The two slipped out of the door and walked around the forge, taking the long way around the street so they could get close to the commotion without incurring much suspicion.
"Does Mr. Virell not hear things like this?" Vincent asked.
"He does. But he doesn't watch or even try to care," Cal replied. "He just hides himself in the workshop and goes deaf to the damn world."
"Will he notice we're gone?" Vincent asked, his eyes nervously darting back to the Hollow Anvil.
"Like I said, he's not leaving the workshop. He won't see us either way, whether we're out here or if we stayed inside. And honestly?" Cal paused, trying to reign in his emotions. "I don't care if he does realize."
They slipped into the thin alley that ran behind the neighboring tenements, the stone walls close enough that Vincent's shoulder brushed the rough mortar. The sounds of anger and pain grew clearer with every step: boots on packed earth, the scrape of metal, a woman's voice cracking under strain.
A voice could be heard now. "W-We don't know anything! We haven't seen anybody pass by here! I beg you, please leave my son alone!"
Cal slowed, lifting a hand. "Here."
They stopped at the end of the alley where it opened up to the main street again. The long way around the street served well, considering no one had noticed their presence just yet. From here, they were able to see a fragment of the scene before them, which made it no easier to digest.
A dark corner of a midnight navy cloak, a gauntleted arm, the edge of a doorframe. But the voices carried cleanly.
"Don't lie to us." A man's tone came through, gruff and frustrated. "The trail we have leads through here. He's here and you must've seen him! You will let us know where he is. Now."
His tone was not that of rage or uncontrol. It was contained, steady, but carrying the weight of distress, nonetheless. But whatever unfairness the words lacked, was made up for by what he was doing.
He held her by the arm now, shaking her like he was trying to wring the life from her body, even though she did nothing wrong. Next to her... was a child. Her child. And tears streamed down the poor boy's face.
"I told you, we didn't-" The woman's voice broke. "We don't know anything about ecliptics, sir, please-"
Vincent leaned forward automatically. Cal caught him by the sleeve, fingers digging in. An inaudible "no" passing from him to Vincent.
Another voice joined the first, rougher, impatient. "We're wasting time. The captain said the fugitive was bleeding. He can't have gotten far. Just tell us which way he ran, and we're done here."
"We were inside!" A smaller voice this time — shaky, high. The child, Cal guessed. "We didn't see-"
There was a dull thump, as if someone had slammed a fist into the doorframe. The child yelped and fell silent.
Vincent flinched from the noise, his hands clenched tightly. "Can't we do something?"
Cal shook his head. "Not yet..." He watched the narrow slice of street, jaw tight. This was different. There wasn't supposed to be any direct interference from the platoon here. Not in Lamnor of all places.
And one word above all had made Cal's mind race. Ecliptic. And not only that...
There was one here. That passed by his home, no less. He couldn't believe it, even if he wanted to.
"There's actually one... here," he muttered.
"An ecliptic," Vincent replied. "And it's a fugitive too... H-How did it escape the Empire?"
"Who knows what power it has..." Cal said in response. "It could be anything."
Vincent looked into Cal's eyes, like he could see the gears turning in his head vividly. "So, what do you know about them?"
Cal looked down, exhaling deeply. "The same as everyone else. An exceptional rare percent of people who have abilities. I've heard some people say they can turn water into metal. Or that they can make fires from their fingers. There's no limit to what an ecliptic could have... But that's all I've ever heard... I didn't even think they existed."
Vincent leaned closer, voice barely a breath. "Why do you think there'd be one here?"
Cal didn't have an answer. His thoughts spun, latching onto scraps of things he'd heard. "Maybe he's hiding. No one knows this place, so maybe he came here to avoid the Empire's watch? It's... quiet here."
"Quiet?" Vincent asked incredulously. "Does this look quiet to you? If the Empire's hunting him, why would he go somewhere where they have a platoon stationed?"
"The Empire has a platoon stationed everywhere," Cal said. He sounded more certain than he felt. "And we're not too far from Gravenmoor's runecarriage terminals. Maybe he was passing through."
The words came out, but even he didn't believe them. An ecliptic escapee bleeding and running through Lamnor City. Soldiers that were so riled up about it that they started interrogating innocents. Something didn't make sense. This was... too large, for such a small city.
Darius' words then slammed into Cal's thoughts, his breath hitching for a brief moment.
"You're out of your depth, Cal! And you're dragging an innocent boy down with you!"
Cal turned to look at Vincent, their gazes meeting briefly for a moment. Guilt and apprehension flooded his body, the idea of abandoning this was surfacing rapidly. He swallowed, suddenly aware of how exposed they were at the mouth of the alley.
"Vincent... We should head back. We've heard enough." Cal said, quietly.
"And leave them like this?" Vincent shot him a look, his eyes burning. "You want to pretend we didn't see any of it? Like your granddad does?"
The comparison stung. Cal flinched, looking away. Realistically, they should head back. Head into the forge, lay in their beds, and pretend that Lamnor was still a quiet city that will always be overlooked.
But the thought of walking away… of never knowing why an ecliptic was here, what they looked like, what they could do...
He could answer something. All the questions, all the doubts, all the curiosity that compounded over the past years, the past arguments, and all the frustrations... He could get what he wanted.
And no one could stop him.
Before he could decide, another figure stepped into view.
This one wore the same midnight cloak and gauntlets as the others, but his posture was looser, more self-assured. He approached the two harassing the woman and child, glancing once at them before looking past, down the street.
"Enough," the newcomer said. His voice was just as calm as the others, but his posture was looser, almost careless. "You're running into wall with this. We picked up on the resonance trail. He's headed north."
The word snared Cal's attention like a vice. Resonance?
Vincent glanced sideways at him, eyes wide. He'd heard it too.
"North?" one of the soldiers asked, dropping the woman's arm. She nearly collapsed against the doorframe, clutching her son to her side, sobs wracking her body.
The newcomer pointed back the way they'd come, but a little off to the side — toward one of the narrower streets that bled into the outer lanes of the district.
"It drifts," he said. "But it's fresh. The convict's still bleeding. He won't have made it far. We can follow it from there."
"Resonance..." Vincent mouthed quietly. "What is that? From his blood?"
"Maybe..." Cal whispered back, his mind trying to piece together the wave of revelations he had heard, only to have more questions rise and take hold. "Something they leave behind, perhaps?"
The hairs on his arms stood on end. A trail only they could sense, like the world itself was pointing the way. He watched as the cloaked men of the platoon started to move, boots drumming a new route through the district — away from the forge, toward the northward streets.
The woman pulled her son inside. The door shut with a soft, final thud. For a moment, the alley was very quiet. Cal realized he'd been holding his breath.
"A trail," Vincent said, under his breath. "It looks like... it's a way an ecliptic... can be traced? They can track them..."
"Not 'they'," Cal replied. "We can too. If they can follow it, we might be able to see something with them."
Even as he said it, he knew it was a stretch. He had no idea what resonance looked like, or if it looked like anything at all. But the trail had to be there, somehow.
Vincent blinked at him. "You want to follow them? The men who're hunting down an actual ecliptic?"
Cal watched the direction the soldiers had taken, their cloaks already vanishing around the far corner. Vincent's concerns were logical. There was no doubt about the dangers of what could be. The fear in his stomach twisted, but it was tangled now with something else — an aching need to see more than slivers and shadows. To know.
If they went back now, Darius would never know they'd been out. Cal could pretend he'd listened. Pretend he'd grown up, even a little.
But the thought of even missing out on the first crack in the dull shell of Lamnor, sealing over like it had never existed... It was nothing short of whiplash.
"I... I am serious, yeah." Cal said finally.
Vincent saw the resolve in Cal's eyes, his own gait straightening in response. "Then I'm coming with you. If you're so ready for this... then I am too."
Cal's eyes widened, but he couldn't really refute Vincent's bold claims. He was more ready for this than Cal ever was.
"Just a question," Vincent said. "What if... Mr. Virell finds out?"
"Then he finds out," Cal replied. The fear was still there — sharp, familiar — but for once, it didn't win. "There's something new here... and I want to know why. I want to see it with my own eyes."
Silence stretched between them for a beat, broken only by the fading echo of the platoon's boots. Then Vincent let out a sharp breath, something between a sigh and a laugh.
"Lead the way, boss."
Cal allowed himself the smallest of grim smiles. "Come on, then." They slipped out of the alley and into the night, keeping to the shadows as they trailed the soldiers toward the northern road. They followed down a path neither of them could even begin to see, pulled only by an investigation from forces and people that were far above them. But much of it hummed in Cal's mind and drew him further in.
Like an owl being pulled to the distant moon's light during the midnight hour.
The cloaked men continued to move at a brisk pace, cloaks snapping behind them as they cut through the street and alleys. No whistled commands, no clatter of hooves. This was meant to be done on foot for some reason.
And Cal had a theory.
"They're not taking horses," Vincent whispered, keeping close to the wall.
"The roads are too narrow here," Cal replied quietly. "If this guy is bleeding as much as they say he is, he couldn't have gotten too far. Horses would just outrun this... resonance trail."
That word... Just saying it gave rise to so many questions. What was it? What does it entail? Is it dangerous?
They followed at a distance, slipping from doorway to doorway, pausing whenever one of the cloaked figures slowed or glanced over a shoulder. The northward streets grew thinner, more angular; the neat lanes around the forge frayed into cramped passages and lopsided stairways that climbed between buildings like crooked ribs.
At one point, a member spoke. "Still fresh," he muttered. "It's clinging to the walls."
Cal quirked an eyebrow, trying to see what was so different about them. Nothing. He couldn't see, hear, smell, or taste anything different in the air. It was just the acrid smell of a sordid city.
And blood.
One of the men leaned in on the stone, noticing a smear of blood etched upon its textures. But it didn't continue from there. It stopped, as if the fugitive had died and his corpse was rotting there.
"Then where in the Stars' name did he go?" another demanded. "It should be straight! Trails don't just vanish!"
"The fool could've backtracked," one of them replied. "Or maybe he used his esoteric art?"
Cal's brows knitted in confusion, his movements halting.
"Esoteric... art?" he mumbled silently.
What is that? Is... that what ecliptics use?
They halted at an intersection where three streets forked in different directions. The cloaked men bunched together, turning as one, as if feeling for something Cal and Vincent couldn't sense.
Vincent's fingers curled into his clothes. "Do you see anything?" he asked.
Cal shook his head in response. And yet… he stared at the stones where the platoon leader pointed, at the tight slant of the street that cut uphill, as if he tried hard enough, he could feel a small tug under his eyes. But it wasn't a pull, not really. Just the idea of one, nagging at him.
The men chose the center street, marching on, their boots scraping along the sloped path.
Cal and Vincent slipped after them again, hugging the shadows. They passed shuttered shops and empty stalls, laundry lines hanging like sagging flags overhead. Every so often, the platoon would stop, recalibrate, turn down another lane.
They still hadn't sped up. No one shouted orders to seal the exits. No member peeled away to surround anything. They were searching like they were sightless.
"Are they blind?" Vincent asked. "They're just guessing at this point."
Cal ignored the question, continuing to listen to the men.
"Too diffuse here."
"He might've doubled back."
"Check the drainage grates."
"This street's clean. It's bleeding out somewhere else."
The words and fragments piled up in his mind. This trail was anything but straightforward. It was erratic, spread out like a ripple in a pond. Cal's thoughts drifted faster than his legs.
If it's coming from his blood, it wouldn't only stay on the streets. It'd follow wherever the blood goes. If he's wounded and moving uphill, he's leaving a trail… but what happens when the blood stops?
Vincent noticed Cal's face, and he knew that it was the face of a man lost deep in thought.
Cal's eyes started to slowly widen.
If it stopped, either he's dead... or he's hidden somewhere it can't be spread that easily! They keep talking about it clinging to edges and corners. If he was bleeding a lot, the strongest traces would be where it pools, not where it streaks.
"Cal... Are you alright?" Vincent asked in a whisper.
Cal turned to him, nodding. "Do you remember the old drainage tunnel?" Cal asked. "Behind the cooper's row. The one that opens out to the lower ravine?"
Vincent paused, trying to take in the unexpected question. "Yeah... I do. I saw it when I came from Gravenmoor Hold to here."
Vincent glanced at the platoon ahead of them. The soldiers had turned east again, angling toward a higher tier of the district, still chasing a trail they couldn't see clearly.
Cal spoke again. "If he knows the Empire tracks him by whatever his blood's doing, he'd want it away from open air," Cal said. "Somewhere cramped. Hidden. Somewhere it can't spread as wide."
Vincent's eyes widened as he saw the rationale in the clearest form possible.
"That tunnel's lower," Vincent said slowly. "If his blood is draining into the ravine paths…"
"...then the resonance is definitely weaker up here," Cal finished. "They can't find him because they're only feeling what's on the stones."
The realization settled in between them, cold and solid.
Vincent looked at the cloaked men, his voice tight. "So... You're suggesting..."
"Our tunnel's the best bet," Cal replied.
This was it. If they kept following, they'd stay behind men who didn't know where they were going. If they broke off—
"We could still follow them; pretend we didn't think of this..." Vincent said.
If they went home, tomorrow would look exactly the same. The forge. The streets. The dull, empty shell of a city everyone ignored.
If they didn't...
"Not now. Not when we're this far." Cal said.
The corners of Vincent's mouth twitched upward into a slight grin. "No turning back then."
The platoon's cloaks vanished around another corner, their voices fading with them. The street felt strangely hollow without the sound of their march.
Cal took a step toward the side road. Then another.
Vincent fell in at his shoulder.
They slipped away from the platoon's chosen path and down the narrower lane, heading toward the lower edge of the district — toward the old drainage tunnel and whatever waited there.
Cal didn't know if it would be answers, or something far worse.
But he knew one thing as the city closed in around them and the night grew quieter:
For the first time in years, Lamnor didn't feel dreary at all.