Lololoshka

The Horns and Cauldron Guild Tavern is never truly quiet. But today, it's quiet. Not the quiet before a storm, but the quiet that settles after loss.

Lololoshka sat at a round oak table in the corner, his back to the wall, facing the hall. His sword rested at his foot, the hilt within his hand. The stone tablets in front of him listed tasks from "E" to "S." Most of them were rat-catching and barn guarding. Nothing worthy of his level. He didn't look at them. He stared at the table.

Tuilin sat on the left. She had healed her wound with the green glow of mana, but her hand holding the spoon trembled slightly. She stared at the edge of the tabletop—where Egrasel's mug had once stood. It hadn't been removed yet.

Across the table, Valdhar was finishing his third mug. He drank slowly, with a grim, bitter expression, and remained silent. Usually he joked or pestered the waitresses, but today, only heavy sighs.

Lololoshka knew what they were thinking. About Egrassel. The mage shielded them as the ceiling collapsed. He managed to shout "run"—and a second later he was gone. He simply did what he always did: protected the squad. Now his place was empty. Each new contract seemed more dangerous—without a mage, there was no protection from curses and traps. Lololoshka wasn't afraid of death. He was afraid that next time he wouldn't be able to save one of them.

A voice rang out from the stone counter bearing the guild's crest—two crossed blades over a bowl. Secretary Marta, a tall, red-haired woman, clutched a parchment and scrawled:

"Young man, this is the third time: a B-level assignment is not issued without a recommendation. Come back in a year or find a squad."

Opposite stood a guy in a cloak, with a staff and a self-confident look. A magician.

• I can handle it alone.

Martha didn't smile:

• You'll manage. At the morgue.

Lololoshka grinned into his mug, but the grin faded. People like that came every day. Every third one never returned.

He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. In his chest, beneath the scars, the Spark pulsed with warmth. It wasn't time yet. But he felt something had to change.