Evening had begun to settle by the time the gates of Cindralis came into view. The kingdom was a marvel of stonework and flame, nestled within the jagged cradle of the Eldric Mountains. Massive walls of blackened rock and crimson-tinted stone rose high into the sky, etched with ancient runes that shimmered faintly in the fading light. Twin braziers flanked the entrance, their fire casting dancing shadows across the obsidian archways.
Beyond the gates, the kingdom bustled with life. Narrow streets of cobblestone twisted through tightly packed buildings, their roofs forged of volcanic slate and timber reinforced with elemental wards. Crimson banners bearing the sigil of Cindralis — a serpent coiled around a flame — fluttered overhead.
Merchants called out their wares in rough, accented voices. Stalls lined the main streets, offering everything from charred spice meats to rare volcanic gemstones and enchanted trinkets. Street performers gathered in crowded squares, their flames and illusions dazzling onlookers. The scent of soot and spice hung heavy in the air, carried on the warm, mineral-laced winds.
Yet, beneath the vibrant display, a current of tension simmered. Guards clad in dark leather and steel patrolled in pairs, eyes sharp and hands resting close to their weapons. Whispers spoke of rising cult activity in the underbelly of the kingdom. Notices pinned to walls showed faces of the missing — too many to be coincidence.
"So this is Cindralis," Leon muttered, adjusting the strap of his bag as he took in the surroundings. "Smells like burnt metal and bad decisions."
"Better than the woods," Iris offered with a shrug, though her gaze lingered on the worn posters. "But it feels… off."
The Crimson Vow gathered at the edge of the market square.
"We split up," Sylva announced. "We need supplies, information, and a place to sleep. We meet back here before dark."
Everyone nodded and dispersed.
* * * * *
Leon and Iris wandered toward a weaponsmith's forge, a building belching thick smoke, the air within alive with heat and the hammering of steel. Enchanted blades lined the walls — swords humming with frost, daggers flickering with flame, axes etched with glowing runes.
"Look at this," Leon grinned, leaning closer. "Actual enchanted gear."
The smith paused and eyed them.
"Arcane threading. Strengthens the edge. Makes it bite through armour like paper."
Leon leaned in close to inspect a broadsword that shimmered blue when the light struck it. "What's this one do?"
The smith, a grizzled woman with ash-streaked skin, grunted. "Chills the blood. One cut slows your opponent, makes their limbs feel like stone."
Leon whistled low. Iris chuckled at his expression, watching as he tried out different gauntlets and a reinforced cloak.
Leon asked questions eagerly, learning about various enchantments — fire-tempered blades, ice-hardened shields, even gauntlets that enhanced the user's speed. Iris, however, stayed quiet, her attention flickering to the wary gazes of passing guards.
* * * * *
Sylva and Selene slipped into a magic emporium, its walls lined with vials, relics, ancient scrolls and bound grimoires. The scent of burnt herbs clung to the air as Sylva lingered by a case of enchanted rings, but her attention was drawn to a pulse of something dark, faint but insistent.
Sylva brushed her fingers along a shelf of runestones.
"There's something here," she whispered.
"What kind of something?" Selene asked, already wary.
"Dark magic. Blood magic. It's faint… but recent."
The shopkeeper gave them a tight smile, and Sylva made a mental note to watch the place later.
* * * * *
Kieran and Velis walked the streets together, though the air between them was cold and brittle.
"You're close to Lyra," Kieran began casually. "How'd that happen?"
Velis didn't look at him. "I found her. Treated her wounds. Simple as that."
"A child like you skilled with magic… odd, don't you think?"
Velis' lips curled into a small, calm smile. "Curious thing about orphans, Kieran. Some survive. Some don't. The ones who do? Well… they tend to be surprising."
"And you're very bold for someone who's never bested me in a fight."
Kieran chuckled dryly, sensing the unspoken threat. He opened his mouth for another question — but stopped.
Velis raised a hand. "We're here."
* * * * *
Lyra walked alone through a side street, trailing her fingers along the cool stone. She enjoyed the city's restless energy, the glow of lanterns against dusk. But then she felt it — the weight of a gaze.
In a narrow alley, a flicker of movement caught her attention. A figure — cloaked in gray, face obscured — stood watching her from the shadows.
When she turned, they were gone. But on the wall nearby, fresh crimson symbols had been painted. A crescent moon wreathed in flame.
* * * * *
As the group reconvened near an old inn, an old stone building called The Ember Hearth. Leon overheard a group of cloaked figures murmuring by a well.
"Ravon's gathering those loyal to the Drowned Moon," one whispered. "Another shipment of relics moves tonight."
A notice pinned beside the well caught his eye — a wanted poster.
'Ravon the Bleeding Prophet. Leader of the Drowned Moon cult. Reward: 500 000 crowns.'
But before they could settle in, a commotion erupted nearby. A group of armed thugs ambushed a robed scholar carrying a stack of scrolls.
"Hand it over, old man!"
The Crimson Vow leapt into action.
Selene surged forward, summoning jagged walls of stone to block fleeing thugs. Leon's body glowed as he cast Reinforcement Magic, muscles tightening as he delivered a crushing blow to one attacker's jaw.
Sylva's illusions scattered enemies' senses while Iris healed the injured scholar.
Velis, calm as ever, cut through a thug's shoulder with a curved dagger.
Lyra, moving with eerie grace, pinned a man to the wall with a shimmering illusion of chains.
The fight lasted longer than expected — coordinated, the thugs fought with desperate ferocity.
At the end, one dying attacker rasped out words stained with blood:
"The Drowned Moon… rises soon…"
Then silence.
The air hung heavy with the stench of blood and scorched stone.
The clash from moments earlier had left the narrow street littered with unconscious thugs, their weapons strewn about and the faint shimmer of residual magic clinging to the cobblestones. The evening sky above Cindralis bled into deep crimson, a curtain of dying sunlight slipping behind jagged mountain peaks.
Flickering lanterns cast long shadows on the stone walls, making the ancient, flame-scorched city feel both alive and haunted.
Leon rolled his shoulder, wincing from a fading bruise, his Reinforcement Magic having dulled most of the damage. "Well," he muttered, looking over the scene, "that was a warm welcome."
Selene sheathed her blade with a smooth motion, the embers dancing off her skin dissipating into the night. "Could've been worse."
The scholar they had defended — a middle-aged man in travel-worn robes, his greying hair damp with sweat — sat slumped against the wall, catching his breath. His eyes darted from the unconscious men to the party, filled with both gratitude and fear.
Darius knelt beside him, offering a hand. "You alright?"
He nodded shakily. "Thanks to you. I... I didn't think anyone would intervene. Not in these streets. Not anymore."
Lyra stepped closer, arms folded as she glanced down the alley where the attackers had come from. "What's going on in this city?" she asked. "We heard about tensions, but this is worse than we expected."
The scholar sighed, pulling himself upright. "It's not just tension. It's fear. People have been disappearing. Merchants, blacksmiths, even city guards. Every few nights, someone's gone without a trace. And there's talk… whispers of a cult stirring beneath the city. They call themselves the Drowned Moon."
At the name, Velis's silver eyes flickered. She said nothing, standing quietly at the edge of the group.
Leon frowned. "We saw a message during the fight. 'The Drowned Moon rises soon.' That them?"
The scholar grimaced. "They leave those messages after every incident. It's worse near the Blackstone District — the old quarter by the abandoned forge-halls. No one goes near there anymore."
Kieran leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "And the guards aren't doing anything about it?"
"Too afraid. Or paid off." The scholar glanced over his shoulder. "They say the cult deals in forbidden things… Blood Magic, dark rituals. Rumors of a black market under the city, selling cursed artifacts and relics from the old wars. People are too scared to speak openly. Even mentioning their leader's name is risky."
Darius's gaze sharpened. "Who leads them?"
A long silence.
Finally, the scholar whispered, as if the walls themselves might be listening: "Ravon. Ravon of the Drowned Moon."
The name seemed to thicken the air.
Selene scowled. "Sounds like someone we should pay a visit to."
Leon smirked despite himself. "Great. A city full of assassins, cultists, and disappearing townsfolk. This trip's turning out fantastic."
Lyra kept her expression neutral, but she glanced toward Velis, noting the child's distant look. She knew that look — the same one Velis wore before something dangerous surfaced.
Before anyone else could speak, Velis turned to them. "We shouldn't stay out here."
Leon raised a brow. "You scared, short stuff?"
"No," Velis replied softly, silver eyes unblinking. "Just… aware."
Kieran felt a chill at the way she said it.
The scholar gestured nervously. "If you're staying in Cindralis, be careful. Trust no one. Especially in the Blackstone District."
Selene nodded. "We'll handle it."
Darius placed a hand on the scholar's shoulder. "Find somewhere safe. Stay low."
The scholar gave a final grateful nod before slipping away into the shadows of the city.
The group stood in silence for a moment, the sounds of the bustling evening now feeling distant, tainted by the knowledge of what festered beneath.
Leon stretched. "Well… guess we have a long night ahead of us."
Velis glanced skyward. "The Drowned Moon… rises soon."
And somewhere, deep within the city's dark veins, something stirred.