Chapter 7: Orientation
"What a load of bull- sigh."
Fin stood by the gear table, his fingers brushing over a scratched-up dagger. It wasn't shiny or cool like the swords the other recruits were grabbing—it was small, chipped, and kind of sad-looking.
'It's something, I guess,' he thought with a smirk. He slipped it into his belt, then grabbed a basic vest that smelled like old sweat and metal. It hung loose on his skinny frame, but it'd have to do.
Around him, the other newbies were buzzing with energy. Muscle Guy flexed in his new vest like he was posing for a billboard, while Red Hair twirled a knife between his fingers—until he dropped it and cursed loud enough to echo.
Bow Girl was quieter, testing the weight of a short bow with a nod, like she already knew what she was doing. Fin just tried not to trip over his own boots as he shuffled back to the benches.
Instructor Vance stood on the platform, arms crossed, watching them like a hawk. His scar gleamed under the warehouse lights, and his gravelly voice cut through the chatter.
"Alright, you lot! Settle down and listen up. You're gearing up, so I'll tell you what's next. Some of you might already know, some of you are clueless—looking at you, slum boy." He shot a glance at Fin, who shrank a little in his seat.
Fin forced a grin. "Uh, thanks for the shoutout?"
Vance didn't smile. "Don't get cute. Here's the deal. This city's got multiple guilds. Hunter Guild's the big dog—everyone registers here, and you can work for us. But there's others out there too. Smaller guilds, richer guilds, weirder guilds. They've got their own power, their own pull. And they're always sniffing around for fresh meat."