The morning twin suns cast long shadows over Valeris's bustling streets as Ethan made his way toward the Mercenary Guild branch. The city was already alive with movement, vendors setting up their stalls, the scent of grilled meats and exotic spices drifting through the air. Transport ships rumbled overhead, their thrusters leaving trails of heat distortion as they ascended toward the clouds. Workers in heavy-duty uniforms hurried to their stations, while others loitered near street corners, exchanging gossip and news of the latest off-world conflicts.
It was a familiar scene, one he had walked through countless times. But this time was different. This was one of his last days on Kynara.
There were still a few more stops he needed to make before he left, loose ends to tie up. One of them was the Guild. It had been more than just a place to take contracts and make a living. It had been a foundation, a proving ground, a place where he had sharpened his skills and forged bonds.
As he stepped through the reinforced metal doors, the familiar hum of activity wrapped around him like a well-worn jacket. The air carried the scent of metal, oil, and smoke from electronic cigarettes...unchanged, constant.
The guild hall was as busy as ever. New recruits huddled around mission terminals, scrolling through job listings with expressions ranging from excitement to apprehension. Some had the wide-eyed look of first-time mercenaries, eager to prove themselves. Others carried themselves with quiet determination, already familiar with the weight of a contract.
Across the hall, veteran mercenaries gathered in their usual spots, sharing war stories over steaming cups of spiced ale. Laughter and the occasional bark of an argument filled the air, punctuated by the clatter of metal cups against tables. Some of these fighters had been in the game for decades, their armor scarred and patched from battles long past.
Guild staff moved with practiced efficiency, navigating between groups as they handled datawork, payouts, and the never-ending stream of incoming requests. Many recognized Ethan as he passed and nodded in acknowledgment. Some offered a quick word of respect, others a knowing smirk. Mercenaries who had either fought alongside him or crossed paths with him on a mission.
Ethan paused for a moment, taking it all in. The low hum of conversation, the scent of grease and sweat, the weight of expectation in the air.
This place had been a constant in his life for months. A place where he had built a reputation, faced challenges, and carved a path forward. And now, standing at the threshold of something new, he knew...this would be the last time he walked these halls for a long while.
Ethan didn't have to wait long. He had arranged this meeting in advance, and Darrik Vos, the Guild Branch Master, and Kael, the Guild Secretary, were expecting him.
The office was tucked away on the upper level of the guild hall, past a security checkpoint and behind a reinforced door that had seen its fair share of abuse over the years. It was a functional space, no unnecessary decorations, no pretense of grandeur. A large holomap of Kynara flickered on one side of the room, its display shifting between contract statistics and active threat reports. The shelves behind Kael's desk were filled with data slates, old mission logs, and trophies from past mercenary operations.
As Ethan stepped inside, Darrik Vos greeted him with his usual gruff, confident energy. The Branch Master was a man who commanded respect without demanding it. Broad-shouldered, built like a veteran who had seen his share of battles but still carried himself with the sharpness of someone who hadn't slowed down. He wore his usual dark leather coat over combat armor, a sidearm strapped to his hip, as if expecting a mission to drop in his lap at any moment.
"Walker," Darrik said, a knowing grin spreading across his face as he leaned against his desk. "I was wondering when you'd finally show up. Thought you might just slip away quietly, no farewell, no fanfare."
Ethan smirked. "Not my style."
From behind his cluttered desk, Kael let out a low chuckle. The elder Guild Secretary had the look of a man who had spent decades navigating the chaotic world of mercenaries, his graying beard and piercing eyes giving him the air of someone who had seen it all but was still amused by the small things. He adjusted the thin-rimmed glasses perched on his nose and gave Ethan a look of dry amusement.
"Good," Kael said, voice edged with warmth. "We would've sent someone after you otherwise."
Ethan chuckled at that. With how things worked in this specific Guild branch, that wasn't an idle threat.
Darrik folded his arms, his expression turning serious. "I hope you realize just how much your work here has meant. Kynara's not an easy place. We've seen plenty of mercenaries come and go, most just looking to make quick credits and disappear. But you? You actually made a difference."
Kael nodded, his sharp gaze meeting Ethan's. "Not many mercs bother thinking beyond their next payday. But you helped stabilize this sector. That's rare."
Ethan absorbed their words, the weight of their recognition settling on him. He wasn't one for grand speeches, so he simply inclined his head.
"I did what needed to be done," he said.
Darrik huffed out a gruff chuckle. "And you'll do it again, wherever you end up next." He pushed off the desk, stepping closer. "Listen, Walker. I don't need to remind you but make sure you check in soon at a Guild Branch in a core Federation sector, your promotion to C-Rank will only be official then. You've earned it."
Ethan nodded once. It wasn't about rank for him, but it did mean something. It meant recognition, more access, bigger contracts, and fewer bureaucratic hurdles. It meant progress.
Kael leaned back in his chair, regarding Ethan with the patience of a man who had seen many mercenaries rise and fall. "And I expect you won't be stopping there," he said, voice tinged with quiet certainty. "C-Rank is just the next step."
Ethan didn't respond immediately, but deep down, he knew Kael was right.