The Adventurers’ Guild Hall of Lithuway was a cacophony of life, a stark contrast to the deep, resonant quiet of the Great Forest. The scent of roasted meats, stale ale, and sweat mingled with the sharp tang of steel and the faint, sweet perfume of rare elven pipe-weed. The air buzzed with boisterous laughter, the clatter of tankards, and the low rumble of negotiations for quests and bounties. Hans, clutching Borin's tunic, stared wide-eyed at the throng. Merchants in finely embroidered tunics haggled with grizzled warriors, mages with staffs taller than Hans himself debated arcane theories, and rogues with cunning eyes blended seamlessly into the shadows.

Lyra, with Borin and Hans trailing in her wake, navigated the bustling hall with practiced ease, her silver hair drawing a few respectful glances. Borin, however, simply barrelled through the crowd, his bulk clearing a path, Hans still clinging to him like a burr. They found a relatively quiet corner table, nestled near a roaring fireplace that chased away the lingering chill of the night.

Already seated there were two figures. One was a broad-shouldered man with sun-streaked blonde hair, pulled back from a handsome, weathered face. He wore well-maintained leather armour, and a gleaming longsword rested against his chair a swordsman, unmistakably. This was Gareth, a steady presence and a formidable blade. Across from him sat a woman with sharp, intelligent eyes that sparkled with inner light. Her dark hair was neatly braided, and a simple, flowing robe of deep violet suggested her profession. This was Elara, a sorceress known for her sharp wit and even sharper spells.

"Took you long enough, you slow-footed giant!" Gareth called out with a grin, a playful challenge in his voice as Borin approached.

Borin grunted in return, a hint of his own amusement. "Some of us don't have the luxury of sitting on their arse all day, pretty boy." He lowered Hans gently to the bench beside him, who immediately curled into himself, overwhelmed by the sheer volume and unfamiliarity of it all.

Elara's gaze, however, immediately fixed on Hans. Her eyes, usually so calculating, softened. "And who is this little sprite?" she asked, her voice surprisingly gentle.

"Found him deep in the Forest," Lyra explained, taking her seat opposite Borin. "Alone. His mother… vanished." She recounted the events of finding the hut, Hans's survival, and the unsettling encounter with the shadowy creature, omitting, for now, the detail of Hans's glowing emblem.

Gareth listened intently, his expression shifting from playful to serious. Elara, however, seemed to watch Hans more than listen, her brow furrowed in thought.

"A child, alone in the Great Forest for so long?" Gareth mused, running a hand through his blonde hair. "That’s... unheard of. It's a place that swallows even experienced folk."

"Indeed," Lyra affirmed, glancing at Hans, who was now subtly observing them from behind Borin's arm. "He's remarkably resilient. But clearly needs proper care, and a future."

"The Orphanage of the Kindly Hand is always an option," Borin suggested, though he sounded less than enthusiastic. "Or the Temple of the Pure Light. They take in lost children, teach them trades."

Elara finally spoke, her voice clear. "Or, given his remarkable survival, and Lyra's instincts about the place he was found, perhaps the Arcane Academy? They occasionally take in those with latent potential, even at a young age. He would be safe, educated, and his unique circumstances could be explored."

Hans, despite his weariness, flinched almost imperceptibly at the mention of an 'Academy.' The idea of being enclosed, of learning things he didn't understand, felt daunting after the wild freedom of the forest.

It was Gareth who, surprisingly, interjected, a thoughtful glint in his eye. "An academy? For a child who has lived off the land and faced down… whatever that shadowy thing was? That sounds like caging a falcon. He wouldn't know the first thing about living within walls, about the customs of the city, about interacting with anyone beyond himself and Lyra and Borin here." He leaned forward, his elbows on the table. "Look at him. He's a wild thing, not a scholar. Throwing him into an academy would be like sending him to another foreign land."

He turned his gaze to Lyra and Borin. "He survived the Wilds. He needs to learn to survive here. In society. With people. What if... what if he stays with us for a while? We're often between contracts, at the guild. We could teach him. How to eat with a fork, how to talk to strangers, how to bargain for an apple. The things an academy would never bother with. And you," he nodded to Lyra, "could test that 'latent potential' of his in a way that doesn't involves him feeling trapped."

Borin stroked his beard, considering. "Learning to live in society, eh? You might have a point, Gareth. He's been alone too long."

Lyra's eyes met Gareth's. There was a practicality to his suggestion, a hands-on approach that resonated with her own adventurous spirit, and a human understanding that she, as an elf, sometimes overlooked. It would be an unconventional arrangement, certainly, but perhaps exactly what the boy needed. And it would allow them to keep a closer eye on him, and that strange emblem.

Hans, seeing the shift in their expressions, felt a tiny spark of something new not fear, not hunger, but a flicker of hope. He didn't understand all their words, but "stay with us" sounded far better than "academy." For the first time since his mother vanished, a tiny, tentative smile touched his lips. The journey to the capital had ended, but a new, perhaps even grander, journey was just beginning.