Two inspectors leaned over the moss-hopper, instruments steady. A third sat nearby, quill scratching across parchment.

  "Condition: stable—no strain detected."

  "Medicinal grade-A."

  The recorder paused, lifted his head.

  "Are you certain?"

  "I've tested twice. Same result."

  A silence hung between them, broken only by the scratching quill.

  "Magical power: eighty percent. Confirmed."

  The recorder frowned, then muttered,

  "Unprecedented. Best leave it to Madam Yarissa."

  That was it—their job done, while we still sat here, ill at ease.

  We should have been done at the counter, coin in hand.

  Instead, after the commotion, a senior officer swept in.

  He glanced at the merchant, at us, then at our kill—and that was it.

  Just a gesture toward the chamber.

  We obeyed, confused and silent.

  High ranks never explained themselves.

  We sat waiting on a gilded bench, nerves gnawing.

  Then, the door slammed open. Several figures stormed in.

  We flinched, caught off guard. The staff turned instantly, saluting.

  "Good heavens, Madam Yarissa. We've been waiting—remarkable findings."

  "An extraordinary specimen."

  "A historic moment."

  They spoke in clipped tones, but their excitement was clear.

  The old woman in thick woolen coat was no ordinary visitor. She was Madam Yarissa, Guild Mistress of Delmar—one of the most powerful figures in the city.

  Even the guild mistress herself—for that creature? The fuss was beyond anything I expected!

  She silenced the room with a single gesture.

  "Enough. Just show me the report."

  The staff froze, lips clamped. The recorder hurried forward, parchment in hand.

  Yarissa took it without another word, her gaze flicking to the moss-hopper sprawled across the desk as she scanned the results.

  "So, this brute caused all the fuss. Demetrus was bold enough to summon me straight from council—while I was seated with the mayor and the figureheads. If he weren't Deputy, he'd have been thrown out for barging in."

  Her tone carried both praise and warning. She leaned closer, speaking half to herself.

  "Best we keep this within the guild. Markswell's nose doesn't need to be in our plate again."

  She paused, choosing her words carefully.

  "We may use his connections, but we won't spill this too soon. And you three—don't breathe a word of this outside."

  Her voice cracked like a whip. The researchers jolted, silent as statues under her glare.

  Thomas's fists trembled, Xanthia clung to me, and my own heart hammered so loud it drowned the chamber's silence.

  Only then did she turn toward us.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  "These children… they were the hunters?"

  The staff nodded quickly.

  Yarissa raised her brows. She had expected seasoned hunters, not children.

  "This must be the guide of Lord Levia," she murmured.

  Then she looked directly at us.

  "Young ones, we need to talk. This is a much bigger matter than you realize."

  A chill coiled in my chest. I wished we could run, abandon that cursed creature, and let the guild dissect it as they pleased.

  Xanthia clung to my arm; I half-carried her to the ominous writing desk, her legs failing beneath her.

  I could see Thomas struggling at the edge of my vision, but I couldn't spare concern for two at once.

  We sat in front of Madam Yarissa, dwarfed by the towering presence of her authority.

  I could smell a whole field of crushed flowers from her, as if entered a fancy garden.

  "First things first. I want the moss-hopper's location," she demanded, loud and clear.

  "We—we found it hopped out of the woodlands, by the cobbled way, halfway from our or—orphanage."

  My tongue thickened, tripping over simple syllables. The floral sweetness failed to calm me.

  "Orphanage up the cobbled way…" she muttered, then turned to her retinues and asked,

  "Bring up records on the beasts found in the woodlands."

  Upon receiving the order, the man swiftly answered without hesitation, his voice crisp and professional.

  "Moss-hoppers, hedgehogs, and digger-rats—the most common ground-dwellers. We also note a high population of nut-hoarders in the canopy, alongside field mice and fur snakes. The avian reports mostly consist of chatter-wings, rainbow strutters, and the occasional moon whisperer."

  Yarissa closed her eyes, listened intently to the list.

  As the sharp gaze on us was temporarily gone, we could finally breathe a little easier.

  Tension eased, curiosity rising with each name.

  Was there something unique about the woodlands?

  It was strange for someone so powerful to ask about common animals.

  Fiorella, Julian, Millie, and Ol' Lucia…

  They were on the hill. We lived there too. Were we in danger?

  …Poppy Rufus, that nosey merchant, the guild staff, now even Yarissa—all of them muttered about the moss-hopper's size.

  A dreadful thought arose: had other animals grown big like that, too?

  My heart pounded. At last, I grasped Yarissa's warning.

  I recalled the strange stillness of the woodlands recently—no birds, no small creatures.

  Like a lull before the storm… and we thought it was only the cold weather.

  Companions staying in the orphanage flashed through my mind.

  No room for fear—we must protect our family!

  I looked at Yarissa. Her eyes snapped open, instantly finding mine.

  We locked eyes. Her gaze no longer pierced me.

  Her stern expression softened into an assessing smile; she had sensed my resolve.

  Then, the moment was over.

  "Send an urgent request to the Hunter Guild—under my name. Deliver the woodland report directly to the Guild Master. Alfred will choose the candidates. And keep silent. Leviafest is near; panic must not spread. Go."

  Her voice cut through the chamber, orders flowed without hesitation—precise and calculated. Watching the seamless rhythm of her authority, I understood—this was the caliber of a renowned guild mistress.

  At that instant, my last thread of fear dissolved. I was no longer a trembling voice facing an untouchable authority figure; I was able to face Yarissa now.

  With empathy restored, I finally turned to Xanthia and Thomas.

  I clasped her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze, and laid my other arm across Thomas' shoulder, tapping lightly.

  Yarissa observed my gestures. Her blank expression softened, and she spoke in a gentler tone:

  "There is nothing to worry about, children. These are precautionary acts. For your safety, do not enter the woodlands until the hunters declare it safe."

  She paused, then added with a surprising finality,

  "This is our job. The Merchant Guild pursues coins and profits, that is our truth. But at times, we are also responsible for the safety of people."

  Her words cleared away our anxiety.

  It was rare for such a towering figure to offer concern to simple orphans.

  The weight lifted from Xanthia and Thomas; color returned to their faces.

  Yet I understood. Her concern was not kindness—it was pragmatism.

  Keeping the town calm for Leviafest mattered more than us.

  Closing the woodlands was a necessary step to secure profit.

  Yarissa rose from her chair, prepared to leave—the matter was settled.

  I lifted my hand, catching her attention.

  To speak directly to the guild mistress was considered rude, so I only gestured, asking permission before voicing my thought.

  "Madam Yarissa, our kill…"

  I didn't finish, but she understood.

  "The evaluation is complete. The sum is not for children to handle. Call your caregiver—she must take it herself. Make haste; do not delay."

  Our dealings with the Merchant Guild were finally over.

  The staff escorted us to the main entrance, reminding us not to breathe a word of what had passed with Yarissa.

  Outside, the street was alive with wagons and carriages.

  Townsfolk and travelers crowded the road, the bustle surreal after the intimidating, lavish chamber.

  Relief washed over us beneath the open sky.

  "Tia? Are you all right?" Thomas turned to Xanthia.

  She was weeping quietly, pearls of tears welling in her eyes, sliding down her cheeks.

  She looked up at the blue sky and white clouds, then shook her head.

  I pulled out a clean handkerchief, half-kneeling to wipe her tears.

  I knew—they were tears of release. My hand gripped her shoulder, a steady anchor.

  Meeting her gaze, I said:

  "It's over now. Truly. There is nothing left to fear, Tia."

  Her eyes locked on mine, and at last she broke.

  She clung to my neck, crystal rivers spilling down her face, washing away the fear that had bound her chest.

  I held her gently, offering a safe space for the storm to pour out.

  Thomas stroked her hair and patted her back as she sobbed.

  Thomas and I looked at each other and cracked a wry smile.

  We had accomplished something extraordinary today.

  His eyes were misty, faintly wet.

  His innocence faded; he seemed to mature before my eyes.

  Fear had tested us, but resolve had carried us through.

  We were no longer just children stumbling in the dark—we had stood before power, endured it, and walked out together.