I said my goodbyes to my father and mother, along with everyone else, which led to one of the worst moments of my name being spread around. The entire class, minus myself and Greta, collectively called out, “Goodbye, Mr. and Mrs. Runt’s parents,” with enough enthusiasm that it echoed slightly off the stone around the gate.

  I sighed as I heard it. It was kind of funny, in a way that made it hard to be annoyed for very long. I was getting used to it, even if I suspected it would never stop being at least a little embarrassing.

  We didn’t waste any time asking what Randall did next, nor did I particularly want to know. Whatever followed after his paperwork ordeal was none of my concern. We were ushered toward the cart together, everyone climbing aboard with the tired efficiency of people who had already had a full day. Greta took hold of the harness and hauled us back toward the guild hall.

  She moved as quickly as she was willing to go, which meant that the trip took only minutes. The wall faded into the distance behind us, its shape swallowed by the curve of the road and the encroaching evening. With it, the day I had spent with my parents slipped quietly into memory. I knew there would be other days, other chances to see them, but this one felt different. It mattered to me more than I had expected it to.

  As the cart rattled along, I lowered my gaze to the small package Raven had given me. I unwrapped it slowly and carefully, taking my time rather than tearing into it. Inside was a metal belt buckle, or at least I thought that was what it was. The shape suggested it, but the design was far more intricate than anything I had seen used purely for clothing. The craftsmanship was immediately obvious, every line deliberate and precise.

  I looked up at Raven. “This is beautiful,” I said honestly. “But I’m not sure what it actually is.”

  “That’s the mark of my tribe,” she replied. “It marks you as a companion to the household. If you ever need a tracker, that mark will prove that you are known to us.”

  I turned it over in my hands, studying it more closely. “How exactly would that work?” I asked. “What if someone stole it?”

  “Oh, you can’t steal it,” she said easily, like the idea had never even occurred to her. “It’s got blood magic in it.”

  “Ah. I see.” I paused, then asked, “So is it linked to me, or is it linked to your family?”

  She hesitated, thinking it through. “I’m… not actually sure. I’ve actually never asked how it works.”

  I probably could have picked it apart and figured it out for myself if I really wanted to. The urge was there, faint but persistent, the old habit of wanting to understand every mechanism placed in my hands. But doing that felt wrong. It was a gift, given in good faith by someone who was trying to be my friend. Taking it apart, even just to satisfy my curiosity, would have crossed a line.

  Instead, I smiled and nodded. “Thank you,” I said. “If I ever need a guide, or a tracker, or anything like that, and I don’t already have one in mind, I’ll know who to seek out. Your tribe has a reputation for being some of the best trackers in the known world.”

  She smiled back, a little shyly. “Yeah. Thank you. That’s really kind of you.” She seemed to measure her words as she spoke, like someone had once told her exactly how to respond to praise and she was following those instructions carefully.

  It was interesting, but I let it go. By then, the cart was slowing, and the familiar shape of the guild hall came into view. Greta brought us to a stop with a firm pull, the cart rocking once before settling.

  It struck me then how little I had noticed the ride itself. I didn’t think most of us had. It wasn’t that Greta had gone any slower, nor that the cart had become any less unstable or erratic. The road was the same, the motion just as wild as ever.

  We were simply getting used to it, and that realization was, in its own way, slightly terrifying. The cart still moved like it was possessed whenever Greta pulled it along, wheels rattling and the frame swaying, but somehow that sense of chaos had already begun to feel normal. I wasn’t sure whether that said more about the cart, or about us.

  As we entered the guild hall, we were met with a raucous cacophony that made it immediately clear something had happened. The noise was wrong for this time of day, voices overlapping in a way that did not match the usual end-of-day wind-down. The air itself felt charged, thick with the aftermath of raised voices and sudden violence. Greta raised a hand before any of us could step farther inside.

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  “Hold on a second,” she said, and walked ahead toward Myrda.

  Myrda stood near the counter, wiping her hands with a rag that had already seen better days. Her movements were controlled and deliberate, the way someone moved when they were keeping a tight grip on their temper. As my eyes adjusted to the lighting and the scene in front of us, I noticed teeth and blood marring the floor near the center of the hall.

  They were clearly not monster teeth.

  They were too familiar for that. Human, dwarf, or elf perhaps, I could not be sure, but they clearly belonged to someone from a sapient race. They lay scattered rather than torn free, evidence of a short altercation that had ended decisively.

  Greta and Myrda exchanged a few hushed words, their voices too low for me to make out. Myrda listened, nodded once, and then reached beneath the counter. She pulled out a bucket and a spray bottle and handed them over without ceremony. Greta accepted them, smiled faintly, and patted Myrda on the shoulder in a gesture that felt more supportive than casual. She then turned back to us.

  “You all run along,” she said. “Myrda’s going to take care of dinner. I’ll help her clean this mess up.”

  I hesitated; the image of the floor still fixed in my mind. “What happened?” I asked.

  “It’s nothing you need to worry about,” Greta replied easily, her tone light in a way that clearly meant the opposite. “Just a scuffle between a rowdy bunch of irons and Myrda.”

  I looked back toward Myrda. She was usually jovial, endlessly patient, and unfailingly kind, the sort of person who made the guild hall feel less like an institution and more like a home. The expression on her face now was something I had never seen before. She looked angry, properly so, in a way that made the room feel smaller and tighter around her.

  I had never seen that look on her, not even on mornings when I woke earlier than everyone else and devoured more food than my allotment reasonably justified. Even then, she had only laughed and adjusted the pot for the next meal.

  She had always been caring and welcoming. She loved this guild hall, and it showed in everything she did. She greeted every one of us like we were real adventurers, not trainees pretending at the role. She remembered names, preferences, and small habits. She made sure everyone was fed, even Randall. Even when his meals were a day old, they were at least not poison, which was better than the man deserved.

  Seeing her like this, jaw tight and eyes hard, made it clear that whatever had happened had crossed a line. Whatever that rowdy bunch had done, they had done it in the one place Myrda clearly considered hers to protect.

  I thought about asking what had really happened, but decided against it. Whatever line had been crossed, it was clearly being handled, and pressing the issue would not help anyone. Instead, I stepped aside and found a place to sit near the wall, letting the noise and movement of the hall settle around me.

  Winnie dropped down beside me, close enough that she was pressed against me, and lowered her voice. “You’re going to need to see this.”

  She held a ring out between us, resting it on her palm so I could see it clearly. It was cracked clean through, a thin fracture running along the iron band. “Me uncle just gave it to me,” she said. “It was enchanted, apparently. But because it’s broken, it’s worthless. At least that’s what he said.” She hesitated, then added, “I know you want to be an enchanter, so I thought maybe you could take it apart and do something with it. It was supposed to make the one attuned to it stronger.” She looked me up and down, blunt as ever. “Figured that might help someone as skinny as you not die.”

  I picked up the ring and turned it slowly between my fingers. It was simple in construction; an iron band etched with shallow magical circuitry. The crack ran straight through the core of the enchantment. Without even seeing the mana leakage, I could tell the enchantment had overloaded itself. My eyes still could not see magic, which made any deeper inspection impossible, but the flaw was obvious enough.

  “That’s a good enchantment,” I said after a moment. “Or it was.” I glanced back at Winnie. “I think I could learn a few things from taking this apart.”

  She brightened a little. “Right? I was thinking, if you wore a bunch of those rings, wouldn’t you become some super powerful punchy guy? Like, punch a giant across the world if you hit it with enough of them on.”

  I couldn’t help it. I chuckled. “You can only wear so many,” I said. “They interfere with each other when they’re that close together.”

  I paused, looking back down at the ring in my hand, because that answer was not entirely accurate.

  There were ways around attunement limits. I knew the commonly accepted rule that you could only wear ten attuned items, but that was more convention than law. I remembered ideas I had once toyed with in my past life, experiments I had dismissed as pointless at the time.

  I smiled. “Winnie, this is a really great find. I’ll figure something out. Honestly, this is probably one of the most interesting things you could have brought me. Thank you.”

  She grinned. “What are best friends for?”

  “Fair enough,” I said, grinning back at her.

  I looked once more at the cracked iron band, already turning possibilities over in my mind, and silently renewed a promise I had made before. That ridiculous log of hers was going to become a true weapon of legend. If I had anything to say about it, it would one day be capable of turning mountains into dust.