Chapter Nineteen
Beneath the Shroud
Vorn stood beneath the shadowed archway of his private chamber, eyes fixed on the flickering lanternlight swaying from the iron hook above. The walls, layered with blackened stone and veiled in hanging drapes, swallowed sound like a tomb. His fingers drummed the armrest of a carved chair, tension coiled in his shoulders.
The quiet steps that approached were unmistakable. Vorn didn't look up.
"You took your time," he said flatly.
Zerai stepped into the chamber without apology. His cloak still carried the scent of blood, smoke, and pine. "The camp's gone. Every trace."
"That camp was a lifeline. Smuggling routes. Warehouses. Dead drops." Vorn stood, his expression darkening. "Do you know how long I've spent cultivating that network? And you let it burn."
"I didn't light the fire," Zerai replied coldly. "We cleaned up a mess. The boy and the girl were involved. I made sure no names were exposed."
"Not good enough." Vorn's voice rose, echoing slightly off the chamber walls. "You brought them into it. You interfered. This wasn't your call."
Zerai's gaze was unwavering. "You told me to protect the flow, keep the Syndicate's—your—hands clean in Velmora. I did. No one knows who was behind the camp. They think it was a rogue gang."
Vorn's mouth twitched. He paced. "You think the organization won't ask questions?"
"They won't. Not if your shipments resume. Shift the routes. Change the symbols." Zerai folded his arms. "And don't pretend this wasn't always risky. You knew what those nobles were doing down there."
Vorn's jaw clenched. He turned his back to Zerai, voice low. "Do you remember where I found you?"
Zerai said nothing.
"A caged arena outside the Blackglass frontier," Vorn continued. "You were a living weapon, owned by a collector who bought slaves for bloodsport. I gave you your freedom."
"You bought me," Zerai corrected, his voice a blade.
"I freed you," Vorn growled. "And in return, you swore to stand beside me until the day the debt was repaid."
Zerai looked away. The lightning in his veins simmered beneath his skin.
Vorn stepped closer. "That deal still stands, Zerai. Don't forget it."
"I haven't," Zerai muttered. "But that doesn't mean I'll watch you burn everything down out of greed."
A silence stretched between them.
Then Vorn laughed bitterly. "Careful, old friend. You speak like you have something left to lose."
Zerai turned and walked toward the door. "Don't break the deal, Vorn. Or all of it will be for nothing."
The door shut behind him.
---
Cold.
That was the first thing Sarya felt after the shock of the fall wore off. Her fingers twitched against a surface she couldn't see. Something sharp scraped against her palm.
She blinked, eyes adjusting slowly. There was no sky above—only an endless canopy of black stone and twisted growths that pulsed faintly with a color she couldn't name. The air was still, unnaturally quiet.
Her scream had echoed when she fell, ripped from her throat as her feet slipped over the pit's rim. One moment, she was scouting ahead—like always—putting distance between herself and Arden's muttering. The next, a false patch of earth gave way beneath her boots, revealing not dirt, but symbols—runes—glowing faintly around the edges of the drop.
And then nothing.
Now, she knelt in a place that felt wrong. It was not Velmora's forests, not its caverns, not even the underground ruins she had studied. This was something else.
Something older.
Sarya rose slowly, pressing one hand to her chest. Her heartbeat was too loud. Her bag was still with her—thank the stars—but some vials had cracked open. The faint tang of crushed herbs mixed with damp stone.
"I'm alive," she whispered to herself. "I'm… alive."
Her voice didn't echo. It was swallowed.
She took a shaky step forward.
The ground beneath her feet shifted slightly—like walking on veins of something breathing. Fungus glowed in patches along the walls, but cast no warmth. There was no wind. No sound.
She pulled a small light crystal from her pouch and tapped it. A faint white glow lit a few feet ahead. As she raised it, the chamber stretched impossibly in all directions. Curved walls, looping bridges, staircases that rose into nothing.
A faint hum filled her ears—not sound, but pressure.
"I need to get out," she muttered. "There has to be a way up."
But no tunnel, no slope, no trace of the pit she fell from.
Her mind reeled. How far had she fallen? How long had she been unconscious? Had Arden heard her scream?
She moved cautiously, every step measured.
She passed a cracked statue—too tall, too thin, with a face carved like it was melting. Its arms were open, as if in welcome or warning. The base bore symbols she couldn't read.
Then she heard it.
A scrape. Like claws against stone.
She spun, lifting her light—but nothing moved.
Still, something was there.
Eyes watching from beyond the veil of shadows, where her light didn't reach.
She swallowed hard.
"I didn't come here to die," she whispered to herself. "I didn't come this far to vanish."
With a clenched jaw, she pressed onward, into the twisting black.
---
Above, far above, the world spun on.
Vorn stood before a covered crate in the back of a locked storeroom, tapping the metal lid. His lips curled in a snarl.
"Three months," he said. "Three months of lost deliveries, whispers, and burned connections."
He looked toward the darkened window, where Velmora's skyline barely pierced the mist.
"Too many eyes," he muttered. "Too many hands reaching where they don't belong."
And yet, he could still feel the deal holding.
A tether of shadow, bound in a promise.
He clenched his fist.
"If this falls apart," he murmured, "even he won't be able to stop what's coming."
Continue to Chapter XX...