North Downing spread wide across the shallow valley below them, less a tight city and more an accumulation of districts that had agreed to coexist. Slate rooftops in uneven waves. Taller stone structures rising in clusters. Smoke drifting from a dozen chimneys. And beyond it all, the suggestion of more — scaffolds, half-built expansions, cranes shaped from wood and iron.

  It didn’t cling to the northern mountains. It sprawled along the base of them.

  A river cut along its eastern edge, split by docks and warehouses. Roads braided in and out like veins. And beneath the far ridgeline, Miri could see a series of terraced stone faces — not cliffs, but entrances. Arched and reinforced. Guarded.

  Underground access.

  “Looks busy,” Fen observed mildly.

  “Trade hub,” Tamsin said. “Surface routes south, east, and west. Quarry access by train north. There's even more below ground.”

  Miri squinted at the terraced openings again. “It’s even bigger under there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Stone,” Tamsin replied. “And space.”

  Miri considered that. “Fair.”

  Tony huffed softly, unimpressed by civic planning.

  As they descended toward the main road, the details sharpened. Caravans queued in orderly lines. Farmers with produce carts. A pair of dwarves arguing over crate weight. A trio of robed figures walking briskly toward the outer ring of buildings, deep in conversation.

  They joined the line at the main gate — a broad arch of fitted stone blocks reinforced with iron bands. Guards stood on either side, spears grounded, armor practical rather than ornate.

  Fen leaned slightly toward Miri. “You want to handle this?”

  She glanced at Tony.

  Tony glanced at the guards.

  One of the guards glanced at Tony.

  “Not yet,” Miri said.

  The line moved steadily without shouting, pushing, or aggressive inspections. When their turn came, the older of the two guards stepped forward and looked them over in the methodical way of someone trained to count weapons and exits.

  “Purpose?” he asked.

  “Guild contract,” Tamsin replied smoothly, stepping half a pace forward without crowding the exchange. “Seeking a registered warder. Return contract from Helmsworth.”

  That earned a flicker of interest. “Adventurers,” the guard said, noting the tattooed palms when they lifted their hands.

  “Yes.”

  His gaze shifted to Tony. There was a pause.

  Tony blinked at him. The younger guard leaned slightly away.

  “Companion?” the older one asked.

  “Guild-registered,” Miri said quickly. She reached into her inventory and produced the folded parchment Grath had given her when Tony received his collar. “He’s documented. Non-hostile. Responsive to command.”

  Tony sat. Very convincingly.

  The guard took the parchment, scanned it, then crouched slightly — not foolishly close, but enough to examine the leather collar and the small stamped metal tag attached to it.

  “Hm.” Tony’s tail flicked once.

  “He’s well-behaved,” Fen offered.

  The guard stood and handed the parchment back. “He is large. Big teeth, huh?”

  “The better to eat you with, my dear,” Miri muttered too softly to be heard.

  A long second passed. Then the guard stepped aside.

  “Guild is third ring, western quadrant,” he said. “Follow the stone markers — blue inset tile. Companion animals must remain leashed in inner districts unless actively contracted.”

  Miri blinked. “Leashed?”

  The younger guard gestured toward a small post near the gate where various lengths of reinforced cord hung.

  Tony looked personally offended.

  Tamsin stepped in. “We will comply.”

  Miri glanced at Tony. “It’s symbolic,” she whispered. “You could drag a wagon with this.”

  Tony narrowed his eyes.

  Fen took the offered cord and clipped it loosely to the collar ring. It hung slack. Entirely decorative.

  The older guard gave them one last assessing look. “No fighting inside the first ring. Disputes go to guild arbitration.”

  “Understood,” Tamsin said.

  They passed beneath the arch and into North Downing proper. The sound intensified immediately.

  Carts rolling over stone. Vendors calling prices. The smell of baked bread, hot metal, and river brine. Layers of conversation. Children weaving through adults. A pair of mages arguing about structural load near a stack of chiseled stone blocks.

  Miri slowed without meaning to.

  Helmsworth had felt alive. This felt… active. Constructing. Expanding. Moving forward even while standing still.

  She glanced toward one of the arched entrances built into the terraced stone face beyond the visible districts. A steady line of workers moved in and out, carrying tools, crates, lanterns.

  Underground.

  She felt a strange pull of curiosity.

  Fen followed her gaze. “You thinking about going down there?”

  “Eventually,” she said.

  Tamsin gestured toward a strip of stone tiles inset into the roadway ahead — faint blue flecks catching the light.

  “Guild,” she said. “Let’s go.”

  Right. Purpose first. Curiosity later.

  Tony padded forward beside her, leash slack, head high but not tense. A few pedestrians gave them space. Most just stared briefly and continued about their business.

  Not a spectacle, but not quite normal either. Miri exhaled slowly.

  “Alright,” she murmured. “Guild. Room. Warder. Quick in, quick out.”

  The city swallowed them in without comment.

  Tamsin and Fen seemed to be at ease in the busy streets, but Miri had not been around so many people in… Honestly, she wasn’t sure how long she’d been in this world.

  For once, she pressed herself against Tony for comfort instead of the other way around.

  The Adventurer’s Guild of North Downing was also louder than Helmsworth’s.

  Tables filled. Requests posted. Runners weaving between desks with stacks of parchment. A chalkboard near the far wall listing contracts in three columns: Surface, Subterranean, Specialist.

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Miri tried not to stare at the third column.

  They’d drawn looks on entry, but less than she expected. North Downing, apparently, had seen stranger.

  They waited near a long oak counter reinforced with brass edging. Fen leaned back against a pillar. Tamsin stood upright, hands folded loosely, gaze scanning the room in calm assessment. Tony sat, leash still clipped but slack, tail wrapped neatly around his paws like a very large, judgmental cat.

  A thin man in guild livery approached at last, spectacles perched low on his nose. He carried a stack of request slips and the exhausted expression of someone who had already answered the same question forty times.

  “Name and origin?” he asked briskly.

  “Tamsin Vaelor. Helmsworth branch,” Tamsin replied smoothly. She produced their contract chit.

  The man scanned it. His brows rose.

  “Return contract?” he said slowly.

  “Yes.”

  “For a warder.”

  “Yes.”

  He looked up at them properly for the first time. Miri watched the man’s face shift from bored curiosity to assessment. The kind of face you make when someone says they’re about to juggle knives and you’re deciding whether to stop them or get out of the way.

  “…You’re here to collect one?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Tamsin repeated.

  There was a pause. The man adjusted his spectacles. “Forgive me,” he said carefully, “but Helmsworth did not request clarification before dispatching?”

  “Clarification of what?” Miri asked.

  He hesitated.

  The room noise seemed to recede just slightly in her ears.

  “Well,” he said lightly, “of the… local circumstances.”

  Fen straightened a fraction while Miri studied the man harder.

  He was trying not to say something and that made her stomach tighten.

  “We were told a high-level warder was urgently needed,” Tamsin said. “We were contracted to locate and escort.”

  “Yes. Of course.” The liaison gave a tight smile. “Quite straightforward.” He didn’t sound convinced.

  Miri leaned forward on her elbows. “Is there a problem?”

  “No,” he said immediately. Then, less immediately, “Not precisely.”

  That was not comforting.

  He glanced down at the parchment again as if hoping it might rewrite itself. “You are aware,” he ventured, “that warders are… varied.”

  “Occupational hazard,” Fen said cheerfully.

  The man’s eyes flicked to him. “Yes. Well.” Another pause. “If you prefer,” the liaison continued delicately, “North Downing hosts multiple defensive specialists. You might consider alternative candidates. Several are—”

  “We’re not shopping,” Tamsin cut in gently but firmly. “We are fulfilling a contract.”

  The man’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “Of course you are.” He looked… resigned.

  Miri put her elbows on the counter and leaned forward, dropping her voice low.

  “Is he dangerous?” she asked.

  The liaison blinked. “He?”

  “The warder.”

  There it was again — that fractional hesitation.

  “He is,” the man said slowly, “exceptionally capable.”

  “That’s the point,” Fen said.

  “Yes,” the liaison agreed. “That is precisely the point.”

  Silence stretched.

  The liaison lowered his voice just a shade. Not secretive — just careful. “He maintains a private practice within the third subterranean ring,” he said. “Registered. Legal. Technically compliant.”

  “Technically,” Miri repeated.

  “Yes.”

  Tamsin’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Has he violated guild code?”

  “No.”

  “Has he failed a contract?”

  “No.”

  “Has he harmed civilians?”

  “…Not without provocation.”

  There it was. Miri felt a prickle crawl up her spine.

  Fen blinked. “That’s not reassuring.”

  The liaison pressed his lips together and straightened a stack of parchment that did not need straightening. “He is,” he said carefully, “very particular.”

  “About?” Miri prompted.

  “Standards.”

  “Whose?”

  “Yes.”

  Fen let out a small breath. “I like him already.”

  Tamsin shot him a look.

  The man slid a folded slip of parchment across the counter. “Lower ring access, corridor nine, stone marker with the labyrinth sigil,” he said. “You will not miss it.”

  Miri picked up the parchment without looking at it and tilted her head. “Why do I feel like you aren’t telling us something?”

  The liaison’s smile returned — thin and exhausted. “I am telling you everything I am authorized to say,” he replied evenly.

  Miri was about to say more, but felt a hand on her side.

  Tamsin inclined her head. “Thank you.”

  The liaison nodded stiffly.

  Then, just before they stepped away, he added quietly:

  “If you decide this arrangement is unsuitable, you may return to me. I will not record the inquiry.”

  Miri paused. “That’s… considerate,” she said slowly.

  “It is practical,” he replied.

  Fen clipped the leash more securely to Tony’s collar. “Well,” he said, bright as ever, “how bad could it be?”

  The liaison did not answer.

  The noise of the guild rushed back in around them as they turned toward the subterranean access corridors.

  Miri glanced at Tamsin, who gave a minute shrug. She folded the parchment and tucked it away.

  “Alright,” she murmured. “Let’s go meet our exceptionally capable, technically compliant, not-without-provocation warder.”

  * * *

  It didn’t take them long to make their way to an inn, Tamsin disappearing inside without ceremony.

  “She’ll negotiate down to the copper,” Fen said, leaning against a stone post near the door.

  “She’ll negotiate down to the grain,” Miri corrected.

  Tony sat between them, tail swishing lazily, watching a cart of fur goods roll past like it personally offended him. For once, Miri felt his offense completely justified.

  North Downing felt different up close. Layered like an onion. Streets cut at strange angles. Stairwells descending between buildings. Doorways half sunk below ground level. Vent shafts exhaling faint warmth.

  Miri nudged Fen with her elbow. “So what’s the deal with everything being halfway underground?”

  “Basalt shelf,” he said immediately.

  She blinked. “You just know that?”

  “My family owns trade warehouses along a volcanic belt. You learn things.” He gestured loosely toward the stonework. “This city sits on dense volcanic rock. Stable. Doesn’t shift much, so it’s a good foundation..”

  “Okay, but why go down instead of up?”

  “Because going up costs timber and iron,” he said. “Going down costs labor and stone’s already here. It’s cooler in summer, warmer in winter. Easier to insulate and harder to burn.”

  Miri squinted at him. “You sound like a pamphlet.”

  “I read pamphlets.”

  Tony huffed. Fen grinned.

  The inn door opened and Tamsin stepped out, expression neutral but satisfied. “Room for four with a window. Three nights paid in advance. Stables waived after inspection.”

  Miri blinked. “Inspection?”

  “Tigers require documentation.”

  Tony sneezed.

  “Papers approved,” Tamsin added. “Let’s not waste daylight.”

  They made their way through a quieter district of the city, buildings becoming more deliberate in their construction. Less market noise. More carved stone. Fewer open signs.

  The warder’s residence stood on a modest rise. Stone fa?ade, clean edges, narrow windows set deep into the wall. The ironwork on the gate spiraled in geometric decorations.

  A plaque beside the door read:

  Ardran Kale — Architect of Mind & Trial

  Miri tilted her head. “He made himself a plaque.”

  “Of course he did,” Fen murmured.

  The door opened before they knocked. A woman stood there — late forties, immaculate posture, expression carefully composed.

  “You are here to see Master Kale,” she said.

  Tamsin inclined her head. “We are.”

  “You may enter.” She stepped aside for them, ignoring Miri’s questioning gaze.

  The interior was cool and quiet. Polished stone floors. Hanging glass spheres glowing faintly overhead. The air smelled faintly of chalk and old paper.

  Tony’s claws clicked softly.

  They were led down a short corridor and into a circular sitting room. Cushioned benches. A low table. No windows.

  “If you would wait here,” the woman said. “Master Kale will receive you shortly.”

  The door shut with a soft click and Miri looked around slowly.

  The sitting room was… comfortable. Circular. Cushioned benches set into the walls. A low carved table at the center. No windows, but the glass spheres overhead gave off steady, flattering light.

  Tony turned once in place and settled heavily on the floor.

  Miri flopped onto one of the nearest benches and stretched her legs out. “If he makes us wait an hour, I’m charging him consultation fees.”

  Fen wandered to the center table and tapped it once with his knuckles. “Good stone.”

  “That’s your review?” she asked. “Not ‘inviting atmosphere’?”

  “I appreciate craftsmanship.”

  Tamsin remained standing for a moment longer, then leaned lightly against the wall near the door.

  The air was cool. Still. Quiet in a way that felt deliberate but not yet alarming.

  Tony’s ears flicked.

  Miri didn’t notice at first. She was watching the way the light refracted faintly along the curve of the wall when she felt it. A subtle vibration under her boots.

  “Did you feel that?” She frowned and stood.

  A razor-bright line of light ripped around the room’s edge in a blink.

  The floor vanished.

  “Shit—”

  They dropped into darkness.