Guildmaster Folly's expression is intimidating, but I wasn't going to take any shit for this.

  “That depends," he says. "Did you really have to go that far?”

  I stare at him, remaining silent for several seconds as I try to wrap my head around the stupidity of the question. Then I realize that he truly might not know.

  Then I speak, slowly and deliberately, each word shaped by barely restrained fury.

  “Do you know who I am? What I was, before this?”

  He nods once, wary. I give my own nod before continuing stiffly.

  “Good. Then you know how powerless I was. That’ll help put things into perspective,” I say.

  I take a breath, to pause and calm the emotions that surge with the memory, but it doesn’t help. My tail lashes behind me, betraying my rage. My voice, when I speak again, is a low growl.

  “I was the Carrier for The Strikers on that expedition. He—” I point at the bruised and broken thing lying in the dirt “—left me to die.”

  His eyes narrow.

  “From what I heard, the situation was dire. He ate arcanite to escape, trying to save who he could—”

  I cut him off with a snarl.

  “I was right behind him.”

  My voice trembles, not with weakness, but with the effort it takes not to scream. The building crowd around us hangs silently, their stares boring into me as they bare witness. But they remain silent.

  “I was right there, ready to back him up. I wasn’t unconscious. I wasn’t pinned. I wasn’t in his way. And when he ate that shard—when he ran—he didn’t even look at me.”

  I take a step closer, pushing into his personal space. He doesn’t flinch, but I see something shift in his eyes.

  He knows what the job of a Carrier is. We stay back, and pass out potions and tools as needed. Always within reach, but out of the way.

  “He could’ve grabbed me. Hells, he could have thrown me and I would’ve understood. But he ran. Past me. Like I didn’t matter. Like I was already dead.”

  His face tightens with dawning realization, followed by a tightly controlled flash of anger. But I’m not done.

  “Ask Agora,” I snap. “She’s the only reason I’m alive. She did both their jobs and I still almost died for it. And you want to question me about going too far?”

  I shift my voice to a mocking politeness.

  “Yes, Guild Master. I went exactly as far as was required, and no more,” I say sweetly, then I’m back to cold fury. “That he still breathes is a mercy he doesn’t deserve.”

  That lands. He raises his hands in surrender, eyes a bit wider now.

  “I understand. I apologize for doubting you,” he says, voice low. “I’ll see if I can get in touch with Agora, or at least ask any surviving members of the expedition for their account. It will take time either way, though. If what you say is true… he will face judgment. That I swear.”

  I don’t thank him. I don’t even nod. I just cross my arms and let out a slow, furious breath.

  He takes it as the acknowledgment it is and moves on.

  “As it stands now, you more than qualify. You could be B-rank, like Darius, if I had the authority to grant it. Unfortunately, that isn’t the case. You’ll need to earn it the hard way, or travel to Theola or Alberin for testing.”

  “That’s fine,” I say, my voice cold and flat.

  And I mean it. I want to earn my future ranks on my own terms. Besides, even if I may qualify for B-rank, I don't think I'm quite ready for it.

  Ranks in the Guild function strangely sometimes, but it's always been based on merit and capability over raw levels or Tier. A Tier One crafter with no combat experience isn't going to join and be instantly set to B-rank, for instance.

  But a Tier Zero, like myself, who can fight on the level of a Tier One, with a history of delves under my belt? Well, they qualify.

  It still doesn't mean they belong in that rank. B-rank is almost exclusively Tier One's, just by the nature of the requirements to maintain it.

  A question comes to mind, distracting me from my thoughts, and I ask it without thinking.

  “How does he survive eating arcanite? This is the second time he’s done it in front of me, and he’s never even hesitated.”

  At that, he smirks, and I feel like I might’ve missed something.

  “While I don’t know what you did to the mana it gave him just now, I do know that he has a skill that lets him utilize arcanite fairly safely. It’s one of the reasons he’s among the strongest fighters in the Guild,” he says.

  "Tch. Go figure," I say, unable to hold back a huff of annoyance at the information. If literally anyone else had the skill, I'd think it's incredible.

  I look away to signify I’m done talking, and thankfully, the small crowd that built around us gave us a respectable bit of space to talk privately. Even so, several Delvers I recognized were looking at Darius with grim faces, clearly having heard what I said.

  Cari, meanwhile, is looking at me, smiling happily.

  “You did it! Are you okay?” she asks.

  I just nod, and her face shifts instantly from happy and relieved to annoyed.

  “You owe me a shirt,” she says giving me a flat look.

  And just like that, my sour mood is gone in a flash, replaced by affection and guilt.

  “Yeah, sorry about that. He got me pretty good a couple times. How about we go shopping tomorrow? I have enough to make a day of it,” I offer.

  I did, too. Even without selling the axes, the loot from the dungeon has me sitting on a nice twenty-something silvers, and more copper than I bothered to count. It wasn’t a fortune, but for a day on the town? It’d be more than enough.

  “That works for me. I’ve got the day off, so pop by anytime after breakfast,” she says.

  Seeing her smile like she did in the past soothes something deep within me, and I can’t help but notice that she seems better too. Her eyes are brighter than before. Less hurt. I match her grin with one of my own.

  “Well, I’ll be damned. I knew you were stronger than you look, but I didn’t take you for a monster. Might be I shoulda trusted Gary when I first met you,” a deep voice says.

  When I turn to see who it is, I find Scruffy grinning at me. His speech changed somewhat, became less formal and less… restrained. Almost like he was letting loose for once, and his full-on grin helped indicate as much.

  Where before he’d barely smirked, now he was smiling like a loon. Behind him stood the rest of my impromptu escort, each of them dead silent and wearing a mask of nervousness.

  I didn’t like it. So I matched Scruffy’s energy.

  “Yeah, well, this pile of meat wronged me. This is just payback. Also, I didn’t know your face could even do that. Looks good on you, though,” I say.

  He laughs, loud and boisterous, “Hah! Payback, she says! Remind me not to get on your bad side! With you around, though, I might just smile more often. You look like the sort to get shit done.”

  He drops a massive hand atop my head and ruffles the hair between my ears, and I can do nothing but stand there, utterly stunned by the audacity. By the time I regain my wits, he's already walking away, still laughing.

  “Oh, I know that look,” Cari whispers. “Don’t go too rabid, Emilia. He’s still a Captain of the guard.”

  I just let out an indignant huff and start fixing my hair. Cari, the sweetest and most gracious person in the world, helps me. In the middle of tidying my hair, someone shouts a question at me.

  “What level are you?!”

  I scan the crowd, but the voice is already lost in the swell. Another shouts from the other side. Then another. Then all at once, dozens of voices join in, trying to shout each other down.

  “Yeah, what level?!”

  “What’s your class?!”

  “She’s gotta be over level 60!”

  “My money’s on Blood Witch!”

  “A fools bet! She’s a Martial Mage, guaranteed!”

  “No way she’s higher than 55!”

  “Fifty-five?! She punched him silly, you moron!”

  Then, as if to really put me on the spot, Guild Master Folly adds his own voice, cutting through the noise with a wisp of magic.

  “I must admit to some curiosity, myself. Would you tell us now, or will you wait until we scan you for your badge?” he asks.

  Well, shit. I actually forgot about that. Still, it’s an easy decision. I definitely wasn’t going to mention my classes, and they wouldn’t be revealed in the scan anyways. Let them speculate. As for my level…

  “If it’s going to be revealed on my badge anyways, may as well teach you lot patience while I’m at it!” I scoff.

  There’s a cacophony of “Boo’s” and “Aw’s” mixed with light-hearted insults and threats, but I just grin. Cari finishes with my hair by the time the crowd calms enough to hear my own thoughts, and the Guild Master calls for people to make way so we can get the badge made.

  They part so fast it’s like they’re fleeing for their lives, but I can see the clear excitement across their faces. I’m not sure how to handle the attention. Charisma is helping a lot, guiding me on how to keep myself calm in the crowd, but it’s not helping me with the mental whiplash.

  All my life, I’d been looked through, looked past, or looked down on. Now they smiled and shouted and called out to me as if they’d always known me. It felt good—really good. But that warmth came with a quiet bitterness that I couldn’t shake.

  Would they still cheer if I hadn’t changed? If I was still scarred? What if I was still Faulted? Would they even look at me, let alone celebrate me?

  I didn’t know. Maybe they were just eager to back a winner, whoever that happened to be. And maybe that wasn’t evil, but it wasn’t kindness either. It might just… be.

  So I smiled back at them. I acknowledged them with little waves or nods. And I made a silent promise to myself:

  Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

  Never forget how quickly they change.

  By the time we make it back to the main lobby area, over a hundred people fill the room, abuzz with excitement. Many of them even beat us there, having ran around the whole building to enter through the main doors rather than follow us through the halls.

  “Cari, if you would?” Guild Master Folly asks, and Cari practically plows through the crowd to get to the back.

  She seems to struggle for a moment, then she starts throwing elbows and the path is suddenly a lot clearer.

  She’s back in moments, nobody daring to stand in her way this time, carrying an all too familiar carved plate with a crystal orb set in its center. I’d seen it used hundreds of times, but never used it myself. The Guild Master takes it and spins it around so that the small pin needle is closest to me.

  The crowd goes deathly quiet as he presents it to me. Looking around, I find a swarm of eager eyes. They aren’t quite frothing at the mouth, but it’s a close thing. With a groan, I press my thumb on the pin, and it pierces my skin easily, drawing blood.

  This is going to suck…

  The orb on the plate lights up with countless little flashes of light before displaying a small illusory status sheet. It's large enough for everyone within twenty paces to see as clear as day.

  Name: Emilia

  Race: Foxkin Hybrid

  Age: 20

  Level: 20

  I stare at the illusion for a moment, wondering when I'd turned twenty. Then I remember that nine months had passed while I was undergoing my 'System acclimation.' Which would mean I'd come out just over two months after my birthday, if my math is right.

  And I hadn't checked my status since returning to Bephis.

  Huh... should I celebrate?

  I'm pulled from my thoughts when I notice Guildmaster Folly looking between me and the illusion over and over, each time his face becoming more and more perplexed. When he finally stops and stares at me with a quirked brow, I just shrug.

  That's the reaction I'd expected, honestly. A level 20 Tier Zero beating a Tier One... even a low Tier One... is just not a thing that happens.

  Then the room explodes with noise.

  ***

  By the time I finally managed to escape, the sun was just starting to set. I’d given Cari a big hug and promised to be back as soon as I could, and let her know I was going to the orphanage. She looked concerned, but didn't stop me.

  Thankfully, she’d taken the time to help me get cleaned up. She even got me a new shirt, so I was presentable enough for a bunch of brats and the Matron. I also switched my status to display a normal “Foxkin Fighter, Level 20” tag.

  I was confused about why the device showed my race as Foxkin Hybrid instead of Faefox or just Foxkin, but I decided it doesn't matter. Tons of people are mixed races, so I take the chance to lean into the normalcy.

  It was a nice surprise to see I’d leveled up from my fight with Darius. Also, apparently I’d turned twenty. My aging out of the national orphanage system… well, my emotions on it were a mixed bag, at best.

  I was officially homeless. At the same time, I'm free from the place.

  Either way, I didn’t get to linger on it. I got endless questions about my Race, Classes, stats, even a few people asking if I wanted to join their party. Or if I was single. Cari refused to let me forget those ones, even going so far as to egg some of them on.

  I was mildly annoyed with how much fun Cari had at my expense these past few hours, but she knew she was forgiven before she even started, and thus became a relentless source of teasing and giggles. Even I had to admit, it was fun.

  I’m lost in my reflections, thinking about how everyone treated me when three men step out of an alley and block my path, surprising me. I knew I wasn’t on the best side of town, but this street is regularly patrolled.

  Or at least, it was. Could things have changed so drastically that gangs have become this bold? That... doesn't seem right.

  Maybe they're just stupid enough to not fear the guards?

  “Well, well. What’s a little thing like you doing out here without a leash?”

  Another snickers, elbowing the speaker. “Heh. She knows how she looks. You see that sway?”

  “Oh, I saw it. Girl’s out here lookin’ for fun,” the third adds, rubbing his hands together. “Why don’t we give her a hand?”

  My eye twitches. Today's problems just never end. Right when it started getting better, too.

  With a disappointed sigh I look up at the sky and find the sun just beginning to drop behind the walls of the city, the streets quickly filling with shadow as if to match the souring of my mood. Then I scan them, left to right.

  Human Fighter

  Level 27

  Human Rogue

  Level 24

  Human Rogue

  Level 31

  Whoa. Aren’t they higher level than most of the guards? How the hells did they manage that?

  Still, it turns out my Sense Danger skill is something of a double edged sword. These three barely register while right in front of me, and even now it’s just background noise.

  “Oh, look at that boys. It’s finally dawnin’ on her,” the fighter snickers.

  I massage my temples and snap, “Get over yourselves. Look, I don’t have time for you; so either shut up and get out of the way, or come at me."

  The Rogue in the middle laughs, “Hah! She’s feisty. That’ll more than make up for the stupid!”

  He walks towards me slowly, and the other two move to surround me. Each of them pull out a dagger, brandishing them exaggeratedly. I just roll my eyes, and activate my skills. Surprisingly, the Rogue in the middle seems to sense the change and hesitates just out of reach.

  I backhand the Rogue on the right, first, since he’s the highest level. He slams into the wall of the building just before the alleyway with a sickening crunch.

  “Oh, shit, I hit him too hard,” I mumble.

  I get a sniff of danger coming from the fighter, who apparently didn’t like how I treated his buddy. His blade arcs through the air towards my head, his face a mask of fury.

  Guess he's done holding back...

  I want to test how well I could block it if I have both Arcane Strike and Bloodmist Fist active on that hand, but I know Cari would give me shit for making a mess of another of her shirts if it didn’t work. So instead, I just take a half step back and watch as the dagger sails right past my face.

  When he’s swung halfway past my chest and off balance from the lack of resistance, I take a step toward him. I have to twist around the blade, but I'm fast enough, and I give him a quick punch to the side of his head with just Bloodmist Fist.

  Even so, his skull cracks, and he goes flying just like his Rogue friend, landing in a heap just a few paces away.

  The Rogue in the middle runs, dashing back into the alley they came from, and I groan.

  Long day and a long night? Yay me.

  I follow him, staying far enough back that he can’t spot me, and I easily keep pace as he bobs and weaves through dark alleys and empty streets. The sun is fully tucked under the walls by this point, leaving only street lamps and window lanterns to light the way.

  Even so, I never lose him. My senses were noticeably better than a regular foxkin's, and it was easy to spot him dashing about, even in the gloom. After nearly an hour of the same, I'm about ready to just give up and take him out as well.

  Then he finally enters a building, and I recognize it.

  The Enchanting Embrace. I hadn’t seen it in years—but I’d never forgotten it. Not after the last time I’d stood beneath its roof.

  “I’m sorry, child, but I cannot afford to take you in.”

  “But… but I’m a foxkin. We’re desired, aren’t we? And I can cook and clean until—”

  “Shush now, and listen. If I could take you, I would. Believe me, child, I would. No girl deserves to live on the streets, and none will so long as they are willing and able to work here. But you aren’t able, child. Willing? Yes, I can see that. But it is desperation that drives you, not passion or desire,” she says.

  Tears streak down my face, but I don’t care how I look anymore. I was at the lowest I could have ever gone, and even then…

  “I can definitely sell a foxkin. I could even sell a Faulted. And to the right customer, I could sell scarred and crippled. Even if I had to wait a year.”

  Her voice lowers, soft but fierce, “But I cannot sell all three to any but the most depraved, most dangerous kind of man. And I will never, ever hand a girl over to that. Not even one. Not even you, no matter your desperation.”

  “So I am sorry, child. There is no home for you here. But… I will lend you my ear, should you wish it. Enter through the back, and ask for me. My girls will know of you, and I will make time. I can give you at least that much,” she says, her voice gentle and motherly.

  I don’t know when her hand found a place on my cheek, or when she started brushing away my tears with her thumb. But it was too much.

  So I ran. Back out the front doors, with the crowd splitting before me and cursing my passing, I fled.

  And I never went back.

  The memory stings. I know this place. I also know they had no thugs operating out of there, and I know Madam Yvonne would never have allowed such a thing.

  But there they are.

  My frustration at the delay turns into concern, and when I climb atop a nearby building to peer into the brothel, it transforms once more into a simmering rage.

  Through a window left open to air out an empty room, I see a man dragging a girl by her hair to the bed. She’s kicking and screaming, pleading with him to stop, but he ignores her. He throws her onto the bed and wobbles a bit, as if he’s had too much to drink, before reaching down to his belt as the girl sobs.

  “Oh, fuck that,” I growl.

  Then I jump off the roof.