Chapter Fifteen
Shadows Beneath the Dawn
The first light of dawn barely touched the sky when they stepped out of the cave. Cold morning mist clung to the forest floor, and the fresh air outside felt too quiet—too still.
Kael sensed it before he saw them.
Fifteen hooded men waited ahead, standing in complete silence across the narrow woodland path. Their cloaks were coarse and travel-worn, but all bore the same glint of silver at their chests—brooches fashioned in the shape of a lion devouring a sun. Kael's eyes narrowed. The exact same symbol the bandit boss had worn on his blood-stained scarf.
The men stood without formation, their feet shackled in iron rings. And yet, their movements weren't hindered. There was something unnatural about it—like puppets given precise instructions.
One of them tilted his head as his gaze passed over the group. His voice cut the silence like a knife through linen.
"Beast-kin."
Zerai, who had been walking with a casual slouch, stopped mid-step. A faint pulse of static flickered along his skin. He cracked his knuckles one by one and clicked his tongue.
"Should've stayed in the cave," he muttered, lowering into a low stance.
Lightning flickered to life around his forearms, weaving in thin arcs up his veins. His body became taut with stored energy, each muscle poised like a coiled spring.
Kael stepped beside him, drawing his blade with steady calm. Behind them, Mara shifted protectively in front of the rescued hostages, her arms spread slightly to shield Ilya and the others. Arden stood further back, leaning heavily on a tree trunk. His robes were torn and stained with blood, but his breathing was more even now, thanks to the glowing potion bottle he'd downed earlier. The torn flesh along his ribs had knit together just enough to let him stand without collapsing.
For a heartbeat, neither side moved. A single spark crackled from Zerai's wrist and vanished in the air.
Then came the sound—a low, sonorous trumpet call from deep in the forest. The cry of a war horn. Regal, somber, and far too close.
One of the hooded figures stiffened. "Young prince," he said, voice tight. "That was—"
"I know," interrupted their leader. He stepped forward, his hood falling back just enough to reveal sharp features and a look of cold disdain. His eyes locked on Kael, then drifted briefly to Zerai.
"You got lucky," he said flatly. "We remember your faces."
Without waiting for a response, the group turned as one and withdrew—silent, graceful, vanishing into the trees like ghosts. No rustling. No trace. Just the wind, rising softly through the branches above.
For a long moment, no one moved.
Then Kael slowly exhaled, lowering his blade. Mara relaxed slightly, her hand dropping from the hilt of her sword. Zerai straightened with a scoff, the lightning fading from his skin like smoke after a storm.
"Who the hell were they?" Mara asked under her breath.
"Same crest," Kael murmured, holding up the bloodstained scarf he'd kept. "They were with the bandits."
"No," Arden said from behind them, voice low and grim. "They weren't with them. They were above them."
Kael turned. "What do you mean?"
"The syndicate," Arden said, wiping a bit of dried blood from his chin. "The ones pulling strings. You just saw a glimpse."
---
The path led them down from the cave's shadowed cliffside into softer terrain. The trees thinned. Mist gave way to gentle light. And eventually, the road widened into rutted dirt paths lined with faded markers.
The village rose in the distance—low stone walls, thatched roofs, and smoke drifting from chimneys still waking to morning.
By the time they arrived, the sun had fully crested the hills. Their feet ached, their clothes were torn, and Kael's sword arm throbbed with old bruises—but they had made it. The hostages walked in silence behind them, still shaken, still tired, but alive.
At the village gates, a woman sprinted forward.
"Ilya!" she cried.
Ilya broke from Mara's side and ran into her mother's arms, sobbing. The other villagers followed, pouring from homes and gathering near the road. Murmurs rose like wildfire—astonished gasps, cries of relief, but no cheering. Only wary eyes turned toward Kael and the others.
The village elder approached them, flanked by two guards carrying old iron spears. His robe was simple, his beard long, and his expression unreadable.
"You brought them back," he said at last. "All of them."
"We did," Kael replied. "They were kept in the cave. We cleared it."
The elder's eyes swept over the dried blood on Kael's tunic, the deep cuts along Arden's robes, the burns on Mara's boots. His expression hardened.
"That cave is cursed," he said. "So we've been told."
Kael said nothing. Neither did Mara or Zerai.
One of the watchmen picked up the bloodied scarf Kael had tied to his belt. "What is this symbol?"
"A crest," Kael said. "The bandit boss wore it."
The man studied it carefully. "That's no local mark."
"I've never seen it among any caravan houses," the elder murmured. "And it's not a guild emblem."
"But there are whispers," one villager muttered. "Of a group. Not just bandits. A network."
"A syndicate," the elder said finally. "Said to be led by someone with real power—though no one knows their name. Only their symbol. That lion… devouring the sun."
The villagers fell silent at that.
---
Later that day, Kael sat beneath a wooden awning, nursing a bruised arm. Mara helped tend to the hostages while Zerai, restless as always, paced like a caged panther near the well. Arden sat nearby, freshly bandaged and drinking herbal broth.
"You let them capture you," Kael said quietly.
Arden gave a tired smile. "I needed to get inside. I knew they were connected."
"To who?"
"My apprentice," he said. "She went missing three months ago while scouting ahead. We were headed to Velmora to meet someone—someone hiding in the city's depths. They might know where she is."
Kael and Mara exchanged a look.
"The labyrinth," Kael said.
Arden's eyes flickered with surprise. "You know it?"
"An old woman," Mara said. "Lives there. Sees things others don't."
"Then we're heading the same way after all."
---
By evening, the group had found food and rest. A local stablemaster—grateful after discovering his grandson among the rescued—offered them a ride the next morning: a hay-laden cart bound for Velmora. It wasn't fast, but it was better than walking.
They accepted.
That night, they stayed in the village, watching the stars wheel overhead while children whispered stories of heroes around cooking fires. The villagers didn't fully trust them—but they gave them space. That was enough.
---
Far away, in Velmora's towering guild hall, a lone receptionist stared at an open parchment on her desk.
"Still no sign…" she whispered, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear.
Kael. Mara. Missing from a simple assignment.
She stood, walking to the window as dawn light touched the city walls. In the distance, the Labyrinth Tower cast its long shadow across the street below.
Something was stirring beneath the surface.
---
The next morning, Kael, Mara, Zerai, and Arden climbed onto the back of the hay cart as the sun broke over the fields.
The road to Velmora stretched ahead—golden and long.
And in the quiet hours of dawn, with wheels creaking beneath them and the wind beginning to stir, none of them said it aloud.
But all of them knew:
Something was waiting for them in the city.
Something deep.
Something dark.
And it was no longer sleeping.
As the cart rumbled forward, the woman who had claimed Ilya with such fierce protectiveness appeared beside them, walking up from the village gate. Ilya stood at her side, clutching a small basket with both hands. The child stepped forward shyly, offering each of them a corked bottle wrapped in linen. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice soft but steady. "For saving me. For saving everyone." They accepted the gifts—bottles of creamy milk, warm to the touch and faintly sweet-smelling. Along the road, they each took a sip, expecting nothing more than refreshment. But in seconds, the tension bled from their bodies, aches vanishing, bruises fading, wounds sealing with a gentle warmth. Even Arden blinked in surprise. "Elven brewing," he said with a chuckle, watching the last of the stiffness leave his limbs. "That kid was an elf. Adopted by that lady—it wasn't her true daughter all along."
Continue to Chapter XVI...