A day later, at the Adventurer's Guild.
Inigo and Lyra entered—and instead of the usual bustle of armor-clad warriors, shouting clerks, and clashing tankards, they were met with stillness. Chairs sat empty. The quest board was bare. Not even Elise was behind the counter.
Inigo narrowed his eyes. "It's empty."
Lyra scanned the quiet hall. "This is unusual."
"It is indeed unusual," came a booming voice from across the room.
Both turned toward the source. From a hallway behind the main desk emerged Guildmaster Thorne, his deep crimson cloak dragging behind him like a battle standard. Despite the early hour, the man looked fully awake—broad-shouldered, weathered, and already nursing a ceramic mug that smelled of black coffee and something faintly spiced.
"For the meantime," Thorne continued, his heavy boots echoing across the stone floor, "the Adventurer's Guild will not be accepting requests from the public."
Inigo stepped forward, frowning. "Why? What's going on?"
