The weight of decisions never left easily.
He didn't remember when he had finally fallen asleep. The softness of silken sheets beneath him was a far cry from the forest floor where he'd first awoken. And yet, the events refused to fade. The carriage. The bindings. The sword against his ribs. Her eyes. Her hand.
That moment.
"Will you accept the plan, and help me make you a guild member?"
He had hesitated, and his mind was still debating even as his mouth had said yes.
Now, seated awkwardly on the edge of a velvety lounge within the Princess's private study chamber, he listened. Watched. Questioned his life choices.
"We slip into the Queen's royal chamber during the Nightbell hour," Princess Elyra Elaine Virelle of House Eiravell whispered, pacing in front of them all. The late sunset painted streaks of violet across her cheeks. "Once inside, we take only what we need. We leave no sign."
"Your Highness," barked Sir Garrin, her sworn shield, his hand twitching near his scabbard, "this borders treason. If we're caught—"
"We won't be," she cut sharply.
Mavis, the maid with soft eyes and sharper instincts, stepped forward gently. "Elyra… your mother will notice. The royal seal is not some trinket one can simply borrow."
"It isn't theft if I return it," Elyra said, folding her arms. "This is the only way to make him a guild member. He didn't arrive through the Philosopher Path. No one will accept his enlistment otherwise."
Sir Garrin sighed through clenched teeth. "We could forge a record. Plant proof in the archives. Anything but this."
The Princess didn't answer immediately. Instead, she turned toward the window, the golden light outlining her noble posture. "I've dreamed of starting a guild since I was ten. But only rulers can create one. I'm not yet crowned. And I will not wait for permission to begin what is mine."
The protagonist, still in borrowed clothes, stepped forward. "Why me? You don't know me. I could be anyone."
Elyra turned to him. For the first time, her voice softened.
"Because you questioned me. Because you didn't bow. Because you're not like them. And maybe that's what a guild should begin with. Not obedience. But choice."
That shut him up.
Night settled fast.
Sir Garrin, disguised in different armor, paced outside the Queen's chamber. Mavis whispered through the wisp artifact tucked in her ear. "Sleepcloth ready."
Moments later, the guard outside the chamber slumped, eyes closed, as Mavis caught his fall with surprising strength.
The Princess, nimble in midnight silks, slipped into the room, her bare feet making no sound. Above the sleeping Queen's bed, a spiral staircase led to the upper vault.
Whispers buzzed.
"The vault's sealed," she whispered. "It needs a signature... from the Queen's essence."
Panic stirred.
"I told you this was madness," Sir Garrin hissed.
"Silence," she snapped. "I can replicate the signature. But I need a copy."
The protagonist and Sir Alin Rowe sprinted down the marble corridor to the royal office.
Inside, panic brewed.
"Nothing signed," Sir Alin muttered, flipping parchment after parchment.
The protagonist kept near the door, heart hammering. Then he saw movement down the hallway.
"Someone's coming."
Footsteps.
A patrolling guard peeked into the open office. Slowly, sword drawn, he entered.
The two crouched behind the desk. Breath shallow. Sweat loud.
The guard stepped closer.
The door creaked.
Suddenly, Sir Garrin barged in.
"What are you doing in the royal office?" he demanded, feigning irritation.
The patrol guard flinched. "Thought I saw something."
"You saw wrong. Leave."
As they slipped out, Sir Alin whispered through his wisp. "We need another plan."
"Wait," the protagonist said, eyes on an art piece. A signature gleamed faintly on the bottom corner.
"Who's that?"
"The Queen's father," Alin replied. "A gift."
"She signed it?"
"Yes."
Mavis's voice came alive. "Use it."
The painting shimmered as Alin activated his magic, replicating the signature into a glowing rune.
They ran.
Back at the vault, Elyra took the copy, channeling her magic through her fingertips. A glowing signature etched itself into the air.
For a moment, nothing.
Then, a sound like stone splitting thundered.
Locks within locks unfolded. The vault revealed itself.
"There," she pointed.
A miniature scepter, unassuming yet regal, stood atop a glass pedestal.
He touched it.
Warmth. Power. Pressure.
They descended back through the Queen's chamber. Just as they neared the door—torches lit.
A wall of swords met them.
The Queen Regent herself stood among the royal guard, robes like flowing dusk, her eyes twin moons of judgment.
Elyra froze. "Mother..."
Queen Elenora IV looked to the protagonist.
He swallowed.
Her gaze could burn.
Then came her words, cold and slow.
"Explain yourselves."