The sound of forms being dropped was surprisingly loud in the sudden quiet that spread outward from the registration desk like a stone thrown into still water. Conversations nearby faltered and stopped. Heads turned.

The clerk’s face went through several expressions in rapid succession before settling on professional composure maintained through visible effort.

"Raikarndel," he repeated, his voice carefully neutral now.

"As in—"

"As in Clan Raikarndel," she confirmed.

"He is our young master, the heir of the Raaya Villa."

If it were somebody else, people would have laughed it off, but it was Raani, the dragon maiden, who was known throughout the land of Roakan, and her word carried weight.

The clerk nodded several times, too quickly, his hands moving through the registration process with the mechanical efficiency of someone falling back on trained procedure because their brain was too occupied with processing implications to manage anything more complex.

He produced a crystal sphere from beneath the counter, the same kind of appraisal device Jake had seen in smaller guild offices, and gestured for Jake to place his hand on it.

Jake did, and the sphere lit with the pale blue glow that indicated it was reading his status, pulling information from whatever metaphysical signature the system and bloodline created. Numbers and text appeared in the air above the sphere in letters that everyone nearby could see clearly.

[NAME: JAKE RAIKARNDEL]

[CLASS: SERPENT KING]

[RANK: CLASS II]

[TALENT: RANK I]

The murmuring started immediately, spreading through the guild hall like wildfire catching dry grass. Serpent King drew confused looks and whispered speculation—it wasn’t a standard class designation, didn’t fit into the normal taxonomy of fighter or mage or ranger, and the fact that it was listed as his primary class rather than a title or secondary ability made it unusual enough to generate immediate interest.

The Class II designation with Talent Rank I drew more straightforward reactions—impressed nods from experienced adventurers who understood what that combination meant, envious glances from people still grinding through lower ranks, and calculating looks from those who were already doing the political math on what a Class II Raikarndel heir meant for the succession contest.

The clerk processed the information with shaking hands, producing an identification card from a drawer and inscribing it with Jake’s details using a specialized tool that transferred the appraisal results directly onto the card’s surface.

He handed it over with a bow that was deeper than standard procedure required.

"Welcome to the Roakan Adventurer’s Guild, Master Raikarndel," he said.

"Your registration is complete. Priority access to all standard facilities is granted automatically given your rank and... credentials."

Jake took the card and examined it briefly—his name, his class, his rank, all inscribed in precise lettering that would be recognized at any guild facility across the three realms.

He tucked it into his pocket and turned toward the mission boards, aware of the attention following him but choosing to ignore it in favor of finding what he’d come here for.

The dungeon missions were posted on a separate board near the hall’s eastern wall, organized by rank, with A-rank occupying the top section where only the most dangerous and lucrative contracts were displayed.

Jake scanned them quickly, reading location names and difficulty assessments and recommended party sizes, looking for something that met his specific requirements.

He found it third from the left.

Jake pulled the posting from the board and brought it back to where Raani was waiting. She read it once, then looked at him with an expression that suggested she had anticipated this choice and wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or concerned.

"Ghoul Sanctum," she said.

"It is pretty dangerous for you at this level. Are you sure about this?"

"Yeah, there was no explanation behind me taking this. I should start somewhere, and why don’t I start with these flesh-eating monsters?"

The logic was sound, and Raani’s expression acknowledged it even as her voice remained cautious.

"The posting says four to six Class II minimum. You’re planning to go alone."

"I’m planning to test my abilities without other people’s safety complicating the decisions I make inside," Jake said.

"If I can command the serpents, I won’t need a party. If I can’t, I’ll retreat and reassess. But I need to know."

Raani looked at the posting again, then at Jake’s face, then at the guild hall around them where people were still watching and whispering and processing the fact that the Raikarndel heir had just registered and was apparently planning to dive into one of the region’s most dangerous dungeons immediately.

"When?" she asked.

"Now," Jake said.

"Tonight. Before the news spreads further and before anyone decides they have opinions about what I should or shouldn’t be doing with my time."

Raani closed her eyes briefly, gathering herself, then opened them with the resigned determination of someone who had decided that protecting the young master sometimes meant supporting his terrible ideas rather than preventing them.

"I’ll take you on Syrath," she said, referring to her dragon.

"The flight will be faster than traveling by road, and we can reach Deepwood Forest before midnight."

They left the guild hall through the main entrance, ignoring the stares and whispers, and Raani led Jake to a district near the city’s northern wall where the Dragon Maidens kept their mounts in a facility that was part stable and part fortress.

Syrath was waiting in an open courtyard, a dragon of deep crimson scales that gleamed in the lantern light, smaller than the ones that had chased them through the valley but still massive enough to make Jake’s breath catch when he saw her up close.

Raani spoke to the dragon in a language Jake didn’t understand, and Syrath lowered her body to allow them to mount. The flight harness was designed for two riders, and Jake settled behind Raani with his hands finding the grip-holds that had been built into the leather strapping.

Syrath launched without warning, powerful legs driving them upward while wings that seemed impossibly large unfolded and caught the night air, and within seconds, they were above Roakan’s walls and climbing higher still, the city lights spreading below them like a map drawn in fire.