The city of Elandra was veiled in morning mist, its slate rooftops and rising towers softened by the haze. The streets below were already waking—carts rolled over cobbled lanes, shopkeepers swept thresholds, and bells chimed distantly from temple spires. But Inigo wasn't here to admire the view.
He stood before the great ironwood doors of the Adventurer's Guild, dressed not in armor or travel gear, but in a tailored black tunic with a phoenix insignia stitched onto the left breast. At his side, Lyra adjusted the folds of her cloak, her expression unreadable.
"You sure about this?" she asked.
Inigo nodded. "They've earned it."
He stepped forward and pushed the doors open.
The guild hall buzzed with its usual rhythm—clinking tankards, shouted boasts, and notices nailed to the mission board. Veteran adventurers lounged in corners, fresh recruits gawked at bronze-ranked banners, and clerks scribbled into ledgers behind polished counters.
But as Inigo passed, heads turned.
