The hours dragged into the deep hush of night. The faint hum of arcane wards embedded in the cell bars became Matrim’s only company as he paced the confines of his stone prison. The Bastion above was quiet now. Even the usual shuffle of guards had thinned, replaced by the silence that fell over Silvermoon after curfew.

  Matrim stopped at the window slit and stared up at the fragment of moonlight that bled through. His breath misted slightly in the chill. He could feel it again—the pull beneath his feet. A faint, rhythmic pulse, like the heartbeat of something buried far below the city.

  He pressed his palms against the wall. It’s stronger now.

  The door at the far end of the corridor creaked open, quiet but deliberate.

  He turned sharply as the crimson-eyed Guardian emerged from the shadows, this time hooded, her movements cloaked in silence. She approached with slow, measured steps, a keyring glinting faintly in her hand.

  “Quiet,” she said, voice just above a whisper.

  Matrim said nothing as she stopped in front of the cell, unlocking it with swift precision. The click of the mechanism echoed softly, unnervingly loud in the stillness.

  “You’re sure about this?” he asked, voice low.

  “I shouldn’t be,” she replied, pushing the door open. Her crimson eyes searched his face for a flicker of deception, but there was only grim resolve. “But I can’t ignore it anymore.”

  Matrim stepped forward, rubbing his sore wrists as she unlocked the manacles and shoved them back into a pouch on her belt.

  “Why trust me now?” he asked.

  “I don’t,” she replied bluntly. “But I trust what I felt under the Gardens less.”

  Matrim smirked faintly but said nothing.

  “Follow closely,” she instructed. “There are patrols.”

  Together, they slipped through the empty corridor. Matrim noticed how much more careful she was now, avoiding loose floorstones, sticking to the darker seams of the hallway. She moved like a blade in the dark—precise, sharp, silent. She’s done this before.

  They ascended narrow stairwells and passed through maintenance passages hidden behind wall tapestries. Every so often, she’d pause at a corner, listening for bootsteps in the distance before signaling Matrim forward.

  The tension built with every step. The Bastion, though carved of stone, seemed to press in on them as they wove through its veins like shadows. Matrim’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, but his muscles stayed coiled, ready for the wrong turn or a stray Guardian who might appear.

  Stolen story; please report.

  “Where are we headed?” he whispered.

  “Out,” she replied curtly, keeping her voice low. “And to where the leyline flows are strongest.”

  His heart pounded—not out of fear, but out of anticipation. Finally.

  They reached a narrow service door tucked behind an unused armory. Beyond it, the cool air of the night greeted them like an old friend. The city lay ahead, bathed in soft moonlight and cloaked in an uneasy quiet.

  They moved quickly through one of the less-patrolled districts near the Bastion’s southern edge. From the rooftops, Silvermoon stretched out before them—a labyrinth of shining spires and glowing wards beneath the stars. It was breathtaking, but Matrim could feel the underlying tension pulsing in the streets below.

  “You’ve done this before,” Matrim remarked quietly, keeping pace beside her as they skirted a ledge.

  She shot him a sharp look but didn’t deny it.

  “Is this standard procedure for freeing prisoners from the council’s cells?” he pressed.

  “Don’t push your luck,” she said, but there was a glint of something else in her eyes. Not amusement, but a crack in the armor. The briefest flash of humanity beneath all the duty and stone-faced command.

  They dropped into a narrow alleyway, slipping between market stalls left empty under the watchful wards that glimmered overhead.

  Finally, they reached a secluded courtyard near the edge of the Veiled Gardens. Here, the leyline pulse beneath Matrim’s feet swelled like a storm about to break. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end.

  The Guardian slowed, turning toward him. “This is where it gets complicated.”

  “I’m listening,” Matrim replied, watching her carefully.

  She stepped closer, lowering her hood. “The leyline beneath this district is weaker than it should be. Something is draining it.”

  Matrim exhaled slowly. “Like what you found in the Gardens.”

  Her jaw tensed. “Yes. And if it continues to spread, it won’t just drain magic. It will rot Silvermoon from within.”

  Matrim nodded. “And you think I’m somehow connected to this.”

  “I think you’re more connected than you realize,” she admitted.

  They stood beneath a crumbling archway, the wind rustling leaves overhead. For a long, quiet moment, neither spoke. The hum beneath their feet grew stronger, rhythmic, as if something deep below the city was listening to them.

  “You said others have felt this pull before,” Matrim said. “What happened to them?”

  Her crimson eyes darkened. “They vanished.”

  Matrim let the silence linger, then nodded. “Then let’s make sure we don’t.”

  She didn’t smile, but her stance shifted—less guarded, more... determined. “Follow me,” she said.

  Before they could move, a faint metallic clatter echoed from the other side of the courtyard.

  Matrim instinctively pressed against the nearest wall, hand reaching for the hilt of a blade that wasn’t there. The Guardian drew her weapon in one fluid motion, golden runes igniting faintly along the blade’s edge.

  From the shadows, a pair of armored figures emerged—Guardians on late patrol. Their cloaks billowed faintly as they scanned the courtyard, eyes sharp beneath their helms.

  “We need to move,” she whispered.

  Matrim’s pulse quickened, but he stayed pressed to the wall. No good paths. If they spot us—

  The Guardians advanced closer, voices hushed but clear.

  “I thought you said the wards were stable tonight,” one said, scanning the shadows.

  “They were. But something’s off,” the other replied. “Feels like something’s bleeding into the flow.”

  Matrim exchanged a glance with the woman beside him.

  They can feel it too.

  The Guardian beside him made a choice. She took a sharp breath, then whispered, “I’ll distract them. You slip past and stay in the Garden’s lower grove. There’s a stone well near the center—meet me there.”

  Before Matrim could argue, she moved. Silent, precise.

  The sound of steel shifting against stone lured the patrol’s attention away, giving Matrim the gap he needed.

  Without wasting another second, he darted through the alleyway toward the garden’s deeper grove, heart pounding as the leyline beneath his feet pulsed stronger with every step.