The guest quarters felt smaller as evening shadows gathered outside the narrow windows, as if the walls themselves pressed closer with each passing hour.

Ryelle sat cross-legged on the stone floor, her kanabō laid across her knees while she worked oil into the weapon's leather grip with methodical strokes. The familiar ritual helped focus her thoughts, but couldn't entirely banish the wrongness that had been creeping through the castle like fog seeping through cracks in ancient stone.

Lorne spread Elena's hand-drawn map across the rough wooden table, weighted down at the corners with their traveling cups and a spare dagger. The parchment showed passages that didn't appear on any official plans—servant corridors, hidden stairways, and spaces between formal chambers that might allow cautious spies to observe without revealing themselves.

"The main observance chamber is here," he said, tapping a location in the castle's heart. "Elena says there's a concealed gallery above it, accessible through this passage that runs behind the kitchens."

Kaela materialized from the shadows near the door, her approach silent as always but somehow more purposeful tonight. "I've been watching the guard rotations. They've changed since yesterday, overlapping patrol routes and longer overlapping intervals at the main access points. And they're paying attention to areas they ignored before."

"Watching us?" Ryelle asked, not looking up from her weapon maintenance.

"Watching everyone. But yes, particularly the areas where guests might wander after dark." Kaela settled into the remaining chair, though she didn't relax into its embrace. The patrols now include checks of corridors that were unguarded yesterday."

The implications settled over them like a chill. Either the castle's security had coincidentally improved, or their presence had triggered defensive measures.

"Could be routine adjustment," Lorne said, though his tone suggested he didn't believe it. "New guests mean new security protocols."

"Could be," Kaela agreed. "But routine doesn't explain why Marcus spent an hour standing in the courtyard this afternoon, watching our windows."

Ryelle's hands stilled on the kanabō's grip. "Watching how?"

"Not like someone curious about guests. Like someone cataloging behavior patterns. Taking notes." Kaela's dark eyes held no humor. "When I'm running an operation, I call someone like that a 'spotter.'"

"He suspects us?" Ryelle asked.

"Hard to know." Kaela shrugged, though the movement held more tension than her voice revealed. "But he's paying attention to us, and he knows we can't help paying attention to all the... oddities... around here."

The wrongness that had been gnawing at Ryelle's divine senses sharpened into something approaching alarm. The cold, metallic scent she'd been tracking had grown stronger throughout the day, spreading through the castle like contamination in a water supply. Whatever was changing the knights was accelerating.

"We need to see what's happening tonight," she said, rising from the floor and settling the kanabō across her back. "Before it gets worse."

Lorne nodded, rolling up Elena's map. "Split approach. Kaela, you investigate the lower levels while we observe the evening session. If there's an artifact down there, we need to know what we're dealing with."

"And if I get caught?"

"Don't." Lorne's smile held no warmth. "But if you do, we extract immediately with whatever intelligence we've gathered. No heroic rescue attempts until we understand the full scope."

Kaela arched an eyebrow. "You saying I can't handle myself?"

"I'm saying you don't know what you're facing down there. I don't want anyone risking exposure until we know how to combat whatever it is." His indigo eyes held hers. "Can you handle that kind of fight?"

"If it comes to that, Commander, I know how to minimize losses."

"That's not what I asked." But Lorne didn't press the issue, and Kaela didn't volunteer further details. Ryelle had the impression that an entire silent conversation had taken place above her head.

The castle's evening routines began as the last natural light faded from the mountain peaks. From their windows, they watched knights emerge from barracks and duty stations, marching in silent lockstep toward the central courtyard. No voices interrupted the steady tramp of boots on ancient paving stones, no laughter broke the unnatural discipline that suffused the night air.

"Time," Lorne said quietly.

They left the quarters in careful sequence—Lorne first, using the main corridors with the casual confidence of a guest exercising after dinner. Ryelle followed five minutes later, taking a different route that led toward the castle's eastern wing. Kaela simply vanished, her departure marked only by the whisper of a door closing with impossible quiet.

The hidden gallery above the observance chamber reeked of decades-old dust and something else—a staleness that suggested air trapped too long in spaces meant for breathing. Ryelle crouched beside Lorne in the narrow alcove, peering through gaps in the stonework that had been designed to let servants observe formal gatherings without being seen.

The chamber below sprawled larger than she'd expected, its vaulted ceiling disappearing into shadows that seemed to drink the torchlight rather than reflect it. Forty knights stood in perfect formation, arranged in ranks with the same unconscious coordination she'd observed in the courtyard. Each man faced the same direction, stood at identical attention, breathed in synchronous rhythm.

But it was their faces that made Ryelle's divine essence recoil. Empty. Not vacant like sleeping men, but hollow like vessels waiting to be filled. Their eyes held the pale cast she'd been noticing throughout the castle, but magnified—as if whatever colored human irises had been systematically drained away.

Brother Marcus stood at the chamber's far end, positioned before an alcove that held something Ryelle couldn't quite see from her angle. His voice carried clearly in the stone-walled space, but the words felt wrong—not spoken so much as channeled, as if something else was using his vocal cords to shape sounds into meaning.

"Unity of purpose," Marcus intoned, and forty voices echoed the phrase with identical inflection.

"Efficiency of action," he continued, and again the perfect repetition.

"Submission to order."

"Elimination of chaos."

"Service to stability."

Each response came swifter, stronger, the cadence like some ritualized dance in which speaker and audience shared the same heartbeat. But underneath the words, Ryelle sensed something else.

Power. Not divine energy like her own, but something colder, more alien—a presence that pressed against her awareness like ice water against exposed nerves.

The knights began to move, but calling it movement felt inadequate. They flowed, each man performing identical gestures with timing so perfect they might have been controlled by a single mind. Arms raised in unison, heads turned in perfect synchronization, feet shifted with mathematical precision.

"Look at their breathing," Lorne whispered beside her.

Ryelle focused on the rhythmic rise and fall of forty chests, inhaling and exhaling as one body.

In, out, pause. In, out, pause. No individual variation, no personal rhythms.

Brother Marcus raised his hands, and the assembled knights fell utterly still. The silence that followed felt unnatural, too complete, as if the very air had been commanded to cease its movement.

"Receive guidance," Marcus said, his voice carrying harmonics that human throats shouldn't produce.

From the alcove behind him, something began to pulse with sick light. Ryelle caught glimpses of carved stone, of symbols that hurt to look at directly, and of an object that seemed to simultaneously attract and repel her attention.

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The light wasn't illumination—it was the absence of illumination, darkness given visible form.

The knights' pale eyes reflected that non-light, and Ryelle watched in horror as their faces went completely blank. Not peaceful like sleeping men, but empty like houses with all the furniture removed. Whatever made them human had been temporarily set aside, leaving only receptive vessels.

"Preparation continues," Marcus intoned, though his lips moved without conscious thought. "Implementation approaches. Unity will be achieved."

The words settled into the knights' minds like seeds taking root in prepared soil. Ryelle could almost see the thoughts being planted, the personalities being overwritten, the individual wills being subsumed into something larger and infinitely more focused.

"Regional objectives require coordination," the thing wearing Marcus's voice continued. "Targets have been identified. Resistance will be eliminated."

Regional objectives. Targets. Ryelle felt cold certainty crystallize in her stomach. This wasn't just about corrupting the Order—it was about turning them into a weapon aimed at specific enemies. And given the Order's relationship with Ebonheim, she could guess who those targets might be.

"Questions?" Marcus asked the assembled knights.

"None," forty voices replied in perfect unison.

"Concerns?"

"None."

"Loyalty?"

"Absolute."

The ritual continued for another quarter-hour, each exchange reinforcing the patterns being burned into the knights' minds. Ryelle watched men she'd spoken with yesterday being systematically erased, their personalities carved away like excess wood from a sculpture, leaving only the essential components needed for whatever purpose their unknown masters intended.

When it finally ended, the knights filed from the chamber with the same mechanical precision they'd shown entering. No conversation, no individual movement, just the coordinated flow of components returning to their designated positions.

Marcus remained behind, standing before the alcove that held the source of that terrible non-light. For a moment, his posture seemed to waver, becoming less rigid, more human. Then he straightened, his movements regaining their unnatural precision, and followed the others from the chamber.

"We need to leave," Lorne whispered, his voice tight with urgency. "Now."

They crept through the hidden passages with infinite care, every shadow potentially concealing watchers, every sound potentially betraying their presence. The wrongness that permeated the castle felt stronger now, as if the evening's ritual had amplified whatever power was reshaping the Order from within.

When they finally reached the relative safety of their quarters, Ryelle found her hands shaking with reaction. Not fear—anger. Pure, molten rage at seeing people stripped of everything that made them human.

"They're not soldiers anymore," she said, settling heavily into a chair. "They're... puppets. Empty things waiting to be filled with whatever someone else decides."

"Did you hear the references to regional objectives?" Lorne asked, moving to the window to check for observers. "This is part of something much larger than just corrupting the Order."

"A coordinated campaign to destabilize Ebonheim's alliances," Ryelle agreed. "Turn our allies into enemies, then provide solutions that benefit whoever's behind this."

But even as they discussed the implications, a more immediate concern gnawed at her awareness. Kaela should have returned by now. The woman was never late, never careless about timing, never failed to account for her whereabouts.

"Where is she?" Ryelle asked, voicing the worry they were both feeling.

Lorne checked the position of the moon through the narrow window. "She should have been back by now."

They waited another hour, taking turns watching the corridors and listening for sounds that might indicate Kaela's return. But the castle's nighttime rhythms continued without interruption—guards walking their predetermined routes, the distant sounds of normal activity echoing through stone corridors.

No sign of their missing companion.

Earlier that evening, Kaela had descended into the castle's deepest levels with the patient methodology that had kept her alive through dozens of dangerous missions. The lower chambers felt different from the rest of the fortress—older, colder, touched by influences that predated human occupation.

And something else. A presence that sent ripples through the subtle layers that wrapped around her body, disrupting the light-bending properties that allowed her to move all but unseen. She'd spent a full hour circumventing a single guard post because the risk of exposure outweighed the benefits of immediate reconnaissance.

But slowly, methodically, she traced the paths Elena's map had outlined, using her own observations to fill gaps in their intelligence.

She moved through corridors that showed signs of recent modification, following passages that led steadily downward toward whatever lay at the castle's heart. New stonework had been fitted into ancient foundations, creating spaces that served purposes the original builders never intended.

Storage chambers lined the deepest level, hidden behind locked doors that her lockpicks defeated with ease. Inside, neatly organized shelves held items she didn't recognize—glass vessels filled with liquids that moved without being stirred, parchment covered in symbols she'd never seen before, and tools whose purpose she couldn't begin to guess.

And in the deepest chamber, she found the source.

The artifact sat in an alcove carved from living rock, surrounded by symbols that seemed to shift and writhe when observed peripherally. Kaela circled the object slowly, giving it a wide berth while studying it from different angles.

Not a statue, she decided. Something more active. Something alive.

Its shape resembled a four-fingered hand with an eye embedded in its palm, carved from a substance that looked like stone but felt like something more sinister. Energy moved within its form, threads of dark light that connected the carved eye and the tips of the carved fingers. Symbols that matched those covering the alcove walls were etched into its surface, and Kaela saw them mirrored in the air around the artifact like ripples on the surface of an unseen pool.

Around the artifact's base, parchments covered in precise handwriting documented the corruption's progress. Names, dates, degrees of conversion, behavioral modifications—a systematic catalog of how the castle's inhabitants were being changed.

And worse, projections. Targets for future subversion.

References to coordination with external authorities. Timetables for regional implementation. Maps marking targets throughout the valley and beyond. Everything pointed to a conspiracy that reached far beyond Old Drakon Castle, with tentacles extending into political networks she couldn't identify from the coded references.

But one name appeared repeatedly in the communications: Corinth.

Kaela photographed everything with the specialized crystal devices Orin had provided, working quickly to document evidence that might prove crucial to stopping this corruption before it spread. The artifact's presence made her skin crawl, but she forced herself to work methodically, capturing details that might reveal weaknesses or countermeasures.

It was while examining a map marked with potential target locations that she heard the footsteps.

Too late, she realized her mistake. The chamber had no other exits, and the approaching sounds indicated multiple individuals moving with purpose.

Trapped.

She'd been so focused on gathering intelligence that she'd failed to maintain proper escape routes.

Captain Belenton appeared in the chamber entrance, flanked by four knights whose pale eyes held no recognition of her humanity. The captain's own eyes were cold and remote as they settled on her like crossbow sights.

"Miss Shadowhawk," Belenton said, his voice carrying the same flat inflection as the evening's ritual. "How convenient. We were hoping to speak with you."

Kaela's hand moved toward the dagger at her belt, but stopped when she realized the futility. Five fully corrupted knights in a confined space, with no room to maneuver and no backup coming. Fighting would only ensure her death rather than her capture.

"Curious about our research?" Belenton continued, stepping into the chamber with the careful movements of someone completely confident in their control of the situation. "Understandable. Your profession values information gathering, does it not?"

"Among other things," Kaela replied, keeping her voice level despite the fear clawing at her throat.

"Excellent. Then you will appreciate the thoroughness of our documentation." Belenton gestured toward the parchments she'd been examining. "A year of careful observation, systematic improvement, coordinated implementation. Everything required to ensure regional stability."

"Whose stability?"

"Those with the wisdom to embrace necessary change. Those who understand that chaos must be eliminated, that individual will must be subordinated to collective purpose." Belenton's pale eyes fixed on her with uncomfortable intensity. "You will have opportunity to experience these improvements yourself."

The corrupted knights moved closer, forming a tighter circle around her. One stepped behind her, forcing her to turn and divide her attention between multiple threats.

"Your colleagues have been quite... thorough... in their investigation," Belenton continued. "We have found their methods illuminating. Their concerns about regional security are well-founded, though their understanding of appropriate solutions remains... incomplete."

"You've been watching us from the beginning."

"Naturally. Visitors to our facility require proper evaluation. Assessment of their commitment to stability, their willingness to embrace necessary improvements." Belenton's smile held no warmth. "Your arrival was... anticipated."

The words hit her like a physical blow. Their investigation hadn't been covert—it had been permitted, perhaps even encouraged. They'd been allowed to see exactly what their captors wanted them to see, drawing them further into the heart of the corruption.

A deliberate trap.

"What do you want?" she asked.

"Cooperation. Understanding. Acceptance of inevitable change."Belenton stepped closer, close enough that she could see her reflection in his pale, empty eyes. "Your friends will be offered the same opportunities for improvement. Their unique capabilities could prove quite valuable once properly... directed."

The corrupted knights began to close in, surrounding Kaela with the mechanical coordination of a closing vice.

Kaela tensed for a fight she knew she couldn't win, but at least she could make it costly.

"However," Belenton continued, "resistance would be... inefficient. Cooperation ensures optimal outcomes for all parties involved."

"And if I refuse?"

"Refusal is simply another form of inefficiency. It will be corrected through appropriate guidance until acceptable standards are achieved."

The knights reached for her, their movements unhurried but inexorable. Kaela's last thought before the darkness took her was that Lorne and Ryelle needed to know about the maps, about the timetables, about the scope of what was coming.

Regional stability. Coordinated implementation. Corinth.

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