The grey morning mist that clung to Lithuway seemed to mirror the grief that settled over the Adventurers' Guild. Days after their escape from the Wayward Estate, the Guild Hall was hushed, its usual boisterous energy replaced by a solemn quiet. A memorial service, a warrior's funeral in spirit if not in body, was held for Borin Stonehand. Adventurers, grim-faced, gathered around a ceremonial pyre in the Guild courtyard, though no corpse lay upon it. Borin had been consumed, leaving nothing but a chilling echo and a gaping void in the lives of those who loved him.

Hans stood between Lyra and Gareth, Elara on Gareth’s other side. He was clad in a simple, dark tunic, his small hands clenched at his sides. The raw pain of loss was a fresh wound, sharper than any cut or bruise from training. Borin, his booming laugh, his hearty meals, his unwavering presence all gone. Lyra, her silver hair pulled back, offered a quiet elven chant, a lament that spoke of eternal forests and spirits finding peace. Gareth stood rigid, his blonde head bowed, his grip on his sword hilt white-knuckled. Elara’s eyes were red-rimmed, and she held a small, charred piece of Borin's axe handle, the only remnant they had found.

After the mournful silence had settled and the last respects were paid, Guild Master Theron beckoned Lyra, Gareth, Elara, and Hans to his private office. The air within was heavy, not just with loss, but with an unspoken dread. Theron’s face was etched with concern.

"My sincerest condolences for your loss," Theron began, his voice unusually soft. "Borin was a rock, a true pillar of this Guild. He will be deeply missed." He paused, then his gaze hardened, falling upon Lyra. "Now, Lyra. You spoke of a 'shadow entity' at the Wayward Estate. You also hinted at its connection to the beast in the Serpent's Coil. I need details. Every last one. This is no mere haunting."

Lyra recounted their terrifying ordeal, her voice calm but precise, detailing the creature's ethereal nature, its ability to bypass physical attacks, and its overwhelming power. Gareth corroborated, adding the grim details of Borin’s final, heroic charge. Elara spoke of the drain on her magical energies, the sensation of pure malice. They carefully omitted Hans's emblem, keeping that secret close, knowing its implications were too vast for casual revelation.

Theron listened, his expression growing darker with each word. "This is grave," he finally murmured, running a hand through his beard. "These are not common dark spirits. This smells of the Eldest One, or at least a fragment of his spreading influence." He looked at the trio, then his gaze lingered on Hans, a flicker of concern that Hans didn't quite understand. "We will issue a high-level warning to all Guild branches. But for now... what of your team? What will you do with the boy?"

Later that evening, the three remaining adventurers sat at their usual corner table in the Guild Hall, the cheerful din of others feeling utterly out of place. Hans sat with them, picking at a bowl of stew, the appetite that Borin had so carefully nurtured now a dull ache.

"We cannot go on as before," Gareth stated, his voice low and firm. "Not without Borin. We are incomplete. And frankly, we are not as young as we once were. Facing things like that shadow… it takes a toll." He looked at Elara, whose face was lined with fatigue that hadn't been there before.

"He speaks truth," Elara sighed, rubbing her temples. "My spells barely held. The sheer malevolence... it was unlike anything I've ever faced."

Hans looked up, his green eyes earnest. "I'll train harder! I'll be like Borin! I can fill his shoes!" The words, born of raw grief and a desperate need to honor his friend, tumbled out.

Lyra reached across the table and gently placed her hand on Hans’s arm. Her touch was cool, comforting. "Hans," she said, her voice soft but unwavering. "No one can fill Borin's shoes. He was unique. And you… you are your own person. You have grown into a remarkable young man, but you are still just twelve. You cannot bear this burden alone, nor should you."

Gareth nodded. "She's right. Borin wouldn't want you throwing your life away like that. You have a potential none of us fully understand, but you need to hone it properly. Not just in the field, but... among others your own age."

Elara’s eyes brightened slightly. "The Combat Academy. It's the most prestigious in Lithuway. They train the elite warriors, the strategists, the true leaders. With your B-rank status, and what you demonstrated at the Estate... you could get in. You'll be thirteen soon. It would be a proper place for you to learn, to make friends, to forge your own path, not just follow ours."

Hans's heart sank a little. The Academy. It still sounded like a cage, despite Elara’s best intentions. It meant leaving the only family he had known since his mother disappeared. "But... what about you all?"

Gareth offered a weary smile. "We've had a good run, Hans. A long one. We're getting older. It's time for us to find new paths. Perhaps Elara will take on research for the Arcane Council. Borin always said I should open that small blade-smithing shop I always dreamed of. And Lyra..."

Lyra looked at Hans, her twilight eyes filled with a familiar, quiet resolve. "I am the longest lived among us, Hans. And you are family. You need guidance, but also independence. The Academy will give you the formal training you need. I... I will buy a house near the Academy. A smaller one than the Guild quarters. And you will live with me. You can continue your studies, find your own place in the world, and I will be there for you, always."

A small, quiet house near the gleaming spires of the Academy. A place that sounded like a compromise, a bridge between his wild past and an uncertain future. Hans looked at their faces Gareth, solid and steady; Elara, wise and kind; and Lyra, his steadfast protector. The Guild had been his family, but now, that family was shifting, adapting to a new, painful reality. The road ahead was clearer, but it stretched out into an unknown landscape, beckoning him forward, alone in a way he hadn't been for years, yet not entirely without guidance. His journey, defined by loss and new beginnings, continued.