“…so, you’re SURE that the client didn’t mention the hole?”

“For the fourth time, yes.”

The Tempus guild was more than used to their fair share of strange cases. Two months ago, Axel and Shinri had been called to locate a thief and ended up being roped into a gladiatorial tournament because of it. Three weeks ago, Bettel was made to infiltrate a traveling circus in order to recover a stolen item and ended up the star attraction after faceplanting off a tightrope, and somehow incorporating it into his act. It seemed like there was no end to the oddities surrounding this guild, and when Regis Altare and Vesper Noir were called to investigate an ominous crypt, they thought that surely nothing could go wrong.

When they arrived, instead of finding a crumbling stone building, they found a smoking hole in the side of the fucking mountain.

“Any chance this was a natural disaster?” Altare chuckles nervously, sliding his sword from its sheath and giving it a couple of test swings. He frowns when the balance is off, chalking it up to the fact that he needed it repaired after a certain incident with Flayon and the R-TRUS.

Vesper gestures to the peaceful scenery around them. The sun filters through the trees and casts dancing shadows across the two of them, a cacophony of birds chirping at the sudden predicament. He then points at the billowing smoke, just before snatching a flickering ember out of the air and showing the blue-haired boy.

“Fires don’t start in the woods by themselves, Altare.” The scholar adjusts his glasses, stepping closer and unlatching a tome from the holster under his jacket. With a few murmured words, he casts his hand out once more and does away with a good chunk of the smoke. “Do you want to go in first, or should I?”

“I’ve got the armor, Ves. Let me handle this?” The boy gives the older man a cheeky smile, striding forward and hopping into the smoke without another word spoken. After a few moments, Vesper can’t even hear the scraping of Altare’s boots against the hard dirt.

He stares for a moment, before sighing and reaching up to switch his earpiece on.

“Axel. You up?” Vesper waits for a moment, before tearing the blasted thing out of his ear when the blonde responds.

“The fuck do you want?! I’m a bit busy right now, man!” The gladiator laughs uproariously, and Vesper hears the sound of glasses being slammed together. “You’ll never guess what happened, dude – turns out some rich assholes saw Bettel’s show and really fucking liked it! They came by with some ale as a delayed tip, and man, you should see Magni – he’s got his co—”

“Don’t finish that sentence, and don’t call them assholes to their face, idiot. We’ve got a problem.”

“Again?! Fuck, I figured Hakka was up to no good!”

“I don’t know what that’s about, but wrong answer.”

“…is it Flay’s fault?”

“No! When would I have had time to talk to him?!”

“He’s got a mech! He can fly anywhere in a matter of seconds!”

“…fair point, but no. It’s our leader.” Vesper pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to summon every ounce of strength to not research a spell that would strike Axel with lightning from miles away. “Our latest request isn’t going as planned. The crypt is a smoking crater.”

“Aw, man, you’re sure they didn’t include that on the form?”

“NO! Something isn’t right, get your ass over here before I find a way to dock your pay.”

“I’m the treasurer, you dick—”

Vesper clicks off the headset and storms towards the crater with a sneer on his face, whipping out his rapier and balancing the book in his other hand.

“Altare! Can you hear me?”

There’s no response. If he didn’t hear him the first time, the second call would basically be useless. Vesper briefly sets his weapons down, takes off his coat, gives it a neat little fold, and then picks his armaments up before sliding down into the smoky cloud, channeling air magic to keep the damned stuff out of his eyes.

It’s always something with this guild.