The streets of Harrowick were still half-asleep, washed in the pale grey of early morning. A few shopkeepers moved like shadows, setting up carts, laying out bread, hammering loose shutters back into place before the market hours began. Somewhere, a dog barked twice, then fell silent again. The air was cool, holding the faint scent of river water.
Kaelen cut through the stillness like a drawn blade, pace quick, shoulders squared. Miro was right on his heels, hands in tight fists, boots slapping the cobbles with just enough force to echo in the quiet.
"You're walking like we've got assassins on our heels," Miro muttered, breaking the silence.
Kaelen didn't slow. "Feels like we might."
Miro gave him a sidelong look but didn't ask more. He'd learned by now that when Kaelen had that clipped edge in his voice, pushing would get him nothing. Still, the silence between them was heavy, charged.
They reached the guild's front steps in less than ten minutes. The big oak door groaned when Kaelen shoved it open. Inside, the air was warmer, carrying the faint musk of parchment, oil, and damp wool.
Farlan was already at his desk, hunched over ledgers and scattered contracts. His ink-stained fingers moved without pause, but the set of his jaw said the day had been bad long before it even started.
Kaelen didn't bother with greetings. He strode right to the counter, leaned in, and said, "We've got a problem."
Farlan glanced up, one brow twitching in annoyance. "Morning to you, too."
"No time for pleasantries," Kaelen cut in. "Last night, down at the docks—warehouse at the far edge—we found signs of a fight. Blood. Rope with dried skin on it. Someone tried to burn the scene clean. And in the mess, we found a mana stone."
That made Farlan's eyes lift fully, though his voice stayed dry. "A mana stone? You sure?"
"Small-sized. Pale blue glow. Felt… wrong." Kaelen's tone sharpened. "Something big's coming. Soon."
Farlan leaned back, fingers drumming the desk. "And what do you expect me to do with that?"
"Get men ready. Post guards in the streets. Whatever's coming, we don't want to be scrambling when it happens."
Farlan gave a humorless snort. "You think I wouldn't? Half the guild's already out on long contracts. The other half's babysitting caravans. Even the city guard's stretched thin—two patrols chasing down smuggling rings, another dealing with a border skirmish. I don't have men to throw at shadows."
Miro stepped forward, tone edged. "So you'll just sit here and wait for whatever's out there to walk in and take the city apart?"
Farlan's eyes narrowed. "I'll deal with problems I can see."
Kaelen held his gaze for a beat, then asked, "Do you know anyone in the city who can work with mana stones? Or any kind of magic device?"
That pulled Farlan up short. He studied Kaelen for a moment, suspicion creeping into his expression, then exhaled. "There's one. Eryndor Veylan. Old scholar, knows more about stones and enchanted mechanisms than anyone else I've met. But he's not guild—lives north of the central fountain. Doesn't like visitors."
Kaelen's mouth twitched into something close to a grim smile. "Then we won't waste time knocking twice." He straightened. "Keep your eyes open, Farlan. If anything starts moving in the streets, get people inside. Fast."
Farlan said nothing as they turned for the door.
⸻
Outside, the city was waking. Wheels clattered over cobblestones, shutters banged open, and the smell of baking bread began to drift through the air.
Miro caught Kaelen's arm as they crossed into the market streets. "Alright, what's this about? Since when do you care about mana stones? You planning to sell it off to Eryndor?"
Kaelen shook his head without looking at him. "You want me to go get it from the river? No it's just… The scene at the docks. The way that crystal felt. It's bad news."
"That's it? That's your reason?"
"That's all you're getting." His voice left no room for argument. "We don't have time for me to explain, and you don't have time to argue."
They wove through the market, asking a few vendors if they'd seen Serenya. Eventually, they spotted her at a bread stall, silver hair half-hidden under a hood, exchanging coins with the vendor.
She looked up, surprised. "Didn't you two say you were leaving?"
Kaelen didn't waste a heartbeat. "Can you use your Elf Arts to sense condensed mana?"
Her brow furrowed. "…I've never tried. Why?"
"Because we need it. For something important that can't wait."
She glanced between them, searching for an explanation. "You're not going to tell me, are you?"
"No." Kaelen's voice was steady. "Will you try?"
A pause, then she nodded once. "Alright. But if I end up sick from this, you're carrying me home."
"Deal."
⸻
They moved quickly, Kaelen steering them through alleys and sidestreets like he had a map in his head. Serenya stopped every so often, closing her eyes, whispering words in a language that curled through the air like smoke. Once, the wind shifted suddenly, rattling a loose shutter above them.
Miro started noticing the way Kaelen avoided certain turns. "You're leading like you already know where we're going," he muttered.
Kaelen didn't answer. "Keep listening," he told Serenya instead.
The streets narrowed as they pushed into the northwest district—quieter here, fewer vendors, the smell of damp stone in the air.
Serenya halted mid-step. "Something's… wrong here."
Kaelen stopped too. "What do you feel?"
She tilted her head, eyes unfocused. "The air's thick. Like something's sitting in it." She pointed toward an old stone well at the end of the lane.
Kaelen was already moving. He scanned the ground—spotted a coil of rope and a livestock hook leaning against a nearby wall. He grabbed both, looped the hook, and lowered it into the well. The splash echoed far below.
"Tell me you're not fishing," Miro said, but he stepped closer anyway.
Kaelen felt the hook snag something solid. He pulled. The rope went taut, water churning. His shoulders burned with the strain.
Miro grabbed on without asking, the two of them hauling in slow, uneven jerks. Water streamed off the rope, splashing over their boots.
Finally, the crate broke the surface—wood darkened from soaking, edges swollen. They dragged it onto the cobbles. It landed with a dull, heavy thud.
Kaelen knelt, pried the lid open. Inside were mana stones the size of a man's fist, pale blue light leaking from their smooth surfaces. In the middle sat a glass-and-metal device, strange dust swirling faintly inside.
Miro let out a low whistle. "That's worth more than we'll ever see in a lifetime." He crouched, hand stretching toward the nearest stone.
"Don't touch it!" Kaelen's voice cracked like a whip.
Miro froze, startled. "What's your problem?"
"It's not for us. And it's dangerous."
Miro's eyes narrowed. "Then tell me what's going on."
Kaelen hesitated, thinking. "Everything until now… it all falls in line with what I suspected from the dock scene."
Miro frowned. "That's not an answer."
"It's all you're getting," Kaelen said flatly. He hooked the crate under one arm, straining slightly with the weight. "We're taking this to Eryndor. Now."
They started toward the central district, Kaelen setting a near-jogging pace, water still dripping from the crate and leaving a dark trail on the stones.
"If he can't help," Kaelen muttered under his breath, "we've already lost."