The Alchemy Guild's upper chambers were never silent. Even at night, the laboratories hummed with the faint thrum of mana converters and the acrid tang of brewed reagents. For Draven, the scent was sweeter than incense; it was the perfume of power, of the Guild's iron grip over Nexus City.
Tonight, it smelled of victory.
He stood at the long obsidian table in his private quarters, a goblet of spiced liquor in hand. The crystal refracted the light of the floating holo-sconces, painting his lined face in molten gold. Across from him lounged Karren, sprawled comfortably in a silken chair.
"You see?" she purred, swirling her own drink lazily. "I told you. That brat was nothing more than a flash in the pan. One loud performance, and now he's swallowed whole by the city's own underbelly. Poetic, really."
Draven's mouth twitched into something that might have been a smile, though on his face it looked more like a wolf baring its teeth. "Poetic… or necessary." He sipped slowly, savoring the burn. "The slums breed pests. They sprout up bold for a moment, thinking themselves special, and then—" He snapped his fingers. "Gone. Buried where they belong."
Karren laughed, a rich, throaty sound. She tipped her glass toward him in mock salute. "And you worried my plan would fail. Admit it, Draven—you underestimated me."
Draven's gaze lingered on her a moment too long. There was indulgence in his eyes, yes, but beneath it simmered something sharper. Calculation. The same gaze he turned on experiments just before dissecting them.
"I warned you," he said mildly, setting his glass down with deliberate precision, "that if you acted, it must be flawless. No threads to trace back, no cracks for suspicion to seep through."
Her smirk didn't falter. "And it was flawless. The dungeon collapse cleaned itself. No one can pin this on us."
"Perhaps," he murmured, though the faint narrowing of his eyes suggested he wasn't as convinced.
Karren rose, gliding toward him with feline grace. She draped her arms loosely around his shoulders, her lips brushing close to his ear. "You worry too much. The Council will applaud the Guild's efficiency. The governor… well, he is too busy drowning in his wife's illness to notice what happens in the gutters. Nexus belongs to us, Draven."
His hand found her waist, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Nexus belonged to him—her words had almost been right. The Guild was his to command, and through it, the Council itself bent. Still, he had learned long ago never to mistake a victory for a war won. The boy had been a ripple, yes, but ripples had a way of hinting at deeper currents.
"Do not forget," he said, his voice suddenly steel, "that the smallest misstep can undo decades. This city tolerates us because we deliver results. Should the governor's gaze ever turn sharply in our direction…"
Karren pressed a finger against his lips. "Enough with the brooding. Tonight, we celebrate. Tomorrow, you can plot and scheme and stare at your maps until dawn. Tonight is mine."
For once, Draven allowed himself a low chuckle. He pulled her closer, though his eyes never softened.
The liquor flowed. Their laughter filled the chamber. For a time, it seemed as though nothing in Nexus could touch them. The slums were ashes, the boy was gone, and the Guild's dominion stretched unchallenged.
But beneath the veneer of celebration, shadows pooled.
Draven's mind flickered back to the boy's face—the confidence, the unsettling calm. Something about him had gnawed at Draven's instincts, the way a predator recognizes another even in disguise. He had not risen to power by ignoring such instincts.
And Karren… she basked in her triumph, oblivious to the fine crack forming in Draven's patience. He had given her leash, allowed her schemes, even shared his bed. But if her recklessness ever drew the wrong kind of attention—if her smugness brought the governor's eye upon them—then she would discover how sharp his leash could become.
For now, though, he let her believe she had won. He raised his glass once more, clinking it against hers.
"To Nexus," he said smoothly.
"To us," she corrected with a sly smile.
For a moment, victory tasted sweet.
But the slam of hurried footsteps broke the air. A guild attendant stumbled into the chamber, face pale, breathless. "M–Master Draven! A report from the dungeon!"
Draven's smile froze. "Speak."
"The boy… Jade. He—he survived. The gate collapsed, but witnesses say he's… emerging."
The glass in Draven's hand cracked. Wine spilled like blood across his fingers. Slowly, he turned his head toward Karren. His eyes, cold as a predator's, narrowed to slits.
"I warned you," he said softly, venom threading each word. "I told you—your plan must not fail. If he lives, if this traces back—" His voice cut off, but the promise of ruin lingered in the silence.
Karren's face drained of color. Her lips parted, searching for excuses, but none came. The weight of Draven's malice pressed down on her, and for the first time, her smug certainty crumbled.
---------------------------------------------------
The house felt too small for the storm of worry it held. Niamh paced the length of the wooden floor, boots striking a restless rhythm. Every so often her fingers tangled in her hair, tugging in frustration.
"Niamh," Govorth rumbled from his seat by the hearth, arms crossed, gaze steady. "The boy will be alright, just trust him. You of all people know how powerful he is."
"I don't care if he's a demigod," Niamh snapped, spinning on him, eyes flashing. "He's my baby. He shouldn't—he can't—" Her words cracked, and she bit them back, jaw tightening.
Amara sat near the window, hands clenched white around the edge of the sill. She stared out into the night as though sheer will could pull Lio safely home. Her lips trembled, but her voice came sharp, brittle. "You don't understand. Lio—he's all I have. If something happens to him, if I lose him…" She swallowed hard, shoulders shaking.
Niamh's pacing faltered, her gaze softening for a heartbeat. She crouched beside Amara, resting a hand briefly on the girl's knee. "We'll get them back," she whispered, as much a prayer as a promise.
Amara blinked, eyes glassy but burning. "I trust Jade. I do. But trust doesn't make this waiting any easier."
Govorth exhaled slowly, leaning forward. His scarred hands folded together, the old warrior's voice quiet but firm. "I've seen the fire in that boy's eyes. He'll come back. And he'll bring your brother with him. I'd stake my life on it."
"Your life means nothing if theirs are gone," Niamh shot back, the edge of fear sharpening her tone. She immediately regretted it, guilt flashing across her face, but Govorth only grunted, letting the words pass.
The silence that followed was thick with unspoken terror.
...
...
The dungeon gate pulsed one last time before shattering into fragments of light. From the collapsing glow stepped two figures — both small, one stumbling.
Jade emerged first, his long silvery-blue hair matted with sweat and dust, his dual-irised eyes gleaming in the darkness like twin storms contained in fragile glass. Beside him, Lio leaned heavily on his arm, battered but alive.
The crowd that had gathered erupted into gasps. For a heartbeat, the world seemed frozen — a boy, impossibly young, came back from a dungeon alive, and seem to have conquered it.
And then the silence cracked into chaos.
Voices rose like a storm breaking loose. Merchants clutched their wares tighter, citizens scrambled back from the shattered remains of the gate, and whispers swelled into shouts.
"He shouldn't be alive—no one should've walked out of that!"
"Did you see his eyes? Stars above, what is he?"
"Keep your children back!"
Soldiers stationed around the plaza pressed forward, armor gleaming under the harsh glow of hovering mana-lamps. Their mana guns caught the light as they moved to surround the boy and the other child he supported.
But Jade walked as though he hadn't noticed them. His silvery-blue hair, dulled by sweat and dust, still shimmered faintly under the artificial glow. His eyes gleamed, catching the lamps and refracting them like fractured suns.
Frost whispered across the cobblestones where his boots touched, subtle but undeniable, and the crowd recoiled a step further. It was not the ice itself that frightened them—it was the calm with which it followed him.
"Hold!" a sergeant barked, trying to muster authority, but the edge of his voice wavered. He lifted his gun anyway, motioning to block Jade's path. "By order of the city guard, you'll submit to questioning—"
A ripple of unease spread through the ranks. None wanted to be the first to lay a hand on him.
Before tension could snap into violence, a voice carried clear and sharp across the square.
"Stand down."
The soldiers froze as Captain Renard strode into the light. His dark cloak, lined with silver threads of mana-script, snapped against the wind. The insignia of the governor's office glowed faintly at his breast, a crest that silenced protest more effectively than any drawn blade.
Renard's gaze swept across the scene—the broken gate, the trembling crowd, the boy who stood unbowed in the ruins of impossible survival. His eyes narrowed slightly, but when he spoke again, his tone was steady, resonant.
"By the authority of the governor, this boy is under my protection."
Murmurs surged. Soldiers glanced at one another, hesitant, but the weight of the crest left them little choice. Halberds lowered, and the circle around Jade dissolved.
Niamh shouldered forward through the throng at that moment, fury and relief clashing in her every movement. Her eyes went wide at the sight of Renard, but she did not slow, did not bow. She reached Jade in three strides, her hands trembling as they brushed dust and blood from his face.
"You—" Her voice broke, half a sob, half a curse. She pulled him close for a heartbeat, then forced herself to release him, remembering the hundreds of eyes watching. "We're going home."
Renard inclined his head respectfully. "And I will see you there. None will hinder your path."
The captain gestured, and his men moved to clear the streets ahead. Mana-lamps flared brighter, illuminating a corridor through the restless crowd.
Some still hissed suspicion—
"No one comes back from a dungeon collapse…"
"He's cursed."
—but none dared step closer.
Jade walked at the center of it all, silent, Lio walking behind him while clutching his sleeves as if Jade would disappear if he let go. The was scared and tired, but his eyes remained open, fixed on the promise of home. Amara rushed to her brother's side, clutching his free hand with desperate strength as tears streamed down her face.
Gorvoth fell in step at the rear, his gaze flicking warily over the crowd. The old warrior's hand lingered near the hilt of the blade he carried, his posture radiating readiness to cut down any who tried to block their path.
Renard himself walked to Jade's right, close enough that the mana-thread embroidery of his cloak brushed the boy's arm. He kept his voice low, pitched for Jade alone.
"You faced what grown men would never dare," the captain said evenly. "There will be whispers. But know this: the governor does not turn his back on those who stand against the dark."
Jade tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. "Is that why you protect me?"
Renard's lips curved faintly, though not into a smile. "No. I protect you because the governor asked it." His tone softened by a fraction. "And because I have seen too many children buried by this city. You will not be one of them tonight."
The words lingered, heavier than steel.
Step by step, the small procession made its way out of the square, through the winding arteries of Nexus City. Mana-skyrails hummed above, sleek silver serpents gliding through the neon haze. Far below, the streets pulsed with life—market stalls glowing with arcane lanterns, vendors peddling charms, mercenaries hawking their blades. Yet as Jade passed, conversations faltered, and heads turned.
A boy with frost at his heels and starlight in his eyes had returned from a grave no one escaped. Nexus had seen wonders before, but this—this would spread like wildfire.
When at last they reached the modest district that Niamh called home, Renard halted at the door. He inclined his head once more, every movement precise, deliberate.
"My duty ends here. Inside, you will be safe." His gaze flicked over Jade, sharp but not unkind.
And with that, he turned, cloak snapping, leading his soldiers back into the veins of the city.
For a moment, silence clung to the little house, fragile but real.
Niamh's hand gripped Jade's shoulder, her voice hushed and trembling now that the crowd was gone. "Inside. Now."
And the door closed behind them, shutting out the chaos of Nexus for the first time since the dungeon fell.