Leon condensed two hours of research into five minutes of crucial information—the Union's power structure, the racial dynamics, the guild systems, which cities to avoid, and which roads merchants preferred.

"The Dominion Union controls everything that matters," he explained as they walked. "Kingdoms exist at their pleasure. The guilds operate under their license. Even wars need their tacit approval, or they send interventions..."

"We know enough to navigate now," he concluded, turning down a street that would lead them toward the commercial district. "First stop is the Adventure Guild. We need identities as adventurers. It'll make traveling easier and less suspicious. Most places won't question adventurers passing through."

They walked through streets that felt different now that Leon understood them.

At the border, he hadn't seen any mixed demi-human, but as he dived deeper, closer to the Adventure Guild, he discovered a few.

The mix of races made more sense—not random diversity but careful political balance. A cat-eared woman walked past, her feline features prominent—pointed ears, swishing tail, slitted eyes that caught light differently than human ones. Her clothes suggested merchant class, well-made but not ostentatious.

Behind her, a man with subtle wolf characteristics—just pointed ears and sharper canines—argued with a human merchant over prices. Neither seemed to notice the racial difference; they were too focused on their haggling.

Demi-humans. Some lean more beast, others more human.

A young boy with rabbit ears ran past, chasing a ball. His owner called after him, and Leon noticed the black bracelet on the child's wrist. Several other demi-humans wore the same mark. But then he saw humans with identical bracelets, sweeping streets or carrying loads.

The weak and unfortunate get enslaved, regardless of race.

The pattern became clear. Slavery wasn't about species but circumstance. Debt, crime, war—these created slaves. The Union's multi-racial leadership meant discrimination was economically impractical. Why limit your potential property to one race when you could exploit anyone who fell far enough?

Conan City sat on the far western edge of the Middle Domain, a modest human settlement by regional standards. Yet even here, the racial diversity reflected the Union's influence. When your ultimate authority included orc chieftains and goblin merchants alongside human nobles, segregation became pointless.

The Adventure Guild building stood three stories tall, a solid stone construction that could withstand a siege. Its wooden sign depicted crossed swords over a shield, the universal symbol recognized across all territories. The doors remained open despite the late hour, revealing a tavern-like interior bustling with evening activity.

The main floor combined multiple functions—registration desk, job board, tavern, and meeting space. Adventurers of various races sat at rough wooden tables, some celebrating successful quests with alcohol, others planning their next moves over maps. The job board covered an entire wall, papers pinned three layers deep in places.

They approached the reception desk, where a burly, muscular man reviewed documents. His arms were thicker than Loriel's waist, covered in scars that told stories of violence survived. One particularly nasty mark ran from his left ear to his collar, suggesting someone had once tried very hard to kill him.

"We'd like to register as adventurers," Leon said.

The man's eyes assessed them professionally, taking in their clothes, their bearing, the subtle way Seraphine's hand rested near where a weapon would hang. His gaze lingered on their lack of visible weapons or armor.

"Union ID?"

Of course. Everything traces back to them.

"We don't have them yet."

The man grunted, unsurprised, as it was not uncommon because the poor and unfortunate would get their IDs late due to their struggles.

"Can make them here. Fifty silver coins each. Paid upfront. No Loans. Guild's got permission from the Union." He pulled out forms, the parchment covered in small print. "Need your information, though. Birthplace, previous residence, family name, notable skills, criminal history, if any."

Leon's mind raced through possibilities. He could lie, name some distant town from his memorized maps. Perhaps claimed they came from the far reaches of human territory, some frontier settlement where records were spotty. But that felt shortsighted.

Records can be tracked. Lies can be exposed. And I don't plan to remain nobody here.

The Middle Domain offered too many opportunities. Too many things require investigation. Too many resources he might need to access. He needed an identity that would withstand scrutiny while discouraging too many questions. Something that would explain their lack of knowledge about local customs while suggesting they weren't worth pressing too hard.

The history books had mentioned it—a place considered myth, legend, perhaps real in ancient times but certainly not now. A perfect cover that was impossible to verify and dangerous to challenge.

Leon leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. The tone someone might use when sharing a dangerous secret or confessing something that could get them killed in the wrong company.

"Solaris."

The burly man's hand stopped moving. His eyes widened fractionally, pupils dilating in involuntary surprise. The quill in his fingers trembled once before he set it down with deliberate care, as if it had suddenly become too heavy to hold.

The silence stretched between them like a held breath, pregnant with implications neither fully understood.

The silence was shattered as the burly man erupted into laughter. Not a chuckle or snicker, but deep, belly-shaking guffaws that echoed through the guild hall. He slapped the desk hard enough to make the inkwell jump, tears forming at the corners of his eyes.

"Solaris!" he wheezed between laughs. "You said Solaris!"

Heads turned throughout the tavern. Conversations died mid-sentence as adventurers focused on the spectacle at the registration desk. The man's laughter proved contagious—several others began chuckling, then laughing outright.

"Hey, everyone!" the scarred man called out, still struggling to breathe through his mirth. "These three claim they're from Solaris!"

The laughter spread like wildfire. A table of human adventurers pounded their fists on wood, roaring with amusement. An orc in the corner snorted ale through his nose. Even some of the serving staff covered their mouths, trying unsuccessfully to hide their giggles.

Seraphine's lightning-flecked eyes narrowed, the faint scent of ozone coiling around her like a warning the crowd didn't recognize.

Not everyone joined in. A few veteran adventurers remained silent, watching with careful eyes. A hooded figure near the job board shifted slightly, hand moving toward their belt.

Expected reaction. Now for the response.

Leon's expression never changed. He didn't argue or explain. Instead, he simply raised one hand, palm facing upward.

Light coalesced above his shoulder. Not gradually, but instantly—between one heartbeat and the next. Swords materialized from pure radiance, each one perfectly formed, edges sharp enough to split silk. Five, ten, twenty blades of condensed light element arranged themselves in a deadly array behind him, all pointed at the laughing man's throat.

The laughter cut off like someone had sliced it with a knife.

The entire guild hall went absolutely still. A mug stopped halfway to someone's lips. A dice game frozen mid-throw. Even breathing seemed to pause as every eye fixed on the impossible display of magic.

The burly man's face drained of color, his eyes crossing slightly as he tried to focus on the nearest blade hovering inches from his Adam's apple.

"Solaris I said."

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