Eis turned toward the Guild’s front doors—cloak drawn, steps already angled toward the night—but a hand caught her forearm.

  Ronan.

  His jaw was tight, his eyes sharper than steel.

  “You’re not going alone,” he said.

  Kael skidded into view a breath later, bow already unshouldered.

  Lira arrived behind him, cheeks flushed from sprinting, braid half undone.

  Lira gasped for air.

  “You think we’re letting you vanish twice in one night? Not a chance.”

  Kael folded his arms.

  “And if the Shallows are involved, you’ll need eyes. Several pairs.”

  Eis met Ronan’s gaze—calm, unblinking.

  “There isn't time.”

  “Then we move fast,” Ronan countered. “Together.”

  There was no room for argument.

  They were already gearing up.

  Kael pulled a small lantern from the wall and strapped it to his belt.

  Lira stuffed salves into her bag with trembling hands.

  Ronan tightened the straps on his armor and gave Eis a hard nod.

  “Show us where she went.”

  For a moment, Eis didn’t speak. Didn’t agree. Didn’t refuse.

  Then—

  “This way.”

  She was already moving.

  And Team Argent moved with her—silent, sharp, and perfectly in step.

  Fog curled through Lumaire’s midnight streets as the four of them cut through the sleeping capital. Eis led, her steps efficient and certain; the rest of Team Argent followed without question.

  Ronan kept scanning rooftops and alley mouths.

  Kael checked blind corners and shadowed doorways.

  Lira stayed close to Eis’s flank, watching her expression for any sign of danger.

  They crossed the canal quarter, weaving through crates, ropes, and damp cobblestone until they reached the rusted stairwell hidden near the broken arch.

  A lantern burned weakly above it.

  Kael grimaced.

  “Damn. This place…”

  Ronan’s voice dropped low.

  “Stay close. No one gets separated.”

  Eis didn’t wait. She descended into the dark.

  Team Argent followed.

  The undercity greeted them with a suffocating silence.

  The once-crowded black market chamber was stripped bare.

  Crates gone. Weapons gone. Bodies gone.

  Only dark stains and broken stone remained.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Lira covered her mouth.

  “Oh gods…”

  Kael crouched near a smear on the floor.

  “This blood’s fresh.”

  Eis stepped ahead, gaze narrowed, until she spotted it—

  Pale-blue motes drifting in the still air.

  Remnants from after a spell card was used.

  She touched one lightly; it dissolved into her glove with a familiar warmth.

  “She used one of your cards,” Ronan muttered, now fully grasping the stakes.

  The trail continued deeper into the tunnels—faint glowing flecks only Eis could see.

  “Let’s go,” Eis said quietly.

  They followed.

  The residue forked:

  A torchlit corridor to the left.

  A pitch-black passage humming faintly with mana to the right.

  Eis stepped toward the dark without hesitation.

  Ronan nodded once.

  Kael drew his bow.

  Lira clutched her staff.

  All four slipped inside.

  The unlit corridor sloped downward, colder with every step. The walls narrowed, rough stone brushing their shoulders. Water dripped steadily from the ceiling, echoing like distant footsteps.

  After several dozen paces, the corridor opened into a small, half-collapsed chamber.

  A single lantern guttered on a hook.

  A crude workbench held papers, broken bottles—

  —and a charred spellcard.

  Eis crossed the chamber first, kneeling.

  Lira whispered behind her, horrified:

  “That’s… one of yours.”

  The runes on the spellcard seemed to have be tampered with. Someone experimented on her spellcards...and used them.

  Beside the workbench lay a slaver, armor half-buckled, eyes glassy. No blood. No wounds. Just a faint blue scorch across his chest.

  Kael muttered, “Tried to mess with your spellcards… and fried himself.”

  Drag marks scuffed the dirt nearby—fresh, uneven.

  Someone had moved deeper into the tunnels.

  Someone alive.

  Eis rose and crossed the chamber, crouching beside the broken length of chain on the floor. She didn’t touch it at first.

  She studied it.

  The scuffed links. The faint smear of grime along one edge. The way the chain had been dragged, not dropped—pulled hard enough to bite into the stone.

  She exhaled once, slow and measured, then brushed her fingers lightly along the metal.

  “Recent,” she said.

  Ronan stepped closer, eyes following her movements with a soldier’s focus.

  “What do you see?”

  “Direction,” Eis replied. “And haste.”

  She stood and took a few steps back, scanning the floor, the walls, the narrow seams in the rock. A disturbed patch of dust near the far side of the room. A scrape too shallow to be accidental. Faint impressions where boots had slipped on stone not meant to be walked on.

  She followed the signs without hurry, the relic pulsed as if to confirm her thoughts.

  “Someone moved through here,” Eis continued. “More than one person. One injured. They didn’t bother cleaning up.”

  Kael crouched near the marks she indicated, jaw tightening.

  “They assumed no one would follow.”

  Eis nodded.

  Her gaze settled on a thin fissure in the rock wall—easy to miss unless you were looking for the reason the floor scuffs curved toward it.

  “There,” she said.

  The trail funneled cleanly into the narrow gap, darkness swallowing the last traces of disturbance.

  Lira drew a quiet breath.

  “So that’s where they went.”

  Eis straightened, eyes already adjusting to the shadows ahead.

  “And where we follow.”

  The fissure waited—silent, tight, and deliberate, like a door never meant to be found.

  Barely wide enough for one person.

  Dark, cold air breathed through it.

  The relic beneath Eis’s cloak hummed in response.

  Kael cursed softly.

  “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

  Lira swallowed.

  “She… went in there?”

  “No,” Ronan murmured, eyes narrowing.

  “She was dragged.”

  Eis stepped toward the fissure without hesitation.

  Team Argent moved with her.