The Tamer's Guild was a vault of white marble and gold leaf. The air inside did not just feel cool; it felt filtered, carrying a faint scent of expensive incense.
High above, the ceiling was a mosaic of colored glass that depicted the first bonds, refracting the sun-crystal light into a kaleidoscopic display across the floor. It was the nerve center of a complex guild network—a place where the guild distilled chaos into ledgers and coin.
Crispin walked beside Bethany; his boots sounded loud against the polished stone. Regulus remained in his hybrid lion-hydra form. Iridescent scales shimmered like oil on water as he paced with a heavy, regal grace. Bethany moved with a different confidence, her chin tilted up and her hand resting lightly on the hilt of the new knife at her belt.
They reached the Auction Counter—a massive slab of black obsidian etched with silver runes. The clerk behind it resembled a man carved from parchment; he moved precisely and wasted no energy.
"An exquisite quality hydra skin. 1450kg," the clerk said, his quill scratching rhythmically against a leather-bound book. He did not look up, but his nostrils flared slightly as he took in the scent of the fresh, legendary hide. "Do you wish to auction it, seek treatment for preserving it, or donate it to the guild?"
Bethany did not hesitate. "Auction it, please."
The clerk nodded and jotted the instruction down without a word. "5400kg of hydra bone. Several options... We can have the bone crushed into powder for alchemy reagents, sell the bones as is, or—"
"Have it ground into powder," a sharp, familiar voice interrupted.
Darren Reni stepped forward; the silk of his 10th-Terrace robes rustled. His face was a mask of cold authority, his eyes ignoring the massive Shadowmane at Crispin's side.
Crispin's core tightened. He stepped forward, placing himself firmly between Darren and Bethany. "Excuse me, sir. This is our loot. Bethany is the Mercantile. She handles all our guild business."
Darren looked down at him, his lip curling in a sneer that had worked on men for decades. "As I said, powder."
The clerk ignored Darren entirely. His gaze remained fixed on Bethany. A silent acknowledgement of Guild Protocol over social standing.
"I'm open to either," Bethany said, her voice remarkably steady despite the flush on her neck. "Could the guild price check which has a more favorable price? Is that okay, Crispin?"
"I agree," Crispin said, keeping his eyes on Darren. "Whichever would sell better."
"I have connections who insist the powder fetches a higher premium," Darren snapped, his hand twitching toward the gold embroidery on his sleeve.
The clerk looked coldly at Darren but remained silent. He raised a single hand and motioned to the guard standing by the heavy archway. Everyone turned as the guard's armored shoes echoed like hammer strikes on the stone floor. The man stood a head taller than Darren. His breastplate bore the Guild's crest.
The guard stepped between the tamers and the noble. "Pardon me, sir. Only Tamers at the counter."
"I'm a high-noble of the 10th Terrace!" Darren barked, his voice echoing off the marble. "I will not! My presence here is fully justified. I'm helping my daughter attend to her business."
The guard looked at the clerk. The clerk shook his head once. "No, sir, you will not. The Guild has the final say here, not the nobility."
Darren tried to push around the armored man, his face turning a mottled purple. The guard took his arm with a grip that looked like iron settling into place. "Sir, I can walk you out, or you can escort yourself. Which shall it be?"
"Bethany—!" Darren started, but several more guards stepped out from the shadows of the pillars, their hands resting on the pommels of their swords.
Darren straightened his fine clothes. He leveled one final, poisonous look at Crispin before turning and walking out of the hall, his footsteps fast and uneven.
The clerk shook his head, a small, tired sound escaping his lips. "Legendary Crafting Crystal Cluster. Auction, request crafting for one of yourselves, or look to trade it for gems of any variety?"
Bethany looked back toward the empty doorway where her father had vanished, then shook her head as if clearing a fog. The clerk waited for a response.
"Bethany?" Crispin prompted softly.
"Auction, please," she said.
The clerk nodded and jotted it down. He stored his quill, sprinkled fine sand over the document to dry the excess ink, then stamped it and handed it to Bethany.
"Your Class Change Gem has sold. 2,500 gold," the clerk said, his tone shifting to something almost congratulatory. "Shall that be a single ledger request, or splitting it into two?"
"Two, please," Bethany said. "Crispin and I share our bounties and auctions."
The clerk nodded, filed the final paperwork, and handed them each a gold-inked ledger note for a bank cashout. Crispin and Bethany smiled at each other, looking at the ledger notes.
"Bethany?" the clerk called as they turned away.
"Yes?" She turned back to meet his eyes.
"Tell your father my missive will arrive in the morning. It will include instructions going forward."
Bethany flushed a deep red. "I'm sorry, sir. I will communicate it to him."
The walk from the Guild House to the Bank was a journey through the most opulent stretches of the upper terraces. Air felt thick with the hum of high-tier sun-crystals and the quiet rustle of silk. Crispin felt the weight of the gold-inked ledger note in his hip pouch—a thin slip of parchment that carried the value of twelve hundred and fifty gold pieces.
Regulus paced beside them in his iridescent hybrid form, his paws making no sound on the polished quartz walkways. The Shadowmane's new hydra scales shimmered with a predatory elegance that forced even the wealthiest merchants to step aside. Beside him, Ashara chirped a golden melody; wings flashed as she alternated between Bethany's shoulder and the Shadowmane's mane.
They entered the bank, a structure carved from solid, translucent jade that glowed with a soft, internal light. The teller took the ledger notes with a slow, deliberate motion.
"Cashing out?" she asked, her voice a flat, professional rasp.
"Two separate accounts," Bethany directed, her voice carrying the practiced authority of her Mercantile class. "Crispin Thorneborn and Bethany Reni."
Crispin watched as the teller verified the gold-leaf stamps from the Tamer's Guild. The process was silent, marked only by the scratch of a quill and the rhythmic thud of a heavy jade seal.
"One thousand two hundred and fifty gold allocated to each ledger," the teller announced, sliding a leather-bound deposit book toward Crispin.
Crispin took the book, his fingers tracing the embossed crest of the bank. He did not ask for the physical coins; he wanted the security of a ledger. Numbers in the book were real—a stabilizing force that meant the smithy's debt was no longer a shadow over his father's shoulders.
"Stored," Crispin whispered, looking at Regulus.
The Shadowmane let out a low, vibrating huff of satisfaction that resonated through the jade floor. He leaned his massive head against Crispin's leg; his golden-ringed eyes reflected the wealth and the safety they had earned together.
Bethany closed her ledger with a snap. "Let's head back to the forge, Crispin. I think our parents have had enough excitement for one afternoon."
The transition from the jade-lit silence of the bank back to the open air of the upper terraces was jarring. Crystalline light caught the iridescent sheen of Regulus's new scales, sending fractals of oil-slick color across the white stone walkways. Crispin felt a strange, coiled tension in his gut that had nothing to do with the gold now resting in his ledger.
They reached the Arch of Sovereignty—a sweeping bridge of translucent quartz that connected the high guilds to the residential terraces. Darren Reni was waiting at the center of the span.
He stood alone; his fine silk robes appeared out of place against the raw architectural power of the quartz. He did not look like a man whom the Tamer's Guild had just publicly humiliated.
Regulus stopped mid-stride, his massive paws soundless. He did not growl. Instead, he lowered his head, the charcoal mane shifting like smoke as his golden eyes locked onto the noble.
"Bethany," Darren said, his voice carrying clearly in the thin mountain air. "We are going home. Now."
Bethany did not move. She stood her ground, the void-silk of Crispin's cloak still wrapped around her shoulders as a shield. "I'm not finished with my business for the day, Father."
Darren's gaze flicked to Crispin, dripping with a condescension that felt like a physical weight. "You. Smith's son. You think because you manipulated the Guild's bureaucracy that you have earned a place here? You are a temporary curiosity. A scavenger who found a lucky stone."
Crispin stepped forward. "The Guild doesn't seem to think so. They seemed quite clear about who is allowed within their walls."
Darren flinched as if struck. His face darkened. "You dare—"
"I dare to protect my partner," Crispin interrupted, his voice flat and steady. "And as her partner, I am telling you to step aside. Bethany has earned her standing today. She took down an adult hydra while you were likely sitting in a garden."
Darren turned his fury back to his daughter. "You allow this? You allow this peasant to speak for the House of Reni?"
"He is not a peasant, Father," Bethany said, her voice rising to meet his. "He is right. Do not forget yourself. He is a tamer, the same as I. My loyalty is to my bond and my partner. If you want to talk about status, perhaps you should talk to the Guild about your invitation paperwork."
Darren stepped forward, his hand raised in a frantic, unthinking motion.
Regulus reacted instantly.
The Shadowmane did not strike, but he surged forward in a blur of iridescent scales and charcoal fur. His massive body came between Bethany and her father. He let out a low-frequency rumble that vibrated through the quartz bridge—a sound that was not a roar, but a warning from a Sovereign who had learned the language of the deep earth.
Darren stumbled back, his boots skidding on the smooth stone. He looked at the massive beast, then at the two young tamers standing united against him.
"This is not over," Darren hissed, his voice trembling. "The nobility has a long memory."
"So does the forge," Crispin replied, his hand resting on Regulus's mane.
Darren straightened his robes with a sharp, jerky motion and turned. He walked toward the high terraces without looking back.
Bethany exhaled, her shoulders finally dropping. She leaned briefly against Regulus's solid flank. "Thank you, Crispin. Again."
"Let's go," Crispin said softly. "I think we have had enough of the upper terraces for one day."