“New Guild members receive comprehensive orientation covering dimensional mechanics, aesthetic protocols, and operational procedures.

  The Guildmaster is notorious for skipping this step.

  Complaints may be filed with Sera.”

  — Internal memo, Guild staff

  “What?” I stared down at myself, at the hide armor and leather straps that had replaced my carefully fabricated tactical hoodie, my brain trying and failing to process what had just happened.

  The elven waitress tilted her head, her expression shifting from cheerful to concerned as she watched me turn in a slow circle, examining the transformation. “Did anyone explain the Guild to you?”

  I shook my head, still staring at the bracers on my forearms. They looked real, felt real against my skin, the leather worn smooth in places like they’d seen actual use.

  She sighed, her smile turning apologetic. “The Guildmaster personally invited you, didn’t he?”

  “Yeah?”

  “He’s not known for his thoroughness,” she said, the fondness in her tone suggesting this was a recurring problem. “Let me—”

  “Is this real?” I gestured around the tavern, at the dwarf still arguing with the armored woman, at the not-quite-human creature by the fireplace, at the wooden beams and stone fireplace that absolutely shouldn’t exist in the middle of New Clearwater District.

  The conversations continued around us, unbothered by my confusion.

  The dwarf slammed his fist on the bar with enough force to rattle glasses, emphasizing some point in his argument. “Moving stairs!” …whatever that meant.

  The elves in the corner erupted in laughter as one of them played a card that apparently won the game. Someone called for more ale, their voice carrying over the general rumble of tavern noise.

  Life was continuing as if this was completely normal.

  The waitress nodded, gesturing for me to follow her toward a quieter corner. “This is a pocket dimension. We have the aesthetics of a guild, influenced by movies and real places around the galaxy.” She paused, considering her words. “The Guildmaster says he’s an Archmage who got tired of politics and went into... having an inn. For his trouble, he got something he calls a mythic relic from the System, and we are...” She made a vague gesture that encompassed the entire tavern. “We can turn into the ‘fairytale.’ Don’t worry, your stuff is still the same. You now wear basic skin.”

  I looked down at the hide armor again, then back at her. “My hoodie’s still there?”

  “Exactly as you left it. Just... transformed for the aesthetic.” Her smile dimmed slightly, turning apologetic again. “You should have learned this before you came. Usually new members get an orientation, a proper explanation of how things work here.”

  I laughed, the sound coming out slightly forced. “I couldn’t even find this place. I wandered around for what felt like forever in the rain before I spotted the door. Totally random as well.”

  The waitress’s eyes widened, her pointed ears actually twitching with what looked like genuine shock. “HE—” she caught herself, lowering her voice but not the intensity. “He let you walk around aimlessly around the district in the rain?! This is careless, even for him!”

  All I could give her was a shrug.

  She grabbed my hand before I could respond, her grip surprisingly strong for someone who looked like she weighed maybe ninety pounds soaking wet. “Let’s go,” she said, already pulling me toward a staircase at the back of the tavern I hadn’t noticed before. “The Guildmaster needs to explain himself. Properly this time.”

  I let myself be dragged along, my free hand still resting on my sword’s hilt out of pure habit, boots that weren’t my boots clanking against wooden floorboards as we navigated between tables.

  The dwarf glanced up as we passed, his beard bristling as he caught sight of me. “Fresh meat!” he called out, raising his tankard in what might’ve been a salute or a warning. “Good luck, lad!”

  The armored woman next to him laughed. “Give him hell, Sera!”

  The waitress, Sera, apparently, just waved without slowing down, still pulling me toward the stairs with single-minded determination.

  We reached the staircase, narrow wooden steps that creaked under our weight, climbing up into darkness that shouldn’t exist given the building’s exterior dimensions. The tavern noise faded as we ascended, conversations and laughter becoming muffled, distant, until all I could hear was our footsteps and my own breathing.

  The stairs ended at a landing, and Sera released my hand to knock strongly on a heavy wooden door that matched the building’s front entrance.

  “Enter,” a voice called from within, deep and carrying authority. Sera pushed the door open without hesitation, marching into the room beyond with the righteous energy of someone about to deliver a well-deserved lecture.

  I followed, still adjusting to the weight distribution of hide armor versus impact foam, and stopped just inside the doorway.

  The room was an office, but not any office I’d ever seen in Tago’s corporate architecture.

  Bookshelves lined every wall, floor to ceiling, packed with volumes that ranged from ancient leather-bound tomes to brittle scrolls. A massive desk dominated the center, carved from dark wood and absolutely buried under papers, maps, what might’ve been spell components, and at least three different mugs in various stages of abandonment.

  Behind the desk sat a man who looked simultaneously too young and too old to be running a fixer operation.

  His hair was silver, not gray from age but actually silver, catching the light from floating orbs that hovered near the ceiling. His eyes were a pale blue that seemed to look through me rather than at me. He wore robes, actual wizard robes in deep purple with silver embroidery along the hems, and somehow made them look natural instead of costume.

  He looked up from whatever he’d been reading, his expression shifting from concentration to mild surprise to what might’ve been amusement.

  “You messed up again,” Sera said.

  The Guildmaster laughed, the sound entirely too amused for someone being scolded by their employee. “What did I do this time?” He set down whatever ancient text he’d been examining. “Oh, let me guess,” he continued, his eyes shifting to me with a smile that suggested he knew exactly what he’d done. “This young man is Dash!”

  I blinked, surprised, but before I could ask anything the Guildmaster pointed at a chair positioned in front of his desk. The gesture was casual, almost lazy, but carried enough confidence that I moved toward it automatically.

  “You left him wandering around the district looking for us,” Sera’s pointed ears were practically vibrating with frustration. “In the rain! For over half an hour! You could have at least told him where we were?”

  The Guildmaster’s smile turned mysterious, his expression shifting into something that looked almost innocent. “I didn’t?”

  Sera made a sound somewhere between annoyance and defeat, throwing her hands up. “You’re impossible,” she muttered, already turning toward the door. “I’m going back to work. Try not to traumatize the new recruit too badly.”

  The door closed behind her with a solid thunk. I sat down in the indicated chair, the hide armor creaking slightly as I settled into position, and looked at him properly. “You knew my name because I’m new and asked me to come, right?” I guessed.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  The Guildmaster shook his head, his silver hair catching the light from the floating orbs. “You have John’s eyes.”

  I blinked, my brain stuttering over that statement. “You... knew him?”

  The Guildmaster nodded, standing with a fluid grace and walked toward the window behind his desk. I followed his movement, turning in my chair to see what he was looking at.

  Mountains.

  Not the late-night ramen shop or tattoo parlor that should’ve been visible from this second-floor office. Not New Clearwater’s neon-soaked streets or the river cutting through the district.

  Actual mountains, snow-capped peaks rising against a sky that was the wrong color, too purple, dotted with stars I didn’t recognize from images of Earth 2.0’s night sky.

  “We fought together in tutorial,” the Guildmaster said in a tone that was too real, like it encompassed years of shared experience. “Your great-grandfather was a brave man, Dash.”

  I cocked my head to the side, trying to reconcile the timeline. “Wait, you fought alongside the heroes?” The word came out with skepticism I didn’t bother hiding, because anyone who’d been active during the System apocalypse should be super famous.

  The Guildmaster laughed again. “Palistra is a hero?” He turned away from the window, his pale blue eyes meeting mine with an intensity that made me want to look away. “But yes, we were many who fought and died during the System apocalypse. Only fifteen out of a hundred wanted the fame, wanted to be known, and...”

  He sighed, moving back to his desk and settling into his chair with the weariness of someone carrying decades of regret.

  “The world we built is the result.”

  His expression turned sad, not the performative sadness of corporate executives pretending to care about quarterly losses, but genuine sorrow that carved lines into his face and made him look suddenly older than his appearance suggested.

  I sat there, unsure what to say. My great-grandfather had apparently been friends with an Archmage who now ran a pocket-dimension tavern, and the implication hanging in the air was that the Fortune 15’s rise to power had somehow betrayed whatever they’d fought for.

  “The Fortune 15 weren’t part of the original plan?” I asked finally.

  The Guildmaster’s laugh was bitter. “The Fortune 15 were soldiers, survivors, people who seized opportunity when the old world burned.” He gestured vaguely at nothing. “We thought we were building something better. A system that would protect humanity. Heck, we’ve even evolved our race to give everyone a chance to grow stronger, to survive whatever came next.”

  He paused, his fingers drumming against the desk’s surface. “Instead, we got corporate feudalism with better graphics. Your great-grandfather saw it happening, tried to stop it. That’s why he tried to build Kallum. On those principles, joining Aurelia against Palistra. But… they lost their way. All of them.”

  “Even… John?”

  “Yes, but that’s an old man’s rambling…” He trailed off, studying me. “What brought you here?”

  I gulped. “Dante said he’d connect me with a fixer. I didn’t expect...”

  “Didn’t expect to walk into a fantasy tavern run by someone who actually remembers when magic was new?” The Guildmaster’s smile returned, warmer this time. “Dante knows I have a soft spot for Kallums. Especially ones who remind me of old friends.”

  He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the cluttered desk. “So. Dash. What exactly are you looking for? Because if you just need standard fixer work, connections to jobs and contractors, I can provide that easily enough. But I suspect you’re here for something more complicated.”

  I looked away, my hand tightening on the armrest.

  I’d trusted Dante with this information and he’d dismissed me, treated it like some minor concern not worth his time. I shouldn’t just tell this to people, shouldn’t spread around details about something affecting my soul… but I also needed help.

  Being vague should work.

  Had to work.

  “What I want?” I started, still not meeting his eyes. “I have a problem... with my soul. I need heal—”

  “Mind if I take a look?” The Guildmaster interrupted me, his tone shifting from conversational to serious in an instant.

  I blinked, turning back to face him. Fear ran through me as I met his gaze; the pale blue eyes suddenly carrying a weight that made my chest tighten.

  He’d asked for permission, the words polite and proper, but I got the feeling he didn’t have to ask. That he could do whatever he wanted and there was no way for me to stop him, no defense I could get would matter against someone who’d fought during the System apocalypse alongside actual heroes.

  I gulped, then gave one quick nod.

  His hands flared golden.

  The light wasn’t gradual, wasn’t a soft glow building over seconds. It just erupted from his palms in a brilliance that made me flinch, then flew inside me before I could react or protest or do anything except sit there frozen in the chair.

  I felt it.

  Not pain, but presence, something foreign moving through me. The golden light traced paths I didn’t know existed, examining, probing, searching for something with the efficiency of a diagnostic scan except this was magic, actual magic, and it was inside me.

  Then the light rushed back out, flowing from my chest to his hands like water finding its level.

  It mirrored in his eyes, golden reflections twinkling in the pale blue, and his gaze went unfocused as if he was reading data only he could see.

  The silence stretched.

  I sat there, breathing harder than I should’ve been, my heart pounding against my ribs while the Guildmaster processed whatever he’d found.

  “Hmm.” His voice was thoughtful. “Your soul is strained, but that looks like it’s from a skill.” He paused, his unfocused eyes tracking something. “But... there’s also something else. I’m no psionic, but I dabbled, and this almost looks like...” Another pause, longer this time. “A parasite?”

  He blinked, his eyes refocusing on me. “This is serious, Dash.”

  I let out a strangled laugh; the voice escaping before I could stop it. He’d confirmed it. Omar had been right; his research pulling up references that Dante claimed didn’t exist, and now an actual Archmage was telling me I had something parasitic attached to my soul.

  Time to go all in.

  “Someone’s been draining my system compatibility,” I said, the words coming out faster now that I’d committed. “I couldn’t manifest the system at prep school, and now I’m running on a minor system instead of the full version I should’ve had.”

  The Guildmaster stared at me, his expression shifting through several emotions too quickly to track. His eyes unfocused again, but differently this time, as if he was accessing memories instead of examining me.

  “We battled these creatures that latched onto you during the apocalypse,” he said, his voice distant. “You needed psionic shields to—”

  “Soul Leech,” I breathed, the term clicking into place.

  “Ah!” His face brightened instantly, the distant expression vanishing as he focused back on me with something approaching delight. “What a fitting name! You know something then. You’re fighting back.”

  He held my stare for a second, then nodded. “Good.”

  I shook my head, deflating slightly. “Not enough. I don’t know enough, and I need someone to get a proper look and tell me how to actually get rid of it.”

  He nodded, his smile turning thoughtful again. “That’s not my expertise, unfortunately. Psionics specialize in this kind of work, soul healers specifically.” He paused, drumming his fingers against the desk again. “And treatment will be expensive. Very expensive, depending on how deeply embedded it is.” He looked at me.

  “I can lend you the money; that is not a problem.” He nodded as if promising hundreds of thousands of credits was par for the course. “Don’t expect charity; you’ll have to work it back with interest. But the problem is the connection. Most psionics are with Aurelia, and she…” he smiled. “She didn’t take lightly when I tried to raze her church on Mars.”

  I smiled despite the anxiety twisting in my chest. “I... kind of have a plan?” I ignored the comment about going against Goddess; better for my own sanity.

  The Guildmaster grinned, the face transforming from that of a mysterious archmage to someone who genuinely enjoyed watching people solve their own problems. “I like you every second better, Dash. Do tell.”

  I told him everything about the job for Alice. Well, almost everything. I changed her name to “client,” kept the details vague about who exactly needed help to infiltrate Aurelia Academy, but explained the basics: someone needed a netrunner, someone who could handle security systems and digital infrastructure.

  He nodded throughout my explanation and didn’t dismiss me outright. That alone felt like progress. “You do have connections,” he said when I finished. “Who is your client?”

  I had to look away from him, biting my lip. The question was reasonable, professional even, but it wasn’t my information to share.

  “Dash,” the Guildmaster’s voice carried that same authority he’d used when gesturing to the chair. “If you want me to work as a fixer, I need to know ALL the details.”

  I let out a sigh, my shoulders slumping. “That’s not mine to tell.”

  He nodded approvingly, which surprised me enough that I looked back at him. “Ask the client then, would you?” He gestured toward my holoband. “Your band works even here.”

  I pulled up my holoband, navigating to Pulse and finding Alice’s contact.

  [Me: I’m at the fixer. He needs to know who you are. Can I tell him?]

  Instead of a text response, my holoband immediately buzzed with an incoming holocall.

  The Guildmaster let out a deep laugh. “I take that as a yes. Answer it.”

  I accepted the call, and Alice’s face materialized above my wrist. She was still in her dorm, still lying on her bed, but she’d sat up now, her eyes bright with excitement.

  “Hi Alice,” I said, angling the holoband so she could see me properly. “As I said, I’m in the fixer’s office.”

  “Preem!” she grinned, practically vibrating. “Can we talk?!” Her excitement was infectious, though I was genuinely worried about her heart rate given how fast she was talking.

  I turned the holoband toward the Guildmaster, and Alice’s holographic face shifted as she tried to get a better look at whoever was on the other end.

  “Oh! Hi!” she responded, waving at the camera. “I’m Alice!”

  The Guildmaster studied her for a long moment, his pale blue eyes tracking details I couldn’t see. His expression shifted, recognition dawning across his face. “This hair and mismatched eyes...” he said, leaning forward slightly.

  “Aren’t you Syntavelli’s niece's granddaughter?”

  Alice perked up immediately, her entire demeanor brightening even more than it already had been. “Oh! You know Grandma?”