They were the first to return to the capital city. The raid team charged across the great bridge.

  “They’ve returned!”

  “Who? Is it Eclipse’s team?”

  “I bet it’s Evo’s!”

  The guards rang the bell towers, ushering news of their return across the city and causing a great commotion in the streets.

  Zariel and his team wasted no time as they made their way on the backs of the menagerie they rode in on—scaled beasts and a giant cat with teeth like a sabertooth’s. They were easy to spot as they passed the mural of the gods and onwards towards the Spire of Atrea.

  None of them spoke as the platform ascended the Spire.

  The people had celebrated as they rode by. Chants hailing them as “conquerors of the Citadel” had already begun down below.

  At the top of the Spire was a silver throne. Many had sat on it. There were no guards to stop them, and no sovereign occupied it. It was common for new adventurers to plant their rears on the silver throne, sometimes sitting for hours or days before eventually growing bored.

  Zariel didn’t even glance at it.

  Instead, he turned his attention to the plain, empty circular walls. Only a small segment had anything to speak of. It listed the names of each raid and those who had been the first to emerge triumphant.

  He scanned the names on the wall, as did the others:

  Crystalline Obelisk

  The Vault of Bronze

  Ashwood Mines

  Smelted Depths

  His heart was pounding.

  He held his breath as he read.

  Zantori Citadel – First Conquered By:

  Zariel the Paladin

  An exhale—immediately upon seeing his name.

  A rare smile found itself prominently displayed across the paladin’s face as he turned to his team. But just as he was about to congratulate them, he noticed their confused and disappointed expressions.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He looked at the cleric. There were tears in her eyes.

  “Casttee?”

  Zariel uttered her name delicately.

  She closed her eyes tightly and shook her head.

  Confused, he spun back around.

  Zantori Citadel – First Conquered By:

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  Zariel the Paladin

  Leaih the Cleric

  Arctic the Bard

  Evo the Gunner

  Eclipse the Warlock

  S the Rogue

  Marcatan the Chanter

  ForNot the Warrior

  “Who…who is Leaih?”

  Zariel read the wall. Once. Twice. Three times.

  “H-how could you?” Casttee said through heavy breaths. “It should’ve been us…”

  A couple members of his team were already walking towards the lift.

  Zariel glanced back at the names.

  Surely, his eyes had deceived him. It had been a long raid with a bewildering, fragmented end. Perhaps Zantor’s flames had left him with some affliction. He stepped even closer, blocking the list entirely with his armor as he read it again and again.

  It didn’t matter.

  Everyone had already left.

  Everyone except Casttee.

  It took him a while to gather the strength to face her. She was sobbing, her linen sleeves fervently wiping away the tears that ran down her cheeks.

  “Casttee, I can explain,” he began. “After you all died—there was a different boss—a different group—"

  She turned her back to him and began to walk away.

  “I wouldn’t have done it with anyone else—"

  Her stride hastened.

  “Casttee!”

  She fled from the paladin.

  Despite his strength, his faith, and his gear score, there was nothing he could do except watch as the cleric who had healed him through every encounter in Zantori Citadel abandoned him. Alone in the Spire with his achievement, the paladin was at a loss. He did not know those on the wall.

  Zariel read their names over and over.

  A trick. It was not unlike a demon to warp the senses in an attempt to prey on fears. He wondered if this was it—a fear of being abandoned by his friends.

  He wanted to be free from this horrible nightmare.

  The paladin slammed his fist into the wall. Pain, but the illusion held.

  Zariel.

  He read his own name, feeling the engraved lettering under his gauntlet.

  Leaih the Cleric.

  He punched the wall. It should have been Casttee.

  Arctic the Bard.

  “Why?” he said through gritted teeth. More pain followed another strike against the unforgiving wall.

  Evo the Gunner.

  His hands were close to breaking. But just as he was about to unleash his frustration on the wall once more, he stopped himself.

  He no longer had Casttee to heal him.

  Zariel’s hands fell in defeat, but his gaze remained on the wall.

  Evo.

  That name was familiar. The gunner from that strange place.

  A sign that it had been real.

  And now, an anger burned inside him. His team had been robbed of their glory. The paladin’s victory meant nothing without someone to share it with.

  Zariel marched towards the lift and began his descent.

  With the chains of his new sword swinging against his greaves, he vowed to find the truth and earn Casttee’s forgiveness.

  The paladin searched the capital city for any trace of his raid team and Casttee. There was no sign of them. His determined search gradually morphed into a slow, despondent trudge across the floating city. The people followed Zariel like moths to a flame.

  “Any advice?”

  “We’ve been stuck on the third boss. Can you tank it for us?”

  “Let me join your guild! Please!”

  The crowd grew the more he walked, but their incessant chattering was the furthest thing from the paladin’s mind. Since the beginning, the Spire’s walls had recorded the first group to conquer each raid. They were infallible. A reminder to those who would come after so that the legends would never fade.

  There was no mistake. The walls declared he had been the first to conquer Zantori Citadel.

  His mind wandered.

  Why him and not his guildmates? It was him and Casttee that had signed the guild’s charter together once they had reached level 10.

  The two of them naively pooled all their gold they had gotten from questing. It hadn’t been enough, so they chose to sell raw materials like coarse boar skin. At level 15, they didn’t have many options.

  It had taken a lot of boars.

  They didn’t care about the cost. It was well worth it to them. The two had been inseparable since they bumped into each other at Revenshein’s gates all those levels ago. There, where the great bridge ended and Verban began, the two formed a bond that would last through their leveling journey and serve as the bedrock of their new guild.

  Zariel now stood at that same gate and looked over the bridge. The crowd behind him was growing concerned. There was no end to their gossip.

  What sort of trials and tribulations had he faced in the Citadel? Why did he seem so dejected?

  Zariel ignored them.

  He walked across the bridge and stood before the fields of Verban.

  It was on those fields and hills that all journeys began.

  Where his had started with hers.

  All Zariel could think about was the guild.

  He wasn’t sure if he still had one.