Beastwick received its name because it was founded by traveling crafters and merchants who appreciated the high density of wildlife in the area. The rich soil and abundant game allowed the population in the area to boom, creating what would eventually become the capital city of Duremar. ?

  ? Grim practically skipped back toward the guild headquarters under the light feeling of his elation. He’d scored the highest in the squad, and there was a better than not chance that their squad had scored the highest. Of course, Fortikth wasn’t willing to divulge that information, no matter how tasty the Bromadje had been. They were forced to wait until the scores were announced the following day.

  ? “Congratulations,” Lucan said, breaking him out of his thoughts.

  ? “Sorry,” Grim said, suddenly realizing how giddy he’d probably looked. “I’m not trying to gloat or anything.”

  ? Lucan waved his apology away almost at once. “Don’t bother. With a ninety-five score, I’m in a prime position. I don’t care about the silver thread.”

  ? Oh, right, Grim thought. He’d nearly forgotten that the top scorer of each year got silver trimming thread on their uniforms. It was a mark of honor and highly respected among the guilds. Next to the golden thread–those recognized by the Council of Guilds to be exceptional delvers–it was the highest honor that could be awarded outside of dungeons.

  ? Of course, Grim wanted the silver thread if he’d earned it. It would massively boost his chances of joining the Compass Rose, the highest-ranked expedition guild in Beastwick. But his high score would be a far more effective incentive to the recruiters. With a ninety-six, possibly the highest score of the year, he was sure to get in.

  ? “You’re still going for a delving guild, right?” He asked Lucan. His temporary ally shrugged.

  ? “I’ll take the best guild that sends me an offer,” He replied casually. “Delving, Expedition, Judicial, doesn’t matter.”

  ? “I notice you didn’t say Merchant or Crafting,” Grim remarked with a sly grin.

  ? Lucan looked at him, his face expressionless. “Do I look like I’d enjoy whittling my hours away behind a counter or with a sewing needle in hand?”

  ? “Sewing isn’t the only kind of crafting.”

  ? “That’s not the point,” Lucan said, shaking his head. Now, he looked a bit pensive. “I’m a fighter. I’m going to join a guild that has to do with fighting. If that’s the Golden Lions, then that’s good. But I want a challenge, and they had better make sure they offer one, or I’m walking.”

  ? “You might end up solo with that attitude.”

  ? Lucan didn’t reply at once. The prospect of going solo right after graduation wasn’t one that was looked upon fondly. It was the ultimate sign of failure to advance. Even with the honor of graduation and the knowledge that you’d reached level three and passed the minimum aptitude test, solo delvers didn’t have the backing of a guild and had to fight for every scrap of essence they could find. The guilds controlled everything–everyone knew that–and trying to get into a dungeon without their help was not only difficult, but expensive.

  ? “I wouldn’t mind delving solo for a while,” Lucan said. “I mean, you were in that dungeon with me. I could solo everything if I was careful. It’d take a while, but I know I could do it.”

  ? “You even think you could take on the Greater Goblin alone?”

  ? “Hmm… Good point. Probably not that. But any pack boss would be easily handled. If I got my hand on a boon…”

  ? At that, Grim had to snort in disbelief. “You’ve barely finished your final exams, and you’re already thinking about a boon?”

  ? Lucan let out a bellowing laugh. “Hey, I’ve always been a dreamer! Besides, I have a chance. There’s still dozens of dungeons around Beastwick that haven’t given out a boon yet. And besides that, there are a few on sale all the time.”

  ? “Yeah,” Grim said, rolling his eyes. “But those are worth millions of gold. That’ll take you decades to earn solo.”

  ? “Don’t count me out just yet,” Lucan said. Then he paused and looked over his shoulder. “Fuck. Where’d the two idiots go?”

  ? Grim glanced back as well. There was no sign of Mirina or Don nearby. “Huh. I thought it was getting strangely quiet.”

  ? “Probably locked up in a brothel somewhere,” Lucan snorted. “Or… We are quite close to the nobling houses. Maybe Don’s brutish charm worked on the little air-headed princess.”

  ? Grim’s mouth twisted in distaste at the thought. Both could do… well, not much better. In fact, the longer he thought about it, the more he realized they were almost a perfect match. Both vapid, self-entitled noble brats, the kinds of kids born of rich parents. They could go their entire lives without having to lift a single finger, and still have more gold than they’d ever need. But instead, they took on delving, as it was seen to be fashionable.

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  ? “Damn, you look like you just bit into a lemon,” Lucan said, chuckling. “Well, as much fun as it would be to hang out with your broody face all night, I’ve got some companions waiting on me down the street. Want to join me for some drinks?”

  ? Grim shook his head, repulsed at the very idea of the noise that situation would bring. “No thanks. I’m heading back to the guild. I’d go hunting to clear my head, but the Tannery folks already cleared out the nearest fields. I’m not going to sleep in grass or a tree when there’s a bed waiting for me.”

  ? Lucan looked at him with the same level of incredulity with which Grim had viewed the idea of a night of drinks. “Well, if that’s what you’re into, I guess. Might as well get started on packing for the Rose.”

  ? He made a sharp turn then, waving one arm in farewell. “I’ll drink a few just for you!”

  ? Grim shook his head and continued on toward the guild headquarters. This late at night, the only people out and about were delvers. Returning from a delve, heading out, or attending to weapons without the hassle of working their way through the usual market crowds. He stuck to the sides of the street anyway, discouraging any passersby from the inclination to engage him in conversation.

  ? A boon, he thought. He didn’t know much about them, beyond the fact that they were unique and said to be more powerful. Like all loot, they were created by a dungeon. But in the case of a boon, it was a more specialized reward and formed a bond between the dungeon and whoever claimed the boon. Previous owners of boons had mentioned the rush of power they’d felt when first seizing their boons.

  ? He lost track of time on the remainder of his return to the guild, his mind lost in thoughts of joining the Compass Rose guild and of having silver trim on his uniform. And when he retired to his bed to sleep, the thought shifted into dreams of receiving a boon, one so powerful that its like had never been seen before. A mighty dagger, he imagined, that would turn him entirely invisible and strike down any enemy in his way with a single, well-aimed blow. The corners of his mouth twitched in his sleep at the thought.

  ? Morning seemed to come over Beastwick far too soon. Minutes after closing his eyes–or so it had seemed to him–a loud, peremptory trumpet sounded through the guild halls, and his eyes flicked open. For a moment, it felt like any other day, and he pushed himself up into a sitting position, pushing the hair out of his face. Then the memory of the previous night–of the delve, their time, and his final score–flashed into his mind, and he practically bounced out of bed and onto his feet.

  ? He hurriedly washed his face in the basin of cool water beside his bed, his fingers quickly gliding through his silver hair. A final check in the small handheld mirror proved that he was presentable. He gave himself a small wink, his yellow eyes almost glowing as the excitement began to overtake him, then tossed the mirror onto his bed. He was already out the door before he’d finished tying his tunic shut, and almost ran into another student of his year doing the exact same thing. He had to weave around a girl emerging from her room, conjuring water to run through her hair and straighten it out.

  ? The energy of the mess hall was infectious that morning, affecting even the other years, switching fluidly between excitement and dread. Grim kept himself in check well, though he was getting tired of the sinking sensation his stomach treated him to every time a nearby student offered a grim prediction of the day’s events. He had half a mind to knock the idiot out, just to get him to stop rambling on about his worries out loud. Instead, he shifted further down the bench and focused on his breakfast.

  ? After the morning meal, the final year students were instructed to remain in the mess hall, where they would be called in by party to receive their final ranks and honors. Grim found Lucan quickly. The warrior looked even more tired than Grim felt, and his face was a few shades paler than usual.

  ? “Too much drinking,” Grim said, phrasing it as a statement. “Now you see why I declined.”

  ? “Shut up,” Lucan hissed out of the corner of his mouth. Even those two words seemed to drain him a little, and his shoulders slumped. “Oh, I’m too hungover to deal with this.”

  ? Grim turned away to hide his grin and saw Mirina and Don moving over to where they stood. He studied their posture, seeing if he could spot the same signs of hangover. There were none, but the two did seem particularly sheepish. Whether that was the dregs of a night of passion or the stress of their impending results, he couldn’t tell.

  ? “This is it,” Mirina said, her voice almost a squeak with how tense her… everything was. “We totally passed, right? Of course we did. We have the highest score! We’re the best! Oh, but Damien was in another squad, and he’s the best-”

  ? Grim willfully tuned her out, his attention focused on the small door that led to the spacious side room where each party would be summoned. The first group was being called in now, and Grim noted the stiff lines of tension in their bodies. He almost wondered if it was worth it to try and sneak over to have a listen through the keyhole… Probably not, he told himself. Anything he did hear wouldn’t be of use to him, and it would only heighten his own tension.

  ? Ten minutes after entering, the party was led out by the Deputy of the Guild–Grim couldn’t remember his name just then–and directed toward the exit. Each of them wore a broad smile on their faces, and their bodies, which had previously shivered with repressed energy, now vibrated with pride and pleasure.

  ? “Exam Party Two!” the Deputy barked. The indicated group scurried forward and disappeared into the side room.

  ? “I got a seventy-four!” One of the first party members squealed to a friend in another party. “Seventy-four! Oh, I’m so excited! Dad said he’d buy me the wand if I scored seventy or higher!”

  ? Ignoring the chittering of her friends, Grim studied the girl for a moment, noting the needle and thread logo on her shoulder. So she was from the Hewn family, he thought. And she’d likely be getting a Rank B or C weapon from her rich parents. He let out a quiet sigh at the privilege of the noblings.

  ? Time slid by at a pace that made snails seem recklessly fast as each group was called into the side room in turn. Their party being the last to have delved–and there being twelve parties of four members each–meant that Grim and the others had to wait nearly two hours before they were called in. The sun was almost finished climbing its way into the highest point in the sky by the time the Deputy stepped out, ushering group eleven towards the exit. “Exam Party Twelve! You’re the last, let’s get it moving!”

  ? Grim let the others move first, taking up the rear, using them as cover to quickly compose himself. Not every exiting student had said their scores out loud, of course, but the highest he’d heard so far had been eighty-four. Even Mirina and Don had scored higher than that. He had to struggle valiantly to hold his energy in and keep his face level as he stepped into the stone chamber with the others and walked a few feet before turning to face the panel of teachers all seated behind a long, cloth-draped table.

  ? “Excellent work, Party Twelve,” the Guildmaster said. “You attained the highest party score of the year, so you should be proud. What’s more, one of you has won the silver thread!”