Inside the hall, silence prevails. A few workers have already arrived, gloomily moving papers from one place to another. A couple more showed up, all carried satchels bearing the mark of the city hall, half-drowsy. They must have entered through a different door, as they walk past the beggar, heading in the opposite direction. The air feels cold— they must have left that door open.

  The floor is dirty and neglected, scattered with papers, but no one seems to take notice as they walk by. Everyone appears busy, yet they merely drift aimlessly, never pausing or acknowledging the disarray around them.

  The reception is empty, and a sign—weathered with age—reads, "Interview this way."

  As the beggar follows the sign, it begins to diverge. The walls are covered with varying "Interview" signs, each one layered on top of the other, some corners yellowed and creased. Is this a test? He can’t tell. But judging by the residue of magic energy—what he hopefully has learned by heart now to call "thauma"—he deduces that one sign was posted a few days ago, and the other, perhaps, years ago.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  "Better than glue," he thinks. Glue costs only three coppers, but if it were glued, it would be harder to distinguish which sign was newer.

  Still, the journey is far from smooth. Several rooms are empty or locked, with old titles to be interviewed still posted on the doors. He retraces his steps, following another sign that leads him further into the labyrinth.

  After considerable backtracking and wandering, he finds himself back at the reception. The sign above the door now leans slightly to the left, revealing a narrow, dimly lit hallway. He hesitates, confusion creeping in, but eventually takes a leap of faith. He steps forward, inching his way down the passage. He secretly hopes this is not the right direction, otherwise he will drown himself in embarrassment.

  However, each step brings him closer to the supposed position for "Junior Streetlamp Igniter." Streetlamp misspelt and awkwardly jumbled in place.

  He curses loudly, then quickly quiets himself. In the meanwhile, a pang of discomfort starts to twist in his stomach.

  Now, standing before the correct door, he waits to be called inside.