Dhaurim City breathed differently at night.
During the day it clattered, hissed, and roared. Piston towers pumped smoke that drifted like gray banners above the rooftops. Cable-car lines rattled overhead, ferrying workers from the lower industrial tiers to the upper administrative balconies. Mechanical beasts—mana-powered wagons, gear-driven couriers, and metal pack-striders—stalked the main avenues in regulated patterns.
But at night, everything slowed.
The city shifted from an industrial roar to a low metallic hum, like a giant resting in uneasy sleep. Steam no longer burst in violent plumes; instead, it exhaled in controlled sighs. The glow of furnace stacks dimmed to a sullen red. Watch lights replaced work lamps. Dhaurim did not sleep—but it grew quieter.
It was the perfect time to scout.
Eryndor, Lirien, and Garruk blended into the slow stream of late-shift workers and traders returning home. Cloaks drawn, heads lowered, they moved with the rhythm of the city rather than against it. The streets glowed with soft amber light fueled by steam-cores hidden beneath grated sidewalks. Heat rose in faint waves from the iron-lined roads.
Their objectives were simple.
Understand the Emberforge Guild's routines.
Locate weak points.
Identify the best infiltration route.
They spent hours circling the northern district, slipping through alleys, rooftops, and crowded marketplaces with practiced subtlety.
Emberforge territory was unmistakable.
The air smelled faintly of heated iron and machine oil. Roads were reinforced with metal inlays that glowed dull red during peak energy hours. Cranes and loading arms extended from warehouse upper floors, lifting crates filled with ore, enchanted scrap, and mana-infused alloys.
Guild workers wore layered leather aprons stitched with metal patches—functional protection against forge hazards. Large chimneys rose like spiked towers, coughing steam into the night sky.
And at the center of it all stood the Emberforge Guild Headquarters.
A five-sided iron fortress integrated into the city's power grid.
Generators hummed beneath it, feeding the outer defenses with constant mana flow. A rail system connected directly to its eastern cargo intake. Rotating spotlights swept the perimeter with mechanical precision. Patrol routes were disciplined and overlapping.
Eryndor studied the walls carefully.
No cracks.
No blind spots in any obvious sense.
Which meant they needed something unobvious.
They regrouped in a lantern-lit alley behind a spice store that closed at dusk. The air carried lingering scents of pepper and oil.
"Security is thick," Eryndor began quietly. "Front gates are a death trap. Snipers on the western balcony. And those brass sentinels rotate every six minutes."
"Almost humanoid brass sentinels," Garruk confirmed. "We built them few years ago. Anyone who approaches without authorization gets hit with a paralyzing pulse. Not lethal, but more than enough to drag you into a prison cell."
Eryndor grunted. "Prefer lethal. Cleaner."
He then crouched by the map, tapping the eastern edge.
"The eastern supply duct just like what we discussed earlier is still the most safe path for now."
"And the most dangerous," Lirien's eyes flicked toward him.
Garruk sighed. "The guild uses it to draw steam from the city's main pipeline, most likely there are less guards. But No one would crawl into something connected to a live mana-core."
"This is madness,"
Eryndor smiled.
"I would be more concerned if it wasn't."
The plan formed quickly.
They would infiltrate through the eastern supply duct, follow the mana-steam corridor, drop into the generator hall, bypass patrols, reach the vault, steal the relic, and exit before sunrise.
Simple on paper. Potentially suicidal in practice.
The moon hid behind thick clouds that favored them.
They moved through the industrial yard with quiet, deliberate steps. Steam drifted across the ground in thin sheets. The Emberforge compound loomed ahead, lights flickering behind reinforced glass.
They reached the eastern platform without incident.
Steam hissed through pipes. Metal vibrated underfoot. The air was dense with heat.
They found the service hatch—half-rusted but secured with a rune-seal.
Eryndor reached for it.
"I can try to break it," he murmured.
Lirien knelt beside him, fingers tracing the glowing sigils.
"Or we can avoid triggering an alarm," she said calmly. "It is a simple loop."
Eryndor withdrew his hand with a dry smile. "Right. Subtlety."
She withdrew a thin needle-shaped tool and tapped the edge of the rune seal.
The glow flickered.
Click.
The runes dimmed.
The hatch creaked open.
Heat rolled out in a suffocating wave.
Eryndor squinted into the darkness. "We are really going to crawl into that?"
Garruk shrugged. "Unless you prefer knocking on the front door."
He then muttered something vulgar and lowered himself into the tunnel.
The supply duct was narrow—barely enough room to crawl.
Steam hissed through pipes inches from their faces. The metal beneath them vibrated with the steady pulse of the city's mana-core. Each breath felt heavy and heated.
Eryndor felt the Scripture stir beneath his skin.
Not a warning.
Recognition.
The relic was close.
Very close.
They pressed forward carefully. After several minutes, the duct widened into a chamber where multiple steam channels converged. Below lay a grated walkway suspended over swirling vapor and rumbling machinery.
Lirien dropped down silently. Garruk landed with more noise than ideal. Eryndor descended with controlled precision.
They crept along the walkway.
A metallic clang echoed through the chamber.
All three froze.
Two mechanical sentinels emerged from the generator hall. Their glowing cores hummed blue as heavy feet struck the floor in synchronized rhythm.
Lirien pressed into shadow. Garruk held his breath. Eryndor slipped behind a large valve assembly.
The sentinels marched past without deviation.
When the sound faded, Eryndor allowed himself a faint smile.
"See? Easy."
Lirien's expression made it clear she disagreed.
The duct emptied into a massive generator chamber.
It was a forest of pipes, copper cables, and rotating coils. At the center, the primary generator crackled with concentrated mana. Sparks danced across conduits in erratic arcs. Workers monitored gauges from elevated platforms. Sentinels patrolled methodically.
"Too many eyes," Garruk whispered. "We cannot cross that floor unseen."
Eryndor scanned the chamber carefully.
"Your guild resembles a fortress," he muttered. "Why is the security this strict?"
Then he saw it.
A maintenance crane stood idle near the generator's upper quadrant. Its hook dangled above the machinery. Above that, a ventilation strip extended toward the inner compound.
"There," Eryndor said quietly. "We use the crane. Reach the vent. Skip the hall."
Garruk blinked. "How?"
"Lirien will release the crane's lock. I'll pull us across."
Lirien raised a brow. "Are you sure?"
Lirien glanced at Garruk, then paused mid-thought.
"What?" Garruk demanded irritably.
"Nothing," she replied evenly.
Eryndor grinned. "It is fine, Oldman. I will simply pull harder."
Garruk stared at him, then sighed heavily. "Fine."
They moved swiftly.
Lirien manipulated the crane's control panel with deft precision. Eryndor wrapped both hands around the chain.
The Scripture pulsed warmly beneath his skin, reinforcing muscle and bone. And He pulled.
The chain groaned but moved steadily. The crane arm shifted slowly, carrying all three across the generator hall above the oblivious workers below.
Steam swirled beneath them. Sparks leapt dangerously close.
They reached the ventilation strip and slipped inside.
Within the narrow duct, the noise faded. Just silence. Just their breaths. Just a straight path toward the vault chamber.
The relic's presence burned at the edge of Eryndor's senses like a hidden star.
They crawled forward until the duct opened into a narrow corridor lined with armored doors.
"We're in." Garruk whispered softly.
"The vault is further down. This corridor leads to—"
Footsteps echoed.
Not mechanical.
Human.
Three guild guards emerged from the far end of the hallway, speaking in hushed, urgent tones.
Eryndor's mind sharpened instantly.
They were close.
The guards stood directly between them and the vault.
The Scripture warmed beneath his skin like a quiet heartbeat.
Eryndor turned toward his companions and offered a sharp, controlled smile.
"Ready?"