The dawn over Eldrin was pale and uncertain, a dim light filtered through thick clouds that promised rain before the day's end. The city, normally bustling with morning markets and cart wheels rumbling across cobblestones, felt… subdued. An unease lay over the streets, like the whole place was holding its breath.
Rein stood atop the outer watchtower, his hand resting on the cool stone parapet. From up here, the view stretched far: the jagged skyline of the city, the sprawling river that split it in two, and beyond that, the misty hills where danger always seemed to lurk. He could feel it in his bones—the cult wasn't hiding anymore. They were moving.
He took a deep breath, the weight of the last few days pressing down. The fight in the undercity had shaken them all. Sylvara had been quieter since then, her usual fire banked but not gone. Lyra masked her own unease with short, efficient answers, and Vex—well, Vex was Vex, smirking at danger like it owed him money. But Rein could sense they were all thinking the same thing: the next confrontation wouldn't be small.
Behind him, the sound of boots on stone broke his thoughts. "Admiring the view or just brooding?" Vex leaned casually against the wall, his crooked grin in place.
"Both," Rein said without looking at him.
Vex followed his gaze toward the hills. "Rumor in the taverns says the cult's been gathering outside the city. Big gathering. Torches, chanting, the whole 'creepy hooded mob' look. Could just be talk… but my gut says otherwise."
Rein finally turned to face him. "How long do we have?"
Vex's grin faded. "If they're planning what I think they are? Not long. Days, maybe less."
A sharp whistle from below drew their attention. Sylvara was on the street, waving them down. Even from this distance, her tail swished impatiently, and Rein could tell she was on edge.
They climbed down quickly, the air thick with the scent of brewing rain. Lyra was already there, checking the fletching on her arrows. She glanced up at Rein, her expression tense. "We've got news. The city guard intercepted a messenger last night—one of the cult's runners. He didn't talk much before…" She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "Before he stopped talking. But we got enough. They're holding the ritual three nights from now."
Rein's pulse quickened. "Where?"
Sylvara stepped forward, her voice low. "An old ruin in the hills. A temple to some forgotten god. The place still hums with magic—dark magic. If they finish whatever they're planning there, Eldrin's done."
The rain finally began, a light drizzle that pattered against the stones. Rein tightened his grip on his sword hilt. "Then we move fast. We gather supplies, plan our route, and strike before they're ready."
Vex arched a brow. "Just the four of us against a cult in their own backyard? Sounds suicidal. I'm in."
Lyra shot him a glare but didn't disagree. "We'll need more than just steel. If the temple's still alive with magic, it could react in unpredictable ways. I'll speak to the arcanists' guild—see if we can get wards or charms."
Sylvara's claws flexed. "And I'll find us a way in. Every fortress, every ruin—there's always a back door."
Rein nodded. "Good. But we move carefully. We can't afford mistakes."
They parted to prepare, each heading into the rain-slick streets with their own task. The drizzle turned to a steady shower, the sound mingling with the distant toll of the city bells. Rein walked alone toward the market, his mind turning over every possibility. The cult had been a shadow until now, striking from hidden places, whispering in corners. But now… now they were stepping into the open.
Something about that scared him more than any ambush.
By the time he reached the market, the sky was darker, thunder rumbling on the horizon. Merchants called out half-heartedly, their stalls protected by sagging cloth awnings. Rein picked through supplies—dried rations, spare waterskins, fresh oil for his blade—while keeping one eye on the shifting crowd. He could swear he saw a hooded figure watching him from between the stalls, but when he pushed through the press of people, they were gone.
It wasn't paranoia. They were being watched.
As he left the market, a single thought took root in his mind, heavy and certain.
The storm isn't coming. It's already here.
The rain had become a steady curtain by the time Rein returned to the inn. The common room was dim and quiet, save for the low crackle of the hearth and the occasional clink of mugs from a few early drinkers. He shook the water from his cloak and spotted Lyra at a corner table, her bow leaning against the wall, maps spread out before her.
"You got what you needed?" she asked without looking up.
"Mostly. But we've got eyes on us." Rein set down his pack, lowering his voice. "Someone was following me in the market. Hooded. Disappeared when I tried to get close."
Lyra's fingers paused on the map. "Cult scout?"
"Probably. Or someone working for them."
Before they could say more, the door swung open, letting in a gust of wind and a drenched Sylvara. She looked more annoyed than wet. "You're right. They've got patrols in the city now—quiet ones. No insignia, but the way they move? Too organized to be common thugs."
Vex trailed in behind her, dripping rain on the floorboards like it was on purpose. He tossed a small pouch onto the table with a grin. "And I found this. A key. Don't ask how. It's to a gate I've never seen in the city walls. My guess? Old smugglers' entrance. If we're lucky, it leads right toward the hills."
Rein picked up the key, turning it over in his palm. Iron, worn smooth by years of use. "If it's still there, it could save us hours."
"Or lead us into a trap," Lyra countered.
Vex smirked. "Every shortcut's a gamble. You like gambling, don't you, boss?"
Rein ignored the jab. "We'll check it out tomorrow. Tonight, we plan."
They huddled over the maps, marking routes, estimating travel time, and discussing contingencies. Lyra spoke of the magical wards they'd need to counter the temple's energy. Sylvara detailed the possible guard patterns. Vex, predictably, made suggestions that involved explosives, fire, or both.
Hours passed, the storm outside intensifying, until a sharp knock on the door interrupted them. Everyone froze. A second knock came—slow, deliberate.
Rein rose and moved to the door, hand on his sword. "Who is it?"
A voice answered, muffled by the wood. "A friend of the Guild. I have something you'll want to hear."
Lyra's eyes narrowed. "That could mean anything."
Rein opened the door just enough to see a man in a dark cloak, water streaming from the hood. His face was partially hidden, but his eyes were sharp. "Not here," the man said. "If you want to stop the cult, you'll need to move faster than three nights. They're starting the ritual tomorrow."
The room went still. Rain pounded the shutters, thunder rumbling far off, but Rein's attention was locked on the cloaked stranger.
"Tomorrow?" Sylvara asked, her voice low but edged.
The man stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, shutting the door behind him. His cloak dripped onto the wooden floor, leaving a growing puddle. "At dawn, they'll begin moving artifacts from the temple to the ritual site in the hills. Once they start, nothing short of destroying the site will stop them."
Lyra's hands curled into fists. "Why should we believe you?"
He met her stare without flinching. "Because if I wanted you dead, you wouldn't have opened the door."
Rein watched him carefully. The man's presence radiated control, but there was a flicker in his expression—urgency he couldn't quite mask. "Who are you?" Rein asked.
"A former servant of the cult. I left before they could… make me like the others." His jaw tightened. "I know where the smugglers' entrance is, and I know the guard patterns for tomorrow morning. But you'll need to move before the sun rises if you want any chance of intercepting them."
Vex leaned back in his chair, grinning faintly. "Sounds like fun."
"Sounds like a trap," Lyra muttered.
Rein weighed the risk. They had planned for three days of preparation, gathering supplies, scouting routes. Now, the timeline had shrunk to less than twelve hours. "If you're lying," Rein said quietly, "you won't have time to regret it."
The stranger nodded once, as if expecting the threat. "Meet me at the eastern watchtower before first light. Bring only what you can carry at a dead run." He turned and left without another word, disappearing into the storm.
The room was silent again, save for the rain.
"This changes everything," Sylvara said, pulling the map toward her. "If he's right, the smugglers' route would put us directly behind the convoy."
"And if he's wrong," Lyra added, "we'll walk into an ambush with half our gear and no backup."
Rein glanced at each of them in turn. "We take the risk. If they finish that ritual, we won't have another chance."
Vex grinned wider. "Finally."
They moved quickly, breaking down supplies, packing only what they needed—blades, bows, potions, rope, the bare essentials. The storm outside showed no sign of letting up, the night pressing close around the inn like a warning.
By the time the lanterns burned low, everything was ready. No one spoke much; the tension was too sharp, the hours too short. Rein lay awake, listening to the rain, feeling the weight of what was coming.
Tomorrow, they'd be running straight into the heart of danger.
And if the stranger was telling the truth, they'd be in the middle of a fight before the sun even touched the horizon.
The storm had dulled to a steady drizzle by the time they reached the eastern watchtower. The sky was still black, but the horizon carried the faintest trace of silver—morning was coming.
The stranger was already there, leaning against the base of the tower with his hood pulled low. His cloak was drier than it should have been, as though the rain had avoided him entirely.
"You're late," he said without looking up.
Rein's tone was flat. "We're exactly on time."
The man smirked faintly. "Good. You'll want every second."
They moved quickly through the shadowed streets, keeping to narrow alleys and old drainage tunnels. The stranger led them down an overgrown path that wound toward the hills, where the ruins of an ancient road disappeared into mist.
Rein scanned the ground as they went—tracks, heavy and fresh, pressed deep into the wet earth. "Caravan's close," he murmured.
They rounded a rocky bend and crouched low. Through the mist ahead, torchlight flickered, illuminating the silhouettes of armed escorts walking alongside three heavy wagons. The lead wagon carried a large, covered crate, its iron bindings glinting faintly in the torchlight.
"There," the stranger whispered. "That's the relic. They'll reach the ritual site in less than twenty minutes if we don't move."
Sylvara nocked an arrow. "What's the plan?"
Rein's mind worked quickly. The road was too narrow for a frontal charge; they'd be crushed between the escort and the wagons. "We hit from above," he said, pointing toward a ridge that ran parallel to the road. "Take the high ground, drop in before they can scatter."
They moved fast, scaling the slick rocks. The wind bit at their faces, the ridge narrow and treacherous beneath their boots. Below, the caravan moved like a slow, armored serpent.
Rein gave the signal.
The first volley of arrows rained down, cutting through the fog and striking the rear guards before they could react. Shouts erupted. Vex leapt from the ridge, slamming into a guard with bone-cracking force. Lyra followed, her twin blades flashing in the torchlight as she cut down another.
Rein landed in the center of the road, sword in hand, driving straight toward the lead wagon. The iron-bound crate pulsed faintly, a deep, unnatural red glow seeping from beneath its cover.
Then—
A sound split the air.
It wasn't a battle cry. It was a deep, resonant tone, like a bell made of bone, echoing from inside the crate. The glow intensified, spilling out in jagged streams of crimson light.
The earth shuddered beneath their feet.
The iron bindings snapped like brittle twigs. The cover burst apart, and from within rose a towering figure clad in tattered robes, its skeletal face wreathed in flame. Its voice was a whisper and a scream all at once.
"WHO DARES INTERRUPT MY RETURN?"
The escorts fell to their knees, chanting in a tongue none of them recognized. The creature's burning gaze locked on Rein.
The world seemed to hold its breath.
And then it moved.