“That’s silly, Magnus,” Gerrin muttered under his breath, his voice carrying the faintest edge of humor despite the tension in the air. “We’ll go check it out. If you go inside an old-ass house like this, you’re likely to bring it down.”

Magnus tilted his massive head, his golden eyes narrowing slightly as his tongue flicked outward, tasting the cool, damp air. “I will be on guard if you need me,” he replied, his deep voice carrying a note of quiet authority. He crouched slightly, his bulk settling in the shadows outside the decrepit building, his presence a watchful sentinel against the quiet of the night.

The group exchanged glances, their unease palpable as the faint glimmer of starlight from the compass faded into the darkness. Gerrin gestured forward, his hand low and deliberate, and the party slipped into the abandoned building with practiced care. Their footsteps were muffled against the dust-caked floors, the faint creak of warped wood the only sound as they moved deeper into the structure.

The air inside was thick with the musty stench of mildew and disuse. Shafts of pale moonlight filtered through gaps in the boarded windows, casting long shadows that danced eerily across the walls. Leth led the way, her staff held low but ready, the faint glow of its enchanted tip providing just enough illumination to guide their steps. Behind her, Fialla and Calis moved in near silence, their breaths shallow, their eyes scanning the gloom. Gerrin brought up the rear, his broad shoulders hunched slightly as his hand rested on the hilt of his sword.

They moved as one, a line of cautious determination winding through the building’s narrow corridors. The walls were lined with peeling wallpaper, the faded patterns obscured by grime and time. Every door they passed hung ajar or off its hinges, revealing rooms filled with broken furniture, scattered debris, and an oppressive emptiness that seemed to press against their senses.

As they rounded a corner, the corridor opened into a vast space that none of them had anticipated. The air shifted, carrying with it a faint tang of oil and rust. Their footsteps faltered as they entered an expansive warehouse, its high ceiling lost in shadows, the space illuminated only by faint beams of moonlight that streamed through cracked windows high above.

The room was filled with rows upon rows of crates, stacked haphazardly yet organized in a way that suggested purpose. Most of the containers bore no markings, their surfaces aged and worn. But here and there, signs of something more sinister emerged. Scattered among the crates were cages, their metal bars dulled with grime and rust. The faint scent of animal musk lingered in the air, and the atmosphere crackled with an undercurrent of unease.

Fialla’s sharp intake of breath broke the silence. She gestured toward one of the cages, her hand trembling slightly. Inside, a large feline creature with sleek, striped fur paced restlessly, its glowing eyes locked onto the intruders. The low, guttural growl that emanated from its throat sent a shiver through the group.

“That’s... a shadow lynx,” Fialla whispered, her voice barely audible. “It’s from the Beastlands.”

“What’s it doing here?” Calis muttered, his tone tinged with disbelief. He took a cautious step closer, his hand brushing against the hilt of his dagger. “This isn’t some poacher’s stash. This is organized.”

“Quiet,” Leth hissed, her eyes scanning the room with a mixture of curiosity and dread. “We need to keep moving.”

The group pressed onward, their movements careful and deliberate as they navigated the maze of crates and cages. With every step, the sense of unease deepened. More cages came into view, each containing creatures of varying sizes and temperaments. Some were familiar, their origins tied to regions near and far. Others were stranger, their forms twisted or unnatural, their eyes glinting with a predatory intelligence that made the air feel colder.

And then they saw it.

Near the center of the warehouse, nestled among the newest crates and cages, was a sight that brought the group to a halt. Before them stood a small cage of runic-covered metal, its intricate carvings glowing faintly in the dim light. Inside, shivering and bound, was a creature unlike any they had seen before. It was small, no larger than a human child, its pale skin almost luminescent. Delicate wings folded against its back quivered with each shuddering breath, and its wide, pleading eyes glistened with tears as it gazed at its captors.

The group stared in stunned silence, the weight of the discovery pressing down on them like a physical force.

“What is that?” Calis whispered, his voice barely audible.

“A faeling,” Leth murmured, her voice trembling with equal parts awe and fear. “I thought they were just stories.”

The creature’s gaze shifted between them, its expression a mixture of terror and hope. The faint glow of the runes on its cage pulsed faintly, as though reacting to its distress. Fialla stepped closer, her hand reaching out before hesitating. “It’s freezing,” she said softly, her breath hitching. “We can’t just leave it here.”

“We might have to,” Gerrin said, his voice firm but low. “We don’t know what’s guarding this place, and we can’t risk getting caught.”

“Are you serious?” Fialla shot back, her voice rising slightly before Leth silenced her with a sharp gesture. “We can’t leave it like this.”

“Enough,” Leth said, her tone brokering no argument. She turned to Torren, who had knelt by the cage, his tools already in hand. “Can you get it open?”

Torren didn’t look up, his focus entirely on the intricate mechanisms of the lock. “It’s a challenge,” he muttered, his voice tinged with frustration. “Runes make it tricky. But I think I can manage.”

“Hurry,” Gerrin urged, his eyes darting to the shadows around them. “We’re exposed here.”

As Torren worked, the group formed a loose circle around him, their weapons drawn and their senses heightened. The faeling watched them intently, its trembling subsiding slightly as hope flickered in its eyes. The faint hum of the runes grew louder, the air around the cage shimmering faintly as Torren’s tools worked their way through the intricate mechanism.

Time seemed to stretch as the tension mounted. Every creak of the warehouse, every distant sound, set their nerves on edge. The oppressive silence was broken only by the faint click of Torren’s tools and the soft, rhythmic pulse of the runes.

Finally, with a faint click and a flash of light, the lock gave way. The runes dimmed, their power fading as the cage’s door swung open. The faeling hesitated for a moment, its wide eyes scanning the group before it stepped forward cautiously. Fialla extended a hand, her expression soft and reassuring, and the creature moved toward her, its delicate wings fluttering weakly.

Before anyone could speak, the faint sound of footsteps echoed from the far end of the warehouse. The group froze, their eyes snapping to the shadows as the unmistakable sound of approaching figures reached their ears. They moved quickly, pressing themselves into the nearest crevices of shadow where they could barely fit, each trying to still their breathing as the footsteps grew closer. The rhythmic creak of old floorboards accompanied the intruders, and soon the voices of two men and a woman cut through the silence.

“I’m telling you, if my brother says he heard something, he heard something,” a high-pitched, almost squeaky voice said, tinged with annoyance. “Big Guy doesn’t lie.”

“Quiet, you pest,” a deeper, slower voice rumbled, reverberating like a low drumbeat. The owner’s speech dragged, as if forming thoughts took a great deal of effort. “I know what I heard."

“Fine, fine,” the squeaky voice replied. “Anyway, Lady, we have everything you’ve asked for—even the harder-to-find stuff. That list you brought us wasn’t easy to gather up, you know.”

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

“And yet, here we are,” the woman’s voice purred, its tone both commanding and sultry. She sounded amused, her voice carrying a lilt that spoke of privilege and indulgence. Gerrin, hidden behind Leth in the shadows, felt an elbow jab into his ribs as the three figures came into view. He bit back a curse as he caught sight of the speakers.

The first figure was enormous, his hulking frame nearly grazing the hanging light fixtures above. He carried the smaller man on his back as though he were nothing more than a satchel. The smaller man, thin and wiry, perched with an almost insect-like nervousness, his hands clutching the brute’s shoulders as his head darted around. Beside them strode a woman who could have been mistaken for a noble if not for her scandalously revealing attire, which left little to the imagination. Her every step was deliberate, the sharp click of her heels echoing in the cavernous space.

The trio stopped near the cages, their attention drawn to the faeling’s enclosure. “Ah,” the squeaky man said, clapping his hands together. “The prize of your list, Lady, was already in our stock. You’re in luck.”

The woman stepped forward, her gaze lingering on the faeling with an unsettling intensity. The group hidden in the shadows held their breath as the intruders drew nearer to both the cage and their position, oblivious to their presence. every muscle taut as the intruders drew nearer to both the cage and their position. The tension was suffocating as the trio’s voices echoed faintly in the cavernous space, the sharp clicks of the woman’s heels punctuating the silence.

The smaller man, perched on the brute’s back, was the first to pause, his head tilting as his beady eyes darted around the dim warehouse. “Hold on,” he squeaked, his tone suspicious. “Something’s not right.”

The brute stopped, his massive shoulders hunching slightly. “What is it?” he rumbled, his deep voice carrying a note of confusion.

The wiry man leaned forward, peering intently at the faeling’s cage. “The lock... it’s been tampered with. Look!”

The woman’s expression shifted, her sultry amusement replaced with a sharp, dangerous focus. She stepped closer, her scrutinizing gaze sweeping over the cage before flicking to the surrounding shadows. “You’re right,” she murmured, her voice a low, dangerous purr. “Someone’s been here.”

The group held their breath even tighter, their hearts pounding in their chests as the intruders’ eyes began scanning the darkened corners of the warehouse. It was only a matter of time before one of them was spotted.

----------------------------------------

Outside, Jannet remained in his crouched position, his golden eyes fixed on the faint glimmers of moonlight filtering through the gaps of the decrepit structure. The eerie silence of the city gnawed at him, more profound than anything he had encountered before. This was not the usual hum of life ebbing and flowing—it was a vacuum, an unnatural stillness that set his instincts on edge.

The bracelet around his wrist—the artifact that had guided them here—suddenly flared to life. A sharp pulse of light erupted from it, searing and urgent, tugging at him with an almost physical force. Jannet’s scales bristled as his head snapped toward the building, his tongue flicking out to taste the air. Danger.

His thoughts raced as the light grew more insistent, the pull almost impossible to ignore. Something was wrong. The group was in danger, and this was his warning. Rising to his full, imposing height, Jannet moved swiftly toward the building, his tail swishing with controlled power. The shadows seemed to gather around him as he advanced, his every step resonating with the weight of his resolve.

----------------------------------------

Leth’s chest burned as she struggled to hold her breath. The oppressive silence was only broken by the subtle creak of the warehouse floorboards and the ominous voices of the three intruders. Her back was pressed against a splintered crate, her body wedged awkwardly into the small shadow it provided. The hulking brute—“Big Guy” as the smaller man had called him—was only a few steps away, his massive frame looming like a stormcloud.

Her lungs screamed, her fingers trembling as she gripped her holy book and travel staff tightly. The dim light around the warehouse flickered on the glinting metal of the cages, and the exotic creatures inside stirred nervously, sensing the tension in the air. One sharp intake of breath, one wrong move, and everything would come crashing down.

The moment came far sooner than she hoped. With a grunt, Big Guy’s thick arms reached down and casually hefted the crate she was hiding under as though it were weightless. Leth gasped involuntarily, her lungs seizing with the relief of oxygen. Their eyes locked for a heartbeat. His expression was slow to change, from confusion to dawning recognition, and then to a wide, brutish grin.

“Found one,” he rumbled, his voice slow and deep, as though he savored the words.

“Run!” Leth shouted, twisting her staff and slamming its glowing end into the brute’s shin. He stumbled back with a pained growl, the crate crashing to the floor beside him. The noise was enough to shatter the fragile silence, and chaos erupted.

Gerrin and Torren moved first, bursting from the shadows with blades gleaming. Gerrin’s longsword cleaved through the air with precision, aiming for the brute’s exposed side. Torrens’s daggers flashed like silver streaks as he lunged toward the wiry man still perched on the brute’s back. Their attack was swift and coordinated, but the three enemies reacted with startling speed. Aided by near slient arrows from Calis's bow their arrows augmented with a ranger's power

The wiry man, quick as a viper, vaulted from Big Guy’s shoulders dodging an arrow with an acrobatic twist, landing lightly on a nearby crate. “Oh, this is fun,” he squeaked, his voice high and mocking. He drew a pair of short, serrated blades from his belt, their edges gleaming wickedly in the moonlight.

The woman—all flowing silks and sharp edges—laughed, a rich, sultry sound that echoed eerily in the chaos. “Well, well, we’ve got something fun to do after all.” With a fluid motion, she drew an impossibly long, curved blade from her side and began advancing toward Calis, her movements almost hypnotic.

Barrels and crates splintered as the battle engulfed the warehouse. Gerrin’s sword struck true against Big Guy’s side, but the brute’s sheer mass absorbed the blow with little more than a grunt. The brute retaliated with a backhanded swing that sent Gerrin sprawling into a stack of crates. Calis darted and weaved, his daggers deflecting the woman’s graceful strikes. She moved with the precision of a dancer, her blade whistling through the air as if playing a deadly tune.

Fialla channeled her magic, the familiar warmth of her healing light spreading through her staff as she threw a protective barrier over Calis, who had drawn her bow and loosed an arrow at the wiry man. He dodged easily, his movements unnervingly fast as he closed the distance to her with a smirk. “That’s cute,” he taunted, his blade slicing toward her in a sharp arc.

Fialla stumbled back, her arm catching on a broken cage. The panicked creature inside—a small, furred beast with too many eyes—screeched and thrashed, adding to the chaos. Leth intervened with a blast of light from her staff, forcing the wiry man to leap back with a hiss of annoyance.

The battle raged on, each moment more desperate than the last. Gerrin lunged at Big Guy again, his blade glancing off the brute’s thick armor-like skin. Torren scored a shallow cut against the woman’s side, but she responded with a spinning kick that sent him crashing into a pile of shattered wood. Torren, crouched near the faeling’s cage, managed to retrieve his tools but found himself pinned under a crate thrown by Big Guy in a fit of rage.

“They’re toying with us,” Gerrin realized, the thought hitting him like a cold wave. Each attack the trio delivered was precise and controlled, designed to probe their defenses without committing fully. They weren’t just fighting—they were enjoying themselves.

“We need to go!” Leth shouted, throwing another Minor healing around Torren as the woman’s blade came dangerously close to his throat. “We can’t win this!”

“She’s right,” Gerrin growled, stepping between his team and their enemies. His sword felt heavy in his hand, but his resolve burned brighter than ever. “Get out of here. Now.”

“Gerrin, no!” Fialla protested, her voice breaking with fear.

“Do it!” he roared, turning to face the trio. They had closed ranks, their expressions still teasing but their stances more deliberate now. The woman’s eyes sparkled with dark amusement, while the wiry man twirled his blades in anticipation. Big Guy simply cracked his knuckles, his grin widening.

Gerrin inhaled deeply, the air burning in his lungs as he readied himself. This was it—the moment he had known would come since he first took up a sword. A final stand. It was sooner than he had hoped, but he would make it count.

“Go!” he shouted again, and this time, the team obeyed. Leth grabbed Fialla’s arm, pulling her toward the exit. Calis stumbled after them, his steps uneven but determined. Torren, freed from the crate by Leth’s magic, cast one last glance at Gerrin before disappearing into the shadows.

Gerrin turned back to the enemies, his sword raised high. “You want me?” he snarled, his voice fierce and unyielding. “Come and get me.”

They obliged.

The next moments were a blur of steel and pain. Gerrin fought like a man possessed, his strikes fueled by raw determination. His blade found purchase against the wiry man’s arm, drawing blood, but the retaliation came swiftly. The man’s twin blades slashed across Gerrin’s side, the pain sharp and immediate.

Big Guy’s fists came down like hammers, each strike shaking the ground around them. Gerrin dodged one blow but caught another to his shoulder, the impact driving him to one knee. The woman’s blade sang as it clashed with his, her laughter echoing in his ears as she pushed him further back.

Blow after blow, Gerrin held his ground. His vision blurred as his strength waned, his body battered and bleeding. He could feel his life slipping away with each passing second, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. This was his purpose—to protect his friends, to give them a chance to escape.

The ground beneath him trembled suddenly, a low rumble that grew steadily louder. Gerrin’s mind barely registered it as he swung his sword one last time, his body screaming in protest. The house was shaking, the crates around him toppling as the tremor intensified.

As darkness claimed him, his last thought was one of confusion. “An earthquake?”