The Bastion’s eastern wing was quiet as dusk settled over Silvermoon. The fading light outside painted the stone halls in long bands of gold and violet. In a small armory tucked behind the training grounds, Matrim strapped on worn leather pauldrons, tightening the buckles with practiced precision.

  Narianna stood across from him, adjusting the fastenings on her enchanted armor. Gone was the ceremonial polish of her daytime attire—this gear was meant for the unknown.

  “You’re quiet,” she said, voice calm but pointed.

  Matrim cinched the final strap of his bracer, glancing up. “Thinking.”

  “About the council?”

  “No,” he replied. “About the well.”

  Narianna paused, crimson eyes narrowing. “You felt it again, didn’t you? Stronger.”

  Matrim nodded. “It’s not just calling anymore.” He flexed his fingers, feeling the faint buzz of magic dancing beneath his skin. “It’s expecting me.”

  She turned to retrieve her blade, sliding it into a dark leather sheath across her back. “We descend tonight. No distractions.”

  Matrim smirked faintly. “You make it sound like I’m going to run off chasing visions.”

  Her tone remained even. “If what’s waiting beneath Silvermoon is half as dangerous as what you felt in the Gardens, we don’t have room for mistakes.”

  He leaned against a support beam. “What if we’re walking into a trap? The Court’s already set roots in the ley lines.”

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  Narianna’s eyes darkened. “We don’t have a choice. If the Court reaches the well before we do, they’ll use it to poison the entire city.”

  Matrim’s chest tightened. “You think they’re that close?”

  “I know they are,” she replied. “And the council’s politics are buying them time.”

  Matrim watched her carefully as she checked the edge of her sword. “You’ve been preparing for this.”

  Her expression softened for just a heartbeat. “I’ve been waiting for this.”

  Before he could press her further, she moved toward a small side table, unrolling a worn parchment. It displayed an intricate map of the leyline currents beneath Silvermoon—the pathways few Guardians ever saw.

  “This leads directly beneath the Veiled Gardens,” she said, tapping the faded ink near the map’s center. “The well sits atop a leyline nexus. It’s older than the Sunwell, older than even the first Guardians’ records.”

  Matrim stepped closer, tracing the lines with his eyes. “And you think that’s what’s pulling at me?”

  “I know it is,” Narianna replied. “The energy from the surge you triggered last night was drawn directly from this nexus.”

  Matrim’s brow furrowed. “So, I’m connected to this city in a way even you don’t fully understand.”

  Her silence confirmed it.

  He exhaled. “What happens when we get down there?”

  “We find the source of the pull—and the corruption,” she said. “And we sever it.”

  Matrim smirked grimly. “That simple, huh?”

  A faint glimmer of amusement flickered in her eyes. “It never is.”

  As they finished gathering their gear, Matrim reached for the hilt of a borrowed short sword hanging nearby. Its edge was clean, but it lacked the personal weight of his usual blade.

  “I’ll need something better soon,” he muttered.

  Narianna nodded. “When this is over, I’ll see to it.”

  They stood in silence for a brief moment, then Narianna spoke quietly. “This isn’t just about Silvermoon, Matrim. Whatever is beneath that well... it’s older than both of us.”

  He felt it too—the weight of history pressing down on them. The feeling that the closer they got to the nexus, the more fragile everything above it would become.

  “Then we go tonight,” he said firmly.

  She gave a curt nod. “We move at moonrise.”

  As the final light of the sun faded beyond the spires of Silvermoon, Matrim and Narianna prepared to step beneath the surface—toward the pull, the corruption, and the truth that could unravel the city itself.