Chapter 7
The sun dipped low as the towering stone gates of *Ashmoor* came into view, their iron frames etched with runes Draziel didn't recognize. Smoke curled from tall chimneys, and market chatter drifted on the breeze, but there was an edge to the air — like something was watching them already.
"Stay quiet. Let me do the talking," Sylas muttered, pulling up his hood.
Draziel glanced sideways at him. "You sure you don't have enemies in here?"
"I've got enemies *everywhere*," Sylas said with a dry chuckle.
They stepped through the gates as two guards gave them a quick scan, but no one stopped them. Inside, *Ashmoor* was a mix of old stone alleys, glowing lanterns, and hushed conversations. Posters lined the walls — bounties, missing people, guild announcements. One of them caught Draziel's eye:
*"Information Wanted: Stranger with Black Markings — High Reward."*
He pulled his cloak tighter.
Sylas noticed. "Told you. This city likes secrets... and selling them."
---
They wove through the crowd in silence. The streets of Ashmoor were narrow and crooked, sloping downhill toward a mist-covered river that cut the city in two. Stone bridges arched across it, but even from here, Draziel could sense something… wrong beneath the surface — as if the city itself was listening.
"Where exactly are we headed?" Draziel asked.
"To someone who owes me a favor," Sylas said without turning. "A fixer. Name's Rynn. If she's still alive, we can get shelter and maybe info about what's happening around here."
They turned into a shadowed alley, the smell of damp stone and old smoke thick in the air. A low door marked with a faded sigil — a crescent over a dagger — stood at the end.
Sylas knocked three times, then twice more in a different rhythm. A metal grate slid open. Two golden eyes peered out.
"You've got guts, showing up here," a female voice said.
"Yeah, yeah. I missed you too," Sylas smirked.
The door creaked open, and a woman in patchwork leather armor stepped aside. Her hair was a jagged cut of silver, and a pair of knives hung loose at her sides.
"I hope he's not trouble," she said, nodding at Draziel.
"He's worse," Sylas replied. "But he's the kind of trouble we might need."
Inside, the place was dim — part home, part armory, part underground tavern. Maps lined the walls, some with pins and scribbled notes. Rynn poured a dark liquid into three mismatched cups.
"You've stirred a lot of noise coming here, Sylas," she said, sliding him a drink. "There's talk in the guilds. About a marked stranger. One with a shadow burned into his back."
Draziel froze mid-sip.
Sylas glanced at him, then leaned forward. "Who's asking?"
"The Veilcasters," she said. "And if they want him... it's not for tea."
Draziel set his drink down.
He didn't know who the Veilcasters were, but the tightness in Rynn's voice and the flicker of fear in her eyes told him enough. These weren't just any guild — they were the kind who dealt in dark contracts, ancient artifacts… and silence.
"I didn't come here to be hunted," Draziel said, his voice low.
"You didn't have a choice," Rynn replied. "This city doesn't forget faces. And someone's already looking for yours."
There was a knock at the door.
Three times. Then twice more — just like before.
Rynn's face paled.
"That's not one of mine."
---
Got it. We'll go with *Option 1* — an ambush and a tense escape through the underground tunnels of Ashmoor.
---
The knock came again. Three slow raps, then two sharp ones — a mimic of their own signal.
Rynn moved instantly. She overturned the table with one hand and drew a blade with the other. "Back door. Now."
Sylas was already moving. Draziel hesitated only a moment, eyes fixed on the door. There was a presence on the other side — heavy, cold. A hunger that reminded him too much of death.
A crash. The front door splintered inward, the hinges ripped from the stone.
Figures in black cloaks surged inside, faces hidden beneath bone-white masks. Veilcasters.
Rynn threw one of her knives. It struck the first intruder in the throat — but no blood spilled. Instead, the body crumbled into ash, the mask clattering to the ground like a broken promise.
"Go!" she barked. "I'll slow them."
Draziel reached out, "Rynn—"
"Move!" she snarled, and kicked open a hatch in the floor.
They dove into darkness.
The tunnel beneath the safehouse was narrow and damp, lit only by Sylas's flickering lantern. Dust swirled as they ran, the sounds of muffled spells and steel clashing above them.
"What the hell are they?" Draziel asked between breaths.
"Veil-born," Sylas said grimly. "Half-magic constructs. You kill one, it remembers you."
"Perfect."
The passage split, and Sylas veered right. "There's an old smuggler path that leads out of the lower ward. If we're lucky, it hasn't collapsed."
"If we're lucky," Draziel echoed.
Behind them, the sound of pursuit grew louder. Not footsteps — something worse. A dragging, scraping sound… like claws against stone.
Suddenly, a chilling voice whispered from the shadows ahead.
*"Found you."*
A mask appeared from the dark, eyes glowing red.
Draziel reacted on instinct.
Shadow poured from his hand, coalescing into a spear of black flame. It struck the figure mid-chest and exploded in a burst of cursed light.
The tunnel shook. Rocks tumbled from the ceiling. Sylas yanked him forward as the passage caved behind them.
They stumbled into open air — a forgotten canal behind Ashmoor's outer wall, choked with fog.
They were alive. Barely.
Sylas coughed and looked back. "Well, that could've gone worse."
Draziel's eyes stayed on the crumbling tunnel. His heart was pounding.
Someone had marked him. The past wasn't done yet — and Ashmoor was only the beginning.
---
The morning sun filtered through the mist as Sylas and Draziel sat at the edge of the ruined canal, catching their breath. The silence that followed their narrow escape felt heavy — not with relief, but with the weight of someone missing.
Rynn.
Draziel stood slowly, eyes scanning the collapsed tunnel entrance. "She should've made it," he muttered, more to himself than to Sylas.
"She didn't," Sylas said flatly, wiping grime off his blade. "You saw the way they swarmed the house. She stayed behind so we could make it."
Draziel clenched his fists. "No body. No proof."
Sylas didn't argue. Instead, he dropped his voice. "The Veilcasters don't leave bodies. If they took her, she's alive — for now."
That small hope was like a spark in Draziel's chest — sharp, painful, and necessary.
"She bought us time. We can't waste it," Sylas added. "They'll hunt us harder now."
Draziel nodded, but his thoughts were already racing. *Rynn was captured.* And the Veilcasters didn't take prisoners lightly — if they had her, it meant she was valuable. Or... they knew who she was with.
Which meant *they were closer to learning the truth about him.*
"They'll use her," Draziel said quietly. "To draw me out."
Sylas met his gaze. "Then we get her back. But not now. Not until we know how deep this goes."
Draziel stared at the misty city skyline. Beneath the ash and shadows, something ancient stirred. The attack wasn't random. Someone wanted him silenced before his power fully awakened.
But they had made a mistake.
They left him breathing.
And *he would bring fire to their gates* for what they'd done.
---