---
The lower part of the city moved like it was half-asleep.
Boots dragged. Wheels creaked. A low wind pushed dust through the uneven stones. It wasn't loud, but it wasn't quiet either. Just steady. Repetitive. The sound of people getting by.
Sally walked a little slower than usual. Her hands were behind her back, her eyes scanning everything—rooftops, windows, doorways. Just observing. She hadn't said much since they left the courtyard. Neither had King or Jake.
Jake had his hood up. His steps were loose, casual, but his eyes flicked to every shadow. He didn't like this place. He didn't like the silence behind the noise.
King, a few paces ahead, didn't seem tense. Just focused. Every now and then he'd glance back at the others, checking that they were still there.
They passed a crooked stall stacked with what might've once been tomatoes. A boy behind it was fast asleep, head tilted back, snoring softly.
Jake gave him a look. "Hard day's work."
Sally didn't answer. She just smiled a little.
Then—something tugged at her sleeve.
She turned.
A small child stood beside her, no older than four. Hair wild, cheeks smudged with dust. They held something up—a wooden ring. Carved, a little chipped, but clearly handmade. They offered it without saying a word.
Sally blinked. "...Oh."
Before she could respond, a voice called out gently: "Tulla, don't bother them."
A woman stepped forward. Early thirties, maybe. Tired eyes, but kind. Her arms were full of laundry, and a second baby peeked from a sling on her back.
"I'm sorry," she said. "She likes giving away her treasures."
Jake raised an eyebrow. "Is that one of her treasures?"
The woman laughed under her breath. "All of them are. Today, anyway."
Sally knelt, taking the ring carefully. "It's beautiful. Thank you."
Tulla beamed.
The mother tilted her head, studying them. "You're not from here."
King said, "It's that obvious, huh?"
"Mm. No one from here walks like they have time to look around."
There was a short, gentle pause.
Jake asked, "Do you mind if we talk a little?"
The mother hesitated, shifting the laundry in her arms. Then she looked around and gave a small nod. "Follow me. Just for a minute."
She led them around a narrow corner—quiet, shaded. A small stone bench sat beside an overgrown herb patch.
"I don't have much time," she said, settling onto the bench with the baby still strapped to her back. Tulla plopped down in the dirt beside her, poking a bug.
Sally sat beside her. "We won't keep you long."
Jake leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets. King remained standing, watching the alley's entrance.
The mother said,
"People down here get nervous when strangers ask questions. Its quite uncommon for people to talk normally even. But... you're not like most strangers."
Sally smiled. "How so?"
She shrugged. "You stopped to listen. Most people don't."
Another soft pause.
"Is it always like this?" Sally asked, not pitying—just curious.
The mother looked out toward the dusty street. "No. Some days it's worse."
That earned a quiet snort from Jake.
The baby shifted on her back. She gently patted it, her hand slow, practiced. "But people find ways to make things okay. Kids play. Old folks tell stories. And sometimes... people are kind for no reason."
Tulla reached up, sticking a weed-flower in Sally's hair. Sally didn't flinch. Just let it happen.
Jake watched, a quite smile on his lips.
King finally spoke. "Is there anything we should know? Something the Governor wouldn't tell us?"
"I'm sure you'd know more than us, dear. Most of us haven't seen him up close the way you kids have."
"I know, but I want to hear it from you. Anything you can say about him."
The mother glanced down at Tulla. "I could say a lot of things. But I've got two mouths to feed and no idea who's listening."
Sally nodded, understanding.
"I see. It's okay. We don't want to get you in any trouble."
The mother gave her a quiet, grateful look.
Then, after a pause, she leaned in slightly—more a shift of trust than secrecy—and said in a hushed voice, "You want real answers? Look for the old tower at the end of the lane. The one with the broken roof. Ask for Keelo. He owes me a favor."
Jake straightened.
Sally whispered, "Thank you."
The mother stood up, balancing her laundry again. "Don't thank me yet."
Tulla waved. "Bye, flower lady!"
Sally waved back, still wearing the flower in her hair. "Bye, treasure girl."
Then the mother disappeared into the crowd, just another ghost among thousands.
The three sat still a moment longer. No one rushed to speak.
Then—
Jake tilted his head at Sally.
"You gonna wear that flower all day?"
She looked up at him. "Depends."
"On what?"
"If you promise not to steal it."
Jake scoffed, but his smirk gave him away.
King finally cracked a smile.
The dust kept drifting. The city kept moving. But something felt... a little lighter now.
---
The alley thinned out behind them, and the three stepped back into the buzz of the lower lane. Sally adjusted the flower in her hair without thinking. Jake walked tracking every face that passed, his hands in his pockets. And King walked beside him.
The directions were simple: end of the lane, tower with the broken roof.
They started that way, walking past crumbling shops and chalk drawings smeared across brick. A man hummed as he hammered nails into what might've once been a puppet stage. A pair of kids played with a stick and a bucket like it was the best toy in the world.
For a moment, they walked in silence again.
Then Jake said, "She didn't lie."
Sally looked at him.
He nodded toward the street. "People here really do find ways to live."
Sally didn't say anything, but her expression softened.
The tower peeked out at the far end of the road—tall, narrow, leaning slightly like it was whispering something to the wind.
"Guess this is it," King said.
Jake cracked his knuckles.
"Let's see what this Keelo guy—"
Then he stopped walking.
Sally nearly bumped into him. "What—?"
Jake raised a hand. "Wait."
Across the lane, in the thick of the crowd, someone moved differently.
Not sluggish. Not tired.
Fast.
Hooded.
Tall.
And weaving expertly between people without touching a single one.
They moved like they knew exactly where they were going.
Sally whispered, "You see that?"
King nodded once. "Looks fishy, doesn't it."
"No emblem," Jake muttered. "No guard escort. Even his outfits different."
The figure turned a corner sharply—disappearing into a tight gap between buildings.
Jake didn't wait.
He was already moving. "Come on."
King and Sally followed, they looked back one more time.
The tower, and Keelo, would have to wait.
Something more urgent was unfolding.
---
(The Merchant and the Secret)
The Vash'Kael market shimmered like a waking dream.
Lanterns floated between rooftops, glowing softly in shades of amber and green. Stalls of polished stone twisted in and out of each other, vines curling between cracks as if nature had never agreed to leave. Crystals hummed faintly above merchant booths, illuminating jars of unknown powders, carved bones, fabrics that changed color depending on the angle.
And right in the middle of it all—
"...Is that a talking tree?" Finn asked, blinking hard.
Aurora squinted. "Or a guy standing inside a tree?"
Both were wrong, and neither really mattered.
Because the tree—if that's what it was—was laughing.
Low and woody, like a deep chuckle through hollow bark.
The Wooden Merchant leaned over the counter—roots for arms, his torso carved but moving, one eye glowing green and the other stitched shut with golden thread.
"Ohhh, little elves," he sang, voice like wind through leaves, "So far from your branches."
Aurora frowned. "You know we're not—"
"Shh," Finn nudged her. "Let him have this. He's got a whole vibe going."
The merchant's smile widened. "Curious children. Looking for something?"
Finn stepped closer, resting his arms on the stall, eyes wide. "We're just browsing."
"Browsing secrets?" the merchant asked. "Because that's what I sell."
Aurora raised an eyebrow. "That sounds fake."
"Sounds like a scam," Finn added, grinning. "But I hope... a really cool scam."
The merchant's wooden fingers clicked together once.
"A secret... for a secret," he said. "That's the deal."
Aurora glanced sideways at Finn. "Please don't."
Finn rocked on his heels. "What?"
"You're gonna give this guy something, aren't you?"
He shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe."
"Finn."
"I've always wanted to know what it feels like to get scammed. Been a dream since day one."
Silence.
The merchant chuckled again.
Finn leaned forward on the counter. "Alright, I got something for you."
Aurora groaned.
The market moved around them—slow, warm, noisy—but in this moment, the space between the three of them quieted. Even the crystals seemed to hum softer.
Finn tapped a finger to his temple, thinking.
Then he said something.
Soft. Private. A memory only he would share—only Aurora would recognize. The kind that wasn't dangerous, just… honest.
The merchant didn't react.
For a beat, nothing happened.
Then—
He laughed. Loud. Deep. A bark-crackling sound that startled a bird from a nearby perch.
Aurora stood there, frozen. "You just—"
"Yep," Finn said.
"You gave him—"
"Sure did."
"And now he's laughing like an evil ent—"
"Worth it."
Aurora stared at him. Dead inside.
The Wooden Merchant finally calmed, wiping a nonexistent tear from his eye.
"Delightful. Truly."
He tilted his head. "Now... what is it you're looking for?"
Finn and Aurora exchanged a look.
"Information," Aurora said carefully. "Some stuff. About this place."
The merchant hummed, branches creaking as he reached under the counter.
He pulled out a small stone.
Round, glassy. Not unlike an ordinary rock one would find laying on the street.
He placed it between them.
"The stones remember,"
he said.
Aurora frowned. "Meaning?"
"The past never truly vanishes,"
"The foundation of Vash'Kael knows what was."
Finn took the stone and held it stone up to the light.
"So... it's like a magic memory rock?"
"Something like that," the merchant replied with a wink.
Aurora sighed, grabbing Finn's sleeve. "We're leaving."
"You're welcome," Finn told the tree while waving.
---
(A Rock & A Vision, with no Regrets)
They walked in silence for a while.
Not the heavy kind, not awkward either. Just the usual calm that came when Finn and Aurora weren't being chased, lectured, or thrown through something.
The alleys here felt quieter than the rest of the market—narrow walls wrapped in roots, stone bricks warm from the afternoon sun. A good spot to breathe.
Aurora let go of his sleeve.
"You traded a genuine memory for a rock."
Finn gave a content sigh.
"Might be cursed."
"Absolutely cursed."
"Feels kinda tingly."
"Finn."
"Ok ok, it seemed like a fair trade at the time."
She shook her head, but not with annoyance. More like… this again.
They stopped near a low step in the shade, tucked between a closed herb stall and a dust-covered sculpture of something that might've been a turtle.
Finn tossed the stone into the air once, caught it.
"You think it's hollow?"
"No," Aurora said. "I think it's cursed."
He turned it in his hand, watching the glow pulse faintly.
"…Maybe it shows something?" he mused. "Like… visions of the past?"
Aurora crossed her arms. "Yeah. That's how magic works. Just hold a rock and think really, really hard."
Finn grinned. "Got it."
He sat down cross-legged on the step, holding the stone out in front of him like it was a legendary artifact.
"Okay," he said,
closing his eyes. "Stone of memory... show me your secrets."
.
.
.
Nothing.
"…Stone of mystery," he tried again, more dramatically.
"Reveal to me the truth!"
Still nothing.
Aurora leaned on the wall. "Maybe shake it."
He shook it.
Nothing.
"Maybe insult it?" she offered.
Finn raised an eyebrow.
"Really?"
She shrugged side eyeing him. "You're telling me you haven't thought of it."
He opened his mouth to reply—
—and then the stone pulsed.
Bright. Sharp.
Light burst through his fingers.
The alley fell away.
---
(Flash of the Past)
Stone. Smoke. Crumbling walls.
Footsteps echoing through a narrow street.
A young orc—barefoot, panicked—clutching something with all his might.
His eyes wild, hair slick with sweat.
Guards shouting behind him.
Torches flaring.
He turned a corner—skidded to a stop—pressed himself into a shadow.
Quickly, he knelt beside a cracked wall, pried a loose stone free.
He shoved it into the hollow and sealed it just as boots rounded the corner.
A guard snarled, "Where is it?!"
The orc didn't flinch.
"Lost to time."
The vision cracked—
Flashed—
Shattered—
Finn blinked hard, nearly falling back.
Aurora caught his arm. "Finn?"
He gasped once, then let out a low
"whoa…"
"What did you see?"
He pointed behind her—at the wall.
"That," he said. "That exact wall."
She turned slowly. It looked ordinary. A little cracked.
"…You think something's in there?"
Finn stood, rubbing his face.
"Only one way to find out."
They stepped toward it together—
One stone at a time.
---
("What do you think's happening here?")
Somewhere in the lower parts of the city,
jake, sally and king was still pursuing that mysterious figure.
The figure was fast. Weaving through the streets like they were in a hurry.
Cloaked in brown, hood low, no emblem. They moved through the alleyways like they knew the layout—turning corners with intention,
stepping through narrow gaps between crumbling buildings.
Jake's eyes lit up.
"I got this."
"Jake—" King warned, but it was too late.
He took off in a sprint, weaving between barrels and piles of cloth with that kind of reckless confidence that only he had. Sally and King followed fast, quieter, cleaner.
They turned into a side street—empty except for the echo of footsteps ahead.
"Not a worker," Sally panted. "Too clean."
"Yeah, tell me about it." King scoffed, watching the rhythm. "No limp. Balanced steps. Probably trained."
Jake was gaining ground.
The figure turned sharply down a cracked stairwell and disappeared.
They followed.
The stairs led to a small square behind one of the abandoned towers. Sunlight barely filtered through. The air felt dense—stale with heat.
Then they saw it:
The mysterious figure had crouched down beside a low stone wall, tucking something under one of the loose stones—quick, deliberate. Hiding there what looked like a sealed scroll.
A message.
The three witnessed a secret message being delivered.
To someone,
but who?
The figure looked up—eyes wide—
and noticing something, they bolted again.
This time, a guard's voice rang out from a higher platform.
"Hey—!"
Then came the whistle.
Sharp. Piercing.
Not for them—just in general.
An alert.
Jake didn't pause. He kicked off the wall and launched himself forward.
Sally and King ducked behind rubble, staying close.
The messenger turned another corner—but slipped.
A loose stone gave out beneath their boot. They stumbled.
That was all Jake needed.
He lunged, grabbed for their ankle—
"Gotcha—!"
—but the figure twisted, kicking out hard.
Jake hit the dirt with a grunt, but not before pulling their hood slightly down.
Two curled horns flashed into view before the figure yanked it back up and scrambled to their feet.
Sally stepped out, hands raised. "Wait! We're not here to hurt you—just to talk!"
---
Surrounded, the messenger stopped. He looked between them,
tried to make some distance.
Just far enough to run. Just close enough to be heard.
They turned slowly, face shadowed beneath the hood.
A smirk played on their lips.
And then spoke—
"Talk?" they said,
voice rough but amused.
"Then let's talk."
---
The alley settled again—quiet, save for the faint rustle of wind through broken rafters.
Jake stayed crouched where he'd landed, watching the figure.
Sally stepped forward cautiously, hands lowered. King stayed close, eyes scanning the shadows.
The messenger hadn't run.
They just stood there now, hood still drawn, head tilted slightly. Composed.
Too composed.
Jake wiped dust from his cheek and called out,
"You always leave notes and sprint away or are we special?"
The messenger snorted softly. "Nah, you're not that special."
The messenger then leaned back against the wall, arms crossed under their cloak.
Their voice lowered—still guarded, but casual now.
"What do you think's happening here?"
---
Sally glanced at King.
King stepped up.
"We think something's broken. Cracked underneath all this.. stone."
The messenger nodded slowly.
"That's a pretty way of putting it."
Jake stood, arms crossed.
"We talked to someone. A mother. Said this city eats people alive."
The messenger didn't look surprised.
"Yeah,"
"That sounds about right."
They pulled a scroll from beneath their cloak—another one, not the one they left behind—
and tossed it at Jake's feet.
"Vash'Kael is built on order. But order?"
They glanced at the scroll.
"Order always has a price."
Sally crouched, picking up the scroll.
The seal was blank—just a black line across the top. Meant to disappear without trace.
King studied the messenger, tone low.
"You're part of something. You made that clear."
The messenger smiled.
"Maybe. Maybe not."
Jake raised a brow. "You're not a worker. You're not a guard. What are you?"
The hood shifted. The smirk stayed.
Then—quietly—they raised a gloved hand and peeled it back just enough to reveal the inside of their forearm.
Etched into the skin, faint but unmistakable—a mark. Carved with precision. A symbol none of them recognized, but one they instinctively understood:
A rebel.
The messenger covered it again.
"You want to fix things?"
"Then ask yourselves—how far are you willing to go?"
King's jaw tightened.
Sally didn't blink.
Jake just stared, silent.
Then the messenger stepped back into the darkened path behind them.
"This city watches everything," they said. "Even this."
---
A flash of movement. A shadow slipping between stone.
The messenger had found their opening.
They vanished into the alleyways before the three could stop them.
"Hey—!" Jake shouted into the darkness, voice bouncing off walls that offered no answer.
Silence followed.
Heavy. Frustrating.
To their dismay, the messenger had no intention to be caught.
But to stall. Distract.
Then disappear.
And now, the three of them stood there…
Left with more questions.
About the messenger.
About the resistance.
And about the city—
The very city that seemed to breed people like that into existence.
---
(What the Stone Remembers)
The wall didn't look special.
Cracked, mossy, same tired gray as the dozens they'd passed.
But Finn stood in front of it like it had personally insulted his ancestors.
"I'm telling you," he said, pointing with a flourish.
"This is it. Same moss, same cracks, same dramatic lighting. This is the one from the vision."
Aurora squinted at the wall.
"It looks like every other wall we've passed."
"Exactly!" Finn declared. "That's how you know it's hiding something."
He held the memory stone in front of him like a compass.
Then slowly—very dramatically—pressed it to a loose stone.
Nothing.
He tried again.
And again. Then gave the stone a firm shake, like it might need a reboot.
"…You just hit it, right?" he muttered, tapping lightly again.
"Activate? Stone of Remembrance, engage?"
Aurora crossed her arms and sheepishly, she commented.
"Wow. The ancient magic reacts to voice commands now."
Finn sighed. "Maybe it just doesn't like me."
"Or it's just in its rebellious phase."
"So, its pulling a jake?"
"Yeah, that's it."
"Here. Let me try something."
"What—no—I clearly bonded with it."
Aurora snatched it from his hand before he could argue.
She marched to the wall, held the stone out, and pressed it firmly to a random spot. Expression unreadable.
Nothing.
"…Okay, maybe it's shy," she clarified.
Finn stepped up beside her. "Or you're just not bonded with it."
"Oh please, I always take my time to bond with rocks I see on the street."
"...Emotionally."
They both started tapping different stones, overlapping into a tug-of-war.
"Let go, you're gonna scratch it!"
"Let me try, you're literally poking the wrong brick!"
"Ow.. that's just my nose. What the heck!"
"Who taps like that? You're embarrassing us in front of the wall!"
"I am the wall!"
Then—
Click.
They froze.
Aurora blinked. "Did you—?"
"I think you did," Finn said.
Aurora reached forward, slowly pried the brick loose—
—and there it was.
A hollow, neatly carved. Hidden away like a secret meant to outlive memory.
Inside: a wrapped bundle. Thin leather, dusty, weathered with time.
Finn whispered, "Treasure."
Aurora reached in carefully, pulling it out. "More like... treasure with pages."
"So, a book," Finn sighed, disappointed but still curious.
She flipped it open.
Scribbled notes, strange sketches, and bold lettering on the inner cover:
The two flipped through it absentmindedly for a while.
And saw sketches and drawings they didn't understand.
Then— they saw a writing, not blacked out or smudged beyond understanding like the rest.
They spoke at the same time,
"The chains will break. The stone will remember."
They both stared.
Silence.
Then—
"Now that... is an interesting find."
They looked up—
A figure stood at the alley's mouth.
---
The alley went still.
The figure stepped forward—
slow, unhurried. His huge steps creating an echo each time, the stones moving as if the alley was making room for him.
He stopped just shy of the sunlight. Just enough shadow left to keep a little mystery.
Aurora slipped the book behind her, fingers tightening around it. Finn instinctively took half a step in front of her—protective, but also... ready.
"You're fast," Finn said.
"And you're loud, dude." the figure replied grinning.
The light caught his face—olive skin, thick jaw, one long scar running from temple to cheek.
An orc.
Older, yes—but looked sharp. His eyes gleamed gold, and his teeth flashed with something between friendliness and danger.
"Name's Moss," he said. "And before you ask—yes, it's my real name."
"Glad we cleared that up." finn replied, not letting go of that one.
Aurora ignored both of them,
her eyes narrowing.
"So, you were following us."
Moss shrugged. "Nah, I was nearby. Heard the commotion. And had to check it out.. you know."
"Gotta tell you, made a bit too loud of a noise with your little... wall experiment."
Finn sighed tilting his head.
"So what, you were spying? or were you just vibing in the alleyways?"
"Both," Moss said, without missing a beat.
There was a pause—brief, tense.
Then Finn raised a hand, trying to signal casual authority. "Alright, listen. We're gonna go now, you're gonna pretend you didn't see us dig up a book of revolution, and no one gets cursed."
"Or followed." Aurora added, trying make a threatening face. Which just ended up looking weird.
"Relax. I'm not here to stop you. I'm here to help."
Aurora didn't lower her guard. "Says the guy sneaking up on us."
"I didn't sneak. You were just distracted."
Finn crossed his arms. "You always help strangers in dark alleys? Or just ones carrying possibly magical contraband?"
Moss chuckled. "Only the interesting ones."
He looked between them.
"That stone led you here. That book's not just forgotten—someone wanted it gone. Which means now that you have it… you've become a part of something."
Aurora glanced at Finn. He glanced right back.
Then she asked, "What do you want?"
Moss stepped closer,
slowly. Not threatening. Just... serious.
"To make sure you know what you're walking into."
He glanced toward the alley's exit, then back at them.
"And maybe—if you're smart—walk into it with your eyes open."
---
Back in the archives, time didn't feel real.
There were no clocks here. No windows. Just candlelight and the quiet sound of rustling parchment—though Harry hadn't touched a page in a while.
He was leaning over the book that fell on the ground earlier,
one hand braced on the table, the other slowly turning pages like they might burn if moved too fast.
Symbols lined the margins of every page. Some familiar. Some almost familiar. And some that pulsed faintly the longer he stared at it.
It'd been what felt like a few hours of him going through the book.
"You are… persistent, dear."
The voice came gently from behind.
The librarian floated a few steps away, her soft robes folding like mist.
Harry looked up adjusting his gaze. Like he finally broke out of his thoughts in a bit.
Then—he finally replied to her.
"What can I say.. I just like knowing things, I guess." he said smirking.
A quiet chuckle followed.
She drifted closer, resting her hand on the edge of the table.
"Then perhaps… this was meant for you."
She took the book from him,
then flipped over some pages.
And after finding what she had searched for, layed it down on the table.
Harry turned to it slowly, scanning the first page.
Maps. Diagrams. Margins filled with erased ink.
And a line—half hidden beneath a water stain.
---
> "The Chained City cannot hold forever."
Harry murmured the words aloud.
The librarian, still beside him, said nothing. But she watched him with that same gentle, knowing look.
"…Chained," Harry echoed. "You ever heard this phrase used here?"
"No, dear." she replied. "But I've heard it removed."
He glanced sideways at her.
"You're saying they deleted their own history?"
"I'm saying," she said softly,
"Not all knowledge is meant to remain visible."
He leaned back, rubbing his eyes once.
"And yet, here you are." she added, "Still reading."
Harry paused. Then smirked faintly.
"I've come this far."
She inclined her head. "Then, dear.. you must carry the weight that comes with it."
---
The candle beside had Harry flickered.
Not much. Not too distracting.
But enough for him to look up from the book.
He had been here in the archives for who knows how long.
He himself had lost track of it.
The place was still—deathly still. Nothing but quiet breaths of wind from somewhere between the shelves. The librarian had drifted back into the deeper rows, her footsteps so soft they didn't echo.
Harry waited.
Not because he heard something—but because he felt something.
That weird little pressure in the back of your neck. The kind that always came right before someone called your name… or tapped your shoulder.
He looked over, scanning the archways between the shelves.
Nothing.
"...Weird," he muttered, and turned back to the book.
He flipped to the next page.
---
Finn and Aurora were pressing further into the mysterious figure who had shown himself.
Jake, Sally, and King still reeling from their brief encounter with the messenger.
Across the city,
Guards were repositioning, slower, more precise than before.
Onlookers kept watch from balconies, windows and even through the shadows.
And high above—
The Governor stood alone in his chamber, fingers resting on the sill, looking out over Vash'Kael with a quiet smile.
"Little scholar…" he murmured,
"You ask interesting questions."
The pieces were in place.
And the game, was about to begin.
---
[TO BE CONTINUED IN EPISODE 8]