Mist sheathed the wetlands in silver and ash. The five Silent Blades moved through it as if carved from the same fog, no clatter, no breathing louder than the rain. Their leader, Vera, touched two fingers to the surface of the water and let her mana drift outward. Ripples spread, invisible to normal sight, mapping the world through resonance.
"Three sets of prints," she murmured, voice barely more than wind. "Light weight. One human male."
The others halted, hands resting on short curved blades that hummed faintly with binding runes. Behind their mirrored masks, eyes glimmered with faint amethyst light, each seeing the world through a different spectrum of magic.
"They left an hour ago," whispered another. "Residual warmth lingers."
Vera nodded once. "Southward. Toward the wells."
They advanced.
The marsh was alive with secrets: reeds whispering names, frogs croaking like broken drums. Every step sank to the ankle in mud that reeked of rot and mana decay. Yet no sound betrayed them; their boots displaced water without a splash. Years of conditioning had made them less human than rumor.
Above, thunder growled. Lightning stitched the clouds, flashing across twisted trees that looked like frozen dancers. In that brief light, Vera caught a glimpse of distant footprints, then something else. A faint blue shimmer where chalk dust had mingled with rain.
"Ritual residue," she said. "The mage was working here."
One Blade knelt, scraping a bit of the glowing mud into a vial. "It sings like broken glass. She tried to open something."
"Or close it," Vera said. "Either way, the queen will want it intact."
They pressed forward, every sense attuned to the marsh's pulse. Vera extended her perception again, mana waves spreading, rebounding. For a heartbeat, she felt another rhythm colliding with hers: a strange, steady pattern like a heartbeat layered in two tempos. She froze.
"What is it?" whispered a subordinate.
"Something… foreign. Mana but not mana. Keep formation."
They waded deeper until the reeds opened into a stretch of open water. The moon broke through, pale and distorted. In the reflection, faint shadows moved, three figures on a distant ridge, blurred by mist.
"Visual contact," hissed one of the Blades.
Vera signaled a halt. "No engagement until we confirm."
Through a spyglass of polished crystal, she focused on the figures. The male, taller than she'd imagined, soaked but steady. The mage beside him glowed faintly, her aura sparking with exhaustion. The healer moved at the rear, eyes half closed as if she sensed them.
"Are those our targets?" asked the younger Blade.
"Yes," Vera said quietly. "The Progenitor and his guardians."
Orders flickered through her mind, memory-sharp: Alive. Unharmed. Unspoiled. The queen's voice, cold and absolute.
A rumble passed beneath their feet, something shifting under the water. The marsh responded to the clash of mana: nature itself uneasy.
"Something's coming," murmured a Blade.
Vera sheathed her weapon. "They've triggered a defense spell. Move!"
The water exploded upward in a geyser of light. From the depths surged a construct of mud and bone, an ancient ward-beast left to guard the old alchemist's grounds. Its form was half-serpent, half-tree, eyes blazing with borrowed magic.
The Blades scattered, silent even in chaos. Vera spun through the spray, striking runes through the air with her dagger's point. "Contain it! Do not kill, the resonance will alert the targets!"
Chains of violet energy lashed around the beast's torso, tightening. It roared, shaking reeds like thunder. In the distance, the three fugitives turned, silhouettes framed against lightning.
Vera swore under her breath. So much for subtlety.
The creature writhed, snapping the chains. One Blade was flung aside, crashing into the muck. Another hurled a binding spike into the beast's eye. Mana screamed; the air filled with ozone.
"Vera!" someone shouted. "They're running!"
She glanced up. Aiden and his companions were sprinting toward the south ridge, their shapes fading into mist.
Vera's decision came sharp and cold. "Let it die," she ordered. "Pursue the living."
They left the ward-beast thrashing in the shallows and darted through the reeds. Lightning strobed again, illuminating ghost trails of footprints. Every flash froze them mid-stride, like figures in an old painting.
The chase stretched through the night, sometimes only sounds guided them: a splash, a breath, a whisper. But gradually even those faded. The fugitives knew the marsh better than expected.
When at last the first gray of dawn touched the horizon, Vera called a halt. They stood on a rise overlooking a lake veiled in fog. No movement. No sound.
"They're gone," said one Blade.
Vera knelt, pressing her palm to the water. It was warm, resonating faintly with a pattern she didn't understand. Not pure mana. Something hybrid. She closed her eyes, listening to its pulse.
"They left something behind," she murmured.
"What?"
"An echo." She straightened. "He's adapting to the world. The male shouldn't know how to shape mana, yet this water bears his imprint."
The younger Blade hesitated. "Then he's becoming dangerous?"
Vera looked toward the rising sun. "No. He's becoming real."
Behind her mask, she frowned. The queen's orders had been precise, but now doubt crawled in her chest. If this man could shape mana without training, what else might he do? And what would the queen do with him once caught?
She turned away from the lake. "We return to camp. Report our findings. Next time we don't track him, we corner him."
The Blades moved out, their reflections swallowed by dawn mist. Far across the water, hidden beneath an overhang of roots, Aiden watched them go, breath held. Lyra's fingers tightened around his arm, eyes wide with exhaustion.
"They're closer than ever," she whispered.
"I know," he said. "And they won't stop."
Eira's voice drifted from the shadows. "Then neither can we."
The first sunlight broke through, gilding the marsh in fragile gold. For a heartbeat, the hunted and the hunters shared the same light, each unaware how soon their paths would collide again.