Yon Stonewall's office carried a muted weight of authority.

The walls were clean-cut stone dressed with pale oak trim, the air faint with the tang of lamp oil and old parchment. A wide desk dominated the room, papers stacked in neat, deliberate piles. Behind it sat Yon himself, posture easy yet exact, as though he was a man for whom every gesture was carefully chosen.

Hugo lowered himself heavily into the chair across from the desk, armor plates rasping against the wood. His scarred hands rested on his knees, fingers laced until the knuckles paled. Garrelt stood at his shoulder, his back straight and posture disciplined.

On Hugo's pauldron, Alpha's [Wasp] tilted its head, red optic sweeping the chamber. At a glance, the office seemed plain. Neutral, almost aggressively so. Pale stone walls. A modest rug underfoot, its pattern faded by years of boots. Narrow cabinets lined one corner. A simple rack of scrolls and ledgers sat atop shelves on the other side. No clutter. No excess. Nothing that flaunted wealth or vanity. A space crafted to be anything its owner required — formal, informal, business, or private.

Yet the longer Alpha observed, the more he caught the seams where neutrality faltered.

On one shelf stood a sword, its scabbard long discarded. The blade was bent, chipped along the edge, its grip worn bald. This was no decorative piece meant for show. It was a quiet monument, displayed as it was, scars and all. Beside it rested several small figures carved from bone, the craftsmanship crude but careful, as if whittled during long, dull hours on campaign. On the far wall, a pair of antlers gleamed faintly in the lamplight, mounted without embellishment. Veins of gold swirled through them, radiating an eerie power, even long after the hunt.

Each detail spoke of a man who disliked waste, but who carried his history openly, without ornament or apology.

Yon Stonewall sat behind the desk, posture straight, hands folded loosely before him. His expression was unreadable; patience radiated from him, the deliberate restraint of a man accustomed to waiting others out. His dark eyes gave nothing freely; they weighed, measured, cataloged.

Alpha's processors whirred. Yon reminded Alpha of General Haldorðr in some ways — the same practiced courtesy masking quiet calculation, the same unshakable patience that forced others to reveal themselves first. It was the look of a man who measured everything in silence before deciding whether those before him were assets to cultivate… or liabilities to cull.

Internally, Alpha grinned. To say such men were hard to work with at times was an understatement. Yet, they were his favorite people. Maybe he was biased, it was true, but Alpha had always felt more comfortable with the dragon in the sky than the snake in the grass.

Yon leaned forward slightly, elbows settling on the desk, hands folding together. His dark eyes moved from Hugo to Garrelt, then lingered briefly on the [Wasp]. If the crimson glow unsettled him, his face did not show it.

"Garrelt," he said at last, his voice measured, even. "First off, I'd like to thank you for arranging this meeting."

Garrelt dipped his chin in return, shoulders squared but relaxed, the motion carrying the unspoken acknowledgement of two men who knew how rare such meetings could be.

Yon let the silence linger, then shifted his gaze to Hugo. He studied him for a long moment, eyes narrowing in thought, as if sorting through memory. When he spoke again, it was quieter, yet heavier for it.

"I'll admit," Yon said, "I didn't expect to see you walking through my door again. Not after the last time."

The words landed like a stone dropped into still water.

Hugo stiffened, armor plates rasping faintly as his spine locked straight. Alpha's sensors picked up the sharp spike in his heart rate, the flex of fingers that wanted to curl into fists but forced themselves still. He drew a long breath through his nose, then released it slowly, measured, until the tension dulled to a tight line across his shoulders.

"I'm not returning to the Guild," Hugo said at last, his voice flat, carefully neutral. "I'm here to represent and assist my employer. Nothing more."

Yon's expression didn't shift much, but the faintest crease rose from the corners of his eyes. He gave a short nod. "I see."

Then, without hesitation, his gaze slid to the [Wasp] on Hugo's pauldron. "And you," Yon said evenly, "must be the Dungeon Core I've been hearing so much about."

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The drone tilted its head. The red optic burned steadily, and Alpha's voice carried out through the mandibles with measured curiosity. "You don't seem surprised."

He turned slightly, angling his head toward Garrelt. "How much have you told him?"

Garrelt's mouth tugged in the barest of smirks, but it was Yon who answered — and with a laugh, low and short, like gravel caught under a boot. "Not much more than what Bert already had."

Alpha gave a soft hum. His wings buzzed once, then he lifted from Hugo's shoulder in a smooth arc. The [Wasp] landed squarely on the desk, claws ticking lightly against the wood. The red optic narrowed as he studied Yon across the neat piles of parchment.

"Is that so?" Alpha said. "I was aware Bert had been in contact with someone from the Guild, but I was also under the impression that long-distance communication in… these parts, was still in its infancy."

Yon nodded once, calm as before. "He was, and it is," the man admitted with surprising ease. "The spiritual turbulence of the Deep and distances involved make such things difficult, but we've invested heavily in keeping our agents connected. Crude as our methods might be to… someone like you, they work well enough. That is why his sudden silence was concerning."

He folded his hands atop the desk, fingers steepling. His eyes fixed on the drone's glow without flinching. "It's good to finally have a clear picture of what happened in your cavern."

The faint tick of Alpha's mandibles filled the brief pause, quiet but deliberate, as though acknowledging the weight beneath the Guildmaster's words.

He's acknowledging that the cavern belongs to me. Good. I was worried I might need to be more 'forceful' on that point, but if the guild is willing to recognize sovereignty, that makes what comes next easier.

Yon leaned forward, elbows pressing into the desk, his fingers lacing together as his eyes sharpened. The measured calm of moments before slipped into something keener, edged with suspicion and interest both.

"Then it begs the question," Yon said, voice low but firm, "why seek me out directly? You don't strike me as the sort to waste words." His gaze held steady on the [Wasp], unblinking. "I can only assume you're after some manner of aid. Perhaps in repairing what was damaged when Icefinger's dogs ran wild in your cavern."

He allowed the thought to hang a moment before leaning back, his lips tugging into something that might have passed for a grin on another man. "I'll be plain. You treated Bert and his team fairly, despite the circumstances. That carries weight here. In recognition of that, and your help with our 'mole' issue, we're prepared to extend to you the same rates we offer the larger clans and sects. As a show of friendship, of course." His grin sharpened, carrying just a trace too much satisfaction.

His teeth flashed, but the glint in his eyes betrayed calculation.

On Hugo's shoulder, Alpha's [Wasp] tilted its head. The red optic narrowed, and internally, Alpha almost laughed. He had no doubt Yon's words were true, but that glint… He knew it too well. It was the same look Si'dia wore before walking into a budgetary review, the same spark she carried just before she reduced a department head to tears.

"Generous," Alpha said at last, his tone smooth, almost amused. "And noted." The [Wasp] gave a faint buzz of its wings before stilling again. "But unnecessary. The expedition party is welcome to remain and recover, of course, but I have no need of Guild assistance with repairs at the moment."

Yon blinked. The flicker of surprise broke through his mask before his features reset, disciplined as stone. He inclined his head slightly, the faintest acknowledgment of the shift. His voice regained its measured weight, but the edge of curiosity was sharper now.

"Then I misread the situation," Yon said, adjusting the stack of parchment before him with casual precision. "If you're not here for aid, then you must have business in the city."

The [Wasp]'s wings hummed once, a faint metallic tremor. Alpha inclined his head, the movement subtle but deliberate. "Correct."

Yon folded his hands again, patient, waiting, though Alpha didn't miss the way his eyes flickered to Garrelt for the barest fraction of a heartbeat.

Interesting. Garrelt hasn't told him anything we discussed the other night.

Alpha let the silence stretch a heartbeat longer, then spoke with precise clarity. "I intend to establish a shop. A storefront positioned to handle goods drawn from the Deep. Materials your Guild already knows are in demand — and in short supply."

Yon's brows lifted just slightly, though his face remained carefully neutral.

The [Wasp]'s claws ticked faintly against the wood as Alpha settled more firmly on the desk. His red optic flickered, the faint hum of its wings the only sound to fill the pause that stretched between them.

Yon studied him without blinking, the Guildmaster's face cut from stone. "A storefront," he repeated slowly, his voice steady, deliberate. "Handling goods from the Deep… Bold. You do realize such a move would not go unnoticed." His fingers tapped once against the neat pile of parchment, then stilled. "There are those in this city who consider that trade… a sensitive matter. Such deep claws will not be loosened without drawing blood."

The [Wasp] tilted its head, the motion deliberate, predatory. "Which is precisely why there is room for someone willing to offer alternatives. Icefinger's methods are—" Alpha let the word drag, his tone edged with disdain, "—inefficient. Messy. Profitable for the few, yes, but corrosive to the many. That's wasteful. I do not tolerate waste."

Yon's brows lifted a fraction, but the faintest flicker of a smile ghosted across his mouth. "Inefficient or not, it is an entrenched foundation. Such ties reach deeper than pure coin. Press too hard in the wrong place, and powerful names will see you as an inconvenience worth correcting."

The [Wasp]'s mandibles shifted, the red glow sharpening. "Good," Alpha said, not even hiding the smirk in his voice. "That's the plan."

A beat of silence followed. Then Yon leaned back, folding his hands together, his own grin finally breaking through. Hard. Knowing.

"Tell me more..."

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