The morning rush at Mcronald’s had passed, leaving behind a gentle lull and the cozy scent of fried potatoes clinging to the rafters. The tables had cleared out, save for a few students huddled over scrolls and munching fries, and an elderly couple quietly enjoying the Morning Silog Bowl near the back corner. The kitchen had been cleaned to an acceptable level of "still busy, but not a disaster," and Inigo had finally leaned back on the counter with a satisfied sigh.
He wiped the sweat off his brow with a rag. "Alright. That was smoother than yesterday. We’re starting to find our rhythm."
Lyra leaned beside him, arms crossed, sipping from a wooden cup of soda. "Told you hiring help would make a difference."
"Riko nearly forgot to serve a soda to table four."
"And Maddy almost poured ketchup into someone’s tea."
Inigo chuckled. "But no fights broke out. No one died. That’s a win."
As if on cue, the bell over the front door jingled.
Lyra gave a sideways glance. "Another late customer?"
Inigo looked up. His smirk faded slightly into something more surprised. Two familiar figures stepped through the entrance—poised and out of place amid the grease and chatter of a humble fast-food joint.
Elise was the first to speak, her voice carrying its usual crispness as she walked up to the counter. "So this is the famous Mcronald’s. I’ve heard rumors about it for weeks now, but I didn’t think you were serious."
Guildmaster Thorne followed behind her with that same unshakeable presence—broad, calm, yet always a touch intimidating, like a storm cloud that hadn’t decided whether to pass or strike.
Inigo stood straighter and gave a half-smile. "Well, if I knew royalty was dropping by, I’d have rolled out the red carpet."
Thorne arched a brow. "Spare me the theatrics, Inigo. I’m here for two things—lunch and business. Preferably in that order."
"We can do both," Inigo said, stepping aside. "Please, have a seat. We’ll bring the food to you."
They chose a table near the window, close enough to see the small crowd still milling outside eyeing the "Open Again at 3 PM" sign. Elise tugged her gloves off and draped her uniform jacket over the back of her chair.
Lyra leaned toward Inigo as they stepped into the kitchen. "You think this is about the Lord of Destruction?"
"If it is, I don’t want to hear it over fries."
He grabbed two trays and prepped two of their best-selling meals: the Double Burger Meal and the Adventurer’s Feast, complete with large fries and soda. He added extra sauce packets—unofficial policy when serving guild officials.
A few minutes later, Inigo stepped out and delivered the trays himself. "Double burger for the Guildmaster. Adventurer’s Feast for Elandra’s sharpest receptionist."
Elise narrowed her eyes with a smirk. "Flattery won’t get you out of paperwork, you know."
"I was hoping it might buy me a few extra days before the next one."
Thorne examined his burger like it was a tactical report, then took a deliberate bite. For a moment, there was silence.
Then—he chewed, nodded once, and took another, larger bite.
"I see the rumors were true," Thorne said between mouthfuls. "Juicy, flavorful, and unlike anything I’ve tasted in Elandra."
Elise was less reserved. "This is so much better than whatever the Guild cafeteria calls food. How is it crispy and soft at the same time?"
"Magic," Inigo replied flatly.
She rolled her eyes and reached for a fry. "Seriously. Why did you wait this long to reopen this place?"
Inigo leaned against a support beam, arms crossed. "Took a while to get a permit, find a place, hire help... and I was still recovering from our recent adventures."
Thorne, still chewing, raised a hand. "You’re alive. You got paid. You even got a business out of it."
"Sure, but it wouldn’t kill you to send someone else next time."
Thorne wiped his mouth with a napkin and set down the half-eaten burger. "About that."
Inigo’s smile faded. "You’re not here just for the food."
"No," Thorne said simply.
Elise dabbed the corners of her lips with a handkerchief. "It’s not a normal request either. Not something we’re putting on the public boards."
"Of course it isn’t," Inigo said, exhaling. "We just reopened, Thorne. I haven’t even had time to adjust the salt balance in the fries."
Inigo frowned. "How urgent?"
"The kind of urgent that might affect the city."
He looked at Lyra. Her expression mirrored his—annoyed, resigned, but attentive.
Thorne added, "I wouldn’t be here in person if it wasn’t serious. I know you’re trying to build something here. I respect that."
"Doesn’t feel like it when you’re here to pull us back into the field."
"I need people I can trust," Thorne said firmly. "People who’ve proven they can think, adapt, and survive. And more importantly—people who understand the stakes."
Inigo walked back behind the counter, pretending to rearrange spice jars while thinking.
Elise watched him. "If it helps, this job comes with significant pay. Enough to cover a month’s worth of rent and more."
"Not about the money," Inigo muttered.
"I know," Elise said softly. "But it might buy this place a bit more breathing room."
Inigo glanced at Lyra. "What do you think?"
She shrugged. "We’ll eventually get dragged into something big whether we like it or not. Better we get paid for it."
"You’ve been hanging around me too long," he muttered.
She smirked. "You made me a manager. This is what you get."
With a long exhale, Inigo walked back to their table and dropped into the seat across from Thorne.
"Alright. Tell us when and where. But I’m not pulling double shifts—Lyra runs the place while I’m gone."
"I thought you said you’d go," Lyra said, surprised.
"I am. But someone needs to make sure Riko doesn’t burn the fryer down."
Thorne looked satisfied. He pushed the rest of his burger aside and stood up.
"We’ll send the briefing scroll to your house by sundown. Departure’s tomorrow morning. Pack light."
Elise polished off her fries and smiled. "Good thing you’ve got a few more hours until the next wave. Use it to rest."
"Or fry more potatoes," Inigo muttered.
As they left, the bell above the door jingled again. The scent of fresh burgers lingered in the air.
Lyra stood beside him, arms crossed again. "Guess we’re back in the game."
Inigo glanced around the diner. The red-painted sign. The sizzling grill. The scent of garlic oil and toasted buns. Their world.
And soon, the other one.
"Yeah," he murmured. "But at least we’re bringing burgers with us this time."