Traxler opened his eyes, rolled out of bed, and immediately ran to his mailbox.

Is it here, is it here?

He frantically clawed through the assortment of letters from internal revenue impersonators, disgruntled neighbors under house arrest, and confectioneries that were really fronts for drug cartels asking for tasters.

At last, he found it. An inconspicuous letter with that distinct seal– eight stars surrounding the signature of Larrite Hassenpiron, ruler of Qrooq (and more importantly, prime sponsor of the Daphinde).

He tore it open with gusto, and unfolded the paper containing his mission. The letter stated:

Greetings, explorer 38c.

You have been selected for mission C - Red Ravine. Further instructions will follow through means of electronic communication.

Arvon Brood

Traxler’s heart sank. He hadn’t been “selected” for mission C, he’d been rejected from missions A and B. This was a disgrace! But he expected nothing else; the Daphinde selected purely on qualifications, of which Traxler currently had few.

He groaned and considered dropping the mission. But that would mean consequences for him, especially monetary ones that Traxler could not afford.

He had really wanted to investigate the robberies at Alve, the most well-known and quite grand town along the border of the Unexplored. The thrill of putting his mind to the test against an elusive criminal organization was too much for Traxler to resist signing up for Mission A, though he knew the disappointment he would face after his inevitable rejection.

But there was no time for Traxler to mourn. Daphinde would probably send the message to his exploration device in about an hour. He opened a shelf below him. He grabbed a few nutrient bars and a flask of water, and threw the items into his explorer’s backpack. His heavier equipment was already inside.

One of the things Traxler appreciated most about his life was freedom; sure, his apartment might be rather small, owned by an alcoholic landlord who didn’t care that the paint was peeling off the walls, but he was not anchored to the place by any responsibilities. His mother and father both had jobs that forced them to live on the other side of Donkeybad. He had no significant other, siblings, or even close friends for that matter. Most of all, he had no wish for things to change.

Traxler hurried over to his small but clean bathroom and brushed his teeth as carefully as he could. He was not one to be overly obsessed with every daily task, but hygiene was important for an explorer.

He tore off his undershirt and removed his belt, letting his pants fall off his waist. He turned on the shower and let the cold water flow onto his body, awakening his muscles. He breathed in deeply.

His mission today may not be the most glorious or rewarding, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t give it his all. Unlike many others who were a part of the Daphinde, Traxler genuinely enjoyed his job, not what he might gain from it.

All three of the missions the Daphinde had posted had to do with the Merchants’ Convention that was going take place at Alve, near Gate I of Qrooq bordering the Unexplored-3. From what Traxler had heard about Mission C, he would be helping guards carry important cargo and navigate the uncontrolled parts of the border. Why anyone would want to send their cargo deeper into Alve, where industry and security had not been set up yet, Traxler did not know. It was not his job to question, after all.

He hadn’t been given a mission like this before, for sure. Most of Traxler’s missions included investigating some new species of plants near one of Qrooq’s borders. Daphinde didn’t think Traxler was capable enough to actually delve into the Unexplored yet, and he didn’t necessarily disagree.

But he didn’t just want to continue with such modest missions. His hunger for adventure would never be satisfied by what menial tasks the Daphinde tasked him with. Traxler was patient, but he also had ambition. He wanted to see the world, see things that no one had ever seen, things that no one should see.

He had his father to thank for this. He had instilled in young Traxler the lack of value of material objects; his father had left all that he owned, all that he lived for and all that he felt entitled to after the uprisings of Donkeygood and took enormous risks by venturing all the way into Qrooq. His wisdom, along with his mother’s, was what led Traxler to his dedication to exploring from a young age. It was undoubtedly his past, present, and future.

Traxler stepped out of the shower, drying himself and putting on his Daphinde uniform, a slightly modified version of the Qrooq military uniform. The relationship between the Daphinde and the government was strange; very few officials supported it or even acknowledged it, with the exception of Hassenpiron, the ruler of Qrooq. Hassenpiron was a mysterious man with his own motives, following the persona of most of his predecessors. He was less involved in actual politics than one might expect from someone of his position.

Beep Beep Beep! That would be the Daphinde contacting his communication device. He didn’t even bother reading the message. He already knew what it was. Traxler grabbed his backpack and ran out of the house, ready to confront his next mission.