Morning light spills through the guild’s stained-glass windows in sharp bands of color, far too bright for someone who had barely slept. Eis finishes a mug of black tea — bitter and grounding — just as a young messenger rushes into the lounge.

  “Miss Eis? The Guildmaster requests your presence. Alone.”

  Team Argent is still half-asleep upstairs — Kael face-down on a pillow, Lira refusing to leave her blankets, Ronan awake but pretending otherwise. Eis nods once and follows the messenger through the quiet upper hall.

  The Guildmaster waits in his private study, surrounded by towering shelves of maps, relic fragments, and parchment that smell faintly of dust and old magic. Light trickles through high windows, reflecting off the metallic trim of his robes.

  He gestures for Eis to sit.

  “Your performance at the Frostline has already become rumor,” he begins. “But reports, even the official ones, are… inadequate. You did more than seal a Vault. The ley disturbance has calmed entirely. The city owes you its peace.”

  Eis remains still. “We all played our part.”

  “Perhaps,” he replies, voice measured. “But the ley reacted very differently to you than the others. The archmage was very detailed in his report.”

  The silence that follows is heavy but not hostile. The Guildmaster studies her carefully — not with fear, but with a strategist’s wariness.

  “There are questions being asked,” he continues.

  “By the Archmage Division. By the Church of the Dawn. By foreign envoys who somehow already learned your name.”

  He sets his hands on the desk.

  “And I will be blunt. A power like yours — if another kingdom were to court you, or conscript you, or simply welcome you — could shift the balance of the continent.”

  He holds her gaze.

  “Eldoria cannot force you to stay. We know this.”

  “And even if we tried…” His tone softens with honesty. “…I doubt we could.”

  He leans forward.

  “So I must ask plainly: Do you intend to remain in Lumaire? With the guild? Or is the Frostline expedition the last we’ll see of you?”

  Eis meets his eyes without flinching. “If I stay, it will be because I choose to and no other reason.”

  The Guildmaster’s expression shifts — not disappointment, but understanding.

  “Fair enough,” he says quietly. “Then choose. And whatever your decision, the guild will honor it.”

  He rises and offers her a sealed letter embossed with gold.

  “Take the week. Rest. Decide what you will become to this city — ally, wanderer, or something else entirely. I heard you are staying in Team Argent’s room,you can have a room in the guild for the time being. It’ll give you some space to think.”

  Eis takes the letter, its weight solid in her hand.

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  Outside the study, the hall is warm with morning light. She stands for a long moment, letting the quiet settle around her.

  Eis knew Team Argent would have made room for her without question. But a little space—and a little time to decide—felt right.

  Ronan’s voice echoes in her mind, soft from the night before:

  You should keep drinking with us. It suits you better than bleeding for the world.

  For the first time in a long while, Eis lets a faint laugh escape.

  The days that follow feel almost unreal.

  No tremors.

  No ley surges.

  No whispers echoing in Eis’s chest.

  Just life.

  Lira drags everyone out before breakfast. “We almost died twice, we’re buying something normal.”

  Kael complains until he spots a bowmaker’s stall and abandons them without shame.

  Eis walks beside Ronan, the smell of street bread and fruit mixing with the warm wind.

  A group of young adventurers approach shyly, parchment in hand.

  “Miss Eis… could you sign this?”

  Eis stares at the request, uncertain. The parchment is a guild notice:

  Gold-Rank Team Argent Saves Frostline.

  Her name sits beside the others.

  She signs — carefully.

  The group runs off cheering. Ronan smirks.

  “You’re famous.”

  “That’s inconvenient.”

  “Admit it,” he says. “You like it just a little.”

  “…Maybe.”

  He laughs — quiet but genuine.

  Kael and Lira sit on the rail betting food over who will win the sparring match: Eis or Ronan.

  “Loser buys dinner,” Kael says.

  “Loser limps for two days,” Lira counters.

  Ronan draws his blade. “Don’t hold back.”

  Eis nods. “You first.”

  Minutes later, Ronan lies flat on his back, sword knocked aside. Eis stands above him, calm as ever.

  Kael bursts out laughing. “I knew it!”

  Ronan groans. “…Dinner’s on me.”

  Lanterns drift along the water like tiny stars.

  Music echoes over bridges. Children chase glowing paper charms.

  Kael fails to juggle firecrackers. Lira buys sweetfruit wine for everyone. Ronan gets forced into judging a sword-dance.

  Eis stands on the bridge with them, watching the lanterns float downstream.

  Lira hands her a lantern. “Make a wish.”

  “I don’t believe in wishes.”

  “Just do it.”

  Eis releases the lantern, watching it drift beside Ronan’s.

  “What’d you wish for?” he asks.

  “If I tell you, it won’t happen.”

  Ronan chuckles. “I’ll take that as something good.”

  The guild is quiet. Lanterns shimmer below like golden constellations.

  Ronan leans on the railing beside Eis, handing her a warm mug of tea.

  “You decide yet?” he asks.

  “Whether I’m staying?”

  “Yeah.”

  Eis watches the city lights. The ley lines hum softly beneath the streets — stable, peaceful.

  “It’s the first time it feels like there isn't anything I need to do.,” she says. “I don’t know what comes next… but I’m not ready to leave.”

  Ronan exhales slowly, relieved.

  “Then stay. We’ll make sure you have something worth staying for.”

  “You make that sound like an order.”

  “A suggestion,” he says, smiling. “From a friend.”

  They stand together in comfortable silence.

  Below them, the city sleeps — at peace for the first time in months.

  And for the first time since she arrived in this world, Eis feels something like peace settling gently into her chest.