An Archmage Among Adventurers

The late afternoon light filtered through the tall, narrow windows of the guild hall, casting golden streaks across the stone floor. Ellie sat hunched in the farthest corner, as far as she could get from the hearth and its inevitable orbit of prying stares.

A cup of watered-down ale sat untouched in her hands, its coolness seeping into her fingers as she stared blankly into it. Her thoughts twisted like the shadows lengthening up the walls, every murmur from the other adventurers grating against her nerves.

The whispers hadn’t stopped. If anything, they’d grown louder, more persistent. Every time the door creaked open, the guild seemed to pulse with excitement, newcomers casting quick, furtive glances her way before they too joined the churning rumor mill.

"She’s got the touch of a true healer," a voice murmured nearby, just loud enough for Ellie to hear. She flinched but didn’t look up.

“I saw the light. Like something from the old masters,” the speaker continued, tone filled with reverence. “Or the northern priests. That kind of magic—it’s not learned from books.”

Ellie pressed the cup to her lips, though she wasn’t thirsty. The ale tasted bitter and stale, but it gave her something to focus on other than the endless speculation swirling through the hall. She wished it would stop. They didn’t know her. They didn’t know how badly she’d botched that healing spell.

"She could turn the tide of battle," another voice chimed in, further from the hearth. "If she’s that strong, who knows what she’s really capable of?"

She clenched her jaw. That was the problem. She wasn’t capable—at least not of what they thought. The man she’d healed had been more luck than skill, but no one seemed to care about the details. The rumors had already taken root, blooming into something far bigger than the truth.

“She could be the next great mage,” someone breathed, their words thick with the kind of hope that was dangerous. The kind people clung to when they were desperate for legends.

Ellie shifted, the wooden chair creaking beneath her weight as she fought the urge to bolt. She could feel the net of expectation tightening around her, each whisper pulling it tighter. No matter how small she tried to make herself, it wouldn’t matter. They’d already decided who she was.

"Ellie Liddell?" A sharp voice sliced through the room’s noise, cutting clean through the murmur of gossip.

Her name dropped like a stone into a pond, rippling outward. She looked up reluctantly, her pulse quickening. A tall man stood at the entrance, his silhouette outlined by the fading sunlight behind him. He wasn’t one of the guild’s regulars—that much was clear. His clothing was far too fine, a dark, embroidered cloak hanging from his shoulders, the polished boots beneath it spotless. The weight of his presence alone seemed to pull the air from the room.

Ellie’s stomach twisted. Whoever he was, he wasn’t here for a drink.

The man strode toward her with purpose, each step deliberate, his eyes sharp and cold as they locked onto her. The hall had fallen silent. She could feel the collective breath of the other adventurers holding in anticipation, their eyes flicking between her and the stranger. Whatever this was, it wasn’t going to be good.

He stopped in front of her table, offering a deep, theatrical bow that made her skin crawl. "Lady Liddell," he said, his voice dripping with exaggerated politeness. "I bring greetings from Lord Ryven of Greymire. He has heard much of your... remarkable talents."

Ellie stiffened. The name sent a chill down her spine. Lord Ryven. A minor noble, yes, but powerful enough to make trouble for someone like her. And worse, he was known for his particular interest in magical talent. The kind that was far too interested.

She swallowed, forcing a smile she didn’t feel. "I’m just an adventurer," she said, waving a hand in what she hoped was a casual, dismissive gesture. "No need for formalities."

His eyes didn’t leave hers, the barest hint of a smirk playing at his lips. "Of course, of course. But Lord Ryven is a discerning man. He takes great interest in adventurers of… extraordinary skill. He extends an invitation to you, Lady Liddell, to visit his estate. There is a matter of great importance that he wishes to discuss with you personally. A task that requires someone of your unique abilities."

The word “invitation” hung heavy in the air, its polite veneer barely concealing the demand beneath it. Ellie’s heart pounded in her chest. This was worse than she’d feared. She could already feel the curious eyes of the guild members burning into her, the weight of their expectations pressing down. They wanted to see her rise to this moment, to prove the rumors true.

She needed a way out, but there was none. Declining outright would only fuel the fire, make the rumors worse. Accepting would mean walking straight into whatever trap Ryven had laid. Her mind scrambled, but the walls of the guild felt like they were closing in, the space around her shrinking with every passing second.

“I… I’m not sure I’m the one you’re looking for,” she said, her voice faltering slightly. She could feel the desperation slipping through the cracks of her composure.

The man smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "I assure you, Lord Ryven is rarely mistaken in such matters. He is most eager to meet you." He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. "Tomorrow, at noon. His carriage will be waiting."

There was no way out. She felt the corner she’d backed herself into, the walls pressing in from all sides. Ellie nodded, the word barely escaping her lips. "I’ll… be there."

The man straightened, clearly satisfied. "Excellent. I shall inform Lord Ryven of your acceptance."

With another formal bow, he turned and swept out of the hall, his cloak trailing behind him like the shadow of some dark omen. The door closed behind him with a soft thud, leaving a silence that seemed even heavier than before.

Ellie sat frozen, the cold weight of dread settling deep in her gut. The whispers around her began to stir again, but this time they carried a new edge of anticipation, like they were watching the beginning of some grand story unfold.

But to Ellie, it felt like the beginning of something far worse.