Dusk painted Veridia in shades of bruised purple and orange as the strike team assembled in the main hall. There were ten of them, including Kaelen, Lysette, and Rourke. They were the elite, their movements economical, their faces set in grim masks of readiness. Their weapons—axes, maces, a few with what looked like modified crossbows that glowed with a faint blue light—were checked and re-checked.
Aris was given a heavy, dark cloak to cover her Guard-issue clothes and a small, hand-sized device from Lysette.
"It's a Sparker," Lysette explained shortly. "Crank the handle. It'll give you a few seconds of a Pyre-grade flash. It won't kill anything, but it might blind a Lesser Wraith long enough for you to run. Don't expect more."
It was a paltry defense, but it was something. Aris clutched it, the metal cold in her hand.
Kaelen approached her. He was in full battle gear, his axe held loosely at his side. The aura of power around him was almost overwhelming.
"You stay behind the line," he instructed, his voice leaving no room for argument. "You point the way. You do not engage. Your only job is to identify the nexus point. Is that clear?"
His gaze was like a physical weight, demanding absolute obedience.
"Crystal," Aris managed to reply.
With a final, sweeping look at his team, Kaelen led them out into the falling night. The journey to the Old Quarter was made in near-total silence, the group moving like ghosts through the increasingly narrow and decrepit streets. The air here was still and heavy, the normal sounds of the city fading away, replaced by an eerie quiet.
The Alderman's Hall was a grand, decaying relic of a more prosperous time. Its once-white stone was blackened by soot, its windows boarded up, its double doors hanging askew on broken hinges. A sense of profound wrongness emanated from the place, a cold that seeped into the soul.
Kaelen didn't hesitate. He pushed the broken doors open, the sound a loud crack in the silence.
Inside, it was a tomb. The grand foyer was vast and empty, filled with dust and debris. The temperature was a good twenty degrees colder than the street outside. Their breath plumed in the air, and the faint, sweet-rotten smell of the Wraiths was overpowering.
"This way," Aris whispered, her voice sounding impossibly loud. She consulted a smaller copy of her map. "The convergence should be below us. There must be a way down to the foundations."
They moved through the cavernous hall, their footsteps echoing. Aris's heart was a frantic drum against her ribs. Every shadow seemed to writhe, every creak of the old building sounded like a approaching footstep.
They found a staircase leading down, hidden behind a collapsed wall. The air coming from below was frigid, carrying a low, almost imperceptible hum that set Aris's teeth on edge.
Kaelen went first, his axe casting a pool of blue light into the darkness. The rest of the team followed, with Aris in the middle, as instructed.
The basement was a labyrinth of storage rooms and old coal chutes. But at the far end, they found it: a crude, recently excavated opening in the stone wall, leading into a natural-looking tunnel. The cold and the hum were emanating from there.
"The nexus," Aris breathed, pointing. "It's in there."
Kaelen nodded, his face a mask of grim determination. He gestured for the team to form up.
This was it. The point of no return. They were about to enter the belly of the beast. Aris looked at Kaelen's broad back, at the ready weapons of the Pyre Guard, and then at the dark, yawning mouth of the tunnel.
She had found the source. Now, they had to see what it had spawned. The suspense was a physical pressure, and the only thing stronger than her terror was the desperate hope that she was right.