Revelations

Steven dashed through the Mistveil’s fog, aiming for the mage guild, hoping it was still open. A grin tugged his lips—guilds ran 24/7, of course it’d be alive, even at this hour. He pushed through the tower’s doors, the elderly elf at the desk glancing up, her bust still a marvel under her robes. “Need to see Rebecca,” he said, breathless. She smirked. “Hurry—she’s in her office, but not for long.” Steven bolted, sprinting up the spiral stairs, boots pounding, down the hall to her door. He knocked, panting, and her voice called, “Come in.”

He stepped inside, Rebecca slouched at her desk, blonde hair mussed, quill idle. “You again—don’t tell me ye’ve got another new skill,” she groaned, half-joking. Steven laughed—loud, honest—because he did. “Funny ye say that—I came for somethin’ else, but yeah, got one.” She sighed, grabbing a blank parchment. “Let’s get it over with—I wanna go home.” He ignited his Claws of Fury, half-inch golden talons flaring from his fingertips—darker than his usual flames, sharp and wicked. “Jeez, kid, ye’re full o’ surprises,” she muttered, scribbling as he explained. “Fists o’ Fury’s blunt—holy punchin’ power. These claws? Slashin’ and piercin’, mixed with holy energy—cuts deeper, bleeds ‘em out.” She nodded, jotting it down. “Noted. Now—what’d ye actually come for?”

He straightened. “Want a sigil—custom, for my clothes and gear. Hopin’ to peek at my ability sigils, pick one out.” She rose, trudging to a shelf, pulling a tome labeled with his name—copies of his spells etched within. She flipped it open: Fists of Holy Fury, Feet of Holy Fury, Saiyan Fury, Eyes of Holy Sight, and now Claws of Holy Fury. Steven scanned them, tracing the intricate lines—then stopped, laughing at himself. “I’m stupid—it’s been there the whole time.” Rebecca squinted. “What’s that?” He pointed to a recurring shape in each—a simple cross, bold and central. “This.”

She nodded, pulling other parchments—Purify, Heal—each bearing the same cross. “Oh, aye—the holy symbol. Core o’ all holy magic—every spell’s got it. Ye never noticed?” He shook his head, grinning. “Not ‘til now. That’s it, then—I’ll use the cross.” She smirked, shoving the tome back. “Glad I could help. Now scoot—out ye go.” She ushered him out, nudging him through the door as he laughed, her office dimming behind him.

Tomorrow morning, he’d hit Trish and Jorn with the cross—his crest, simple yet fierce, ready to mark his D-rank legend.