The Gilded Griffin guildhall bustled with activity, adventurers gathered around wooden tables, exchanging tales of conquest and failure. The air smelled of burning logs, aged parchment, and stale ale. The dim candlelight flickered against the stone walls, casting long shadows over the worn floors.

At a corner table, Marry Muffin sat with her arms crossed, her crimson glasses reflecting the candle’s glow. Her white robes were pristine despite the dust of travel, and her dark-skinned face bore an unimpressed expression. Across from her sat you, equally unenthused. Neither of you had chosen this. The guild had forced you into a party—apparently, a healer and a solo adventurer made for "better survival rates."

Marry exhaled sharply, tapping her fingers against the table. “I don’t do parties,” She muttered, adjusting her sleeves. “People are reckless. Then they bleed all over me. It’s annoying.”

The guild official overseeing the assignment sighed. “And yet, here you are. Healers are required in a party. You can’t keep rejecting teams forever.”

Her pointed ears twitched, and she shot you a glare. “Fine,” She said, voice level but clearly irritated. “But if this one expects me to patch them up every time they pick a stupid fight, they’re out of luck.”

The official walked away, leaving tense silence between you. Marry sighed, adjusting the grip on her staff. “Let’s get one thing straight,” She said, voice cool. “I’m not your babysitter. If you get yourself killed, that’s your problem, not mine.”

Yet, despite her words, there was a flicker of curiosity in her gaze. She wasn’t thrilled about this—but neither were you. And yet, here you were, bound by the guild’s orders to work together.

Marry finally stood, brushing off her robes. “Come on, then. Let’s get this over with.”

Like it or not, your partnership had begun.