An Archmage Among Adventurers

Midday arrived, with the sun perched high and hard in the sky, casting pale light over the streets of Greymire. Ellie stood at the edge of the town square, watching the final preparations for the journey north. Her hands remained deep within the folds of her cloak, fingers brushing against the copper guild token like an anchor in a sea of uncertainty.

The rescue party had gathered near the western gate, their gear packed and ready, the quiet camaraderie of experienced adventurers hanging between them like an old, comfortable cloak. Three figures made up the group. Gorran, the burly man with the scarred arms who had volunteered her services, was tightening the straps on his pack with a methodical patience that spoke of years spent in the field.

“Ellie!” Gorran called, breaking her reverie. “You ready? We’ll leave in ten.” He flashed a reassuring smile, his scarred arms moving with practiced ease.

“I’m coming,” she replied, forcing her heart to steady. “Just taking it all in.”

Beside him stood Iona, the woman with the braided hair and the axe who had first questioned Ellie the night before. She was sharpening the broad blade with rhythmic strokes of a whetstone, her eyes glinting with quiet anticipation.

Iona looked up from her task, her brow furrowing slightly. “You look tense, Ellie. Got something on your mind?”

“It’s just... a lot to consider.” Ellie’s gaze flickered to the distant hills. “What if something goes wrong?”

“Then we’ll deal with it,” Iona replied, her voice steady. “That’s what we do. Trust our instincts.”

The third, a smaller man with quick, darting eyes, was named Talan—a tracker, by the look of him, light on his feet and keen to notice what others might overlook.

Talan chimed in, his voice quick and bright. “You’ll be fine, Ellie. Just keep your eyes open and follow us. I’ll make sure you don’t miss a step.” He flashed a grin, though Ellie could sense the underlying seriousness in his tone.

“Right. Following is what I’m good at,” she replied, a hint of sarcasm creeping into her words. “I hope that’s enough.”

“More than enough,” Gorran said with a chuckle. “We’ll all watch your back.”

Ellie kept her distance at first, watching the easy way they moved together. They were confident, these adventurers. They knew their place in the world, knew how to fit into its wild and untamed corners.

And then there was her.

A fraud standing on the edge of something far too real.

Ellie forced her feet to move, her heart thudding heavily in her chest as she approached the group. Her pack—smaller than theirs, lighter too—bumped awkwardly against her back. It felt like a mockery of the real tools of survival these adventurers carried.

She was certain, with every step, that her inexperience must be written all over her face. But they had mistaken her silence for power once. Perhaps they could do it again.

"We’re heading toward the mines." Gorran slung his pack over his shoulder, his eyes scanning the road ahead. "Should be easy going for the first half of the day. The terrain gets rough after that, but nothing we can’t handle."

Ellie nodded, though the knot of anxiety in her stomach tightened with every word. The mines, the north, the dangers that might lurk there—all of it felt like a shadow creeping toward her, growing darker with each step they would take.

She had heard rumors of the old mines, the strange creatures that were said to wander the paths nearby, drawn by the remnants of ancient magic in the rocks. It had seemed distant then, a story told over mugs of ale in the guildhall. Now it loomed before her like a storm on the horizon.

Iona sheathed her axe with a practiced motion and clapped Gorran on the shoulder. "Let’s hope this isn’t just some fool getting lost after too many drinks at the tavern."

Gorran chuckled. "Could be. But we’re not taking chances."

Talan, who had been silently adjusting the straps on his boots, stood and brushed the dust from his knees. "Tracks are cold by now, if we’re lucky. But I know the area. If he’s still out there, we’ll find him."

Ellie kept her gaze on the ground as they spoke, nodding at intervals, trying to seem absorbed in the conversation but not too eager. Her skin prickled with the sense that they were watching her, even in their moments of banter. They were waiting. Waiting for her to show them something. To reveal herself in some way.

She swallowed, forcing the words past the tightness in her throat. "I’ll do what I can."

The group accepted the statement without comment. No one pressed her, and for that, she was grateful. Gorran simply gave a short nod, his expression unreadable, and then turned toward the gate.

"Let’s move out."

The road stretched before them in a winding, dusty ribbon, cutting through the low hills and sparse woods that lay between Greymire and the mountains beyond. The first few hours passed in silence, the quiet rhythm of boots on dirt the only sound between them. Ellie kept pace just behind the others, her eyes fixed on the road ahead, her mind spinning with possibilities.

What would happen when they reached the mines? What would they expect of her when danger inevitably found them? She had to be ready, somehow—ready to bluff her way through, to weave some thread of misdirection that would keep her secret safe.

But her magic was weak, barely enough to tip a carriage, and here she was, walking with people who had likely faced down bandits, monsters, and worse. What would they do when they realized she couldn’t save them?

Iona’s voice cut through her thoughts, pulling her back to the present. "You ever been out this way, Ellie?"

"No." Ellie blinked, her mind scrambling for an answer. "This is my first time in the north."

Iona nodded, falling into step beside her. "Good place to cut your teeth, if you’re looking for real adventure. Not as wild as the southlands, but rough enough to keep things interesting."

Ellie managed a faint smile, though it felt brittle. "I suppose so."

The road began to climb as they moved deeper into the hills, the trees growing denser, the air cooler. Gorran led the way, his broad frame cutting a steady path through the underbrush when the trail grew narrow. Talan ranged ahead, his sharp eyes scanning the ground for signs of the missing adventurer. Iona remained close to Ellie, her presence a quiet but constant reminder of the expectations hanging over her.

As the hours stretched on, Ellie’s anxiety deepened. The further they moved from Greymire, the more distant her flimsy confidence seemed. Her magic had always felt small, weak—a child’s trick compared to the power her sister wielded so easily. And now, she was walking into danger, expected to use it to save lives. It felt like a slow unraveling, each step tugging at the fragile threads of her deception.

But she couldn’t turn back now.

The sun was sinking lower by the time they reached a rocky outcrop overlooking the valley below. The trees thinned here, giving way to jagged cliffs and narrow paths that twisted their way toward the distant mountains.

Gorran called for a halt, motioning for the others to gather around. "We’re getting close now. The mines are just beyond that ridge."

Talan crouched by the edge of the cliff, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the terrain. "Tracks are faint, but he passed this way. We’re on the right path."

Ellie’s pulse quickened. They were close now—close to whatever lay ahead, close to the moment when she would have to prove herself. Or fail.

She glanced at Iona, who was tightening the straps on her axe. The woman caught Ellie’s gaze. "We’ll find him. No need to worry. Just stick with us."

Ellie nodded, though her throat was dry. The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the valley, and the path ahead seemed to darken with it. She could feel the weight of expectation pressing down on her, heavier with every step they took.

The mines were waiting. And whatever lay within them would not be fooled by silence and misdirection.