The small temple sat in a quiet corner of the district, overshadowed by the towering facades of Vallenport's wealthier buildings.

It was a simple pagoda shape. Just an outer frame, legs and a roof. Its modest construction seemed out of place, as though the tides themselves had deposited it here amidst the city's grandeur.

Driftwood beams framed the entrance, weathered smooth by years of sea air, and coral inlays glimmered faintly in the evening light. Above the doorway, a crescent moon cradling a wave—the symbol of the Tidekeepers—stood as a testament to its purpose.

I paused at the threshold, drawn by the serenity. Ever since I had inherited Old Tavalor’s memories I felt as if every place contained it’s own particular aura. A mood created by its inhabitant’s spirits. Every person who visited the space, lived and felt something added to it.

This place wasn’t loud or commanding, but I felt a gentle undercurrent that seemed to sync with the rhythm of the nearby canals. The smell of saltwater mingled with the faint aroma of candle wax and jasmine

Inside, the air was cooler. The sun filtered through the archways cast soft blue-green dappled patterns on the floor, their soft hues dancing as the sun dipped lower.

At the centre of the room stood a bench, and an altar. A shallow basin of water, its surface perfectly still except for the occasional ripple of light. Around it were small offerings—fish-shaped charms, strands of netting, and carved driftwood tokens.

Near the altar, a young man sat on one of the stone benches, his hands clutched tightly around a rolled piece of parchment.

I noticed the paint stains all over his hands, face and clothes. A painter? An Artist? I thought.

His posture was tense, and his eyes were fixed on the mosaic of Cythara, the Sea Goddess on the far wall. The goddess seemed to gaze serenely back, her arms outstretched over a stylised ocean, radiating calm and command.

The priest, in his flowing robes of sea-green and blue, stood a few steps away, his hands clasped behind his back. He was an old man. His hair streaked with silver, was pulled back in a loose braid, and his weathered face bore lines that spoke of years spent under the sun and sea winds. The silver charms on his belt caught the light as he moved closer to the artist, his expression warm but contemplative.

'Troubled?' the priest asked, his voice carrying the softness of lapping waves.

The artist nodded but didn’t look away from the mosaic. 'I’ve just been given the biggest commission of my career,' he admitted, his voice low and strained. 'The Duke’s Lantern for the festival.'

A lantern-maker? How niche.

‘I don’t know.’ Said the lantern-maker. ‘I thought I would feel more prepared than I do now.’

The priest settled onto the bench beside him, his movements unhurried. 'Why do you doubt yourself?'

The lantern-maker looked down at the parchment in his hands, his face thoughtful. ‘I don’t know? What do you do,' he continued, his voice barely above a whisper, 'when you can't see the path forward?'

The priest's response came slowly, measured like honey dripping from a spoon: ‘I see your devotion in coming here. But you’re asking the wrong question. The question is not whether it will glorify Her, but whether you trust Her to guide your hand.'

The artist looked at him, confused. 'How do you mean?'

'Art is an act of faith, just as prayer is,' the priest explained. 'When you pray, you do not always know what answer you will receive, yet you pray nonetheless. In the same way, when you paint, you may not yet see the fullness of what you will create, but you must trust that She works through you.'

The lantern-maker frowned, turning the scroll in his hands. 'But what if it’s not good enough? What if I fail to capture the grandeur of Her creation?'

The priest smiled faintly. 'Do you believe the fisherman who casts his net worries whether every fish he catches will please the Her? Or the mason, as he lays each stone of this basilica? They offer their labour, their skill, and their devotion, and in doing so, they honour Her. So too shall you honour Her, not by capturing Her grandeur perfectly—for who among mortals could?—but by pouring your heart into your work.'

I felt like I should leave. But something held me there, hidden behind a column.

'My heart?' the lantern-maker's laugh was bitter. 'My heart is telling me to run. To disappear into the maze of the city before I shame myself in front of all Vallenport.'

'And yet you came here instead,' the priest observed. 'Tell me, when you painted your first masterpiece, did you see the finished work before you began?'

'No, but—'

'But nothing. Art, like faith, requires us to step forward into darkness, trusting that light will follow. The goddess doesn't demand perfection. She asks only for courage.'

The silence that followed felt heavy. Finally, the lantern-maker spoke again, his voice stronger: 'I... I think I understand.'

I slipped out before they could discover my presence.

I wonder what that lantern is gonna look like?

***

The streets of Vallenport glowed with a warmth that felt almost misplaced. Above, the twin moons, Lunaris and Noctis, hung like watchful sentinels, their pale light mingling with the vivid hues of enchanted lanterns bobbing in the canals.

Each one cast a unique glow—violets, ambers, and soft blues—painting the water in a living kaleidoscope. The city hummed with life. Laughter spilled from crowded gondolas as they wound through the canals, musicians played lilting melodies from balconies, and the scent of roasted chestnuts and spiced wine curled through the air.

Emberfist elbowed me in the ribs as we ducked through a throng of festival-goers. 'You’re sticking out like a sore thumb.'

I adjusted my cloak, trying to blend. 'What are you talking about. I’m perfectly normal.'

Her eyes, fiery even without her flames, narrowed. 'You don’t have to dance on a gondola, but try not to stare at every lantern. People will think you’re cursed.'

Oops. I had been staring at the lanterns.

Inside many of them were Luminthrae. Delicate, translucent jellyfish that floated gracefully through the air. Mostly invisible. But when they got enough magic, they turned visible.

They were quite pretty. Each Luminthrae radiated a soft, ever-shifting glow in hues of gold, blue, or silver, like a bioluminescent lantern. Their 'bodies' were made of pure magical energy, tethered by thin, glowing tendrils that trail behind them, sparking faintly with motes of light.

We reached a quieter alley, and she pulled me into the shadows. The din of the festival muted slightly, though bursts of laughter and cheers still broke through. She glanced over her shoulder, then at the crowd beyond. 'We’ll meet my contact near the Bridge of Stars. Until then, we play the part.'

'And what part is that?' I asked, crossing my arms.

'Just another pair of festival-goers,' she said, her voice low. 'Look, everyone’s staring at the lights, not us. This is the best cover we’ve got.'

The logic was sound, though the tension simmering between us suggested otherwise. Still, I nodded. 'Fine. But if this blows up, I’ll blame you.'

She smirked, her usual bravado slipping into place. 'I’d expect nothing less.'

We stepped back into the tide of people, the current of the festival pulling us along. Vendors called out, hawking glittering wares and steaming treats. One man balanced a tray of pastries on his head, his enchanted shoes gliding him smoothly through the crowd. Children darted between adults, clutching miniature lanterns that floated just above their hands.

A woman’s laugh burst nearby, and I turned to see a gondola bedecked in golden ribbons drift by. A conjured dolphin of light swam beside it, drawing applause from the gathered crowd. My gaze lingered on the glowing creature, its graceful movements unnervingly real.

'You’re staring again,' Emberfist muttered, yanking me forward.

'It’s a dolphin made of light,' I said. 'Forgive me for being impressed.'

Her pace didn’t slow, but I caught the edge of a smile. 'You’re like a kid at his first festival.'

We passed a row of stalls selling enchanted lanterns, their designs ranging from the elegant to the absurd. One resembled a miniature sea serpent, its body coiling around itself in an endless loop. Another was shaped like the moon, its surface shifting with intricate runes that pulsed faintly in rhythm with the festival music.

I stopped at a simpler lantern—a soft, amber glow encased in a shell of frosted glass. The vendor, an elderly woman with hands as gnarled as the driftwood of her cart, noticed my interest. 'A good choice,' she said, her voice raspy but kind. 'Amber light for calm journeys.'

I fished out a coin and handed it to her. 'I’ll take it.'

Emberfist arched an eyebrow but said nothing as I tucked the lantern into my satchel. The warmth it gave off seemed to settle the edge of unease that had been gnawing at me since we left the manor.

Ahead, the Bridge of Stars loomed. Its arches were strung with enchanted lights that shimmered like constellations, and the canal below was a river of reflected stars. Emberfist slowed, her gaze scanning the crowd. 'He’s late,' she muttered.

'Relax,' I said, leaning casually against the bridge railing. With a mocking smile: 'You’re drawing more attention than I am.'

She glared but didn’t respond. Instead, her fingers tapped impatiently against her hip, the faintest flicker of flame sparking at her gauntlet. I focused on the crowd, letting my senses expand.

The festival’s energy made it hard to pick out anything unusual—so many voices, so much magic in the air—but I caught flickers of movement that didn’t belong. Shadows slipping against the grain of the crowd, purposeful where the rest was aimless.

'We’re not alone,' I said quietly.

Emberfist’s posture stiffened. 'How many?'

'Hard to say,' I replied, my gaze fixed on a man who seemed to fade too easily into the background. 'Not festival-goers.'

She nodded, her demeanour shifting. 'Stay casual. If they make a move, we draw them away from the crowd.'

Before I could respond, a roar of applause erupted as a new light show began. Above the Bridge of Stars, dozens of enchanted lanterns rose, their light weaving into intricate patterns—flowers blooming, waves crashing, a phoenix taking flight. The crowd’s collective awe became a shield, masking us from the shadows moving closer.

'They’re here,' I murmured.

Emberfist turned, her flames dim but ready. 'Let’s give them a warm welcome.'

The first attacker came from the left—a wiry man with daggers glinting under the lantern light. Emberfist stepped forward, her gauntlets flaring as she caught his blade mid-swing. The metal hissed against her flames, and she shoved him back into the crowd before he could recover.

I turned to face another, a tall figure with a hood obscuring their face. They lunged with a short sword, but I sidestepped, grabbing their wrist and twisting. The sword clattered to the ground, and a quick elbow to their gut sent them staggering.

The crowd didn’t notice, their attention still fixed on the light show above. Even as more attackers emerged, the festival’s magic drowned out the clash of steel and the hiss of Emberfist’s flames.

Another figure rushed me, this one faster, more precise. Their blade nicked my arm before I could block, but it did nothing. I retaliated with a swift strike to their jaw, sending them reeling into the bridge railing.

Emberfist dispatched her second opponent with a fiery uppercut, the man’s scream swallowed by the crowd’s cheers. She turned to me, her eyes blazing. 'That all of them?'

I scanned the area, my senses still stretched. 'No. There’s one, no two more.'

One of the assassins, a wiry man with a jagged scar running across his temple, leapt onto a gondola and pushed off. Jumping from gondola to gondola. His movements were quick and sure, the blade in his hand gleaming faintly with poison.

Emberfist shot me a sharp glance. 'Go. I’ve got the rest.'

I nodded, already moving. The sharp tang of adrenaline hit me as I focused on my quarry. My dragon instincts surged forward, my senses sharpening. The assassin’s scent—a mix of sweat, fear, and something acrid—stood out against the salty air. He thought he could lose me on the water.

Wrong.

I vaulted over the bridge railing and landed on the edge of another gondola, my weight making it rock dangerously.

The gondolier yelped and fell into the canal, leaving me to push off and give chase.

The assassin was quick, his movements passing over the water like a blade, but I could see the panic in his movements. He glanced over his shoulder, locking eyes with me. Eventually he leapt off the boats into an alleyway.

His agility was unnatural, his feet barely skimming the ground as he wove through the chaos of the festival.

I followed, relying on my senses and [Dragon’s Sight]. The crowd was a blur of faces and lanterns, laughter and cheers blending into an indistinct hum.

The assassin started to get tired. Clumsier. He darted between a gondola stall and a food cart, knocking over a table of roasted chestnuts in his wake.

I leapt over the mess, the heat of the coals warming my boots. He didn’t look back, but I could tell he knew I was gaining on him. His speed was impressive, but his movements got more erratic, like a cornered animal.

I growled under my breath, vaulting over a low railing and cutting through a narrow alley to close the gap.

The scent of his magic hung in the air, faint but distinct, he smelled like shadows. A burst of light from a gondola parade spilled into the alley, illuminating the assassin for a split second. He was small and wiry, his black cloak billowing like smoke as he skidded around a corner.

I followed, my boots pounding against the cobblestones, my breath steady despite the speed.

Ahead, the assassin flipped up a crate, sending it crashing into my path. I didn’t slow, shouldering through it with a grunt, the splintering wood barely slowing me. He cursed, his voice sharp and desperate.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

The alley spilled out into a canal bridge, the assassin vaulting onto a gondola without breaking stride. The gondolier shouted in surprise as the boat rocked, the assassin using its momentum to propel himself toward the opposite bank. His leap was impressive—athletic, fluid.

But I wasn’t about to let him outdo me.

Without hesitation, I sprang onto the next gondola, the boat dipping dangerously under my weight. The enchanted lanterns tied to its sides bobbed violently, their glowing light painting the water with shifting patterns. The gondolier shouted something, but I ignored him, using the edge of the gondola to launch myself across the canal.

My boots landed hard on the opposite bank, the impact jarring but manageable. The assassin was quick, already disappearing into the maze of alleys that twisted away from the canal. He darted around corners with the precision of someone who knew the city’s layout intimately. I wasn’t far behind, but he was faster than I’d anticipated.

I clenched my jaw, focusing on the rhythmic pounding of my heart and the scent trail he left behind. His magic was faint but traceable—a mix of adrenaline, sweat, shadows and whatever enchantment he used to enhance his speed. I pushed harder, letting my dragon instincts take over, my vision sharpening as I tracked him.

Ahead, the alley narrowed, crates and barrels stacked precariously along the walls. The assassin grabbed a loose beam and swung upward, his feet finding purchase on a balcony railing. He scaled the wall in seconds, disappearing onto the rooftops.

I cursed under my breath, leaping onto a barrel and propelling myself upward. My hands turning to claws instinctively, digging into the stone for grip as I followed him.

The rooftops were uneven, a mix of terracotta tiles and wooden beams, their edges slick with dew. The assassin sprinted ahead, his movements effortless as he vaulted over chimneys and ducked under low-hanging laundry lines.

I kept pace, my dragon-blooded strength compensating for my lack of grace. The city spread out below us, its canals glowing with the light of a thousand lanterns.

He glanced back, his face twisted with frustration as he realised I was still on his heels. With a flick of his wrist, he sent a flurry of magical daggers hurtling toward me, their edges gleaming like starlight. I ducked, the blades whizzing past me and embedding themselves in a nearby chimney with a metallic hiss.

You’ll have to do better than that! I thought, the thrill of the chase sparking a grin despite myself.

The assassin snarled, pulling a small vial from his belt and hurling it to the ground. The vial shattered, releasing a thick cloud of black smoke that billowed upward, obscuring him from view.

I skidded to a halt, coughing as the acrid fumes filled the air. But his scent was still there, faint but distinct. I closed my eyes, focusing on it, my instincts guiding me.

I heard the faint scrape of his boots against the tiles and took off again, bursting through the edge of the smoke. He’d gained a few precious seconds, but it wasn’t enough. I spotted him vaulting over a low wall, disappearing into the courtyard of an old inn. I followed, landing with a heavy thud in the enclosed space.

The courtyard was small, its edges lined with crates and barrels. The assassin darted toward a narrow doorway, but I was faster this time. With a burst of speed, I lunged, tackling him to the ground. We rolled across the cobblestones, his dagger flashing as he tried to slash at me. I grabbed his wrist, twisting until the weapon clattered to the ground.

He snarled, thrashing beneath me, his strength surprising for someone his size. 'You’re making a mistake,' he spat, his voice laced with venom.

'Funny,' I said, pinning him with my weight. 'I was about to say the same thing.'

Before I could press him further, the air shifted. A cold breeze swept through the courtyard, carrying with it the faint hum of magic. The shadows deepened unnaturally, coiling like living things. I turned, my grip on the assassin tightening as three figures emerged from the darkness.

‘Moonwardens!’ Cursed the assassin.

Moonwardens? The police? Now? I felt frustrated.

Their cloaks shimmered faintly under the moonlight, the silver crescents on their shoulders catching the light. Their masks—smooth, black, and featureless—reflected the scene like a dark mirror.

The lead figure stepped forward, their voice robotic but commanding. The mask had changed it.

'This one is ours,' they said, their tone leaving no room for argument.

I hesitated 'He’s connected to an attack on me. I need answers.'

The Moonwarden tilted their head, the motion almost birdlike. 'You’ll have your answers, m’lord. But this falls under our jurisdiction.'

I growled low in my throat, the tension crackling like static. The assassin beneath me shifted, his desperation giving way to resignation. He knew what the Moonwardens meant.

'Fine,' I said, stepping back reluctantly. 'But if you’re taking him, I want to know what you find.'

The lead Moonwarden inclined their head slightly, a gesture of acknowledgement. Then tossed a token at me. A small metallic silver crescent.

Without another word, they closed in, their movements fluid and silent. The assassin didn’t resist as they bound him with a shimmering chain of silver light, the magic sparking faintly as it touched his skin.

And just like that, they were gone, disappearing into the shadows as if they’d never been there.

The courtyard was silent again, save for the distant hum of the festival. I exhaled, frustration simmering beneath the surface.

The Moonwardens had taken my lead, but the chase wasn’t over yet. Not by a long shot.

***

I made my way back to the Bridge of Stars, my thoughts still racing. The canal glowed with the light of enchanted lanterns, their reflections shimmering like constellations in the water. The festival was in full swing, the crowd’s energy undiminished by the passing hours.

Emberfist waited near the edge of the bridge, her fiery hair catching the lantern light. Her arms were crossed, her expression sharp and focused. Beside her stood a man dressed in a faded green cloak, his face obscured by a deep hood. Her contact.

'Didn’t think you’d make it,' she said, her voice carrying just enough sarcasm to mask her concern.

I joined them, glancing at the hooded man. 'Ran into some company.'

'Moonwardens?' she guessed.

'Yeah. They took one of the assassins.'

She grimaced. 'They always show up when things get messy.'

The hooded man cleared his throat, drawing our attention. 'I don’t have much time,' he said, his voice low and gravelly. 'The Red Veil doesn’t like loose lips.'

Emberfist gestured for him to continue. 'Then don’t waste it. What do you know?'

'The Veil wasn’t working alone,' he said. 'They were hired. Someone powerful, someone connected to your elf friend. And they’re still looking for her.'

So Luneth escaped. I was relieved.

I frowned. 'Do you know who hired them?'

He shook his head. 'No names, just whispers. But I know where they’re operating. There’s an abandoned warehouse near the south docks. That’s where they regroup after their missions.'

Emberfist nodded, her mind already working. 'Good. That’s a start.'

The man hesitated, then added, 'Be careful. The Veil doesn’t play fair, and whoever’s pulling their strings is dangerous.'

'Danger’s our speciality,' Emberfist said, her grin sharp and fierce.

The man gave a curt nod and disappeared into the crowd, his green cloak blending seamlessly with the festival’s chaos.

I turned to Emberfist 'This is getting more complicated by the minute,' I said.

She smirked, her flames flickering faintly. 'That’s what makes it fun.'

Fun wasn’t the word I’d use, but I let it slide.

***

The warehouse at the South Docks loomed ahead, its dark silhouette cutting against the glowing canals and drifting lanterns. The hum of the festival was a distant murmur here, muffled by the heavy scent of saltwater and the creak of ropes straining against moored ships. The wooden walls of the warehouse, warped by years of salt and spray, seemed to bow inward under the weight of shadows.

Emberfist walked ahead, her molten gaze fixed on the dimly lit entrance. She moved with the quiet confidence of someone who’d been here before.

I trailed behind, senses sharp, every step crunching against the loose gravel underfoot. The dock workers had cleared out hours ago, leaving behind an eerie stillness broken only by the occasional slap of water against the pilings.

'Stay close,' she muttered, barely glancing over her shoulder. Her voice was low, clipped. Serious.

'I wasn’t planning to wander off,' I replied, my tone dry.

We reached the door. A faint line of golden light bled through the cracks in the warped wood.

Emberfist knelt, pressing a hand against the frame. Flames flickered briefly around her fingertips as she murmured something under her breath. The air shimmered faintly, and then she stood.

'Wards,' she said. 'Basic stuff. Someone doesn’t want to be interrupted.'

'And yet, here we are,' I said, pulling my cloak tighter. 'Breaking and entering on a holiday. Charming.'

She shot me a look. 'Try not to light this place up with your charm.'

I bit back a smirk as she pushed the door open. It groaned loudly, and I winced at the sound, but no one came rushing out. The warehouse swallowed us whole, the shadows inside thick and heavy. Lantern light flickered along the edges of crates stacked haphazardly, their shapes casting jagged silhouettes against the walls.

Emberfist’s flames flared softly, casting a warm glow over her features. 'Eyes open. They’re here.'

I nodded. My ears caught the faint creak of leather boots on wood—fast, light steps, moving in a half-circle. Shadows flickered across the far wall. 'Three on the left,' I murmured. 'Two more... above us, I think.'

Emberfist’s eyes narrowed. 'They’re boxing us in.'

'Good,' I said. 'Let them.'

The first attacker dropped from the rafters like a hawk, twin daggers aimed for my back. He moved fast, but not fast enough.

I pivoted, my arm coming up to meet his blade. The dagger screeched uselessly against my scales, and the assassin’s eyes widened just before my fist smashed into his chest. He flew back, landing hard against a stack of crates.

The fight erupted around us.

Two more figures darted from the shadows, their blades gleaming with faint enchantments. Emberfist met them head-on, her gauntleted fists igniting in a roar of flame. She drove one back with a wild uppercut, the fire trailing from her punch searing his cloak. The second hesitated just long enough for her to kick him square in the gut, sending him sprawling.

Another assassin lunged at me, a curved sword aimed for my ribs. It shattered against my side like brittle glass. I caught his wrist before he could retreat, twisting it hard. He cried out, dropping the hilt. My other fist connected with his jaw, and he collapsed in a heap.

'Watch your left!' Emberfist shouted.

I turned, spotting a heavier figure rushing toward me, longsword in both hands. The blade came down with a furious swing, and I raised my arm to block. Metal met scales with a deafening clang, and the weapon snapped at the hilt. Before he could process what had happened, I grabbed his tunic and threw him into a pile of barrels. He didn’t get up.

Emberfist was a storm of fire and fury. Her gauntlets burned white-hot, each punch leaving scorch marks on the floor or on her enemies.

She ducked low under a wild swing, rising with a flaming uppercut that sent her opponent crashing into the wall. Another tried to flank her, but she spun, flames arcing from her gauntlets as she slammed a backhand into his side.

'Two more,' I called, my voice steady. Pain flared in my thigh where a blade had grazed me earlier, but the injury was superficial. My scales would handle the rest.

Another assassin charged, faster than the others. He feinted high, then went low, his blade aiming for my legs. I stepped into him, ignoring the sharp edge dragging uselessly against my shin. My fist drove into his gut like a battering ram, and he folded, gasping for air. Before he could recover, I grabbed his cloak and swung him into the nearest wall.

The last attacker hesitated. He was smaller, leaner, with sharp eyes that darted between me and Emberfist. He threw something—a glass orb that shattered at my feet, releasing a cloud of thick, acrid smoke. I coughed, waving it away, but the assassin was already running toward the back of the warehouse.

'He’s bolting!' Emberfist yelled, starting after him.

'No, I’ve got this,' I said, taking off at a sprint. My dragon heritage kicked in, every muscle firing with precision as I closed the gap. The assassin was fast, but not fast enough. I grabbed the back of his cloak and yanked hard. He spun, a dagger flashing in his hand, and plunged it into my chest.

The blade snapped.

He froze, staring at the useless hilt. I grinned, my fist already rising. 'Nice try.'

The punch landed square on his face, and he crumpled like wet parchment.

When I turned, Emberfist was standing over the last of her opponents, her flames dimming. 'That all of them?'

I scanned the room. Bodies lay scattered across the floor, groaning or unconscious. The acrid smoke from the broken orb hung in the air, mingling with the scent of charred wood and burnt fabric. 'Yeah. That’s all of them.'

She wiped a smear of blood from her cheek, glancing around. 'Who the hell are these guys?'

'Good question,' I said, crouching beside the nearest attacker. I peeled back his hood, revealing a sharp-featured face, young but battle-worn. On his armour, a crescent moon over crossed blades was etched in silver.

'You recognise this?' I asked.

Emberfist leaned closer, her frown deepening. 'No. But that’s not local.'

We searched the warehouse. Didn’t find anything. Just a deserted empty warehouse.

Then we searched the men's bodies. In the pockets of one of them I found a small leather pouch. Inside was a folded piece of parchment. I unrolled it, revealing a crude map of Vallenport’s southern docks. Several buildings were marked with red circles, and one was labelled with a strange glyph.

She squinted at it. 'That glyph… it’s not Common.'

'It’s Draconic,' I said. The word translated roughly to Haven.

'Great,' she muttered, running a hand through her hair. 'Secret hideouts. Just what we need.'

I stood, tucking the map into my belt. My ears picked up faint voices outside, growing louder. Heavy boots, clinking armour. 'We’ve got company.'

She tensed, her gauntlets sparking back to life. 'More of them?'

'No,' I muttered, 'Waveguards.' My head snapped toward the door. The faint glint of steel in the lantern light confirmed it. Their leader would be armed and armoured, no doubt ready to lock this scene down tight. I wasn’t about to let them take away the second solid lead I’d gotten tonight.

'They’re gonna find us,' Emberfist whispered, already standing. Her flames flared briefly in her gauntlets. 'Maybe I can—'

'Not happening,' I cut her off. I folded the map quickly and tucked it into my belt. 'We’re leaving.'

She turned toward me, her eyes narrowing. 'Leaving? What the hell are you—'

I didn’t let her finish. I grabbed her by the back of her robe like a sack of grain and hoisted her off the ground. She let out a sharp yelp, half surprised, half pissed.

'Tavalor! Put me down!'

'No time.'

The first Waveguards pushed through the doors. Their armour glinted in the lantern light as they fanned out, weapons at the ready. The leader barked orders, her voice commanding. The others moved quickly, their practised formation cutting off exits.

I took a running leap, propelling us toward the nearest stack of crates. My [Ancient Scales] made it easy—no hesitation, no fear of injury. I landed with a crunch, the wood groaning under my weight.

'Are you serious?' Emberfist hissed, wriggling in my grip. 'You can’t just—'

'Quiet.' I adjusted my hold, keeping her steady as I bounded upward. Another jump took us to the rafters. From here, I could see the Waveguards spreading through the warehouse, their lanterns throwing sharp beams across the floor.

'Move fast,' I whispered to myself.

I kicked off the beam, twisting in midair to catch the edge of the skylight. Emberfist groaned as I hauled her up with me. My feet hit the roof silently, the city’s cool night air wrapping around us. The festival lights outside shimmered over the canals, a kaleidoscope of colours that almost made me forget the chaos below.

Almost.

I crouched low, keeping to the shadows. Emberfist scrambled out of my grip, her flames flaring briefly before she extinguished them with a hiss. 'Tavalor,' she growled, her voice sharp, 'if you ever do that again—'

'Keep your voice down,' I said, peering over the edge of the roof. The Waveguards were still below, their voices muffled but tense. They hadn’t spotted us yet.

'You just threw me over your shoulder like some sack of potatoes,' she continued, though her tone softened slightly as she crouched beside me. 'What was that even about?'

I held up the map. 'This. You think they’d let us walk out with something this important?'

She stared at it, her anger cooling. 'Fine. But next time, warn me before you decide to play hero.'

'Deal,' I said, smirking faintly. 'Now, let’s move.'

I glanced around, scanning for a safe route. The rooftops in this part of Vallenport were uneven, built haphazardly over time.

Narrow wooden bridges spanned gaps between buildings, while some roofs tilted precariously toward the canals below. It wasn’t ideal, but it would work.

I led the way, moving quickly but carefully. The wood creaked beneath us as we crossed the first bridge, but the noise was swallowed by the distant hum of the festival. Below, gondolas drifted lazily through the canals, their passengers blissfully unaware of the chaos a few blocks away.

'You sure about this?' Emberfist asked as we reached a particularly steep roof.

'Not even a little,' I replied, gripping the edge and pulling myself up. The view from the top gave us a better look at the city—its glowing lanterns, its winding waterways, and, in the distance, the Bridge of Stars.

As I reached down to help her up, a shout echoed from the warehouse below. One of the Waveguards had spotted something—or someone.

'They’re looking for us,' I said. 'We need to move faster.'

'No kidding,' Emberfist muttered, grabbing my hand and hoisting herself onto the rooftop. 'Let’s go.'

We leapt across another gap, the wind rushing past us. My dragon heritage made it easy to absorb the landing, my [Ancient Scales] dulling any impact. Emberfist was just as agile, though she grumbled under her breath the entire time.

By the time we reached a quieter part of the district, the sounds of the Waveguards had faded. We crouched in the shadow of a tall chimney, catching our breath.

'Well,' she said, brushing soot from her armour, 'that was fun.'

'You’re welcome,' I said, pulling the map from my belt. The faint lamplight reflected off the parchment, illuminating the red circles and the Draconic glyph.

She leaned in, studying it closely. 'This symbol… you sure it means Haven?'

I nodded.

We took our time - heading back towards the Bridge of Stars. The rooftops gave us a perfect vantage point of the festival below. From up here, the world was a canvas of light and sound—gondolas gliding along canals aglow with enchanted lanterns, noise rippling through the streets, and bursts of magical fireworks painting the sky in hues of gold and crimson.

But all eyes were drawn to the centrepiece of the night: the Duke’s Lantern. Suspended by an intricate contraption of ropes and pulleys at the apex of the Bridge of Stars, it gleamed like a jewel in the moonlight.

The design was mesmerising. Its structure resembled a great, glowing nautilus shell, spiralling inward in intricate, fluid curves. Glass panels, etched with patterns of waves and constellations, refracted light in soft, shifting hues—amber, violet, and sea-green. Beneath the glass surface, faint runes pulsed with a gentle rhythm, like a heartbeat. The magic imbued in the lantern wasn’t just functional; it was alive, weaving a symphony of light and shadow across the water below.

The Duke himself was present, flanked by his retinue, his voice carrying over the crowd as he gave a short speech about unity and hope. Speech finished he gestured for the lantern to be released. A hush fell over the crowd as the ropes were loosened, and the lantern began to ascend.

A hush fell over the crowd as the ropes were loosened, and the lantern began to ascend.

Its movement was slow. Ceremonial. As though it were reluctant to leave the earth. The first glimmers of light spilled out from its core, dappling the faces of the onlookers and casting wave-like patterns across the canal. As it climbed higher, the light grew stronger, illuminating the bridge and the water below with a warm, otherworldly glow.

And then, the magic within the lantern fully awakened.

The runes flared to life, and the shell-shaped structure began to shift and unfold, its spirals twisting outward like the petals of a flower blooming in slow motion. The light changed, too, no longer just a steady glow but a living thing, dancing and flowing like the tides themselves. The waves and constellations etched into the glass came alive, rippling and shifting in endless, hypnotic patterns.

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd as the lantern reached its zenith. Above the Bridge of Stars, it hovered, a radiant beacon that seemed to tie the city, the canals, and the sky together in a single, perfect moment. The twin moons, Lunaris and Noctis, hung on either side of it, their pale light mingling with the lantern’s vibrant hues.

He did it. I smiled.

The canals below mirrored the spectacle above, the water alive with reflections of the lantern’s shifting light. Gondolas glided through the glowing currents, their passengers reaching out as though they could touch the magic. Children held up their own miniature lanterns, their laughter mingling with the hum of the festival.

As the lantern continued its journey, drifting higher and higher until it seemed to merge with the stars, the crowd erupted into applause. The sound was thunderous, a wave of gratitude and joy that rolled through the city like a tide.