image [https://img.wattpad.com/d7deaa14443986a1a1d4b73a5e50b582858746b3/68747470733a2f2f73332e616d617a6f6e6177732e636f6d2f776174747061642d6d656469612d736572766963652f53746f7279496d6167652f70677875363152455872514958773d3d2d313531343337383932362e313831666638383230313535643263363131353538303135333130372e706e67]

The walk across the city was brisk—far brisker than Gael would have liked, especially with the bruises forming across his back with every step. If the knight worried about the injuries he caused, he hid it very well. Luckily, it was nearly midnight, and the city had settled into a quieter rhythm, making it easier to keep an eye on the knight's steady pace ahead of them. Their progress, however, was slowed by the knight's seemingly random detours, looping through alleys and side streets. Gael was certain they'd circled the same block twice. It didn't take a genius to figure out the knight didn't trust them—or want them to remember the way back to wherever he was taking them.

After the third stop, when Vess nearly collapsed, the knight finally relented and started a fire in a nearby alley. Vess sank to the ground beside it, her face pale but determined as she leaned into the warmth despite the sweat already beading down her face. The fire seemed to steady her, and after only a minute, she was back on her feet, breathing easier and her strength returning. Gael offered her his hand, pulling her up to her feet before falling into step together, trailing behind the knight as he carried Lukas's limp form over his shoulder.

Gael watched Vess carefully, noting the way she moved—the familiar sharpness creeping back into her eyes, the set of her shoulders. She was piecing herself back together, little by little.

"What do the withdrawals feel like?" he asked, keeping his voice light, though concern pooled beneath the surface.

Vess let out a short, humorless laugh. "Like shit. What do you think?" She kicked at a loose stone, sending it skipping down the path. "Like whatever makes me, me has been ripped out—like I'm hollow and stretched too thin all at once."

Gael considered that, stealing a glance at her from the corner of his eye. He could still picture the way she'd crumpled earlier, breath ragged, fingers trembling. Essence withdrawals weren't something he'd ever realistically have to worry about—he was always surrounded by air, his reserve constantly replenishing, unless he burned through it all at once. But for Vess, it was different. More finite.

"Does it always hit you like that?"

Vess shook her head. "No. This was different." She hesitated, her expression darkening. "When he broke my spell, it wasn't just gone—it was like he reached inside me and tore the rest of my essence away. Every thread of magic I had left, plucked like a string. My whole body just... gave out."

A shiver ran through her despite the thick, dry heat pressing in around them. Without thinking, Gael shifted a little closer, just near enough that their arms nearly brushed.

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Vess lowered her voice. "Gael... what are we going to do if he changes his mind? or his employer doesn't find us interesting after all?"

His gaze flicked toward the knight leading them, who had slowed at a fork in the road. The thought had crossed his mind once or twice since they had agreed to follow him, but no matter how hard he thought, he couldn't figure a way out of this one. Just ahead, the knight glanced between the two paths, frowning slightly before finally turning left. For a brief second, Gael wondered if the man even knew where he was going. That should've reassured him. It didn't.

Gael exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "If it comes to that, I'll try to blow his sword from his hand before he sees it coming. That should buy us a few seconds. From there, I need you blast us an escape route. Then we grab Lukas and run like hell."

It wasn't a great plan. It wasn't even a particularly good one. But saying it out loud made it feel real—like they had some grip, however fragile, on the chaos closing in around them. A way to push back against the inevitable, even if only for a moment.

Vess simply nodded, not even bothering to point out the glaring weaknesses in the plan. If it came to another fight, they'd be even worse off, down a man and backed into a corner. But saying that aloud wouldn't do much for morale.

Gael clenched his jaw. If only he had known how to use the gem—no, the catalyst, as the knight had called it. If he had drawn more essence from it when casting his cantrip, maybe... just maybe. But wishful thinking wouldn't change the past. He needed to focus on the present—on keeping himself and the others valuable enough that this man had a reason to keep them alive.

When the knight finally led them to their destination, Gael was surprised to find they had ended up in the Rakan district—Jesarin's heart of industry. Unlike the polished opulence of the Pelumian district or the merchant wealth of Calabast, Rakan was built on sweat and fire. The air here carried the tang of scorched metal, coal dust, and oil, thick enough that Gael could almost taste it. For every cracked stone and soot-streaked wall, there was a forge behind it, belching smoke into the sky. The streets, though uneven and worn, bore deep grooves from decades of heavy carts hauling ore, ingots, and machinery. The people moved with purpose—apprentices lugging supplies, blacksmiths with soot-stained arms, artisans shouting orders over the constant clang of hammer on steel, despite the late hour.

The building they stopped in front of looked no different from its neighbors—weathered red brick, soot-darkened stonework, and iron fixtures rusted at the edges. Some windows were cracked, others patched with cloth or boarded up entirely. Gael frowned. "Are you sure we're in the right place?"

The words had barely left his mouth before he regretted them. The knight shot him a sharp, annoyed glare, his patience clearly thinning.

"Just get your asses inside. And don't touch anything. We can always go back on the not killing you thing."

Gael swallowed whatever comeback had been forming on his tongue.

The knight produced an intricate brass key, etched with tiny runes that pulsed faintly as he turned it in the lock. The door it opened was out of place—thick, reinforced, more like something guarding a vault than a worn-down home in a working-class district. The seams of the heavy metal frame were lined with delicate rune script, swirling in patterns that meant nothing to Gael. But the moment the key clicked into place, those runes pulsed to life, glowing briefly with a soft, cold light before fading.

Then, with a low, mechanical groan, the door swung outward toward them.

Gael exchanged a wary glance with Vess before stepping inside, the air beyond the threshold thick with the scent of dust and parchment. Whatever this place was, it wasn't just a run-down hideout. It was something much more.

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