As we emerged from the aurorium’s hidden entrance and back in the city, my limbs felt heavy, and each step required more effort than the last. The events of the day had taken their toll.

“You’re exhausted,” Corvus said, his blindfolded face turning toward me. “Your breathing has changed, and your footsteps are faltering.”

I waved off his concern. “I’m fine,” I muttered, attempting to suppress a yawn.

Corvus shook his head. “We’ve covered significant ground today, both physically and in our investigation. The journal and map will still be there tomorrow. For now, we rest.”

As much as I hated to admit it, he was right. My eyes felt like they were filled with sand, and my body ached. Even my kukris felt heavier at my hips. “Fine. Let’s find an inn.”

“The Silver Crown is nearby,” Corvus suggested. “It’s one of the better establishments in the central district.”

The inn was also close to Evangeline’s apartment, which I’d realized when we’d passed by the establishment on our way to see her. The thought of being near her again brought a mixture of comfort and concern.

The Silver Crown stood four stories tall, its white stone facade gleaming even in the dim light. Ornate silver fixtures adorned the windows, and the main entrance was flanked by white stone columns. As we approached, Corvus’s murder of crows dispersed with soft flutters of wings, and settled into the branches of a towering oak tree that stood nearby. Only one crow remained—his favorite, a particularly large bird with glossy feathers that caught the moonlight like polished obsidian. It stayed perched on his shoulder, its head tilting occasionally as if sharing silent observations with its master.

Inside, the inn’s common room was a cozy space of understated luxury. Wall sconces housing flickering candles provided warm light throughout, and the air carried the pleasant scent of beeswax and cedar. Despite the late hour, a few patrons still lingered at the sofas and scattered tables, speaking in hushed tones over glasses of wine.

The innkeeper, a well-dressed older man with graying temples, stiffened when we approached the counter. His eyes darted between us, and he swallowed.

“G-good evening, gentlemen,” he stammered, forcing a polite smile. “How may I be of service?”

“Two of your finest private rooms,” I said, placing a heavy purse of gold on the counter. “Adjacent, if possible.”

“Y-Yes, of course!” The innkeeper’s hands trembled slightly as he reached for the coins. “We have excellent accommodations on the third floor. Very private, very comfortable.”

As he fumbled with the ledger, I noticed other guests in the common room discretely watching us, their conversations dropping to whispers.

The innkeeper handed us two ornate keys, his fingers recoiling quickly when they brushed against mine. “Y-Y-Your rooms are up the main stairs to the third floor, then right. Would you... ah... like someone to escort you?”

“That won’t be necessary,” I said.

As we climbed the stairs, I could hear the lobby’s activity resume, though the voices were more subdued than before. The third floor corridor was carpeted in deep burgundy, muffling our footsteps as we located our rooms.

Before entering his room, Corvus turned to me. “Let us resume our investigation before sunrise.”

“Okay.” I nodded, fatigue finally hitting me like a wave.

“Rest well, brother.” Corvus disappeared into his room, and his crow flew in after him.

My room was spacious and well-appointed, befitting the inn’s reputation. Moonlight filtered through tall windows draped with heavy velvet curtains in deep blue. The wooden floor was clean and polished. A large four-poster bed dominated one wall, its linens crisp and white.

A writing desk sat in one corner, with a comfortable-looking chair tucked neatly beneath it. Against another wall, a wardrobe of matching wood stood next to a full-length mirror. A washbasin and ceramic pitcher sat atop a small table.

My fingers felt clumsy as I unbuckled my weapon belt and lay the sheathed kukris on the desk. The crimson gems in their pommels flickered like dying embers.

The Darkweaver’s Embrace came next, each piece of the shadow-forged plate requiring more concentration than it should have. The armor seemed reluctant to part from my body, the pieces flowing like liquid darkness as I methodically removed them. Even exhausted, I took care to arrange each segment properly, knowing the enchanted metal required respect. The purple-black runes etched into its surface still pulsed faintly, matching my heartbeat even as I set it aside. I placed the journal and map beside my weapons. Their secrets would have to wait until morning.

The cool air against my skin was a relief as I stripped down to my smallclothes. In the mirror, I caught a glimpse of my reflection. The dark veins beneath my skin pulsed more slowly now, matching my exhausted state.

I gazed longingly around the sparse chamber, feeling the ache in my muscles from the day’s exertions. What I wouldn’t give for a proper hot bath right now. The thought of sinking into steaming water, letting it soothe away the tension and grime of the tunnels, made me sigh with deep yearning. My bathtub back at the stronghold seemed like a distant paradise. I could almost feel the familiar comfort of being submerged up to my neck, the hot water working its magic on my tired body. Unfortunately, such luxuries would have to wait until this business in Ebonheart was concluded. For now, I would have to make do without one of my few true pleasures in life.

I practically fell onto the bed, the feather-soft mattress embracing me. As I lay there, my thoughts began to drift, becoming less coherent. Images from the day swirled through my mind: the underground passages of the aurorium, Ramon’s cryptic notes, the mysterious letter…

But as sleep began to claim me, my thoughts turned to Evangeline. Her apartment was so close—perhaps just a few streets away. I imagined her there, maybe practicing her music or preparing for another forced performance at the magistrate’s mansion. The thought of her being used as a pawn in whatever dark game was being played made anger flare briefly through my exhaustion.

The soft cawing of Corvus’s crows outside my window provided an oddly comforting reminder that we weren’t completely vulnerable, even in sleep. Their dark shapes moved across the moonlit glass like vigilant sentinels against the night. Even through my exhaustion, I could appreciate the strategic advantage their presence provided. No one could approach the inn without the birds noting their movement.

The rhythmic sound of their wings and occasional quiet calls merged with the distant sounds of the city—muffled voices, the clip-clopping of late-night carriages, the faint strains of music from some distant tavern. The sounds wove together into something almost musical, reminiscent of one of Evangeline’s melodies.

The memory of her voice, of her touch, followed me as sleep finally came. I would find a way to save her, to break whatever hold the magistrate had over her and make him pay for every moment of suffering he had caused.

***

I awoke before sunrise. The room was still shrouded in shadow, with only the faintest hint of approaching dawn visible through the windows.

My muscles protested as I pushed myself up from the bed, still carrying the memory of yesterday’s exertions. But after a good night’s rest, my mind felt clearer, sharper, and ready to face today’s challenges.

I moved to the washbasin and splashed cold water on my face, the shock helping to clear the last cobwebs from my mind. The water dripped down my chest, highlighting the dark veins that pulsed beneath my skin with renewed vigor.

I approached the Darkweaver’s Embrace with reverence, its shadow-forged plates seeming to ripple with anticipation. As I carefully donned the armor, each piece merged with my form like liquid darkness, the runes etched across its surface flashed to life with purple-black energy that pulsed in rhythm with my heartbeat. The armor settled against my skin with intimate familiarity, once again becoming a second skin of living shadow.

I lifted the Talons of Twilight from the desk with great care. The crimson gems in their pommels flared to life as my hands wrapped around the shadow-wrapped hilts, and I felt that familiar surge of cold energy race up my arms. The weapons hummed with quiet power as I secured them at my hips.

I approached the window and studied the city in its pre-dawn slumber. Ebonheart sprawled before me, its buildings casting long shadows in the grey light. The central district’s architecture was a mix of old wealth and new ambition—elegant townhouses stood alongside more recent constructions, their facades competing for grandeur. In the distance, the magistrate’s mansion loomed like a dark crown above the cityscape, its windows still dark.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

The streets below were mostly empty, save for a few early risers—bakers preparing their morning wares, servants hurrying to extinguish the streetlamps, and the occasional patrol of city guards making their rounds. Meanwhile, Corvus’s crows maintained their silent vigil in the branches of the nearby oak tree.

We had much to accomplish today. The journal and map waited on the desk, their secrets potentially holding the key to understanding Ramon’s plans. We needed to decipher whatever ritual he was preparing and determine how it connected to the magistrate’s upcoming gathering. The timing was too precise to be coincidental—the new moon, the forced performances, the mysterious letter... all the pieces seemed to be there, we just needed to arrange them properly.

And then there was Evangeline. She was probably preparing for another day of forced servitude. The thought made my jaw clench. Whatever we discovered today would hopefully help break the magical bonds that held her and the other bards captive.

A sharp knock at the door interrupted my thoughts.

“Caelum,” Corvus’s muffled voice announced. “It’s time we resumed our work.”

“Enter,” I called, turning from the window.

The blindfolded warrior glided into the room carrying a leather satchel that clinked softly with each step. The crow on his shoulder took flight and perched on the back of the desk chair with an air of quiet observation.

“I’ve brought breakfast,” Corvus said, placing the satchel on the desk. “We’ll need clear heads to unravel this mystery. The innkeeper’s wife insisted on providing us with their finest morning spread.”

I pulled up another chair and smirked. “I must admit, Corvus. The respect we command in this city is... gratifying.”

“It’s not respect,” he corrected in a somber tone. “It’s fear. These people have been raised on tales of blackguards as harbingers of death and destruction. They see us as little more than well-dressed executioners.”

“Well, we’re certainly capable of such things,” I noted.

“Capability and creed are different matters entirely, Caelum. The common folk prefer their dramatic fantasies. They’d rather believe we bathe in blood than serve as purveyors of order.” He scowled. “Like sheep, they huddle together, sharing whispered conspiracies and imagined horrors. Sometimes it’s easier to let them believe their tales—fear can maintain order as effectively as truth.”

I nodded thoughtfully. The fear we inspired had its uses, certainly, but it also reflected a deeper truth about power and control. As a former watchman, I’d seen how fear could maintain order, but I’d also seen how it could corrupt those who wielded it.

“Fear is a tool,” I said a last. “But it’s not the only one we possess. The people’s terror serves our immediate purpose, but true power comes from understanding when to use fear… and when to show mercy.” I paused, thinking of Evangeline and how different she was from the cowering masses. “Some are worthy of more than just our intimidation.”

Corvus tilted his head slightly, a gesture I’d come to recognize as his way of showing interest. “You’re thinking of the bard.”

“Evangeline sees beyond the surface,” I admitted. “She understands that our purpose is more complex than mere violence and domination.”

“She has proven... unique in her perceptions,” Corvus agreed. He began unpacking the satchel, revealing fresh bread still warm from the oven, cheese, cured meats, and a flask of strong tea with two small glasses. “But we have more pressing matters to attend to.”

As we ate, I retrieved Ramon’s journal and the map, and laid them out on the desk’s polished surface.

“Let’s start with the journal,” I said. “It may provide context for the map’s significance.”

“Agreed, brother.” Corvus took a sip of his tea.

I opened the leather-bound volume carefully. The pages were filled with Ramon’s cramped handwriting, some entries neat and methodical, others written in what appeared to be frenzied haste. Diagrams and symbols decorated the margins, many similar to those we’d seen on the walls of his cell. Many pages were marked with dark stains that I suspected might be blood.

I found an entry from several months ago. “Listen to this,” I began:

“The binding circles are complete. The texts speak true. The ancient patterns hold power beyond modern understanding. But something is missing. The resonance is wrong. The energies flow, but they lack... direction. Perhaps the Nexus holds the key. Its location matches the old stories—a convergence point where realities thin...”

“The Nexus again.” Corvus rubbed his chin.

I flipped through more pages, scanning entries until another passage caught my eye:

“We learned the ritual requires more than just the proper location and timing. It needs a catalyst, something to bridge the gap between flesh and spirit. The Serpent’s Fang is crucial, but alone it’s not enough. We need vessels, properly prepared...”

“Vessels,” Corvus repeated, his tone grim. “Could he be referring to the bards?”

A chill ran through me as the implications became clear. “It would make perfect sense.” I continued reading, my voice growing tighter with each revelation:

“The vessels must be attuned to specific harmonies. Their very essence must resonate with the proper frequencies. Music is key—not just any sounds, but specific patterns that echo the ancient rhythms. When properly aligned, their voices will open the way...”

“The forced performances,” Corvus said quietly. “They’re not performances at all. They’re… rehearsals.”

I nodded grimly and turned to another page. The writing here was more erratic, the ink splattered as if written in great haste:

“The final component has been secured. The magistrate’s gathering will provide the perfect cover. When the new moon rises and the vessels are in harmony, the binding will shatter. What lies beyond will be free to enter our realm, and we shall harness its power...”

“This is madness,” I growled, slamming the journal shut.

Corvus leaned back in his chair and shook his head. “The timing is deliberate. The new moon is when the veil between realms is thinnest. And if they’ve chosen the Nexus as their focal point...”

“What in the hells are they trying to summon?” I spread out the map on the desk and studied the partial layout of Ebonheart’s underground network. “And more importantly, how do we stop them?”

“I do not believe Ramon realizes the implications of his actions,” Corvus said, his tone grim. “Tapping into otherworldly magic can have… irreversible effects.”

The map showed a complex web of tunnels beneath the city, many of them predating Ebonheart’s current architecture. The missing sections were frustrating, but certain patterns emerged. All the major tunnels seemed to converge beneath the area where the magistrate’s mansion now stood.

I traced a particular line with my finger. “There’s a passage that leads directly from the aurorium to the convergence point. Ramon must have used it to reach the Nexus.”

“The question remains,” Corvus mused, “why would an acolyte of Valic participate in such a ritual? What could be worth such blasphemy?”

I flipped back through the journal, searching for any indication of Ramon’s motivations. Near the beginning, several pages had been torn out, but one partial entry caught my attention:

“...the old powers are stirring. What lies beyond the veil will grant us the strength to defeat him. But I fear... something about the magistrate... there’s a darkness in him that isn’t natural. The way he controls the bards, the way he manipulates the city... he’s not what he appears to be...”

“It doesn’t sound like Ramon is working with the magistrate,” I mused. “He’s trying to stop him. The ritual he’s planning isn’t meant to help the magistrate—it’s meant to defeat him.”

Corvus nodded. “And what of his accomplice? Are they an ally in his quest against the magistrate?”

“We need more information.” I stood from my chair and paced the room as I thought. “The gathering is in two days. That’s when Ramon will attempt this ritual We need to find a way into the mansion, discover what’s really going on, and...”

A sudden commotion outside drew our attention. The crows in the oak tree hollered, and the crow perched on the back of Corvus’s chair let out a harsh caw. We moved to the window. In the street below, a small crowd had gathered. At its center, a city guard was roughly handling a young woman—a bard, judging by the lute strapped to her back.

“She almost escaped,” I heard one onlooker say. “Poor girl.”

My hands clenched into fists as I watched the guard drag the struggling musician towards the mansion. It seemed that the bards weren’t just being controlled, they were being contained. Kept close to the Nexus, perhaps being gradually attuned to whatever dark purpose the ritual required.

I turned away from the window, too disgusted to watch any more. “What in the hells is this Nexus? Some kind of portal? An altar? A hidden city?”

“That is what we must find out,” Corvus said. “But we need to move carefully. If we act too soon, we risk not only failing to stop the ritual but also endangering the very people we’re trying to save.”

I gritted my teeth. The longer we waited, the worse it would get. I couldn’t bear watching another bard being dragged away like cattle to slaughter. “We’ll need to infiltrate the mansion during the gathering. The chaos of the event will provide cover, and all the key players will be present.”

“Including the magistrate and hopefully Ramon,” Corvus added with a nod. “But we still don’t know which of them poses the greater threat.”

I frowned. “Perhaps both need to be eliminated. The magistrate’s corruption has turned this city into a mockery of proper governance, while Ramon’s desperate attempt at rebellion threatens to tear apart the very fabric of reality.”

“Need I remind you, the mission was to retrieve the Serpent’s Fang, not cause more chaos.”

I considered Corvus’s words. The mission parameters were clear: recover the Serpent’s Fang and maintain order. Yet the situation had grown far more complex than a simple retrieval operation. “The mission has evolved,” I said. “We can’t ignore the larger threat here. Whether it’s Ramon’s ritual or the magistrate’s true identity, both endanger more than just Ebonheart’s stability.”

“And the bard?” Corvus asked pointedly. “Is your concern for her clouding your judgment?”

My frown deepened. “Evangeline is a tactical asset. Her knowledge of the magistrate’s activities makes her valuable. Whatever is being planned involves the bards as key components. Understanding their role is crucial to preventing catastrophe.”

“A... convenient rationalization,” Corvus noted, though his tone held no judgment. But I sensed his implication and chose to ignore it.

“We need more information before making any decisive moves,” I continued. “The gathering is in two days. That gives us time to investigate further, to understand exactly what we’re dealing with.”

Corvus nodded. “The gathering will require formal attire. We’ll need to secure invitations.”

“Leave that to me,” I said, thinking of the various nobles we’d observed cowering from our presence. “Fear has its uses, after all.”

I began retrieving the journal and map, but paused as another thought struck me. “We should also speak with Evangeline again, as well. She may have noticed patterns in the ‘performances’ that align with Ramon’s notes.”

“Your... attachment to her could compromise our mission,” Corvus warned.

“My ‘attachment’ gives us access to information we wouldn’t otherwise have,” I corrected coldly, though something in my chest tightened at the thought of reducing her to mere utility. “Besides, she’s proven herself useful. It would be foolish to waste such a resource.”

Corvus considered this, then nodded. “Very well. But remember, brother. We serve order above all else. Personal attachments can be dangerous distractions in our line of work.”

“Yes, I know,” I replied, though Evangeline’s face flashed in my mind. “I haven’t forgotten who and what I am.” I paused again, my thoughts swimming with conviction. But emotions and attachments can be controlled, brother. And I will master both.