Just as Colm finished flipping through the pages of the book on classes, he paused. Near the very end, tucked behind the familiar listings and surface-level summaries, were just a few worn, creased pages bearing the title: Class Advancement.

His brow arched. Wasn't expecting this. So far this has just been a rundown of known classes—basic info, nothing deeper. He shrugged, leaning in as he scanned the text. The explanation aligned with what Luke and Tessa had mentioned to him before.

Apparently, individuals began at whatever tier they were lucky—or unlucky—enough to receive when first syncing with the system. Then, after unlocking all of their class abilities and fully synchronizing with their class, the system would prompt a unique quest. The objective? To acquire a rare reagent from an Echo. Only then would the system allow them to tier up.

Colm sighed, fingers drumming the side of the book. More questions than answers. Why do we need a reagent to tier up? It's like the system's shackled to the Echoes, forcing people through them no matter what. He frowned. And if this is all common knowledge, wouldn't the Guild have a structure in place for this? A way to help people advance?

He sighed again. A soft chuckle broke the silence.

"Having some heavy thoughts, Colm?"

He looked up, caught off-guard by Emma's gaze—piercing blue eyes that momentarily derailed his thoughts. He cleared his throat.

"Yeah," he muttered, gesturing toward the open book. "Reading about class advancement. Honestly, it's just raising more questions. Doesn't make a lot of sense."

Emma nodded, her expression thoughtful. "It's an interesting topic. But yeah, it's filled with nuance. And politics. A lot more than most people realize."

Colm tilted his head. "Politics? What do you mean?"

"I mean," she said, settling into her chair, "if tiering up is so important, why are so many people still stuck at the lower levels? Why don't we see more efforts to help with advancement? Most people don't even talk about it unless they're already close."

Colm's eyes narrowed. "Yeah... I've noticed that too. I haven't really been looking, but still, it's weird. A couple of my friends had to save up for ages just to afford the item for a tier up. That's not right."

"Preaching to the choir there, Colm," Emma muttered, voice tight with frustration. "It really isn't simple."

She gestured broadly around the room, the weight of the city pressing in through her words. "This place is huge. We're all facing a global threat with the undead, and that's why most of the people you see at the Guild are here—to help, to fight, to grow. The first arrivals? They had over two hundred years to prepare, build, and support others. And a lot of them did. Jerry's a great example of that."

She leaned forward, her voice sharpening. "But there are others—stronger than Jerry, even—who turned into complete assholes. Got a taste of power and hoarded it. The Guild's only one part of the puzzle. Sure, we've managed to reach other isles, set up hubs, build some structure... but our resources? They're not endless."

Colm nodded quietly as Emma's irritation began to simmer through her words.

"But those people? The ones who kept the best stuff for themselves? They plot, they steal, they backstab. Fucking cowards, if you ask me."

She crossed her arms, her voice low but steady. "The Guild does have a program to help people tier up. It just takes an enormous amount of preparation and coordination. Higher tier Echoes aren't like some dungeon crawl where you roll in and grab loot. They're brutal. Even the strongest teams can take weeks—sometimes months—to clear one and even then you're not guaranteed to get a drop for a tier up."

She held up a finger for emphasis, eyes narrowing. "And if one person dies in there? That's it. Whole run collapses. You either pull out—if you're lucky—or the rest follow them to the grave."

A long exhale left her as some of the fire faded. "It's dangerous as hell. But the Guild still tries. We want to push humanity forward. We just... we can only do so much."

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Colm shook his head slowly. "Still... two hundred years is a long fucking time."

Emma nodded. "It really is. And some days, I can't believe how little progress we've made—even with magic at our fingertips. But not everyone's working for the greater good. Some just want to line their pockets, no matter who pays the price."

She grumbled something under her breath—barely audible. Colm thought he caught it.

"…Fractured Bloom."

He tilted his head. "What's the Fractured Bloom?"

Emma blinked, then exhaled. "Ah—sorry. Got a little heated." She paused. "That's a whole other can of worms, Colm."

He nodded, silently inviting her to continue.

"Where to even start… And look, this is my take, alright? Remember how we talked about bias earlier?" she added with a half-hearted wink.

"On paper, the Fractured Bloom looks benevolent—kind, charitable, helpful. But in reality?" Her voice hardened. "They're anything but. A fucking cult, if you ask me. I've seen good people—great people—welcomed into their arms… only to vanish."

Her voice cracked with fury. "They've taken so many. So many lives, so many children. And I—I couldn't stop her from going."

She caught herself, then locked eyes with Colm. "If you visit any of their facilities, everything looks perfect. Clean. Peaceful. Helpful. But if you dig deeper—really deeper—you'll find inconsistencies. Lies. Half-truths. And bodies. Gods, so many bodies. All pointing back to them."

Emma cradled her head, the anger fading to quiet exhaustion.

"And they're just one of many factions that rose in opposition to the Adventurer's Guild. We've got so much to fight for—but almost just as much to fight against."

Colm let the weight of her words settle in.

"So... why doesn't anyone do anything about it?" he asked. "Someone like Jerry—can't he just shut it down? Who could stop him?"

Emma nodded firmly. "See, that kind of thinking gets dangerous, Colm. Just because you can do something—just because you have the power—doesn't always mean you should."

She leaned back, her gaze sharpening. "Think about it. What if someone stronger than you forced you to act against your will? Power without restraint becomes tyranny. We have to appeal to each person's morality, not just their might. If we went in and shut down the Fractured Bloom without proof or process, the public would riot. To most people, they appear to be helping." She even raised her fingers in air quotes. "That illusion of goodness is powerful."

"Even if the Guild tried," she continued, "there are too many strong individuals out there—high-tier classes, veteran adventurers, people with influence. They wouldn't just sit back."

"There's a delicate balance of power here. Checks and boundaries. It keeps organizations from overstepping, from flexing their strength outside their lane."

Colm exhaled slowly, the weight of it all pressing in. "Thanks, Emma. That was… insightful. I feel ignorant to all this red tape and politics. Honestly, I've just been focused on surviving—taking care of myself and the few people around me."

Emma smiled, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. "As you should, Colm. It's a lot to take in. Focus on what you can control. But don't close yourself off either. The world's bigger than just your bubble. Stay aware. Stay human."

Colm nodded quietly as Emma returned to her reading, and he turned his attention back to the pages in front of him. The notes on class advancement took on a different tone now—less like a guide and more like a warning. Each line felt heavier, burdened with context he hadn't considered before.

I've been naïve, he admitted inwardly. Thinking everyone's out to help. I've been spoiled by the Guild, by the kindness of the people I've met… but I forgot how cruel people can really be. And if you get in their way, you're just another obstacle—just another step on their path.

A spark lit behind his eyes. I won't be a goddamn doormat again. His grip on the book tightened. I get what Emma's saying. I really do.

But someone has to keep the bastards in check. And if I see someone suffering—someone dying—I won't wait on bureaucracy to act. I'll act. I'll be the one.

His eyes flicked to the name again. The Fractured Bloom. It stirred old memories. Just like back home... a public face of kindness, masking a history of blood. No one cared what he did in the dark—just the lives he saved in the light.

Colm sat there, fuming, the words on the page blurring as anger and helplessness tangled in his chest. Not again. Never again.

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