Far from Brassford's sagging warehouses, in the echoing marble halls of Caelum's inner sanctum, Marcus knelt before Drevan Caul.

The air here was hushed, incense smoldering in silver censers, the faint glow of runic wards tracing lazy patterns across the vaulted ceiling. Marcus kept his head bowed in a posture of reverence, the shimmering light subtly illuminating his new half-mask. Crafted from hammered steel on one side, it bore an intricate design that reflected a sense of artistry and purpose. Each crease and contour of the mask told a story, hinting at past battles and the burdens he carried, all while serving as a barrier between him and the judgmental gazes of those around him. Now, he could move amongst his people, his scars hidden beneath a work of beauty. The mask was not merely an accessory, but a symbol of his trials, the weight of which he felt pressing down as he remained kneeling in the sanctum.

"Tell me how I may serve," he said, his voice low but strong.

"The temple wards have detected a disturbance. Kaos stirs within the city." Caul's words lingered in the chamber like the toll of a great bell. He stood from his simple chair of pine, its surfaces bare except for the sigils etched deep into the grain, pulsing faintly with divine resonance. His pale eyes glinted as though catching light from a source beyond the room. "Never in my lifetime has there been a hint of Kaos's influence within the bounds of Aurelia. Caelum's divine Will has always protected us from the manifestations that plague the rest of the Realms."

"Then this is intentional," Marcus mused.

"Perhaps. Or perhaps someone has meddled with forces they do not understand. With the System changes, there are many possibilities. It is but a whisper at the moment, but one that cannot be ignored. I want you to investigate. Discover who or what is responsible."

Marcus nodded his understanding.

"You must be objective in your assessment, Marcus. Do not allow your past failure to color your judgment."

Marcus's shoulders stiffened, though he kept his head bowed. The scars beneath the mask itched, memory searing hotter than flame. "I will not fail again."

Caul descended the shallow steps from his chair, his robe whispering across the marble. He stopped beside Marcus, resting a hand briefly on the acolyte's shoulder. The touch was light, yet it anchored Marcus as if weighted with stone.

"Failure is not what concerns me," Caul said softly. "It is fixation. Do not seek only what you expect to find. Seek the truth."

Marcus looked up to meet the Senior Conduit's steely gaze. He pressed a fist to his chest, the steel of his mask catching the wardlight. "I will bring you clarity, sir. Where shall I begin?"

"The wards cannot pinpoint the location exactly, but the disturbance comes from the Brassford district. Start there.

Marcus nodded once more, then stood. "May Caelum's wisdom guide me."

"May his light illuminate your path," Caul replied, then returned to his simple chair.

Marcus turned and strode from the sanctum. The heavy doors closed behind him with a solemn thud.

In the dim corridor beyond, alone at last, Marcus let out a slow breath. His fingers drifted across the half-mask. The steel was cool, steady. A shield. A reminder.

"Truth," he whispered. After his time in the Shadow Realm, surrounded by the lies and deception of Altheris, truth had been difficult to find. He had grown up believing there was only one Truth, that of Caelum, but now he wondered.

He shook his head, dismissing the thought. He had a job to do. And he would not fail this time.

***

"Not it," said Milo immediately, lifting both hands.

Erin gave him a shove with her shoulder. "Coward."

Sage stepped forward, calm as ever. "I'll do it. If someone's inside, better they meet a polite face than a belligerent one."

"That rules Jasper out," Erin muttered.

Jasper smirked but didn't argue. He kept his arms folded, gaze fixed on the looming warehouse across the street. Up close, its cracked brickwork and sagging roofline were even more obvious. No lamps lit the narrow windows. It looked like nothing but a dead husk, save for the faint impression that something inside was awake and listening.

They crossed the lane together, their footsteps crunching on grit and old cinders. At the wide iron-banded doors, Sage lifted the heavy knocker and let it fall. The hollow clang echoed into the silence of Brassford's street, a sound far too loud for the stillness around them.

They waited.

And waited.

No footsteps stirred within. No locks scraped, no voices answered. Just the faint hiss of steam venting from some distant workshop and the slow settling of the warehouse's timbers as though it were exhaling.

Sage lifted the knocker again, hesitated, then let it fall a second time.

This time, the sound seemed swallowed by the warehouse itself.

They stood in uneasy silence. Otter shifted his weight, ready to suggest they call it quits, when a faint shimmer of blue light bled through the seam of the double doors. It flickered once—there, then gone—like a lantern being shaded.

"Did you see that?" Milo whispered.

"Someone's definitely in there," Erin said.

Sage let the knocker fall a third time, hard enough to rattle the iron bands. Still, there was no response. "There's no way they didn't hear us."

"Alright," Otter said at last, keeping his voice low. "Front door's a bust. Let's circle around—see if there's another way in."

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No one argued. Together they slipped into the narrow alley that ran along the warehouse's side. The brickwork was darker here, soot-stained and streaked from years of rain. Loose scraps of paper clung to the damp ground, fluttering when their boots disturbed the air.

They moved quietly, even Jasper, whose usual stomp softened into something closer to a prowl. Every few steps, Otter glanced up at the shuttered windows. Most were cracked or warped, but all were firmly latched. No flicker of light escaped.

Around the back, the alley widened into a small service yard. Weeds had grown up through the broken cobbles, and a rusted water pump leaned precariously against the wall. There, half-hidden by stacked crates that looked like they hadn't been touched in months, stood a second door.

"Jackpot," Erin murmured.

Otter stepped forward and tried the handle. It didn't budge. He twisted harder, then leaned his shoulder into it. Solid.

"Locked," he said, though the answer was obvious.

Jasper snorted. "Of course it's locked. What kind of sinister warehouse leaves the back door swinging wide?"

Sage crouched near the threshold, running her fingers lightly along the jamb. "Old iron. Worn, but not broken. Whoever's inside keeps it secure." She straightened, brushing dust from her hands. "We could force it."

Otter shook his head. "That's breaking and entering. Greaves specifically told us not to break the law."

"True," agreed Erin.

"If Levi were here," mused Jasper, "he would say that Greaves warned us not to get caught trespassing. He didn't specifically forbid the trespassing itself."

"I picked up on that, too," Otter admitted. "But there's a big difference between trespassing and breaking down a door."

"Fair."

Milo leaned close, peering at the keyhole. "So… what now?"

"We keep looking," Otter said.

They pressed on, rounding the far corner. The alley narrowed again, boxed in by leaning brickwork and piles of discarded scrap—bent pipes, broken crates, a wheelbarrow with no wheel. It felt like a dead end, and Jasper muttered something under his breath about wasted time.

Otter was about to call it when a faint shimmer pricked at the edge of his vision. His wrisplay pulsed once, a brief flicker of light illuminating his display before fading.

Luck's Whisper: Active

He slowed, eyes roaming the clutter. Something about the pile of boards leaning against the wall tugged at him, a subtle wrongness he couldn't name. He stepped closer, ran a hand along the top sheet—expecting rough grain, splinters. Instead, his fingers slid over it too easily, as though the wood wasn't really fixed in place.

"Hold on." Otter gripped the edge and gave a cautious tug. The board shifted in his hand. It wasn't nailed, just propped. Beneath it, a narrow window stared back at him, its glass cracked and clouded with grime. One pane had been knocked clean out, leaving an opening just wide enough for a determined body to slip through.

"Well, would you look at that," Erin whispered.

Otter stared at the opening. "No breaking required. Just entering." He took a deep breath. "Guess I'll go first."

"Not so fast," said Jasper. "If something's waiting in there, you're not the one taking it on by yourself. I'll go first."

Erin scoffed. "If someone is waiting in there, they'll hear you immediately. I'll go first, make sure it's clear, then the rest of you can come in."

Milo shifted uncomfortably. "And what if there's a patrol out here? Greaves was clear—'don't get caught.' Someone should stay on lookout."

"No," said Otter. "If we're all inside, there's nothing to see out here. We slide the board back into place, and no one will be the wiser. Even if a patrol walks past this incredibly secluded and out-of-sight alley, there'd be no reason to think anyone snuck in. But if you were just hanging out, that would be very suspicious."

Milo muttered under his breath and cast Force Armor as the air around him shimmered, then thickened into a protective shell. "Fine, let's go."

Before anyone could argue further, Erin crouched and pushed her shoulders through the jagged frame. With a grunt, she swung her legs in after and dropped lightly onto the dusty floor beyond.

The air hit her immediately—stale and metallic, with a faint acrid tang that clung to the back of her throat. She straightened slowly, letting her eyes adjust.

This wasn't the cavernous, open floor she'd expected. The warehouse had been partitioned long ago—thin walls of plaster and timber carving the interior into narrow corridors and boxy rooms. Only faint rays of light trickled in through the windows lining the outside wall. While it wasn't completely dark in here, it was dim enough that she couldn't see more than thirty paces ahead.

She stood in a narrow hallway. The passage ahead stretched into shadow, lined with warped doorframes that gaped open like missing teeth. Faded paint peeled in strips from the plaster, and the boards beneath her boots creaked with every shift of her weight.

She moved carefully, testing each step, her hand brushing the nearest wall. The plaster was gritty under her fingertips, flaking away at the touch.

Her boots crunched on grit as she shifted her weight. The sound seemed too loud in the close stillness.

She froze, scanning the gloom. Nothing stirred. But the silence was thick, unnatural, pressing close against her ears. Something prickled along her neck.

Behind her, Jasper's muffled voice came through the window. "Well?"

Erin swallowed, forcing her shoulders back. "Clear," she whispered toward the window. Her voice came out quieter than she intended. "Come on in."

She stepped aside as Jasper's broad shoulders squeezed through the window frame. He dropped heavily to the floorboards, the impact rattling dust loose from the ceiling beams. He wrinkled his nose, muttering, "Smells like a boiler room that hasn't been cleaned in a decade."

Sage followed with practiced grace, landing as lightly as a cat. She straightened, eyes scanning the narrow corridor, but she said nothing.

Milo was next, his armored shimmer brushing the frame as he wriggled through. He landed with a grunt, then immediately rubbed his hands on his trousers, making a sour face.

Otter came last, carefully lowering himself through before sliding the board back into place. The dull scrape of wood against brick was the only sound, and then it was sealed, the outside world cut off.

"Alright," Otter whispered. "Which way?"

There were choices: one corridor leading deeper into the building, doors yawning open on either side; another branching to the left, narrower, ending in darkness.

"Does it matter?" Jasper asked.

Otter shrugged.

"I'll take the lead, then," Erin told them, keeping her voice low. "I don't like the feel of this place. Keep your eyes peeled and be ready for anything."

Erin stepped forward, her boots whispering over the warped boards. The air felt thicker the deeper she moved, tinged with the faint smell of scorched metal. She kept one hand near her dagger, the other brushing the wall for balance as she eased past the first open doorway.

Inside was only a barren room—dust layered thick on the floor, a broken stool collapsed in the corner. Nothing moved, nothing stirred.

Jasper's voice was a low rumble behind her. "Whole lotta nothing."

"Shh." Erin shot him a sharp glance over her shoulder.

They pressed on. Another doorway yawned open, this one revealing scattered papers curled with age, ink faded to gray. Sage stooped, picked one up, then shook her head. "Shipping records. Decades old. Whoever used this warehouse walked away years ago."

"And yet something's using it now," Milo whispered. His armor shimmered faintly as he shifted, the glow just enough to catch the edges of the corridor.

"Maybe it's just a squatter," Jasper offered. "Some homeless guy looking for a roof over his head."

Erin frowned, running her hand along the wall. The plaster was rough beneath her fingers, broken by thin grooves. At first she thought they were cracks from settling, but the lines curved too neatly, angles too sharp. They vanished into shadow as the corridor bent deeper inside.

She didn't linger on them. "Come on. Let's keep moving."

They pressed deeper, the corridor narrowing until it funneled them toward a single door at the end. Unlike the others, this one was closed—its surface warped but intact, a brass handle dulled with tarnish.

Sage moved closer, lowering her voice to a near whisper. "This one's different. Someone's been in here recently."

Erin glanced at Otter, then back at the door. Her hand hovered just above the handle. "Ready?"

Before anyone could answer, a deafening bang split the silence. A door somewhere behind them slammed shut with bone-rattling force, the echo rolling down the corridor like thunder.

Milo flinched. Jasper spun, dagger in hand, eyes wide.

Erin's heart leapt into her throat. Just at the edge of her vision, not far from where they'd entered, stood a shadowy figure.

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