Chapter 32
The meeting was a mistake.
Dorian knew this immediately, which meant it was already too late.
He stood at the head of the long table in the guild's secondary meeting hall—the one used when things were "not a crisis" but absolutely were. Around him sat a collection of city officials, guild clerks, guards, and one scholar who looked far too excited to be included.
The chicken sat on the table.
No one had invited it.
No one had tried to stop it.
Dorian cleared his throat.
"Thank you all for coming," he began. "This meeting exists for one purpose."
A city official squinted. "To explain gestures vaguely all of this?"
Dorian nodded. "Yes. But calmly."
The official did not look convinced.
The chicken pecked the table once.
The table did not crack.
This was new.
Dorian pointed at it without looking. "No participation."
The chicken blinked.
Dorian took a breath and continued.
"As you are aware," he said, "recent events have prompted... discussion."
A clerk muttered, "Riots."
"Discussion," Dorian repeated firmly.
The scholar raised a hand. "Sir Dorian, before we proceed, may I confirm—"
"No," Dorian said immediately.
The scholar lowered his hand, devastated.
A guard cleared his throat. "Sir... the city council has concerns."
"Of course they do," Dorian replied. "That is their job."
"They're asking whether the guild remains a stabilizing force."
Dorian smiled. "Yes."
"That's it?"
"Yes."
The official frowned. "You're not going to elaborate?"
"No."
The official stared. "Why not?"
Dorian leaned forward slightly, resting his hands on the table.
"Because," he said pleasantly, "everything that happened was technically within guild charter."
The room froze.
"...Excuse me?" the official said.
Dorian gestured to a clerk. "Bring the charter."
The clerk hesitated. "Sir... are you sure?"
"Yes," Dorian said. "They asked."
The clerk retrieved a heavy book and placed it on the table with a thud.
Dorian flipped it open with practiced familiarity.
"Article Seven," he said. "Emergency Assistance."
The official leaned in. "You declared emergencies without authority."
"No," Dorian said. "I supervised responses to potential emergencies."
The scholar gasped softly. "Oh, that's clever."
Dorian shot him a warning look.
The official scowled. "You caused property damage."
Dorian flipped a page. "Article Nine. Acceptable Collateral."
The guard blinked. "There's a list?"
"Yes," Dorian said. "It's long."
He tapped a line. "'Damage incurred while preserving life shall not constitute negligence.'"
The official's mouth opened.
Closed.
"...That clause was meant for wars," he said weakly.
Dorian shrugged. "Cities are just wars with paperwork."
The chicken clucked.
Dorian nodded. "Thank you."
The official slammed a hand on the table. "You encouraged civilians to act!"
Dorian flipped another page. "Article Four. Community Engagement."
The room groaned.
The official rubbed his face. "You are weaponizing the charter."
Dorian smiled brightly. "Yes."
The scholar whispered, "Magnificent."
Dorian glared at him again.
The official straightened. "Sir Dorian, even if you are technically correct—"
"I am," Dorian said.
"—that does not mean you acted responsibly!"
Dorian leaned back, folding his arms.
"That," he said calmly, "is not the question you asked."
Silence fell.
The chicken scratched at the table thoughtfully.
The guard coughed. "Sir... with respect... people are scared."
Dorian's expression softened—just a little.
"People are always scared," he said. "Fear isn't evidence."
The official pointed at the chicken. "That is!"
Dorian followed his finger.
The chicken stared back at the official.
Clucked once.
The official flinched.
Dorian sighed. "It's a chicken."
The official hissed, "It cracked stone!"
"So do bad decisions," Dorian replied.
The scholar scribbled frantically.
Dorian straightened. "Look. I understand concerns. Which is why I propose a compromise."
The official crossed his arms. "I'm listening."
Dorian smiled. "We formalize it."
"...Formalize what?" the guard asked.
"The chicken," Dorian said.
The room exploded.
"You can't!" "That's absurd!" "This is unprecedented!"
Dorian raised a hand. "So was half our charter."
The official stared. "You want to... register it?"
"Yes."
"As what?"
Dorian considered.
"...Auxiliary morale asset."
The scholar made a sound like he might cry.
The chicken puffed up slightly.
Dorian nodded. "It agrees."
The official shook his head. "You can't classify an unknown magical entity as morale."
Dorian flipped the book again. "Article Twelve. Miscellaneous."
The official sagged.
"This," he said faintly, "is why Guild Master Valebright hates meetings."
Dorian smiled fondly. "He hates me specifically."
The guard leaned in. "Sir... what if this backfires?"
Dorian shrugged. "Then it will backfire legally."
The chicken hopped off the table and strutted toward the door.
Everyone turned.
Dorian frowned. "Where are you going?"
The chicken stopped.
Clucked.
Dorian sighed. "Fine. Recess."
He snapped the charter shut.
"Meeting adjourned," he said briskly. "We'll reconvene after everyone calms down or gives up."
The official stood. "This isn't over."
Dorian nodded. "Nothing ever is."
As the room cleared, the scholar lingered.
"Sir Dorian," he said reverently, "that was the most elegant misuse of legal text I've ever witnessed."
Dorian smiled thinly. "I learned from the best."
"Guild Master Valebright?"
Dorian hesitated.
"...No," he said. "From the city council."
The scholar laughed and fled.
Dorian followed the chicken into the corridor.
"You can't keep doing that," Dorian said. "Walking out mid-meeting."
The chicken clucked.
"Yes, you can," Dorian admitted. "But it's rude."
The chicken paused, then pecked a notice off the wall.
Dorian sighed. "Alright. Next time we plan."
The chicken blinked.
Dorian smiled faintly.
"Please," he added, "stop asking me that."
They continued down the hall together.
Somewhere behind them, an official began drafting an apology preemptively.
By sunset, the chicken had a file.
This was not Dorian's fault.
Entirely.
He stood at the clerk's counter watching the paperwork accumulate with the haunted stillness of a man who had once joked about bureaucracy and now lived inside it.
The chicken stood beside him.
Patient.
Silent.
Possessing a calm confidence that suggested it knew how this would end.
A clerk dipped her pen and asked, without looking up, "Sir Dorian, species?"
Dorian blinked. "Chicken."
She paused. "...Just chicken?"
"Yes."
"No modifiers?"
Dorian considered the chicken.
The chicken blinked.
"...Domestic," Dorian said.
The clerk nodded and wrote it down.
A second clerk leaned over. "Disposition?"
Dorian smiled. "Judgmental."
The clerk hesitated. "Is that hostile?"
"No," Dorian said. "It's motivational."
She wrote it down.
A third clerk cleared her throat. "Sir... under 'Capabilities,' should we list—"
"—No," Dorian said immediately.
The clerk froze.
"...But it cracked stone."
"So did my confidence," Dorian replied. "We're not documenting that either."
The clerk swallowed and continued writing.
The chicken hopped onto the counter.
A clerk gasped.
Dorian sighed. "Please don't."
The chicken pecked the inkpot.
The ink pot did not spill.
Dorian stared.
"...You can do that too?"
The chicken clucked.
The clerk whispered, "I'm putting 'precise.'"
Dorian nodded. "Fair."
An hour later, the city official from the meeting returned.
He looked tired.
"This," he said, slapping a stamped document onto the counter, "is provisional."
Dorian leaned forward. "Provisional approval?"
The official glared. "Provisional tolerance."
Dorian smiled. "That's the best kind."
The official jabbed a finger at the paper. "You understand this is temporary."
"Everything is," Dorian said. "That's what makes it exciting."
The official looked at the chicken.
The chicken looked back.
"...I don't like it," the official muttered.
Dorian patted his shoulder. "Nobody does at first."
The official straightened. "If anything happens—anything—this is on you."
Dorian nodded solemnly. "As usual."
The official paused. "...You're far too comfortable with that."
Dorian smiled. "Experience."
The official left.
The clerk stamped the final page and slid the file across the counter.
"Congratulations," she said flatly. "It's registered."
Dorian stared at the file.
"Does that mean...?" he began.
"Yes," the clerk said. "It's officially a guild matter."
Dorian exhaled slowly.
"...That feels like a mistake."
The chicken clucked.
"Yes," Dorian agreed. "You would say that."
The following morning, a notice appeared on the guild board.
Dorian did not authorize it.
He also did not remove it.
It read:
NOTICE: The Silver Ember Guild acknowledges the presence of an Auxiliary Morale Asset. Said asset is not to be provoked, studied, worshipped, or fed without permission. Please refrain from asking Sir Dorian Lionsreach questions regarding said asset.
Thank you for your cooperation.
Someone had added, in smaller handwriting:
Especially the last part.
Dorian stared at the notice.
"...They listened," he said softly.
The chicken clucked.
"That's worse," Dorian added.
A guard approached cautiously. "Sir... people are calmer."
Dorian raised an eyebrow. "They are?"
"Yes. They say if it's documented, it must be fine."
Dorian blinked.
"...That's the most dangerous sentence I've ever heard."
The guard nodded. "We thought you'd like it."
Dorian smiled faintly. "I don't."
The guard saluted and left.
Dorian leaned against the board, arms folded.
"Well," he said to the chicken, "you're official now."
The chicken blinked slowly.
"Congratulations," Dorian continued. "You're part of the system."
The chicken clucked.
"Yes," Dorian agreed. "It's awful."
That afternoon, the guild hall returned to something resembling normal.
Clerks worked. Guards trained. Apprentices complained. A scholar tried to petition for a study permit and was escorted out gently but firmly.
The chicken wandered freely.
No one screamed.
This was new.
Dorian sat at his desk reviewing reports when a child approached.
"Sir Dorian?"
"Yes?"
"Is it still dangerous?"
Dorian looked at the chicken, currently asleep on a stack of forms.
"...No," he said.
The child smiled and ran off.
Dorian leaned back.
"That felt like a lie," he muttered.
The chicken did not wake.
At dusk, Dorian stood once more on the guild balcony, watching lanterns flicker to life across the city.
The chicken joined him, hopping up onto the railing.
They stood there together.
"Technically," Dorian said quietly, "I did everything right."
The chicken clucked.
"Technically," Dorian continued, "this is heroism."
The chicken blinked.
"And technically," Dorian finished, "this will absolutely cause problems later."
The chicken fluffed its feathers.
Dorian smiled despite himself.
"Good," he said. "Wouldn't want to get bored."
Somewhere in the distance, someone shouted a question.
Dorian groaned.
He didn't even wait to hear it.
"Please," he said loudly, without turning around, "stop asking me that."
The chicken clucked once.
Agreement, or judgment—it was hard to tell.
Either way, the city carried on.