(Prologue) Turning the Page

Out on a clearing in the woods of Crystal Bay, a cockatrice lay in wait—a fearsome beast with the head of a rooster and the body of a reptile. Its beady eyes scanned the trees with patient malice. This one stood nearly nine feet tall, massive for its kind and deep into its prime.

A three-foot juvenile? Hardy farmers could manage that.

But this? This called for seasoned adventurers.

The air was tense as the B-Rank party—the Valorbound Pact—took their positions.

Jared Ironbrook, their leader, a registered Warrior, stepped forward, sword in hand, eyes locked ahead with purpose.

“Stay alert,” he warned, voice low and steady. “This beast is cunning.”

Without warning, the cockatrice lunged.

Jared braced, digging his foot into the earth. He made sure not to meet its gaze—cockatrice eyes were said to turn men to stone, and today wasn’t the day to test the legends.

“Faye, buff me!”

“You got it, Leader!”

Faye Greythorne, the party’s Cleric, raised her pale willow wood staff, locking eyes on Jared as he lifted his shield to intercept the blow.

“By hearts united—Sanctum!”

A soft blue shimmer enveloped Jared just as the cockatrice slammed into him. The impact cracked through the clearing, but the divine ward held firm. Any ordinary shield would have splintered on contact.

Faye pivoted, swinging her staff to the side.

“By dawn’s grace—Tailwind!”

A glowing white ring of light spun into being beside her.

From the treeline, a cloaked figure burst forward, sprinting through the circle—moving now at twice their usual speed.

Twin daggers flared as Kai the Rogue darted past the others and carved a vicious arc across the cockatrice’s legs.

The creature shrieked in pain, stumbling away from Jared as it turned to face this new threat.

“Um, um… two sprinkles of wormwood…” Elena Briarstone, the bespectacled alchemist, muttered as she dug frantically through her satchel of ingredients.

“One more pinch of charcoal…” Her fingers closed around a small glass vial, hands trembling as another screech echoed through the trees.

Startled, she hastily shook the concoction and hurled it with all her might. “EEEP! Take this—smoke bomb!”

Her aim wasn’t perfect, but close enough. The vial shattered with a sharp crack, releasing a thick plume of smoke.

The cockatrice’s shrieks shifted—from rage to confusion—as the fog enveloped its vision. Disoriented, the beast stumbled.

High above, perched on a gnarled branch, Lucien Windgrave drew his bow. His eyes narrowed through the haze. The monster remained visible, but barely—and he knew better than to trust stillness.

Cockatrices could fly. Too many adventurers forgot that, and paid the price.

“Snare Shot,” he whispered.

The arrow loosed with a snap, its oversized head splitting midair into an expanding net of arcane bindings. The trap unfolded perfectly, catching the thrashing beast as it bellowed in alarm.

As Elena’s smokescreen began to thin, the cockatrice scanned the clearing with wild, twitching movements.

Surrounded. Wounded. Desperate.

The beast unleashed its fury—screeching loud enough to shake leaves from the trees. Jared, Faye, and Elena reeled, covering their ears as the shrill sound pierced through their skulls.

Kai moved low and quick, circling for another strike—but the creature’s frenzy made a clean hit nearly impossible.

Lucien nocked another arrow, eyes locked on the thrashing beast below. The bindings wouldn’t hold forever—he had to end it now.

“Multi-Shot!”

With a flicker of replication magic, a single arrow split mid-flight, duplicating into five. The shots struck true, slamming into the cockatrice’s ribcage in rapid succession.

Enraged and wounded, the creature turned toward Lucien’s perch, its instincts locked onto the threat. With a wet hiss, it spat a stream of corrosive acid upward.

Lucien’s reflexes saved him. He dove from the branch just in time, landing in a crouch as the acidic spit sizzled through bark where he had stood moments ago.

“Flame scorches my bones —”

A shadow swept across the battlefield, swallowing the cockatrice in sudden darkness.

It looked up— just in time to see a blazing fireball hurtling down from above.

“Fireball!”

From midair, Arlen Bright hurled the spell downward, flames roaring from the tip of his maplewood staff.

The fireball struck with explosive force—the cockatrice engulfed in a wave of searing heat.

It screeched and staggered. Its body scorched and smoking—but still standing.

Not enough.

Then—Arlen fell with it.

Cloak billowing, staff gripped like a spear, he dropped from the sky above.

Reaching the beast’s charred back, he drove the staff downward, aiming for the gap where scale met feather, spine exposed.

“Coursing down my spine—Lightning Bolt!”

A crack of thunder. A streak of lightning surged from the heavens, striking the base of Arlen’s staff and exploding through the cockatrice’s body.

The monster spasmed violently—then fell.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

Its head slumped to the earth, eyes rolling back. Gasping, twitching, it tried to breathe.

It wouldn’t last.

This cockatrice didn’t belong here.

It had strayed far from its native Cragwood Forest, deep beyond the ridge. Maybe it was driven by hunger. Maybe it lost its way. Maybe it simply found pleasure in terrorizing the helpless.

~ swish ~

We would never know.

Jared Ironbrook cleaves through the elder cockatrice’s neck; a clean decapitation. That’s one less menace for the residents of Crystal Bay.

The fighter turned to his comrades, bloodied but grinning.

“Well, gang… looks like we’ll eat well tonight.”

Cheers rose around him.

The party beamed in triumph—except for Elena, who remained crouched beside the decapitated corpse, carefully collecting blood samples in glass vials, her expression glowing.

Whatever her intent with the fresh organic material, the others knew better than to ask.

====

The tavern in Foggy Glade buzzed with its usual evening liveliness—townsfolk swapping stories of their day over a meal, merchants sharing drinks, and the occasional bard strumming a familiar tune in the corner.

It wasn’t anything grand—just another roadside inn. But for the weary, and for those who'd faced near-death just hours ago, this wasn’t just an escape.

It was refuge.

It was paradise.

“Bottoms up!”

The Valorbound Pact clinked their tankards—their third round tonight… Except for Kai, who remained loyal to their steaming mug of hot honey tea. Still cloaked and fully equipped, they tugged down their face mask just enough to sip, ever the watchful one.

“Come on, Kai! Live a little!” Elena nudged her frosted ale toward the Rogue, nearly mixing their drinks—though not fast enough to beat Kai’s quick reflexes.

“Someone’s gotta stay sober when you lot start pissing yourselves,” Kai muttered dryly, setting the cup down without so much as a glance.

Their reward—five gold and eighty-eight silver for the cockatrice’s head—was a generous haul, even split six ways. Though judging by the rate of drinks, and the generous portions of buttered fish stew, spiced boar skewers, and ashen rye bread—the good stuff—they’d burn through at least twenty silver each before the night was done.

Not a soul at the table worried about it. No talk of retirement, or saving up for new gear.

Tonight, they’d earned this.

“Whatcha staring at, Lucy?” Arlen slurred slightly, elbowing Lucien with a playful smirk.

Lucien blinked, then looked away from the sweet brown-haired barmaid across the room.

“You think I got a shot?” he asked.

“If there’s one skill you don’t have, Lucy,” Jared burst out laughing, “it’s a Lover’s Arrow!”

The table erupted. Lucien flushed red, but he didn’t deny it.

Only this crew could get away with calling him Lucy—a name that clashed with his no-nonsense persona but had long since become an affectionate staple among the group.

As the laughter faded, Kai’s gaze drifted toward Faye, catching a flicker of something unreadable behind the cleric’s eyes. Not sadness exactly—but a shift. Something weighed on her.

“You okay, Faye?” Kai asked, quietly.

The others fell into silence, their attention shifting.

The warmth in the air stilled.

All eyes turned to the cleric.

“I… No, I have an announcement to make,” Faye said softly.

She slid a parchment onto the table. Making out its broken wax stamp was the emblem of Greythorne Carriages—her family’s crest.

“This came two nights ago.” Her fingers hovered at the edge of the letter.

“My family needs me back home. Dad’s heart isn’t what it used to be, and my deadbeat brother Eric’s run off again—with another harlot, no less.”

She sighed, tracing the rim of her mug.

“I thought we’d be at this forever. Just… one job after another. No end in sight. But I was wrong.”

A faint smile pulled at her lips. “I have to go home. That’s where I’m needed now.”

The table fell silent. Even as laughter and music swirled through the tavern, the Valorbound Pact sat untouched by the noise.

After a beat, Lucien raised a hand. “Actually…”

He tapped the wooden table with a sharp thud. “You all know I’ve never been quiet about this—but this town… this is the closest we’ve ever been to Skyward’s Peak.”

“It may still be another couple of months away… but I want climb it. I want to earn my way to A-Rank.”

Skyward’s Peak is an elite Archers’ guild nestled high in the treacherous mountains of Aerisnoth. Sanctioned by the Adventurers’ Charter and ratified by the Grand Guild Alliance, it remains the only location officially empowered to promote Archers to A-Rank and S-Rank.

Reaching the summit is a major trial on its own. Only the most disciplined and battle-hardened adventurers survive the ascent—navigating sheer cliffs, jagged ridgelines, and the ever-present threat of violent, howling winds.

Those who endure are granted a rare reward: the chance to hone their craft among the finest archers in the Known World, training in techniques passed down through generations.

Faye’s expression softened with a proud smile—the kind only an older sister figure could give.

“Only thoughts and dreams can get you so far,” she said gently. “If your heart rings true, then maybe… it’s time to take the next step.”

“Goddamn it!” Jared groaned, flinging his arms dramatically over his head. “Anyone else got buried dreams they wanna shout out before we all pass out drunk?”

The ale was talking—but the blood in Arlen’s wasn’t making things easier either. He swayed slightly on his stool, then stood suddenly.

Somehow, he managed to stay upright—and watch Jared’s pupils retreat in slow disbelief.

“You know…” he exhaled, stealing a glance at Jared’s cocked head. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to say for a long time.”

He planted both hands on the table.

“We’ve had a great run these last five years. From our first quest… to the goblin camp in Greywood, escorting those traders through Hollow Stump Swamp, even that ridiculous chicken rescue from the giant wasp nest —”

Elena chuckled. She couldn’t help it.

“It was all possible because there were places for folks like us. Places where misfits, dreamers, and fighters could come together. Where we could make something of ourselves, for something bigger than ourselves. I never had that growing up in Breezevale.”

He took a breath, this time steadier. “I want to build that.”

“For others like us. A place to belong. A future they can shape on their own.”

“I want to do it.” He smiled, pride flickering behind his uncertainty. “I want to start an Adventurers’ Guild.”

The silence that struck their table was deeper than before. Even the tavern's warmth felt distant, like the room itself had shifted.

It’s one thing to go home.

It’s another to plant the first stone of something greater.

Kai was the first to speak. “It’s a big task. Do you even know where to start? This kind of thing costs serious coin.”

“I’ve got those two covered, at least,” Arlen jingles his coin pouch, definitely fuller than the rest.

One of the advantages of being a Mage is self-dependency on one’s own fortitude. Planning well and striking tactically equals less coin to the armoursmith—no offense of course, to the Fighter archetypes—The Warriors and Berserkers who put their lives on the line for their party.

“But wait…” Elena blinked, fogging her glasses slightly. “If the three of you are leaving, then... that’s half the team.”

This wasn’t how the night was supposed to go.

They were supposed to be celebrating. Laughing. Planning their next job.

Instead, their shared path was forking.

Jared leaned back, arms now crossed behind his head from hanging awkwardly.

“Well… I guess this is it, huh?”

His usual grin was there—but tonight, it didn’t quite reach his eyes. A small sense of defeat.

“I’d be glad for you all to join me,” Arlen offered, hopeful.

But Kai scoffed, leaning back with exaggerated dread. “Do you know what a Rogue hates more than an unpaid job? Paperwork and administrative duties.”

Elena let out a small sniffle, brushing her sleeve across her nose.

“Feels like we’re quitting before we reach the last page.”

“Not quitting,” Faye said gently, placing a hand on her arm.

“Just turning it.”

Lucien clicked his tongue, resting his chin on one hand as he eyed Arlen.

“A guild, huh? You sure you’re ready for that kind of responsibility?”

“Not even a little,” Arlen admitted with a chuckle. “But I’m going to try. I want to.”

Jared pointed his fork at Lucien with mock sternness.

“And you better not die on us, Lucy. If we hear an Archer slipped off the cliffs of Skyward’s Peak, we’ll never let you live it down.”

The table burst into light laughter—some of it real, some of it just enough to chase the heaviness from the air.

“To never dying!” Jared raised his tankard. “And Faye—if you track down that idiot brother of yours, let me know. I owe him a proper smashing.”

Faye smiled faintly. “Trust me—I won’t share the pleasure.”

Then, more softly: “Will you three be alright?”

Kai shrugged. “I’ll manage. There’s always scouting work for someone like me.”

Elena sighed dramatically, twirling her spoon in her empty bowl.

“Gods, it sure is nice to be ambitious… Maybe I’ll take a vacation somewhere quiet. With tea. And less screaming.”

With another long swig, Jared jolted upright with one foot on his stool, raising his mug.

“This isn’t goodbye,” he declared, grinning. “We’ll cross paths again.”

Tankards clinked again as the group raised their voices:

“To new beginnings!”

Then Jared leaned toward Arlen and clapped him on the shoulder. “And hey, Arlen—best of luck with your guild. I believe in you.”

The party leader looked around the table.

“We all do.”

Arlen’s eyes lit with a quiet warmth, the kind that didn’t burn but lingered deep in the chest.

The kind that stayed.

“Thanks, Leader,” he said softly.

Around the table, each of them smiled. Even through Kai’s fully covered face, Arlen could tell.

This wasn’t goodbye.

Not really.

The Valorbound Pact would meet again.