Clouds dragged their shadows across the tiled roofs of Halirosa, and the streets below thrummed with the slow rise of another day. The group clustered near the worn steps of the temple's courtyard, each preparing to go their separate ways.

Garrelt adjusted the straps on his leather armor, the faint rasp of worn buckles cutting through the murmur of temple bells. His gaze swept the street with the wary calm of a man who had seen too many ambushes begin in ordinary places. Beside him, Hugo loomed silent, arms folded across his chestplate, Alpha's [Wasp] perched on his shoulder like some unsettling parody of a hawk.

"Guildmaster won't like being pulled into this," Garrelt muttered, half to himself. "But better he hear it from us before Icefinger tries to spin his own story."

"Agreed," Hugo rumbled. His jaw clenched. "Better to face a reluctant ally than an enemy too late."

A little apart from them, Bartholomew tightened the wrap on his sword hilt, the set of his shoulders firm but tense. He gave a short nod toward Audrea. "I'm going to talk to my captain. With any luck, he'll agree to the team being hired as extra protection for the temple. With most of the guards still injured, you won't hold long if Icefinger decides to retaliate."

Sister Audrea's lips pressed thin, her hands worrying the edge of her robe. She nodded, but worry still lined her face. "Don't take risks you can't afford. I need you alive more than I need you a hero."

Bartholomew's grin flickered, more defiance than humor. "That's the plan, Sister. Being a hero is just a bonus." He gave a cheeky smirk, before glancing toward Jonah, gave his shoulder a quick squeeze, then strode off into the crowd with long, purposeful strides.

Maggy stood stiff beside Maria, arms crossed tight over her chest, eyes following Bartholomew until he vanished into the press of people. "I still don't like this," she muttered, not bothering to hide her frustration. "I should go with him. He might be high Bronze Spirit, but that's not much in this town."

Dr. Maria placed a calming hand on her arm. "He's a grown man, and I'm sure he's perfectly aware of the risk he's taking. Remember, you might technically be stronger, but he has far more experience in this sort of thing than you do."

Maria's own expression stayed calm, but the faint flicker of her eyes told another story. While the others exchanged parting words, she reached for the quiet channel only Alpha could hear.

Are you sure this is wise? Her voice slid into his comms, steady but edged with concern. Splitting our strength like this, leaving the temple exposed… if anyone is watching us—

"They are," Alpha cut in, his tone dry.

Maria's step faltered, though no one else seemed to notice. You're certain?

"See for yourself."

A map bloomed across her vision, translucent lines tracing the streets around the temple. Six crimson points pulsed steadily in the alleys and rooftops. Too many to be chance loiterers. Watchers.

Her jaw tightened. Then why now? Why move at all if you know we're under eyes?

Alpha's voice carried a thread of amusement. "Because it's been two days with no retaliation. Not even a probe. Which means whoever holds the leash is wary. Four Golden Spirit cultivators are not easily matched. Even Icefinger's lot would need to call in something heavier — and the way his resources are knotted up with the clans' little exodus, that's a problem for him."

Maria narrowed her eyes, the faintest crease marking her brow. So you think they're hesitating.

"I know they are."

Silence stretched between them, broken only by the murmur of Garrelt giving Jonah last-minute advice about posture in front of the Guildmaster. Finally, Maria's voice slipped across the link again, sharper now. You're baiting them, aren't you? Trying to draw them into a mistake.

The [Wasp] twitched its wings once, a soft metallic buzz. On Hugo's shoulder, its red optic glowed faintly, steady. Alpha's voice didn't answer her accusation, but she felt the weight of his smirk regardless, a silence more telling than words.

Maria exhaled slowly, fingers tightening at her sides. "That's a dangerous game," she whispered under her breath.

"It always has been," came Alpha's quiet reply.

——————————————————

The cobbled street outside the Adventurer's Guild carried the steady press of late morning traffic. Merchants shouted from carts, wagons rattled by with clattering wheels, and a dozen different scents tangled in the air — spiced bread, lamp oil, and the tang of freshly hammered iron. The Guildhall loomed over it all, its carved stone facade rising like a courthouse rather than the tavern-hall Alpha might have expected from the stories of adventurers. Broad pillars framed the front steps, and the gilded crest of crossed blades above the doors caught the weak sunlight.

Bartholomew tugged his cloak tighter around his shoulders. "I'll track down my captain," he said, nodding toward the cluster of barracks that lined the street farther down. "If he signs off, I can get the team reassigned to the temple. Won't be quick, but better than leaving the temple with just prayers and half-healed guards."

Garrelt grunted. His eyes lingered on the crest above the Guild's entrance before flicking back to Hugo. "Then I'll let the Guildmaster know we're here. Best he hears about the other night directly from me."

The hunter's jaw tightened, but he gave a short nod of farewell and moved off toward the heavy doors. Bartholomew peeled away in the opposite direction, weaving into the crowd with long, unhurried strides. That left Hugo standing alone in the shadow of the Guild, Alpha's [Wasp] perched on his armored shoulder like a watchful parasite.

For a moment, they simply stood together, the Guild's front steps busy with men and women in travel gear filing in and out. Then Alpha's voice buzzed low through the drone's mandibles, edged with curiosity. "So this is it? The heart of Halirosa's adventuring might?"

Hugo made a sound deep in his throat, neither agreement nor denial. His heavy boots thudded against the steps as he climbed. "Aye. It's… been a while since I've been here."

Alpha chuckled. "Shall we take a look then? I'll admit, I'm curious."

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Hugo hesitated for a moment before sighing and walking forward.

The double doors swung inward on oiled hinges, and the interior opened wide before them.

Alpha's optic narrowed.

He had expected noise — clamor, spilled ale, the musk of sweat and steel. What greeted him instead was a surprising… order.

The central chamber rose two stories high, its vaulted ceiling netting the glow of chandeliers strung with luminous stones. On the left, queues stretched in disciplined rows, each one funneling toward a polished desk where clerks in cream coats worked with brisk efficiency. Most lines held common folk — merchants clutching ledgers to their chests, farmers with dirt still caked in the seams of their hands, children shifting nervously behind mothers who twisted hats in anxious fingers. Scattered between them were shorter queues occupied by men and women bristling with steel, leather, and spirit auras — adventurers by any measure.

To the right, the wall broke into neat rows of numbered doors. Each was plain, marked only by brass plates, their purpose clear as one receptionist after another escorted a party and their client into the private rooms beyond.

Between the two halves of the hall sprawled a lounge of cushioned chairs and low tables, arranged in careful clusters. Adventurers lounged with mugs in hand while civilians huddled over papers, their murmured talk broken occasionally by a server gliding past with a tray of steaming tea or bread rolls. Occasionally, a clerk would approach one or the other and lead them to one of the numbered doors.

To Alpha's eye, it resembled a bank or a government office more than the mercenary dens he had encountered across the stars. Those had always been loud, reeking hives of coin, blood, and bravado. This though… this was something else entirely. The Adventurer's Guild, it seemed, valued appearances as much as efficiency. Professional to the bone.

The far wall that drew Alpha's full attention, however

A luminous screen dominated the space, instantly reminding Alpha of the large holographic notice boards the Federation Navy was so fond of. However, this was no hologram — not in the traditional sense, at least. A quick scan showed a lattice of runes and spirit-lines shimmered in the air, creating an array of impressive scale, even by Alpha's quickly increasing standards. On the board were hundreds — maybe, thousands — of floating rectangles of light. Each bore script, symbols, and occasionally an illustration.

Alpha swept a scan across them, his processors parsing as fast as the script shifted:

Escort Contract: "Merchant caravan bound for Calder's Ford. Three wagons, lightly guarded. Hazard pay offered for risk of bandits on the southern road."

Extermination Notice: "Infestation of stone-boring beetles reported in the South Ward granaries. Immediate action required. Bonus for proof of nest destruction."

Research Request: "Alchemical Guild seeks samples of Twilight Lotus petals. Located only in marshlands north of the Radiant Sea. Handling instructions provided. High hazard rating."

Guard Duty: "Noble household requests additional night watch for estate grounds. No combat anticipated. Background check required."

Bounty Posting: "Wanted—'Red Fang' bandit leader. Confirmed Silver Spirit cultivator. Capture alive preferred. Dead acceptable. Substantial reward offered."

As Alpha observed, one glowing sheet detached itself from the mass and drifted down into the waiting hand of a spear-bearing adventurer who had been studying the display. As it touched his hands, the sheet shimmered and materialized into a physical scroll. The adventurer then turned and took his place in one of the lines. Another posting flickered, then vanished, replaced a moment later by a fresh notice. The array shifted continuously, alive with new contracts and expiring ones, flowing like a tide.

The [Wasp]'s wings clicked once, a sharp metallic sound. "Impressive," Alpha murmured. "More like a ministry of war than a mercenary den."

Hugo's scarred face remained impassive, but his lips twitched, just barely. "Now you see why the Guildmaster's word carries more weight than half the city's elders."

Alpha's optic glowed faint red in response, tracking the steady flow of adventurers filing toward the doors. "Efficient," he said quietly.

It almost reminds me of how they do things in the Federation. Is this another example of influence? Or is it simply a coincidence? He thought to himself.

The lounge was quieter than the rest of the hall. Cushioned chairs gathered in neat circles around low tables where adventurers nursed mugs of steaming tea or leafed through contracts, their voices a muted counterpoint to the bustle near the reception desks. Hugo eased his bulk down into an empty chair, the plates of his armor creaking faintly as he leaned back. Alpha's [Wasp] settled on the table in front of him, its red optic catching the chandelier light in a cold glint.

"Tell me," Alpha said, his voice carrying evenly, "How does all this work? From how Bosco's men explained it, I was expecting something more… chaotic."

Hugo gave a harsh laugh. "Half those fools can barely read. I'm sure going through the paperwork felt like hell."

Hugo let his gaze wander across the room once before he spoke, voice low enough that it didn't carry. "The best place to start is the ranking system. Adventurers are split into five ranks: D, C, B, A, and S."

He shrugged. "Don't ask me why; no one I've talked to seemed to know. It's just how it's always been done."

Alpha's mandibles shifted, his voice emerging smooth, curious. "And how are these ranks measured? Cultivation, I assume?"

"D rank," Hugo said, resting one thick arm along the chair's side, "sits at the bottom. Technically, anyone in the Body stages qualifies — Wood, Stone, Iron. But nobody sane signs up at Wood Body. Too fragile. Most wait until they've hardened into mid-Stone before they bother registering. D-rank jobs are the scraps. Herb gathering. Clearing vermin. Maybe culling a weak spirit beast if the client's desperate."

The [Wasp] tilted its head, optics glinting. "Menial labor dressed up as adventure."

"Aye." Hugo's mouth twitched in something too dry to be a smile. "But it weeds out the ones who shouldn't be here."

His gauntleted fingers tapped once against the chair arm before he went on. "C rank is where most folk spend their lives. High Iron Body to Bronze Spirit cultivators. Caravan escorts, guard shifts, resource runs. Solid pay, steady work, but not so dangerous that you're digging your own grave with every contract. Nine out of ten never make it past this tier."

Alpha's mandibles clicked, the sound like steel grinding on glass. "And B rank?"

Hugo snorted. "B rank's when the risks turn real. Silver to Golden Spirit cultivators. Veterans. They take expeditions deep into the Crimson Mountains or go after beasts that prowl well beyond the city's reach. Long trips. Harder fights. Many don't come back."

The drone gave a low hum, the sound resonating oddly in the stillness. "Then A rank must be rare."

Hugo's tone flattened, but a thread of respect edged it. "A ranks are the elites. High Golden Spirit cultivators and Shackle Breakers. They lead personal squads and even some expeditions. Men like Garrelt. Adventurers like him don't just take contracts from the board — the clans and sects request them directly. That kind of work can shift the balance in the city."

He leaned back, the chair creaking under his bulk, gaze distant for a breath. "S rank's different. Those are the few who break past Mortal Foundations altogether. Earthly Transcendence cultivators are rare, even here. And most who reach that height end up joining a clan or sect anyway. It's the surest path into the Deep, and that's where the resources lie for anyone looking to climb higher."

Alpha's voice rasped through the [Wasp], calm but analytical. "Which explains why the Guild gambled on Bert and Robert. They weren't just testing my caverns. They were grasping for leverage. A reliable route into the Deep would tether their strongest to the Guild instead of watching them defect to the clans."

Hugo's eyes narrowed, a flicker of agreement there. He rumbled, "That's my suspicion."

The [Wasp] tilted its head, crimson glow steady. "And it would also explain Icefinger's interest in my cavern. Access to the Deep means control over advancement. Over retention. He isn't simply feeding his coffers with loans and extortion. He's buying the loyalty of those who wish to climb higher."

Hugo's mouth pulled into a grim line, but he didn't answer right away.

Before he could, boots thudded across the stone. Garrelt strode toward them, his expression as taut as the bowstring of his namesake. He stopped at their table, eyes flicking once to the [Wasp] before fixing on Hugo.

"The Guildmaster's ready for us," he said.

Hugo rose with a grunt, plates rasping against one another as he straightened to his full height. The [Wasp] lifted from the table in a smooth arc, wings humming. Together, they followed Garrelt across the polished floor toward the inner offices, the low murmur of the lounge fading behind them.

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