Chapter 1 - Beacon Hall, Adventurers' Guild

Stone crunched beneath Arlen Bright’s boots as he walked alongside Edwin Bramble, mayor of Breezevale. In front of them was the old Beacon Star Inn—standing in quiet decay at the heart of town.

The double-storey structure had been abandoned for years, its once-proud wooden beams rotting from neglect. Its sign hanging by a single chain, swaying lazily in the air as it awaits endlessly to meet the ground.

Some claimed the last innkeeper had been caught in an affair with a noble’s wife; others said he gambled away his fortune in a rigged card game; a few whispered he rode a carriage drunk into the woods and was never seen again.

Whatever the truth, he is nowhere to be found—to deny the rumours blemishing his name.

“You’re sure about this?” the husky voice of Mayor Edwin Bramble spoke.

Perhaps it was Arlen growing from a boy to a man, or simply the passage of time—but the once towering presence of Mayor Bramble seemed smaller than he remembered. Twelve years had gone by since he left to pursue his mage training.

Now they stood side by side, each with a staff in hand—one for balance and support; one for the arcane with a green mana stone hovering at the tip, pulsing faintly with magical energy.

“Yeah,” Arlen said positively. “I’m sure”.

The front door creaked ominously from its squeaky, rusted hinges. The state of the inn was worse than Arlen expected—cobwebs consumed every inch, and the floorboards creaked as though ready to collapse under their weight.

Mayor Bramble’s eyes twitched slightly, hiding his discomfort as he spotted a pair of mice scurrying to hide from the uninvited intruders in what had long become their home.

“The place’s been empty for years. You could always take the warehouse near the river—easily five times in size, if you have four hundred and seventy gold pieces to spare.”

But something about the dilapidated inn called to Arlen.

Perhaps it was his sharpened perception—honed from years of surviving in the wild—that allowed him to see what the mayor couldn’t.

Superb potential

Away from the mess, Arlen could already envision the transformation. The old bar counter, once used to welcome weary travellers, could be repurposed into a proper reception desk. The six lower-floor rooms were a bonus—ideal for storage, or easily torn down to open up a wider, more inviting greeting hall.

Upstairs, the second floor offered eight rooms, more generously sized. One would eventually become his own quarters, while the rest could house guests or visiting adventurers.

He didn’t need to utilize all the space immediately. With a bit of creativity, simple wooden partitions could divide the floor into purposeful sections, making the most of what was there. The bones were still good, after all.

The rest? That could be built.

“How much for the deed again?” Arlen turned to the mayor.

“Two hundred sixty gold,” Mayor Bramble confirms. “Or if you’d like to put thirty gold down, I can structure a monthly two gold and sixty one silver for ten years’’. He rounded off two coppers out of generosity—though mostly to keep his books tidy.

“Thirty’s good,” Arlen gestures to his pouch. Paying everything upfront is beyond his entire fortune, anyway. Plus, it is not time to be cavalier with his coin.

Construction, labour, furniture—there were more costs to come, and this was only the first step.

Edwin Bramble was not usually greedy, but the old man’s heart fluttered at the sight of the gleaming gold coins—a quiet, primal joy. Commerce in Breezevale rarely went beyond a few silver coins—mostly copper. But thirty gold coins now lay before the mayor, the equivalent of thirty thousand copper or three thousand silver.

A rare sight in a town like this.

And if just thirty could do that, who’s to say what two hundred and sixty might’ve done to the mayor’s heart?

With a swift stroke of the quill and the press of Breezevale’s official seal, the inn had a new owner; no longer abandoned.

The weight of the deed tucked into his coat pulled a breath from Arlen, letting in the dusty air of Beacon Star Inn before heaving out a cough.

His lungs may have felt slightly heavy but his spirit was light as a feather—filled with hopes and the promise of new beginnings.

“I suppose you’d want to give it a new name,” Mayor Bramble mused.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he gazed up at the sagging sign of the old Beacon Star inn. "Beacon Hall," he muttered to himself, testing the sound. It was simple, strong—a beacon for those seeking refuge, guidance, and adventure.

It felt right.

The name could stand for the place he was creating, but also for the promise he intended to uphold: a hall where brave souls could gather, share their stories, and forge their own paths.

He turned to Mayor Bramble—certainty and confidence in his voice.

“Beacon Hall, Adventurers’ Guild.”

====

Breezevale saw subtle changes since his years away, but it stayed true to itself—full of charm bloomed from its simplicity.

Most of its main street was paved with cobblestone for wagons to make it more easily to the central market stalls. Its houses and shops well-built with care, a mix of half-timber and brick.

The morning scene was a welcome contrast from the hustle and bustle compared to cities like the Citadel or Erwanfall. Merchants took their time to arrange their stalls and offerings. The warm scent of freshly baked bread drifted from the corner.

Their voices started to rise—not in haste, but in friendly barter, the way they always had.

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As Arlen strolled, a few children ran past him, laughing. Their voices light and carefree. Full of life.

His steps slowed towards a narrow path leading toward a small hill. The town started to grow distant to the surrounding fields. From the barely visible track, nestled at the edge of the woods, was where his parents’ house once stood.

All that remained were overgrown shrubs, half-crumbled stone walls, and a rusted gate.

It had been his home, where he had dreamt of adventure from the books his father would read him. Where is mother showed him the value of kindness. They did not have much, but every night they slept with bellies full, sheltered and warm.

To them then, it was enough.

After his mother passed, his father, despite his own grief, became the unwavering support Arlen needed—long even before the day his latent magical abilities awakened.

“You’ve got the heart for it. Don’t let anyone tell you you can’t. If you want to be a mage, be one. Or even an adventurer.”

His father’s quiet belief in him became the foundation for his journey. It wasn’t bloodlines or lineage that determined who someone could become, but the strength of their heart and will.

He passed just a year after Arlen left for his training at the grand towers of Solvenhold.

Was it grief? Loneliness? Arlen would never truly know.

Slowly, he let out a breath, allowing the weight of the past to settle where it belonged—not forgotten, but not holding him back.

As he now set out to build something new, he was driven by the desire to honour that belief and create a place where others could find the courage to follow their dreams, just as he had.

====

As he strolled back to his temporary lodging at Hearthstone Inn, Arlen felt eyes on him.

A small presence lingered just out of sight.

He continued through the market, pretending not to notice, but the sensation never left. Even after a few sudden turns down narrower alleys.

Finally Arlen stopped under the shade of a large oak tree—then spoke without turning.

“You’ve been following me.”

A startled gasp. A pause.

Then, from behind a crate, a small figure hesitantly stepped forward.

He was a scrappy looking boy with tousled brown hair. Eyes wide and curious.

His clothes were worn and patched, stitched over in places where play had clearly gotten the better of them.

“Uh… you noticed?” The boy said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

Arlen smirked. “I’ve spent enough time dodging bandits to know when someone’s tailing me. Who are you?”

The boy straightened his posture as if to make himself seem taller.

“I’m Philip, but everyone calls me Pip! I’m eight years old,” Pip added, counting his fingers just to be sure. “My dad’s a stable hand at Stonehoof Stables.”

Arlen studied him, amused. “Alright, Pip. Mind telling me why you were sneaking after me?”

“It’s just…” Pip shuffled nervously, working up the courage to speak. “I’ve never seen a real mage before.”

His eyes flicked to the staff strapped to Arlen’s back. “You are a mage, right?”

“Last I checked,” Arlen grinned.

The boy’s face lit up.

“Can you do magic? Right now?”

Arlen raised a brow. “What, here? In the middle of town?”

“Pleaseee?” Pip nodded eagerly.

Arlen let out a sigh from exasperation—though partly amused. He crouched down to Pip's eye level and raised his right index finger.

“Kindling flutters on my skin—Flicker”

First a whisper, then a flickering ember sparked to life on his fingertip.

It was a novice spell—one of the firsts any aspiring mage was expected to master. So basic, one should be able cast it without the use of a conduit like a staff or wand. Its purpose? To light a candle or torch.

“Whoa,” Pip’s mouth dropped open, eyes wide with wonder.

Arlen let the ember fizzle out, dusting off his hands. “Satisfied?”

“That was amazing!” Pip shook his head vigorously. “Can you teach me?”

Arlen huffed a laugh. “Magic’s not something you learn overnight, Pip.”

“I don’t care! I’ll do anything. I’ll help you with… whatever you’re doing.”

Arlen narrowed his eyes. “You don’t even know what I’m doing.”

Pip scratched his head.

“Well… what are you doing?”

Arlen glanced down at the deed in his coat, then back at Pip. He hadn’t planned on involving anyone in this mess just yet, let alone an eight-year-old stable hand’s son, but the boy’s determination was hard to ignore.

“I just bought the old Beacon Star Inn,” he admitted. “Going to turn it into an adventurers’ guild.”

Pip’s eyes widened further. “Really? Like… with quests and swords and people fighting monsters?”

“Something like that,” Arlen laughed quietly.

Pip’s face scrunched in thought, then brightened. “I can help! I know lots of people in town—workers, builders, traders! If you need stuff fixed, I can find the right people!”

Arlen studied him for a moment. The kid’s enthusiasm overflowing. And honestly, finding reliable workers was something he needed help with.

“Alright, Pip,” Arlen said finally. “You help me get this place running, I’ll teach you a trick or two.”

Pip’s face broke into a grin. He stuck out his hand without hesitation.

“Deal!”

Arlen shook it with a smile.

“Deal.”

====

Over the next few weeks, a blend of hard labour and magic slowly breathed new life into the inn. Carpenters repaired the roof and reinforced the walls, while workers hauled away rotted furniture and replaced the broken floorboards. Of the six rooms in the lower floor, Arlen had asked for the two nearest to the reception to be removed for a more inviting space.

Of course, magic could only do so much when it came to building restoration, lest to burn it to the ground. Arlen filled up buckets for cleaning and used gusts of wind to sweep away cobwebs. Anything beyond that risked disrupting the painstaking work of the team.

Magic could assist, but it could never replace the care and precision of human hands—all forty gold coins worth paid to master craftsmen and their crew.

Pip was true to his word. He brought willing workers, negotiated prices, and even ran small errands. In return, the mage showed him simple tricks with little hopes of Pip learning them.

Arlen had been lucky to discover his own natural affinity for magic in his teens—many practitioners didn’t even unlock their potential to channel mana until much later in life, if at all.

“People say you’re a B-Rank mage. Is that a big deal?” the child asked, bemused.

Arlen chuckled.

“Not really. It just means I’ve gone through some trials and didn’t embarrass myself. There are plenty who never bother with ranks and are phenomenally talented. It just helps with the paperwork.”

Of all the abilities Arlen had demonstrated so far, none captured Pip’s imagination quite like the summoning of his staff. It was a simple trick by a mage’s standards—a flash of energy, a ripple through the air, and the staff would appear in Arlen’s hand as if pulled from the wind itself.

But to Pip, it was nothing short of miraculous.

He loved testing how far away Arlen could call it back—placing it behind trees, tucking it into crates, even once hiding it under a haystack just to see if it would still respond. No matter the distance, the staff came every time—drawn to Arlen's call like a loyal hound to its master.

And truthfully, Arlen didn’t mind performing it.

Not when the reward was that look of pure, unfiltered awe—a reminder of how magical the world could feel through the eyes of a child.

====

Finally, the day arrived.

The work was intense, but the transformation was nothing short of remarkable. From the freshly repaired roof to the gleaming new windows that let in streams of sunlight. Walls once stained with years of neglect, now repainted in warm, welcoming tones.

Inside, the crisp scent of polished wood filled the scene. After second thoughts, the old bar counter was no more—replaced by a longer, sturdier one to welcome patrons, together greeted by newly assembled wooden fixtures for meetings and general banter.

Outside, near the front entrance, stood a large wooden notice board, freshly nailed into place. It was plain but sturdy—nothing fancy, just functional. Exactly as it needed to be.

Soon quests and commission slips would be pinned—urgent calls for help from farmers, travellers needing protection on the road, and townsfolk with odd jobs to offer.

The old sign, once faded and worn, had been replaced with a new one bearing fresh lettering: Beacon Hall, Adventurers' Guild.

Arlen stood before it, pride swelling—Pip beside him feeling equally as accomplished.

The journey was only beginning, and he had taken the first step.

[ Beacon Hall was open for business ]

====

A curious farmer lingered at the front. He took a step forward, then paused again. His eyes drifted to the empty notice board beside the door. A fresh canvas, waiting for needs to be pinned to it.

He’d mulled over coming here since he heard of the new mage in town. It wasn’t easy, asking for help. Not when you’d spent your whole life figuring things out with your own two hands.

With a quiet breath and a squaring of his shoulders, he finally stepped through the door.