They left Old Port Landa before the sun rose.
Fliss arrived quickly, the early hours working in their favor. The streets were quiet, the kind of quiet that came from people still asleep rather than peace. The transport was armored and low-profile, built to move personnel without inviting attention. No markings. No insignia. Matte plating drank in the streetlights instead of reflecting them. Reinforced glass dulled the city into gray fragments as they passed.
Margo drove without commentary. Her eyes stayed forward, hands steady on the wheel, posture rigid with focus as the city slid past them in broken pieces of concrete and shadow.
Inside the vehicle, no one spoke at first.
Shane lay on the floor, secured only by necessity. Matthew and Tovin held him in place, hands firm but careful, adjusting unconsciously with every turn. His chest rose and fell in slow, stubborn rhythm. His sword lay at his feet, crystal dormant, wrapped in cloth, its presence heavier now that it wasn't burning, like something waiting rather than resting.
Davin leaned against the side wall, eyes closed, jaw clenched as the transport took a turn too sharply. He didn't open his eyes, but his body tensed all the same. Lira's arm was bound tight in a temporary splint; she stared at the floor like it might open beneath her if she let her attention drift. Tovin sat rigid, hands braced on Shane, breathing shallow and measured, every breath taken with deliberate care.
Fliss sat up front beside Margo. She kept glancing back at them in the mirror, her expression tight and unreadable. She didn't ask anything. She didn't need to. The absence where Raen should have been filled the vehicle more than any sound could.
Erik watched all of them and felt the weight settle. Not grief. Not yet.
They were trained. They knew the risks. They had studied the scenarios, rehearsed failure, memorized casualty protocols. None of that prepared them for the way the loss pressed inward instead of outward, quiet, suffocating, and unresolved. This was the first time any of them had lost a comrade. Training told you that it could happen. It never told you how it felt.
"This wasn't supposed to go like that," Tovin said suddenly, his voice cracking the silence like glass underfoot.
No one corrected him.
Matthew spoke without looking up from Shane. "Nothing ever does."
The words lodged in Erik's chest, heavy and immovable, until he couldn't keep them contained.
"This was a failure," he said.
The transport hummed around them. Tires against pavement. The muted vibration of an engine built to endure. Outside, the city breathed on, unaware.
Lira looked up at him, eyes sharp despite pain. "The city's still standing."
Erik nodded once. "It does stand." His voice was steady, but it felt distant to him. "So what was the point?"
They all looked at him then.
"Nothing happened to the city," Erik continued. "The bombs were controlled. They only destroyed the crystals. There was no collapse after. No chain reaction. No panic. If this was meant to hurt Port Landa, it failed." His hands tightened unconsciously. "So what was the point?"
No one answered.
Matthew finally looked up, meeting Erik's gaze. "It has nothing to do with the city," he said. "If it did, we would have felt it. This was something else. Another game being played." He hesitated. "A test, maybe. One that whoever planned it believed would have no consequence for them."
"You think this was just a test?" Erik asked.
"I don't know," Matthew said. "None of it makes sense. Why use mercenaries instead of the Church directly, if this was ideological? You could argue it was to shift blame, but even without us, the outcome would have been the same."
Silence followed. Not agreement. Consideration.
Erik looked down at his hands, still faintly streaked with dust. They had gone in looking for proof of a larger plot. They had found it, and arrived too late to stop it. The devices were so complete, so absolute, that they left nothing behind. No fragments. No answers. They had chased the Church believing it sought spectacle, propaganda and influence.
But what if the Church wasn't the architect? What if it was only a piece on someone else's board?
Ara-dul surfaced in Erik's mind. A man who moved with certainty, who never reacted, only confirmed. And then another memory tugged loose. Elara's voice. Her warning, 'The Cardinal allows him.'
"Margo," Erik said quietly. "Who is the Cardinal?"
She didn't answer right away. Her grip tightened on the wheel as the transport rolled through a long, empty stretch of road.
"From what we've gathered," she said at last, "he's the progenitor of the Church."
Erik leaned back against the cool metal of the wall. The Cardinal granted authority. The Cardinal gave Ara-dul impunity. Which meant Ara-dul wasn't acting independently, he was executing someone else's design.
Was the Cardinal an agent of Zao? Or something else?
"How much longer until we reach the hospital?" Erik asked.
"Twenty minutes," Fliss said from the front, eyes still on the road.
Erik closed his eyes. They rode in silence after that. Not peaceful, heavy. Every step of the operation replayed without sequence or clarity. Shane jumping. The sand sealing the tunnel. Mercenaries slowing them without overcommitting. The crystal's glow. The bomb. Raen reaching for the device.
Absence.
The city would never feel it. And Erik didn't yet understand why that was the most unsettling part of all.
The military medical complex sat in the northern district like a deliberate choice. Reinforced concrete. Layered glass. Fencing that looked ordinary until you noticed how many angles it watched from. The transport cleared the outer gate without slowing. The barriers parted just long enough to let them through before sealing again behind them.
Inside, everything was white. Not clean in a comforting way, clean in a way that made damage stand out. Bright corridors. Controlled lighting. Equipment Erik recognized from briefings but had never expected to see in use this soon. This place wasn't built for civilians. It was built for when the state decided something mattered enough to survive.
Shane was taken first.
Matthew followed until a medic stepped in front of him, professional and immovable. Matthew argued for a moment, then stopped when Erik placed a hand on his shoulder, not to reassure him, just to ground him.
"I want updates," Matthew said, voice tight.
"You'll get them," the medic replied, already turning away.
Lira was guided toward imaging, her temporary splint replaced as they walked. Davin was taken for scans without comment, eyes forward, jaw clenched. Tovin hesitated before allowing a respirator mask to be fitted, then complied, breathing deep.
Margo wrote their report even as a nurse led her into an examination bay. Erik could hear the nurse keep asking Margo to put the tablet down and Margo protested silently.
Erik remained in the intake corridor as they disappeared one by one. Fliss removed herself once the team was being tended too. Erik watched her back as she walked down the hall. Erik was sure she did not want anyone to see her process the grief. Out of all of them, Fliss and Raen were the closest. They had grown up together in a small town. Their parents were against them leaving to join the army, but they did it anyway.
Only then did the weight of his own body register. Not pain, fatigue layered over residual pressure. A medic ran checks over his chest and spine, checked his pupils, asked questions Erik answered automatically.
"Mild concussion markers," the medic said. "Elevated stress response. Otherwise normal."
"I'm functional," Erik replied.
"For now," the medic said. "Sit."
Erik sat.
Time lost its shape. Minutes passed in fragments, doors opening and closing, voices kept intentionally calm, the steady hum of systems meant to endure. When Erik stood again, it was because he needed to do something before the weight settled too deeply.
He found the phone at the end of the corridor. An old unit, recessed into the wall behind a divider. He dialed from memory. The line rang. Once. Twice.
"Talion residence," a voice answered, thick with sleep. "This had better be—"
"Fedor," Erik said. "It's Erik."
Silence. Then wakefulness arrived all at once.
"…Prince," Talion said. "Do you know what time it is?"
"Yes," Erik replied. "I wouldn't be calling if it could wait."
A pause. Erik could hear movement now Talion sitting up, command reasserting itself.
"Where are you?" Talion asked.
"We are at the military hospital, near the base."
A pause on the other line.
"What happened?"
Erik leaned his shoulder against the wall. "We infiltrated the Church."
The silence on the line went hard.
"You did what?"
"We followed up on the movement of those illegal weapons. You would have gotten the report yesterday," Erik said. "What we found wasn't rhetoric or preparation. They were actively placing bombs beneath the city."
"You… that wasn't sanctioned."
"I know."
Another pause. "You went underground."
"Yes."
Talion exhaled slowly. "Start from the beginning."
Erik did, cleanly, without embellishment. The entry. The clergy. The tunnels. The mercenaries. The devices. Everything they knew up to that point.
"We lost Raen," Erik said.
The name settled between them.
"I'm sorry," Talion said quietly.
Erik didn't respond to that. "All three crystals have been thoroughly destroyed, and the bombs they used… I don't know what they are, but deadly. I don't know if there will be fallout yet."
"And the city?" Talion asked. "Stupid question, I wouldn't have been sleeping if something happened."
"Correct," Erik said. "Which is why I'm calling."
A beat.
"I need men at those locations," Erik continued. "Immediately."
"No," Talion said at once. "Those districts are already under scrutiny. The council—"
"I don't care what the council says," Erik replied.
Silence.
"We don't know if the ground is stable," Erik went on. "I want cordons at all three sites. No civilian access. Mixed teams, engineers first, armed escort second. I want people underground. Evidence. Recovery. Full sweep."
Talion let out a sharp breath. "You're asking me to cross civil boundaries."
"Yes."
"And secure Church property."
"Yes."
Erik added, almost deliberately casual, "There are several clergy tied up in the building we entered from. Alive."
Talion swore under his breath.
"This is going to detonate politically," he said.
"Most likely," Erik replied. "But the safety of my people takes precedence. I can worry about politics later."
The line stayed quiet.
Then, "All right," Talion said. "I'll mobilize units. Quietly. For now."
"And if the council intervenes?"
"I will stall them, but you will be taking the blame for this," Talion said. "Not me."
"Yes," Erik said. "I will."
He replaced the receiver carefully.
The weight shifted again, not lighter, just settled into a shape he could carry. When Erik returned to the intake corridor, the facility felt unchanged. And yet, he knew something fundamental had moved. He had acted. He had overreached. And whatever came next would come for him directly.
His father was not going to be happy. Again.
Erik expected a summons, but he did not expect it so quickly. Just after sunrise a man came from city hall to ask for his presence. Erik couldn't even believe that the council members would be up at this time. For the second time that week, he walked through the halls of Port Landa's city hall.
It was built to endure, to show the world that here, the government was unshakable. Kalindor built this hall to be the grandest in all of the Republic. It definitely fulfilled that.
He was able to change from his tactical gear into something formal. He even tried grooming himself, but without a mirror, or care, he was sure that he did not look great.
The halls were a buzz with bureaucrats, already beginning their day. Aids arms full of papers and folders going from room to room. All eyes drifted towards him. They knew him here, his image was glued to their memory. All government officials learned the faces of the royalty.
Outside the assembly chamber stood Elara at the front of her delegation, posture controlled, face composed in a way that looked like peace to anyone who didn't know what discipline really was. Her robes were white and gold, clean enough to imply that whatever had happened had touched her only as an offense, not as consequence.
Behind her stood another figure, taller, broader through the shoulders, hood drawn back just enough for Erik to see the set of the jaw. Not clergy-soft. Not charitable. An enforcer in ceremonial cloth. He recognized the dragonkin, it was Veylan, the other fifth rank in the city.
Erik did not slow. Did not look twice. When he passed Elara, he gave her the same neutral acknowledgment he would have given any official witness. Her eyes flicked toward him for a fraction of a second. No recognition in her expression. But there was tension in the way she held her breath, like someone hearing the creak of a floorboard in a house they insisted was empty.
The chamber was already in session when he entered, not formally convened, but active. Aides clustered along the walls with notepads. Clerks murmured to one another as they updated records that would later become the record. Guards stood at every entrance, hands resting near weapons that would never be drawn here but were meant to be noticed all the same.
All six councilors sat beneath the carved arch bearing Port Landa's seal.
Councilor Maelis Rourke sat at the center, emerald scales muted. To her right, Vethryn Kael, cobalt-scaled and perpetually displeased, leaned back with the faintest curl of disdain at his mouth. Beside him sat Iselle Marr, pale gold, robes immaculate, expression composed into something that passed for concern.
On Maelis's left, Hadrien Vos leaned forward, iron-gray scales catching the light, posture still military rigid. Next to him, Dumner Mathes, thinner, quieter, fingers steepled as if he were already drafting the aftermath in his head.
The sixth seat was occupied by Councilor Arvek Pell.
Pell said nothing. He rarely did. His scales were a dark, almost matte bronze, his eyes hooded, his posture neutral to the point of vanishing. Erik had learned to watch him anyway. Pell only spoke when decisions were already made.
None looked like they just rose from bed. Ever hair neat, suits pressed. They were the picture of order. Erik nearly scoffed. Of course they wouldn't be caught looking like they slept.
Chief Fedor Talion stood apart near the projection console.
Not seated. Not relaxed. Hands clasped behind his back, spine straight, jaw set. He glanced at Erik when he entered. Their eyes met. A smile that was meant to reassure Erik appeared, but to Erik it felt like pity.
With Erik's appearance, Councilor Maelis waved to the guard at the door. The clergy waiting outside trickled in. They were led to the gallery and they made sure to fill it. They had come in force, but not excess. Enough clergy to fill the space with white and gold. Enough witnesses to ensure that anything said here would echo outside within the hour.
Elara stood at the front. Erik took his place at the center of the chamber. The room quieted, not out of respect, but appraisal.
"Prince Erik Kalindor," Maelis said, her voice carrying easily. "You were requested to brief this council on the events that occurred overnight."
Erik inclined his head. "Yes."
"Begin."
He spoke carefully.
He described findings, not actions. Structural anomalies detected beneath Old Port Landa. Coordinated detonations designed to remove material rather than destabilize surface structures. Hostile engagement with armed actors whose affiliation remained unclear. One fatality. Multiple injuries.
He did not mention tunnels.
He did not mention pursuit.
He did not mention how close they had come to stopping anything.
As he spoke, he became aware of how little the truth weighed when stripped of context. How easily it bent to the shape of the room.
Vethryn leaned forward first. "You're telling us this was not an attack on Port Landa."
"I'm telling you the city was not the target," Erik replied.
A murmur rippled through the chamber.
Before Maelis could respond, Elara stepped forward.
"Councilors," she said, voice clear, measured. "The Church does not accuse lightly. But last night, multiple sanctuaries under our care were violated. Clergy were assaulted. Restrained. Left bound."
Her gaze did not go to Erik.
"We were attacked," Elara continued. "And we will not pretend otherwise."
Iselle's head tilted slightly. "You're suggesting the Church was targeted?"
"I am stating what occurred," Elara replied. "And I am stating that fear is already spreading among the faithful. They are asking whether the state can protect what lies beneath their homes, or whether that responsibility must fall elsewhere."
That landed harder than any raised voice.
Hadrien crossed his arms. "You're careful with your language."
Elara met his gaze calmly. "I have learned to be."
Maelis glanced toward Talion. "Chief Talion. Your officers confirmed the Church's claims?"
Talion's jaw flexed once before he spoke. "We received reports of forced entry at an Old Port Landa sanctuary. Clergy present showed signs of restraint. No fatalities or injury."
Iselle turned back to Erik. "Prince Erik. Were you aware of operations conducted near Church property last night?"
The phrasing was deliberate. An offered exit that still cost him.
Erik felt the weight of Talion's silence behind him, felt the way the chief was choosing restraint because stepping in would make this something else.
"My unit acted on emergent intelligence related to sabotage beneath the city," Erik said. "The Church was not the objective."
"And yet," Vethryn said dryly, "they are the ones bound and bruised."
"Yes," Erik said. "They are."
Arvek Pell shifted slightly in his seat. Just enough to be noticed. Maelis's eyes flicked to him, then back to Erik.
Hadrien leaned forward. "You were sent here to investigate quietly. Because the Crown did not want escalation. Instead, we have detonations, a dead soldier, and a Church delegation claiming attack."
The word dead tightened something in Erik's chest.
"This was a failure," Erik said. He didn't soften it. "A man is dead. My team is injured. And whatever was destroyed beneath Port Landa was destroyed while we watched."
Iselle's voice remained gentle. "So you admit incompetence."
"I admit consequence," Erik replied. "There is a difference."
Vethryn scoffed. "A distinction without value."
Elara spoke again, and this time the edge beneath her calm was unmistakable.
"The Church does not seek escalation," she said. "But we will not accept silence. If sanctuaries can be violated without accountability, then the faithful will seek protection elsewhere."
A threat, delivered like doctrine.
Dumner Mathes cleared his throat. "Public perception is already shifting. This cannot be allowed to spiral."
Maelis folded her hands. "Then containment is required."
Containment. Erik understood the word for what it was. A single narrative. A single failure. A single figure. Before Maelis could continue, the doors behind Erik opened. The room changed.
Bram Kjer entered without announcement. The Chancellor of Kalindor did not raise his voice. He did not hurry. He moved with the certainty of someone who did not need the room's permission to be in it. Conversations died mid-breath.
He stopped beside Erik.
"Councilors," Bram said evenly. "This matter is no longer under municipal jurisdiction."
Maelis's posture tightened. "Chancellor—"
"The Crown has been briefed," Bram continued. "And will assume responsibility."
Responsibility, Erik realized, did not mean protection. Bram turned his attention to Erik.
"Prince Erik," he said, voice cold, precise. "Your father has received your unit's report. The King requests your immediate return to the castle," Bram said. "You and your team will debrief military command."
Elara's gaze flicked once to Bram, then away. Calculation replaced outrage. Talion remained silent, but Erik felt the man's loyalty like a pressure at his back, not defiance, not rescue. Just refusal to abandon him to the room alone.
Erik inclined his head. "Understood."
Bram stepped closer, lowering his voice so only Erik could hear.
"You will receive the blame for this."
All Erik could do was stand tall. As he turned toward the doors, the chamber resumed its low murmur, already converting consequence into policy, outrage into leverage.
The Church would leave with momentum. The council would leave with a scapegoat. And Erik would leave with the weight of a man who had tried to act before permission arrived, and paid for it. He did not look back. He couldn't afford to.
Deep beneath a residential district, far from City Hall's polished floors, Ara-dul walked downward. Ancient things were never on the surface. The passage had been sealed behind layers of time, hidden beneath foundations laid by people who never knew what they built over. The mercenaries waited above, guarding access points, ordinary men with rifles and patience, unmarked by nation or allegiance. Ara-dul did not linger with them.
He watched as two mercenaries set up the last bomb that he had received from Zao. No longer was his target crystals that produced light, instead was the real target. A ten foot tall wall covered in writing. He could not read the ancient text, but he was still enamored by it. It was not just chiseled into the stone, it was as if someone wrote with ink made from crystals, the letters pulsing faintly in the low light. He touched the letters once before touching the device.
He watched in awe as matter tore apart in a bright flash. The once beautiful wall collapsed now that more than half of it was missing. Behind it was nothing. An empty room.
He could not tell if anything shifted, could not tell if what he did was successful. All he knew is that he completed the task that the Cardinal wanted from him and that was what truly mattered.
"Get your men ready to depart," Ara-dul commanded the commander of the mercenaries. "Our next target is not far from here. We go to the Dragon Fang pass."
Footsteps echoed behind him. A figure emerged from the shadows, face obscured, presence deliberate.
"The seal has weakened," the figure said quietly.
Ara-dul inclined his head. "Then we are close."
"Closer than ever," the figure replied.
Ara-dul turned back toward the ancient descent, satisfaction settling into him like certainty. Above, the city slept. Below, something old was finally starting to stir.
Shane woke slowly.
Not from pain. From weight. It pressed down on him first, a dense awareness that settled before thought did. His limbs felt distant, like they belonged to someone else. The ceiling above him was unfamiliar—too clean, too bright, light diffused through panels instead of coming from a window. The air smelled wrong. Sterile. Processed.
Hospital.
The realization didn't bring relief. He turned his head slightly and the world swam, the edges blurring as if the room were reluctant to stay whole. Something tugged at his arm when he moved. A dull ache bloomed behind his eyes, not sharp, not threatening, just persistent. Failure sat heavier than any of it.
He closed his eyes again, not to sleep, but because he didn't want to see where he was yet. Didn't want to confirm that he was still here. He remembered Erin.
The sword in his hands. The way the air bent around them when they moved. How easy it had felt, slipping into the rhythm of the fight, letting instinct take over. He remembered how close he'd been. How the blade had guided him, urged him, just a little more. He had hesitated. And then the light.
Shane's jaw tightened. He forced his eyes open. Matthew sat beside the bed. Not pacing. Not distracted. Just there, elbows resting on his knees, hands loosely clasped, eyes fixed on Shane as if he'd been watching for the exact moment consciousness returned.
"You're awake," Matthew said quietly.
Shane swallowed. His throat felt dry. "Did I—"
"No," Matthew said, already shaking his head. "You didn't."
The word landed like a blow.
Shane stared at the ceiling again. "I should have."
Matthew didn't answer immediately. He shifted slightly in his chair, the faint scrape of metal against tile loud in the quiet room.
"Maybe it's not a bad thing," he said carefully.
Shane laughed once. It came out rough, humorless. "Don't."
Matthew held his gaze this time. "Killing him wouldn't have fixed what happened."
"He was there," Shane said. His voice was steady, but it felt like he was speaking from somewhere deeper than his chest. "He knew what they were doing. He led me away. He was part of it."
"I know," Matthew said. "But that doesn't mean—"
"It means I failed," Shane snapped.
The word echoed in the space between them. Matthew didn't push back. He knew better than that.
"You stopped him," Matthew said instead. "You disrupted the timing. If you hadn't gone after him—"
"He got away," Shane said. "Again."
Silence settled.
Matthew leaned back slightly. "You didn't let the sword take you."
Shane turned his head sharply. "Don't pretend that was strength."
"It was a choice."
"No," Shane said. "It was weakness."
Matthew studied him for a long moment. "You're still here," he said. "That matters."
Shane closed his eyes.
Madia's face surfaced unbidden, the memory sharp enough to make his chest tighten. Taken. Not killed in battle. Taken. Stolen from him piece by piece while the world kept moving.
Erin was still alive.
And Shane was lying in a bed.
When they discharged him later that morning, it felt wrong. Like being told to leave a battlefield because the fighting had moved elsewhere. His head still rang, his body sluggish, but nothing was broken badly enough to justify keeping him.
The Black Hand was waiting outside.
Margo leaned against the transport, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Davin stood nearby, hands in his pockets, posture stiff. Lira's arm was bound properly now, sling secured, but she stood straight anyway. Tovin hovered near the rear of the vehicle, eyes flicking to Shane and then away again.
They didn't crowd him. Didn't offer sympathy. They understood. Erik wasn't there. Shane noticed the absence immediately and didn't comment on it.
"We're splitting here," Margo said. "Orders."
Shane nodded.
They exchanged information the way professionals did when they didn't know if they'd ever see each other again. Secure channels. Dead drops. Names of intermediaries that might still be standing if things went sideways. It wasn't a promise of alliance. Just acknowledgment that their paths might cross again.
"If you hear anything," Margo said, looking at Matthew more than Shane, "anything that connects back to this—"
"You'll know," Matthew replied.
Margo's gaze shifted to Shane then. "Try not to burn the world down."
Shane didn't answer. They parted without ceremony.
The inn felt smaller when they returned to it, like the walls had crept in while they were gone. They checked out without incident. No one asked questions. Port Landa was already moving on.
They were nearly out the door when Rebecca found them. She looked like she'd been running. Her hair was loose, her breathing uneven, eyes bright with something between fear and determination. She stopped short when she saw Shane, relief washing over her face so quickly she didn't bother hiding it.
"You're alive," she said.
Shane frowned. "You shouldn't be here."
"I heard about the explosion," Rebecca said. "They're saying it was an accident, but—" She shook her head. "That's not what happened, is it?"
Matthew glanced between them but stayed silent.
"I want to go with you," Rebecca said.
Shane stared at her. "No."
The word was immediate. Reflexive.
Rebecca flinched but didn't back down. "I don't mean just follow you around. I mean—I want to learn how to protect myself. What happened last night made it clear that no one's coming to save people like me."
"That's not my problem," Shane said.
Matthew stepped in before it could turn sharper. "Why us?"
Rebecca hesitated, then spoke anyway. "Because you tried to stop it. Because you ran toward the danger when everyone else ran away." She looked at Shane directly. "You're a hero."
Shane scoffed. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Maybe not," Rebecca said. "But I know what I saw."
There was more she didn't say. Shane could feel it. Curiosity. Admiration. Something warmer than that. But it wasn't the reason she was here.
Matthew considered her for a moment, then nodded once. "She can come."
Shane turned on him. "No."
"She's already decided," Matthew said calmly. "And she's right about one thing. Port Landa isn't safe anymore. Not the way people think."
Shane looked back at Rebecca. "If you come with us," he said coldly, "you're his responsibility."
Matthew didn't object.
Rebecca swallowed, then nodded. "I understand."
Shane didn't look at her again. They left Port Landa just after noon. The city receded behind them, towers fading into haze, streets narrowing into road. Shane watched it go without nostalgia, without relief. Just distance. Ahead, the road stretched on. Whatever waited next, it wouldn't be hidden under stone. And Shane wasn't sure whether that made things better, or worse.