Adventure of Aiden Cross 2

The receptionist closes the ledger and leaves it secured beneath the counter. She gestures for Aiden to follow, while the guildhall's busy patrons remain behind among the scarred tables and weapon racks.

She leads him through a narrow side passage into a cramped practice court enclosed by soot-dark walls. Three nearby adventurers pause their conversation and turn to watch as the door shuts out most of the guildhall noise.

She crosses the packed earth and drags out a padded training target, its straw-filled torso wrapped in weathered canvas. Beside it, she places a shallow basin of clear water.

One watcher leans against the wall, another folds his arms, and the third murmurs something too low to catch. Their attention settles on Aiden as the basin trembles in the cold morning air.

Aiden squares himself before the padded target, steadies his breathing, and raises one hand toward the basin. The three watchers fall silent; the adventurer with folded arms is a lean young adult man with close-cropped brown hair, a weathered face, a patched charcoal tunic, and a russet wool cloak.

Mana gathers through his fingers. A pale shard of ice forms above his palm, clear and sharply pointed, while a fortunate curl in the shaping gives it a clean, balanced weight.

Aiden thrusts his hand forward. The ice shard streaks across the court and strikes the dummy squarely in the canvas-wrapped torso with a hard crack.

Frost spreads in a bright web around the impact, and the target rocks backward on its frame. The shard remains lodged firmly in the straw.

Aiden turns from the frost-rimed target toward the receptionist and offers her a grateful nod. The quiet gesture carries plainly across the practice court.

He then faces the adventurer with folded arms and gives him a second nod, returning the kind words without interrupting the court's attentive silence.

The guild receptionist retrieves the basin and studies the embedded shard once more. The watchers remain interested, but the first test has ended cleanly.

The guild receptionist sets the basin aside and produces a small training knife, then draws its blunt edge across her leather glove, leaving only a shallow mark in the material.

The three watching adventurers lean forward as the guild receptionist extends her gloved hand. The court grows quiet again, waiting for Aiden's second demonstration.

Aiden lays his hand over the guild receptionist's gloved fingers and guides the gentler current into the scored leather. The spell catches unevenly, then a fortunate flicker of mana settles it into the mark.

The shallow cut in the glove draws closed beneath a pale warmth. The leather smooths completely, though the healing current leaves Aiden's fingertips numb and aching with cold.

The guild receptionist flexes the repaired glove, testing the seam. The three adventurers exchange impressed looks, while Aiden's numbness creeps from his fingers toward his wrist.

She records the result on a small slate: useful healing, modest reserve, noticeable strain. The practice court's silence finally loosens around the completed test.

Aiden steadies his numb hand and draws the healing current through it again, not forcing strength, but patiently searching for the shape that lets restoration hold. A lucky turn in the mana guides his focus before it slips.

The warmth gathers more cleanly this time, briefly knitting a loose split in the glove's leather beside the earlier mark. The result is small, but complete, and the ache in his fingers eases instead of worsening.

The receptionist's tone loses its earlier formality. Aiden's direct ambition and disciplined demonstration have earned her practical respect, and she marks the slate with a second note: healing potential, still untested under pressure.

She closes the slate and looks toward the practice court door, where the guild's blue-marked work waits beyond. The lesson has ended with Aiden's healing goal acknowledged as attainable, provided he earns it through careful practice.

The guild receptionist leads Aiden back through the side passage into the guildhall. The blue-marked postings hang beside the entrance, their inked symbols visible beneath the shifting lamplight.

Aiden studies each contract in turn. His Guildwise Bearing makes the guild's clipped wording familiar enough to sort registration terms from actual risks, rewards, and proof requirements.

A fortunate gap between two taller postings leaves one notice cleanly exposed: a courier escort to Bracken Ford, with a modest payment and no certified magic required.

Aiden reads the remaining notices and understands their divisions: missing livestock near the marsh, vermin beneath a mill, and a herb-gathering request marked for daylight only.

By the time he steps back from the slate, Aiden knows what the blue marks mean, what each posting demands, and which contract best suits a careful newcomer.

Aiden lifts the Bracken Ford notice from the slate and carries it to the counter. His Guildwise Bearing makes the guild's formal phrasing familiar, revealing the acceptance mark, payment terms, and required return proof at a glance.

Aiden sets the notice beside the ledger and shows the brass guild mark. With his strong reasoning, the remaining clauses fall into place: the escort ends at Bracken Ford, and payment follows the courier's safe handover.

She stamps the notice with the guild seal and writes Aiden's name into the active-contract column. The paper is now his, its route and proof requirements clear.

The sealed notice rests in Aiden's hand, officially assigned and ready for the road to Bracken Ford. Beyond the guildhall doors, cold daylight waits.