The Adventurer’s Guild in Luminaris was loud.
It smelled of stale ale, roasted meat, and unwashed bodies.
It was a stark contrast to the perfumed air of Catarina’s townhouse.
Marcus Aldridge stepped through the heavy wooden doors.
The noise hit him like a physical wave.
Laughter roared from a corner table.
Someone smashed a tankard against the wall.
A bard was trying to sing over the chaos. He was failing.
Marcus adjusted his cloak. He felt overdressed in his noble attire.
He scanned the room.
It didn’t take long to find her.
Vivienne Blackthorn sat at a table in the back.
She wasn’t wearing her noble gowns.
She wore fitted leather armor. A dagger lay on the table next to her drink.
She looked entirely different here.
She looked comfortable.
She looked dangerous.
Marcus navigated through the crowd.
A burly orc bumped into him. Marcus muttered an apology.
The orc grunted and moved on.
Marcus reached the table.
Vivienne looked up. Her amber eyes flashed with recognition.
She kicked the empty chair opposite her.
"You look like a lost puppy," she said.
Her voice was teasing. But her eyes were sharp.
"I feel like one," Marcus admitted.
He sat down. The chair creaked under him.
"Ale?" she offered. She pushed a pitcher toward him.
"Water," Marcus said. "I need my wits."
Vivienne signaled a serving girl. She ordered water.
Then she leaned back. She crossed her arms.
"So," she said. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
She gestured around the room.
"This isn’t exactly your scene, Lord Aldridge."
"I needed to find you," Marcus said. "Away from the nobility’s gazes."
"Well, you found me," Vivienne said. "In my natural habitat."
She picked up her dagger. She began to clean her nails with the tip.
It was a casual display of lethal skill.
"I have been having difficult conversations tonight," Marcus said.
"With the Teacher and the Duchess?" Vivienne guessed.
Marcus blinked. "How did you know?"
"I’m an adventurer, Marcus," she said. "I notice things."
She pointed the dagger at him. Playfully.
"You’ve been running around the city like a man with his trousers on fire."
Marcus sighed. "Is everyone in this city a spy?"
"Only the smart ones," Vivienne grinned.
She took a swig of her ale.
"So. Spit it out. Are you breaking up with us? Or asking for a loan?"
"Neither," Marcus said.
He leaned forward. He rested his elbows on the sticky table.
"I need to tell you who I really am."
Vivienne raised an eyebrow. "I know who you are. You’re the man who saved me from boredom."
"No," Marcus said. "I mean really."
He took a deep breath.
The noise of the guild faded into the background.
"I am not from this world," Marcus said.
He watched her face. He waited for the shock.
Vivienne didn’t blink.
"Go on," she said.
"I come from a place called Earth," Marcus continued. "I died there. My soul came here."
He explained it all again.
The heart attack. The novel. The prophecy.
He explained how he tried to push her toward Theo.
He explained how he accidentally stole the harem.
He spoke for ten minutes.
He laid out every secret. Every lie. Every fear.
When he finished, he waited.
He expected questions. He expected doubt.
Vivienne stared at him.
She took a slow sip of her ale.
She set the tankard down.
"Is that all?" she asked.
Marcus nearly fell out of his chair.
"Is that... all?" he repeated.
"Yeah," Vivienne said. She shrugged.
"I thought you were going to tell me something crazy."
"I just told you I am an alien soul from a dimension without magic!" Marcus exclaimed.
He kept his voice down. But his intensity was high.
"Kid," Vivienne said. She leaned in.
"I was an adventurer for fifteen years."
She counted on her fingers.
"I’ve dated a man who turned out to be three gnomes in a trench coat."
Marcus stared.
"I’ve fought a mimic that looked exactly like a toilet."
She took another drink.
"I once joined a party where the healer was a ghost who didn’t know he was dead."
She laughed. It was a rough, throaty sound.
"A guy from another world who read a book about us? That’s just a Tuesday."
Marcus slumped back.
"You’re not... shocked?"
"I’m surprised," Vivienne admitted. "But it makes sense."
She gestured at him with her dagger.
"You never acted like a normal noble. You treated me like a normal person, not a title."
She grinned.
"Now I know why. You didn’t grow up with our stupid rules."
"So you accept it?" Marcus asked.
"Sure," Vivienne said. "Why not?"
She looked him up and down.
"Alien or not, you’re still the man who stood up to my ex-husband."
Marcus felt a wave of relief. It was different from Catarina’s calculating acceptance.
This was casual. Practical.
"There is one more thing," Marcus said.
He hesitated. This was the part Catarina had warned him about.
"I have told Seraphina. And Catarina."
He looked at his hands.
"I have feelings for them too."
Vivienne rolled her eyes.
"Obviously," she said.
"You knew?"
"Marcus," she said. "You have the poker face of a goblin looking at gold."
She chuckled.
"You look at the Teacher like she’s a puzzle you want to solve. You look at the Duchess like she’s a masterpiece."
She leaned forward.
"And you look at me like I’m trouble."
She winked. "Which I am."
"And you’re okay with that?" Marcus asked. "With... sharing?"
Vivienne snorted.
"You think adventurers do monogamy?"
She shook her head.
"We die young, Marcus. We take comfort where we find it."
She traced the rim of her tankard.
"I’ve been in parties where everyone slept with everyone. It builds trust."
She shrugged.
"As long as you don’t lie to me, I don’t care who else you’re with."
It was so simple. So pragmatic.
Marcus felt foolish for worrying.
But then Vivienne’s expression changed.
The playfulness vanished.
She put the dagger down. She looked at her hands.
"Actually," she said softly. "I do have one concern."
The air at the table shifted. The noise of the room seemed to drop away.
"What is it?" Marcus asked.
Vivienne looked up. Her eyes were vulnerable.
It was the look of a mother, not a warrior.
"Damien," she said.
The name hung between them.
"He’s my son, Marcus. He’s the only good thing I’ve ever done."
She gripped her tankard tight. Her knuckles turned white.
"I spent years being unhappy for him. I stayed with his father for him."
She looked at Marcus with desperate intensity.
"If this hurts him... If he looks at me with shame..."
She shook her head.
"I can’t do it. I won’t."
She took a shaky breath.
"I can fight dragons. I can handle gossip. But I can’t handle losing my son’s affection."
Marcus reached across the table.
He placed his hand over her clenched fist.
"Vivienne," he said firmly.
She met his gaze.
"Damien is okay with it," Marcus said.
Vivienne froze. "He is? About us?"
"Well," Marcus corrected. "We talked about it."
This was a half-truth. They talked about the plot. But the sentiment was real.
"He wants you to be happy," Marcus said.
Vivienne bit her lip. "He... really said that?"
"He said his mother sacrificed enough," Marcus told her.
He remembered Damien’s words during one of their plotting sessions.
If my mom is happy, screw the plot.
"He told me that you deserve to live for yourself," Marcus said.
"He loves you, Vivienne. He is proud of you."
He squeezed her hand.
"He doesn’t want a martyr. He wants his mother back."
Tears welled in Vivienne’s eyes.
She blinked them away rapidly. She was the Crimson Viper. She didn’t cry in pubs.
"Stupid kid," she whispered. Her voice cracked.
She pulled her hand away. She wiped her eyes roughly.
"He’s too smart for his own good."
"He gets that from you," Marcus smiled.
Vivienne let out a wet laugh.
"Yeah. Maybe."
She took a deep drink of her ale and drained the tankard.
She slammed it down on the table.
The vulnerability was gone. The fire was back.
"Alright," she said.
She stood up. She looked down at him.
"I’m in."
"You are?" Marcus asked.
"All the way," Vivienne declared.
She rested her hand on the hilt of her dagger.
"You, me, the Teacher, the Duchess. Let’s make a mess."
She grinned. It was a feral, beautiful grin.
"I’ve been bored for ten years, Marcus. Don’t make me bored again."
"I promise," Marcus said. "Life with me is rarely boring these days."
"Good."
She leaned down. She kissed him quickly on the mouth.
It tasted of cheap ale and expensive promise.
"Go find the Elf," she ordered.
"You know even tha—"
"Go," she interrupted. "Before I drag you to a dungeon right now."
Marcus stood up. He bowed slightly.
"Yes, Lady Blackthorn."
"Get out of here," she laughed.
Marcus turned and walked toward the door.
He felt lighter.
Three down. One to go.
And the Adventurer’s Guild roared on around him, indifferent to the fact that he had just secured a lethal ally.
.
.
.
A/N:
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