The second part of the evaluation was nothing like Sora expected.

  Wait...that's it? No fighting? Sora felt relieved that instead of a brutal sparring match, the second part of the evaluation was far less brutal than the obstacle course. A guild healer—a tired-looking elf with bags under her eyes—checked Sora’s wings, talons, and overall health with the enthusiasm of someone who had seen a thousand rookies and would see a thousand more.

  “Hmph. Good muscle tone. Slight calcium deficiency—eat more fish,” she muttered, jotting notes on a clipboard. “Next.”

  The strength assessment was straightforward: hit a target dummy, that's all.

  Sora took a deep breath and unleashed a controlled burst of wind. The dummy rocked back, its straw-filled torso rippling from the impact.

  “Wind Magic: Tier 2,” the evaluator called out. “Not bad for a beginner.”

  Fiara gave an approving nod. “Could use more punch, but you’ve got the basics down.”

  Then came the real surprise.

  A crystal ball sat on a velvet cushion, glowing faintly. The evaluator—a bald dwarf with a beard braided into intricate knots—gestured for Sora to place his talons on it.

  “This’ll tell us what kind of magic yer soul’s aligned with. Don’t drop it, lad. Costs more than your life savings.”

  Sora hesitated, then touched the crystal.

  Sora hesitated. Magic compatibility? What does that even mean? I already have [Divine Light], but is that… normal?

  For a moment, nothing happened.

  …Did I break it?

  Then—

  Light.

  A radiant, golden glow erupted from the sphere, so bright the guild hall’s lanterns dimmed in comparison. The light twisted into intricate patterns—flaring wings, a halo-like ring—before settling into a steady pulse.

  The dwarf’s jaw dropped.

  “...Divine magic.”

  Silence.

  Then—chaos.

  Whispers exploded across the room:

  “Oh no. The Church’s gonna swarm this place.”

  “Divine? But he’s a harpy—”

  “Why the gods bless a race that isn't human?!”

  "Not the first time the gods did that, remember priestess Caroline."

  "Yeah, but she's a half elf"

  Sora’s feathers puffed up. Wait, why is this bad? Divine magic is just… magic, right?

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  Mikalien, for once, was speechless. Creed’s fingers twitched toward his bow, as if expecting a holy inquisition to burst through the doors.

  Fiara leaned in, with a Sarcastic tone. “It was nice knowing you Chirp.”

  Sora’s tail puffed up. Why is this bad?!

  Mutarea, ever pragmatic, clapped him on the back. “Look on the bright side! Now you’ve got an excuse to drink. Trust me, you’ll need it.”

  Across the guild hall, the hooded figure stood—slowly, deliberately. Their greatsword gleamed as they turned, vanishing into the shadows.

  But not before Sora caught a glimpse of their eyes.

  Silver. Like moonlight on a blade.

  And for some reason, that sent a shiver down his spine.

  <> ? <>

  Linda, the guild receptionist, massaged her temples as if trying to physically push back the headache threatening to split her skull in two. The stack of paperwork in front of her had somehow grown since the divine magic incident, and she was fairly certain she’d just spotted her first gray hair.

  "Another one," she muttered under her breath. "Just what I needed—another Light magic user or in this case Divine user."

  Across the desk, Creed leaned forward, his voice low. "How bad is it?"

  Linda didn’t look up. "Remember the last time someone with light magic showed up? The Church sent three paladins to 'politely request' they join their ranks. They camped in the lobby for two weeks."

  Fiara’s ears flattened. "They can’t just take him, can they?"

  "Legally? No." Linda’s pen stabbed into the paperwork. "Morally? Also no. But since when has that stopped them?"

  Sora, perched on a nearby stool, chirped nervously. Wait, so just because I have divine magic, they think they can kidnap me?

  Mikalien, who had been unusually quiet since the test, suddenly slammed her hands on the desk. "We could hide him! Disguise him! I’ve got a potion that can—"

  "No," Linda and Creed said in unison.

  Mutarea, ever helpful, added, "Bird’s too shiny. Also, he chirps. Not exactly subtle."

  Sora’s tail lashed. Excuse me?!

  "Also pretty much every guild member saw what happened," Fiara added.

  Linda sighed, rubbing her eyes. "Look, the Church will come. But they’re not the only ones interested in divine magic users. The Arcane Society, the Alchemist Guild—hells, even the Thieves’ Union keeps tabs on them."

  "Why?" Fiara asked.

  "Because divine magic is rare," Linda said, finally looking up. "And power like that? Everyone wants a piece of it."

  Sora’s stomach dropped. Great. So I’m either getting recruited, kidnapped, or whats that other thing again?

  Just then, the guild doors burst open.

  A hush fell over the room.

  Three figures stood in the entrance, their white-and-gold robes pristine, their expressions serene.

  The lead templar smiled.

  "We’ve come for the blessed one."

  <>

  Few hours earlier

  The Drunken Kraken was in full swing, its wooden tables sticky with ale and its air thick with laughter. In the corner, the minotaur—Borgun—sloshed his tankard toward the hooded figure beside him, foam dripping onto the floor.

  "Did ya see that, Nick? That harpy’s got Light magic! Never seen someone that isn't human or elf blessed before!" he bellowed, his voice carrying over the din.

  The gnome perched on the stool next to them—Skril, a tinkerer with grease permanently staining his fingers—rolled his eyes. "It’s Divine magic, ya meat-headed lummox. Not the same thing. Light magic’s like a candle. Divine’s like the sun." He took a swig of his drink. "Also, the Church is gonna lose their minds."

  Nick, the hooded figure, didn’t respond. His silver eyes glinted from under the shadow of his cloak, fixed on the guild hall across the street. His fingers tapped once—slow, deliberate—against the hilt of his greatsword.

  Borgun grinned, tusks gleaming. "Bet ya ten gold the templars try to drag him off by sunrise."

  Borgun drained his ale, then slammed the tankard down hard enough to make the gnome’s tools rattle. “Speaking of the Church heard from a caravan guard today—Holy Kingdom’s mobilizing troops near the Blackfang Pass. Again.”

  Skril adjusted his grease-stained goggles, unimpressed. “So? They’ve been posturing at the Demon Kingdom’s border for years. Only thing they’re ‘invading’ is their own supply budget.”

  Nick’s finger traced the rim of his untouched drink, silver eyes flicking toward the guild hall’s direction. “This time’s different.”

  Borgun leaned in. “How?”

  “Aebira’s out.” Nick’s voice was a blade’s edge. “Their have been frequent pirate raids on their Islands lately with one the groups raided their western docks last week.

  "How's the demon kingdom to this responding." Borgun said.

  "Hard to say," Skril adjusted his goggles, the lenses flickering with faint enchantments. “Demon Kingdom’s tighter than a dragon’s hoard these days. Getting intel out of there? Near impossible unless you fancy being flayed alive.”

  He tossed a small, shimmering orb onto the table—a smuggled memory crystal, its surface swirling with hazy images.

  "But I got this from a... contact in the Floating Isles. Pricey little bastard, too."

  The crystal flared to life, projecting a flickering image:

  A towering figure clad in obsidian armor, their horned helm carved into the snarling visage of a demon. Behind them, the jagged silhouette of the Floating Isles’ outer cliffs loomed, still smoldering from the aftermath of Sora’s divine beam days prior.

  "General Vareth," Nick rasped, his silver eyes narrowing. "Of the Undead Legion also known as the Spear of the undead."

  Borgun’s grip tightened around his tankard. "The hell’s one of them doing here? Demon nobility doesn’t do ‘field trips.’"

  "They do when divine light scorches a hole in the sky," Skril said dryly. "That pillar wasn’t exactly subtle."

  The image shifted—Vareth knelt, gauntleted fingers brushing the charred earth where Sora’s magic had struck. Even through the crystal’s haze, the tension in the general’s posture was unmistakable.

  Nick’s voice cut through the silence like a knife.

  "Church wants the harpy for faith. Demons want him for war. And the guild?" He smirked. "They’re stuck in the middle."

  Borgun laughed, though it lacked its usual warmth. "So the kid’s either a holy relic, a weapon, or a paycheck. Poor bastard."

  Skril whistled. “Yeah, what about the Demons allies though anything new at the Lawless Wastelands?”

  “Chaos as always.” Nick’s stated blandly.

  Skrill snickered. "Yeah, don't blame them with Warlord Drogath’s dead for decades each clans have been carving each other up for his throne heard their new leader died recently.

  Borgun rubbed his horns thoughtfully. "What about the Elves?”

  “Neutral. Officially.” Nick’s gaze darkened. “But the forest of Briza’s too quiet. Even for them.”

  Skril spun a screwdriver between his fingers. “Us and the Dwarves won’t pick sides. War’s bad for business—unless you’re selling weapons.”

  A grim silence settled over the table.

  Then Borgun grinned, tusks gleaming. “Good thing we’re adventurers, eh? War means contracts. Contracts mean pay.”

  Nick’s hand rested on his greatsword. “Or graves.”