The envelope is small and simple.

In fact, it is so utterly plain that you almost pass it over as you sit at your desk, sifting through the pile of junk mail. Luckily, the shimmering gold seal of the League catches your eye: the letter is, in fact, anything but ordinary.

Immediately, you open it up. A single notecard slides out. You look inside the envelope to double check, but see nothing else–no ostentatious congratulatory letter, no phantom fanfares, no miniature pixie dust fireworks. Just a white notecard, as plain and simple as the envelope itself.

You take that as a good thing, though, since the last time you opened up a letter with celebratory fireworks, you were five and ended up lowkey pissing yourself and splitting everyone’s eardrums with your scream.  In your defense, you’d never seen anything close to the bright sparkly dust before, and you’d always been taught that anything that explodes is bad, and when things are bad, you die.

(And, you suppose, when five-year-old-you felt the shock of imminent death, the survival instincts of screaming and pissing yourself overrode just about every other reasonable action. For example, getting up and running the  out of the room, or away from the “dangerous” explosions.

Five year old you did not have very good survival instincts.)

In any case, the card in your hands seems relatively safe. You think. Hopefully.

“Dear _______,” it reads. The font is simple and large. “We are pleased to welcome you to the League. Please sign the back of this card as confirmation that you have received this notification and wish to join. More information will follow.

Congratulations on your acceptance.”

At the bottom, the gold seal is once again inscribed, now with extra embellishments on the side.

For something so big, so prestigious, you feel rather underwhelmed by your own feelings. Shouldn’t you be laughing? Crying? Screaming in joy? Acceptance into the League as a non-born is an impressive feat; many of its members are born with rights of entry, having come from lines of prestigious magical ancestry.

And yet, you don’t really feel much of anything. Just a sort of quiet, complacent joy. You smile just so you don’t feel oddly empty. Throw in a laugh, just for the hell of it. You let loose a chuckle and then stop halfway through upon realizing you probably look a bit out of your mind, laughing at a piece of paper with a half-assed smile. You shake your head and flip the card over.

The back has no pre-paid postage stamp in the top right hand corner, no neatly printed address of the League headquarters, nothing that you’d expect from a typical postcard. Instead, there’s a single thick black line for your signature.

You suppose that the League always has its own way of doing things. Interesting. Quirky. Toeing the line of pretentious, to be perfectly honest. You reach over, grab the first pen handy, and sign your name. The ink bleeds into the paper and glows, a bright red that quickly melds into a solid gold.

And then the card begins to tremble, as if it were caught in an earthquake, until suddenly–you gasp. Glowing blue fragments shoot out from the card, coalescing into an intricately decorated box with a prominent gold keyhole in the center. Just as you’re looking around for the key, a low rumbling sound off to your left snatches your attention.

Masses of rock rise into existence, swirling around a glowing blue core. From the rock comes the unmistakable low groan of the golem–the rumble of a monster.

//

Yoongi flashes to the side of the wraith and lashes out with a volley of daggers, which slice the monster into shreds and embed themselves neatly in the side of a tree. The wraith screeches and crumbles to dust; Yoongi winces as the shrill sound pierces the air.

“Nice.”

He turns. Behind him, Namjoon’s leaning against the trunk of an ancient tree, watching him.

“Are we done yet? Clearing monsters from this section of forest is a lot more tiring than I thought it’d be.” Yoongi stretches out his hands and summons the daggers back to him; they tug themselves out of the tree and come rushing back into his hands, hilt first. He watches as the blades slowly flatten into the tattoos that lace around his wrists.

“Really? You look like you could go on forever,” Namjoon says. He hops down from the root and slaps a hand on Yoongi’s shoulder.

Yoongi side eyes him, and Namjoon hastily drops his hand before Yoongi can shake him off. “Well, unfortunately, I can’t,” Yoongi replies drily. “And neither can you, since even the almighty rune mage Kim Namjoon has got to take breaks and recharge magical energy. I mean, maybe on good days Hoseok technically can, but that’s only because he’s got the ability to reset time.”

“I never said I could go on forever. Forever–that’s a long time. Too much, if you ask me.” He sighs.

Yoongi raises a brow because if anything, Namjoon’s probably one of the only guys he’s ever met who probably could live forever without tampering with time. But then again, his near-immortality isn’t much of a voluntary choice as it is more of an “I have to lowkey save the world by doing this one thing for who knows how long” kind of thing.

Namjoon clears his throat and adjusts the oversized scroll that’s slung around his back. “Anyways,” he continues, “that’s a shame you’re feeling worn out, since we’ve only finished half of the job.”

Yoongi gapes. “Are you ing seriou–”

“Kidding, I’m kidding,” Namjoon says, laughing. Yoongi suppresses the strong urge to perform a cutthroat on him, opting to shoot imaginary death lasers through his eyes. Namjoon seems blissfully unaffected. “That wraith was the last. We’re done.”

“We damn better be,” Yoongi says. “I think I’m ready to go to bed and not wake up for ten years.”

Namjoon snickers again before reaching into his fanny pack (yes, Namjoon the Great wears a fanny pack; the other mages mercilessly about it) and pulls out yet another neat little roll of paper: the teleportation scroll. Easy, instant way back home. “So, I take it that you’re ready to leave?”

“You ing bet I am,” Yoongi mutters. He reaches out and grabs onto Namjoon as the scroll unravels, the runic script glowing purple, swirling circles gather at their feet. A flash of brilliant purple shoots toward the sky, and they disappear.

//

Okay, yeah, so maybe the card isn’t so safe. It’s okay, though, because the danger isn’t an in-your-face-explosion, but rather a slow-forming mass of–rock.

The monster was probably forcefully crammed into the original enchantment, you surmise. In any case, you really shouldn’t be surprised that they’d put a monster inside the letter. Typical. Of course they’d want you to pass one last test: defeat the monster, get the key, probably, and then unlock the box and receive all the information.

You watch, unperturbed, as the monster begins to solidify its form. Despite its large size and intimidating body–large chunks of rock, bound around a glowing blue core–you easily identify it as a low level golem. Very low level, but not low enough to be defeated by just any other person.

You brace yourself for attack.

Finally, its head thunks into place. The golem swings towards you, knocking over chairs and pots and pans. You cringe. You’re starting to wish you’d opened the letter outside, so that you won’t have to clean up the mess of your small apartment afterwards. Your only solace is that you managed to finish the pizza and the cake that had been your comfort food as you waited for your letter from the League. So at least your food is safe. In your stomach.

The golem growls and lumbers over, the ground groaning underneath it. It raises its hefty arm to swipe at you. Quickly, you dodge, and shoot a lance of pure magic straight through its body. It howls in pain, but doesn’t crumble into dust quite yet.

Irked now, you dodge one of its thick stone legs and, with a flick of your wrist, summon an explosive burst of faerie magic. You narrow your eyes as you aim it right at the monster’s easily discernable core. There’s a flash of brilliant purple as it detonates, and then a loud groan as the monster begins to crumble.

Quick, easy.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt this strangely efficient.

From the grey dust now coating your apartment (ah, ) arises a glowing blue and gold key, floating in midair. You take it.

//

Yoongi rubs a towel over his damp hair as he sinks into the plush cushions of his couch. He’s so exhausted, but he can’t be bothered to kick out the people lounging in his room.

“I don’t know man,” Hoseok says. “I’m just really excited for official season to start.”

“Me too,” Jungkook says. “I want to see what it’s like in, well, theLeague. It must be so cool. My other place never offered us rooming that was this great.” He looks around the living room of Yoongi’s apartment in thinly disguised awe.

“Well I had to pay extra for this, but yeah, it’s pretty good,” Yoongi says. Spacious, in a good location, but not noisy. Secure. Definitely worth having to pay the extra hundred gold each month.

“So like, as I was saying,” Hoseok says, sounding somewhat impatient. Next to him, Yoongi decides he’s had enough of the towel and tosses it to the side. He’ll clean up the room later, when they all leave. “I’m super excited, especially for the jobs. Like, I mean, yeah, there are job opportunities that crop up year round, but off season they’re mostly just all basic monster clears. Going out to these small places is pretty relaxing and all, but after a bit they get kinda bland, y’know?”

“Yeah, no, man, I feel you,” Taehyung agrees. He doesn’t look up, too preoccupied with fiddling with his techmaturgical device. The Hextech makes soft clinking noises as he tries to fix the gears. “Plus, all theexciting quests happen during the season, and–and–everyone’s here some time or another, so, like, it’s more lively and fun. And we don’t have to worry about housing and food and stuff.”

“Says you, the kid whose parents own like, three islands. Worrying about the basic necessities of life doesn’t seem to–”

This time, Taehyung looks up. “Okay, they’re three small islands, withzero permanent inhabitants. And they’re owned by my parents, not me.”

“Yeah, but you’re, like, the lone heir–”

“Guys,” Namjoon interjects. “Some of you guys are overly privileged and swimming in money. We get it.”

Yoongi cracks a smile.

“Yeah, yeah,” Hoseok says. “I mean, if you think about it, we’re alltechnically richer than the general population, but, yeah, whatever.”

“Well, I mean, I guess that just makes it another thing to look forward to,” Jin says. “Like, the pay. All the summer jobs are so sad. Finding anything that pays more than a thousand is practically impossible.”

“Namjoon and I made 5k on our last trip,” Yoongi says.

Jin gawps at him. Everyone else looks incredulous. Taehyung blinks, but continues tinkering.

“What? How did you–”

“Connections,” Namjoon says, hastily. “Plus, the job was pretty hard.” He clears his throat and turns to look at the clock. “Anyways, uh, we should probably go get changed and start heading over to the main hall for opening night. We’re kinda pressed on time.”

“Well, if you need more time–” Hoseok starts, a gleeful grin on his face. He’s about to make a bad pun and he knows it. Yoongi is already cringing, but thankfully Jin cuts him off just in time.

“Hoseok,” Jin says, voice even, but scarily so. “Shut up.”

//

The lock makes a satisfying metallic sound when you unlock the box; neatly, it opens by itself, various items ranging from clothes to papers to scrolls emerge and float in the air. The box itself dissipates into blue mist.

Emblazoned in glowing teal dust are the words, “Congratulations! We look forward to seeing you.” They hover for a while, and then spill to join the dust on the floor. You smile, this time more heartfelt, and then survey the array of objects. You’re at a loss as to which you should pick up and examine first. You want to go for the clothes, but then you decide that maybe the contract-looking things might be more important.

You scan the first few lines and–yeah, it’s pretty important. The one you’re holding is a housing contract. Kind of. There’s a photo of your room paper clipped to the parchment; it’s nice. Already looking better than your apartment. You note that whoever set up the interior decor had really good aesthetic.

The cost of housing is included, so all you have to do is sign the paper. As before, the ink solidifies into a glimmering gold, and you’re left half-wondering if another monster is going to appear. Thankfully, nothing happens. The contract simply disappears into the air with a brief afterimage of “Thanks!”

The extravagant display of magic is–impressive, to say the least. You brush dust off your clothes and open another contract.

//

Four contracts and two sets of official uniforms later, you pick up the final item: a neatly rolled scroll, with a bright purple ribbon tied around it. As soon as your fingers touch the yellowed parchment, the familiar hum of powerful magical energy resonates through your body.