After the Storm
The
Shadow Watch lay before Daron and Joren in the twilight, its tall walls
etched darkly against a sky now painted orange and red. A deceptive
silence shrouded the building, yet an undefined unease pulsed beneath
Daron's breastbone.
"Do
you think Valara's already with Mirabella?" Joren asked casually as
they passed through the heavy iron gate. Their footsteps echoed dully
across the gray cobblestones of the courtyard—an echo that only
emphasized the prevailing silence. The air was cool and carried the
sharp scent of the approaching evening.
"Probably. I just hope the little one behaved," Daron replied with a slight smile that barely masked his tension.
At that moment, a colleague approached them, already draping her coat over her shoulders. "Back already? How did it go?" she asked with a friendly nod.
"Not too bad," Joren answered with a faint grin. "Just a bit more excitement than usual."
The colleague smirked. "Sounds like a report I'll look forward to in the morning. But don't go overboard, alright?"
"Ah,
Alessa, you'll be amazed to hear that Joren pulled this off without any
heroic antics this time," Daron teased his friend as they continued on.
Inside the Shadow Watch, a subdued bustle still reigned. Joren poured steaming tea into two cups and handed one to Daron.
"Thanks,"
Daron murmured, sinking onto a wooden table. A quill lay waiting, and a
blank piece of parchment beckoned. He picked up the quill and began to
record the day's events.
Even as he wrote these words, Daron's stomach tightened slightly.
Significant
resistance from a surprisingly well-organized thieves' guild, led by a
man named Mamon—known in Elaris, but as inscrutable as a shadow.
Troubling was their use of advanced technomagical devices that, in
inexplicable ways, blocked our scanners. These devices strongly suggest
the guild is not acting alone but is receiving support from influential
political circles. There is a pressing suspicion that Mamon is entangled
in political intrigues in Elaris and may also be connected to the
murder in Aranthia. Further, more thorough investigations are crucial to
grasp the full scope of this threat.
Daron
leaned back and rubbed his tired eyes. Joren peered curiously over his
shoulder. Before he could form a question, Lyssara burst in, pushing the
door open with force. Her gaze was cool and demanding, the tension of
the late day reflecting in her posture.
"I want every detail," she demanded bluntly.
Calmly
and objectively, Joren began his report, describing the heated battles,
the threatening presence of golems, and the relief that came after
rescuing the harbor workers. Daron supplemented his account with details
about the strange technomagical devices, whose pulsing energy had
temporarily knocked out their own equipment.
Lyssara
listened intently, her lips pressed into a thin line. Her eyes
glittered keenly, and Daron sensed the mental gears within her already
clicking into place.
"This kind of technology... "
Lyssara finally said thoughtfully, turning one of the confiscated
devices over in her hands. The muted light of late afternoon filtered
through the window, reflecting off the metallic surface. "I fear your suspicions about a powerful puppeteer are more than justified. "
"We can't afford to lose any time," Joren responded gravely. "The faster we know who's really pulling the strings, the better."
Lyssara nodded in agreement.
"Take these devices straight to the Investigations Department. We need
to pinpoint the origins of this technology as quickly as possible."
Without
another word, Daron and Joren made their way to the Department of
Technomagical Investigations. The long corridor was almost deserted now,
and only the faint crackle of the lamps broke the silence. The room
itself greeted them with a familiar, gentle hum and the soft, rhythmic
ticking of the analysis equipment, which ran day and night.
At
a table laden with all manner of apparatuses stood a short man with
wild, dark-brown curls that kept falling into his face. His peculiar
goggles, whose lenses flickered through various settings, gave him a
slightly eccentric air. With frantic yet precise movements, he worked
skillfully on the devices, wholly absorbed in his task.
"Ah,
what kind of lovely toys have you brought me?" he asked suddenly, eyes
gleaming, as he carefully took the technomagical devices from them with
his slender fingers.
Joren grinned. "Technomagical jammers or something of that nature—and who better to figure out what exactly they do than you, Elric?"
Elric placed them under a massive magnifying lens at once, mumbling softly to himself, "" all his attention focused on the alien objects.
After a while, he lifted his head, eyes sparkling with near-enthusiasm. "Well, this technology... —and originally from the Dome," he stated seriously.
"But these modifications here..." He pointed to some glowing symbols
whose light appeared especially vivid in the waning daylight. "...were definitely made here in Industria. "
Joren exchanged a meaningful glance with Daron. "I know someone in Industria—an old tinkerer who's knowledgeable about things like this. Maybe he can help us tomorrow."
The technician looked up and pushed his goggles up with a single finger.
"Ah, you mean Lorian, right? Give him my regards, will you? He's a
bit... unconventional, admittedly, but he's a good person at heart." He winked mischievously. ""
Daron nodded. "Alright, then we know where to head tomorrow."
Daron
looked up toward the Dome that arched protectively over the city. The
pale glow of the new moon, just rising behind the rooftops, cast an
enigmatic aura over the vast glass shield. Silently, he and Joren
climbed into the waiting carriage that carried them through the
nighttime alleys of Old Elaris to the bar.
During
the ride, they recounted the day's events: the battles in Silver
Harbor, the explosive revelations about the thieves' guild—and, above
all,
A Moment of Rest
"Enough
of politics and problems for one day," Joren said with a drawn-out sigh
as he stepped from the carriage and stretched in the cool evening air.
"Let the Elders play their power games without us tonight. I just want
to switch off for a while."
Daron gave him a companionable smile and placed a friendly hand on his shoulder. "You're right, partner. We've more than earned a break."
They
pushed open the door to the bar, and the warm air and subdued murmur of
patrons greeted them at once. The aroma of fresh cooking and a hint of
spices filled the room. Soft music played in the background, creating a
pleasant, slightly dreamy atmosphere.
They had barely taken a few steps inside when Valara rushed up to Daron and hugged him tightly. "All good, Val?" he asked gently, sensing her subtle tension.
She nodded silently, a faint sparkle in her eyes, then pulled away and slipped into the kitchen.
With
a soft sigh, Daron settled onto one of the barstools. His tabby cat,
Mirabella, leapt gracefully onto the counter beside him, nudged him with
a purr, and snuggled against him as if greeting him after all the
turmoil.
Minora, the bartender, approached with a raised eyebrow. "Looks like the little one's settling in quite nicely, huh? She already seems far less shy."
"Yeah, it's amazing how quickly she's found some footing," Daron agreed, stroking Mirabella. "But she's still not talking much, not in the real sense."
Minora nodded understandingly. "One step at a time," she said softly, casting a quick glance toward the kitchen.
Then she turned to Joren, who had taken a seat next to Daron. "So, you two heroes of the day—what'll it be?"
Joren grinned and rubbed his hands together in an exaggeratedly dramatic gesture. "After all the fuss we've had? I need something strong. How about your famous spiced schnapps, Minora?"
She lifted an eyebrow and let out a quiet laugh. "Spiced schnapps, is it? Don't say I didn't warn you afterward." She disappeared behind the bar briefly, returning with two steaming glasses that exuded a spicy scent of cinnamon and anise.
"Whew,
that smell alone is strong," Daron remarked as he cautiously sipped the
glass at his lips. He immediately shook his head, grimacing slightly. "Wow, that really packs a punch."
Minora laughed heartily. "And to think I was being careful with the herbs this time. If I'd added more, you'd probably be on the floor by now."
Joren raised his glass in a toast. "Here's to a successful day—and to remembering tomorrow what we drank tonight." He took a sip and groaned softly. "Whoa, you weren't kidding."
After he overcame the initial shudder, Joren gave Minora an inquisitive look.
"By the way, have you heard anything about this thieves' guild in Old
Elaris? Any new rumors? We're still trying to figure out what they're
after."
Minora fiddled thoughtfully with a kitchen cloth between her fingers before answering.
"Opinions are split. A lot of poor folks around here swear by them
because they supposedly help the neediest—for a fee, of course. But
their recent operations have been... brutal, to put it mildly. What
happened at the harbor shook quite a few people. And there are rumors
they might be getting backing from powerful individuals."
Daron listened closely, taking another sip of his schnapps—this time more cautiously. "So, most still see them as some kind of... Robin Hood, just a bit more ruthless?"
Minora shrugged.
"Yeah, something like that. It's just unclear what their long-term goal
is. The events at the docks definitely left some people uneasy."
Pensively, Joren ran a hand through his hair.
"We can't tolerate how the guild operates. That much is clear. People
were hurt, some killed. Someone has to be held accountable. I'd just
love to know who's really in charge. This Mamon character..." He shook
his head.
Daron nodded.
"We need more info. But for now, we've done enough for one day.
Tomorrow we'll deal with our contact in Industria and maybe get a step
closer to the truth."
Minora gave him an encouraging smile. "So you two can keep clear heads, I'll let you in on something: I've still got a spare room. Joren, do you need it again?"
With visible relief, Joren put down his glass.
"That'd be great, thanks! I really don't feel like trudging halfway
home in the dark tonight. My sleep schedule's all over the place—night
shifts and missions... I never catch a break."
Minora drew an old brass key from beneath the counter and set it on the bar.
"First room on the left, like always. But it'll cost you fifty Elar
this time, darling. I can't afford to let state officials stay for
free." She winked impishly.
"You're fleecing us government employees, Minora?" Joren cried in mock indignation, but he promptly fished out the coins. "I'll find a way to get that back somehow." He set the money down with a crooked grin.
"Sure you will." Minora made a small note in her ledger. "You know my prices—otherwise, you wouldn't still be a regular."
By
now, the bar had emptied considerably, and only a few patrons lingered.
From the kitchen came the muffled clatter of pots and dishes, where
Valara was presumably helping Sam wrap up. Daron let his gaze wander,
soaking in the cozy atmosphere.
"Really nice evening," he said softly, feeling the tension in his chest gradually loosen. "Right, Joren?"
"Oh yeah," Joren replied with a yawn as he finally put his glass aside. "But I'm beat. There's always tomorrow." He stood up and stretched. "I'm off to bed. Good night, everyone!"
Daron nodded, looking around for Valara. She emerged from the kitchen, a bit timid but noticeably calmer. "Hey, Val, you did great today. Thanks for your help."
She
gave him a shy smile and tilted her head slightly, as though silently
acknowledging his thanks. A hint of pride shone in her eyes.
"Come
on, let's head upstairs," Daron said quietly. He gave Mirabella one
last scratch behind the ears before scooping up the cat. Together with Valara, he left the bar and climbed the creaking steps to his apartment.
"Good night, Minora!" he called over his shoulder.
"Night, you two!" she called after them. "Sleep well."
Setting Out
Once upstairs, Daron felt the day's fatigue weigh heavily on him. Valara also appeared exhausted but calmer than before. "You did so well today, Val," he said, briefly resting a hand on her shoulder. "Tomorrow we'll see what comes next, okay?"
Valara
nodded silently, slipping into the apartment. Mirabella followed, tail
swishing, and Daron closed the door behind them. For a moment, he leaned
against the cool wood, exhaling slowly. In spite of everything they had
experienced, he felt a kind of relief. Tomorrow would bring answers—or
at least new leads. For now, though, he allowed himself the peace of this quiet night, together with Valara and his loyal cat.
Morning
sunlight tickled Daron's eyelids as he awoke, still half-asleep.
Slowly, he pulled himself out of bed, his fingers lingering
absentmindedly on the cool glass covering a photograph on his
nightstand—a silent moment of melancholy that tugged at him with
memories of days gone by. With a soft sigh, he switched on the
technomagical radio, which played a gentle, almost meditative melody.
As he freshened up in the bathroom, a sense of clarity returned little by little. Today would be a demanding day.
When he came out of the bathroom, he stretched briefly, intending to wake Valara. But her bed was already empty.
A jolt of concern shot through him, speeding up his heartbeat. Where could she be? He hastily pulled on his uniform and hurried down the creaking stairs two steps at a time.
In
the bar's main room, Minora was waiting—her greeting died on her lips
as she caught sight of his alarmed expression, which brought a glimmer
of amusement to her face. "Relax, hero," she said, leaning against the counter casually. "Val's already up. She's helping me with breakfast. You two slept like royalty, I'll say that."
A loud sigh escaped Daron, and he ran a relieved hand over his forehead. "Great, I've already imagined the wildest scenarios. You could have left a note."
Minora's lips curved in a smirk. "I didn't want to disturb you. Besides," she added with a playful wink, "you should see for yourself just how helpful the little one is. You two have really found a natural."
Satisfied, Daron let his gaze wander through the warm, inviting bar. Mirabella sat on the counter, purring contentedly as she nibbled at a few treats. The comforting crackle of the fireplace in the background and the aroma of sizzling bacon created a welcoming mood.
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Minora slid him a mug of steaming tea. "Feeling rested after yesterday?"
Grateful, Daron accepted the warm mug. "Hardly, but I'm on the mend. Worrying about Valara had me quite on edge. I'm just glad things are peaceful here."
They walked over to where Valara was busily loading plates with golden scrambled eggs and crispy bread, her expression focused. When she noticed Daron, she gave him a timid smile—as if happy she could show how useful she was.
Moments later, Joren trudged down the stairs, rubbing his eyes with a grunt, collapsing into a chair that creaked beneath him.
"Morning, sleepyheads," Minora said mockingly, giving Joren a teasing look. "You two sleep well, or did you dream of golem attacks?"
Joren groaned and reached for a mug that was already exuding an enticing aroma. "Dreams?" he grumbled. "I was out like a rock and feel no less exhausted." He took a careful sip of the steaming drink and made a face. "Ugh, that's wicked strong! But exactly what I need right now."
Daron laughed softly, pulled a chair over, and joined them. "Val, come sit for a bit," he suggested, but she kept standing beside Sam, as if determined to finish plating the food.
Eventually, she came over, shyly, to sit next to Daron.
The four of them ate scrambled eggs and bread in an easygoing atmosphere.
Minora briefly shared a rumor she had heard from Foghome, Joren
jokingly complained that the world was conspiring to deprive him of
adequate sleep, and Daron occasionally tossed in a witty remark.
Valara stayed quiet, but her attentive glances and occasional small smiles betrayed that she felt comfortable. Every so often, a faint smile flickered across her face when Joren said something funny.
After breakfast, Daron stood, brushing off his coat. "We should head out. Industria's waiting—we've got an important appointment with a tinkerer."
Joren downed his mug in one go and reluctantly left the comforting chair. "Let's see if the guy's still as eccentric as he used to be. It's been ages since I last saw him."
Daron turned to Valara, who was stacking the empty plates with her head lowered. Gently, he placed a hand on her shoulder, prompting her to look up in surprise. "Take good care of yourself, Val," he said kindly. "Help Minora if you like, but don't forget to rest if you get tired. You've helped a lot—I really appreciate it."
Valara nodded, her eyes shining momentarily, a quiet mix of pride and gratitude. "Th-thank... you," she whispered almost inaudibly, yet the warmth in her voice moved Daron deeply.
They said goodbye to Minora, who smiled at them with a blend of concern and encouragement—something between and
Then the pair stepped into the brisk morning air of Old Elaris. It was clear and cold, tinting their cheeks pink.
"Industria
isn't far," Daron remarked, taking in the slightly stale but familiar
city air, tinged with the peculiar smell of damp stone and trickling
water. "We can walk instead of taking a carriage. A short walk will do us good."
"Sounds good," Joren said with a concise nod, stuffing his hands deep into the pockets of his dark Shadow Guard uniform. "I'll lead the way. I know every corner here—I've patrolled these streets often and know a few shortcuts."
With each step they took, the city's face gradually changed.
The narrow, labyrinthine alleys of Old Elaris gave way to broader
streets embedded with gleaming rails for steam-powered carriages.
Around
them, the noise level swelled: the sharp hiss of venting steam from
machinery, the dull rattle of heavily laden carts over uneven stones,
the clamor and muttering of workers hastily lugging large parts between
assembly halls.
A
pungent odor of hot oil and cold metal hung thick in the air,
intermingling with the faint, slightly pungent smell of magical energy
that drifted through the streets like a hint of ozone.
"Hey, Joren," Daron ventured with slight uncertainty, "what should I expect from this Lorian, exactly? I only know him from your—let's say —accounts, and I once heard him mentioned in passing. Is there anything specific I should do so he takes us seriously?"
Joren let out a short, not-too-flattering sound.
"Lorian is... well, let's just say he's undeniably a genius when it
comes to technomagic, but sometimes about as approachable as a rusted
mechanism in social situations. He can react... less than kindly if you
interrupt him at work—even if we in the Shadow Guard are known for a
certain... persuasive authority," he added with a wry grin.
"But seriously: If you show him you respect his intellect or at least appreciate his work, he usually warms up."
Daron pressed his lips together thoughtfully. So, caution and diplomacy, he noted. "Got it. Don't barge in; try a little flattery."
Joren nodded in affirmation.
"Something like that. And don't be surprised if he suddenly starts
muttering to himself, cursing, or just ignoring you—means he's deep in
his own thoughts."
Lorian's Lab
After
some time, they reached a building that stood out sharply from the
surrounding factories with its bizarre architecture: perched on the roof
was a chaotic tangle of enormous metal coils, while pulsing glyphs in
vivid colors ran across the gray fa?ade. A few small, dark drones
hovered nearby, their gentle hum barely audible above the industrial
din.
Upon entering,
they were greeted by a cacophony of buzzing, whirring, crackling, and
soft mechanical clicks—the many-voiced chorus of countless technomagical
devices. In a dim corner, bright sparks flew as a small mechanical arm
welded glowing metal with tireless precision. A stinging smell of
scorched circuitry and thick machine oil hung in the air, teasing the
nose.
"Not bad," Daron murmured, looking around in awe. "There's more going on here than in some of the old, established trading guild's workshops."
Behind
a reception desk piled high with all sorts of technomagical parts sat a
young woman with her hair tied back severely, who regarded them with a
cool but polite gaze. Joren showed his Shadow Guard badge and asked for
Lorian by name. With barely a nod, she led them into a back room that
resembled an alchemist's lab more than a standard workshop, thanks to
its glass tubes and apparatuses.
Glass
cylinders filled with oddly glowing liquids in every color of the
rainbow stood everywhere, jammed together beside open crates filled with
gleaming metal parts and delicate gears. Tiny mechanical drones buzzed
along invisible rails near the ceiling.
Amid
the chaos they spotted Lorian—a short, wiry man whose wild,
gray-streaked hair stuck out in every direction. His monocle kept
shifting, as if he were viewing the world through changing
magnifications. He bent low over a complex apparatus—disassembled into
its smallest parts—whose interior bristled with minuscule wires and
gleaming crystals, while countless miniature screwdrivers and tweezers
protruded from the pockets of his leather tool apron.
Joren cleared his throat loudly to announce their presence, and Lorian nearly jumped, lifting his head.
"Ah, Joren!" Lorian called in a surprisingly high voice, sliding a
massive magnifier up onto his forehead with one quick movement. "Long time no see. You know I hate interruptions..." he added with a note of annoyance.
Then he fixed Daron with a curious look through his monocle. "And who's this young man?"
Joren gestured toward his companion. "This is Daron, my partner in the Shadow Guard. Lorian, we're grateful you're seeing us—we really need your expertise."
Lorian
raised a thin eyebrow. A nervous twitch in his slender fingers, which
tapped restlessly on the workbench, betrayed his inner tension. "The Shadow Guard..." he murmured softly.
"I suppose I don't have much choice, do I? When the Shadow Guard pays a
visit, it's rarely for good news—or it's at least... urgent. So speak
quickly, before I regret stopping my work."
Daron met his gaze with a cordial smile that conveyed sincere appreciation—just as Joren had advised. "We truly value your extraordinary knowledge, Lorian, believe me. We came across some devices..."
He pulled out a carefully folded sketch and some detailed descriptions
of the technomagical objects they had found, offering them to Lorian.
"Hmm..." Lorian grunted, deep wrinkles forming on his brow as he studied them.
"In fact, about two weeks ago, a pair of... shall we say, interesting
gentlemen dropped by. Very vague in their hints. They wanted to hire me
for certain modifications, but something about it smelled fishy from the
get-go."
He rubbed his chin, recalling the memory.
"The technology they showed me was unquestionably ancient and
remarkably complex—presumably from before the Dome or closely tied to
that era. Didn't match these two at all, so I politely declined."
"Describe them in more detail," Joren urged impatiently.
Lorian adjusted his monocle and nodded slowly.
"One was a massive fellow, shaved head, with an old scar slashing
across his right eyelid—a really intimidating guy. The other was smaller
and scrawny, but with a... sneaky gleam in his eyes. Oddly enough, he
always wore fine leather gloves. They gave no names. And it was obvious
they barely understood how the devices worked."
Daron cast Joren a telling look.
"That sounds exactly like the brute we caught at the docks. That
muscle-bound type—he had that distinctive scar over his eye, right?"
Joren nodded. "Yep, that's him. And what about the devices? Did you figure out their purpose?"
Lorian let out a deep sigh.
"Partly. They're designed to manipulate or suppress magical
frequencies—similar to modern jammers, but infinitely more complex.
Clearly, someone with very advanced technomagical knowledge was
involved."
He paused, frowning.
"Oh, and by the way... a couple of weeks ago, another tinkerer around
here vanished without a trace—a fellow by the name of Marius. Just up
and gone. Not sure if it's connected, but this all feels very ominous."
Daron and Joren exchanged alarmed looks. "Sounds very much like the thieves' guild," Daron murmured.
"They may have kidnapped him to force him to improve their devices. Do
you have an address or any contact info for this Marius?"
Hastily,
Lorian grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill, scratching a few notes
onto it with quick strokes. He handed it to Daron. "That's all I know about him. If you find him, I really hope he's... alive."
Relieved, Joren placed a hand on Lorian's shoulder.
"We appreciate this more than you know, Lorian. You've done us a great
service. When all this trouble blows over... I definitely owe you a
drink—or two—at Minora's place. Deal?"
Lorian's tense features relaxed slightly, and the tiniest of smiles crossed his face.
"Heh, I'll hold you to that. And... thanks for being polite and just
paying a visit instead of dragging me off to the Shadow Guard."
Daron smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry, Lorian. You've been a tremendous help." He let his gaze drift once more over the countless glittering tools and gadgets. "Take care. If those shady guys show up again, don't hesitate to contact us immediately."
With a curt nod, they departed, stepping back into the now bustling, noisy world outside.
A lively scene greeted them: steam-powered coaches clattered through
the streets, laborers poured into nearby factory halls, and a thick haze
of steam and soot hung in the air, making breathing cumbersome.
Joren exhaled. "That was enlightening. What do you think—should we let Alessia know? She can start looking for Marius."
"Exactly," Daron agreed, glancing at the note in his hand.
"We should inform her right away so she can begin tracking the missing
man. And we still have that interrogation at the Shadow Watch."
"On it." Joren produced a small communicator, tapped on it, and spoke a few words. "I'm giving her the intel right now."
Daron gazed pensively at the smoke-shrouded rooftops of Industria.
"If Marius really was kidnapped, we need to move fast. Otherwise, they
might force him to supply the guild with even more dangerous
technology."
"Wouldn't surprise me," Joren growled. "That guild won't stop at anything. Let's hope the members we captured spill more than they intend to during interrogation."
With brisk strides, they headed back toward the Shadow Watch.
The industrial scene gradually gave way to grander buildings and the
imposing district where Lyssara and her people kept the city under
vigilant supervision. Both men understood today could be a pivotal day in the fight against the guild striving for influence behind Elaris's fa?ade.
After
leaving Lorian's workshop, Daron and Joren hailed a carriage in
Industria—one that seemed almost to be waiting for them. The worn
leather seats creaked beneath them as they settled in, and the steady
rumble of the wheels across cobblestones provided the only soundtrack as
the cab jerked forward.
"The business with Marius is eating at me," Joren said after a while. His voice was subdued in the enclosed space, and he stared out the small, foggy window.
The looming outlines of industrial complexes and steam-driven machinery
slid past like ghostly silhouettes in the dim morning light.
"If he really just disappeared, we could be in for a world of trouble. Who knows what else the guild is scheming?" His fingers drummed nervously on his knee.
Daron met his worried gaze with a steady expression, though doubt gnawed at him inside as well.
"Alessia has to hear about Lorian's report and Marius's disappearance
first. She keeps tabs on everything and knows how to track Marius best." Leaning back, he closed his eyes briefly, trying to push away images of the brutal scenes at the docks.
Into the Heart of Shadow
The
carriage halted with a slight jolt in front of the Shadow Watch, whose
imposing, dark mass loomed like a defiant giant against the gray,
overcast sky. The icy morning air struck them as they stepped out.
Inside
the massive stone fortress, they found Alessia in her stark, minimalist
office, lit by a solitary lantern throwing a warm glow over the neatly
stacked documents on her desk.
Her
face turned grim for a moment when she heard about the missing tinkerer
in Industria. Then she straightened, her eyes flashing briefly, and
began stuffing crucial papers into her worn leather briefcase.
"I'll
look into it personally," she promised, her voice steely and resolute,
underscored by a firm nod. "But you two need to go straight to Lyssara.
She's interrogating one of the captured thieves right now, hoping to get
more information about their backers and their objectives."
Daron
and Joren headed directly to the infamous interrogation room in the
heart of the Shadow Watch. Even before reaching the heavy iron door,
they felt the almost tangible tension emanating from within. Immediately
they knew: Lyssara's mere presence charged the place with her icy,
unyielding demeanor.
She
stood focused over a visibly wounded thief, whose face was contorted in
pain as he knelt on the cold stone floor, bound by coarse hemp ropes.
Sweat glistened like oil on his bruised forehead, his breathing ragged
and shallow, while his frantic eyes darted between the dark corners and
the impassive onlookers.
He struggled desperately to keep a semblance of composure when he noticed the newcomers, but naked fear flashed in his eyes.
"I—I'm not telling you anything," he croaked, his voice raspy.
Yet
even this act of defiance was steeped more in terror than in genuine
defiance. His trembling hands revealed his racing heartbeat.
Lyssara
glanced briefly over her narrow shoulder and gave Daron and Joren a
curt, almost dismissive nod before turning back to the trembling
prisoner.
"You
attacked the docks and had high-level technomagical gear with you," she
stated calmly. Her voice held a dangerous stillness—a mixture of sugar
and poison. "What exactly were you aiming for that night?"
The
thief tore his gaze away from her penetrating stare, his anguished face
twitching as he glanced in panic at his two associates, who lay
bleeding and bound in the dark corner of the room.
"It all... happened so fast—I—I got no clue, man!" he sputtered, his voice cracking.
Lyssara
gave a cold, almost pitying smile, her gray eyes gleaming like ice. She
moved with lightning speed, so swiftly the thief had no time to react.
Her slender hand seized his filthy shirt collar and yanked him up with
effortless might, only to slam him back onto the hard stone floor with a
dull thud. The impact echoed in the oppressive room, and his two
accomplices flinched at the jarring sound.
She knelt beside him in one fluid motion, pressing a finger ruthlessly into an open wound at his side.
A
heart-wrenching scream tore from his throat, his body curling in
unbearable agony, sweat rolling off his pale forehead and mingling with
the blood on the floor.
"I'll
ask you one more time," Lyssara said with icy precision, each syllable
like a razor's edge. "What exactly were you doing at the docks?"
"Please...
nothing... I... I swear, I don't know anything!" the thief begged,
panting violently. His voice was raw with fear, tears of pain streaming
down his cheeks.
Lyssara
rose gracefully, sliding her polished boot across the stone floor with a
soft scrape and placing it unrelentingly on his already badly bleeding
shoulder. Another wet crack was audible.
"You
were hiding something valuable. Why else such a risky, clearly
orchestrated attack?" she demanded, voice cold as carved ice, fury
barely contained behind her gray eyes.
Finally, she let him go, and he remained sprawled on the freezing stone, shuddering, his breathing shallow and uneven.
Daron
stepped forward. The thief flinched again at the almost imperceptible
noise of his footsteps. Leaning down slightly, Daron spoke to Lyssara in
a calm but resolute tone—a gentle contrast to her merciless harshness.
"Lyssara,
we found out from Lorian that a tinkerer named Marius has gone missing.
It's highly likely this group is responsible. Lorian turned them away
weeks ago."
Lyssara straightened and focused on the trembling prisoner. Her eyes narrowed.
"Marius. What did you do with him?"
The thief raised his eyes to her, helpless and pained. All his resistance was shattered like a brittle twig.
"They...
wanted him to... work on their gear... something about advanced
crystal-based devices... there was someone else, some patron in the
Aurora District... stinking rich... had good connections with the
merchants..."
He swallowed hard, struggling to find his voice, and lowered his gaze to his trembling hands.
"I really don't know more. Most of us are small fry—we just follow orders."
Joren saw Lyssara's stern expression darken further, her lips pressed into a thin line.
"Where is your base of operations?" she asked quietly, her tone disturbingly mild.
"Foghome,"
the thief whispered, whimpering from the pain. "That's our hideout...
our boss... he's there... and... there's something else. A being... not
from here. Someone or something that came from outside the Dome."
His eyes went wide in terror as if he had just given away a terrible secret.
A
stunned silence followed his revelation, cold as a gust of wind blowing
through the interrogation room. Daron shot Lyssara a startled,
questioning look.
"Outside the Dome? But... how would that even be possible?"
Lyssara clenched her slender hands into fists, her knuckles turning white.
"If that's true, then the Iron Guard has been slacking. Unacceptable. I'll have to speak to General Kharon personally."
Her eyes shifted to the heavily armed guards at the door.
"Take
care of the others," she commanded curtly, her voice as cold as
polished steel. "We need to set an example so everyone in this city
understands what happens when you threaten Elaris's order."
The tortured thief recoiled in fear, but the burly guards seized him without ceremony. Lyssara turned back to Daron and Joren.
"You
two are to locate the leader of this thieves' ring and bring him to me
alive. Also, find out exactly which high-ranking Elder might be
shielding him or for whom he's working."
Her gaze was insistent, allowing no room for dissent.
Daron
and Joren exchanged a weighted glance, both well aware that these
weren't just common criminals—people in much higher, more influential
circles were pulling these strings.
"Then
we'll get ready right away," Daron said, voice steadier than it had
been moments before. "This time we're up against more than a gang of
thugs. We'll uncover the core of this dangerous conspiracy, no matter
how well-hidden it is."
"Exactly,"
Joren added, his voice raw with tension and growing anger. "And if
someone—or something—from beyond the Dome is involved, we'll have to be
more careful and strategic than we ever imagined."
Lyssara nodded, her unwavering gaze assessing both men.
"You have your orders. Bring me results. The safety and stability of
our city teeters on a razor's edge—we can't afford more betrayals or
secrets." Her tone left no room for argument, underscoring the gravity of the situation.
With
a final glance at the bound and doomed thieves, Daron and Joren left
the oppressive interrogation chamber. The heavy iron doors closed behind
them with a dull, fateful slam, cutting off the prisoners' screams as
if they had never existed.
A
tense, almost palpable air lingered as they made their way through the
Shadow Watch's dim, labyrinthine corridors, their footsteps echoing
ominously.
"This won't be easy," Daron said quietly, still haunted by the thief's unsettling revelations.
"That's
right," Joren agreed, his jaw set. "No matter what this guild is
planning, we can't let them tear the city apart. We'll stop them—one way
or another."
He
glanced once more at the silent, impenetrable doors behind them. The
faint smell of blood and sweat still clung to the air. The path ahead
would be perilous, but he and Daron shared a single unspoken conviction:
They
would not let Elaris be crushed by conspiracies—nor by the unknown
power that might have already begun to sink its claws into the city's
heart.
