They reached the small private training hall, quieter and brighter than Ethan expected—high windows let in the sun, mats and dummies set up for drills. Aldric closed the door behind them and turned to face the Pack, letting the quiet settle.

  “I want to set ground rules before we start,” he said, voice low. “What Gwenna’s brought you into…it’s not business as usual. I need to know that what we say here, what I show you, doesn’t leave this room unless I say so. In return, I’ll swear the same for anything you share with me.”

  He pressed his palm to the back of his Guild badge, focusing. The air rippled faintly with system magic.

  “I, Aldric Bronzehart, swear by system oath: I will not reveal any secret or confidence shared by Ethan or his Pack, unless I have your clear permission or unless it would prevent innocent lives from being lost.” He released a slow breath as the system’s shimmer settled.

  He looked to Ethan and the Pack—including Lyra, who met his gaze without flinching. “I’d like you to do the same. Swear you’ll keep my secrets—including anything about my rank or role—unless I say otherwise. Your word is good, but a system oath is better. It matters, especially here.”

  Moose stepped forward, ears perked. “We will swear. Fair is fair.”

  Ethan nodded, looking at each of his team in turn. Lyra gave a small nod, resting her hand lightly on her badge. Pixie chirped, “I promise!” and Buster grunted, “Wouldn’t dream of it.” Even Amelia managed a shy, “I promise.”

  Ethan finished it for the group. “We swear. Nothing you share leaves this room. Not unless you say so.”

  A faint shimmer of system acknowledgment danced between them, a weight settling over the room.

  Aldric’s shoulders relaxed just a fraction. “Thank you. In that case—my real title is Guildmaster of Celdoras. Not many know it, and I prefer it that way. In public, I’m just the senior liaison. But you should know who you’re working with, and what’s actually at stake.”

  He let that truth linger for a moment before adding, “Let’s get started.”

  Aldric surveyed the group, hands clasped behind his back, his Guildmaster mask slipping back into something closer to a trainer’s focus. “Alright. Before we get into anything advanced, let’s make sure you all have the basics down.”

  He nodded at Ethan. “You’ve done jobs before—so tell me, what formation do you use for a standard corridor push?”

  Ethan hesitated. “A…what?”

  Aldric blinked, then shifted his attention, as if making sure he’d heard right. “Fighting formation. You know—who’s up front, who covers the flanks, who watches the rear?”

  Ethan glanced at Moose, then back at Aldric. “Uh. Moose usually goes first because he’s the biggest. Pixie stays close to the middle so she doesn’t get stepped on. I…guess we just sort of…walk?”

  Pixie piped up, “Sometimes I go on top of Buster if it’s muddy.”

  Buster grunted. “She uses me as a lookout post.”

  Lyra’s eyes narrowed with amusement, but she didn’t add anything.

  Aldric’s brow furrowed. “Alright. What about call-outs? If you spot a threat or need to regroup, what’s your signal?”

  Ethan tried to look confident. “Usually I just…yell? Sometimes Moose growls, but everyone mostly just listens for trouble.”

  Aldric drew in a slow breath, pinched the bridge of his nose, and looked at Lyra as if hoping she might bail them out. Lyra just shrugged, the corner of her mouth twitching.

  He pressed on. “Okay. Contracts. You’re registered—have you actually read a Guild contract, especially the parts about shared liability?”

  Ethan’s face went blank. “Shared…?”

  Buster perked up. “Is that when we split snacks evenly?”

  Aldric sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Not quite. Let’s talk urban fights—what’s your plan for avoiding collateral damage?”

  Ethan thought for a second. “Try not to break anything expensive? Or at least apologize to Mara if we do.”

  Pixie giggled. “Or just run faster.”

  Moose rumbled, “No one’s caught us yet.”

  Aldric looked skyward for patience, then gave a resigned half-smile. “Alright. Looks like we’re starting from the ground up. That’s fine—at least you’re honest.” He clapped his hands together, energy returning. “Let’s run some drills and get you caught up before the system decides to throw you into something worse than sewer rats.”

  He strode over to the center of the mats and gestured for them to form up. “Let’s see what you do when I say ‘formation.’ Show me…whatever feels natural.”

  Pixie immediately hopped onto Buster’s back. Moose took up his usual place at the front. Amelia huddled by Lyra, and Ethan hesitated—then just stepped to the center, trusting the Pack to sort themselves out.

  Aldric raised an eyebrow. “Alright. This is going to be…interesting.”

  He had them run through the most basic formations. Moose took point with practiced steadiness, Pixie was more interested in leaping from Buster’s back than holding a position, and Lyra watched the whole group with a quietly amused eye, naturally drifting toward the flank. Amelia tried to hide behind Moose but ended up sticking to Lyra’s side instead, tail low and uncertain. Buster circled the rear, keeping a grumpy watch for “snacks or threats—either’s fine.”

  Aldric adjusted, coached, and occasionally barked a sharp command. “Point, rear, flanks! Again! If you don’t know where you belong, pick a place and defend it!”

  Then he focused on Ethan. “Draw your sword.”

  Ethan hesitated. He had a wooden practice sword from the rack, but Aldric’s eyes flicked to the slim storage ring on Ethan’s hand. Before Ethan could even start to draw, Aldric’s arm blurred—he slapped Ethan’s hand away from the hilt and tapped the tip of his own wooden blade against Ethan’s neck.

  “Too slow,” Aldric said, voice sharp but not unkind. “That might work in a friendly spar, but in a fight? You’d be down before you had a grip.”

  Ethan stepped back, sheepish. Aldric pointed at his ring. “You have a storage ring—use it. That’s what separates amateurs from pros. Draw your weapon from storage into your hand and be ready to block. If you didn’t have that ring already, I’d tell you to beg, borrow, or steal one—storage is an adventurer’s best friend.”

  He stepped back and signaled again. “Try it—summon your sword into your hand, and be ready to defend before I strike.”

  Ethan focused on the storage ring, picturing the sword and willing it to appear in his palm. The practice blade materialized just in time for Aldric’s attack. The wooden swords clacked together, Ethan barely deflecting the blow.

  “Better. Again.”

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  They repeated the drill over and over. Ethan felt his reaction time sharpen—storage, draw, defend. The system prompt chimed in his vision as the lesson took root:

  [Skill Unlocked: Sword—Beginner (Lv. 1)]

  Aldric nodded, not surprised. “That’s my training skill—and the bonus from working in a proper training hall. You’ll pick things up faster here. The system seems to know when you’re learning, and skills come easier in these walls, somehow.”

  Ethan took a few more practice swings at Aldric. The giant of a man was fast and nimble on his feet, a contradiction to his size. He nodded at Ethan approvingly as Ethan looked far more confident than he did at the start of the lesson.

  Aldric grinned, lowering his sword. “Good. Now you’re thinking like someone who wants to live.”

  Buster, watching from the sidelines, chuffed. “Guess we’re all upgrading today.”

  Aldric let the Pack settle, then gestured for everyone to gather close. “Alright. Before we get too deep, there’s something I need from you. I can train you better if I know what the system’s given you—your character sheets. Trust goes both ways, especially now. You show me yours, I’ll help you get the most out of it. Anything you want kept private, just say.”

  Ethan nodded and brought up his interface. The others hesitated, then followed. Each screen showed their name, class, and unlocked skills—practical, no frills. Aldric scanned through quickly: Ethan’s double-class listing, Moose’s earth-heavy defensive skills, Pixie’s stack of mobility tricks and “unusual” moves, Buster’s survival and support skills, Lyra’s fused class and a line for [Foxfire], Amelia’s simple sensory skills. He didn’t pry for numbers or details, but made mental notes.

  He set aside his training staff and moved to a sturdy chest at the edge of the mats. “Now for the real reason we’re here—elemental affinity.” He unclasped the chest and revealed a row of stones: a smooth white stone for light, a black stone for dark, a clear blue for water, a red stone for fire, a yellowy-green crystal for air, a brown, veined stone for earth, a deep purple stone for spirit, a jagged pale blue-white for lightning, a twist of wood-and-green glass for nature, and last—an oil-slick, rainbow-shifting crystal that caught the light like sunlight on water.

  He gestured the group closer. “Elemental affinity’s the core of most magic, whether you cast spells or not. Touch each stone—main first, then we’ll try the rest for any secondary pulls.”

  Moose stepped up first. When his paw met the earth stone, a deep greenish-gold light pulsed out, spreading a faint vibration through the mats. “Earth, clear as day,” Aldric said with satisfaction.

  Pixie hopped between the stones. The lightning crystal flared when she touched it—tiny sparks leapt up, crackling through her fur. The air and water stones both shimmered, but not as wildly. “Storm affinity,” Aldric murmured. “Lightning’s your core, but air and water are drawn in. You’re a storm in a teacup.”

  Buster lumbered up, pressed his nose to the nature stone, and it glowed with vibrant green light. The earth, water, and light stones all lit softly around him, as did the spirit stone, its violet hue gentle and cool. Aldric nodded. “Nature, earth, water, spirit. You’ve got a wild mix.”

  Lyra moved forward quietly and rested her palm on the fire stone. The crystal pulsed red—then a tongue of blue fire curled up her wrist, and a flicker of gold ran through. Aldric watched, then nodded to her. “That’s more than standard fire. Is that foxfire?”

  Lyra smiled. “It is.” At Aldric’s request, she flicked her fingers at the nearest dummy and conjured a swirling bolt of foxfire—blue this time, wrapping the dummy in an otherworldly glow. When she did it again, the flame flared purple, and then, on a third try, gold. Aldric shook his head in amazement. “Trickster fire, huh? Never the same twice.”

  Pixie’s eyes widened with excitement. “That’s like magic rainbow fire! Can I learn that?”

  “Only if you’re very sneaky,” Lyra said, grinning.

  Amelia, shy, reached for the dark stone. Instantly, it drank the light around her, shadows thickening at her feet until it looked like dusk had spilled over her fur. The rest of the stones did nothing. Aldric gave her a nod. “Shadow’s not common. That’s rare strength.”

  Ethan stepped up last. When he reached for the aether stone, he hesitated—it looked like an oil-slicked pebble, shifting rainbow colors over a base of cloudy white and blue, like sunlight glancing off a soap bubble. The moment his fingers touched it, the surface rippled with a swirl of colors—violet, turquoise, gold, then back again, as if the stone couldn’t decide what color to be. He felt a strange, weightless pulse, not light, not heat, just a sense of possibility humming under his skin.

  Aldric nodded, eyes keen. “Arcane. Pure magic—rare, even here. Most mages lean into something familiar: fire, water, earth, wind, ice, lightning. A few get light or dark, maybe nature or spirit if the system’s in a mood. But arcane’s different. It’s not tied to any one element. It’s the raw stuff magic is made from, not what most spellcasters use.”

  He glanced at the rest of the Pack. “Elemental types, you’ll find, are everywhere—healers, shadow-workers, life mages, all that. But true arcane? That’s something the system gives out only when it wants to see what you’ll do with it.”

  Aldric motioned for everyone to try the rest, one by one, to test for secondary affinities. Moose’s earth stone flared, but water shivered faintly beneath his paw. Pixie’s lightning stone was still the wildest, but air and water both responded—a true storm mix. Buster’s nature, earth, water, and spirit all showed, but nature outshone them all. Lyra’s fire was unmatched, but a flicker of spirit joined her foxfire glow. Ethan felt a tug only from the arcane stone, but nothing else. Amelia tried each stone, but none but the dark reacted.

  Aldric stepped back, rubbing his chin as he took in the results. “Affinity shapes how you learn and how the system grows with you. None of these are limits—they’re just the path of least resistance. But with a group like this?” He shook his head, grinning wider. “You’re going to keep the system guessing.”

  Pixie danced in a tight little circle and flashed a grin at Buster. “Does this mean I can make storms now?”

  Aldric shook his head, grinning. “Not quite. You’ve got the right spark inside you, but it takes training—and a little help—to do anything real. Let’s not have anyone testing their luck until we’re ready.”

  Buster rolled his shoulders, looking from the stones to his own paws. “So when do we get to actually do something with it?”

  Moose sat back, tail giving a hopeful thump. Lyra watched Aldric with quiet focus, while Amelia pressed closer, her ears flicking forward.

  Ethan could feel the whole Pack leaning in, eager, impatient. For a moment, it felt like the air itself was waiting with them.

  Aldric let the moment stretch just long enough, then strode to the heavy lockbox on the table. With a practiced flick, he undid the clasps and lifted the lid, revealing a row of tightly rolled scrolls, each sealed and marked with a different rune. “Normally, these would cost you half a year’s contract pay each, but Gwenna pulled the strings. She wanted you to get every chance. These are elemental training scrolls—one for each main affinity. Don’t waste them.”

  He handed out the scrolls one at a time, matching each to the Pack member’s discovered element—an earth scroll for Moose, a lightning scroll for Pixie, a nature scroll for Buster, a fire scroll for Lyra, a shadow scroll for Amelia, and an arcane scroll for Ethan. For those with multiple affinities, Aldric provided the side element scrolls as well, explaining which to open first. “The system will help you sort out what you need.”

  “Open the scroll and focus on the words. The system should do the rest,” Aldric said. “It’s not flashy, but you’ll remember the basics afterward—like muscle memory, or a lesson you always knew.”

  Moose unrolled his scroll, the earth-etched runes shining as he absorbed the patterns. A pulse ran through his paws into the floor, grounding him deeper, and his eyes widened in understanding.

  Pixie’s lightning scroll crackled with a jolt as she opened it. She yipped, then giggled as little sparks raced up her fur. “That tickles!”

  Lyra’s fire scroll glimmered gold, then flared briefly blue as she absorbed its contents. For a second, a faint foxfire shimmer flickered around her shoulders, the color shifting from blue to green to gold before settling.

  Buster’s nature scroll unfurled with a soft scent of moss and rain, the script glowing green. He shivered, then scowled as a small cluster of wildflowers burst into bloom between his paws. The system chimed in his head:

  [Skill Unlocked: Basic Nature Magic]

  “Flowers?” Buster muttered, offended. He gave the flowers a glare as if they’d personally betrayed him.

  Pixie snorted with laughter, and even Moose managed a rumbling chuckle. “Nice power, Buster. Gonna turn the battlefield into a meadow?”

  Buster growled. “I was hoping for something with teeth! Why is it always flowers?”

  He shook his paw and more tiny blossoms sprouted where he stepped. Every time he tried to will the plants to do something more impressive, all he got was a new spray of petals. The others could barely keep straight faces as flower after flower popped up in his wake, clinging to his fur and scattering in his path.

  “Just wait,” Buster grumbled, brushing daisies from his tail. “I’ll figure out how to make stinging nettles next.”

  Pixie bounced a flower off his nose. “Sure, wild dog. You’ll be fierce as a buttercup.”

  Amelia was hesitant, but Ethan helped her open her shadow scroll. A cold, soothing sensation washed over her as the runes vanished into her fur, leaving her blinking in the dim, uncertain light. “I feel… quiet,” she whispered.

  Ethan opened the arcane scroll and felt a strange, weightless sensation—like all possibilities brushing past him at once. There was no clear vision, only an odd sense of doors opening somewhere deep inside.

  Aldric watched them carefully, making sure everyone finished before moving on. “These are just the basics,” he said. “A starting point. Don’t expect fireballs or storms yet. But you’ll be able to reach for your element now, and that’s how every mage starts.”