The morning sun rose from beyond the horizon. Its gentle rays bounced off a mirror and hit Norman's sleeping face. He woke up, stretched, and put on his clothes. They were a perfect fit, fluffy at the ends and embellished with wavy patterns all over the blue satin. Norman saw his reflection in the mirror. He smiled with a toothy grin, yet his eyes felt the emptiest they had ever been.

A servant stepped into the room. Dressed in white and with her frilly hair let loose, Shauna bowed before Norman.

"Are you ready, master Tobias?" She asked.

Norman turned, smiling. "Of course. Is the table set?"

"Yes, you may enter."

Norman walked through a hall garnished with chromatic glass, followed by servants on both sides. Even if the decoration seemed flashy, it was a practical way to divert rays of sunshine inside and light up the rooms. While the white rooms would otherwise be plain, the prismatic light made everything colorful, like the inside of a rainbow. Through the double doors was a round room with water flowing down the walls. It filled the room like a small bond, with a small walkway to a round marble table in the center. On one of the benches sat a tall woman towering over Norman. She dressed in dark shades of red, matching her lipstick and freckles splattered over her cheeks.

She watched down her nose as Norman sat on the opposite chair.

"Good morning, love." Norman smiled.

"Thank you, honey." Annabelle took a sip from her cup. "Care to some tea?"

"Most certainly." Norman offered his empty cup.

Annabelle's long arm stretched over to pick up the porcelain teapot and poured his cup full.

"Sugar? Honey?" She asked.

"Oh, darling. You know I drink mine black." Norman shook his head.

"It has been merely ten years since we last drank tea together." Annabelle held her smile.

"Has it been that long? How time flies with life." Norman laughed.

Annabelle smirked back at him before diverting her eyes to the servants watching from the side.

"Honey bunny and I are going to talk privately for a bit if that is alright."

The servants left the room with anxious looks on their faces.

"Can I still call you honey?" Norman asked.

"You are supposed to," Annabelle said with a pressing voice. "So, how has your research progressed?"

"Well, let's see. My research in Atlas was all but burned at the stake, so I had to get by with what I could save. My trip abroad went fine. Alanland was a bit of a letdown in terms of research, but I made some interesting observations in Albion."

"So, you haven't accomplished anything?" Annabelle sipped her tea.

"Not exactly," Norman's smile wavered. He couldn't say anything more to that. "Then, how is your life?"

"Politics, making connections, attending gatherings, the usual. A bit challenging, thanks to you."

"Hmm, so nothing new." Norman took a bun. "Did you have any personal achievements?"

"As much as you." Annabelle put the cup down. "I did tell you what I would have wanted to do during our wedding."

"Oh, I must have forgotten."

The doors opened to servants bringing in breakfast. Aside from drinks and bread, there were two silver domes.

"Here you go, lady Annabelle." The servant said, lifting her dome. "Golden brown slices, runny whiskertail eggs, steamed giant boletus, cacti jam, and mankay salad."

The dishes were personally crafted by the eater's wishes. Every proposal had to be accepted, but also contain the required nutrients and high-quality ingredients.

Another servant looked at Norman, who had an expecting grin.

"Your burger, sir Tobias." The servant held himself together. "Though it was difficult to procure, we were able to make the requested breaded axfish patties."

"Did you remember the cheese?"

"Yes, the smoked chêne cheese from Guerreterra."

"Thank you." Norman smiled ear to ear. "I will be having this every morning."

"As you wish." The servant sighed.

The two enjoyed a silent meal together. Not much remained but satisfaction and a full stomach.

"I also heard you made some...Is friends the right word?" Annabelle cleaned her mouth with a napkin.

"Is it that surprising for you?"

"I did not take you for a sociable person. You barely even danced with me during the wedding. I heard you even taught someone magic."

"It doesn't matter anymore, does it?"

"About what matters, I want you to go and get a healer for your skin." Annabelle pointed at the reddish spots all over Norman's face.

"Sorry, dear, but it's my skin and I can choose to look whatever I want."

"Perhaps you forgot who had to settle your last little expedition settlement?"

"Right, how much money did they ask for?" Norman yanked his collar.

"A hundred million doli. Straight from our treasury to those island freaks."

Norman went a bit pale. "Well, that explains why mom and dad were so angry."

"Don't forget what else your promised. Why did you agree to sell out our research? I can't look your parents in the eye anymore." Annabelle had to cover her face in shame.

"So that was the final nail to the coffin?" Norman sighed.

"Rather the last shovels of sand."

"Well, I've been in that coffin for a long time. You get used to it surprisingly quickly."

"Still, it was nice for you to cooperate for once." Annabelle nodded.

"There wasn't much of choice." Norman frowned.

"I didn't threaten you to come here."

"Whatever. It's not like the fun was bound to last."

"Oh, I thought you were going to scheme the most ingenious of plots to try and escape from your parents yet again." Annabelle leaned closer to whisper. "Or did you think of ending them?"

"Glistening Dorado, what the hell is wrong with you?" Norman pushed himself away.

Annabelle's smug grin turned sour.

"I must have misjudged you." She said, sitting back in her chair.

"Did I disappoint you? I wouldn't be that surprised about it."

"Nevermind." Annabelle rolled her eyes.

"Are you enjoying this? Because I'm having the best time of my life right now." Norman shook his hands in the air.

"Look, I am not quite thrilled about this either, but there's no use in complaining."

"So we're going to play house for the rest of our lives, barbie?"

"If the house were any worse than this, I would not bother."

"Thank's for the compliment. I'll be sure to deliver it to my parents." Norman stood up. "See you at lunch, honey."

"Wait a moment, buster." Annabelle stood up.

Norman saw Annabelle tower him like a dark shadow with her head almost touching the ceiling.

"We both know why we are here." She said.

Under her eyes, Norman felt stalked like food in a microwave, but with none of the excitement.

"That's not just something to cross over from the bucket list, you know?"

"We are both adults, well, strictly supervised but, still. Let's just get this issue out of the way so neither of us gets kicked out."

"Having a kid shouldn't be an issue."

"Oh, come on. You play the smallest part in this. I need to give up my body for nine months. You just need to smile, pat him on the head sometimes, and attend graduation. The nannies will do the rest. Please, Tobias. After that, we can both go on with our lives."

"You would bring a child to a family like this?"

"I never said I wouldn't love them." Annabelle shrugged. "We need to invest time and effort so that they don't turn into..."

"Us?"

"Well, I was going to say trouble, but I think you got the point."

"Well, would you like to go on a date first or?" Norman tried a desperate dodge.

Annabelle glared down at Norman's sweaty face.

"You think that would work on me?" She asked.

"...Maybe?"

"You got lucky. I got so many places and stores we need to go through as a couple. Westley, Doumagoo, Maruno…" She counted with her fingers.

"Um, sure, any place you want." Norman felt like having dodged the biggest bullet in his life.

"Oh, thank you, honey." Annabelle sent out a kiss.

"Alright." Norman dodged it. "When are you free?"

"I will have to check my calendar, but as soon as possible." Annabelle walked away cheerfully. "Bye, honey!"

Norman watched the giant woman lean her head so she fit through the door. He was left standing alone in the sounds of water.

"Right, honey."

On the other side of the world, in Galsioi, the capital of Guerreterra, the main Guild office of Milieu, got another customer. A brawny person man walked inside, waited in line, and after an hour and a half, could finally sit opposite a worker.

"There is nothing wrong with your CV, Mr. Cumhaill. I suppose you are interested in joining a party?" The worker looked past his thick glasses.

"Yeah." Diarmuid nodded.

"Is there any type of work you are interested in? This will be used to search for compatible parties and party member applications."

"Well, I'm not against mercenary work, but something a little more passive would do for now, like being a bodyguard."

"Protective services, I see." The worker typed on his computer. "You are rank A; would you want to limit the search for parties of that rank?"

"Well, I need money sooner than later, so maybe expand it down a few ranks."

"Understood. I see that you are from Albion. I suppose you are willing to look for work abroad?"

"Anywhere is fine."

"Thank you, that will be all. We will be in contact by email. You will be given access to our website to check on the applications. You can access most of our services from there."

"How many do I have to read through?" Diarmuid asked as he rose from the chair.

"Do not worry. While many would be willing to accept you, we will organize the parties, for example, by category of your chosen work they do, so you will be able to pick what interests you most."

"Okay, well, I'll be sure to look them up."

"Good day to you, Mr. Cumhaill."

"Bye." Diarmuid went out of the door.

Diarmuid sighed with relief since he would not need to buy another ticket to the office, but there was another problem. He got a work phone from the army, but it would not do for his current situation. This problem could be solved as soon as he returned home.

Though large, his family home was far from clean, in condition, or quiet. Yearly repairs made it habitable, but mold and moisture had already done their damage. For how rotten and damp the smell of moss was, there were no other options for them. It was given by the government but it was up to them to keep it up. Most houses wouldn't fit his family and those that did were far too expensive.

Walking past the grand corridor, Diarmuid knocked on one of the doors, decorated with flowers and with a sign that said: "keep away."

"Sis, I need your computer." He said.

"No," Georgia yelled from the other side.

"Come on. I need it for a job."

"No, get your own!"

"Ma!" Diarmuid yelled. "Georgia's hogging the computer again!"

A raspy voice yelled from the top of her ruined lungs from upstairs. "Shut yer asses! I'm sleeping here!"

"I was checking if I got a job, and she won't let me, ma!" Diarmuid yelled.

"For Lugh's sake, Georgia, give the damn thing to your brother!"

"But ma!" She yelled back.

"No yapping!" She coughed. "It's the only one in the house, so you better share it, or none of ya will have it!"

"Ugh." She sighed. "Fine."

Tippy taps of footsteps came to the door and handed the old laptop from the crack, and slammed the door shut.

Diarmuid went to the only quiet place in the house: the kitchen, mainly because there was rarely anything interesting there. He put the laptop on the handcrafted yet old and scratched table. He fetched the sturdiest chair he could find, which happened to be a simple stool. Sitting with half of a buttock on the short chair, Diarmuid barely reached the table.

"Let's see." He opened the lid carefully.

Bouncing back and forth between his notes and the screen, he managed to log in to the website. The inbox had a few messages, one of which was the list of applications.

"Gee, there's a bunch." Diarmuid took out his reading glasses.

"Whatcha doing, Dir?" Aeron asked, hunched under the table.

"Aeron, what are you doing there?" Diarmuid looked down.

"Looking for breadcrumbs." He said.

"There's some bread in the fridge." Diarmuid pointed.

"I already ate mine." Aeron sulked.

A small yet clear growl came from Aeron's stomach. He would need to hang on until the next relief aid money would come by the end of the month. The food would never last until then. No matter how much the family saved or starved, no money or food would be left for the last week. The week of hunger, they would call it. There were still two weeks until the aid.

"If you're still hungry, you can eat mine," Diarmuid said.

"Really?" Aeron's face lifted.

"Just go eat it elsewhere. I'm trying to find a job. Then you can eat butter on bread as much as we want." Diarmuid smiled as much as his rugged face could.

"Right!" Aeron shuffled to the fridge and escaped with two pieces of bread in his mouth.

While the applications were plenty, many of them were uninteresting at best and disgusting at worst. Guarding royalty, escorting VIPs, protecting buildings. Diarmuid swiped through them all with his eyes drooping from disappointment and boredom.

"Wow, five figures." Luka leaned over Diarmuid's shoulder with his bushy hair.

"Luka! Since when you've been there?" Diarmuid jumped.

"I went for a glass of water and saw you were ogling that screen," Luka said disinterestedly." Found a new job?"

"Just looking."

"Those look quite good." Luka scrolled through the offers with his sharp eyes.

"It's not all about the pay." Diarmuid sighed.

"But we would be eating well with that."

"Would you be fine eating well with blood money?"

"What do you mean?" Luka asked.

"Everything from the Guild side has to be legal, but you need to learn to read between the lines. The job application can be whatever, but as long as nothing comes from it and money is paid to the Guild and through them to us, you can perform almost any type of work. Work like mine is full of it, and so are these forms."

"Not that." Luka shook his head. "I mean, why does it matter?"

Diarmuid turned and saw his brother's uninterested face. Poverty has the power to change people, for better or worse. Sympathy and apathy are two faces of the same used-up coin thrown out from the pockets of the rich and left on the streets.

"There are plenty of ways to earn money, dirty or clean. Underground work is a gamble, and I don't want to risk you or myself for that." Diarmuid explained.

"Then I'll do it."

"Luka, you're a smart kid, but that world will spit you out. It will take everything from you, and no amount of bread will fill that void."

"Hmph. You're just too soft, Dir." Luka walked away.

Both sighed and shook their heads.

Diarmuid continued going through the applications. It made him almost fall asleep. They blended together, swirled around, and cluttered his brain.

Something stood out from them. Not the job or the rank, but the name.

"Hah, why not?" Diarmuid smiled and clicked.

The next day, after arguing again for the right to use the laptop, Diarmuid made a video call to the office.

"Mr. Cumhaill, you seem to have made up your mind." The worker said.

"Yeah, this one is fine."

"A low-tiered C-rank party." The worker read the application. "Hmm, I see. They have no other criteria except for a worker ranked B or higher. This is most likely an attempt to raise their party rank. I would suggest choosing something else."

"They want higher-ranked work, right? As long as the pay is good I don't mind."

"That is for you to negotiate." The worker had none of the optimism.

"Then I'll take it."

"I will send your application to the party. Most likely, you will hear from us very soon. Be prepared."

"For what?" Diarmuid asked.

"For your trip. The party is in Pohjola. For the finalization, you need to be physically present."

"...And?"

"You have to pay for the trip yourself."

A cold sweat broke on Diarmuid's face.

"Yeah, sure. I'll be ready then." He tried to smile.

"Goodbye, Mr. Cumhaill." The worker ended the call.

On a small island near the gulf of Tanlen was a small, quiet house. That was until someone burst through the door.

"Orel!" Ándras yelled.

"What?" Orel could hear him from his room.

"There's a letter from the Guild! Someone wants to join us!"

"Really?" Orel ran out of his room.

They gathered around the dinner table, and Orel could finally read the letter.

"It's an A rank." Orel couldn't believe his eyes. "Previously worked in the ADF."

"What's ADF?" Ándras asked.

"Let me check." Orel took out his phone. "It's Albian Defence Forces…" His smile dropped.

Ándras could see the shock on Orel's face. His eyes would sometimes still suddenly look empty, be it when practicing magic or looking at flowers.

"I mean, he's an ex-soldier. Maybe he didn't like it there." Ándras tried to help the mood. "If you don't like it, we don't have to accept the offer."

"I don't know." Orel's eyes wandered off.

"Is there a picture of him?"

"No, but he'll come to the office if we accept to discuss this." Orel read from the paper.

"Then it's alright, isn't it? Let's just say yes." Ándras tapped him on the back.

"I don't know!" Orel shook his head, crumbling the paper.

"Take every chance you get." Deras stepped inside. "And damn it, Ándras! Don't go leaving me to dock the ship by myself!"

"Sorry." Ándras scratched his neck.

"Orel, you need to shake that attitude. You can't go on if you fuss up with every choice." Deras walked over. "What are you going to do?"

Ándras and Deras switched their gazes to Orel. His eyes couldn't find an escape.

Biting into his fingernails, Orel finally decided.

"Guess we're going." He sighed.