Chapter 16:
The warm scent of stewed rootmeat and moss-bread filled the common room of The Sleeping Sapling. Morning light filtered through amber-veined bark overhead, casting golden hues across the room's living walls. Leo sat alone at a worn table, a steaming wooden bowl before him, but his appetite wavered.
Beside him sat Tarra, cloaked as always. Her hood shadowed most of her face, but her glowing eyes scanned the tavern's interior. Patrons gave them a wide berth—some wary of the golem, others merely cautious in the days before the Red Moon.
Leo took a bite of the thick stew and chewed absently. His mind was elsewhere—somewhere far beyond the forest, beyond Aethelgard itself.
FLASHBACK
His desk. His room. The dull hum of his PC tower.
Back on Earth, Leo would wake up to stale air and fluorescent light, burying himself in fantasy RPGs to escape reality. He remembered one game in particular—his character stepping into a massive adventurer's guild hall, its interior glowing with lanterns and camaraderie.
He'd leaned back in his chair, whispered to himself:
"If I were ever in a world like this, I'd join a guild in a heartbeat."
A simple dream, then. But now…
He looked around the inn. The food, the quiet hum of conversation, the flicker of lanterns made from glowing fungi—it all felt too real to be a dream.
Tarra's voice cut through his thoughts. "Master. Emotional fluctuations detected. Elevated heart rate."
Leo gave a tired smile. "I was just… remembering."
"Should I prepare a combat stance?"
He snorted. "No. Not that kind of danger."
Before she could respond, a voice at a nearby table drew his attention.
"…Red Moon's coming. Velmorra's pushing for more scouts. The Guild's got overflow—can't post jobs fast enough."
Another answered, "Rootbound Lodge's never been this busy. Even the Bloom-ranks are turning down bounties."
Leo perked up. "They have a Guild here?"
Tarra answered immediately. "Confirmed. Regional designation: Rootbound Lodge. Tier-Four autonomous adventurer network. Includes quest logistics, rank systems, and internal armory support."
He raised a brow. "You scanned all that?"
"I listened."
A grin tugged at Leo's lips. The weight in his chest lightened, just a little.
Later That Morning
After finishing his meal, Leo left a few silver-leaf coins on the table. The money came from Adamuz's ruin—a locked vault in the ancient laboratory. Old currency, but still recognized in Rootwake.
"Tarra," he said, slinging his gear. "Let's check out the Guild."
She nodded silently and followed.
Rootbound Lodge
The Guild Hall rose near the great curve of the root's western wall. Its structure was grown, not built—branches shaped into a high roof, walls fortified by bark-hardened resin. A lantern hung over the door, etched with the guild crest: a root entwining a glowing flame.
Inside, the hall buzzed with life.
Beastkin hunters sharpened knives on worn stone benches. Elven cartographers argued over distorted maps. A halfling sat cross-legged on a crate, feeding breadcrumbs to a talking crow. At the far end stood a quest board, covered in worn parchments and glowing stamps.
To the left was a counter built from blackwood slabs, behind which stood a sturdy dwarf woman with thick arms, silver-streaked braids, and sharp eyes. She looked up from her ledger.
"You the one who came out of Eldorian?" she asked without lifting her eyebrows.
Leo nodded. "That's me. I'd like to register."
The dwarf studied him, then her gaze moved to Tarra, who remained motionless and hooded beside him.
"No mark on that one. Not a standard construct, then. Old world?"
"She's mine," Leo said simply. "She listens."
"Good enough for me. Keep her in check and we won't have a problem."
She extended a hand.
"Velmorra Stonebranch. Guildmaster of Rootbound Lodge. We don't get many Sprouts during Red Moon season. You're either bold… or stupid."
Leo smiled faintly. "Maybe both."
She pulled out a crystal slate and a piece of charcoal. "Let's get you on the registry. Name. Age. Race. Skills. Class."
Leo paused.
He remembered Adamuz's warning—delivered with quiet gravity in the sanctum beneath the broken halls of the Golem Makers.
"Do not reveal the title of Golem Maker unless the time is right. It is a key, but it is also a target. There are eyes beyond the veil that would tear it from you."
Leo nodded slightly and wrote on the slate:
Name: Leo Makjin Age: 19 Race: Human Class: Golemanser Specialization: Construct forging, salvage recovery, long-range combat
Velmorra gave the slate a sideways glance. "Golemanser, eh? Never heard of it. One of those fringe caster-crafter types?"
"Something like that."
She shrugged. "Long as you don't blow up half the town, you'll fit in."
She reached under the counter and handed him a badge: a carved wooden medallion bearing the Rootbound Lodge's crest. A soft glow pulsed from the center — warm and alive.
"Sprout rank. Don't lose it. Three quests and you can apply for Bloom."
Leo accepted it with quiet awe.
It felt heavier than it looked — not just wood and magic, but weight from all the nights he'd dreamed of something like this.
As they stepped back into the hall, Tarra spoke quietly.
"Your heart rate increased again."
Leo nodded, looking down at the badge in his hand. "I used to dream about this. Back when I was just a gamer… back when I thought I'd never matter in the real world."
He looked up — not at the ceiling, but toward the sky beyond the branches.
"Now I'm here."
Tarra said nothing, but he felt the gentle hum of her presence beside him. Constant. Watching.
And for once, Leo smiled without hesitation.