The transition from the Sump to the Artisan District was like stepping onto another planet.
Elian pushed up a heavy iron manhole cover in a cobblestone alley, grimacing as the clean, sharp scent of ozone and expensive alchemical lamp-oil hit his nose. It replaced the familiar reek of sewage and coal smoke.
He climbed out, offering a hand to Mara. She ignored it, vaulting silently onto the pavement, her father's rifle wrapped tightly in rags strapped to her back. She pulled her hood low.
"Clean stones," Mara whispered, looking at the flawless paving. "They must scrub them daily to keep the soot off."
"They pay people starvation wages to scrub them," Elian corrected, adjusting his own stolen heavy coat to hide his uniform. "Keep your head down. The Watch doesn't patrol here. This is private Guild territory. Corporate mercenaries. They don't arrest trespassers; they break their legs and dump them in the Aurumede."
They moved like ghosts through the shadows of the alleyways. The district was quiet, the massive workshops and guildhalls slumbering under the amber glow of magi-tech streetlamps.
Warehouse 4B sat at the end of a cul-de-sac. It didn't look like a standard storage building. It looked like a bank vault built of dark basalt and reinforced iron. There were no windows on the ground floor.
They crouched behind a decorative statue of a dwarven artificer across the street.
"Two guards at the front gate," Elian noted, his eyes scanning the perimeter. "Heavy crossbows. Unmarked uniforms. Whoever owns this place can afford off-the-books security."
"It was unguarded when we came the last time," said Mara. Elian just shrugged.
"I can drop them both before they cycle their bolts," Mara murmured, her hand drifting toward her rifle.
"No bodies," Elian hissed. "We are ghosts. We were never here."
He pointed to a smaller side door, likely used for deliveries. "There. That's our way in."
They crossed the street in a synchronized dash during a gap in the guard rotation. They pressed themselves against the cold stone door. Mara pulled out a set of delicate, curved lockpicks.
She knelt to examine the keyhole, but Elian grabbed her wrist, stopping her.
"Wait," he whispered. He traced a finger over the doorframe. It felt warm to the touch. Faint, shimmering lines of copper were embedded in the stone.
"Dwarven seismic runes," Elian murmured. "You stick a pick in that lock, it vibrates the tumblers, trips the rune, and blows a steam-whistle loud enough to wake the whole district."
Mara pulled her hand back as if stung. "I deal with gears, Elian, not magic. How do we bypass it?"
"The Watch Academy had a course on high-end security," Elian said, pulling a small, insulated pair of wire cutters from his belt—a tool he'd liberated from the evidence locker months ago. "These wards run on a closed loop. If I can ground the charge..."
He located a small junction box near the hinges. With surgical precision, he snipped a copper wire and jammed the metal tip of the cutters against the iron door hinge. A small blue spark popped, and the hum of the runes died.
"You're up, mechanic," Elian whispered, sweat beading on his forehead.
Mara didn't hesitate. She worked the lock with terrifying speed, her picks clicking softly against the tumblers. Within ten seconds, the heavy deadbolt slid back with a solid thunk.
They slipped inside and closed the door softly behind them.
The interior of Warehouse 4B smelled of ozone, sulfur, and cold metal. It wasn't a storage facility; it was a high-end artificer's workshop. Benches were cluttered with half-assembled clockwork mechanisms, lenses, and vials of shimmering fluids.
"Look," Mara said, pointing to a corner where dust outlines on the floor marked where large crates had once sat. "The Sun-Dust. That was where the crates were when we lifted them a couple of days ago."
"It was left out in the open," Elian mused, running a hand over a nearby workbench. "No inner cage. No secondary locks. Whoever owns this place wanted it stolen."
He moved deeper into the workshop, toward a heavy steel door set into the back wall. A walk-in vault.
"If the Sun-Dust was the bait," Elian said, "the real prize is in here. Let's find out whose name is on the deed."
This lock was purely mechanical, massive and complex. Mara pressed her ear against the cold steel door, slowly turning the large brass dial. Her eyes were closed in total concentration.
Click. Click. ...Clunk.
She spun the handle and pulled. The vault door swung open on silent, well-oiled hinges.
The vault was surprisingly empty, save for a single pedestal in the center and a small mahogany writing desk against the wall. On the pedestal sat a heavy, cylindrical containment unit made of lead, etched with warning runes far more severe than the ones on the door.
The canister was open. And empty.
Elian stepped inside, peering into the container. The interior was scorched black, the metal pitted as if exposed to incredible, concentrated heat. He sniffed the air. It didn't smell like sulfurous Sun-Dust. It smelled sharp, metallic, and terrifyingly familiar—the exact scent that had lingered on the Prince's charred chest.
"It wasn't an explosive," Elian realized, his voice hollow. "Sun-Dust goes boom. Whatever was in this canister... it just burns. And the runes... a magic artifact maybe?"
While Elian inspected the canister, Mara moved to the desk. She picked up a heavy, leather-bound ledger.
"Elian," Mara breathed, her voice trembling slightly. "Look at the crest."
Elian stepped over. Embossed in gold leaf on the cover of the ledger was a pickaxe crossed with a blazing sun.
"House Goldvein," Elian whispered, the bottom dropping out of his stomach. "Lady Valara sits on the High Council. She practically writes the City Watch's budget."
"And look at the last entry," Mara pointed to the fresh ink. "Item transferred to the custody of Captain Varn, Iron Guard. Authorized by V."
"The Captain of the Guard and a High Council member," Elian said, the full weight of the conspiracy crashing down on him. "They didn't just frame the Ironless. They staged a coup."
Before the horror could fully settle, a sharp, mechanized whir echoed from the corner of the vault.
Mara looked up. A small, red glass lens embedded in the ceiling corner had just started spinning, flashing a rapid crimson light.
"Silent alarm," Mara cursed, grabbing the ledger and shoving it into her satchel. "You bypassed the door wards, Elian, but you must have missed a sensor inside this vault!".
No sooner Mara finished her words, the vault doors suddenly swung in to close on the duo.
"Shit! The doors - " Elian exclaimed and the both of them rushed in vain.
THUNK! The vault doors slammed shut on them.
Outside the heavy warehouse doors, the sound of heavy boots on cobblestones began to echo, getting louder and faster. The mercenaries were coming, and they were trapped.