Today felt different. Evena had shown up—quiet as ever, her wooden leg tapping softly as she took a seat among us. She rarely attended meetings unless it was urgent. Wanora stood near the table's edge, hands braced on the worn wood like she was ready to stop a war.
"We have the Emperor backing us now."
Before Gars could cheer, she raised a finger. "Don't say anything yet."
His mouth snapped shut. That was enough to get everyone listening.
"Here's what that means," she began, pacing lightly. "We're not above the law. We're not suddenly nobles. But we're recognized. Officially. That gives us a layer of protection—no guild can legally challenge us outright anymore. If they try to sabotage or attack us, the imperial guards have the right to intervene. Not protect us out of loyalty, but out of order."
Monday's brow furrowed. Sinus just stared, absorbing it all like a sponge.
Wanora continued, "We also get limited access to imperial supply lines. Not everything. But certain essentials—medical aid, rationed materials, occasional courier routes—are now open to us. We're on a priority list, not the top, but above most mid-tier guilds."
She tapped a scroll with the red imperial seal. "Artifacts and accessories—we're allowed to request wind dragon Tier Imperial artifacts. That's the highest they'll go for now. Anything above that is locked behind conditions."
Gars grunted. "And the conditions?"
Wanora didn't smile. "We play by their rules. We report anything we develop that uses state tech. We don't smuggle, sell, or lend shady goods. Ever, Lucky for us we don't develop anything."
Evena glanced around the room, her gaze sharp despite the quiet. "And in return?"
Sinus spoke this time. "We get status. Influence. But that's also a target."
Wanora nodded. "Exactly. Other guilds will be wary. Some will hate us. Which is why we're moving into alliance-building."
She gestured to the stack of letters beside her.
"Each of us will visit a different guild. Make offers. Not just trade—but partnerships, collaborations, peace agreements. We don't have trade routes or unique artifacts, but we have access, we have coin, and we have imperial endorsement. That's enough to open doors."
She looked around the table. "This isn't about winning a war. It's about not starting one."
Then her tone shifted. Quieter. Heavier.
"One more thing. This backing isn't free."
Evena sat up straighter.
Wanora pulled out another sealed document. "We're required to send some of our best whenever the Empire calls. Not always, but when the situation demands it—disasters, diplomatic missions, border threats—we answer."
Sinus frowned. "That's not so bad."
"There's more," Wanora added. "We're also expected to stay clean. No major scandals. No open feuds. We operate with integrity. Or at least... the appearance of it."
Monday smirked. "So basically, we're on a leash."
"No," Wanora replied. "We're on a stage. And everyone's watching."
No one laughed. Everyone understood.
Taskhand had just climbed a tier. But the climb meant being seen. And being seen meant being judged. Carefully.
Wanora slapped a folded map on the table.
"Alright. We're splitting up."
Everyone looked up. No jokes this time.
"Monday," she said, pointing to a northern mark on the map. "You're going to Marrowind. The guild there is called Moonveil Accord. Their specialty is reconnaissance, illusion weaving, and veilcrafting. Don't ask what that means—you'll know when they don't want you to. The guild leader is Selica Varn. But she respects beauty and diplomacy. Use that."
Monday raised a brow. "So you're telling me I've got to smile pretty."
"I'm telling you to get the job done," Wanora replied, eyes sharp. "Not how to do it."
She turned to Gars next. "You—south. Highland region, Brayreach. The guild is called Stonejaw Covenant. Mostly barbarians, shock troops, brute enforcers. Their leader is Kragg of the Eight Brands. He values strength and nothing else. Don't negotiate. Don't debate. Prove you belong in the same room."
Gars grinned, already halfway out the door. Wanora glared him back into his seat.
"Sinus," she continued, now tapping the map's central section. "You'll be visiting Wesmere. The guild is The Pillar's Circle. Scholar-guild, artifact engineers, runeweavers. Very old. Very proud. They believe in logic and contribution. Their head is Master Ralphan Ced. He's fair, but if you lie, he'll know. Be honest, be exact, and give them a reason to care."
Sinus gave a small nod. No questions. No complaints.
Then finally, Wanora looked to the quietest one at the table.
"Evena. You're going to Lowenmark."
Evena blinked.
"They're an all-female guild. Espionage, counterassassination, codebreakers. Their name is The Thornsong Kin. Their leader is Thess Myris. She already knows who you are. Somehow, they're fond of Taskhand... and they seem especially fond of you."
Evena didn't respond, just looked down with a slow, reluctant nod.
Wanora stood back and looked at the group as a whole.
"I'm not here to tell you how to win them over. You know who you are. You've been through worse. Just make sure by the time you come back, we have allies—or at least people who won't slit our throats the second we turn our backs."
"Well then, what about me?" I raised my hand.
Shalap, who had been surprisingly quiet, shot her hand up right after. "Yeah! Me too."
Wanora didn't look up from the notes in her hand. Her voice was calm, decisive. "Heide, you'll go to the Temple of Thalos."
I blinked. "A temple?"
"They're not a guild," she continued, glancing up now, "but an organization that operates at a similar influence level. Old money, old rules. Consider it your target. I'll take the Temple of Solaris. We're not heading outside Menyurl for this, so it's manageable. Let's deal with it quick."
Shalap stood up so fast her chair scraped back. "What about me?!"
Wanora looked at her with a faint smile already forming. "Ah yes. You need to look after Taskhand."
"What?!" Shalap gasped like she'd been slapped. "Why me? Why can't I negotiate? I'm grown up! I beat a Clarion user too, you know!"
Gars chuckled from the side, amused by the brewing chaos. "This is new."
The air felt lighter for a moment.
Wanora sighed, finally setting the notes down and walking over to the fuming girl. "Sorry. I'll let you do negotiations too—someday. But please, just this once, let it slide?"
Shalap glared at the table for a second before turning her face with a dramatic pout. "Okay… If you ask like that, then I can't help it."
Wanora smiled and gently patted her head. "Thank you."
She stepped back, clapping her hands once. "Alright, everyone. Time is ticking. Let's move out. Split up and don't waste a moment."
The core members of Taskhand stood up one by one, shoulders squared, purpose clear. The politics of Menyurl had just begun. And the pieces were now in motion.