Chapter 31
Sir Dorian Lionsreach awoke with purpose.
This was dangerous.
Purpose, in Dorian's experience, was what happened right before something became a problem with paperwork.
He rolled out of bed, stretched, and immediately knocked over a chair.
"Good," he muttered. "Keeps me humble."
The chicken watched from the windowsill.
Dorian squinted at it. "You're not coming."
The chicken blinked.
"You're absolutely not coming," Dorian added.
The chicken clucked.
Dorian sighed. "Fine. But you're not helping."
The chicken hopped down and followed him anyway.
The guild hall was already buzzing when Dorian arrived. Clerks shuffled papers. Apprentices argued about supply counts. Someone had spilled ink in a way that felt personal.
Dorian clasped his hands behind his back and nodded approvingly.
"Alright," he said. "Order. Structure. Calm."
A clerk looked up sharply. "Sir Dorian, before anything else—Guild Mistress Valebright asked me to pass along a message."
Dorian stiffened. "Is it romantic or threatening?"
"...Both," the clerk admitted. "She said, 'I was only gone for a day.'"
Dorian exhaled slowly. "That feels fair."
The chicken clucked.
"Do not agree with her," Dorian said firmly.
The clerk hesitated. "Sir... should I write that down?"
"No."
Dorian strode to the central board and tore down three notices at once.
"New policy!" he announced.
Everyone froze.
This was also dangerous.
"We are," Dorian continued, "entering a period of controlled normalcy."
A clerk raised her hand. "Sir... what does that mean?"
"It means," Dorian said confidently, "that nothing exciting will happen today."
Several people laughed.
Dorian did not.
"I am serious."
The laughter died.
"Effective immediately," Dorian continued, "all guild operations will follow protocol exactly. No improvisation. No shortcuts. No heroics."
A guard frowned. "Sir... aren't heroics sort of our thing?"
"Yes," Dorian said. "Which is why they're banned until further notice."
Murmurs rippled.
The chicken hopped onto a desk.
Dorian pointed at it. "Including that."
The chicken tilted its head.
Dorian ignored it and unrolled a scroll.
"I have prepared a schedule."
The room gasped.
A clerk whispered, "He's prepared."
Dorian began reading.
"Morning: inventory review. Midday: risk assessment meeting. Afternoon: minor patrols only. Evening: no incidents."
Someone coughed. "Sir... is that realistic?"
Dorian smiled tightly. "It will be."
The first test of controlled normalcy came less than ten minutes later.
"Sir Dorian!" an apprentice shouted, sprinting across the hall. "There's a... thing."
Dorian closed his eyes.
"...Define thing."
The apprentice skidded to a halt. "It's stuck. In a fountain."
Dorian opened one eye. "Is it on fire?"
"No."
"Is it screaming?"
"Only a little."
Dorian nodded. "Progress."
He turned to the assembled clerks. "Observe. I will not fix this."
The chicken clucked skeptically.
They followed Dorian to the courtyard, where a small stone fountain gurgled cheerfully—except for the part where a heavily armored adventurer was wedged upside down in it.
"Sir!" the adventurer shouted. "I slipped!"
Dorian clasped his hands behind his back. "And?"
"...I can't get out."
Dorian nodded. "Unfortunate."
The adventurer blinked. "Aren't you going to help?"
"No."
The crowd gasped.
"I will," Dorian clarified, "supervise."
He turned to a guard. "Fetch a rope."
The guard hesitated. "Sir... shouldn't you—"
"No," Dorian repeated firmly. "Protocol."
The chicken hopped onto the fountain's edge.
"Not you either," Dorian said.
The rope arrived. The adventurer was pulled free with only minor dignity loss.
Dorian beamed. "See? No incident."
The fountain cracked.
Water sprayed everywhere.
The crowd screamed.
Dorian stared at the fountain.
"...Define incident," he muttered.
Back inside the guild hall, Dorian doubled down.
"Alright," he said briskly. "We're tightening procedures."
A clerk raised her hand cautiously. "Sir... tighter than 'no heroics'?"
"Yes."
"How?"
Dorian held up a stack of forms.
"These."
The clerks recoiled.
"Every action," Dorian continued, "requires approval."
"From who?" someone asked.
Dorian smiled. "Me."
The chicken clucked.
"That includes you," Dorian added.
The chicken hopped onto the approval desk and sat.
Dorian stared at it.
"...You don't have hands," he said.
The chicken blinked.
"Don't make me regret this."
By midday, the guild hall had slowed to a crawl.
Nothing happened.
Which was worse.
Clerks whispered nervously. Guards paced without purpose. Apprentices stood around waiting for something—anything—to go wrong.
Dorian watched it all with growing concern.
"This is fine," he said aloud.
The chicken stared.
"No," Dorian corrected. "This is good."
A runner burst in. "Sir Dorian! Urgent report!"
Dorian inhaled sharply. "Is it urgent or is it exciting?"
"...Both."
Dorian grimaced. "I knew that would happen."
The runner continued, "A merchant caravan has stopped at the west gate."
Dorian nodded. "Why?"
"They refuse to enter."
"Why?"
"...They say they don't want to be near you."
Silence fell.
Dorian blinked. "Excuse me?"
"They heard," the runner continued apologetically, "that you're enforcing order."
Dorian stared.
"...That's the opposite of the rumor I want."
The chicken clucked.
Dorian pointed at it. "This is your fault."
The chicken did not deny it.
Dorian rubbed his temples.
"Alright," he said. "New adjustment."
The clerks groaned.
"We will allow minor heroics."
Relief rippled through the room.
"But," Dorian added, "only with forms."
The groans returned.
He sighed. "I am learning."
He glanced at the chicken.
"You," he said. "Are on observation duty."
The chicken hopped down and followed him anyway.
Dorian smiled despite himself.
"Fine," he muttered. "But if anyone asks..."
He raised his voice as a clerk approached.
"...The answer is still no."
The clerk nodded. "Understood."
Dorian squared his shoulders and marched toward the next problem—whatever it was going to be.
Because something always was.
Behind him, the chicken followed.
Of course it did.
By mid-afternoon, the Silver Ember Guild had achieved something rare.
It had become...quietly terrified.
Not of monsters. Not of war. Not even of Rowan Valebright's legendary disappointment.
It was terrified of Sir Dorian Lionsreach holding a clipboard.
Dorian stood at the center of the main hall, reviewing forms like a man who had recently discovered power and decided to misuse it for the greater good.
A clerk approached cautiously, like she was feeding a wild animal.
"Sir Dorian," she said, "Form Thirty-Seven-B requires a witness signature."
Dorian took the paper and squinted. "We have witnesses."
"Yes," the clerk said. "But they're refusing."
Dorian frowned. "Why?"
The clerk's eyes flicked toward the chicken, which was sitting on the counter like it owned the guild.
"...They say they don't want to be involved," she murmured.
Dorian stared. "Involved in what?"
The clerk swallowed. "Anything you touch, sir."
Dorian's jaw tightened.
"That," he said, "is disrespectful."
The chicken clucked.
Dorian pointed at it without looking. "Do not agree."
The chicken blinked slowly, in the manner of creatures who absolutely agree.
Dorian exhaled and clapped his hands once.
"Everyone!" he announced.
Every head snapped up.
A few people visibly braced.
"We have a rumor issue," Dorian said. "Therefore, we will solve it."
A guard muttered, "Oh no."
Dorian smiled brightly. "Oh yes."
He lifted the clipboard higher like it was a sacred text.
"Effective immediately," Dorian declared, "we are launching a city-wide reassurance initiative."
Silence.
Someone whispered, "He made it sound official."
Dorian continued, "We will demonstrate that the guild is stable, reliable, and safe."
A clerk raised her hand nervously. "Sir... how do we demonstrate that?"
Dorian's smile widened. "With an event."
The groan that followed was collective.
"The people will see the guild functioning normally," Dorian said, "and they will stop inventing nonsense about chickens and curses and my so-called 'aura.'"
The chicken clucked.
Dorian glared at it. "You are not invited."
The chicken hopped off the counter and walked to the center of the room anyway.
Several people stepped back as it passed.
Dorian's smile twitched. "Fine. You're invited. But as a guest. Not a symbol."
The chicken clucked as if that distinction mattered.
Dorian turned to the clerks. "Prepare signage. Prepare snacks. Prepare a calm atmosphere."
A clerk blinked. "We don't...do calm atmospheres."
"We will," Dorian said firmly. "Because I have decided."
Two hours later, the "Silver Ember Guild Open House for Public Confidence" began.
It should not have been allowed to exist as an idea, but it did, and now it was happening.
The courtyard had banners.
The banners said things like:
WE ARE NORMAL PLEASE BELIEVE THIS NO CURSES TODAY ASK ME NOTHING
Dorian had not approved the last one, but it felt accurate.
A table had been set up with refreshments.
The refreshments were mostly bread and tea and one suspicious cake someone insisted was "good for morale" and looked like it had been baked out of spite.
Dorian stood at the entrance like a welcoming statue, smiling in a way that suggested he was trying very hard not to threaten anyone.
A merchant approached cautiously.
Dorian bowed. "Welcome! Please enjoy the safe, normal guild experience."
The merchant blinked. "Is this... a trap?"
Dorian's smile tightened. "No."
The merchant squinted. "That's what someone running a trap would say."
Dorian leaned in and whispered, "Please stop asking me that."
The merchant fled.
Dorian exhaled.
"Progress," he muttered.
The next group came—two city guards, a scholar, and the baker.
The baker had brought the carrot again.
Dorian straightened. "Welcome! We are—"
"Where is it," the baker demanded.
Dorian blinked. "Where is what?"
"The chicken."
Dorian's smile faltered. "We are not focusing on the chicken today."
The scholar adjusted his spectacles. "But it's the core subject of public fear."
"It is," the guard agreed. "And public fascination."
Dorian pressed his palms together. "Today is about the guild. Not the chicken."
A cluck echoed from behind him.
Dorian turned slowly.
The chicken stood on the refreshment table.
It had one foot on a plate of biscuits like a conqueror.
The baker pointed triumphantly. "There!"
Dorian closed his eyes.
"Alright," he said carefully, "the chicken is present. But we are not making a scene."
The chicken pecked a biscuit.
The biscuit sparked faintly.
The scholar gasped.
The guards reached for their swords.
Dorian raised both hands. "Everyone relax! That's not... hostile magic."
"What is it?" the scholar whispered.
Dorian stared at the biscuit.
"...Seasoning," he said.
The scholar looked thrilled. "Arcane seasoning!"
Dorian glared at him. "No."
The baker jabbed her carrot toward Dorian. "See? You brought a supernatural poultry into our city."
Dorian pointed at the guild sign overhead. "This is a guild. We regularly accept reformed monsters and questionable adventurers."
The baker opened her mouth.
Dorian added quickly, "Including me."
The baker paused, briefly robbed of momentum.
Dorian took advantage and clapped his hands again.
"Tour time!" he announced.
The tour began well.
This should have been the warning.
Dorian led the group through the main hall with practiced charm, pointing out the notice boards, the quest postings, and the training yard.
"And here," Dorian said, gesturing grandly, "is the area where we do not cause structural damage."
A guard coughed.
Dorian ignored it.
The chicken followed at a respectful distance, clucking occasionally like it was counting everyone's sins.
A child in the group whispered, "It's judging me."
Dorian whispered back, "It's judging everyone. Don't take it personally."
The child nodded solemnly like this was wisdom.
They reached the storage room.
Dorian stopped.
The door was slightly ajar.
A clerk hurried over. "Sir Dorian, we can skip—"
"We are not skipping," Dorian said firmly. "Skipping suggests fear."
The clerk grimaced. "We do have fear."
Dorian pushed the door open.
Inside, stacked neatly in rows, were crates labeled with various warnings:
FRAGILE DO NOT SHAKE DO NOT LOOK DIRECTLY AT THIS ABSOLUTELY DO NOT OPEN
Dorian smiled proudly. "Organization."
The scholar leaned in. "Fascinating. What's in the 'do not look directly' crate?"
Dorian said, "Regret."
The scholar blinked. "Regret?"
Dorian nodded. "A relic. Very emotional."
The scholar began taking notes.
The baker frowned. "This is ridiculous."
Dorian gestured at the crates. "This is responsible."
A guard raised a hand. "Sir... why is there humming?"
Dorian froze.
Everyone froze.
From the back of the room, a low vibrating hum filled the air, like a distant swarm of bees humming a hymn.
The scholar's eyes lit up. "Oh!"
Dorian's eyes narrowed. "Oh no."
A clerk whispered, "Sir Dorian... did you authorize humming?"
Dorian replied automatically, "No."
The chicken clucked once, loud.
The humming stopped.
Silence fell.
Everyone stared at the chicken.
Dorian stared at the chicken.
"...You can do that?" he whispered.
The chicken blinked.
Dorian turned quickly back to the group. "Moving on."
The scholar squeaked, "But—"
"Moving on," Dorian repeated with the tone of a man who had seen enough.
They left the storage room.
The moment the door shut, the humming resumed.
Dorian's smile became a grimace.
The tour continued anyway, because Dorian was a professional.
They reached the meeting hall.
Dorian gestured at the long table. "This is where we plan."
The baker crossed her arms. "Do you?"
Dorian smiled. "Occasionally."
The scholar leaned forward. "Sir Dorian, the public has concerns. Specifically—"
Dorian held up a hand. "No questions."
The scholar hesitated. "But this is a public confidence event."
"Yes," Dorian said. "Confidence is achieved through ignorance."
The guards exchanged looks.
The child raised a hand. "Is the chicken your friend?"
Dorian stared.
The chicken clucked.
Dorian sighed. "I would describe our relationship as... forced proximity."
The child nodded. "Like my parents."
Dorian winced. "That's... unsettling."
A clerk burst into the room, face pale. "SIR DORIAN!"
Dorian flinched. "Is something on fire?"
"No!"
"Is something exploding?"
"Not yet!"
Dorian exhaled. "Then we're still winning."
The clerk swallowed. "The storage room is...moving."
Silence.
The baker whispered, "What."
The scholar whispered, "Wonderful."
The guards whispered, "Weapons."
Dorian stood very still.
"Define moving," Dorian said.
The clerk's voice cracked. "It's... vibrating. Like it's trying to leave."
Dorian closed his eyes.
Then he smiled. It was not a happy smile.
"Alright," he said pleasantly, "everyone remain calm."
The chicken hopped onto the table.
Dorian pointed at it. "You. Stop it."
The chicken clucked.
The floor trembled.
Dorian's eye twitched.
"Okay," he said, voice still calm, "that might be unrelated."
The baker backed toward the door. "I am leaving."
Dorian stepped in front of her. "No. If you leave now, the rumor will be worse."
"I don't care!"
Dorian leaned close. "Please stop asking me that."
The baker blinked. "I didn't ask you anything!"
Dorian nodded. "Habit."
He straightened.
"Guards," he said. "Secure the hall. Scholars—stop smiling. Clerks—prepare apology forms."
A clerk choked. "Already?!"
Dorian nodded. "Preemptively."
He turned and marched toward the storage room.
The group followed, because everyone in Eastrun had the survival instincts of curious cats.
When Dorian reached the door, he placed his palm on it.
The humming grew louder.
The door pushed back.
Dorian stared.
"...That's new."
A guard whispered, "Sir... should we get a mage?"
Dorian whispered back, "We are out of mages. They keep fainting."
The chicken clucked once.
The humming stopped.
The door went still.
Dorian's head turned slowly.
Everyone looked at the chicken again.
The scholar whispered, reverent, "It controls the anomaly."
Dorian whispered, horrified, "It controls everything."
The chicken blinked.
Dorian inhaled and spoke very clearly.
"Alright," he said. "New plan."
Everyone leaned in.
"We will," Dorian continued, "pretend this never happened."
The guards stared.
The scholar protested, "But—"
"We will," Dorian said louder, "close the storage room, post a sign, and tell the public the tour ended early due to... scheduled normalness."
The baker pointed at the chicken. "That's not normal!"
Dorian nodded. "Yes. But neither am I, and you still live in this city."
The baker opened her mouth, then closed it.
Dorian placed a sign on the door.
It read:
CLOSED FOR CONFIDENCE
He stepped back and clasped his hands behind his back.
"There," he said. "Solved."
The storage room door rattled once.
Dorian's smile tightened.
"...Solved-ish," he amended.
A clerk approached hesitantly. "Sir Dorian... do we still hand out refreshments?"
Dorian glanced at the biscuit table.
The chicken was now sitting atop the cake, like a throne.
He sighed.
"Yes," Dorian said. "Give them the biscuits."
The scholar whispered, "And the cake?"
Dorian stared at the chicken.
The chicken clucked.
Dorian nodded slowly. "No."
He turned to the gathered crowd and forced a bright smile.
"Thank you for attending!" he announced. "The guild is stable! The guild is safe! The guild is—"
The storage room hummed loudly enough to rattle dust from the ceiling.
Dorian's smile did not break.
"—very lively," he finished.
The crowd stared.
Then, one by one, they nodded.
Because what else could they do?
As the last guest shuffled away, the clerk leaned toward Dorian and whispered, "Sir... should we write an apology?"
Dorian exhaled slowly.
"Yes," he said.
"For what?" the clerk asked.
Dorian looked at the humming door.
Then at the chicken.
Then at the sky, as if seeking mercy.
"For the concept of confidence," Dorian said.
The chicken clucked once.
Dorian nodded grimly. "Yes. That too."