The first light of dawn spilled across Anjelica’s southern gate, gilding the stone battlements and the rows of early risers already at work. The city was coming alive again, hammer strikes echoed from the reconstruction yards, the smell of baked bread drifted from the communal kitchens, and Myriad’s faint hum resonated through the streets like a heartbeat.

  Asil, Abby, and Lucia crossed beneath the gate’s archway, the remnants of dungeon dust still clinging to their armor. The air was crisp, clean, worlds apart from the damp stench of the stoneback caverns. Abby yawned, stretching her arms. Lucia padded beside them tail high, fur glinting like obsidian in the light.

  They barely had time to exchange greetings with the guards before two figures approached from the square. Petros walked quickly, coat unbuttoned and journal in hand, Tina a few steps behind, clutching her slate pad to her chest.

  “Asil!” Petros called, his voice carrying an urgency that made her slow. “You’re back sooner than expected.”

  “Dungeon cleared,” Asil replied, her tone brisk but her stride steady. “We’ll debrief in the office.”

  Petros nodded, though his sharp eyes flicked to Tina. The woman’s expression was grim enough that even Abby took notice.

  As they reached the administrative building, the rhythm of the city softened behind them. The office was still warm from the early fires; the faint scent of parchment and tea clung to the air.

  Lucia lay near the door as Asil and Abby took their seats, Petros standing at the window while Tina remained by the table, fingers tightening on her slate.

  “First things first,” Asil said, producing the small crystalline fragment wrapped in cloth. “The stoneheart core fragment from the southern dungeon. The description called it a stabilizer, can power siege runes or forge bonded weapons.”

  Petros took the offered loot and placed it into his inventory for later analysis before Asil continued.

  “Then there was Grant…” Asil paused, unsure how to start this conversation.

  Petros raised a brow. “Grant?”

  Asil exchanged a look with Abby. “Dungeon Master. Gnome, or looked like one. Claimed he and other dungeon masters were trapped when the Shadow Realm breached Aerothane a thousand years ago.”

  Tina froze mid-scribble. “A thousand years?”

  “That’s what he said,” Asil replied. “Before the Great Disconnect. Before the high mages of Aerothane cut off the Source. The people of Aerothane were at war with the Demon God and the denizens of the Shadow Realm for a millennium before they cut off the source.”

  For a long moment, no one spoke. The hum of Myriad panels along the walls filled the silence.

  Petros finally exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “If that’s true… then this Grant predates every known iteration of Myriad. The old scholars theorized that the disconnect was to prevent further expansion of the Shadow Realm, which barely held until our… Jack’s inference of banishing the Demon God, along with the old magic of Aerothane to Earth thus sealing off the Shadow Ream. But this..” he referred to Asil’s revelation about an Aerothanean mage opening the rift between Aerothane and the Shadow Realm “...suggests someone tampered long before that.”

  Asil leaned back, recalling the Dungeon Master’s words. ‘Some dumb mage thought they could tap into a neighboring dimension.’ The phrase had seemed like offhand bitterness at the time, but the more she replayed it, the heavier it felt.

  “If that mage existed,” she said quietly, “then they didn’t just open a door, they reshaped Aerothane. The rift might not have been an accident at all.”

  Abby frowned. “You think it was deliberate?”

  “I think,” Asil said, “someone tried to seize what wasn’t meant for mortals.”

  Petros folded his arms. “Which raises the question, why mention it now? Why tell you?”

  Before Asil could respond, Tina stepped forward, slate clutched tight. “Because something is already happening.”

  All eyes turned to her.

  Tina set the device on the table. Lines of light rippled across its surface, forming columns of numbers and shifting runic patterns. “These are the updated resource and mana ledgers for the southern quadrant. I cross-verified them with Myriad’s logistics logs last night. They don’t match.”

  Abby leaned forward. “Meaning?”

  “Meaning,” Tina said, “that shipments of refined mana-crystals, food reserves, and construction metals have disappeared. Completely. Not stolen from warehouses, deleted from Myriad’s own records. I can detect resonance traces where the entries should exist, but someone altered them from the inside.”

  Petros straightened, voice sharp. “You’re certain it’s not corruption from the dungeon bleed?”

  “I thought that too, but the timing doesn’t line up,” Tina said. “The anomalies started before you sent the wolves south. And they aren’t just resources.” She tapped another line of glowing text. “Certain patrol routes were reassigned through restricted sectors. Routes we never approved. Someone with mid-tier access is rewriting the administrative ledger.”

  Asil’s brow furrowed. “That would take Class clearance.”

  Tina nodded. “And a detailed understanding of how Myriad links to the city’s physical wards. Whoever’s doing this isn’t just a thief; they know how to manipulate the network.”

  The air in the room thickened. Petros began pacing, muttering to himself. Abby’s hand drifted toward the hilt of her dagger, a nervous habit.

  Asil studied the numbers. “Do we have suspects?”

  Tina hesitated. “Not yet. But there’s one more thing. The falsified entries contain mana signatures that don’t match any known Anjelican architecture. I compared them to guild patterns, even to Eamon’s old spellwork, they’re… alien.”

  Petros stopped pacing. “Shadow resonance?”

  “Possibly. But not pure. It’s… blended, like Myriad’s trying to overwrite the corruption and failing.”

  That landed like a stone in the pit of Asil’s stomach.

  “Which means,” Petros said grimly, “if this continues, Myriad’s entire interface with the city could destabilize.”

  Abby looked from one to the other. “So what do we do?”

  Asil rose from her seat, the decision forming before the question finished. “We call the community council. Every department head, every guild lead, every outworlder rep. If someone’s tampering with Myriad, it’s not staying quiet.”

  Tina frowned. “Asil, are you sure? If we expose this too soon, ”

  “Then at least the right people will be watching,” Asil said firmly. “No more whispers in the dark.”

  Petros nodded reluctantly. “I’ll notify Eamon and prepare the ledgers.”

  Tina exhaled, tension visible in her shoulders. “I’ll bring everything I have, charts, resonance maps, even the fragments’ readings.”

  Abby smiled faintly. “Guess we’re skipping breakfast again.”

  Asil’s lips twitched. “Add it to the list.”

  She moved to the window overlooking the city as the first council bells began to ring. Workers paused in the streets below, turning toward the sound that signaled another assembly.

  The sunlight bathed Anjelica’s towers in gold, beautiful and fragile all at once.

  “Let’s find out,” Asil murmured, “how deep this goes.”

  The town’s council chamber was alive with the hum of voices long before Asil arrived. The room beneath Anjelica’s spire had always been a place of purpose, smooth stone, crystalline conduits glowing softly with Myriad’s pulse, and a long circular table meant to symbolize unity. Today, that symbolism felt hollow.

  Petros stood near the far end, already locked in a quiet but sharp exchange with Captain Rion of the Wardens. Abby leaned against the wall, arms folded, watching the council members file in: merchants, guild heads, research directors, community liaisons, and outworlder representatives, all faces drawn and wary.

  When Asil entered, the conversation died into murmurs. She didn’t bother with formality; the situation was far beyond the need for ceremony.

  “Let’s begin,” she said, taking her seat. “We have a problem.”

  Tina stepped forward, her slate projecting the holographic ledgers in rippling light above the table. Rows of figures and runic sigils rotated slowly, shifting colors as she spoke.

  “Asil asked me to recheck Myriad’s administrative logs. These are the supply ledgers for the southern quadrants and the patrol routes from the last two rotations. As you can see…” she pointed, and the figures blinked red “...entries are missing. Mana-crystals, food, metals, all deleted or rerouted.”

  A wave of murmurs filled the chamber.

  Captain Rion’s gravelly voice cut through them. “Could it be an error from the new dungeon surge?”

  Petros shook his head. “No. The deletion patterns are deliberate. Myriad’s trying to overwrite them and failing.”

  “And that means,” Asil said evenly, “someone inside this city is tampering with the system.”

  The words landed like a spark in dry grass.

  Councilor Mareth, an older Aerothanian man, spoke up first. “So, another phantom thief? You’ve blamed ‘tampering’ before when supplies ran thin. Perhaps Myriad favors your kind too much to track its own mistakes.”

  The implication drew a ripple through the outworlder representatives. Abby’s eyes narrowed.

  “My kind?” she said.

  Mareth didn’t flinch. “You outworlders. You walk into our lands, take command of our cities, drain our mana stores to feed your experiments, and call it protection.”

  Abby stepped forward before Asil raised a hand to steady her.

  “This city,” Asil said coolly, “was built by both Aerothanians and outworlders. Every wall you stand behind, every light that burns at night, Myriad holds it all together. Without unity, we fall.”

  Councilor Veya, a younger outworlder mage, interjected. “Unity is idealistic. We’re weeks from another overflow if the dungeon mapping doesn’t continue. We should be sending scouting teams, not wasting time on ledgers.”

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Captain Rion slammed his fist against the table. “And leave us open to a possible raid from Freedom? You’d rather chase dungeons than reinforce our walls?”

  The room erupted.

  Voices collided, some demanding better defense, others demanding exploration. Myriad’s glow along the chamber walls flickered faintly, as though reflecting the discord.

  Petros leaned toward Tina and muttered, “They’re doing Freedom’s work for them.”

  Tina nodded grimly. “I think that’s the point. Someone’s feeding these divisions.”

  Asil caught fragments of the debate, the words “refugee overflow,” “resource theft,” “foreign favoritism.” Each accusation fanned the fire higher.

  Finally, she stood, voice cutting through the noise like a blade.

  “Enough.”

  The chamber fell silent.

  “I understand your fears. But this isn’t about native or outworlder, soldier or scholar. This is about survival. Myriad is being compromised, and the timing is too precise to be a coincidence.”

  Councilor Mareth folded his arms. “Or perhaps it’s punishment for playing gods.”

  Petros bristled. “You’d rather tear down everything Asil and Jack built than face what’s actually coming?”

  “Jack,” another voice sneered from the far end, “isn’t here to defend himself. And all we ever hear of Freedom’s plots comes from his reports. Has anyone seen proof? Or are we chasing ghosts because your absent hero told us to?”

  The silence that followed was razor-sharp.

  Abby’s voice was soft but edged with warning. “You didn’t hear the things Freedom promised to do to the Aerothanians. Don’t treat his name like gossip.”

  Tina looked to Asil, eyes asking whether to end this. But Asil knew ending it wasn’t the same as solving it.

  She took a breath. “Warren is almost ready to receive overflow from the Anjelica,” she said, redirecting the conversation. “Its governors, Gideon and Cressa, have pledged housing and production support. We’ll start transferring refugees there within the month.”

  A murmur of approval spread through the Aerothanian side of the table, until Councilor Mareth spoke again. “And you’ll send our people first, I assume? Aerothanians to Aerothanians?”

  Asil’s gaze hardened. “No. We’ll send whoever’s ready first, regardless of where they were born.”

  The table fractured again. A few nodded in support; others muttered curses. The divide was no longer subtle; it was visible, etched across every face.

  Petros exhaled, his tone low. “They’re playing us. Freedom doesn’t need to invade. They just need to make us doubt each other.”

  “And it’s working,” Tina whispered.

  Asil scanned the council chamber, her people, divided by fear. The sound of voices echoed like distant thunder. She stood again, her tone final.

  “This session is adjourned until further notice. Petros, compile the ledgers: Tina, double security on Myriad’s access layers. Abby, coordinate the refugee intake with Warren. We reconvene once we have facts, not rumors.”

  One by one, the councilors rose, still muttering.

  As the chamber emptied, Petros lingered beside her. “If this is what they can do with words,” he said quietly, “imagine what they’ll do when they move.”

  Asil looked up at the faint Myriad glyph pulsing along the ceiling, a heartbeat that no longer felt in sync.

  “We’ll need to send word to Hajill and Warren,” she said. “They should be prepared, the overflow may come sooner than expected.”

  “Everyone here knows how the journals work,” Lucy began, pacing before a semicircle of wide-eyed recruits. “During orientation, you were each issued a static map.”

  Before her sat eleven trainees, a mix of native Aerothanians and newly arrived outworlders, some clutching their journals like precious relics, others trying to look unimpressed. The morning light glinted off armor, robes, and weapons that still carried the scent of the forge.

  “The static map,” Lucy continued, “is different from the one in your journal. The journal’s map only covers about one square kilometer around you; it updates as you explore and keeps you centered. The static maps, however…” she lifted a rolled parchment from her satchel, “…are painstakingly copied from a master record. They show where monsters spawn, what levels they tend to be, and where you absolutely should not go.”

  A wave of excited murmurs rippled through the class, the sound of reckless ambition brewing. Lucy bit back a smile. She knew these types. Half of them were ex-gamers from Earth, the other half overconfident Aerothanian youths who thought a few skills made them immortal.

  “Rest assured…” she started, then stopped when only two of them looked up. “Rest assured!” she repeated, this time projecting like a commander. The chatter died instantly. “We want you to explore, but we also want you alive to tell the tale. Finish the basics course, and take an experienced guide with you. The forest looks friendly from here…” she gestured east toward the green expanse beyond Anjelica’s walls “...but it’s not. It eats cocky recruits for breakfast.”

  The group laughed nervously. They were seated in a grassy field beside a small park on Anjelica’s east side. From the hill, they could see the rear of the town square, bakeries venting warm bread-scented air, half-built shops opening shutters for the day. Civilization and wilderness, side by side, divided by a single gate.

  “I’m not trying to scare you,” Lucy said, softening her tone. “I’m excited to get you out there myself. We’ve got plenty of certified guides, and you’ll be split into groups of five. If you don’t have a full team yet, there’s a recruitment board, or you can request an assigned party.”

  That earned a few relieved sighs. She nodded approvingly. “Early levels are for figuring yourselves out, learning your Classes, testing your skills. But once you’re past that? Start thinking about your family, your long-term team. People you trust to watch your back when things get rough.”

  That word, family, quieted them.

  Lucy smiled. “And you’ll want that family soon. Because I’ve got good news.”

  Eleven heads lifted.

  “Dungeons have been discovered.”

  The reaction was immediate: cheers, gasps, and one very loud “YES!” from a young dwarf who clearly thought he was already invincible. Lucy raised both hands until the noise tapered off.

  “This means…” she started, but stopped mid-sentence. Juliet, one of the newer outworlders, was staring off into space, her expression unfocused. The telltale sign of someone using the chat skill. Lucy folded her arms.

  “Julie,” she said sharply. “No mental chats during class.”

  Juliet blinked, cheeks reddening. “Sorry, ma’am, I mean, Lucy. But… is it true the committee’s planning to ship all the Aerothanians in Anjelica to Warren?”

  The question dropped like a stone in still water. Even the wind seemed to pause.

  Lucy froze for a heartbeat, then exhaled slowly. “Where did you hear that?”

  “A friend. From logistics. Said it’s already being discussed.”

  A dozen expectant faces turned toward her. Lucy straightened, her tone even but firm. “Listen carefully. Even if Warren is preparing to accept settlers, half the committee members are Aerothanian. They would never vote to segregate their own people. And Asil Hart?” Her voice gained heat. “Asil would never allow it. She’s fought harder than anyone to build a city where both our worlds stand side by side.”

  That conviction carried weight. Lucy believed every word, and she knew the rumors had teeth because they scared people into doubting that unity.

  The tension bled from the group by degrees, replaced by quiet nods and murmured agreement. Lucy decided not to push the subject further.

  “Alright,” she said finally, clapping her hands once. “We’ll adjourn for today. Tomorrow, you’ll report in your assigned groups. The Variant Quadrant’s been cleared and sanctioned for leveling, new mobs, fresh zones.”

  Excitement flickered again as they began to pack up, the earlier unease fading under the promise of adventure.

  Lucy watched them go, her eyes drifting toward the forest stretching between Anjelica and Hajill, nearly three hundred and fifty kilometers of dense woodlands, broken into zones across more than three thousand square kilometers of wilderness. Each region was cataloged, leveled, and mapped by Myriad itself.

  The “Variant Quadrant,” her next destination, was the most unpredictable of them all, a patchwork of ecosystems where no two spawns were ever the same.

  She took one last look toward the skyline of Anjelica, the city gleaming in the morning sun, and felt the faint weight of foreboding settle in her chest.

  Rumors had a way of becoming movements.

  And movements had a way of burning cities.

  Lucy made her way down the quiet streets toward her home on the outskirts of Anjelica. Lanterns flickered along the cobblestone lanes, their glow mingling with the low hum of Myriad’s ambient wards. Her stomach growled; she’d skipped lunch again.

  She stopped at the mess hall long enough to grab a to-go meal, consisting of roasted meat, bread, and a mug of cool tea, before continuing home. Too tired for small talk, too drained for company.

  The door swung open to a blessedly empty house. She called out just in case.

  “Anyone home?”

  Silence.

  Her shoulders relaxed. “Perfect. Tub’s mine tonight.”

  Setting her food on the table, she peeled off her armor piece by piece until she was down to her undershirt and trousers. Between bites of meat, she stretched her legs and sighed.

  “Gods, I wish we had a radio,” she muttered. “Something besides my own humming to drown out the silence.”

  The words had barely left her mouth when the shadows by the wall moved.

  A dark figure lunged from the corner, fast, silent, deliberate. Reflex overtook thought. Lucy flipped backward, summoning her short sword in a flash of blue light. The intruder rushed past her, not attacking, but slapping a slip of parchment against the door. The paper flared with runic fire and disintegrated, leaving behind a faintly glowing sigil.

  The figure spun.

  “Abby?” Lucy exhaled, lowering her sword. “Stars above, you scared the hells out of me.”

  “Sorry for the theatrics,” Abby said, her tone unapologetic but her eyes sharp. “Didn’t want to be seen meeting with you.” She nodded toward the glowing rune. “Sound ward. No one can listen in, not even through Myriad.”

  Lucy dismissed her sword, the weapon fading into motes of blue light. “You could’ve just knocked,” she grumbled, collapsing onto the couch.

  Abby pulled a chair from the dining table, flipped it around, and straddled it backward. “Do you know when your team will be back?”

  “Not for another hour. I am fairly sure they are at the mess,” Lucy said, eyeing her dinner with longing.

  Abby sighed; she’d been hoping to catch them all. Then a glint of mischief crossed her face.

  “First, and you’re going to like this, one of our rune teams has been experimenting with resonance crystals. They think they can make them play music.”

  Lucy blinked, then laughed. “You’re joking.”

  “No joke,” Abby said, grinning. “Still primitive, but they’re close.”

  The levity faded just as quickly as it had come. Abby leaned forward, her tone shifting.

  “Second, and this is why I’m here, have you heard the rumors about the Aerothanian population?”

  Lucy nodded slowly. “One of my recruits asked about it today. Something about sending the locals to Warren?”

  “Exactly.” Abby’s jaw tightened. “We believe agents of Freedom are behind it. They’re seeded through the city, traders, workers, and even adventurers. They’re spreading lies, turning outworlders against natives, painting Asil’s policies as favoritism.”

  Lucy frowned. “So Warren isn’t taking them?”

  “Partly true,” Abby admitted. “Warren’s nearly ready to open, but there’s no segregation planned. We’re preparing to migrate new arrivals there to reduce the strain here. Builders, crafters, volunteers, all working to expand it while maintaining anchor connections.”

  She paused, then continued. “Petros and Eamon are finishing two more portal crystal sets. Once the anchor’s active, we’ll begin phased transfers, a mix of volunteer assignments and lottery selections. Warren can house four hundred, maybe five hundred, once the new ring is complete.”

  Lucy nodded. “That’ll take pressure off Anjelica.”

  “Exactly. But if the wrong people twist the story, it becomes something else, accusations of forced relocation, of betrayal.” Abby’s voice dropped to a whisper. “That’s how Freedom works. They don’t fight wars; they corrode trust.”

  Lucy’s hand tightened around her mug. “So what do you need from me?”

  Abby hesitated, then gave a small, tired smile. “We need ears we can trust. Yours, and your team’s if they’re willing. No uniforms, no authority. Just quiet eyes on the street. Find out who’s fueling these rumors, and whether they’re working alone.”

  A subtle tremor stirred in Lucy’s mind, a familiar sensation that wasn’t quite physical but felt like one. The faint mental vibration pulsed from where her journal rested in her bag of holding, resonating through her awareness.

  A new page formed in her mind’s eye, not words before her, but a clear impression of them, as if her subconscious were turning the pages itself:

  Whispers in the Dark

  The leadership of Anjelica has tasked you with uncovering those spreading dissent among the city’s people.

  Seek the truth quietly. Report only to Asil or Abby.

  Accept? Yes / No

  Lucy didn’t hesitate. She pulled the journal from her bag, flipped it open, and circled Yes with her quill.

  Abby caught the faraway look in her eyes and smiled faintly. “Didn’t even need to ask, did I?”

  Lucy grinned back. “You already knew the answer.”

  The sound ward on the door began to fade, the glowing rune dimming to nothing. Abby rose, straightening her cloak.

  “I knew I could count on you,” she said quietly. “Be careful, Lucy. Freedom’s agents are clever, and they’re listening.”

  When Abby stepped back into the shadows, the room fell silent again. Only the faint hum of Myriad remained.

  Lucy leaned back on the couch, journal still in her lap, staring at the empty doorway. The smell of ozone lingered in the air.

  She sighed. “So much for that bath.”