Dawn broke gray over the Citadel of Glass. In the inner yard where the mist clung low, six figures knelt before Captain Seren Dahl. They wore no heraldry, only matte-black leathers, runic vambraces, and the veiled insignia of the Silent Blades. Each bore the same expressionless readiness: soldiers who lived between orders and silence.
Seren walked their line with her helmet under one arm. "You've all read the notice," she said. Her voice carried easily, even in the fog. "Officially, this mission doesn't exist. You report only to me. If we succeed, the realm stabilizes. If we fail, history forgets us."
No one spoke. The Blades didn't need inspiration, only direction.
She stopped before the youngest, a scout named Irel. "Your task?"
"Advance by shade and echo," the girl said. "Map resonance. Signal only when interference clears."
"Good." Seren turned to the others. "The Wells region is unstable. Expect mana storms, shifting terrain, and residual constructs. But the greater hazard is the target himself."
That drew a flicker of reaction, a breath, a muscle twitch.
"Yes," Seren continued. "The Progenitor. The Queen requires him alive. You will not harm him unless I say otherwise. His companions are expendable."
A low pulse of mana thrummed through the courtyard as their oath-runes activated, silent confirmation. Seren felt the old weight settle in her chest: obedience, absolute.
"Move."
By midday they were beyond the southern ridge, riding low-wing gliders that skimmed the mist. The air smelled of peat and salt; faint lines of blue still shimmered where the flare had scarred the sky two nights before. Below stretched endless marsh threaded with black rivers.
Irel's voice crackled through the resonance link. "Flux rising. Pockets of distortion ahead."
Seren adjusted her visor, scanning the horizon. "Steady course. We'll drop when the ground solidifies."
The gliders banked, descending toward a field of stone outcroppings shaped like teeth. Wind howled through broken arches, remnants of the old roads leading to the Wells. Seren dismounted first, boots crunching on crystalline dust. The ground vibrated faintly, alive with unseen current.
She knelt, pressing her palm to the soil. "Residual heat. They passed through recently."
Another Blade, Varyn, crouched beside her. "You can smell it?"
"Fear leaves a trace," Seren said. She rose and motioned forward. "We track by mana signature and disturbance. No torches. Switch to shadow-sight."
They advanced into the valley in pairs. The light dimmed as the clouds thickened; soon only the faint shimmer from their runes guided them. Every sound seemed amplified, the drip of water, the rustle of reeds, the distant rumble of something shifting underground.
Varyn murmured, "What happens if the Orders get wind of this? They'll demand custody."
"They won't," Seren said. "The Queen will announce the flare as a ley-quake. By the time the clergy confirm otherwise, we'll be home."
He nodded but didn't look convinced. None of them were. The Blades were used to silence, not lies.
By nightfall they reached the perimeter where the marsh dropped into a crater. At its base shimmered a faint blue mist, the threshold to the under-vaults. Runes carved along the rim pulsed weakly, centuries old but not dead.
Irel crouched near the edge. "Entrance collapsed except for a narrow chute. Goes deep, forty spans, maybe more."
Seren studied the descent. A faint vibration thrummed from below, like a heartbeat buried in stone. "He's still down there," she said quietly.
Varyn peered into the mist. "You sound certain."
Seren hesitated, then touched the amulet at her throat, a small shard of glass, identical to the one Maelis wore. "The Queen's resonance link hasn't dimmed since the flare. She's still receiving readings."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning he's alive."
The Blades began unpacking climbing gear and mana anchors. Seren took the lead rope herself. "We go silent from here," she said. "No light unless necessary. If contact is made, secure the target with suppression fields. No fatal wounds."
Varyn smirked faintly. "You really think one man can threaten six Blades?"
Seren gave him a long look. "He already threatened a world."
The descent was a blur of soundless movement, ropes uncoiling, metal scraping rock, the slow burn of friction against gauntlets. The air grew colder, wetter. Strange phosphorescent growths clung to the walls, illuminating their faces in pale green. At twenty spans, an updraft carried the scent of ozone.
Irel's voice came through the link, tight with awe. "Captain… seeing structures below. Columns, arches, intact."
Seren felt it then: the pulse of something vast and breathing beneath the stone. She pressed a rune against her wrist guard; the visor expanded, mapping thermal traces. Three faint heat signatures flickered in the distance, moving east through the tunnels.
"Confirmed," she whispered. "They're ahead. Two smaller signatures, one central."
Her heart gave a small, traitorous leap. Him.
She forced her voice steady. "Maintain distance. We trail until we have containment fields set."
They touched ground on a wide platform half buried in dust. Strange carvings covered the floor, circles intersecting circles. When Varyn brushed one with his boot, the lines pulsed blue and faded.
"Ley conduits," Seren said. "Watch your steps. This place remembers."
The tunnels beyond gaped like open throats. Somewhere in that dark, the sound of running water echoed faintly, joined by what might have been distant voices. Seren motioned the squad forward, moving like shadows between the pillars.
At one turn she paused, fingers brushing the wall. The stone felt warm. A whisper coiled through her mind, an image, fleeting, of light and a man's silhouette reaching toward her. She jerked her hand away.
"Problem?" Varyn asked.
"Residual memory," she lied. "Keep moving."
But the image stayed with her, hovering just behind her thoughts.
Hours later they made camp in a collapsed antechamber. No fire, only cold rations and the low hum of warding stones. Seren sat apart, helmet beside her, watching the faint glow from deeper tunnels.
Varyn joined her quietly. "You ever wonder why the Queen wants him alive?"
Seren didn't answer at once. "Because she's pragmatic. Because he might restore balance."
"Or because she fears what happens if he dies."
Seren looked at him sharply, but his expression was unreadable. The Blades weren't supposed to think beyond orders. Still, his words dug deep.
"Sleep in shifts," she said finally. "We move at first echo."
Varyn nodded and left her alone with the silence.
She stared into the dark until her eyes adjusted and saw movement, tiny motes drifting like dust but glowing faintly blue. Each pulse matched her heartbeat. She thought of the Queen's face in the candlelight, the order to bring him back alive, and of the flare that had split the sky.
Alive, she repeated inwardly. Even if it changes everything.
When she finally lay down, the stone under her palm trembled, as though something vast below had turned in its sleep. Somewhere beyond the walls, Aiden Rogue and his companions were still running, unaware that the Blades had entered the same breath of earth.
And above them all, in the throne-tower of Seravelle, Queen Maelis stood before her mirror, whispering to the shard of glass that linked her to her captain.
"Follow the light," she murmured. "But don't let it consume you."