"What's with the mask? Why the hell do you look like you haven't slept in days?"
"Yeah, Elliot," Scar added, trailing after Nile.
Elliot adjusted the cloth mask over his face. "Say what you want, but trust me—first and foremost, we can't get caught. Second, don't worry about me not sleeping."
The past four nights had been nothing but nightmares. Elliot had tried every path in the Dream—dying each time. The wave of bats shredded him no matter the direction he chose. The mountains had led him only to panic and another brutal death. Again and again, he was torn apart. His mind felt frayed, yet sharper for it.
He pulled on his dark winter coat, the brown shoes dull enough to blend with the mud, all chosen to merge into the night. The others wore black as he'd told them, shadows in the darkened village. The masks were rough, cut from winter hats Elliot had bought earlier—crude, but enough to keep faces hidden.
"Nile, Charly, Scar—good work wearing black. We've got about an hour before they arrive. Most villagers are already asleep. This is the best time to strike—stab them in the back, cripple them, and take their containers."
"Stab?" Charly echoed, fear twisting his face.
"Yes, stab," Elliot said, drawing a silver dagger. Its edge caught the faint moonlight.
"Shit, Elliot, we can't kill them," Scar hissed. "If we do, they'll hunt us down. No hesitation, no mercy."
"Shit… shit…" Nile muttered, knowing exactly where Elliot's words were headed.
"We're not going to kill them," Elliot clarified. "Just cripple them—stab the back of the leg and they're done. Nile's hammer will knock the rest out cold."
Scar's shoulders loosened slightly, though his eyes still darted nervously. "Good… but what about the containers? How do we carry them back?"
"Don't worry. Nile and I will take care of the guards. You two will grab the containers and bring them to the drop."
He tapped the side of his head. "With my hearing, I can track where they're moving. They're all headed the same direction, but on different paths. We'll cross maybe two, at most, going toward the underground refinery."
"Then we just trap them, take them down, drop the shipment, and get it back," Scar said, nodding slowly.
"The hard part," Elliot murmured, "is not getting caught. Not being killed."
"Such a hard part, isn't it?" Nile grinned, the faintest madness glinting in his eyes.
The tension broke with a laugh, three voices low in the night air. Elliot forced himself to relax, but his mind still churned. The containers floated when moved, heavy with whatever the Empire refined. If they had trackers, the group was dead. To counter it, Elliot had bought two massive cloth sacks—big enough to hide the contents once transferred.
"Here, Scar," Elliot said, handing over one of the bags.
Scar nodded, gripping it tight. "This'll do."
"Once you move the container to the safe spot, empty it into the bags. Then drop the empty shell. The drop is at my old home—perfect for hiding. Under the wooden hut there's a crawlspace no one checks. Out by the slums, no patrols, no prying eyes. If anyone is watching, it'll be clear who they are."
Nile stepped forward, his hammer resting on his shoulder. "Alright, let's go over the plan once more."
...
"Okay, boys—split up. Group one to the left, group two to the right, follow path 3B, and group C take path B4…"
The commander's voice cut through the night. Soldiers and drivers peeled away from the outpost, boots crunching on dirt and stone. Some took the paved roads, others the beaten tracks that led into the shadows.
"They're making their move," Elliot whispered. He lay flat on the wooden roof of a villager's home, heart hammering. At first, he thought Nile was insane for suggesting rooftops, but to his surprise, some of these huts were sturdy enough. Nile had done this countless times, and Elliot—thanks to his sharpened body and senses—had learned quickly.
Below, Scar and Charly waited on the ground, hidden in the dark. "Scar, Charly—you ready?" Elliot asked.
Both nodded.
"Good. Now stay quiet. I need to focus."
"Yes, captain," Nile muttered with a smirk. To him, Elliot was half-insane, half-myth. A boy with strange gifts who never explained them, only showed them. Nile had heard tales of emperors born with blessings, powers beyond reason. Part of him believed Elliot might be cut from the same cloth.
The rhythm of boots grew louder, echoing like thunder across the village. Too many. Elliot knew he couldn't track them all without Resonance Sight. For four nights, he'd failed in the Dream, failed to master the pain of the ability. But pain was the price. If he pushed past five seconds, the torment was unbearable, yet it let him cut through the chaos of sound—filtering, locking onto what mattered.
Tonight, he gambled everything.
Elliot closed his eyes. The world roared alive in his head—dust scattering, rats clawing, a man groaning on the latrine, the tiny crunch of beetles under boots. Every sound within a thousand feet slammed into his skull. His nerves screamed. His skin burned. It was torture.
But one by one, he cut them away.
Filter. Filter. Filter. Until only the soldiers remained.
Shapes formed in his mind like crude sketches, then sharpened—flesh, cloth, the clink of weapons. He saw them with his ears, every detail growing clearer the longer he held. It was more than sound, he realized. Something deeper.
Then it snapped.
"Fuck… fuck…" Elliot muttered, sweat pouring under his mask.
"What is it?" Nile asked, gripping his hammer.
"I thought this would be easy. One soldier per container. But no—it's two. Two per crate."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. And I can't hold it long enough to trace where they're taking them. If I go further, I'll black out. My mind won't hold."
"Then forget the lab," Nile growled. "Forget the refinery. One thing at a time. Focus on tonight."
Elliot gasped for breath, hands trembling. "You're right. Just give me… a moment…" His body convulsed, every nerve still burning from the overload. He collapsed onto the roof tiles, dizzy. "Gods, I'll need a week of sleep after this."
"No sleep yet," Nile said, eyes wild. "Now is the time. I need you."
Elliot forced himself upright. "Alright. Let's go."
They dropped down silently. Scar and Charly listened as Elliot explained the change: two guards per container, heavier security.
"Okay," Elliot said, drawing the dagger. "I've marked the positions. We'll move quick. Distraction first."
"You know how to use a slingshot?" Scar grinned, pulling the weapon from his belt.
Elliot blinked. "You've had that this whole time?"
"Figured I'd surprise you. Perfect for knocking one out before we strike."
"Good," Nile said, hammer resting on his shoulder. "One down from afar, the other crippled in close. Simple."
They huddled, hands stacked one over the other.
"Okay," Elliot said.
"Alright," Scar followed.
"Let's dig their graves," Charly burst out with wild excitement, though everyone knew fear was dripping from him.
Elliot smirked under the mask. "I already know who we're taking first."
He closed his eyes, Resonance Sight flashing one last time. Through sound, through pain, he could almost taste their tempers—their height, strength, discipline. Enough to know who would break first.
And those would be their prey.