Chapter 86: A Name Lost and Found
The Eryndral Adventurers’ Guild was as unimpressive as ever. A single table beneath the gnarled oak tree, the same rickety bounty board half-covered in faded parchments, and the ever-present scowl of the resident guildmaster—a grumpy old Satyr who looked like he hated adventurers almost as much as he relied on them.
Marcus, Vira, Arixa, and Thalron made their way through the lightly wooded clearing, still wearing the dust and exhaustion from their last battle. They hadn't stopped long after their victory over the Red Orcs, eager to claim their rewards and—more importantly—check on a long-standing request.
Marcus stepped forward and casually tossed a Red Orc warband emblem onto the table. The jagged obsidian insignia clinked against the wood, drawing the Satyr’s gaze. His amber eyes flickered to the artifact, then to Marcus, and then to the rest of the group.
Silence stretched between them.
Finally, the Satyr sighed. “…Well, damn.”
Arixa smirked. “Told you.”
Vira leaned in, arms crossed. “Now, about our rank.”
The Satyr grumbled something under his breath before flipping open a heavy ledger, running a calloused finger down the page. “Iron, Iron, Iron… Steel.” His eyes settled on Marcus. “Figures you were already there.”
Thalron exhaled through his nose. “Not anymore.”
With an exaggerated roll of his eyes, the Satyr dipped his quill into ink and scrawled across their listings. “Fine. Congratulations, you reckless lunatics. You’re all Steel Rank now.”
A notification flickered in Marcus’ vision.
Party Members Promoted to Steel Rank!
Arixa - Steel Rank
Vira - Steel Rank
Thalron - Steel Rank
Arixa grinned, jabbing Marcus in the arm. “We’re caught up now. No more head starts.”
Marcus chuckled, rubbing his shoulder. “You say that like I was trying to leave you behind.”
Arixa scoffed. “Tch. Just don’t slow down.”
The Satyr tossed a few pouches of gold onto the table. “Here. Bonus for actually living through that mission.”
Vira caught hers mid-air, shaking her head. “I swear, you were convinced we were gonna die.”
“I still am,” the Satyr muttered, turning back to his ledger. “You lot keep pulling this crazy shit, it’s only a matter of time.”
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Marcus smirked. “Don’t worry, we’ll try to die somewhere inconvenient.”
The Satyr snorted. “Good. Makes paperwork easier.”
They turned to leave—but Arixa hesitated.
She wasn’t looking at the bounty board or the Satyr. Instead, her eyes were fixed on the far side of the table, where a stack of parchment sat—messages, reports, and responses to ongoing information requests.
Marcus followed her gaze before turning to the Satyr. “Anything come in for us?”
The Satyr barely looked up. “Dunno. Haven’t checked.”
Marcus gave him a look.
The Satyr let out an exaggerated sigh before flipping through the pages. “Let’s see… rumors about the blood curse, no updates. Missing mage in the eastern woods, no sightings. Someone’s pet wyvern got loose—good luck with that.”
Then—his movements slowed.
His brows furrowed slightly as he pulled a thin scrap of parchment from the pile. His gaze flicked between the page and Arixa before he wordlessly handed it over.
Arixa took it carefully.
The handwriting was precise, formal.
Arixa’s grip on the paper tightened.
Thalron leaned over her shoulder, reading along. “Auralis Glades… That’s two weeks east of here.”
Vira exhaled. “A nomadic archive? That’s gonna be fun to track.”
Marcus studied Arixa’s face. She had been searching for answers since they met. She had grown stronger, become a warrior, made a name for herself—but none of that filled the gap of who she was.
“Arixa,” Marcus said. “This is your call.”
Arixa was silent for a long moment. Then, finally, she folded the parchment, tucking it into her pouch.
“We go.”
Marcus nodded. “Then we go.”
Reflections on the Road
As the party left Eryndral, the conversation dwindled into quiet reflection. Arixa was uncharacteristically silent. Normally, she’d be the loudest of them all—bragging, sparring, pushing for the next fight.
Now, she stared at the horizon.
Marcus walked beside her, hands in his pockets. “What are you thinking?”
Arixa’s jaw tightened. “I don’t know.”
Marcus raised an eyebrow. “That’s a first.”
She huffed, but it lacked her usual bite. “Shut up.”
Silence stretched between them before she finally spoke.
“I always assumed they were dead,” she admitted. “Or that they never wanted me in the first place.”
Marcus listened.
“I wasn’t raised by Minotaurs. Wasn’t raised by Centaurs either. I grew up with Beastfolk nomads—people who had no reason to take me in, but did anyway.” She exhaled. “I was… a burden. I slowed them down when I was small. I couldn’t fight the way they did.”
Her hands clenched into fists. “And when I finally got strong enough to stop being a burden… they left me behind.”
Marcus frowned. “You never told me that.”
Arixa smirked. “Didn’t exactly come up.”
They walked in silence again.
Then, Arixa turned to him. “You really think finding them is the right move?”
Marcus met her gaze. “I think knowing is the right move.”
Arixa looked away. “Yeah. I guess.”
But Marcus could hear what she wasn’t saying.
What if I don’t like the answers I get?
He didn’t have an answer for that.
So, instead, he said, “No matter what happens, we’ve got your back.”
Arixa didn’t respond right away.
Then, quietly—barely audible—she muttered, “I know.”
Ahead of them, New York loomed in the distance. Even from here, Marcus could see the glow of torches lining the walls, the structures rising taller, the trade wagons coming in and out.
Miran had been busy.
Vira nudged Marcus. “You know, technically we don’t have to leave yet. We could check in with Miran first.”
Marcus smirked. “We could.”
Thalron shrugged. “We won’t, though.”
Arixa exhaled, her grip tightening around the parchment. “Not until I get my answers.”
Marcus grinned. “Then let’s go find them.”
The party set their sights east, toward the Auralis Glades—toward the Wandering Archive, toward Arixa’s past.
This time, they weren’t chasing danger.
They were chasing the truth.
