The thin, cold air of the civic plaza was left behind, a vacuum of silence that seemed to be swallowed by the walls of the fortress before them. The Headquarters of the Sentinels of the Order rose like a blade of obsidian driven into the golden heart of the upper city, a monolith of raw, efficient power that disdained beauty in favor of authority. Its sharp angles seemed to cut the very sky, and its smooth, dark walls, which appeared to absorb light and sound, cast an oppressive shadow over the slabs polished like a black mirror.
As Gunder walked with his confident and unperturbed stride, Tom followed, her eyes fixed on the two guards flanking the colossal steel gate. They were like statues of matte-gray metal, motionless and impersonal beneath their closed helms that revealed not a glimpse of humanity. Yet, something about them was dissonant, wrong. The aura of cold discipline emanating from them was sharper, more ancient than that of any soldier she had ever encountered. It was not the vigilant readiness of a guard, but the charged stillness of a predator in waiting.
"They don't look like the others," Tom murmured, her voice a breath in the crushing silence, audible only to Gunder. "The armor… the crest. It doesn't have the Chisanatora gear. Those aren't this city's Sentinels."
Gunder didn't even glance at the guards. His feline eyes swept the top of the fort ress, his perception extending like an invisible net. "That's because they aren't," he replied with a calm certainty that was somehow more unsettling than the sight of the soldiers themselves. "Their energy is dense. They came from distant lands."
"Distant?" Tom frowned, curiosity overriding caution. "Do you know from where?"
"From the far west," Gunder said, and the name of the direction hung in the cold air with the unexpected weight of a sentence.
Tom's expression froze. The curiosity shattered, instantly replaced by a mask of icy seriousness. Her shoulders tensed, and her fists clenched at her sides hard enough to make her knuckles turn white. The far west. It meant only one place. A fortress of absolute power from which all orders flowed, the heart of the Kingdom.
"So…" she whispered, the words escaping through gritted teeth, laden with a bitter and helpless frustration. "They're from the Capital…"
As if summoned by her realization, the massive doors of the fortress swung open for them, not with an invitation, but like the maw of a beast revealing the chaos within. The air inside the barracks was a sensory shockwave: thick with the smell of sweat, panic, and the metallic odor of overloaded equipment. The sound was a cacophony of boots slamming on the floor, shouted orders, and the desperate rustle of papers and reports.
Dozens of soldiers in the blue uniforms of Chisanatora ran in every direction. They were the true Sentinels of the Order, but their faces were pale, their movements hurried and bordering on desperation. They carried stacks of documents, gestured at communication terminals flashing with alerts, and the tension in their bodies was a taut rope about to snap.
And moving through this tide of panic were more of them. The knights from the gate. Inside the barracks, they marched in slow, methodical patrols, their heavy steps echoing with an authority that crushed the surrounding noise. They completely ignored the scurrying of the local Sentinels, their helms turned forward as if the men and women around them were mere ghosts. They were rocks of discipline in a river of disorder; their calm was a silent accusation of the incompetence of others.
Standing just inside the entrance, Tom and Gunder observed the scene, an island of calm amidst the storm. The presence of the knights from the Capital and the panic of the local soldiers painted a clear and alarming picture. Something terrible had happened.
Amidst the pandemonium, Tom spotted a Chisanatora sentinel who nearly ran her over, a pile of scrolls and reports balanced precariously in his arms. With a swift movement, she placed herself in his path, her agile body forcing him to an abrupt stop that made the papers tremble.
"Excuse me!" she said, her voice firm to be heard over the noise.
The soldier, a young man with a pale face and sweat trickling down his temple, stared at her with wide, wild eyes, his body vibrating with nervous energy. "What do you want? Can't you see we're on the verge of collapse?"
"What's happening?" Tom insisted, her gaze sweeping the chaos around them. "Why all this alarm?"
"It's because of the duct implosion! Now, if you'll excuse me…!" he gasped, his voice tight and shrill.
"Duct implosion" The phrase made no sense, sounding more like an industrial accident than a security crisis that would justify the presence of the Capital's guard. "What is that?"
But the sentinel was already dodging past her with the agility of a frightened rat. "I'm late!" he shouted over his shoulder, immediately swallowed by the frantic crowd. Tom reached out a hand, the word "Wait!" dying on her lips as the soldier disappeared. She was left behind, an island of frustration in the middle of the chaos.
It was then that a shout cut through the tumult, clear and distinct. "Tom!"
She turned towards the sound. In the background, near a side wall, she saw Gunder waving before starting up a polished metal staircase. Without hesitation, Tom pushed her way through the hurried soldiers, ignoring the shoves and muttered apologies, and followed him.
The second floor was a world apart. The feverish chaos gave way to a tense, focused calm. The sound of running boots was replaced by the low murmur of serious conversations and the methodical clicking of data terminals. "It's much calmer up here…" Tom commented, more to herself, feeling her heartbeat begin to return to normal.
Gunder didn't answer. His objective was clear. He walked with determined steps down a wide corridor until he stopped before a pair of tall, dark wooden doors, adorned with a subtle carving of the city's crest. Without ceremony, he pushed them open and entered.
"Gunder, wait!" Tom protested, hurrying to catch up.
The interior was a vast and imposing office. Two long, parallel tables occupied the center of the room, filled with sentinels working with a silent urgency, analyzing reports and compiling documents. The room was bathed in the soft light filtering through a colossal window at the back, which framed the stunning view of the upper city's golden towers. And there, with his back to the landscape, as if commanding it, was a man.
Seated behind a massive desk, he wore the same blue uniform, but his was adorned with golden cords that ran from his chest to his shoulder, a clear sign of high rank. He was reading a document with absolute concentration, his face marked by a serious and distant expression, as if the chaos on the floor below were a trivial problem of an inferior world.
Ignoring the curious and suspicious glances of the other sentinels, Gunder and Tom walked directly toward him. The shadow of the two covered the document, and only then did the man slowly raise his gaze, his gray, penetrating eyes analyzing them with a glacial calm.
Gunder said nothing. He simply extended his hand and, with a precise gesture, placed a metal pin on the desk. The crest of the Sentinels of the Order shone under the light—the sword and the spears, unmistakable. But the Chisanatora gear was absent, a subtle detail that spoke louder than any words.
◇ ◇ ◇
The man guided them along a suspended corridor, a metal catwalk whose railing overlooked the main atrium. The chaos continued below, but from that height, the sound was a muffled murmur, and the hurried sentinels looked like ants in an overturned anthill. The view created a surreal distance, as if they were observing the disaster through an invisible barrier that separated them from the urgency and fear. The metal of the catwalk vibrated slightly under their boots, a phantom echo of the panic unfolding below.
"My name is Briggs," the man said, without breaking stride, his back straight as a ruler, his step firm with the confidence of one who admitted no hesitation. "Captain of the Sentinels of the Order, in charge of this garrison in Chisanatora."
"Gunder. And this is Tom," Gunder replied for both of them, his voice perfectly neutral, devoid of any inflection. "We are Heralds of the Order."
Briggs gave a slight nod, a minimal gesture. "I figured as much. No ranking sentinel would show up at my barracks out of uniform." The observation carried a subtle criticism, and Tom felt her face heat up, exchanging an embarrassed glance with Gunder, who remained impassive, as if formality were an irrelevant concept. "Where are you from?"
"Faraam," Tom answered, her voice firmer than she felt.
"From so far…" Briggs sighed, and the sound was laden with a weariness that seemed to go beyond the physical, an exhaustion that seeped into the soul. "The case we have here has scared many away. In the last few weeks, I've seen experienced sentinels and other Heralds like you retreat. To be honest," he paused, the echo of his footsteps filling the silence, "I was beginning to think the Order had abandoned us."
His words hung in the cold air, and Tom's mind connected the dots with the speed of a lightning flash. "That's why the knights from the capital are here," she murmured, more a realization than a question.
"The Black Steel Blades arrived last week," Briggs confirmed, the squad's name sounding as heavy and merciless as the metal it described. "It seems the problem with the ducts is disrupting the trade of the great barons. Their complaints reached the ears of the old aristocrats in the capital, and when their money is at stake, the response is always disproportionate."
"You said 'abandoned'," Gunder interrupted, his voice cutting through Briggs's speech with the precision of a scalpel. "What exactly did you mean by that?"
Briggs stopped walking. The sound of his footsteps ceased abruptly. He turned his head slowly, just enough for them to see his eyes. The distant seriousness from before had vanished, replaced by a frightening emptiness, an abyss of exhaustion and loss. "Many of my sentinels have died in the last few days," he said, his voice devoid of emotion, which made it all the more chilling. "And all the Heralds who came before you. All of them dead trying to solve this case."
Gunder let out a soft, "Ehh…" a sound of pure disdain that dripped mockery on the gravity of the situation. In contrast, Tom swallowed hard, feeling a drop of cold sweat trickle down her neck. The danger was more real and more lethal than she had imagined. But beneath the fear that chilled her blood, a stubborn flame of determination ignited. A case this dangerous… perhaps it truly was a sign, an undeniable clue that would lead her to the Crown of Celeste.
Briggs resumed his walk. "I really didn't expect anyone else to come. It's been days since any other Sentinel headquarters has answered our calls. But," he glanced at them, an analytical gleam in his gray eyes, "I also didn't expect a kid and a mysterious man to show up out of nowhere. Either you didn't know the danger, or you're fools." Suddenly, he stopped again, as if struck by a memory. "Kid, you said you had your own business here, didn't you?"
Remembering Vernh's mocking laughter, Tom felt her face flush again, but she forced herself to maintain her composure, lifting her chin. "I'm looking for the Crown of Celeste."
Briggs placed a hand on his chin, thoughtful, his gaze skeptical. "The Crown of Celeste… I didn't expect a Herald's reason for coming to the epicenter of a crisis to be a children's legend."
Tom looked away, shame burning on her face, and opened her mouth to try to explain, but Briggs cut her off.
"But…" he continued, his tone shifting, acquiring a resonant quality, as if reciting an ancient story, "the Epic of the Fall says that in the past, when the gods warred among themselves, the God of War forged the crown for the Goddess of the Moon. And the place where he forged it was 'a city that inhabited the colossal fissures of a scorching desert, forgotten for eons'."
Tom's eyes widened. The air seemed to get caught in her lungs. "Here? It happened here in Chisanatora?"
"They're just tales passed down through generations," Briggs said with a shrug, breaking the spell. "But theories suggest that yes. That Chisanatora was built upon the ruins of that legendary city."
A radiant, uncontrollable smile spread across Tom's face. Hope, pure and overwhelming, flooded her chest, a warm wave that completely extinguished the fear from moments ago. It was real. It was possible.
"Why tell him that?" Gunder's voice sounded, cold as steel, shattering Tom's moment of euphoria. "You don't believe those words yourself. It's just a children's tale."
Briggs turned completely, his eyes locking with Gunder's. For an instant, the air grew heavy, a silent clash of perceptions. The Captain seemed to understand that the man before him was no simple mercenary; he had realized that Gunder could read beneath the surface, could sense the depths of his being. "Because I felt pity," Briggs finally replied, his voice low and sharp.
Gunder arched an eyebrow, a silent challenge in his gaze.
"I don't know if this kid will be alive by this afternoon," Briggs continued, the empty look returning, stripped of all compassion. "That's all. I felt pity."
Tom's smile vanished, her face setting into a mask of seriousness and defiance. She met the Captain's gaze, the fire in her eyes shining with a fierce intensity. "I didn't come this far just to die here."
Briggs stared back at her and, for an instant, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. It wasn't one of humor, but of respect. "Come," he said, turning away. "I'll go over the reports we have on the case."
◇ ◇ ◇
Back in the plaza, the cold, oppressive air of the barracks was exchanged for the vibrant symphony of the upper city. The sound of lively conversations, the hum of holographic panels, and the sweet aroma of spices from luxurious restaurants filled the air, painting a picture of prosperity and life. But for Tom and Gunder, the golden facade now seemed as thin as paper, ready to tear and reveal the rot underneath.
Gunder walked with a weary look, watching Tom, who paced in circles ahead of him, a hand on her chin and her eyes fixed on the ground, lost in the labyrinth of information they had received.
"People have disappeared, and ducts have exploded…" she muttered to herself, her voice a frustrated whisper. "Sentinels and Heralds have died, and mysterious figures in bluish cloaks have been seen… None of it makes sense."
She stopped and looked up, observing the crowd that flowed through the wide avenues like a river of hopes and worries. They were smiling faces, families on a stroll, merchants closing deals. A perfectly choreographed illusion of peace. Captain Briggs's words, spoken in the dimness of his office, echoed in her mind: "Chisanatora is called the City of Commerce, but that's just an old name. Today, it's more like the City of Misfortune…"
Observing more closely, Tom noticed something she had seen before, but which now seemed to carry a different, darker weight. The people up here... many were the same as the ones from down below. Not just the uniformed workers, but the citizens themselves. While there were high-class figures in impeccable attire, they were the minority, islands of opulence in a sea of tired faces trying to keep up appearances with simpler, yet clean, clothes.
Her gaze rose, past the shining shop windows and hanging gardens, to the colossal residential structures that loomed over the commercial district. Towers of polished metal and dark glass, like needles piercing the sky, which were supposed to house the city's elite.
"Gunder," she called out, her voice tense, pointing upward. "What do you see?"
Gunder drew closer, his feline eyes narrowed, focusing on something beyond the architecture. "Empty residences," he said, his voice low and final. "The commercial areas are full, but the floors meant for housing… they're almost all empty. It's practically a ghost town up there, until…"
"…the city's apex," Tom completed, feeling a chill. Gunder confirmed with a nod. There, at the unreachable peak, lived the barons of Chisanatora, the true owners of that golden cage.
"Don't you think there's a political crisis here?" Tom asked, her mind buzzing with the new perspective, the pieces starting to fit together. "Something to do with the economy?"
"Could be," Gunder admitted. "From what Briggs mentioned, the Sentinels believe the duct implosions were a protest against the barons. Apparently, the prices in the upper city have become so absurd that people are being forced to move to the lower city, even though they have to come up every day to work here. But…" he paused, his gaze becoming distant, "that doesn't explain the men in the bluish cloaks."
"Maybe they're just revolutionary groups from the city," Tom suggested, the theory sounding plausible in her own head.
"Maybe," Gunder retorted, his tone doubtful, "but I don't think that's the case."
"Why?" she asked, her curiosity overcoming her frustration.
Gunder looked at the crowd, but his gaze seemed to pass through them, sensing the invisible currents that bound them, something Tom couldn't see. "Because I don't feel friction between these people. They don't hate each other."
Tom's eyes widened, surprised by the strange certainty in his voice.
"A political crisis like this wouldn't happen if the people weren't dissatisfied with the local government," Gunder continued, his perception sounding like an irrefutable fact. "And I don't sense that dissatisfaction. I sense weariness, resignation… but not hatred."
Tom sighed, her theory crumbling before her partner's strange and infallible ability. "Well, it's no use just standing here thinking about it."
"So, what's the next step?" Gunder asked, crossing his arms, pragmatism taking over. "Are we going to investigate the ducts in the lower city, or try our luck at the city's apex?"
Tom's eyes instantly lit up at the second option. The apex! The place where the barons lived, where secrets might be kept. The place closest to the heavens, where a legendary crown might be hidden. Excitement took hold of her, an eager, dreamy smile forming on her lips.
Gunder just watched her expression for a second before cutting through her fantasy with a perfectly monotone voice.
"Right. You're going to the ducts."
He turned and started walking, considering the matter closed.
"Hey, wait a minute!" Tom shouted, running after him, her dream shattered and her excitement replaced by pure indignation. "I didn't decide anything!"