Chapter 29 - Chapter 29- Marrek the Human-Trafficker

Bow sat on the curb, toying with a coin between his fingers. Halo leaned against the cold cobblestone, hood pulled low so his face melted into shadow. Helios stared at the rain-slick street, watching small puddles shiver in the moonlight. "Alright," Helios said finally, voice low. "I have an idea." "Spit it," Halo answered. "We're running out of time." Helios straightened, eyes hard. "Here's how it goes. Halo, you get to Marrek. Sit with him, buy him drinks, pry names, routes, anything that smells like logistics. Get him loose-mouthed or out cold, whatever it takes, but keep him alive. Make it easy for us to grab him and bring him back to the inn." Bow glanced up, grin quick and dangerous. "And my part?" "When Helio whistles once, short and sharp, that's your cue. Make a scene: spill something, start a fight, whatever will pull the guards and the tavern's crowd away for a minute. Make it loud, make it messy." Helios looked at both of them. "I'll wait by the mill. The moment Marrek steps outside alone, I move. Quiet and fast. Keys and ledger are the goal. We get proof, not body counts." Halo nodded. "Keep him alive but silent. Got it." Bow snapped the coin into his palm. "Loud and messy? Born for it." They checked each other once, a brief, steadying look, then melted into the shadows and made their way to Marrek. They moved like shadows. Halo slipped into the tavern first, shoulders hunched, voice casual as smoke. He sat where the lamps were dim and waited until Marrek, fat-faced, loose-lipped, the type who drank to forget the stench of other people's business, slouched in. Halo bought a round, then another. He let the conversation drift to routes, to shipments, to where the "new stock" was being kept. He laughed when Marrek laughed, leaned in when Marrek bragged, and all the while put small traps in his questions, names, times, wagons, the mill by the river. Outside, Bow took his place two alleys away, knees coiled like springs. Helios crouched behind a stack of crates near the mill's back door, breath slow, eyes on the tavern window. The plan had teeth now; it only needed timing. When Halo winked, Bow exploded into motion. He didn't bother with subtlety. Bow barrelled through a fruit stand, sending apples like cannonballs into the street. He shoved an old merchant into a rack of pots, knocked over a lantern. Chaos unfurled exactly as promised: people cursed, a guard barked orders, and the tavern's attention turned away in a ripple of shouts and running feet. Helios moved. He slipped through the side door as Marrek stumbled into the alley to check the noise, unsteady on his feet from the drinks Halo had fed him. Helios was clean and brutal: one step, one hook of the arm at the ribs, and Marrek's world folded in. Helios clamped a hand over Marrek's mouth, another at the back of his neck, and dragged him into the deeper shadow behind the mill. Quick fingers found a bunch of keys at Marrek's belt; quicker still, Helios snatched them. From the inside pocket, the ledger, thick, endleaves stained, came free. Halo appeared, breath held, watching Helios secure Marrek's hands with rough rope. Bow dashed up moments after, cheeks flushed but eyes bright. No cheering. No show. Just efficient breathing and the soft clink of keys and metal. They bundled Marrek between them and moved fast, keeping to alleys and over low fences until they reached the inn. Once inside, they shoved him into a back room, locked the door, and set a chair against it. Helios eased a gag in, not to kill, only to keep the man from raising an alarm until they decided what to do. Bow stood guard by the window; Halo sat opposite Marrek and uncorked the ledger. The book did not disappoint. Rows of names, tally marks, towns and dates, the handwriting neat, the numbers monstrous. Routes inked in shorthand, prices, a handful of seals at the margins, one seal repeated more than the others: a stylized chalice, the same silver mark Helios had seen on the black book's cover. Helios's stomach dropped. He flipped pages until a column of entries caught his eye: "Shipment. Sanctus. Dawn of Ascension. Final procurement. Approved." Beside the line, a small scribble, initials over a small, neat sketch of the chalice. Helios looked up at them. "This is more than market smuggling," he said, voice low. "This ties to the cathedral. Whoever's running this has power and reach." Bow let out a single, hard laugh that was almost a sob. "We nailed him tonight." Halo's jaw set. "We have the ledger. We have the keys. If Marrek talked, we have the who and the when. That's proof." Helios moved closer to the bound man and pulled the gag away. Marrek's eyes were darting, sweat slicking his upper lip. He tried to swallow words but they came out thin. "You'll talk," Helios said, calm but cold. "We don't want your life, Marrek. We want the truth. Names. Times. Buyers. Where the wagons hide now." Marrek's glance flicked to the black book on the table, to the chalice mark. For a heartbeat he hesitated, then a sluice of fear opened behind his eyes. "I…" he croaked. "I work for the buyers. I route the shipments. Docks, the salt warehouses, you asked where: east granary, north caravan lines, the old orchard on the east road. Names, names change. Sometimes they call from the cathedral. Sometimes sealed letters. I don't know who signs. There's a ledger kept under the mill shed, the one with the loose board. They collect there before taking them below." Helios pressed his face close to Marrek's, watching every micro-reaction. "Letters from the cathedral?" Marrek's shoulders shook. "Yes. Sometimes a man with a ring visits. I don't see faces, they keep me blindfolded when I deliver, but they hand me orders. They pay more when the symbol's on it." He tried to smile, animal and desperate. "Please. Don't kill me. I'll tell you more. I'll tell you the wagons' times tonight. I'll take you to the cart drivers if you want." Helios exchanged a look with Halo and Bow. It was enough for now: a place, a routine, and the paper trail they needed to start tracing upward. Not the whole web, but a thread. When they'd taken his blood-sworn promise to lead them to the wagons that very night, Helios bound him tighter, not to hurt, but to make escape impossible, and sat down to think. Dawn might be hours away, but the map of Sanctus had shifted. The chalice mark on the ledger tied the trade to the cathedral. Marrek's routes gave them a window: east granary, the salt yards, the loose board under the mill where paperwork changed hands. The pieces were no longer rumors; they were moving targets. "Tonight," Helios said, and his voice carried the weight of the vow he'd made to the blind priest in the field, "we go to the granary. We follow the wagons. We find where they keep people, and we bring them out." Bow slapped a hand on the table like a drum. "I'm ready." Halo simply nodded, face set. Outside, the city slept easy under the cathedral's watchful spires, ignorant of the three who had just ripped the first honest thread from its web. They spent the next hours planning in whispers: how to use the keys, which guard to bribe or silence, what whistle to use, where to hide the captured ledger once they had copies, how to keep the evidence from vanishing into Sanctus's networks. Every detail mattered; every wrong move could be the end. When the inn finally settled and their whispers dwindled, Helios unrolled the black book, the chalice glinting faintly in lamplight, and traced the symbol with one finger as if to make certain it was real. Then he closed the book, tucked the ledger under his cloak, and, for the first time in a long while, allowed himself a breath that tasted like beginning. The room smelled of wet stone and burnt oil. The lamp on the table flickered, shadows dancing across their faces as the rain tapped steadily against the window. The only sound inside was the soft rustle of pages as Helios flipped through the ledger again. Bow leaned against the door, keeping an eye on the street through the narrow slit between the boards. Halo sat on the edge of the table, hood down now, hair damp from the rain. His eyes followed every movement Helios made. "Alright," Helios said finally, voice quiet but firm. "Let's start piecing this together." He set the ledger flat on the table and pointed to the symbol stamped beside several entries, a silver chalice. Halo tilted his head. "That mark again. Same one that was on that black book Belanor had, right?" Helios nodded. "Yeah. And that's what's been bothering me. I've seen this symbol before, in the texts I read back at the Sanctus library." Bow frowned. "You mean those old stories about cursed relics?" "Exactly," Helios said, leaning closer. "They mentioned something called the Chalice of Bedlam. A cup forged through heresy and blood, used by a long-dead order to channel divine energy through… sacrifice." Bow scoffed softly. "Sacrifice. Of what, animals?" Helios shook his head. "People." The word landed like a hammer. The room went still. Halo's brow furrowed. "That explains the slaves. The shipments. The caravans. They're not trading them, they're stockpiling them." Helios's voice dropped lower. "Belanor isn't running some black-market trade. He's building a ritual. The ledger lists hundreds of people moved to specific districts, all near the cathedral. The same cathedral where the Cardinal's preach to the citizens." Bow straightened, the grin gone from his face. "You think he's gonna use them for the Chalice?" Helios met his eyes. "Yes. It all lines up. The stories said the Chalice of Bedlam can open a path to something far beyond human understanding, but it demands a massive offering of life. Not just blood… faith. That's why Belanor's plan works so perfectly." Halo leaned forward. "Wait how do we know he even has this Chalice of Bedlam?" "That's a good point," Helios finished. "If he did have it he would've sacrificed the citizens and the slaves all at once already." Bow swallowed. "You think he's trying to bring someone back?" Helios exhaled slowly. "A name kept showing up in the texts, Azazel. A god of chaos, sealed away ages ago. The Chalice is the key, the blood is the price, and the people are the door." The room fell silent again, the rain outside turning into a steady pour. Bow slammed his palm lightly against the wall. "Then we can't let it happen. If he's gonna use that cup, we stop him before he gets the chance." Halo nodded. "We free the slaves. Destroy the wagons. If he loses his sacrifices, he loses the ritual." Helios's eyes were sharp now, focused. "Exactly. We don't need to fight him head-on yet. We cut off his fuel. The granary is the start, every name in that ledger points there. We free those people, we find proof of the Chalice, and we expose Belanor before dawn." Bow cracked his knuckles, grinning despite the tension. "Well this is definitely getting interesting." Halo pushed off the table and adjusted his cloak. "Then we move. The longer we wait, the closer he gets to lighting that cup." Helios grabbed the ledger and the black book, tucking them both under his cloak. The silver chalice symbol shimmered once in the lamplight before he blew the flame out. "Then it's settled," Helios said as the room fell into darkness. "We end this before sunrise." Outside, thunder rolled across Sanctus, and the three of them stepped into the storm, toward the granary, toward the slaves, and toward the truth hiding beneath the holy city's streets.