Chapter Twenty-One
Threads Beneath the Surface
The quiet hum of the inn's lanterns filled the hallway with a faint, rhythmic buzz as Kael and Mara stepped off the staircase, the familiar scent of aged wood and lavender oil welcoming them back. Kael glanced around out of habit, eyes flicking to the shadowed corners. No one was around.
But someone had already been there.
Inside his room, Zerai sat comfortably on the windowsill, one leg tucked up, his back resting against the frame as if he'd been waiting for hours. A candle flickered on the table nearby, casting long shadows that didn't quite reach the far corners of the room. His sharp eyes met Kael's without flinching.
"You lock your door now," Zerai said mildly, his tone too casual. "That's new. Didn't stop me, of course."
Kael closed the door behind him. "What do you want?" Kael was actually expecting for him to come and provide some explanation towards his behaviour and how he acted when they witnessed Vorn's secret deals during their escort quest back in the trading village.
"To talk," Zerai said, then turned to look out the window. "It's about the Syndicate. I think it's time you knew what I'm really after."
Mara slipped in quietly behind Kael, giving the demi-human a guarded look before settling by the wall, arms folded.
Zerai nodded to her, then continued. "I'm not just here for coin or adventure. I'm hunting someone. A Syndicate rat named Vorn."
Kael frowned. "Vorn? The merchant?"
"That's his cover. But beneath that smile, he deals in darker things—human trafficking, specifically. Years ago, someone close to me... my sister... disappeared. The trail led back to Velmora."
Mara's eyes narrowed. "Why lie until now?"
Zerai's voice dropped. "Because the Syndicate has ears in every wall, Mara. I couldn't risk it until I was sure you two weren't bound to them. And now, with what we've seen..."
Kael sat on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair. "You're saying Vorn's a front for the Syndicate."
"More than that. He's a middle-tier broker. Not the top, but close enough to know names. Places. And I think he's looking for something—or someone.
Silence followed. Then Mara said, quietly, "If you're lying..."
"I'm not," Zerai replied. "But you can believe what you want. I'm still going after him. Thought you should know."
---
While they spoke in the quiet of the inn, another figure walked under the blue-tinted glow of Velmora's moonlit towers.
Arden passed through the outer gates of the city's public archive, breath misting in the cold air. The grand library stood like a vault, with weathered stone pillars and a bronze crest of Velmora etched into its doors. He slipped inside, greeted only by the echo of his own steps.
For hours he combed through leather-bound histories and dusty tomes, fingers trailing across the names of old nobles, ancient councils, and laws that had long since crumbled. But it wasn't until he unearthed a half-forgotten scroll that something clicked.
Teleportation glyphs. Ancient runes linked to the city's lowest depths. Labyrinth chambers hidden far beneath Velmora, used in a time before the Guild had even existed.
A diagram showed converging circles—each marked with an older noble crest. Teleportation wasn't just for travel. These were gates.
And something was still using them.
---
Far from Velmora, beyond the edge of the city's protective stones, mist curled above the surface of a hidden lake. The trees grew sparse and tall here, their pale leaves trembling like they too feared what waited in the water.
Eryndor adjusted the straps of his leather coat and looked across the silent lake. He felt small.
Liora stood beside him, arms crossed, silent as a statue. Her hair was tied back, her expression unreadable. She wore no armor, only a plain tunic and a sheathed blade strapped across her back.
"Remember," she said without turning to him, "this isn't a game. You run, you die. You hesitate, you die."
Eryndor exhaled slowly and unsheathed his sword. Steel whispered against leather.
They waited.
And then the lake exploded.
A mass of scales, water, and sound burst forth—the serpent's form coiling higher than the treetops. Its head split the mist, eyes burning yellow as it roared, a guttural sound that made the stones tremble.
Eryndor moved first.
He sprinted sideways, boots hammering wet rock as the serpent's maw crashed down where he'd stood. His blade came up—not to strike yet, but to measure distance, to bait the thing closer. He slid beneath its next strike, kicking off a stone and dashing forward.
He aimed for the throat.
But the scales there were too thick. His sword rang off them uselessly, sparking as he leapt back, breath ragged. The serpent turned, lashing its tail—he rolled, narrowly dodging the impact that cracked the earth beneath him.
Mud splattered his coat. He clenched his teeth.
Liora hadn't moved.
He gritted his stance, adjusted his grip, and ran straight at it again.
This time, he ducked low, slashing at the joints under its side—where the scales flexed with movement. His blade sank in, shallow but sure, drawing a hiss and a lurch. The creature reared.
Its head dove, and Eryndor braced for the strike. No dodging now.
A blur passed.
Liora.
Her sword was already in motion.
One breath, one strike.
The serpent's head dropped with a crash, severed cleanly, sliding past Eryndor as its body spasmed and went still.
Liora stood without turning. "If you want to survive the Labyrinth," she said, voice cold, "don't just act brave. Learn to finish what you start."
---
Back in Velmora, within the heart of a private estate bearing the sigil of a red thorn, men gathered under the flicker of golden candlelight.
The Kaelthorn family estate buzzed with activity. But none of it looked suspicious—not to the untrained eye.
A line of carriages arrived, each bearing armor-clad men. Officially, they were noble guards—recruited for protection. Privately, they were hired blades. Mercenaries. Killers.
In a shaded meeting hall behind the estate's library, a short man with thinning hair reviewed a parchment.
"Double-check their clearance for the palace," he murmured to a steward. "They'll be needed on the day of the council."
He didn't say more.
The meeting was still weeks away, but the Kaelthorn had already begun positioning their pieces.
And in the distance, bells began to toll.
Velmora was stirring.
Continue to Chapter XXII...