Mythal, The Main Lands, Vicinity of Silverhaven.

Rowland Estate.

The afternoon sun slanted through the tall windows of the Eclipse Vanguard's private meeting hall in Silverhaven, painting warm rectangles on the polished wood floor. The air hummed with a tense, familiar energy.

For days, the talk of the guild—and the city—had been the newly emerged dungeon in the Whispering Wastes, west of Silverhaven. The Guild’s preliminary assessment bore stark, alarming runes: High Threat. A-rank. Possible S-rank Contingency. A missive, stamped with the Grandmaster’s own seal, had found its way to Yuzuha. It commended the Eclipse Vanguard’s prowess but strongly, strongly recommended assembling a larger strike force for such an unknown peril.

This recommendation had sparked a low, simmering argument between the party’s leaders.

“We’ve faced worse with just the four of us, Yuzu,” Dorian’s voice was a resonant rumble, his massive arms crossed over his chestplate. He shifted, the black metal groaning softly. “Letting strangers into Eclipse… it feels wrong. We’re a family. We know how each other moves, breathes, fights.”

Yuzuha, seated at the head of the broad oak table, did not look up from the guild’s geological reports. Her white fox ears twitched once, the only sign of her focus. “The guild is not in the habit of overestimating threats, Dorian. ‘Possible S-rank contingency’ are not words they use lightly. This isn’t about pride or tradition. It is about risk mitigation. We take on two capable adventurers for one mission, increase our margin of safety, and complete the contract. That is the strategic choice.”

“It’s letting outsiders in,” Dorian grumbled, but the fight was leaving him. He knew the steel in her tone, the cool logic that had saved them more times than his brute strength.

“It is a temporary alliance,” she said finally, lifting her green eyes to meet his. “For one mission. We screen them thoroughly. We maintain command.”

With a sigh that sounded like a bear settling, Dorian had relented. “Fine. For the mission.”

Now, several days later, the screening was underway. The hall had been arranged for interviews. Yuzuha sat centered at the table, a model of composed authority. Before her lay neat stacks of parchment—applicant files, guild endorsements, maps of the Whispering Wastes. Her posture was straight, her hands folded, a calm center in the room.

To her left, Dorian occupied a chair that seemed too small for his frame. Two distinct piles of resumes were before him: a slim ‘Accepted’ stack and a growing ‘Rejected’ one. His broadsword leaned against the table within easy reach. Currently, however, his enormous hands were occupied with a blank piece of parchment and a charcoal stick. His brow was furrowed in intense concentration as he sketched, his movements surprisingly delicate. The nascent form of a howling wolf was taking shape on the paper.

On Yuzuha’s right, Mizuki spun a dagger on its point on the tabletop, the metallic whir-whir-whir a constant, bored soundtrack. She slumped in her chair, her red ponytail dangling over the backrest, her fox tail flicking in a lazy, rhythmic pattern against the leg of her chair. “How many ‘masters of the blade’ and ‘arcanic prodigies’ can one city hold?” She groaned under her breath, barely audible. “I’m starting to think they all read from the same pamphlet.”

“Welcome,” Yuzuha said, her voice clear and calm, cutting through the room’s varied atmospheres. “Please, state your name, guild rank, and specialization for the record.” She picked up a quill, poised to note the details. “Be advised, we are considering applicants of A-rank for full integration into the expeditionary team for the Whispering Wastes dungeon. B-rank applicants may be considered for auxiliary or support roles within the larger operation. Ranks below B will not be considered at this time.”