The group reconvened in the basement of Kael’s safehouse as dusk settled over Drakemoor. The air was thick with tension, each member of the party lost in their own thoughts. They had made progress, but the growing threat of Malakar loomed over them like a dark cloud.

  As they gathered around the table in the dimly lit room, the weight of their mission pressed down like an invisible burden. The fire in the hearth crackled softly, its warmth doing little to ease the tension. Aric was the first to break the silence, his voice steady but laced with urgency.

  “We have a lead on Malakar’s location—beneath the city, in the catacombs,” he began, his gaze moving between the others. “But getting there won’t be easy. The entrance is heavily guarded, and the catacombs themselves are a maze of traps and dangers. We’ll need to tread carefully—we’re running out of time.”

  Elyndra, seated across from him, leaned forward, her expression sharp and thoughtful. “The mages believe Malakar is attempting a ritual, one that could disrupt the balance of the world. If he succeeds, it won’t just be this city that suffers. We have to stop him, but we need a strategy—something more than just rushing in blind.”

  In the shadowy corner of the room, Thalrin finally stirred. He had been brooding in silence, his arms crossed, but now his eyes glinted with determination as he leaned toward the table. “The catacombs are older than the city itself—a labyrinth of tunnels and chambers. If we go in unprepared, we’ll be lost or worse. We need to gather supplies, find or create a map, and figure out how to handle the traps Malakar has likely set up. And that’s assuming we don’t encounter something worse than traps.”

  Liora, who had been pacing near the window, stopped and turned to face the group. Her usual optimism was tempered with caution, but it hadn’t faltered. “We also have to consider the possibility that we’re walking into a trap. Malakar knows we’re coming—he’s always been one step ahead. We need to be ready for anything, even an ambush.”

  Kael, unusually quiet until now, finally spoke, his tone deliberate and grave. “There’s something else,” he said, his eyes meeting Aric’s. “Malakar has a grip on this city, and it’s more than just fear. He’s manipulating people, twisting them to his will. We’ve seen it firsthand—with Garrik, with Varric, even with some of the mages. If we’re going to stand a chance, we’ll need allies. Without them, we might not make it out of the catacombs, let alone defeat Malakar.”

  At the far end of the table, Elara sat with her head bent over her notes, the flickering firelight reflecting off the ink-stained pages. She looked up, her face drawn with fatigue but her eyes bright with insight. “And there’s another problem,” she added, her voice calm but firm. “The crystal. If Malakar completes the ritual, he could harness its power to do anything—reshape reality, control minds, or something worse that we can’t even imagine. The stakes are higher than we realized.”

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  Aric sighed heavily, running a hand over the scar on his cheek. The room fell silent again, the weight of their words hanging in the air. “We’re in over our heads,” he admitted, his voice low. “But we don’t have a choice. If we don’t stop him, no one will. Let’s gather what we need, prepare as much as we can, and head into the catacombs. Whatever happens, we face it together.”

  The group nodded, their resolve hardening. Despite the fear and uncertainty, there was no turning back. They had a mission, and the fate of more than just the city depended on their success.

  The group’s discussion was cut short by the heavy, deliberate thud of boots outside the door. The sound wasn’t hurried—it was measured, confident, predatory. Everyone in the room froze, hands drifting instinctively to their weapons. A tense silence hung in the air, broken only by the soft crackling of a dying fire.

  Then, without warning, the door exploded inward. Splinters flew through the air as heavily armored guards surged into the room, their weapons gleaming in the dim light. Leading them was a man with a jagged scar across his cheek, his cruel smile deepening as he surveyed the group like a hunter cornering his prey.

  “By order of Malakar,” he sneered, his voice thick with malice. “You’re all under arrest.”

  Aric’s pulse pounded in his ears. They couldn’t afford to be captured—not now, not when they were so close. His grip tightened around his sword. “Scatter!” he barked, drawing steel in a flash and charging the nearest guard.

  The room erupted into chaos.

  Thalrin roared, his warhammer crashing against a shield with bone-rattling force, forcing his opponents to stumble back. Kael spun away from a reaching hand, his bardic magic flaring as illusory duplicates of himself scattered in every direction, creating confusion among the guards. Elyndra raised a hand, chanting quickly—bolts of arcane energy slammed into the advancing warriors, but their enchanted armor dulled the impact.

  Elara desperately swept parchments and notes into her satchel, her fingers trembling. A guard lunged for her—only for Liora’s dagger to find the gap in his armor, forcing him back with a pained grunt.

  But the guards were relentless. More flooded into the chamber, pressing the group into a desperate retreat.

  Kael suddenly grabbed Aric’s arm, his voice urgent. “We have to go! Now! If we split up, they can’t catch us all!”

  Aric’s jaw clenched. He hated the idea of leaving anyone behind—but Kael was right. “Meet at the rendezvous point!” he commanded. “Go!”

  With a final, defiant clash of steel and magic, the party scattered. The guards shouted orders, trying to chase them all at once, but the chaos worked in their favor. One by one, they disappeared into the shadows, slipping through doorways and into the labyrinthine city beyond—pursued, hunted, but not yet captured.

  Not yet.