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Chapter 47: Unravelling

The desert night hung over them like a dark veil, casting long shadows on the dunes as Silas and Rowan waited in the cool sand. Breeze had retreated to Elementis, her shimmering form fading as she promised to return in several hours. Now, with their enemies subdued and the hostage secured, they could do nothing but wait for her recovery.

When Breeze finally reappeared, her form steadier and flickering with the familiar energy of her element, Silas let out a breath of relief. “You good to go?” he asked, his tone gentle but urgent.

Breeze nodded, her translucent figure more defined now. “I am ready... for the journey back.”

Silas stood and helped Rowan secure the slavers. Their hands and feet were bound, and their mouths had been gagged to avoid drawing any attention. The young woman they had rescued remained blindfolded, her unconscious form carefully wrapped in a soft cloth to prevent her from waking up and seeing anything she shouldn’t.

With a glance at Rowan, Silas called upon Breeze, who gently lifted them all into the air.

The cool wind swirled around them, enveloping their forms in a shroud as they floated silently over the sand. The faint whistling of the wind was the only sound, a quiet reminder of how fragile their initial success was.

The night’s cover shielded them from prying eyes, and within moments, Ironvale’s looming stone walls came into view. The city, resting under the stars, appeared peaceful on the surface. Yet, the sinister undercurrent they had uncovered lingered in Silas’s mind.

They landed in a deserted spot just beyond the city walls, the dim alleyways providing enough cover for what came next. Silas crouched low, his eyes scanning the area for movement. Satisfied, he pulled out the communication stone and activated it.

“Layla, we’re back. Bring Goldie and Trickster and meet us behind the baker’s shop on the east side of the wall,” Silas whispered into the stone.

There was a momentary crackle before Layla’s voice responded. “On my way. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

True to her word, Layla arrived shortly after with Goldie and Trickster at her side. Goldie waddled beside her, his golden fur shimmering in the dark night, while Trickster, in his cloudform python form, slithered silently, its body shifting like a shadow under the moonlight.

Silas gestured to the hostage. “Get her to your room and keep her there. Make sure she doesn’t cause any commotion. We can’t afford to jeopardise our plan right now.”

Layla nodded, her eyes serious. “I know what to do. Leave her to me.”

Silas and Rowan carefully passed the unconscious woman to Trickster, who coiled its massive cloudform body around her, lifting her effortlessly onto its head. The hostage looked tiny, cradled in the misty folds of Trickster’s serpent form.

“She’s still out cold,” Rowan muttered. “But if she wakes up, keep her calm.”

Layla gave him a reassuring smile. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t see anything she shouldn’t.”

Without another word, Layla turned and disappeared into the night with Goldie and Trickster, her form melding into the shadows as they headed toward the Sunlit Harbour. Silas watched her go, a quiet confidence settling over him. They were in good hands.

Turning to Rowan, Silas motioned toward the unconscious slavers. “Now, let’s get these two bastards back to our room”

The slavers' unconscious bodies dragged awkwardly through the streets, their weight testing Silas and Rowan’s strength as they tried to keep them hidden. As they moved through the streets, the cover of darkness remained their ally, though dawn was fast approaching. A few early risers were beginning to stir, vendors setting up their stalls and merchants preparing for another day of trade. Silas and Rowan kept to the shadows, moving swiftly but cautiously, avoiding contact with anyone.

By the time they reached the inn, Silas’s muscles were burning from the effort of dragging the slavers. “Stay here,” Rowan muttered as they neared the entrance. “I’ll distract the innkeeper.”

Silas nodded, grateful for the reprieve. Rowan strode confidently inside, greeting the innkeeper with a bright smile as Silas crouched low in the alleyway, keeping the slavers out of sight. He heard Rowan making small talk, complimenting the man on the inn’s comfortable accommodations while gesturing for another drink.

Silas slipped inside when the innkeeper was distracted, dragging the two slavers up the narrow staircase. The stairs creaked under the men’s weight, but Silas moved quickly, hauling them into the room before anyone could notice. Once inside, he bound them more securely, ensuring they wouldn’t escape when they woke up.

Rowan entered shortly after, closing the door behind him. “Innkeeper’s none the wiser,” he said with a satisfied smile. “Now, let’s get ready for some answers.”

Before they could begin questioning the slavers, Silas activated the communication stone again. “Layla, how did it go?”

There was a brief pause before Layla’s voice came through. “All good. No issues. Goldie smashed a vase and distracted the innkeeper while I got the hostage to my room. She’s still out cold, though.”

Silas chuckled softly. “Good job. Keep her safe for now. We’ll let you know if we learn anything useful.”

“Got it,” Layla replied. “Be careful with those slavers. Don’t let them trick you.”

“We won’t,” Rowan promised, his eyes darkening as he looked down at the tied-up men. “We’ll get what we need.”

Silas and Rowan exchanged a determined glance as the communication stone went silent. The next step was critical—they had to break the slavers, get them talking, and uncover the full extent of the operation in Ironvale.

The dim candlelight flickered ominously as Silas and Rowan stood over the two bound slavers, their unconscious forms slumped against the cold wooden floor of the inn room. The faint sounds of Ironvale stirring for the morning were still distant, allowing them some time to interrogate the men without interruption.

Rowan broke the silence, “Let’s get this over with.”

He crouched down, his face impassive, and with a sharp crack, slapped the slaver Silas had beaten up earlier. The man groaned, slowly regaining consciousness, eyes flickering open with fear already etched on his face. Rowan wasted no time, turning to the second slaver and waking him up with an equally rough slap.

Without a word, Rowan yanked the gags from their mouths. Immediately, the two men tried to shout, but before a sound could escape, Rowan smashed his fist into their faces. The force of the punch knocked their heads back against the wall, and blood trickled from the corners of their lips.

“Shut up,” Rowan growled, his voice low and dangerous. “You’re not in a position to make noise.”

The first slaver, the one Silas had beaten mercilessly earlier, visibly trembled, his fear palpable. He whimpered as his eyes darted between Silas and Rowan, already broken from the earlier fight. The second slaver, however, was a different story. He glared at his partner and slammed his forehead into the terrified man’s temple.

“Shut your mouth, you coward,” he hissed. “They’ll kill us no matter what we say.”

Before Rowan could react, Silas stepped forward and delivered a brutal kick to the defiant slaver’s stomach. The man doubled over, gasping for air, but Silas wasn’t done. He grabbed a fistful of the slaver’s hair, jerking his head back violently.

“Talk, or this kick will feel like mercy.” Silas said coldly, his voice as sharp as a blade.

The slaver, breathing hard, spat out blood, his lips twisted into a sneer. “Little doll,” he growled through gritted teeth, “forget about getting any answers from me.”

Silas’s expression didn’t change, but there was a chilling calm in his eyes. Without a word, he drove his knee into the man’s face, the impact sickeningly loud in the quiet room. Blood sprayed across the floor as the slaver’s already shattered nose caved in more. Silas didn’t stop—he kneed him again and again until the man’s face was a mess of blood and broken bones, his body limp, barely clinging to life.

Rowan watched silently, his eyes flicking between the brutal scene and the terrified man beside him. When Silas finally stepped back, the defiant slaver lay unconscious, possibly on the verge of death.

Silas wiped the blood from his knee and turned to the other slaver, who was shaking uncontrollably. “I’ve got recovery salves,” Silas said, his tone almost casual, “so your fate will be the same as his if you don’t talk. And if you think you can hold out, I’ll heal you and beat you to death again. I’m a patient man, so it’s up to you.”

He crouched low, his face barely inches from the slaver’s trembling one. He didn’t raise his voice—he didn’t need to. “You’ve got one chance,” he said quietly. “What happens next depends on you.” The slaver swallowed hard, glancing at Rowan, whose hands twitched around his sword. His lip trembled, but he remained silent. Silas didn’t blink. He didn’t move. Time stretched painfully, until finally, the slaver broke under the weight of the silence.

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The slaver whimpered, nodding furiously. “I’ll talk! Please, I’ll tell you everything I know!”

Silas knelt down, his expression softening, though his eyes remained hard. “Good. Now, start from the beginning. Tell us about your trade—where you hold your captives, who’s involved, and how far this goes.”

The slaver swallowed, his voice shaky. “We—uh, we hold captives inside the city first. There’s a caravanserai near the eastern entrance, a hidden compartment in the back where we keep ’em temporarily until the main group comes to transport them further north… deeper into the desert. There are five people working in the caravanserai.”

Rowan nodded. “What about the officials? Who’s helping you on the inside?”

The slaver glanced nervously at the unconscious man beside him. “Some of the guards… a few officials at the north outpost, and some in the city. They make sure no one asks too many questions. There’s a man—Lorn Greaves—he oversees the guards at the main gate. He’s one of us. Also… two other people posing as traders like us, Sacha Durn and Ilara Morn. They help move people under the radar, smuggle ’em out of the city when no one’s looking.”

Silas’s voice was calm but firm. “Where do you hold the captives once they leave Ironvale?”

The slaver hesitated, but a glance at the bloody mess that was his partner spurred him to continue. “Further north, near the desert’s edge. There’s an old ruin, shaped like an eagle, some kind of landmark… a place the locals avoid because they think it’s cursed. We hold them there before moving them to the main base of operations even further north.”

“And this main base,” Silas pressed, “what can you tell us about it? Layout, defences, how many guards? Soulweavers?”

The slaver winced, but he continued. “The base is a fortress hidden in the dunes. Only a few of us know the exact location, but there’s always a crew there. Three Soulweavers. The boss, Ariyeh Dam… he’s a Tier Three Soulweaver, calls himself the ‘Blood Lion’ because… well, he drinks the blood of his enemies. There are two others, Tier Two Soulweavers. They handle the day-to-day. There might be other Soulweavers that I’m unaware of.”

Silas’s face remained unreadable as the slaver spoke. “And the place you hold captives—how well guarded is it? How many Soulweavers there?”

“There’s a small crew. Two Tier Two Soulweaves, four Tier One Soulweavers, including the both of us, Sacha and Ilara are the other Tier One Soulweavers. We take turns transporting the captives to that place. Other than that … there are about a dozen guards stationed there.”

Rowan exchanged a look with Silas. “Anything else we should know? People, places?”

The slaver shook his head quickly. “That’s all I know. I swear, they keep a lot of things secret from me. I’m just a runner, I handle transport and make sure the captives get where they’re supposed to go. Please, I’ve told you everything!”

Silas stared at the man for a moment, weighing his words. Finally, he stood up and turned to Rowan. “We’ve got enough information.”

Rowan gave a grim nod, his expression darkening. He grabbed his sword and knocked the slaver unconscious again. Silas then gagged them again, so that they couldn’t cause any commotion.

☪︎ ・゚ ・゚·:。・゚゚・⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆・゚ ・゚·:。・゚゚・❂

Silas and Rowan ensured the slavers were bound tightly, double-checking every knot. These men wouldn’t be going anywhere, not even to squirm. Satisfied with their handiwork, they quietly slipped out of the inn and made their way through the dimly lit streets of Ironvale, where the faint whispers of dawn were beginning to creep over the horizon.

They found Layla waiting, leaning casually against a wall in a secluded alley near the market. Trickster curled around her feet in its crimson python form, and Goldie nestled on her shoulder. She looked up as they approached, her expression tense but relieved.

“The hostage?” Silas asked, keeping his voice low.

“She’s awake,” Layla said, her voice quieter than usual, as though afraid the words themselves might shatter the fragile calm that had settled. “Scared out of her mind but trying to stay rational. I’ve convinced her to stay put at the Sunlit Harbour until we can figure things out.”

She paused, eyes drifting to the floor. “She’s from Ironvale. Her family’s here. She wants to go home so badly, but… if she goes back now, the slavers will know we’ve figured them out.” Layla’s hands clenched into fists at her sides. “We’re keeping her safe for now, but it’s not over for her—or the others.”

Rowan glanced at her, catching the frustration in her voice. “You did the right thing,” he said quietly.

Layla exhaled, her shoulders slumping. “I hope so. But right now, I’m wondering if we’ll ever get to save the rest of them before it’s too late.”

Silas exhaled. “We will need some time to get everything sorted.”

Rowan crossed his arms, brow furrowed. “We got some useful intel from the slavers,” he said. “There’s a hidden compartment in the caravanserai that we visited. They stash the captives there temporarily. Their main operation is deep in the desert, near the northern edge. But they’ve got enough manpower and Soulweavers to make this a serious fight.”

Layla’s eyes turned serious. “How many are we talking about?”

Silas met her gaze, his voice grim. “Three strong ones at the main base—one of them a Tier Three, he calls himself Ariyeh Dam. ‘Blood Lion’ in our tongue... and drinks the blood of his enemies, apparently. There should be at least two Tier two Soulweavers and more Tier Ones. There are two more Tier Two Soulweavers at their holding location in the ruins north of here, plus a dozen guards.”

Layla paled slightly, her mouth tightening in shock. “That many? We can handle the holding location, but the main base... We can’t handle this alone.” She shook her head, clearly troubled. “We’re going to need reinforcements. I think it’s time we go to Countess Elara Crain. If we succeed in stopping this, she’ll gain a massive boost in reputation. She’s got the resources to help us.”

The trio exchanged glances, recalling the battle in Amberwood Grove. They had been outmatched by their assailants, whom they suspected to be at least Tier three soulweavers, spared only by some unknown whim.

Finally, Rowan relented. “It makes sense,” he said. “We need more manpower if we’re going to take them on.”

Silas nodded as well. It was better to play it safe than risk their lives for a trial.

With a plan in place, the trio made their way toward the centre of Ironvale, where the Countess’s residence stood. This grand structure towered over the rest of the city. As they approached, the guards at the entrance let them in after Layla introduced herself, and they were quickly ushered into the main hall.

Countess Elara Crain sat in an ornate chair, her silver hair tied in a tight bun. Her sharp eyes studied the three as they entered. Layla bowed slightly in greeting, and the Countess gave her a slight, approving nod.

“Countess Elara,” Layla began, “we’ve uncovered some disturbing information about the disappearances in Ironvale. We have substantial evidence that there’s a human trafficking ring operating in the city, and their base is deep within the desert.”

Silas and Rowan quickly filled in the Countess on what they had learned, describing the caravanserai, the ruins, and the slavers’ network, including the involvement of some corrupt officials. The Countess’s expression grew darker with every word. ‘Little bastards, right under my nose?’ She thought.

“I’ve suspected corruption for a while… but I never imagined it ran this deep,” Countess Elara’s voice grew colder, her fingers tapping rhythmically on the arm of her chair, though there was no rhythm to the thoughts swirling behind her eyes. “These people, these… slavers—” she paused, her lips tightening in disgust, “they’ve poisoned our city from the inside.”

A tense silence followed as she leaned back, her expression turning graver. “I want to move against them now,” she admitted, her voice betraying a conflict between rage and caution. But if I act too soon, they’ll scatter like rats, they’ll vanish, and so will any chance of saving those people. And if I move too late…” She shook her head, the weight of her responsibility hanging heavily in the air. “We’ll lose them forever. Nonetheless, I can’t let this stand. You’ll have my support, but it must be discreet.”

Silas nodded. “We understand. But we need more manpower.”

The Countess regarded them thoughtfully. “I can offer my personal guards—a Tier Two Soulweaver and three Tier One Soulweavers. They’re discreet and capable. You’ll need them if what you say about Ariyeh Dam is true.”

Just as she finished speaking, the doors burst open, and a young man, no more than his early twenties, stormed in with a wide grin. “I’ve heard enough to know I’m going with them,” he announced, striding into the room with a grin, excitement flashing in his eyes.

The Countess glared at him. “Luther, you are not going anywhere.”

“But Grandma, please!” Luther protested, a mockingly sweet tone in his voice. “I can take care of myself! Let me make a name for myself, I want to get famo—”

“Do you think this is a game? Luther, these people are dangerous.” The Countess interrupted him.

“I know that!” Luther interrupted, his tone shifting to one of exaggerated seriousness. “Which is exactly why I need to go. If I help take down a criminal ring, think of how much respect I’ll earn! Besides, these three are younger than me, and they’re going! Why can’t I?”

Hu turned and casually glanced at the three, but his eyes lit up when he saw Layla.

He walked towards her and smiled elegantly. “Ah! Lady Layla, so it’s you! You remember our great time together during our childhood, right? You used to say you’d marry me someday—don’t you remember?”

Layla burst out laughing. “You’re lying, Luther. I never said that, and you know it.”

Luther’s smile didn’t falter. “Ah, but memories can be fickle, Lady Layla.”

Rowan clenched his jaw. Something about Luther’s smug expression set him on edge. Without thinking, he stepped forward, forcing a smile that ended up more awkward than reassuring.

"Layla, stay close to me during the next fight, it will be dangerous," he said, his tone slightly sharper than usual as he placed a reassuring hand on her arm.

Layla blinked, caught off guard by the sudden concern. “What’s gotten into you?” But Rowan didn’t respond, his eyes still locked on Luther, practically daring him to say another word.

The two men locked eyes for a moment, the tension between them thick enough to cut with a blade. Flames of challenge burned in both of their gazes, but before the situation could escalate, the Countess cleared her throat loudly, breaking the standoff.

“Enough,” she said, her voice stern. “Luther, you can go. But you will not be a burden. These people are putting their lives on the line, and so will you if you insist on going with them.”

Luther’s smile widened. “Thank you, Grandma! I’ll give it my all and do the right thing.” He turned toward Silas, Rowan, and Layla with an exaggerated bow. “Luther Crain, at your service.”

Rowan kept his glare fixed on Luther, clearly not pleased. On the other hand, Layla Recovered from her shock and rolled her eyes at their invisible contest.

Silas simply smiled and nodded.

The Countess turned to her attendant and said, “Bring in my personal guards. They’ll assist our friends in this mission.”

Within moments, her personal guards entered the room—three Tier One Soulweavers, their eyes sharp and focused, and one Tier Two Soulweaver who gave a short nod of acknowledgement to Silas and Rowan.

With their new allies gathered, the path forward became clear. The real battle was about to begin.