The three guards approached, their boots clacking against the polished iron floor in steady rhythm. Their voices were low but carried easily through the corridor, laced with the weary arrogance of guild members who believed themselves untouchable within their own walls.
"…The Guildmaster came back battered," one muttered. "They even brought back a few corpses of the elite squad. He ordered the shifts doubled tonight. Something serious must've happened."
"Not our problem," another replied dismissively. "They went into the forest chasing that Ironthane traitor. You think he did that to the Guildmaster?"
"Definitely not him."
"Agreed."
"We should head back. No need to patrol this far down the corridor."
"Yeah. No one's stupid enough to sneak in here anyway."
"Right. The city watches. The sentinels, the pulse grids. Who would even try?"
Eryndor exchanged a glance with Lirien and Garruk. Lirien's eyebrow lifted slightly, the unspoken question clear in her eyes.
Truly?
Garruk gave the faintest grunt, barely audible. "Idiots," he whispered.
Eryndor did not answer. He simply moved.
The Scripture hummed beneath his skin, aligning with the rhythm of his heartbeat. In one fluid motion, he dropped from the vent above. He landed silently, then stepped forward before the guards even processed the movement.
Crack.
His fist collided with the first guard's jaw. The man crumpled without a sound.
Lirien followed instantly. Her hand, wrapped in shadow, seized the second guard by the collar. Darkness spiraled along her arm, cold and controlled. She struck once—precise and efficient. The guard sagged in her grip before she lowered him quietly to the floor.
Garruk handled the third. He grabbed the man by the back of his armor, lifted him like a sack of grain, and drove him into the wall with controlled force. The guard slid down unconscious before his body fully registered the impact.
Three guards. Three heartbeats.
Done.
Eryndor brushed dust from his sleeve. "That was efficient."
Lirien's eyes narrowed. "Keep your voice down."
"I thought it was elegant," he replied lightly.
"We are in a corridor," she reminded him flatly.
"Ah. Fair point."
They dragged the unconscious guards into a storage alcove and secured them out of sight. Garruk adjusted his grip on his hammer and moved forward.
The deeper they went, the colder the air became. The ever-present mechanical hum of the guild compound softened into a muted thrum behind reinforced layers of steel. This was no longer the public face of Emberforge. This was its hidden heart.
Garruk slowed near an archway of blackened steel.
"That's it," he whispered. "Varric's personal vault."
"It is separate from the guild's main storage," he added quietly. "He keeps what matters to him here."
The door before them appeared deceptively simple. No elaborate carvings. No blazing sigils. Just a smooth surface of dark metal.
But Garruk knew better.
"It's layered with five enchantments," he explained. "Heat wards. Sound wards. Kinetic dampeners. Alarm seals. And a mana-stasis lock."
"…So complicated," Eryndor concluded.
"Yes," Garruk answered dryly.
Lirien stepped forward and examined the seam carefully. "Five enchantments layered this closely are difficult to dismantle from the outside."
"True," Garruk said, producing a slender dark-iron talisman from his belt. "But when two layers share the same anchor…"
He pressed the talisman against the lock.
Chnk.
Rrrrrk.
A faint glow pulsed through the metal. The overlapping enchantments began to unravel, collapsing in sequence.
"…They can be disrupted with the right stimulus," Garruk finished calmly.
The vault door clicked open.
Eryndor gave a low whistle. "Impressive, old man. Remind me never to lock you out of anything."
"I am simply familiar with this seal," Garruk replied. A faint smile tugged at his beard. "Varric never imagined I would return to steal from him."
They stepped inside.
The chamber was circular and modest in size, illuminated by a single overhead crystal that cast cool light across the walls. Shelves lined the perimeter, filled with relic fragments, mana conduits, compressed ore crystals, and intricate mechanisms salvaged from ancient ruins.
But the center of the room drew all attention.
A pedestal stood beneath the light.
Upon it rested the lockbox.
Black metal reinforced at three points. Red rune-seals glowing faintly along its edges.
Eryndor approached slowly.
The Scripture stirred beneath his skin. It felt it. A subtle pull. A silent vibration. A whisper without sound, echoes in his blood was the word,
Come.
He stopped inches from the pedestal.
"Make it quick," Lirien murmured, keeping watch at the doorway.
Garruk flexed his hands. "Stay alert."
Eryndor reached forward and seized the lockbox.
The metal thrummed beneath his fingers. A faint glow pulsed through the runes, but no alarm sounded. No ward activated.
The moment he touched it, the golden script beneath his skin flared faintly in response.
He swallowed.
There was an undeniable connection, but He forced himself to remain steady.
"Let's move," he said quietly.
He secured the lockbox inside his pack, tightening the straps. They retraced their path without hesitation. Back through the corridor. Up into the ventilation strip. Down the crane into the generator hall. Through the supply duct.
Above them, the guild's mana core thrummed, oblivious while behind them, the Emberforge Guild slept in ignorance.
When they climbed out onto the industrial platform and felt the night air against their faces, it was almost surreal.
No shouts. No alarms. No pursuit, they had succeeded.
Hours later, at the Emberforge Guild Headquarters, Varric strode down the main hallway with heavy steps.
He had returned late and sleepless, consumed by the aftermath of the chaos in the tunnels. His pride had been bruised. His authority challenged.
He wanted to dealt with them as soon as possible but today was an important day.
The negotiations with the Tazrik Clan would soon be finalized and the relic trade would be concluded.
Currently he was on his way to check the relic. He always did. Even after the longest days, even after rage and humiliation, it steadied him to know the relic remained where it belonged.
He needed assurance. He needed control and control began with certainty.
He turned into the vault corridor before suddenly he slowed. He felt it, something off. The air was slightly cooler as a smell of disturbed dust lingered.
A metallic tang lingered, subtle but unmistakable—the echo of a recently disengaged door.
His heartbeat thickened.
"Guards," he snapped sharply.
No response.
Varric's eyes narrowed.
He moved faster now, boots striking the floor with controlled urgency.
Then he froze.
In front of his eyes the vault door stood open. Not broken but opened.
His throat tightened, and a sound escaped him—half snarl, half disbelief.
Desperate, He stormed inside, eyes wild as he scanned the entire chamber and he saw it. The shelves were undisturbed, the chamber intact but the pedesta,l was empty. The lockbox was gone.
For a moment, silence swallowed him.
Then rage flooded his veins.
"WHO?" he roared, voice shaking the chamber walls.
He slammed his fist into the pedestal. Metal cracked under the force.
Impossible he thought.
Even his senior officers lacked clearance to bypass the layered enchantments. No alarm had triggered. No wards had signaled breach.
Whoever did this had moved cleanly. Methodically.
With familiarity.
Then a cold realization crept into his thoughts.
"Ironthane," he muttered.
His disbelief twisted into fury.
"YOU LITTLE—"
He spun and stormed from the vault, rage radiating off him like heat from a furnace.
"BASTARDS!" he thundered through the corridor.
Then Guild members scrambled awake, tripping over each other as Varric stormed through the headquarters like a maddened beast. He reached the front gate and glared into the distant forest beyond the city lights.
"You think you can take the relic," he growled, voice trembling with restrained violence, "and live?"
Behind him, the Emberforge Guild erupted into chaos.
Search teams mobilized. Signal flares lit the sky. Patrol routes expanded outward in widening circles.
But far beyond the outer districts of Dhaurim, beneath the cover of shadowed pines, three figures moved steadily away from the city.
Eryndor walked at the front, the lockbox secured inside his pack.
Within it, the relic pulsed softly.
And beneath his skin, the Scripture answered.