The Copper Kettle was quieter than William had ever seen it when he pushed through the entrance late afternoon, the scattering of patrons mostly older hunters nursing quiet drinks or reviewing contracts at corner tables. Reyes sat in their usual spot, leg still braced though he was managing the cane less and less with each passing day, a data slate spread across the table in front of him.
William settled across from him without preamble, the small guardian hopping up beside him in its preferred perch. Reyes glanced up from the slate, reading something in William’s expression that made him set the device aside.
"You’ve decided something," Reyes said. Not a question.
"Eastwick Rift." William kept his voice level. "The anomaly pattern. It’s been bothering me since Lyra first mentioned it. The Association’s getting nervous about irregular activity, and nobody’s actually gone in to do a proper survey since the incident reports started piling up."
Reyes was quiet for a long moment, considering. "You’re thinking you should be the one to do it."
"I’m thinking we should. You, me, and Lyra."
"I’m still three weeks minimum from being cleared for combat." Reyes’s tone was matter of fact, no self pity in it. "Healers were clear on that."
"I’m not asking you to fight. I’m asking you to be the head. The strategy. You’ve done more dungeons in your career than I’ve been alive. You know how to read a rift, how to plan approaches, how to handle the variables." William leaned forward slightly. "I have the power. Lyra has the courage and the instincts. But I don’t have the experience. Neither does she. And I’m not going into something as unpredictable as Eastwick without someone who actually knows what he’s doing calling the shots."
Reyes’s expression shifted, something complicated crossing his face. "That’s not how this works, Belforht. You don’t put an injured man in charge of a dungeon run just because he knows the theory. When something goes wrong, and in dungeons something always goes wrong, I won’t be able to move fast enough to be useful."
"Then you won’t be useful in that moment. But you’ll have kept us from walking into the dungeon blind, and that’s worth more than your combat capability would be anyway." William paused. "I trust your judgment more than I trust my own. I need that."
The tavern door swung open, admitting a gust of afternoon air and a figure William recognized immediately. Lyra Vespern moved through the Copper Kettle’s interior with the kind of practiced grace that came from years navigating merchant family functions, dressed in practical hunting gear rather than the manor finery she’d worn during their last meeting. Her eyes found William’s table almost immediately, and she changed direction without hesitation.
"William, I was hoping to find you here." She stopped at the table’s edge, taking in Reyes with the same assessing gaze she turned on everything else. "I’ve been thinking about the anomalies. There are patterns in the merchant network reports that don’t match the Association’s official statements, and I think I know—" She stopped, suddenly aware she’d interrupted something. "Am I interrupting?"
"No." William gestured to the empty chair. "Sit. There’s someone you need to meet."
Lyra settled into the chair, and William found himself uncertain exactly how to introduce them. Not as ’the man who got left behind in the Tower.’ Not as ’the raid leader whose life I saved.’ Reyes was watching this play out with what looked like amusement, one eyebrow quirked slightly.
"Lyra Vespern, this is Dorian Reyes. C Rank hunter, Iron Body Talent, and the closest thing I have to someone who actually knows what he’s doing." William turned to Reyes. "Dorian, Lyra’s the one who was investigating Eastwick when I found her surrounded by goblins. She’s been helping me track the anomalies ever since."
"The girl you rescued," Reyes said, studying her with new interest. "Merchant family heir, if I remember the gossip correctly. Disowned herself to keep hunting."
"Word travels." Lyra’s tone was wry, but she didn’t deny it. She turned back to William. "What did I interrupt?"
"We’re going into Eastwick," William said. "All three of us. Reyes will be directing strategy, you’ll be combat support alongside me, and I’ll be handling anything that needs taming or brute force response."
Lyra’s eyes widened slightly, then settled into focus. She didn’t ask if it was safe, didn’t question the decision. "When?"
"Four days. That gives us time to prepare, get gear in order, plan approaches." William glanced at Reyes. "That’s manageable, right? Even with the leg."
"Four days for prep is tight but doable." Reyes’s expression had shifted into something harder, more focused. The look of someone already cataloguing everything that needed to happen before a dungeon run could begin. "First thing you need to do is get proper equipment. Your gear from the Tower raid was salvaged barely well enough to get you home. It won’t hold up under sustained pressure in a rift like Eastwick."
He pushed himself upright using the cane, moving slowly but without the hesitation he’d shown the last time William saw him attempt standing. "We’re going to the gear district. Both of you. You especially, Belforht. That leather satchel is barely worth calling armor, and your blade is rusted half to hell."
"I have potions—"
"Potions are for emergencies. Gear is for staying alive long enough that you only need potions once." Reyes was already moving toward the tavern entrance, the cane a tool of convenience now rather than a necessity. "And if we’re doing this, we’re doing it right. No cutting corners, no half measures."
Lyra stood, already reaching for her own coin purse, but Reyes waved her off with a sharp gesture.
"My coin. Consider it an investment in not dying on a dungeon run I’m nominally responsible for." He paused at the tavern door, looking back at them both. "You coming, or are you going to stand there looking lost?"
William exchanged a glance with Lyra, and saw his own sudden gratitude reflected back at him. Whatever Reyes had been before the Tower displaced Cerberus, he was something different now. Not quite mentor, not quite equal, but something that occupied the space between those roles with a certainty that made the whole arrangement suddenly feel less like William fumbling through a dangerous situation and more like a plan with actual weight behind it.
They followed Reyes out into Ashvale’s afternoon streets, toward the gear district and everything that came with admitting you needed help building something that could actually last.