They moved an hour before midnight.
By then, the castle was quiet in a way that made even soft footsteps sound too loud. Servants were locked away in their quarters. Patrols had thinned to just a few pairs of guards, walking slow, predictable loops.
The torches in the wall sconces burned low, their flames small and shaky, leaving wide stretches of hallway in shadow.
Glade led them to the first hidden access point—a wall panel carved with curling leaf patterns. The wood wasn't like anything Red had seen before. Its surface was smooth, almost polished, and it carried a sharp, resin-like scent that didn't belong in a stone fortress.
Glade found the knot in the carving with practiced fingers, the wood pale and smooth from years of use. A soft push, and the panel swung open without a sound, spilling a faint draft of cooler air from the darkness beyond.
Brayl jerked her chin for Glade to go first, then gestured Red in after him. The passage was barely wider than a man's shoulders, the rough stone brushing their sleeves with every step. The floor dipped now and then, uneven enough to make them watch their footing.
Somewhere deeper in, the air carried the dry, stale taste of dust that had settled there for decades.
"This route," Glade murmured over his shoulder, "comes out behind the chamber those two loudmouth guards were stationed at earlier. We slip past one more patrol inside, and we're at the holding cell."
"Could have told us earlier and not now when we're supposed to be silent," Brayl shot back in a whisper.
Glade shrugged.
Red filed that away. Useful knowledge—especially if they needed to come back without an audience.
Halfway through, he slowed. Somewhere ahead, faint footsteps echoed—coming closer. A warm glow began to shift against the far wall, shadows stretching as the light moved.
He raised a hand. "Stop."
Brayl froze. Glade turned his head slightly, waiting.
Red reached for his pocket and revealed a coin he'd picked up in his chamber earlier. With a sharp flick, he sent it clattering into a narrow side shaft branching off the main passage. The sound bounced away, echoing down the other corridor.
The footsteps paused. Muffled voices traded quick words, then turned in the direction of the noise.
When the last trace of sound faded, Red straightened. "Keep moving."
They emerged into a small, shuttered antechamber where the air smelled of stone and stale incense. Glade slid an interior bar free, easing the next door open until a thin slice of torchlight spilled through.
Two guards stood at the far end of the hall, spears upright, armor catching the firelight. Red stood still, watching them shift their line of sight. The one who could visibly see them looked away.
"Now," Red said under his breath.
They advanced together, moving in the shadows. No ring of metal, no rustle of fabric loud enough to carry. The guards did not notice them at all.
At the end of the corridor, the air grew colder. Heavy doors lined the walls, each one reinforced with steel and faintly glowing wards. The pale blue light shimmered along the seams like frost.
Glade stopped before the largest, most heavily sealed door. Its runes burned brighter than any of the others.
"She's in there," Brayl whispered.
Red's eyes went straight to the reinforced lock. "I don't suppose either of you brought a key?"
"No keys," she said. "The glowing runes, I can handle. But the lock itself? I hope Glade has an answer to that."
Glade stepped forward without a word, slipping a slim leather roll from his coat. He unwrapped it to reveal a set of lockpicks. "I've done this before," he muttered, dropping into a crouch.
The picks slid into the keyway with a faint scrape. Click. Pause. Another click. He worked slowly, deliberately—too slowly.
Down the hall, faint voices were growing clearer. Boots on stone.
Glade's jaw tightened. Sweat beaded at his temple. "Stubborn lock," he breathed. He twisted the pick, eased it back, tried again. The mechanism gave a dull rattle, but stayed shut.
Red listened to the voices growing louder, the rhythm of their boots ticking down the seconds. His patience thinned.
"We don't have the luxury of finesse right now."
"Just—give me a moment—" Glade muttered, trying again.
The footsteps were nearly on them.
"Glade." Red's voice cut flat through the air as he held out his hand.
A beat of resistance, then the picks were handed over.
Red knelt, slid one into the keyway, and twisted. One smooth, confident motion—click. The lock surrendered like it had been waiting for him.
Both Glade and Brayl stared.
"That," Glade said slowly, "is a thief's craft. Not something you pick up by chance."
Red kept his tone even. "Didn't think about it. My hands just… moved." He let a faint, almost mocking smile curve his mouth. "Maybe the Goddess guides them."
They didn't quite believe it, but neither argued.
Brayl stepped forward, eyes narrowing at the faint glow etched into the doorknob. "Sound ward. One touch, and the whole wing knows we're here."
Red eyed the markings but didn't recognize a thing. "Then it's yours."
Her palm met the metal, blue light flaring across the runes before they unraveled like smoke and vanished.
"It's clear," she said, stepping back.
Red pushed the door open.
The room beyond was small and dim, lit only by the faint glow of a single object on the bedside table. The bed was empty. Lumiaris was gone.
Brayl stiffened. "That orb… it reeks of astral magic."
Red crossed to the table. The orb was no larger than an apple, its glow faint and steady. It had that pull, like a piece of evidence too important not to examine.
Brayl flinched as he reached for it. "Careful. That stench—it's pure astral magic."
He ignored the warning, fingers closing around the smooth surface—
The world detonated in light.
When it cleared, he was no longer the same person.
The air burned cold in his lungs—sharp, metallic. His limbs felt heavier, wrists raw from iron shackles biting into them. He caught his reflection in a sliver of polished steel on the wall: blonde hair, braided into a tight updo with a black bow pinned at the back, starry blue eyes staring out of a pale, dirt-smeared face.
Lumiaris's face.
And then the shadow fell over her.
A giant stood in the cell. Black armor swallowed him from throat to boot, the plates matte and scarred as if they had drunk a lifetime of battles. Over one shoulder rested a greataxe with a crescent blade the size of her torso, its edge dull in color but sharp in the way a cliff edge was sharp. His helm's visor concealed his eyes, but she could feel them—cold, measuring.
No words. Not even the courtesy of a threat.
The guards at the door didn't move to stop him. One stepped aside, bowing his head as if greeting a superior.
Her stomach twisted.
The man stepped forward, his grip closing around the chain at her wrists. The iron links groaned as he hauled her upright with a single, effortless pull. Her knees buckled against the force.
She cast a final glance toward the bedside table—the only object in the room untouched by their intrusion. The orb pulsed faintly, as though aware, as though waiting.
She let her fingers brush it. Just enough. Just once.
Light bloomed in her periphery.
The armored man dragged her into the corridor. The last thing she saw before the heavy door slammed shut was the guard's expression—blank, obedient, loyal to someone she could not name.
The vision tore away like paper.
Red was himself again, standing in the dim cell with the darkened orb cooling in his palm—its glow gone entirely.
"What did you see?" Glade's voice cut through the stillness, worried.
He told them—each detail like a pin placed on a map.
Brayl's brows drew together. "I've never seen such armor. But that presence… that wasn't common soldiery."
Glade's tone was grim. "If the guards let him through without question, he's connected. Likely one of Ardent's allies."
Red's grip on the orb tightened. Which meant Lumiaris hadn't been taken at random—she'd been extracted, right under the castle's nose, with cooperation from the inside.
That made her twice as valuable to whoever had her. And it made finding her worth twice the risk.
The thought was cut off by the sudden tolling of the castle's bells. The deep clang rolled through the stone like a heartbeat gone frantic, each strike reverberating in Red's ribs.
Glade's voice was low but tense. "That bell—what if it's because of him? The man in the black armor—"
Brayl cut in, sharper. "Or because of us. If they know we were in that wing—"
Red didn't slow. "Then panicking will make it worse. We go back the same way we came, and we learn more when we're not standing in a compromising position."
They moved quickly but without rushing, each footfall measured and deliberate. The narrow walls pressed in until the passage spat them out near the prince's hall, just as a guard rounded the corner.
His spear locked into position. "Your Highness," he said, dipping his head without stepping aside.
"Just walking the halls," Red said evenly. "Jogging my memory."
"Not safe," the guard replied. His eyes kept flicking down the hall toward the noise. "You should return to your chamber."
"Why?"
The pause was short but heavy. "Lord Ardent is dead. In his chamber."
Glade froze, hand tightening on the hilt at his belt. Brayl's breath caught, her boot sliding half a step back before she stopped herself.
Red didn't flinch. His gaze stayed on the guard—the tightening grip on the spear, the half-step into a block, the refusal to meet his eyes for more than a second. Nervous. Not of him—of whoever might be listening.
No details. No suspects. Just the fact and the order. Containment, not chaos. Someone already had the story written.
The guard turned, leading them back, boots striking loud enough to bury unasked questions.
Red followed, silent, the sound gnawing at him more than he wanted to admit.
He wasn't used to standing this close to a death like Ardent's without being the one who made it happen. Normally, he was the shadow outside the door, not the man people glanced at for answers.
Now, he was inside the spotlight—close enough to feel the heat of it—and the board was shifting under his feet.
He didn't know yet if that made him a player… or a piece waiting to be taken.