Doc woke to pale morning light filtering through the shuttered window. The bed beside him was already empty, blankets folded with care.

  Where's Marron? Doc thought as he sat up, working the stiffness from his shoulders.

  Marron descended to the common room approximately thirty minutes ago, Lux replied. His vital signs indicated normal waking patterns. No distress detected.

  Doc swung his legs over the edge of the bed, bare feet meeting cold floorboards. The room was modest and clean—a far cry from the stone chambers of the colony or the canvas tents they'd used on the road. He dressed methodically, his suit settling against his skin with familiar weight.

  The floorboards creaked under his boots as he crossed to the door. From below came the muted sound of voices and the clatter of dishware—the inn's morning rhythm already in motion.

  Doc descended the narrow staircase, one hand trailing along the wooden rail. The common room opened before him, warm and alive with morning activity. The central hearth radiated heat, and the smell of cooking—bread, porridge, and something savory—filled the air.

  Garrik stood behind the bar, his movements quick and efficient as he plated food. Elara worked beside him, pouring drinks and coordinating with the same quiet authority she'd shown the day before. A handful of other patrons occupied scattered tables—travelers by the look of them, hunched over their breakfast with the weary posture of people who'd been on the road too long.

  Maz sat at a corner table, her warhammer propped against the wall within easy reach. Marron occupied the seat beside her, already working through a bowl of porridge while reviewing notes in his journal. Rurrak sat across from them, his tall frame hunched slightly to fit the chair, while Calen occupied the fourth spot, eating a this world version of a sandwich.

  Doc crossed the room toward them. Elara intercepted him halfway, a serving rag draped over one shoulder.

  "Morning," she said, her tone warm. "Something to eat?"

  "Whatever you have is fine," Doc replied.

  She nodded and moved back toward the kitchen.

  He slid into the open seat beside Calen, who glanced up briefly over briefly returning to his meal. Maz met Doc's gaze with a slight nod, while Marron continued writing without looking up.

  Doc scanned the room again, his gaze sweeping past the other patrons toward the windows. Through the glass, he could make out the stable yard. Tanna stood near Snow Tusk's stall, Moss-ear perched on her shoulder. Fish sat nearby, her dark form relaxed but watchful. A young figure moved between them—unfamiliar, slight of build, probably one of the stable hands Garrik employed.

  Unknown individual, Lux noted. Estimated age: early adolescence. Behavioral pattern consistent with service personnel.

  Doc filed the observation away. Tanna seemed comfortable, and Fish showed no signs of alarm. That was enough for now.

  Doc's food arrived before long—a thick stew dense with stonebulb, deeproot, and chunks of seasoned meat. The bowl settled in front of him with a soft thunk, steam curling upward in lazy spirals.

  "Appreciate it," Doc said, glancing up at Garrik.

  The goblin innkeeper nodded once and moved back toward the kitchen without a word.

  Doc lifted the spoon and began eating. The stew was well-made—hearty and flavorful, the kind of meal built for travelers after a long trip.

  Mazoga set down her empty bowl and leaned back in her chair, arms folding across her chest. "Plans for today are simple," she said, her voice low enough not to carry beyond their table. "Rurrak and I are heading to the Adventurer's Guild. Need to check in, get the latest on what's happening around here."

  Doc set his bowl down and looked at her.

  Mazoga continued. "Guild usually knows what's going on—draugr sightings, Waste activity, anything worth worrying about. Rurrak's going to update them on the Greater we fought and the horde near Threeburrow." Her gaze shifted to the gnoll, who dipped his head in acknowledgment. "Garrik's going to guide us. City's big. Easier if we've got someone local."

  Doc resumed eating, processing the plan as Mazoga spoke. It made sense. From what he learned about the Adventurer's Guild, it looks to be the logical first stop for anyone trying to gauge regional threats or establish credibility in a new city.

  Marron looked up from his journal, setting his pen down with deliberate care. "Calen and I will handle the Merchant's Guild first," he said. His tone carried the same measured confidence Doc had come to expect from the trader. "Need to find buyers for our trade goods and see if we can negotiate a formal agreement between the tri-settlement and the guild."

  He paused, glancing at Calen, who straightened slightly under the attention.

  "After that, we'll stop by the Mage's Guild," Marron continued. "Calen needs to use the communication crystal to contact his siblings." He tapped the edge of his journal. "And Dulric and Carl both gave me a list of materials they want sourced. magical spell tomes, refined metals, and runes—non-standard workshop requests."

  Calen nodded, his circuit-scarred arms resting on the table. "Shouldn't take long," he added quietly. "Just need to make sure Talia and Ren know I'm safe."

  Mazoga then leaned in, lowering her voice until it barely carried above the ambient noise of the common room. "You, Bran, and Tanna stay with the wagon," she said, her gaze sweeping the table, "this inn's solid, but we're outside Glasshold proper. Garrik runs a good place, but the district doesn't get guild patrols or city watch. Out here, people handle their own problems."

  Doc's spoon paused halfway to his mouth. He set it down carefully, attention shifting fully to Mazoga.

  "Don't like leaving the wagon unguarded," Mazoga continued. "Not with what we're carrying. Trade goods, batteries, cores—someone gets curious, starts poking around…" She didn't finish the sentence.

  Rurrak shifted in his seat, his amber eyes scanning the room before settling back on the table. "Garrik mentioned it this morning," the gnoll said quietly. "People were talking. Saw the wagon come in yesterday. Noticed the enchantments, the size of Snow Tusk, the quality of the build." His tone remained neutral, but his posture carried tension. "Word travels fast in districts like this. Might not be trouble, but we shouldn't assume it won't be."

  Doc absorbed the information without comment, his mind already running through contingencies.

  Rurrak continued. "With Garrik coming with us, there's no one here who knows the ground well enough to discourage opportunists. You'll need to stay sharp."

  Doc nodded once. "Understood."

  Mazoga held his gaze for a moment longer, then leaned back in her chair, apparently satisfied.

  The kitchen door swung open, and Bran emerged carrying a shallow crate stacked with wrapped bundles. He crossed the common room with his usual steady gait, setting the crate down on an adjacent table before pulling out a chair and settling in beside Marron.

  "Morning," Bran said simply.

  Mazoga gestured toward the table. "We were just going over the plan."

  Bran nodded, listening as Mazoga recapped the day's movements—the Adventurer's Guild, the Merchant's Guild, the Mage's Guild, and the decision to leave the three of them here at the inn.

  "Makes sense," Bran said when she finished. His tone carried no concern, just acknowledgment. "I'll keep the oven working. Good food keeps people friendly."

  Mazoga's mouth twitched into something that might have been a smile. "That it does."

  Doc let their voices fade into background noise, his focus turning inward.

  Even in a world of classes, thieves and opportunists are still around, he thought.

  Affirmative, Lux replied. The class system provides structure and predictability, but it does not eliminate base motivations. Economic disparity remains a consistent driver of opportunistic behavior across civilizations.

  Doc exhaled slowly, his gaze drifting toward the window.

  We need to keep our guard up, Doc thought.

  Agreed. Recommend establishing perimeter monitoring protocols and maintaining active surveillance of wagon access points.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Doc picked up his spoon again, finishing the last of his stew in silence while the others finalized their plans.

  Mazoga walked beside Marron as they approached Glasshold's outer gate, her hammer strapped across her back and her Ravageboar armor settled comfortably against her shoulders. Rurrak flanked her left, his spear angled carefully to avoid attention, while Calen stayed close to Marron. Garrik led them through the steady flow of traffic—merchants, traders, laborers, and travelers all funneling toward the massive stone archway carved into the mountain's face.

  The gate stood open, but guards checked everyone. Three of them worked the line, asking questions, glancing at faces, waving people through or pulling them aside for closer scrutiny. Mazoga had seen a hundred checkpoints just like this one.

  Their turn came.

  The guard who stepped forward was human—broad-shouldered, level twenty-something if Mazoga had to guess, wearing the standard-issue armor of a city watch. His eyes swept the group once, then settled on her.

  The look that crossed his face was instant and unmistakable: disgust.

  Mazoga didn't flinch. She'd seen it before. Plenty of times. Orc-kin weren't common this far north, and prejudice didn't need a reason to exist—just an excuse.

  The guard's eyes narrowed slightly, and Mazoga felt the familiar prickle of his skill activating. Scan, most likely. Standard city watch ability. Harmless, but invasive.

  The disgust shifted into something closer to fear. His shoulders pulled back, hand moving toward his sword.

  "What's your business in Glasshold?" the guard asked, his voice tight.

  Marron stepped forward smoothly, his tone measured and professional. "I'm a member of the Merchant's Guild," he said, producing a piece of paper from his coat and holding it up for inspection. "I'm here to establish trade negotiations on behalf of a settlement I represent."

  The guard glanced at the paper, then back at Marron, his expression still wary.

  Marron gestured to the group with practiced ease. "These are my companions." He pointed first at Mazoga, then Rurrak. "Personal guards. The orc-kin is also a registered adventurer." His hand shifted toward Calen. "My apprentice." Then to Garrik. "And our local guide."

  The guard's gaze lingered on Mazoga for a beat longer than necessary before shifting back to Marron. "Due to her level," he said flatly, "we'll need to report her presence to the watch captain. Anyone above forty gets logged. City policy."

  Mazoga didn't react. She'd expected it. The moment the guard's skill had hit her, she'd known this conversation was coming. There was no point hiding her level—not in a city this size, with this many people capable of scanning. Better to be upfront.

  Marron nodded without hesitation. "That's no trouble at all," he said smoothly. "We're here for legitimate business. Happy to cooperate."

  The guard studied them for another moment, his hand still resting near his weapon. Finally, he stepped aside. "Move through," he said curtly. "Keep your business clean."

  Mazoga inclined her head slightly and walked past him without another word.

  Rurrak fell into step beside her as they crossed beneath the gate's archway, the stone walls rising high above them. Calen and Marron followed close behind, with Garrik leading them deeper into the city.

  The noise of Glasshold hit her all at once. Voices calling out prices, the clang of metal on metal from distant forges, boots on stone, wagons creaking through narrow streets. The air smelled of smoke, cooking meat, and something sharp—mineral dust, maybe, from the city's crystal veins.

  Mazoga took a breath, letting the chaos settle into manageable background noise. Beside her, Calen's head swiveled as he tried to take in everything at once.

  "Stay close," Garrik said, already moving. "Main roads are slower."

  Garrik moved through Glasshold's streets with the ease of someone who'd walked them for years. He kept to the edges, avoiding the main thoroughfares where merchants shouted their wares and travelers clogged the flow. The path he chose wound through narrower passages—less traffic, fewer eyes.

  Mazoga followed close behind, her armor drawing glances despite Garrik's route. Couldn't be helped. A level forty-six orc-kin stood out anywhere, but especially here where the crowd skewed human and dwarf.

  The city pressed in from all sides. Buildings carved directly from the mountain's stone, their facades decorated with crystal veins that caught the light and scattered it in pale fragments. Upper levels jutted out over lower ones, creating shadowed alcoves where business happened quietly.

  A woman called out from a stall selling preserved meats. "Fresh venison! Smoked boar! Best prices in the district!"

  Garrik ignored her.

  They passed a blacksmith's shop, the sound of hammer on metal ringing out in steady rhythm. A group of young men clustered near a corner, voices low as they exchanged coin for something Mazoga didn't care to investigate.

  Calen's head swiveled again, taking in a shop front displaying what looked like enchanted tools behind thick glass.

  Mazoga fell back half a step. "First time in a big city?"

  The boy startled slightly, pulled from his observation. "That obvious?"

  "Little bit."

  Calen's expression shifted—embarrassment warring with wonder. "I've seen..." He paused, glancing at her. "I've seen Doc's world. Back when he showed everyone. Those cities with the towers and the floating gardens." His voice dropped. "But seeing something this big in our world feels different."

  Mazoga grunted. She'd felt the same thing watching Doc's projection.

  "Doc's world is much larger than this," she said. The understatement felt absurd even saying it. "But I know what you mean."

  Nexus Prime had been incomprehensible. Beautiful and terrifying in equal measure. A civilization so far beyond anything they knew that even trying to compare felt pointless.

  But Glasshold was theirs. Built with stone and sweat and magic they understood. Less impressive by any objective measure, but it was real and achievable.

  Calen nodded slowly. "It's like... I can actually see this. Not just images in the air."

  "Yeah."

  They turned another corner, the passage widening slightly. More people here—travelers with heavy packs, locals carrying baskets, a cart being pulled by something that looked like a cross between a mule and a lizard.

  Garrik pointed ahead. "Splitstone Row. Just past the next archway."

  The street opened up into a broader thoroughfare. Buildings pressed close on either side, but the road itself had room to breathe. Market stalls lined the edges, their awnings creating splashes of color against gray stone. The noise level jumped—voices haggling, metal clanging from workshops deeper in, the general hum of commerce and life.

  Three large buildings dominated the far end of the row, each marked with distinctive symbols carved into their facades.

  The Adventurer's Guild stood center-left, its entrance flanked by weapon racks and a board displaying contract listings. The Merchant's Guild occupied the right side, its front decorated with scales and coin motifs. Between them, set slightly back, the Mage's Guild rose three stories tall with runes etched into its walls.

  "There," Garrik said, gesturing toward the Adventurer's Guild. "That's where you'll want to start."

  Mazoga studied the building. People moved in and out with purpose, most wearing weapons openly. A few looked her direction, expressions shifting from curiosity to caution when they registered her level.

  They crossed the row, weaving between stalls and foot traffic. A vendor tried to catch Marron's attention, waving what looked like preserved meat. Another called out about enchanted gear. Garrik waved them all off with practiced ease.

  As they approached the guild's entrance, a familiar figure emerged from a side conversation near the contract board.

  Lyss.

  The vulpine beastkin's amber eyes locked onto their group immediately. Her tail swayed once—recognition. She said something quick to the person she'd been speaking with, then crossed the distance.

  "Mazoga." Lyss's voice carried warmth. "Didn't expect to see you here so quickly."

  Mazoga smiled despite herself. A friendly face in a crowd of strangers—it helped more than she'd expected.

  "Reporting in," Mazoga said, keeping her tone light. "Haven't checked into an Adventurer's Guild in about eight months. Figured I'd stop by.

  Lyss's ears twitched forward slightly—concern or curiosity, maz couldn't tell which. "Eight months is a long stretch. Glad you're still breathing." Her gaze shifted briefly to Rurrak, then back. "I'd be happy to help if you've got questions."

  Mazoga nodded. "Appreciate it." She gestured toward the guild's entrance. "I'd like to meet the guild master if possible. Rurrak and I have something we need to report."

  Before Lyss could respond, Marron cleared his throat.

  Mazoga turned as he stepped forward, Calen at his side.

  "Before you go in," Marron said smoothly, "Calen and I are heading to the Merchant's Guild. We'll handle the trade negotiations and meet you back here once we're done."

  Mazoga glanced at Calen, who nodded confirmation.

  "Fine," Mazoga said. "Don't wander off anywhere else. Straight there, straight back."

  Marron inclined his head. "Understood."

  Garrik stopped at the guild entrance and stepped aside.

  "I don't do guild halls," he said. His tone remain neutral

  Mazoga looked at him for a moment, then nodded once. "Meet us out front when you're done."

  Garrik was already moving, disappearing into the crowd.

  He and Calen split off after him, swallowed by the foot traffic of Splitstone Row. Mazoga watched them go, then turned back to Lyss.

  Lyss gestured toward the guild's entrance. "Come on. I'll take you to Gar."

  They started walking.

  "Gar Ironwood," Lyss continued as they moved. "Commander of the Northern Glasshold chapter. Runs the guild here. He's fair, but he doesn't miss much. If you've got information worth reporting, he'll listen."

  Mazoga grunted acknowledgment. "Good to know."

  Lyss's tail flicked once. "He's also cautious. High-level adventurers showing up out of nowhere make him nervous."

  "I'm registered," Mazoga said evenly.

  "Doesn't mean he won't ask questions."

  Maz sighed

  Lyss glanced at her sidelong, amber eyes sharp but not unfriendly. "Don't worry, Gar is not so bad as other guild leaders."

  They reached the entrance. Lyss pushed the door open and stepped inside.

  Mazoga followed, Rurrak close behind.

  Kipp crouched behind a stack of empty crates, eyes fixed on the Thornwick Rest's stable yard. The yellow flag still fluttered above the wagon—easy to spot even from two buildings away.

  "They're gone," Ren whispered beside him, pointing toward the distant gate where the goblin innkeeper had disappeared with the orc and others. "Whole crew left. Just saw them head for Glasshold entrance gate."

  Kipp's pulse quickened. Three weeks into their new "profession," and this was their chance. Real coin. Real haul.

  Beside them, Maris shifted her weight nervously. "The wagon's still enchanted. I can feel the preservation runes from here. That's expensive work."

  "Which means expensive cargo," Kipp countered. He glanced at Ren, then Maris. Both looked uncertain. Good. Fear kept you sharp. "We don't need everything. Just enough to sell at the outer market. Get clear before anyone notices."

  Ren pulled out a small crystal—a gift from his cousin in the Mage's Guild. "Scan says three signatures inside the inn. high-twenties, maybe early thirties. No combat classes."

  Kipp nodded. Merchants. Maybe a cook. Nothing they couldn't handle if things went sideways—not that they would.

  "What about the wolf?" Maris asked quietly.

  Kipp had seen the creature—black fur, violet markings, phase-stepping like some kind of dungeon boss. But Ren's scan hadn't detected it at all.

  "Probably went with the orc," Kipp said, more confident than he felt.

  Across the yard, the stable boy emerged carrying a bucket toward the well. Perfect. The kid would be distracted for at least five minutes.

  "We go when he's at the well," Kipp decided. "Maris, you keep watch. Ren, help me with the wagon. We take what's nearest the tailgate—don't dig deep. In and out."

  Maris bit her lip but nodded.

  The other gangs had backed off when they'd seen the orc's level. Smart move for professionals. But Kipp and his crew weren't professionals yet—just desperate enough to see opportunity where others saw warning.

  The stable boy reached the well.

  Kipp took a breath, pushed down the voice in his head that whispered this felt too easy, and rose from behind the crates.

  "Now."

  Thanks for reading!

  Chapter 85 drops next tuesday!