The pounding on the far side of the collapsing stone barrier grew louder—heavy boots, angry voices, and the sharp ring of metal striking rock. Cracks spider-webbed across the wall Eis had raised, but she was already moving.

  She crossed the chamber in three swift strides and crouched beside the captive woman. The manacles binding her wrists were thick, crude iron—functional and painful. Eis took the key ring from the dead guard’s belt, fitted one into the lock, and twisted sharply.

  The chain clattered to the floor.

  “Up,” Eis murmured, her voice low, steady. “Quietly.”

  The woman obeyed instantly, though her legs trembled under her weight. Her eyes—bright green despite exhaustion—tracked Eis’s every movement with raw fear and fragile hope.

  Eis turned to the plinth.

  The relic’s wooden box pulsed faintly, its layered runes flickering in sync with her heartbeat. When she picked it up, a spark of energy jumped between the box and her hand— ackowledgment not hostility. The vibration settled into a low, steady thrum, as if the relic had accepted her presence.

  There was no time to question why.

  She exhaled once, focused, and let the heat in her chest ignite.

  The air around her shimmered, bending as the heat in her chest flared. Eis pictured the spell clearly:

  A card woven from light-bending mana, capable of masking her and anyone close to her for several minutes.

  The spellcard formed in her palm—a translucent sheet of glass-like mana laced with silver runes.

  The effect was instant, her vision blurred for a fraction of a second. But there were more pressing matters, she pressed two fingers to the rune.

  “Conceal.”

  The card flashed, dissolved into shimmering dust, and spread outward in a soft sphere. The dust clung to her cloak and the captive’s torn sleeves until both women faded—first outlines, then features, then form—until they vanished completely.

  Only the relic hummed faintly beneath Eis’s cloak.

  A heartbeat later, her stone barrier exploded inward.

  Shards of rock crashed across the floor as five armed men surged through the opening, coughing through dust, weapons raised, shouting. They fanned out immediately—two checking the bodies, three sweeping the chamber with torches.

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  Hidden in the distortions of the invisibility veil, Eis pressed her back to the wall. One arm steadied the freed captive, whose breathing came fast and sharp. But she remained silent.

  “Gone!” one of the guards roared, kicking a corpse. “The relic’s gone—find them!”

  They scattered in pairs, storming down each exit tunnel.

  Eis remained perfectly still, letting their footsteps fade.

  The invisibility flickered—not enough to expose her, but enough to warn the spell wouldn’t last long.

  The captive whispered, her voice a thread of sound.

  “Who… who are you?”

  “Eis,” she replied, without hesitation.

  “Can you get out on your own?” Eis asked quietly.

  The captive swallowed, then nodded, breath uneven but determined.

  “I—I think so. They brought me in through a side passage. I remember the turns.”

  Good.

  Eis reached into her pouch and pressed the stack of spellcards into the woman’s shaking hands.

  “Can you read magic glyphs?” She asked.

  “I can.“

  “Use what you can. Heal yourself. Find the Guild Hall. Tell them everything.” she said, steady and low.

  The woman stared down at the cards, confusion flashing across her face.

  “But—”

  “Go,” Eis said, sharper this time—but not unkind.

  The word cut cleanly through the hesitation.

  The captive hesitated only a moment, then turned and slipped into the nearest tunnel. The last shimmer of invisibility caught her outline before she disappeared into the dark.

  The veil around Eis thinned and finally dissolved. The air settled against her skin. The sigil cooled.

  She was alone again—with the relic tucked beneath her cloak, pulsing slow and steady like a second heartbeat.

  She moved.

  Dust still drifted through the air like ash when Eis slipped between the broken stones and dead bodies. The tunnel she chose led back toward the hidden market—trail of footprints illuminated faintly by the guards’ torches ahead.

  She followed, silent as shadow.

  The three men were speaking loudly—fear made them careless. Their words echoed off the damp stone walls:

  “The relic’s gone.”

  “Master Vauren will skin us alive if we don’t find it.”

  “Check with Karrin—he’ll know if someone tipped off the Guild.”

  Karrin.

  The name matched the trader she’d followed earlier.

  The tunnel widened again into the black market chamber she had left behind. But now the atmosphere had changed—thinner crowds, tense movements, traders packing goods quickly. Word of violence had already swept through the room.

  Karrin stood at the central table, shouting orders. His cloak was smeared with oil and sweat. He hadn’t yet noticed that the buyer was dead.

  Eis stayed in the shadows along the wall, unseen.

  She watched.

  Listened.

  Waited.

  She would not move until she found information about the remaining captives.

  The relic pulsed once beneath her cloak—quiet, patient.