Ember 22, 2999 – Saturday | 3:00 PM
Lena Cordash's Mansion – Inner Ring, Duskhaven
The war table in Lena's strategy room glowed with layered projection grids—facility schematics rotating slowly in a holographic cylinder of blue light. Arcane threads traced every corridor, rune trap, and vault chamber with pinpoint precision.
Dez's voice echoed from the recorded briefing orb mounted on the table:
"Facility's masked as a relic archive. Standard front. But if you look under the glamours—boom. Enchanted smuggling channels, black-market vaults, and about sixteen layered wards.
This thing's older than it looks. Choir used it to funnel untagged magic relics and blood-rich currency through Lower Cirrus."
Shiro leaned over the table's edge, shirtless, tapping the side of the orb with one finger.
"Remind me again—this one we blow up or rob?"
Grakka cracked her knuckles and flexed her shoulders.
"Why not both?"
Lena entered from the vault chamber, heels clicking, carrying a sleek black case. She set it on the table and popped it open.
Inside: an obsidian-core device surrounded by a silver glyph ring, pulsing low with Dez's rune coding.
"He called it the Null Net," Lena said. "Should scramble every alarm system, suppression trap, and charm barrier for at least ten minutes. Enough to get us in. Maybe out."
Zarrah peered into the case. "Is ten minutes all we get?"
Lena smirked. "We're not leaving anyone alive, cherie. Just mopping the floor on our way out."
Shiro's grin widened. "I love y'all when you talk bloody."
⸻
5:00 PM | Upstairs Armory Hall
The girls returned fully suited in stealth gear.
Tight. Sleek. Black-glassweave fitted to their curves like a second skin. Enchanted threads glowed faintly beneath the seams, crafted for silent movement and magical suppression.
Grakka's tribal tattoos flared beneath her chest harness. She tied her ponytail tighter and tested the edge of her Warfang knife.
Zarrah adjusted her enchanted daggers—hilts charmed to absorb blood and silence pain.
Lena wore a skin-hugging shadow-silk suit, its back open just enough to reveal the length of her spine runes. Her heels were replaced with silent sabatons—heavier, deadlier.
Shiro leaned against the doorframe as they walked in.
He said nothing.
Just stared.
Then bit his lip.
Hard.
"Y'all tryna get me caught lackin' before the mission?"
Lena sauntered up, smoothing her gloves.
"Control your thirst, beast. Or we'll chain you up before we leave."
"I might like that."
Grakka smacked his ass with the flat of her blade.
Zarrah winked. "We'll let you watch next time, oui?"
Shiro chuckled. "Y'all better survive this op so I can punish that mouth later."
⸻
7:00 PM | On the Move
They took the Rebu—Lena's enchanted stealth vehicle, sleek as obsidian ice. The streets of Duskhaven blurred by in silence. The red moon still hung ghostlike from the night before, faint behind drifting clouds.
Grakka sat cross-armed. Zarrah hummed a quiet melody. Lena synced the Null Net into her wrist glyph.
"ETA to Cirrus Point: 11 minutes."
Shiro cracked his neck. "Let's make this loud."
Lena smiled faintly. "We'll make it clean first. Then loud."
⸻
8:10 PM | Lower Cirrus Point – Target Facility Rooftop
The team crouched low behind the runed wall of the shipping facility rooftop. Below: guards in subtle armor, enchantment mages running routine scans, and vault doors pulsing with Choir-glyph protections.
But the real danger?
The twins.
Identical elf sisters. Pale hair braided like swords. Eyes hidden beneath silver half-masks. Their robes shimmered with metallic feathers and kinetic glyphs.
They stood like mirrored blades—poised, still, watching the flow of the operation with eerie grace.
Dez's voice buzzed softly through Lena's comm:
"If the Sable Wings are there, don't play games. They're Choir enforcers—special class. Dual-casters. One uses time warps, the other bloodbinding.
They only show up when the Choir's really protecting something."
Lena's eyes narrowed. "Then let's ruin their schedule."
She activated the Null Net.
The glyph pulse spread across the roof, spiraling downward into the building like a ghost virus.
Below—runes dimmed. Scanners blinked out. Magical barriers fizzled like dying stars.
Zarrah twirled her blades, tail flicking in anticipation.
Grakka cracked her neck.
Shiro crouched, grin wicked.
"Ladies… let's dance."
⸻
The Infiltration
Zarrah moved first—silent as ash, perching on a second-story beam. Her sniper-blade, a hybrid weapon of metal and magic, hummed softly.
A guard walked past.
Click.
One shot to the throat. No scream.
Another blinked—too late. Zarrah wrapped her tail around his neck and dragged him into shadow.
"Two down. Six near the vault. One's got Choir markings," she whispered.
Shiro's voice crackled in.
"Leave him for me."
Grakka moved next—planting charges at vent joints and power nodes. Every motion quiet. Every explosive primed.
She muttered in her tribal tongue with each one.
"Let the ancestors hear these cowards scream."
One brute rounded a corner.
Grakka met him with a knee to the groin, then headbutted him into silence.
"No alarm."
Lena slithered through the lower corridors, disabling warded glyphs, sealing rooms behind her. Every step surgical.
She reached the signal relay room.
Inside—two mages.
She tossed a trap seal between their feet.
"Bonsoir, boys."
Boom. Mana shorted.
Bodies hit the floor.
"Relay's offline," she said coolly.
Shiro, meanwhile, was slinking around like a shadow with a sense of humor. Every few minutes, a guard would hear a whisper, turn—and get tapped out cold.
One pissed himself before fainting.
"Y'know," Shiro muttered, crouching near a camera. "This cloak makes me look even better when I sneak."
Zarrah: "You're a menace."
Shiro: "I'm a reward."
Lena: "Focus."
Shiro grinned.
Then froze.
Below…
The twins stood directly in front of the vault—arms crossed, runes glowing faint on their shoulders.
They hadn't moved.
But they knew.
They felt him.
Grakka whispered: "Boss-tier elves."
Zarrah: "Permission to maim?"
Lena: "Hold."
Shiro cracked his neck.
"I'll say hi first."
And with that—
he leapt.