Silas knew the world had rules. The strong ruled. The weak served. The Elect—those blessed by the System that had descended upon the realm a generation ago—stood atop it all. They received glorious powers: [Stormcaller], [Blade Dancer], [Heartfire Healer]. They joined the Guild, climbed ranks, and became legends.On the morning of his fourteenth birthday, knee-deep in manure behind Widow Agatha's shed, Silas learned he was the exception to every single rule.The voice that fractured his skull was flat, alien, and utterly pitiless.Then, the first text scrolled behind his eyes, glowing with a sickly, unstable light.Objective: Allow five (5) of Widow Agatha's hens to peck your heels.Time Limit: 300 seconds.Success Reward: Pas

The cellar under Bram's Tipsy Tome tavern was a sunken kingdom of shadows and forgotten things. The air hung thick, a palpable stew of stale ale, damp earth, and the sharp, acrid musk of rodent. Bram himself, a mountain of a man with a beard woven into complex iron-grey braids, lit a single, foul-smelling tallow lantern. Its guttering light carved hollows in the darkness, illuminating towering stacks of casks, crates of questionable provenance, and a floor of packed dirt."There," the innkeeper grunted, his voice like stones grinding together. He pointed a sausage-thick finger toward a deeper gloom where the walls met. "Hear 'em? Scrabbling. Big as your boot, they are. Teeth like iron needles. Ate clean through two kegs of my best Drokan stout." He fixed Silas with a bloodshot eye. "You get 'em out, alive, the crown's yours. You kill so much as one, and you owe me for the keg. Understood?"Elara, standing at the base of the rickety stairs, nodded, her face a mask of practical concern.

The old dray horse Silas "borrowed" from a distracted carter was not a charger. It was a plodding beast of burden with a swayback and a disposition of profound resignation. But it moved, and it moved north, out of Stonegrave's gates and onto the hard-packed trade road that wound toward the jagged teeth of the Howling Mountains. The [Resource of the Wronged] timer was a phantom heartbeat in his skull: 3:17.He didn't know what "Rotted Vines" were, but the scout's panic had been real. He had no plan. Only a certainty: his next action against Alaric, or the thing threatening Alaric, would be perfect. Maximized impact. The system had promised.The road climbed, the air growing thinner and colder. The lush forests gave way to stunted, wind-twisted pines and shelves of grey rock. After an hour of urging the weary horse onward, he saw it—a plume of unnatural, greenish smoke curling from a side canyon ahead. The stench hit him next: rotting vegetation and something sweetly cloying, like spoil

The following weeks settled into a surreal rhythm. Silas became a ghost in Stonegrave's underbelly, the "Branch C guy." His name, when it was spoken, was a punchline or a whisper of last resort. Kevan's ledger grew fat with his completed tickets:C-003: Located missing prized rooster "Lord Cluckington" who had learned to mimic a merchant's whistle and was luring himself onto rival's property. Solution: Used [Pickpocket's Hand] to retrieve the merchant's distinctive silver whistle from the rooster's hidden nest, breaking the association. Reward: 2 Copper Bits, 10 GMP.C-004: Solved the "weeping" masonry in the old library's west wall. Not a ghost, but a colony of crystalline-nesting wasps whose vibrations in a specific humidity mimicked sobs. Solution: Placed bowls of strong-smelling mint (a wasp deterrent) in strategic locations. Reward: 5 Copper Bits, 15 GMP.C-005: Mediated a dispute between a baker and a candlemaker over "stolen scents." The baker's vanilla-scented bread was absorb

The joint mission notice arrived not via Kevan, but as a formal summons to the office of Guildmaster Torvin. The dwarf sat behind a desk of scarred oak, a single sheet of parchment before him."Problem," Torvin grunted, pushing the paper toward Silas. "A merchant consortium is shipping a sensitive cargo—live Glimmerwing moth cocoons—from Stonegrave to the glassblowers' guild in Highvale. The moths produce a silk that can hold enchantment. The cargo is fragile, valuable, and temperamental. The route passes through the Silent Woods, which is… quiet. Too quiet lately."Silas scanned the document. The mission was an escort. Standard Branch B work. Then he saw the team composition.Assigned Team Lead: Apprentice Mage Lyra (Branch A - Beast-Whisperer).Secondary Escort: Silas (Branch C - Miscellaneous).Advisor/Observer: Squire Landis (Branch A - Protégé of Sir Alaric).It was the Challenge made manifest. Lyra was a neutral, perhaps even sympathetic, party. Landis was Alaric's eyes and ears