The central district of Ebonheart was a stark contrast to the squalor of the Lower Warren. As Evangeline led us through the winding streets, she frequently glanced back, her eyes darting to her precious lyre in my hands. Each time she looked, I noticed the slight tension in her shoulders and her worried expression. I made sure to handle the instrument with extra care, knowing it was more than just a musical tool to her—it was her source of power, her livelihood.

The oppressive atmosphere gradually lifted as we walked. The buildings here were well-maintained, their facades clean and orderly. Stone and timber structures rose three to four stories high, their windows glowing with warm lamplight. The streets were properly cobbled and swept, free of the filth that plagued the poorer quarters. Most shops had long since closed, their wooden shutters tightly secured. Lanterns hung from iron posts at regular intervals, casting pools of soft golden light that pushed back the darkness. Unlike the Lower Warren’s putrid stench, the air here was pleasant with hints of night-blooming jasmine that grew in window boxes.

“This way,” Evangeline said. She glanced back once more to check on her lyre, then turned down a narrower side street. The buildings here were older but still well-maintained. Creeping ivy covered the sides of the stone walls.

We stopped before a modest two-story building of weathered limestone. Corvus’s crows took flight and perched in a nearby tree, their presence melding into the darkness. Only one of the birds remained on his shoulder, and its dark eyes watched us intently.

Evangeline produced an iron key and unlocked the heavy oak door, which opened with a soft creak.

Her apartment was a single room on the second floor, accessed by a narrow staircase. As we entered, I was awed by the perfectly organized space. Every item had its place with nothing frivolous or excessive, creating an atmosphere of structured simplicity. A neatly-made bed with crisp white linens occupied one corner, while a small writing desk faced the window, its surface clear except for a neatly-stacked ream of parchment and perfectly aligned quills. A bookshelf sat against one wall, holding books arranged by size, spine color, and subject. The only decorative touches were a few simple tapestries depicting musical scenes amid muted colors and geometric patterns. A small hearth occupied the adjacent wall, with a copper kettle hanging ready. The room’s scent carried subtle hints of lavender and sage from a dried bundle that hung from the rafters.

Everything about this room spoke of discipline and control. It was a space even Malachai could be proud of.

“Please, my lords, make yourselves comfortable,” Evangeline said, gesturing to two wooden chairs near the hearth. “I can brew us some tea while we talk.”

“That won’t be necessary,” I said, keeping my voice firm and professional despite the warmth her hospitality stirred within me. “Time is of the essence. We’re here for information, and nothing more. Tell us what you know, and tell us quickly.” The chairs looked inviting after our long journey but I remained standing, still holding Evangeline’s lyre with the utmost care. Corvus gave me a subtle nod of approval.

“Of course.” Evangeline’s smile didn’t waver as she settled into her own chair. “Something big is about to happen in this city. Ever since the new magistrate took office, there have been whispers of rebellion.”

“Rebellion?” I ached an eyebrow. “Against whom, specifically?”

“The magistrate himself.” Her green eyes darkened. “He appeared seemingly out of nowhere, promising lower taxes and better protection. The people were desperate enough to believe him.” She paused, her lips curving into a bitter smile. “But his promises were as empty as his soul.”

Corvus tilted his head in thought. “You speak as if you know him personally.”

“I’ve performed at his mansion several times,” Evangeline admitted. “He has a... particular appreciation for music. But there’s something wrong about him, something that makes my skin crawl whenever I’m in his presence.”

I pondered her words. “What exactly do you mean by ‘wrong’?”

“It’s hard to explain. There’s just something... unnatural about him. The way he moves, the way he speaks - it’s like he’s not what he appears to be.” She shuddered visibly at the memory. “And his eyes... they’re cold, empty, like staring into a void. When he looks at you, it feels like he’s seeing straight through to your soul, weighing its worth.”

“What is this magistrate’s name?”

She rubbed the back of her head, as if embarrassed. “As strange as it sounds, nobody knows. He has never disclosed his name.”

I blinked. “No one knows his name?”

“Correct, and he only answers to ‘Lord Magistrate.’”

“And no one questions the oddness of this?”

She shrugged. “The people would follow a puddle of mud if they were told to. They revere the magistrate like a god and do not question anything he does. He is a very strange man.”

“That’s putting it mildly. What other unusual things have you noticed about him?”

She pursed her lips, and her eyes averted to the window as if she were dreading telling such a tale. “His behavior changes when he thinks no one is watching. Sometimes I catch glimpses of... something else beneath his polite facade. Something cruel and calculating. And the way the shadows seem to bend around him...”

“The shadows bend?” I pressed.

“Perhaps it’s just my imagination...” She chewed her bottom lip. “But there’s definitely something wrong about him. Some of the other bards feel it, too, though none dare speak of it openly. Bards not allowed to leave the city, you see. Those who’ve tried...” She swallowed once. “They were found dead, their bodies either burned to ash, or twisted in ways that shouldn’t be possible.”

I grimaced. In my past life as a city watchman, I’d seen my share of gruesome deaths, but they had been the work of mortal hands—stabbings, beatings, the occasional poisoning. What Evangeline described sounded like something far more sinister. And the mention of shadows bending around the magistrate suggested a recognition of power that felt uncomfortably familiar.

I glanced at her lyre in my hands, remembering how she’d offered it as collateral. The gesture seemed more significant now—not just a show of trust, but perhaps an act of desperate hope. If what she said was true, she was risking everything by speaking to us.

“Why aren’t the bards allowed to leave?” I asked, though I had a sinking feeling I already knew the answer.

Evangeline’s fingers traced nervous patterns on her skirt. “Shortly after taking office, the magistrate issued a decree that all registered performers must remain within the city walls. He claimed it was to ‘preserve Ebonheart’s cultural heritage’ and prevent rival cities from poaching our talents.” She let out a hollow laugh. “But the truth is far darker.”

“How so?”

“We’re bound here by more than just laws.” Her voice dropped to a low whisper. “There’s some kind of magic at work. A curse, perhaps.”

Corvus grunted. “Dark magic requires considerable power. And knowledge.”

“Indeed.” Evangeline nodded. “Knowledge that someone in a position of authority might have access to.” She glanced meaningfully at the window again, then back to us.

My jaw clenched as memories of my own past surfaced—of corrupt officials who had used their power to trap and control others. But this was different. This wasn’t just about bribes and threats anymore. This was about something far more insidious. “What do you know about a man named Ramon Kessler?” I asked, watching her reaction carefully.

She appeared thoughtful for a moment, then shook her head. “I don’t know him. Though I’ve heard rumors of a small group of rebels working in secret against the magistrate’s rule. They keep to themselves, operating from the shadows.”

I rubbed my chin. “What is the goal of these rebels by usurping the magistrate? Are they looking to seize control of the city themselves?”

“Most likely,” Corvus interjected. “And I wouldn’t put it past them to do something like that. Power corrupts, and sometimes, when the oppressed gets a taste of power, it can lead them to their own demise.”

“It’s like an endless cycle.” I shook my head. “There will never be peace here.”

“The people really want a king,” Evangeline said. “They would sell out their own morals and beliefs just to be ruled over. It’s maddening.”

“If a king is what will bring order to this city, then perhaps something should be arranged,” I said.

Evangeline shook her head. “I feel like the magistrate is trying to put himself in that position. This city would be destroyed if he was ever given such power. Look at all the chaos he has instilled so far. It will only get worse the more power he gains.”

My thoughts immediately drifted to that worse-case scenario, and to Evangeline’s eventual fate. Rage burned in my chest at the idea of her becoming a musical slave to a madman of a king. At last, I shoved those disturbing thoughts aside and focused on the mission. “How often do you perform at the magistrate’s mansion?” I asked her.

“Weekly, and usually during his formal gatherings, but I’m never there late at night. I have heard some of the servants mention strange things occurring after dark. Like odd noises coming from below the mansion. But I’ve never witnessed any of it myself.”

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“You think the magistrate might be responsible for those anomalies?”

“I can’t prove anything,” she admitted with a shrug. “But ever since he took power, darkness has been spreading through Ebonheart like a disease, and strange things are happening.”

The pattern was familiar—a charismatic leader rising to power through empty promises, followed by increasingly restrictive laws and mysterious disappearances. I’d seen it before in my past life, though never with such an overtly supernatural element.

But what troubled me most was how easily the people had accepted their new ruler. Just like in my old city, they’d embraced false hope over uncomfortable truth, choosing to believe pretty lies rather than face reality. The parallels were impossible to ignore, and I felt my anger rising—not just at the magistrate, but at the citizens themselves for their willing blindness.

Yet Evangeline was different. Unlike the others, she hadn’t surrendered to hopelessness or denial. Despite the danger, she’d chosen to resist in her own way, using her songs to keep hope alive while watching and waiting for a chance to act. Her courage, combined with her obvious intelligence and discipline, made her intriguing in ways that went beyond mere physical attraction.

I found myself studying her more carefully now, noting the subtle signs of strain beneath her composed exterior. She fidgeted and wrung her hands nervously now, as if trying to seek comfort without her beloved lyre. She was afraid, but she was also determined. It was a combination I understood all too well.

“I am certain this dark power is a curse,” Evangeline continued. “Whenever I play, the power of my music feels... suppressed. It makes my music sound strange to my ears, as if something is interfering with its harmonies.”

“It didn’t sound like anything was wrong with your music to me when I heard you playing earlier,” I said.

A brief smile parted her lips. “It seems I am the only one who can hear my own imperfection. It bothers me, and I think whatever greater power is at play is aware of my discomfort, too.”

I cast a glance at Corvus, who appeared to be quietly processing all of this information. “And the other bards?” I asked her. “Have they noticed similar disturbances?”

“Those who have tend to disappear shortly after mentioning it. That’s why most of us keep our heads down and play the songs we’re told to play. Or, we craft our songs in such a way, we can express our displeasure through more subtle means.”

“Like your song I heard earlier,” I said.

She nodded once.

I thought more about our first encounter and realized it wasn’t just her siren’s song that drew me to her. I recognized something in her eyes that hit me deep—a desperate yearning for change. “I heard the subtle undertone of your song. Your song spoke of confinement and despair.”

Her smile faltered slightly, revealing another glimpse of her pain. In that brief moment of vulnerability, I saw beyond her alluring exterior to something that resonated with my very soul. The way she carried herself, the careful mask of strength covering deeper wounds. It was like looking into a mirror of my past self.

She gave a hollow laugh that didn’t reach her eyes. “This city is a gilded cage, beautiful on the surface but rotting at its core. Every day I sing for those who’ve lost hope, watching them drown their sorrows while corruption spreads.” Her voice carried the same bitter resignation I’d once felt as a city watchman, witnessing injustice I was powerless to stop.

My chest tightened with unexpected emotion. Here was someone who understood what it was like to be surrounded by decay while desperately holding onto hope for something better. Despite my training and Corvus’s obvious disapproval, the desire I felt for her wasn’t just physical attraction, it was a profound recognition of a kindred spirit.

“I know what that feels like,” I admitted, straining to suppress the emotion in my voice. “To see the darkness growing, to feel helpless in making a real difference.” The memories of my past life returned—the frustration, the anger, the crushing weight of futility that led to my untimely death.

She nodded slowly. “Then you understand why I’ve waited for this moment. When I saw you two enter the tavern, I felt something I haven’t felt in years—hope.”

The word hit me like a physical blow. How many times had I lost hope in my previous life, watching corruption triumph while justice withered? Now fate had given me a second chance, with real power to make the difference I’d desparately wanted to make. Perhaps this wasn’t just about my mission, maybe this was about redemption, about finally being able to help someone else escape the same trap I’d once found myself in.

I forced myself to focus, to remember my training. “What exactly are you proposing?” I asked, keeping my voice steady despite the turmoil of emotions within me.

“Let me help you. I know this city’s secrets, its rhythms.” Her green eyes met mine pleadingly. “And in return, I ask for your protection and the chance to see this city freed from its chains.”

Corvus shifted beside me, his disapproval even more obvious. “We work alone,” he said firmly. “Our mission is too important to risk—”

“I accept,” I interrupted, surprising both Corvus and myself.

“Brother,” Corvus warned, “think carefully about this.”

But I had thought about it. Everything about Evangeline, from the way she carried herself, to her careful observations, to her subtle resistance through song, spoke of someone who could be a valuable ally.

“She knows the city,” I explained to Corvus. “She has access to the magistrate’s mansion. And if what she says about the shadows and strange occurrences is true, we need someone who can help us navigate this situation.” I turned to him. “Do you still sense any deception from her? Any evil intent?”

Her gaze bounced between us, and her face remained neutral.

Corvus was quiet for a long moment, his blindfolded face oriented towards Evangeline. Finally, he sighed. “No,” he admitted reluctantly. “I sense no lies or malice. Though I still disapprove of this... arrangement.”

Satisfied with his assessment, I stepped forward and carefully handed the lyre back to Evangeline. She accepted it with a relieved sigh, cradled the instrument like a precious newborn, and then ran her fingers lovingly over the lyre’s golden surface.

“I cannot be seen with you openly,” she said. “Two blackguards consorting with a bard would draw unwanted attention. But I can help from the shadows, gather information, and pass along what I learn.”

I nodded. “Very well. Your information was very helpful. Now, we must take our leave. The aurorium awaits.”

Evangeline raised her eyebrows. “The aurorium of Valic? It lies deep within the maze of tunnels beneath this city. The grim backdrop of Ebonheart’s former glory is etched on its unholy walls...” She gave another hollow laugh. “Did you know the magistrate is planning to erect a new aurorium dedicated to himself? He truly believes he’s a god. And the people are okay with this. It’s like a nightmarish cult following. They are blind to the truth.” She paused and glanced at Corvus. “No offense to you, my lord.”

I shook my head. “Corvus sees better than most people, in more ways than one.”

Corvus’s lips curved into a slight, knowing smile. “Truth often lies beyond what mortal eyes can perceive,” he said. “Sometimes, being blind to the physical world allows one to see what truly matters.” The crow on his shoulder cawed softly in agreement.

I headed for the door. “We’ll be in touch, Evangeline. Keep your eyes and ears open, but be careful. If the magistrate is what you suspect, he may be more dangerous than you realize.”

She nodded. “I’ll continue my performances as usual. No one pays much attention to a bard singing simple tales of heroes and villains.” Her eyes met mine with quiet intensity. “Just listen for my songs. They’ll tell you what you need to know.”

Corvus and I left and emerged into the mild night air. Corvus’s remaining crows swooped down from their perch and rejoined us. “I still think this is unwise,” he muttered. “But... I trust your judgment, brother.”

I frowned. “You said this was my mission from here on out, so let me handle things the way I see fit.”

He nodded once. “Just remember that desire can be as deadly as any blade.”

I chose not to respond to his warning. Instead, I focused my thoughts on what lay ahead—the aurorium, and whatever dark secrets it might hold.

As we began our walk through the city, a commotion erupted near the western gate. A man’s desperate shouts pierced the darkness.

“Let me go! I won’t do it! I won’t perform for that monster!”

We turned to see a wild-eyed elven bard wrestling with four city guards. His clothes were torn, his face streaked with tears and blood. He clutched a wooden flute in one hand.

“It’s your duty,” one guard growled, struggling to maintain his grip. “The magistrate demands your performance tonight.”

“No!” The elf’s voice cracked with hysteria. “I’d rather die! You don’t know what he really is! What he does to us when no one’s watching!”

The guards wrestled him to the ground, but the bard twisted free with desperate strength. He sprinted towards the city gates, his torn clothes fluttering behind him. The wooden flute slipped from his grasp, clattering across the cobblestones.

“Stop him!” one guard shouted, but the bard was quick, driven by pure terror.

My kukris hummed at my sides. My hands instinctively moved to their hilts, but Corvus’s firm grip on my arm stopped me once again. “Not our concern,” he reminded me quietly. “We have our own mission.”

I watched as the elf reached the threshold of the gates, and for a moment, hope flickered in his wild eyes. Then his body seized up. Purple flames erupted from within, consuming him from the inside out. His scream cut off as his flesh crumbled to ash, scattering in the night wind.

The guards simply laughed then returned to their posts with casual indifference. “Fool,” one muttered, kicking the fallen flute aside like a piece of garbage. “They never learn.”

I stood frozen, the image of the bard’s fiery death etched into my mind. I could still hear his last screams of agony, and it stirred something primal within me. The guards’ laughter at his demise invoked memories of my past life—of corrupt watchmen who had delighted in others’ suffering. But this was different, much more refined in its cruelty. This wasn’t just abuse of power, this was supernatural authority being wielded with lethal precision.

This was a clear message about the consequences of rebellion. But these guards were mere thugs drunk on borrowed power. In my old life, I had despised such men. But now, in this new life with new powers, I understood that true authority demanded more than just the ability to inflict pain—it required purpose, discipline, and above all, order.

Evangeline’s words about the magistrate’s curse echoed in my thoughts. The purple flames that had consumed the bard spoke of dark magic. The terror in the elf’s eyes, his desperate bid for freedom—he’d known exactly what awaited him, yet he chose death over returning to the magistrate’s service.

“This is what Evangeline meant,” I muttered to Corvus, my voice tight with suppressed rage. “The magistrate doesn’t just control the city through laws and corruption—he’s bound its people with dark magic.”

The wooden flute lay abandoned on the cobblestones, a silent testament to its owner’s fate. I thought of Evangeline, of how easily that could have been her. The realization only motivated me further to help free her from this magical prison.

I retrieved the discarded instrument and felt its residual warmth. Like Evangeline’s lyre, it hummed with magical energy—but there was something else too, a lingering echo of its owner’s final moments of terror.

“The magistrate isn’t just controlling the bards through laws and threats,” I said, tucking it into my belt. “There’s something more sinister at work here.”

Corvus nodded grimly. “All the more reason to stay focused on our primary objective.”

The group of guards stood huddled together, laughing and sneering over their cruel display of power and puffing their chests out with false bravado. But the moment they caught sight of us passing by, their arrogant expressions melted into pure terror. Color drained from their faces, and their bodies went rigid.

I narrowed my eyes at them in disgust. More cowards playing at power... The dark energy coursing through my veins yearned to teach them a lesson about true authority, to show them the consequences of their petty tyranny. But I stayed my hand. They weren’t worth the effort. They were merely symptoms of a deeper rot, one that would soon be cleansed.

“Come,” Corvus called to me softly. “The sooner we find Ramon and retrieve the artifact, the sooner we can leave this cursed city behind.”

I nodded, but as we walked away, I made a silent vow. Whatever dark power held Ebonheart in its grip, whatever sinister force the magistrate served, I would see it destroyed. Not just for the mission, but for Evangeline and every other soul trapped in this gilded cage. A cold certainty stirred in my bones at the thought.

This city would burn, and from its ashes, something new would rise.