The night air in Silverhaven's underbelly was thick with the stench of coal smoke and damp stone. The narrow alleys, slick with grime and rainwater, twisted like veins through the city's decaying heart. Rusted pipes groaned overhead, hissing steam into the darkness, while the distant clatter of factory gears provided a relentless, grinding rhythm.
Here, in the shadows where the lamplight dared not reach, Talis moved like a whisper.
Talis crouched atop a crumbling brick wall, his tattered cloak—stitched together from stolen banners and discarded rags—fluttering faintly in the acrid breeze. His sharp, amber eyes scanned the maze of rooftops and alleyways below. At fourteen winters, he was already a veteran of Silverhaven's streets, a survivor in a city that chewed up the weak and spat out their bones.
"Too many guards tonight," he muttered, tracing the patrol routes with a finger. "Consul's got 'em jumpy."
Beneath him, two enforcers in polished breastplates paused beneath a flickering gas lamp, their voices carrying up in low, tense murmurs.
"—heard the Vesperans are paying double for any intact Thermal Crystals," one said, adjusting his rifle strap.
"Aye, and the Consul wants 'em all accounted for," the other replied, spitting into the gutter. "No more 'lost shipments.'"
Talis smirked. Lost shipments meant stolen shipments—and that meant opportunity.
He dropped silently into the alley, landing in a puddle that barely rippled under his weight. His boots, mismatched and worn thin, made no sound as he slipped between the stacks of rotting crates. A stray cat hissed at him from a crevice, but he ignored it, his focus locked on the flicker of torchlight ahead.
Aras was waiting where they'd agreed—beneath the broken archway of an abandoned elven shrine, its once-gilded carvings now blackened by soot. The young noble stood with his arms crossed, his white hair catching the faint moonlight like silver.
"You're late," Aras said, though there was no real annoyance in his tone.
"You try dodging Consul Sylria's hounds while carrying this," Talis shot back, pulling a folded schematic from his sleeve. He tossed it at Aras, who caught it with a frown.
"Orrik's workshop plans?"
"Better." Talis grinned, revealing a chipped tooth. "The Consulate's inventory logs. They're stockpiling Thermal Crystals in the old rail yard. And guess what else they've got?"
Aras unrolled the parchment, his blue eyes scanning the cramped script. Then he stiffened.
"Cages."
"Not just any cages," Talis said, his voice dropping. "Small ones. Like for kids."
A muscle twitched in Aras's jaw. "Slaves?"
"Or worse." Talis leaned against the crumbling wall, arms crossed. "Heard rumors the Vesperans are experimenting. Something about 'compatibility' with the Crystals."
Aras's grip tightened on the parchment. "We're getting them out."
Talis raised an eyebrow. "We? Last I checked, you're the one with the fancy family name. I'm just the rat who knows which walls have ears."
"And that's why I need you," Aras said, meeting his gaze. "You know this city better than anyone. You've survived it."
Talis scoffed, but something flickered in his eyes—something raw and unguarded. "Surviving ain't the same as living, noble boy."
"Then help me make it mean something."
For a long moment, Talis studied him. Then, with a slow exhale, he nodded.
"Fine. But when this goes south—and it will—you're the one explaining to your general father why his heir's neck is in a noose."
The rail yard was a fortress of iron and shadows. Steam from idling trains curled into the night sky, blending with the smoke of nearby factories. Crates stamped with the Vesperan crest—a golden crown wrapped in ivy—were stacked in precise rows, guarded by men with rifles and cold eyes.
Talis and Aras crouched behind a stack of coal sacks, their breaths shallow.
"Three guards at the south gate," Talis murmured. "Two more patrolling the perimeter. And that's just the ones we can see."
Aras narrowed his eyes. "The cages are in the third railcar. The one with the blackened windows."
"How do you—?"
"The tracks." Aras pointed. "See how the gravel's disturbed? That car's been loaded and unloaded a lot. Recently."
Talis smirked. "Not bad for a noble."
"Not bad for a street rat, either."
They moved like shadows. Talis led the way, slipping through gaps in the patrols with practiced ease. At one point, a guard turned, his lantern sweeping the darkness. Talis pressed flat against a crate, his heart pounding—but the light passed inches from his face without pause.
"Close," Aras breathed when the guard moved on.
"Too close," Talis agreed, wiping sweat from his brow. "Next time, you distract 'em with your pretty face."
They reached the railcar. The lock was heavy, but Talis had picked worse. His fingers danced over the mechanism, feeling for the tumblers. A click, a creak—then the door slid open just enough to slip inside.
The stench hit them first. Urine, sweat, and something metallic—fear, or blood.
The railcar was lined with cages. Small ones. And inside—
"Gods," Aras whispered.
Children. Dozens of them, hollow-eyed and trembling. Some bore marks on their arms—scars in the shape of runes.
A boy at the front, no older than eight, looked up at them with dull recognition. "Talis…?"
Talis froze.
"Renn?" His voice cracked. "You—you were supposed to be at the orphanage."
The boy's lips trembled. "They came for us. Said we were 'special.'"
Aras's hand found Talis's shoulder, but the street rat shook him off, his face a mask of fury.
"We're getting them out," Talis snarled. "All of them."
The escape was chaos.
Talis led the children through the rail yard, his voice low but firm. "Stay close. Don't look back."
Aras covered their retreat, his fingers tracing the silver leaf in his pocket. When the guards spotted them, he raised his hand—and for the first time, he pushed the magic outward.
A pulse of light flared, blinding the enforcers long enough for the group to vanish into the alleys.
But Talis wasn't done.
"Burn it," he said, staring back at the rail yard. "All of it."
Aras hesitated. "The Consulate will retaliate."
"Let them." Talis's voice was ice. "I'm done hiding."
They set the cargo ablaze. The flames roared to life, devouring crates and railcars alike. The Thermal Crystals inside reacted violently, sending plumes of blue fire spiraling into the sky.
As the city woke to the inferno, Talis and Aras melted into the shadows, the freed children clinging to them like lifelines.
Dawn found them in a hidden cellar beneath the city, the children huddled under stolen blankets. Talis sat apart, his back against the damp stone wall, staring at his hands.
"You knew him," Aras said quietly. "That boy."
"Renn." Talis's throat worked. "We were at the same orphanage. Before I ran."
"How many others like him are there?"
"Too many." Talis looked up, his eyes burning. "This city's built on bones, Aras. And I'm done letting them dig new graves."
Aras nodded. "Then we fight."
Talis smirked, but there was no humor in it. "We're gonna need more fire."