The air smelled of dust and old metal. Crates loomed around them like silent sentinels as Artin, Kana, Mica, Ryle, Ger and Shai crouched low, their breath misting in the chill. The building they had entered was wrong—It wasn’t where the prince was being held.

  “What are they doing?” Mica whispered, eyes narrowed.

  “Moving somewhere,” Artin said after a glance through a crack between the crates. “We need to reach the prince’s cell before they relocate him.”

  Across the far corridor, imperial soldiers marched in tight formation, heading north—deeper into the dungeon. Their boots echoed against the stone, steady, disciplined.

  Ryle’s jaw tightened. He wanted to call them—to notice him—but reason held him back. Most of these soldiers didn’t even know he existed. If he exposed himself now, they’d attack on sight. Worse, if even one escaped—Lex, especially—it would mean the Greece family’s cover was good as gone.

  He exhaled slowly. Not yet.

  Artin gestured sharply with two fingers. They moved.

  They followed him through a narrow corridor line, the shadows shifting like restless spirits. Shai moved ahead, sniffing the air, ears twitching. Every so often, she would growl low, and the group would stop—waiting as Mica crouched to inspect a faint shimmer on the ground.

  “Rune trap,” she murmured.

  A few careful gestures, a hum of energy—and the glow faded, all thanks to Lex.

  Artin’s eyes gleamed faintly as they advanced, his beastly senses stretched unnaturally wide. Kana did the same with her [High Awareness], seeking movement, heartbeats, the faintest scrape of metal on stone. They encountered no patrols. None at all.

  Too quiet.

  The next building was small—insignificant, almost. But beneath it, it was different. Very wrong.

  “That’s the basement,” Ger said. “Largest one.”

  So they entered.

  Inside, three bodies lay sprawled on the floor—imperial soldiers, their blood already drying.

  Lex’s shadow detached from the corner. He gave a silent nod, then melted back into the darkness.

  Mica stopped near the far wall. “There,” she whispered. “Hidden entrance. And—wait. Trap.”

  Shai growled low, confirming it.

  Lex reappeared, crouching by the hatch. He rolled out a small kit of tools Kana did not even recognize—thin metal rods, powder vials, wire loops. Kana leaned forward, watching as his hands moved with precision.

  It took minutes—long, tense minutes—but finally, the rune flickered, then went out with a faint hiss.

  Lex exhaled and gave a curt nod.

  “I need to learn that,” Kana muttered under her breath.

  They descended the narrow stairs one by one, boots silent on the cold stone. The air grew heavier with each step, tinged with iron and blood.

  At the bottom, the sight froze them in place.

  Five prisoners—bruised, shackled, barely conscious—were being dragged from a metal cage by imperial soldiers. The ring of steel echoed through the chamber.

  Artin’s eyes hardened. “We’re just in time.”

  Lex vanished.

  He struck like a phantom—emerging behind one soldier, blade flashing once, then dissolving back into shadow. Another fell before his body hit the ground. Then another.

  But one turned in time, sword raised. Their blades met with a ringing clash.

  “Well, well,” the soldier sneered. “Looks like we have a few—”

  The rest of his words were lost to the sharp whistle of an arrow.

  Kana’s shot pierced his chest clean through. He looked down in disbelief before collapsing, Lex’s shadow stretching across him.

  What if I got hit?

  Lex glanced up at her, eyes wide for a moment—then he nodded, approval in silence.

  Ger stumbled down the stairs, panting, pulling the door shut behind him.

  Artin shifted, bones cracking as his body warped into something larger, faster, more feral. Shai sprang forward with a growl. Mica drew her sword. Ryle hesitated—just a fraction of a second too long.

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  By the time he moved, the fight was already over.

  Blood pooled on the floor. Every imperial soldier lay still.

  Kana lowered her bow, her heart pounding so loudly it drowned out the silence that followed.

  Ger on the other hand who didn’t contribute in fighting could be mistaken as the one who took down all the imperial soldiers.

  …..

  The air in the cell was heavy—metal, blood, and something else: the raw weight of captivity. Chains clinked faintly as the man before them tried to straighten. His face was bruised, one eye swollen shut, his lips split.

  Artin and Lex stepped forward first, kneeling instinctively. Their motion was fluid, a greet and respect towards royalty or high ranking officials.

  Kana followed a heartbeat later, then Mica followed by Ger and Ryle, bowing their heads in silence.

  Artin’s voice came steady, though his throat felt dry. “We’re here to rescue you, Prince J,” he said, each word carrying the pressure of the mission they had risked everything for. “By the king’s command.”

  The prince tried to respond, but what came out was a broken rasp, almost a groan. His hand shook as he raised it, pointing weakly at his own jaw.

  Lex understood first. He reached into his belt pouch and pulled out a vial—its contents shimmering a deep, molten red. He knelt beside the prince and pressed it into his hands. “Please. Drink this, Your Highness.”

  The prince fumbled but managed to swallow. The potion slid down his throat, glowing faintly as it went. For a moment, nothing happened—then he gasped, his breathing easing slightly.

  “Better,” he whispered, his voice rough as gravel. He lifted a trembling hand and gestured behind him. “Them... please... help them.”

  Kana turned—and froze.

  Four figures lay crumpled on the ground, bound and beaten, their faces pale to the point of grey. For a moment, she didn’t recognize them as living men.

  Without hesitation, Ryle and Mica knelt beside her. Kana pressed her fingers to one man’s neck, feeling for a pulse. Faint. Barely there.

  “They’re alive,” she said.

  “Barely,” Mica murmured. She tore her sleeve, pressing the cloth against one of the wounds.

  Kana was impressed. Mica seemed to see more blood than her. There was no hesitation on her movements.

  Artin’s voice cut through the basement. “We don’t have time.” He turned toward the stairwell—the place where the light from above flickered faintly. “They’ll be looking for the prince. Soon.”

  Ger stumbled down the last few steps, his breathing uneven, face pale beneath the grime.

  Lex gave a short nod. “We go. Now.”

  It wasn’t easy. Every motion felt like wading through stone. The prince could barely walk; Ryle supported him with one arm while Lex carried one of the wounded over his shoulder. Shai and Artin were carrying the remaining wounded on their backs.

  When they reached the surface, the night greeted them with a biting cold. The garrison loomed in ruin around them—its walls fractured, distant firelight flickering across stone.

  Lex knelt, pressing his hand to the earth. He closed his eyes. “No one seemed to notice the tunnel,” he said at last. “We’ll use it to get out.”

  He rose, his gaze meeting Artin’s. “Once we’re below again, the scent trail will vanish. They won’t find us.”

  Artin exhaled slowly. For a moment, he looked up at the broken sky through the cracked roof. The stars were faint through the haze of battle smoke, but they were there—still shining, as if reminding him there was something left to reach for.

  “Then let’s go,” he said.

  Kana took one last look at the prince—his eyes half-open, resolve flickering behind exhaustion—and silently followed the others back into the dark.

  …

  They reached the mouth of the tunnel and found not the open, empty basement they’d hoped for, but two silhouettes waiting like carved statues. The tunnel’s cut earth threw back their shadows long and dark. The world smelled of iron and smoke and the sour tang of too much blood.

  Artin paused with one hand still on the lip of the hole, his animal instincts twitching. Ger huffed, exhausted, bent double a few paces behind. The prince, though pale and bruised, managed a short, humorless laugh.

  The two figures stepped forward. Up close, their faces resolved into a pair of mirrors—twin brothers, the same shallow cheekbones, the same blunt brown hair, the same narrow, military mouths. Each carried two long curved swords slung across his back. They moved as if in easy conversation with the cold. They were too clean for this place.

  One of them grinned. “Can’t believe you dug a tunnel all the way here,” he said, voice casual.

  Mica’s fingers tightened on Shai’s pelt. Ryle’s hand hovered near his swords. Lex melted back into shadow, watching. The prince went still; recognition and fear both crossed his face. “They are part of it, the rumoured strongest force of the empire, no one knows how many they are. They call them: Order of the New World,” he said. The name had a weight. Artin’s ears flattened.

  “They’re the ones who captured us,” Prince J continued.

  The taller twin — or the one who seemed to take the lead — tilted his head toward Kana. “We are not interested in anyone else.” His voice was soft and precise. “Just her.”

  Kana felt the air go thin in her lungs for a second. Wanting to be laughed at was one thing. Being singled out like a fish on a hook was another.

  “Why?” Artin asked aloud, stripped of the usual jokes. He had transformed back to human, but there was something raw and low in the way his voice carried.

  The twins’ reply was almost kind. “We don’t want to kill you all.” One stooped like he inspected a pebble near Kana’s foot. “We’d like this mission to be easy. A few of you can be a bit of a challenge..”

  Artin’s hand curled into a talon at his side. Ger pulled his dagger and inhaled through his nose, buying a little steadiness. Mica swallowed. Ryle’s jaw clenched.

  Kana’s bones felt hollow for a heartbeat — not from fear, but from the terrible clarity of what a choice like this tasted like. Leave her, and you buy your skins with someone else’s death. Take her and you become the story they wanted to make of you.

  [High Awareness] whispered the obvious and the hidden: the twins’ breath was almost even. Their cloaks hung wrong at the shoulders, as if something heavy rode beneath. There was a faint metallic smell like oil and old leather — not from their swords, but from the edges of their cloaks. A language of detail she’d learned to read in dungeons: those seams, that particular sheen — rune-work. Protection. Warding. The twins were not merely soldiers; they carried crafted magic on their bodies.

  Kana’s hand tightened on her dagger.

  “You take me,” she said, and her voice had an edge to it that surprised even herself. It came out louder than the tunnel allowed. “You leave them and go.”

  The twin who’d smiled put his hands in his coat pockets as if to show he was unarmed. “Yes.” He took a measured step forward. “We’ll let you go. No harm to the rest. We leave the prince and the wounded—”

  A hundred different possibilities slammed against Kana’s skull in a single breath. Trickery. A trap. Maybe they would retreat and slaughter the wounded anyway. Maybe they lied. Maybe they would actually honor a bargain.

  She knew. She wouldn’t win. Not against them. They had no lines of weakness. She just needed a bit of distance, a bit of time until the Prince arrived on the other side of the tunnel.

  I'm hoping the [Teleportation] scroll lands to where I want to.