The snow falling over the merchant district provided excellent cover, blanketing the slate roofs in a white film. Nick moved across the ridgelines, keeping out of easy sight, with his mana tightly coiled.
Below him, the streets were a mess of shifting territories. He paused above a narrow alley just in time to see a wounded guardsman limping away from a skirmish. Nick dropped a needle of air straight down through the man’s iron helm, and the guard collapsed without a sound.
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You have participated in the defeat of [Metierey, Ultimer Guardsman - Level 54]
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Nick checked his reserves and was satisfied to find he’d barely dipped into them despite having been at it for many hours. He was prepared to move toward the eastern barricades for more hunting when two figures slipping through the shadows caught his eye.
Gaelen and Rhea would have been easy to miss in the snow, especially since they wore new faces while keeping their natural eye color, but Nick had grown too attuned to their presence in the ether to fail.
The brother took point, advancing carefully while keeping his pace hurried and withdrawn, like a normal civilian, while the sister watched the rooftops and rear approaches. They were heading deeper into the contested lower rings, an area currently boiling with mercenary patrols and desperate looters.
Nick stepped off the roof, catching a sturdy wooden signpost and swinging down to a lower balcony before deciding to trail them. If they’d missed him, they needed overwatch, and he was curious how their search was going.
I’ll get back to hunting in a bit. There’s still daylight, and the pickings have grown slim in these parts. The lower rings should be better.
He followed them from above, staying half a block behind, never straying from their trail.
Their first stop was a rusty iron door set into a crumbling courtyard. Gaelen knocked three times, paused, then knocked twice more. An old man opened the door a crack. The moment he recognized Gaelen’s amber eyes, the blood drained from his face. He slammed the door shut and threw a heavy deadbolt into place.
Rhea grabbed Gaelen’s wrist before he could press the issue, shaking her head slowly. They moved on.
Not the first time? I guess not every old servant is as loyal as those we met. And ten years without word of their masters is enough for people to build a new life and to want to keep away from the squabbles of nobility.
Of course, Nick still took a moment to carefully observe the old man’s demeanor before deciding he was simply too afraid to do anything that would draw attention to himself, whether that meant helping the Elpens or going to the Ultimers.
A few streets down, they ducked into a small cobbler’s shop that had miraculously survived the recent riots. Nick found a perch on the adjacent rooftop, peering through an open skylight.
The cobbler, a balding man with stained fingers, smiled warmly at the siblings upon realizing who they were. He ushered them to the back of the shop, offered them ale, and listened to Gaelen speak. He nodded vigorously, patted the Heir’s shoulder, and promised to gather supplies and information if they returned in a few hours.
Gaelen and Rhea thanked him, then slipped out the back door into the alley.
The moment they were out of sight, the cobbler’s smile vanished. He rushed to his counter, pulled a red-fletched arrow and a bow from a hidden panel, and moved toward the front door, likely to summon the nearest Ultimer patrol given his traitorous feelings.
Nick channeled a spark of red lightning down his arm. He fired the bolt through the skylight's gap, where it struck the cobbler square in the chest, stopping his heart on the spot. The man crumpled over his workbench, the arrow rolling harmlessly across the floorboards.
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Nick shook his head at the man’s stupidity and kept moving, keeping the siblings in his sights.
They are more naive than I thought if they believe every old servant who smiles at them is trustworthy. Perhaps I should keep an eye on them for a while longer. Not every enemy is as kind as Lord Opal, who wears the sign of betrayal so openly.
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They eventually reached the Broken Anvil, a bustling, smoke-filled tavern that catered to minor merchants and smugglers who refused to take sides in the war. Nick waited outside, crouching by the chimney to stay warm while extending his hearing into the tavern’s noisy interior.
Gaelen and Rhea sat at the bar and ordered an ale, sliding a silver coin across the wood. Nick heard the rhythmic scrape of the coin against the counter, back and forth, clearly an intentional sequence that meant something, especially since a silver coin was almost ten times what two mugs of that cheap swill should have cost.
The barkeep, a massive man with a braided beard, paused, a frisson of surprise passing through him, but for once, he seemed genuinely happy to see them. He covered the coin with a rag, leaning in close.
"I leave a basket of bread and cured meat at the old bakery on Flour Street twice a week," he murmured, his voice barely carrying over the din. "The orders have been written in chalk on my back door for a few weeks. I don't know who is writing them, but the coin is always good, and they use the right symbols. I have minded my own business, but you might learn something.”
Gaelen offered a tight nod, leaving the frothing mug untouched, then walked out with Rhea.
Flour Street was a block of mostly abandoned storefronts that had once housed bustling businesses but had suffered more than one clash in the past few days. Gaelen stopped in front of a collapsed bakery, ignored the main entrance, and walked to the ruined stone foundation at the rear of the building.
Nick settled onto a nearby chimney, eyeing them curiously.
Once Gaelen drew a dagger and made a shallow cut across his palm, Nick knew this had to be another Elpen secret. When he pressed his bleeding hand against a seemingly mundane, soot-stained brick, he had his confirmation.
The stone rippled, and a faint hum vibrated through the alley. The brickwork folded inward, revealing a tunnel completely free of dust. It was another hidden Artifice, keyed to the creators’ blood, just as the secret passages in the manor had been, and Nick had to wonder at the Elpens’ ingenuity.
They seemed to have been prepared for just about anything, yet it all failed when Ultimer secured the Duke’s help.
There was a lesson in there. A family as old and wealthy as the Elpens had to have had an inkling that things were going badly for them before they came to a head, but all those plans and places hadn’t done much to save them.
Hopefully, things will be different this time.
Gaelen and Rhea stepped inside, and in a burst of speed, Nick dropped into the alley, slipping through the doorway just as the stone began to grind shut.
The tunnel sloped downward, lit by faint luminescent stones set into the walls. Nick stayed thirty feet behind, ensuring his passage was silent.
I should reveal myself, he thought, but he kept going as he had. A part of him was curious about the Elpens’ secrets, he admitted, but another part said that if this lead turned into another betrayal, he’d be better served by keeping his presence concealed.
He wasn’t foolish enough to dismiss either one.
As he walked, he admired the craftsmanship around him. The walls were lined with intricate runes and defensive wards that would have incinerated anyone without the proper bloodline. He was glad he’d gotten in as he had, or it would have been impossible for him to get through, at least without making a right mess of things.
After a while, the tunnel opened into a wide subterranean sanctuary.
Alchemical apparatuses bubbled on side tables, and complex runic arrays covered the walls, designed to contain even the tiniest spark of mana, which explained why he hadn’t sensed this place from the outside. Not that I was looking, but it’s very well made. I can still sense the natural ebb and flow of the ether, but anything beyond it is suppressed. If I didn’t know it was here, I would have missed it.
In the center of the room was an old woman, seated in a wheeled chair wired directly into a console.
It took him a moment to realize who she was, but the siblings’ gasps helped, and with that in mind, he recognized their shared features, even beyond their amber eyes.
Rosmaria Elpen looked fragile. A decade spent binding her soul to the estate's Forge had stripped her of her vitality, leaving her skin thin and pale and her hair stark white. But as she looked up from the console, her eyes were sharp, undiminished by time or pain.
"Grandmother," Rhea breathed, the word catching in her throat. As she spoke, the alchemical paste that had been altering their features melted away for the first time since they entered the town, revealing their true selves.
Rosmaria’s hands trembled against the brass armrests. She stared at the two healthy adults, and her cold exterior cracked, giving way to raw grief and relief.
"My children," she whispered.
Now I’m feeling awkward. Should I reveal myself now? But that would interrupt their reunion…
Gaelen crossed the room, dropping to his knees beside the chair. Rhea followed, resting her head against the old woman's shoulder. For a long minute, the room was silent as the weight of ten years of running and hiding finally lifted.
Nick stayed in the shadows and decided he’d have to wait.
Rosmaria stroked Gaelen’s hair, but her gaze drifted past him toward the dark tunnel entrance. Her expression hardened.
Her hand snapped down, striking a dial on her chair.
The gravity in Nick’s corner multiplied by fifty.
He was slammed into the stone floor, his breath violently driven from his lungs, and the stone beneath him spiderwebbed under the sheer pressure.
On the ceiling above, a hidden crystal iris opened, bathing Nick in a piercing violet light that stripped away his stealth, revealing his outline for all to see. The [Mire] was still active, but in its current state, it was doing more harm than good. With a grunt, he released it, hoping the others would help before he had to help himself and make an even bigger mess of things.
"And who is the shadow you brought into my home?" Rosmaria demanded. Her voice was raspy but carried terrible power, and he didn’t doubt she’d try to kill him if she didn’t like the answer. She might even succeed, given that despite her frailty, she was still a Prestige Artificer in her den.
Gaelen spun around, his hand flying to his dagger before he realized who was pinned to the floor.
"Stop! He's an ally," he shouted, stepping toward the violet light. "That's Nick Crowley. He’s our friend and has been helping us!”
There was a note of anger in his tone as he realized they’d been tailed for quite a while, but not enough to pin him like a butterfly.
"A Crowley?" Rosmaria’s eyes narrowed as she evaluated the boy crushed against the stone, but she did turn the dial back.
The pressure vanished, and Nick gasped, pushing himself up to his knees and rolling his shoulders. His ribs ached fiercely, especially where he’d been struck by demonic fire, but he managed to stand, dusted the dirt from his dark coat, and stepped fully into the light.
"Your security is impressive, Lady Elpen," he said, keeping his tone respectful.
“It is very rare for someone so young to have such skill in stealth," Rosmaria noted, her gaze tracking his movements. “You must be a mage of some talent. Yet my grandchildren call you a friend, and you followed them through the city without their noticing.”
"I was just watching their backs," Nick replied. “It’s a good thing I did, because the cobbler on Third Street tried to sell them out to a patrol.”
Gaelen looked at Nick, surprise flashing in his eyes, before his expression settled into grim understanding.
“Well,” the old woman croaked. “I guess you Crowleys were always good at sniffing out this kind of thing.”
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