The Marketplaza had a rhythm, one Alucent was just beginning to understand. People moved in loops of intent, bartering, exchanging, haggling with familiar fluidity. Sunlight glinted off steam-laced signs. The air was thick with the scent of ironwood smoke, crisp bread, and the faint ozone tang of activated runes. He stood near the edge of a trader's tent, his black curls catching glimmers of light, the faint shimmer of his ring long since subdued.
Then the scream came.
It tore through the square like a blade through silk, raw, animal, wrong. Heads snapped toward it. A woman, once stooped over a selection of shimmering Weavefibers, now stood twisted, her limbs spasming as if her bones were melting beneath her skin. Her eyes rolled back. Her mouth opened far too wide. Runes, sick, flickering black glyphs began to bloom across her skin like spreading rot.
The hum followed. A low, dissonant resonance that didn't belong. Not to any machine. Not to any living thing.
It belonged to the void.
Alucent's body tensed, but not out of fear. No, something in him pulled forward, as if yanked by a thread too deep to see. The ring on his finger went cold. Then hot. A pulse rippled up his arm, and with it came a sensation he couldn't name: dread braided with recognition.
His breath caught. He couldn't look away.
People backed off, but not in chaos. This wasn't the first time. Townsfolk moved like dancers in a grim ritual, retreating with purpose, not panic. In their place came a formation of grim men and women in reinforced leather and brass, their weapons not blades but long, rune-etched rods. They moved in a unit, encircling the possessed woman with a precision that was clearly drilled.
"Shadowcage Enforcers," someone whispered near him, voice barely audible.
The possessed woman screamed again. Her voice bent. Twisted. Became something else.
Alucent's vision narrowed. The hum deepened. It vibrated in his ribs. The Weave Anchor Ring surged, blinding for a moment. He stumbled, catching himself against a wooden stall.
And then, he felt it. A connection.
To her.
Not to the woman, but to the thing inside her. A thread of raw, writhing energy extended between them, not physical, not visible, but present. His stomach churned. He doubled over, not from pain, but from the impossibility of the sensation: a dark tide crashing against the walls of his mind.
The Void Path.
It wasn't just theoretical anymore.
A shimmer formed around him. Subtle, but there. The light around his outline bent just slightly, like heat over pavement. His pupils dilated. Somewhere deep inside, he felt something stir. Not awake, not fully, but aware.
The Enforcers didn't notice him.
They focused on their task.
The possessed woman writhed, now on all fours, her limbs bending in ways that defied anatomy. Then, with a guttural cry, she surged at the nearest Enforcer.
He was ready.
The rod struck her mid-lunge, pulsing with bright runes. It didn't just stop her, it pinned her midair, as though caught in a web of invisible force. Three more Enforcers joined in. Their rods locked together at the tips, forming a cage of glowing script around her. The sound of the hum diminished slightly.
Then came the Shadowcage.
Carried on a wheeled platform, it clanked forward, an ironwood structure reinforced with dark metal bands, humming with barely contained energy. The glyphs etched into its bars flickered with deep violet light. Taboos radiated from it. Alucent didn't know how he knew that, but he did. This was not just a prison. It was a ritual. A binding.
They forced her inside. The moment the cage door shut, the air snapped like a whip. The hum ceased. The runes across her skin dimmed, though didn't vanish. Her body collapsed, unconscious, or feigning it.
A hush fell over the plaza.
Then, footsteps.
Precise. Steady. Unafraid.
A woman stepped forward from the crowd's edge. Medium height. Chestnut hair pulled into a tight bun. A scar ran across her left cheek, not grotesque, but prominent. A mark of something survived. Her eyes, hazel, sharp, took in the scene without surprise. She wore a leather apron over a practical, rune-stitched dress. Her gauntlets gleamed with fresh ink. The air around her crackled faintly, not with power, but with control.
The Silverline Scribe.
Thread 4, Alucent would later learn.
Her name was Raya.
She said nothing at first, only gestured. The Enforcers moved at her silent command. She made a slicing motion across her palm, and the rods disengaged, the light along their shafts fading. She moved to the cage, laid a single hand against one bar, and whispered something too soft to hear. A second pulse of energy stabilized the structure.
Only then did she speak.
"Thread confirmation. Possession type: minor void incursion. Local tether stabilized. Cage integrity: high."
Her voice was clipped. Calm.
She turned.
Her eyes landed on Alucent.
She paused.
Her gaze lingered. Longer than it should've.
He was still recovering, hand pressed against his chest, the ring burning against his skin. The shimmer around him hadn't fully faded.
Her eyes narrowed.
And then, nothing.
She turned back, issued a final command, and began her walk toward the northern edge of the plaza. The Enforcers followed. The Shadowcage rolled behind them, the possessed woman limp within.
But Alucent could still feel her. That echo. That scream that hadn't come from lungs or throat but from the place behind the stars.
He wiped sweat from his brow.
The ring had nearly responded. Or reacted. Or resisted. He didn't know. But it hadn't been passive. And she'd noticed. Raya. The way her expression had briefly shifted, not with fear, but with suspicion.
Measured.
That was the word.
She had measured him.
The plaza began to stir again. Traders reassembled their wares. Townsfolk whispered but moved with restored purpose. The chaos was over. Just another day in Eryndral.
But Alucent, still pale, still trembling slightly, now knew something vital:
Whatever possessed that woman wasn't rare.
And whatever lived inside him, or touched the ring, or connected him to that screaming void-
It hadn't gone unnoticed.
He looked toward where Raya had disappeared.
Something about her… the scar, the way she moved, the way the ring had responded not just to the possession, but to her proximity…
He wasn't just being watched now. He was being studied. And that was worse.