The streets of Eryndor were a liar's playground at night, all flickering torches and half-truths slinking through the alleys. Vaelreth moved like he belonged to the shadows, the stolen parchment tucked against his chest like a lover's secret. His smile hadn't faded since leaving the tavern, though it wasn't joy that curved his lips. It was the hum of possibility, the thrill of a world about to tilt.
He didn't head for the city's heart, where lords schemed behind marble walls, or the docks, where thieves traded whispers for coin. Instead, he wound his way to the Shattered District, where Eryndor's bones lay exposed—crumbling arches, scorched cobblestones, and ruins older than the kingdom itself. Most avoided this place. Too many ghost stories. Too many cracks in the earth that whispered back.
Vaelreth wasn't most people.
He stopped at a collapsed temple, its columns jagged like broken teeth. The air here was heavy, not with magic exactly, but with memory. He knelt, brushing dirt from a stone etched with runes so faint they might've been scratches. To anyone else, they were nothing. To Vaelreth, they were a key. He pressed his palm against the stone, murmuring a word that wasn't a word, and the ground shivered. Not enough to wake the city, but enough to open a seam in the stone, revealing a narrow staircase descending into darkness.
He descended without hesitation, the parchment still secure. The air grew colder, thicker, like breathing through a shroud. At the bottom, a chamber waited, lit by a single crystal embedded in the ceiling that pulsed like a dying star. Shelves lined the walls, stuffed with scrolls, cracked tomes, and artifacts nobody remembered how to use. Vaelreth's old haunt, from his scholar days. Back when he thought answers lived in books, not in the chaos he could spark.
"You're late," a voice rasped from the shadows.
Vaelreth didn't flinch. He turned, slow and deliberate, to face the speaker. Kaelith emerged from the gloom, her silver hair catching the crystal's light like a blade. She was older than him, maybe forty, with eyes like chipped flint and a scar that curved from her jaw to her collarbone. Once a mage of the king's court, now a fugitive who'd burned her bridges—literally. Vaelreth liked her for that. She wasn't boring.
"Patience isn't your strength, is it?" he said, tossing the parchment onto a stone table between them. It landed with a soft thud, the wax seal glinting like an accusation.
Kaelith's gaze flicked to it, then back to him. "You actually got it. I'm almost impressed."
"Almost?" Vaelreth's smile sharpened. "Careful, Kaelith. I might think you're doubting me."
She snorted, picking up the parchment but not opening it. "I doubt everyone. Keeps me alive." She tapped the seal with a calloused finger. "House Varn's orders. You know what this means?"
"Trouble," he said, leaning against a shelf, arms crossed. "The kind that makes kings sweat and poets rich."
Kaelith's lips twitched, not quite a smile. "The prisoner they're moving—Jorath, the heretic. They say he knows where the Starvein is."
Vaelreth's pulse quickened, though his face stayed lazy, amused. The Starvein. A myth to most, a vein of raw magic buried deep in the mountains, powerful enough to reshape the world—or burn it to ash. He'd read about it as a boy, back when he still believed in legends. Now he believed in leverage. If Jorath knew its location, that was a spark worth fanning.
"And you believe the stories?" he asked, voice light but eyes sharp.
"I believe in power," Kaelith said. "And so do you, or you wouldn't be here."
He didn't deny it. Instead, he pushed off the shelf, pacing the chamber like a cat circling prey. "Let's say Jorath knows. Let's say the Starvein's real. What's your play? Free him? Kill him? Sell him to the highest bidder?"
Kaelith set the parchment down, her expression unreadable. "I want what you want, Vaelreth. A world that doesn't sleepwalk through its own ruin."
He stopped pacing, his gaze locking onto hers. For a moment, the mask slipped, and something raw flickered in his eyes—something from the boy he'd been, the one who'd watched the world from quiet corners and hated its apathy. "Don't pretend you know me," he said, voice low, almost a growl. "I'm not here to save the world. I'm here to wake it up."
Kaelith didn't blink. "Then wake it. Free Jorath, and House Varn's plans collapse. The king's grip weakens. The Starvein becomes a rumor everyone chases. Chaos, Vaelreth. Your favorite toy."
He laughed, a sharp, bright sound that echoed off the stone. "You make it sound so noble. But you're not wrong." He plucked the parchment from the table, turning it over in his hands. "One problem, though. Freeing Jorath means walking into a fortress crawling with Varn's men. I'm good, Kaelith, but I'm not suicidal."
She stepped closer, her scar catching the light. "You don't need to be. I know a way in. Old tunnels, from the war. Sealed, but not to someone like you."
Vaelreth raised an eyebrow. "And what do you get out of this? Don't tell me it's just revenge on the king."
Her smile was thin, dangerous. "Let's just say I have my own debts to settle. And you're the best debtor I know."
He studied her, weighing the truth in her words. Kaelith was no saint—she'd burned half the court's archives before fleeing, and not for fun. But she was useful, and for now, that was enough. He tucked the parchment back into his cloak, his mind already spinning through plans, risks, and the delicious uncertainty of it all.
"Fine," he said. "We free Jorath. But when it goes wrong—and it will—don't expect me to hold your hand."
Kaelith's laugh was dry as bone. "I'd cut yours off first."
He grinned, already halfway to the stairs. "Good. Keeps things interesting."
As he climbed back into the night, the rune beneath the temple hummed again, faint but alive. Eryndor slept, oblivious to the spark Vaelreth was about to strike. A prisoner, a myth, a fortress. Pieces on a board he'd been playing since he first realized the world was too dull to bear.
He didn't know if Jorath would lead to the Starvein or just more lies. He didn't care. The game was moving, and for now, that was enough