Chapter 117: Return to the Town
The gates of Elandra came into view just past noon, their iron-bound wood flanked by tall watchtowers carved with ivy and eagle motifs. Smoke curled lazily from the chimneys within, and the faint sounds of hammers, bells, and distant voices bled through the stone walls. After days in the wild, the city’s familiar silhouette was oddly comforting—and heavy. It meant explanations. Truths. Losses.
Inigo adjusted the sling of his M4, the matte-black weapon now dulled by dust and wear. Beside him, Lyra pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders. They’d spoken little that morning, save for the necessary. Words had become heavy. Each one risked opening wounds neither of them were ready to touch.
The guards at the gate barely questioned them. The moment they saw the guild insignia sewn into Lyra’s collar and the state they were in—mud-slick boots, dried blood on Inigo’s gloves—they simply nodded and opened the way. The guards didn’t smile. Adventurers coming back without a full party told its own tale.
The city buzzed around them, unaware. Merchants called out prices for figs and linen. Children chased each other across the cobbled streets. Smiths hammered iron in rhythm. But to Inigo, it all felt like a painting—colorful, vivid, and silent beneath the roar inside his head.
They reached the adventurers’ guild within minutes.
The facade of the Adventurer’s guild loomed like a fortress between the market square and the temple road. Banners flapped gently in the breeze—each bearing the same sigil: a sword over an open book, framed by a broken chain. The symbol of free men who fought not for kings, but for coin and cause.
Inigo pushed open the heavy oak doors.
Inside, the main hall was bustling. Adventurers leaned on tables scattered with mugs, half-eaten meals, and dice. Quest boards lined the far wall, and the scent of sweat, smoke, and old wood hung thick in the air.
The moment they stepped through, a familiar voice called out.
"Inigo? Lyra?!"
Elise.