While Sophie was off trying to convince a dragon that her rarity level was worth her cost in upkeep, two Very Familiar If Still Altogether Strange Fellows were off ransacking her house - or, rather, what little was left of it.

“You know, when you told me you graduated top of your class from Eggbert’s Educational Institute for Erudite Explosion Enjoyers, I figured that would mean you’d cast incendiary devices with a little more foresight,” Tooth griped as they sifted through the powdered ash that was all that remained of Sophie’s house.

“How was I to know the bomb would latch onto her house?” Snaggle whined, as he pushed a board aside. The board shifted and, unstable, turned into dust.

“Evidently, your class focused only on class and left the substance of the matter for another day,” Tooth quipped, irate, having hunted through the remnants without success. “If the umbrella was here, it’s gone. Erased, obliterated, comminuted, micronised, pulverised, vapourized, scotched, gone.”

Snaggle grumbled, choosing to ignore the slight - after all, just as there was no ‘I’ in ‘Team,’ so too was there no ‘We,’ so really in insulting the group Tooth was insulting himself - and sniffed the air once or twice.

“Oh, it’s gone, but not in that sense of the word. If the umbrella had been destroyed I’d scent a trace of it - a lingering smell, only a whiff, but enough to know that here, here was magic. Such a scent can’t be found; it’s safe to say, in my inimitable estimation, that the umbrella was removed prior to her returning home.”

“Which raises the question, then,” Tooth said, and Snaggle finished, “if it’s gone, where did it go? And, more importantly, who has it?”

The pair of Very Strange Fellows thought about this deeply, and might, perhaps, have reached some conclusion had they not at that very moment been interrupted.

“Yo, dudes, that fire looks, like, nasty, man. Glad I don’t live there,” said a very loud and very obnoxious voice. The youth standing on the road looked at the pair of mismatched if snazzy gentlemen with sympathy.

His dress was utterly bizarre, a hideous mishmash of apocalypse-style leather armour and florid beach wear, and his hair had been both buzzed and gelled. Nonetheless, he held a long spear in his hands, and from the wisp of aether emanating off him Snaggle knew he must be one of those that had been touched by the rifts.

“You guys may want to get away too,” the youth drawled, staring at their bowler hats with especial if inexplicable concern. “It’s, like, dangerous, and it’ll only get more dangerous from here.”

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“Oh? How so?” Said Tooth, affecting an easy demeanour.

“Didn’t you hear? A big Dungeon opened up near here,” the youth said, using the mortal neologism for the rifts and their fell contents. Neither Snaggle nor Tooth were aware of where the term had come from - though they suspected it was because their coming imprisoned humanity in a living Hell.

“It’s full of money, but also monsters, and they’re probably what destroyed this… house? Barn? Pigsty?” The youth asked vaguely, clearly uncaring as to what it had actually been. Neither of the pair decided to correct him.

“So yeah, like, you shouldn’t be here,” the youth finished. “And don’t go down that road.”

And he pointed down the street, in the very direction he was heading.

“And yourself? If this… Dungeon is that deadly, ought you not to be heading the other way?” Tooth continued.

The youth puffed up. “Me? I’m an E-rank Hunter. Those monsters have nothing on me.”

The pair of Very Strange Fellows gazed at him uncomprehendingly.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to prevail upon you to regale us yet further with details of your exploits,” Tooth started, and Snaggle finished. “Namely, by telling us what in the ballyhoo it means to be ‘E-rank’ and why being a ‘Hunter’ means you’re confident hunting monsters - they aren’t bears, boy.”

The youth bristled. “Not one of those hunters. I’m a Hunter - a certified superhero.”

“Oh?” Snaggle said, eyes narrowing as he considered the youth. “You’re young, but you don’t look like you’re twelve.”

“No, no, like, when the Dungeons came a big glowing bubble popped up in front of my face and told me that I had, like, rad powers yo. So I went to the Guild - that’s, like, where all the Hunters go - and they certified me, and said I had superpowers, and that when they measured them I was Rank E. There’s, like, twenty-five letters in the alphabet, but they didn’t even bother telling me about anyone under Rank F, so I must be really strong.”

By now Snaggle & Tooth had realised that ‘Hunters’ was some mortal term for the rift touched, although how they were measuring the power scale - and what it entailed - was beyond them. They were, however, equally aware that any answers they got from the youth would be highly fragmentary at best and more likely downright useless, and so changed the subject.

Tooth coughed. “You said we ought to avoid this ‘Dungeon,’ which is, if I remember aright, down the road that way. Can you give us any more advice on its appearance, so that we might better avoid it?”

“Sure can,” gushed the youth. “It appeared in the centre of Basket on the Rye, near the town hall. Giant Dungeon entrance shaped like a cornucopia. They’re calling it the Cornucopia of Plenty, cuz of, you know, the cornucopia. The monsters are apparently nothing scary - just a bunch of scarecrows. Rumour says it’s full of riches, so I’m going to do some harvesting.”

“I see,” said Tooth. “Thank you very much for the information; we’ll be sure to avoid the town for the time being. I wish you the best of luck on your ventures.”

“Yeah, you too,” the youth said, and headed towards the Dungeon, there to die in horrible and unmentionable ways at the hands of what never should have been.

The pair of Very Strange Fellows watched him leave, unaware of his oncoming tragic fate, and without looking at each other began to chat.

“So, about that Dungeon,” Tooth started, and once more Snaggle finished, this time with a grin. “How about we look there for the umbrella first?”