall is this way. Big building with a sword-and-shield sign.”

  “Of course it is.”

  Faith walked on my other side, one hand still resting on Durendal’s pommel. The sword remained silent in its sheath, but I noticed her fingers drum once against the leather.

  “What’s it saying?” I asked quietly.

  “That goblins are beneath its dignity,” Faith said.

  “Tell it to shut up.”

  “I did.”

  Isabella led us down a side street that opened into a broader avenue. The building ahead dominated the block—three stories of stone and timber, with the promised sword-and-shield emblem carved above massive oak doors.

  Adventurers clustered near the entrance. Most wore practical leather armour, weapons strapped across backs or hanging from belts. A few looked genuinely dangerous. Others looked like they’d die in their first real fight.

  Nobody gave us more than a passing glance as we approached.

  “Registration desk is on the left,” Isabella said. “They’ll ask for names, weapons proficiency, and magical ability if you have any.”

  “Lie about the magic part,” Aria added. “Unless you want every idiot in here trying to recruit you for their party.”

  Faith’s eyebrow rose. “Speaking from experience?”

  “Maybe.”

  I pushed through the doors into organized chaos. Voices echoed off stone walls—people arguing about quest assignments, negotiating equipment prices, bragging about kills. A massive board covered the far wall, covered in parchments similar to the one Aria had shown us.

  The registration desk sat exactly where Isabella had indicated. A tired-looking woman with ink-stained fingers looked up as we approached.

  “New registrations?” she asked.

  “Two,” I said.

  She pulled out blank forms. “Names?”

  “Leah,” I said.

  The clerk wrote it down without looking up. “And you?”

  Faith shifted. “Julia.”

  “Weapon proficiency?”

  “Sword,” Faith said, tapping Durendal’s pommel.

  “Magic?”

  I cut in before Faith could answer. “Some basic fire manipulation. Nothing significant.”

  “Same,” Faith said.

  The clerk slid two forms across the desk. “Fill these out. Name, age, species, emergency contact if you have one.”

  I picked up the quill and started writing. The form demanded surprisingly little information—mostly identification markers and a section about prior combat experience. I left that part blank.

  Beside me, Faith filled her form with quick, efficient strokes. Her handwriting looked neater than mine.

  The clerk launched into her explanation without waiting for us to finish. “Bronze rank adventurers have access to basic contracts from the board. Payment varies by difficulty. You’re entitled to free healing at guild-affiliated temples for injuries sustained during official quests. You’re prohibited from accepting contracts above your rank without special dispensation. Failure to complete accepted contracts within the stated timeframe will result in penalty fees and potential rank suspension.”

  She paused long enough to breathe.

  “Guild facilities include the equipment shop downstairs, the tavern next door, and lodging on the second floor if you qualify for housing assistance. Questions?”

  “How much is lodging?” I asked.

  “Five silver per week. Shared rooms.”

  More than the registration fee. I filed that away and kept writing.

  “Registration fee is one silver per person,” the clerk continued. “Payable now or deducted from your first completed quest.”

  Isabella stepped forward and placed two silver coins on the desk before either Faith or I could respond.

  The clerk swept them into a drawer. “Right. You’re registered as of—” She checked a timepiece on the wall. “—fourteen forty-three, second day of autumn.”

  She produced two bronze plaques identical to the one Aria had shown us. The metal felt warm when she pressed them into our palms.

  “Don’t lose those. Replacement costs fifty silver.”

  “Understood,” I said.

  We turned away from the desk.

  That’s when I noticed the stares.

  At least a dozen sets of eyes tracked our movement across the hall. Most of the attention focused on me and Faith, though Aria and Isabella received their share of looks as well.

  I couldn’t really blame them. Four women in travel clothes without a scratch on us, carrying minimal equipment, registering at bronze rank—we probably looked like fresh meat waiting to get devoured by the first serious contract we attempted.

  The cliché moment was coming. I could feel it building.

  “Excuse me?”

  The clerk’s voice pulled my attention back to the desk.

  “Are you four together?” She gestured between our group.

  “Yes,” I said. “Why?”

  “You could form an official party if you wanted. Makes contract sharing easier, and you’d split rewards according to your own agreement rather than guild standard division.”

  A smirk tugged at my mouth. “How does it work?”

  She pulled out yet another form. “You all sign here. Pick a party name. That’s it.”

  Aria leaned over my shoulder to peer at the parchment. “We should do it.”

  “Party name?” Faith asked.

  “Has to be something good,” Aria said immediately. “Something that sounds dangerous.”

  Isabella’s expression suggested she already regretted this. “Perhaps something subtle would be preferable.”

  “Subtle is boring.”

  I took the quill from the clerk. “Suggestions?”

  “Midnight Blades,” Aria said.

  “Too edgy,” Faith said.

  “Crimson Rose.”

  “Worse.”

  “The Four Horsewomen.”

  I looked at her. “We’re not horsewomen.”

  “Fine.” Aria’s tail flicked. “What about… Inferno?”

  The name settled into place with surprising weight. Faith glanced at me, eyebrow raised.

  “Works for me,” I said.

  Isabella nodded. “Acceptable.”

  I wrote “Inferno” across the designated line, then signed beneath it. The others followed—Aria adding an unnecessary flourish to her signature, Isabella’s precise and minimal, Faith’s somewhere between.

  The clerk stamped the form. “You’re registered. Party leader?”

  “Me,” I said before anyone could argue.

  She made a notation. “Done. Good luck out there.”

  We turned toward the exit.

  The muscular man stepped into our path before we made it three steps.

  He had the look of someone who spent more time lifting heavy objects than thinking—broad shoulders, thick arms, scars crossing his knuckles. His friends flanked him, wearing matching grins.

  “Ladies,” he said.

  There it was.