This was not what Nyx had in mind when she cleared her first dungeon.

Rope bit into her wrists, the coarse fibers scratching against skin every time she shifted. The knots were cruelly tight, rubbed raw into her flesh from hours of fruitless attempts. She tilted her head to the side, jaw tightening as she flexed her fingers, testing for any slack. Nothing. Whoever tied these had known exactly what they were doing—they hadn't left her even the faintest margin for error.

Beside her, the boy hadn't stopped talking since they were thrown here. His voice filled the silence like an irritating echo, bouncing endlessly off the damp stone walls. Complaints, wild guesses, pointless stories—he jumped from one to the next without pausing long enough to breathe.

Can't he shut up for five minutes? I'm trying to think.

Nyx angled her hands again, twisting against the rope, but the fibers dug deeper, biting into her skin. She hissed under her breath and went still. Twice she'd tried slipping free, twice she'd failed. It wasn't going to happen without leverage, and tied up like this, she had none.

She wasn't worried about herself. Not really. If it came down to it, she had ways out—skills, tricks, a few desperate measures tucked away for moments exactly like this.

But the boy…

Her eyes flicked sideways, studying him beneath her veil. His shoulders shook whenever the muffled laughter outside the door grew louder. His words weren't bravery—they were fear in disguise, spilling out so he wouldn't have to sit in silence with his thoughts.

He wouldn't last. Not with the way their captors looked at him. Not with the smell of iron and old blood clinging to this room.

The air was heavy. Torches sputtered faintly from iron brackets hammered into the walls, their flames small and weak. The smoke gathered near the ceiling, spreading a haze over the dim chamber.

The scent was unmistakable. Metallic. Rust and blood, mingled together in a way that clung to her throat and refused to leave.

Nyx's eyes moved slowly, sweeping the space. Shadows hunched in the corners. Chains rattled faintly against the far wall, though no one hung from them. Yet.

She tilted her head, listening. Muffled voices drifted through the wooden door, rising and falling in drunken tones. Laughter burst out in sudden waves, sharp and ugly, before dying down again. Boots scraped against stone as someone passed by.

Her jaw clenched.

She never should've said yes to this job.

But the guild had rules. And she had to follow them.

And now, here she was—tied up, stuck with an irritating stranger, and staring down the sharp edge of someone else's plan.

How had it gotten this bad?

*************************************

The heavy guild doors had swung open earlier that day, slamming shut with a dull thud behind her.

Nyx had walked forward calmly, silver cloak trailing behind her, brushing her boots with each measured step.

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The guild hall was alive with noise. Hunters sprawled across tables, mugs half-full with frothing ale. Dice clattered across wooden surfaces, followed by groans and cheers. Others leaned back in their chairs, boots thrown onto tables, eyes half-lidded with boredom.

Most didn't bother looking at her.

The few that did gave her the same expression she'd seen a hundred times before—smirks, raised brows, little scoffs hidden behind their cups.

Too young to be here.

Probably some rich brat looking to play adventurer.

They didn't have to speak the words. The thoughts hung in the air thick enough that she could almost hear them.

But Nyx didn't flinch. Didn't falter.

Her steps never slowed until she stood at the counter.

The receptionist, a woman with neat pink hair tied into a bun, looked up from her papers. She tilted her head, adjusting her glasses as Nyx laid her hunter's card on the polished counter.

"I would like to join this hunters' guild," Nyx said evenly. Her voice carried just enough to be heard, but no louder.

The woman picked up the card, turning it over with steady fingers. Her brows lifted slightly. She scanned it once more, then set it down.

"Hm," she hummed, eyes narrowing slightly. "How old are you?"

"Fifteen."

The receptionist blinked once, then let the question drop. No sigh, no scolding. Instead, she crouched behind the counter, shuffling through a stack of drawers. When she rose again, she placed a crystal orb on the surface, followed by a stack of parchment.

"Place your hand on this," she instructed, nudging the orb toward Nyx.

Nyx pressed her palm to the surface. The orb was cool, smooth, humming faintly beneath her touch. She had done this before. She knew exactly what it would say.

Light flickered inside, pale and faint. Then, slowly, letters etched themselves across the crystal's surface.

Level: F

The receptionist sighed through her nose and scribbled onto her clipboard. The orb was pushed aside, replaced with the form.

"Fill this out."

Nyx lifted the paper closer, holding it at the height of her veiled eyes.

The woman noticed the motion. "Do you need help with that?"

"No. I can manage, thank you," Nyx replied.

And she could—thanks to Uriel.

Start with your name, his voice guided, calm and steady in her head.

Her pen scratched across the page.

Now your age. Occupation. Weapons of choice.

It went on like that, quiet and precise. The two of them worked in rhythm, the pen flowing across the paper until every line was filled. Nyx slid the form back across the counter.

The receptionist skimmed it quickly before speaking again.

"Since you're F-rank, you can only take F-rank jobs. If you want higher-ranked jobs, you'll need to join a party with at least three higher-ranked hunters."

Nyx nodded once, absorbing it all.

"Challenging", Uriel murmured.

Her lips pressed into a thin line. She agreed. But she wasn't surprised.

It wasn't like they hadn't expected it.

"And also," the receptionist continued, "since you're a newcomer, there's a fee of five silver coins to register. You can either pay now, if you have it, or it will be deducted from……."

She hadn't even finished speaking before Nyx reached into her cloak.

Five silver coins clinked onto the counter in a neat little stack.

The sound echoed, louder than it should have been.

A few hunters looked over. Raised brows. Crooked smirks. Someone let out a quiet chuckle.

The receptionist's pink eyes widened briefly, then softened back to neutrality. Without a word, she swept the coins into the drawer and handed Nyx a small slip of parchment.

"Your new hunter card will be ready tomorrow. Until then, you may not take jobs."

Nyx let out a quiet sigh, somewhere between frustration and resignation. She nodded once, tucking the receipt into her cloak.

That was it.

For now.

She turned from the counter.

The weight of stares pressed against her back as she crossed the hall. She didn't look at them. She didn't need to. She already knew the expressions on their faces.

The heavy doors groaned open, then swung shut behind her, sealing the noise away.

Outside, the street was calmer. Lanterns swayed gently in the evening breeze, their soft light spilling across cobblestone. She let herself pause just long enough to scan the row of buildings.

And there it was—just across the street. A painted sign creaked against its wooden post, swinging lightly in the wind. Warm light glowed from the windows. The faint, sweet scent of bread curled into the night air.

An inn.

Nyx's lips curved just slightly, a tiny spark of relief breaking through the tired weight of the day.

"Perfect," she murmured.

And with that, she crossed the street.

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