Stephanos crouched in the shadows across from the Whisperer's house, his eyes scanning the perimeter. Two guards stood at the main entrance, a third patrolled the side of the house.

Minutes ticked by as he watched, noting the guards' routines. The side guard made his rounds every quarter hour, like clockwork. As he neared the end of his circuit, Stephanos tensed, ready to move.

The guard paused at the corner of the house, glancing around before stepping into the side beside a tree and started to relieve himself. This was his chance.

Moving silently, Stephanos closed the distance between them. The guard, preoccupied with his business, didn't hear the approaching footsteps. In one fluid motion, he wrapped his arm around the guard's neck, applying pressure to the carotid arteries.

The guard struggled, his hands clawing at Stephanos' arm, but the choke hold was too tight. Within seconds, his movements became sluggish, then ceased altogether as he lost consciousness.

Stephanos lowered the limp body to the ground, quickly checking for signs of life. Satisfied that the guard was merely unconscious, he set about binding the man's hands and feet with strips torn from the guard's own tunic. He stripped the guard of his armor. The fit wasn't perfect - the guard was bulkier than Stephanos - but in the light, it would pass a cursory inspection.

Donning the armor, Stephanos took a deep breath, bracing himself for what lay ahead. He stepped out from the shadows, adopting the measured pace he'd observed earlier, and made his way towards the main entrance.

As he approached the other guards, one of them turned, eyeing him as he drew near. Stephanos kept his face impassive, mimicking the bored expression he'd seen on the patrolling guard earlier.

The guard's eyes flicked over his borrowed armor, lingering for a moment on his face. Stephanos felt a bead of sweat trickle down his spine. Had he been recognized? Was his deception about to be uncovered mere steps from his goal?

But the moment passed. The guard gave a curt nod and turned his attention back to the street. Stephanos fought to keep the relief from showing on his face as he continued past, entering the house.

Inside, the air was filled with the scent of incense and wine. Rich tapestries adorned the walls, depicting scenes of battles. Stephanos moved through the halls as if he belonged there. He passed several other guards and servants, but none paid him more than a passing glance.

His mind raced as he searched for the kitchen. Braxus had mentioned a trapdoor under a rug. If he could find it, he'd find Lucian. But the house was larger than he'd anticipated, a maze of corridors and rooms.

Time was not on his side. Sooner or later, someone would discover the missing guard or notice that Stephanos didn't belong. He needed to find Lucian and get out before that happened.

As he rounded another corner, the smell of food caught his attention. The kitchen had to be close. Stephanos quickened his pace, hope rising in his chest. He was close now. So close to finding Lucian and unraveling the mystery that had brought them here.

But as he neared his goal, a shout rang out behind him. Has he been discovered? Stephanos' hand went to his sword, ready for a fight. But as he turned, he realized the cry wasn't directed at him. Two guards had just encountered each other at the end of the hallway.

"Kyros! Is that you?" one of them called out.

"Alexios! By the gods, it's been ages!" the other guard responded.

Stephanos relaxed his grip on his weapon, but his heart continued to race. He pretended to examine a nearby sculpture, a marble bust of some long-dead nobleman, as the guards greeted each other with hearty slaps on the back.

"How long has it been?" Kyros asked. "Two, three years?"

Alexios chuckled. "Closer to four, I'd wager. Not since that battle at Amphipolis. How have you been, old friend?"

"Can't complain. The pay's good, the work's easy. Beat's guarding some farmer's chickens from foxes."

"And the food?"

"Better than army rations, that's for sure. Speaking of which, I was just heading to the kitchen for a bite. Care to join me?"

Stephanos' ears perked up at the mention of the kitchen. He angled his body slightly, straining to catch every word without appearing obvious.

"I wish I could," Alexios said, "but I'm on duty. Maybe next time. The kitchen's just down that corridor, take a left at the end, can't miss it."

Kyros nodded. "I'll grab something for you too. We've got catching up to do later."

"Hey, thanks. Sure, let’s catch up later."

As the guards said their goodbyes, Stephanos now knew where to find the kitchen, and by extension, the trapdoor that would lead him to Lucian. He took a deep breath and prepared to move.

But before he could take a step, Alexios' voice rang out again. "Hey, you there!"

He turned, face a mask of calm indifference. "Yes?"

Alexios squinted at him, his brow furrowed in thought. "I've seen you before, haven't I?"

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"N…No, I…I don’t think so."

"What's your name?"

For a split second, his mind went blank. Then, he blurted out the first name that came to mind. "Nikias," he said, hoping his voice didn't betray his nervousness.

Alexios stared at him for what felt like an eternity. Stephanos could feel sweat beading on his forehead beneath the borrowed helmet. Had he made a mistake? Was his deception about to unravel mere steps from his goal?

"Nikias, eh?" He said, eyes narrowing. "Can't say I remember much about you. Where'd you say you were from again?"

Stephanos searched for a plausible answer. "Argos," he replied, hoping the common origin wouldn't raise suspicion.

"Argos, right. And how long have you been working here?"

"About three months. Came here looking for work after the harvest season ended."

"Three months," Alexios scratched his chin. "Funny, I don't recall seeing you around much. What's your usual post?"

Stephanos felt a bead of sweat trickle down his back. He fought the urge to wipe his brow, knowing it would only betray his nervousness. "Night watch, mostly. West wing of the house."

"Ah, that explains it. I'm usually on day shift. No wonder we haven't crossed paths much."

Stephanos allowed himself to relax, but he knew he wasn't out of danger yet. Alexios seemed to be mulling something over in his mind.

"Say. You must've been here when that commotion happened last week. What'd you make of all that?"

Stephanos' heart skipped a beat. He had no idea what Alexios was referring to, but he couldn't afford to let on. He decided to play it safe with a noncommittal response.

"It was quite something," he said, keeping his face neutral. "But you know how these things go. Best not to talk about it too much, right?"

Alexios studied him for a moment, then broke into a grin. "Right you are. Discretion's the better part of valor, as they say. Well, I won't keep you any longer. Carry on."

With a final nod, Alexios turned and continued his patrol. Stephanos waited until the guard's footsteps had faded before letting out a long, shaky breath. That had been far too close. He couldn't afford any more delays or close calls. Lucian was counting on him.

He set off down the corridor, following the directions he'd overheard. The smell of roasting meat and fresh bread grew stronger with each step, confirming he was on the right track.

As he rounded the final corner, the kitchen came into view. It was a large space filled with the clatter of pots and pans. Steam rose from bubbling cauldrons, and it filled the room with the scent of different spices.

Stephanos scanned the room, searching for anything that might conceal a trapdoor. He settled on a large, ornate rug near the back of the kitchen. It seemed out of place amidst the utilitarian surroundings, and its position - away from the main cooking areas where it might get stained - was suspicious.

He made his way across and knelt down, ostensibly to adjust his sandal. As he did so, he ran his hand along the edge of the rug, feeling for any irregularities. His fingers brushed against something - a slight rise in the floorboards, barely noticeable unless you were looking for it. There, he found the trapdoor.

With a quick glance around to ensure he was still alone, he grasped the iron ring set into the wooden door and pulled. The door creaked open, revealing a set of stone steps descending into darkness.

The air that wafted up from below was damp and musty. Stephanos hesitated for a moment, then began to descend. The stairs were narrow and worn, smooth by countless feet, forcing him to place each step carefully to avoid slipping.

As he moved deeper, the light from the kitchen faded, replaced by an oppressive darkness. Stephanos paused, allowing his eyes to adjust. Gradually, he became aware of a faint, flickering light coming from somewhere below.

At the bottom of the stairs, he found himself in a low-ceilinged tunnel. The walls were rough-hewn stone, slick with moisture. A single torch sputtered in a bracket on the wall, creating shadows that seemed to move with a life of their own.

The tunnel stretched away in both directions, disappearing into darkness. Stephanos strained his ears, listening for any sound that might indicate Lucian's presence or the approach of guards. The only noise was the soft drip of water from somewhere unseen and the faint crackle of the torch.

The air down here was cold, and he could feel the weight of the earth above pressing down on him. He took a deep breath, trying to shake off the growing sense of claustrophobia.

Somewhere in this underground maze, Lucian was being held captive. Stephanos had to move quickly – it was only a matter of time before someone discovered his intrusion. But which way should he go? Left or right?

As he pondered his next move, a faint sound reached his ears – the distant clink of metal on metal. It seemed to be coming from the right. His hand went to his sword hilt as he began to move down the tunnel, every sense alert for danger.

The flickering torchlight barely illuminated the path ahead, prompting him to move slowly to avoid tripping over the uneven floor. The tunnel twisted and turned, branching off in places. Stephanos kept to the main path, following the occasional sounds that drifted to him, hoping they would lead him to the boy.

As he rounded another bend, a new smell reached his nostrils – the unmistakable stench of unwashed bodies and human waste. Stephanos' heart quickened. He must be nearing some kind of holding area. Lucian had to be close.

The tunnel widened, opening into a larger chamber ahead. Stephanos could see the glow of more torches and hear the murmur of voices. He pressed himself against the damp wall, inching forward to peer around the corner, not knowing what he might find.

As he peered into the chamber, his eyes widened. A row of crude cells lined the walls, their iron bars rusted and pitted. The stench of human misery was overwhelming here, a miasma of sweat, waste, and despair.

He moved from cell to cell. Most were empty, their occupants long gone or never there. In some, he saw huddled figures, but none were Lucian.

At the last cell, Stephanos saw a man lying on his side, facing away from the door. The figure was about Lucian's size and build. Hope surged through him as he fumbled with the lock, his fingers clumsy with urgency.

The lock finally gave way with a harsh click. Stephanos winced, glancing over his shoulder, but no alarm was raised. He slipped into the cell, kneeling beside the prone figure.

"Lucian," he whispered, reaching out to turn the man over. "It's me, Stephanos. I'm here to—"

The words died in his throat as the body rolled onto its back. It wasn't him. The face that stared up at him was waxy and pale, the eyes glassy and unseeing. A dark stain spread across the man's chest, centered on a ragged hole that could only have been made by a sword thrust.

Stephanos recoiled, his mind reeling. "What the fuck?"

He knew he couldn't linger. Every moment he spent here increased the risk of discovery. He had to move, to keep searching. Lucian had to be somewhere in this underground labyrinth.

Stephanos started to rise, his legs stiff from kneeling. But before he could fully stand, a sudden movement caught the corner of his eye. He began to turn, his hand reaching for his sword.

Too late.

Something hard and heavy struck the back of his head with brutal force. Pain exploded through his skull, and the world tilted. His legs buckled beneath him as darkness rushed in from the edges of his vision.