The forest path widens, and soon the trees give way to stone.
Massive gates loom ahead, flanked by tall watchtowers and guards in navy tabards. Beyond the walls, the rooftops stretch wide—banners fluttering from chimneys, chiming bells from merchant stalls, the noise of actual civilization. Not a sleepy village. A real settlement.
The pink-haired boy blinks at the sudden bustle. "Huh. It's big."
"Told you it wasn't jail," one of the knights muttered.
The gates open for them, and the group files in.
Inside, the village—no, town—is alive. Carts rattle down cobbled roads, vendors shouting over each other, a pair of kids dash past holding roasted skewers. One knight waves to a blacksmith, who nods back, grease on his face, then returns to hammering glowing iron.
The dog-boy flinches at the hammer strike.
The ranger stares down a peddler hawking love potions. "This place is… an operational nightmare. I don't trust a town that sells affection in bottles."
"W-Welcome to Crestfall," the younger knight says, gesturing to the open plaza.
"Main adventuring hub in the region. Monster activity in the woods makes it a hot zone. We've got inns, guild branches, supply outposts, you name it."
"A logistical trap," the ranger replies. "Draw in glory-seekers. Thin out the fools. Smart."
"Well, uh, technically adventurers. But close enough."
They stop near a stone statue of a gryphon holding a sword in its beak. A few other knights break off to report in, leaving the trio with the flustered squad leader.
"Okay," he starts, trying to sound more official. "So, here's the deal. Fighting monster—or anything, really—without a registered adventurer card is illegal inside Crestfall. Even in self-defense."
"…That's stupid," the pink-haired boy says, scratching the back of his head.
"Yeah, well," the knight grumbles "It cuts down on vigilantes and idiots swinging swords at shadows."
"Finally," the ranger murmurs. "A system with structure. Chaos has limits here. I approve."
"We're taking you to get registered," the knight went on, ignoring the commentary. "It's just paperwork. Magical paperwork, but still. They'll scan your mana, assign a rank, issue a card with your name and—uh…" He pauses, glancing back at the pink-haired boy. "Wait, do you even have a name yet?"
The boy shrugs. "Still working on that."
The knight stares, then gives up and gestures them towards a building across the square—tall stone, glowing signage, and a carved emblem of a sword crossed with a scroll.
"C'mon. Guild branch is this way."
As they start walking, the pink-haired boy glances at the knight again.
"Why are you helping us?" he asks, voice calm but direct. "I don't remember anything, but I'm not dumb. People don't just help."
There's something behind his eyes—instinct, maybe.
The ranger nods slightly. "Assisting unknowns without verification of allegiance. Curious behavior. Illogical… or admirable."
The knight sighs. "Knights are sworn to help anyone and everyone. Even the strange ones. Even the ones who don't live here."
He glances at the pink-haired boy. "And you… you remind me of my late grandson. In a weird way."
The pink-haired boy tilts his head, processing that. He doesn't reply, but he walks a little quieter after.
The hammering fades. The crowd doesn't.
Still, he keeps walking.
--------------------------------------------------------------
The building ahead is taller than most – stone walls veined with glowing runes, high-arched windows lined with brass latticework. A wooden sign swings above the door, bearing the emblem of a sword and scroll. Below it, someone's scrawled "NO QUESTS FOR GOATS" in red chalk. The chalk is smudged. There are hoofprints on the step.
The lead knight opens the massive double doors and signs for the trio to enter.
Inside, the guild is… less majestic.
A wide front desk dominates the room, behind which a tired elf in half-moon glasses stamps a never-ending pile of papers. A chalkboard to the side lists open bounties:
-Basilisk nest (bring proof)
-Forest spirit sightings (verify sanity first)
-Missing cat (again)
-Contain B+ rank dragon (bring horn to verify)
Adventurers lounge in mismatched chairs, boots muddy, gear clanking, voices raised. One table has a card game going. Another has a bard passed out on a lute case.
A bulletin board nearby reads:
"NO SWORD FIGHTS INSIDE. LAST WARNING."
Crystal orbs glow faintly in wall sconces, casting a soft purple light. Near the counter stands a large, rune-etched mirror, cackling faintly—some kind of mana scanner. Next to it, a small wooden stand holds blank cards stacked like playing decks, each one faintly humming with enchantment.
"Those'll be your adventurer ID cards," the lead knight says, catching them staring.
The pink-haired boy sniffs the air. "Smells like wet dog in here."
"I agree," the ranger says, deadpan. "I've infiltrated bandit hideouts more organized than this place."
"It's not that bad!" a knight escort chimes in. "…Okay, yeah, the goat incident was last week. But it's usually better."
The dog-boy quietly eyes the enchanted mirror. His ears twitch, nervous.
"Let's get you signed up, shall we?" the lead knight says, leading them to the reception desk.
"Hi, can we get—"
The elf doesn't look up. "Name, mana signature, and if you're cursed, don't lie. We'll find out."
"Well," the lead knight says looking back at the trio. "Who wants to go first?"
"Wait," The ranger says, blinking. "We haven't actually introduced ourselves to each other yet, have we?"
"Guess not." The pink-haired boy shrugs.
"S-Should w-we do that first…?" The dog-boy asks quietly.
"I'll go first, then," The ranger says, straightening with unnatural formality. He places a hand on his chest and announces, in a voice like he's unveiling a prophecy:
"I am Bobriandothal Wyrmscourge of the Hollow Pines, Second-Born to the antlered Vigil, Defender of the Ninefold Path of Shadow and Flame, Bearer of the Moonbrand Oath, Slayer of Bureaucrats and Beasts Alike."
There is a long pause.
The knights look at him, silently blinking.
The pink-haired boy blinks slowly.
"…Yeah, I'm calling you Bob."
"That is acceptable," Bob says gravely, nodding once. "It is the name I use when speaking to the uninitiated."
"And you," He looks at the dog-boy. "What may you be called by?"
The dog-boy looks nervous, ears and tail twitching. "I-I… I'm called Riven," he says after a breath.
"A fine name. nice to meet you," Bob says approvingly.
Riven nervously looks at the pink-haired boy.
Bob also looks at him, expectantly.
"I don't know my name." he says, shrugging his shoulders.
"S-Should w-we give you a n-name…?" Riven chimes in.
"This should have been expected," Bob says.
Bob walks over to the pink-haired boy, wordlessly turns him around, and lifts the waistband of his shorts like he's inspecting a warranty label.
"Aiven," He announces. "It says Aiven. Written in… blue thread. Cursive. Interesting choice."
A beat.
"You're giving me a wedgie." Aiven deadpans.
"Correct," Bob says. "Identification via undergarment rune-tag is a time-honored field tactic. I once retrieved a missing diplomat this way."
The entire room stares at them in stunned silence.
"What?" Bob says. "You mean your parents don't enchant your clothes with personal metadata?"
"Well, mine certainly doesn't," one knight mutters
"Guess mine did," Aiven says, eyes half-lidded.
There is a long, stunned silence.
The elf at the front desk finally looks up. She sets down her stamp.
"…Did he just…identify him using enchanted underpants?" she asks flatly.
One of the lounging adventurers snorts into his drink. Another claps once, then says, "You know what? I respect it."
"Are they… always like this?" a knight escort mutters to the lead knight.
"No idea," he replies, rubbing his temples. "I just met them this morning."
Behind the counter, the elf sighs, digs under the desk, and pulls out a small form labeled "Weird party" in gold ink. She sets it beside the stack of blank ID cards.
"I'll get the anomaly cards," she mutters. "Y'all are gonna break something."