By early evening, Ethan decided it was time to check in directly with the Guild again, to confirm the city's current state. The streets were still tense as they made their careful way to the Guild hall, but at least the open panic had eased slightly.

  Gwenna met them at the entrance, clearly troubled.

  "It's gotten worse," she reported quietly, drawing Ethan aside. "The City Lord's paranoia is out of control. Patrols have doubled. They're dragging people from their homes day and night—innocent families, merchants, anyone. Nobody knows why or what he's planning."

  Ethan felt his stomach twist sharply. "Have they found us yet? Any clues?"

  She shook her head. "No—your rescue was clean. But they're getting desperate, Ethan. Desperate enough to do anything, even if we can't guess the reason."

  Ethan glanced toward his Pack, sensing their unease through the bond. He turned back to Gwenna. "We should get to the inn, make sure the Silverthorns are still safe."

  They started toward the inn, but before they reached it, Gwenna slowed and caught his arm. “If something’s wrong, we don’t walk into it blind,” she said. “We gather the others first.” Ethan hesitated, then nodded, and they turned back toward the Guild.

  Within minutes, Ethan had everyone gathered tightly in a quiet, secluded back office of the Guild hall. Aldric and Mabel arrived quickly, their expressions grim. Tavrin hovered near the door, glancing anxiously toward the hallway as if expecting trouble. Gwenna stood beside Ethan, arms folded tightly.

  The door opened again, and Professor Talh stepped inside, his robes dusted with street grit, a leather-bound folder tucked beneath one arm. He moved with quiet purpose and settled near the wall, offering Ethan a small nod of acknowledgment.

  “I’ve been keeping tabs on the city council and the Academy,” Talh said without preamble. “Something’s shifting. Records are being sealed. Several city officials haven’t been seen in days, and mana allocations from the Academy are being rerouted to places that don’t make sense—not even internally. And the City Lord is behind all of it.”

  Ethan looked at him carefully. “So you’re certain?”

  Talh’s eyes flicked toward Aldric. “We’ve been certain for a while. I’ve been working with Gwenna and Aldric to map the edges of it—where it starts, how deep it goes. You’ve already seen what it looks like up close. Now we’re watching it turn inward.”

  Aldric crossed his arms. “He’s using city resources to cover it up—reassigning guards, suppressing reports, closing off entire sectors at night. People are disappearing.”

  “It’s not just paranoia anymore,” Mabel added. “He’s operating like someone trying to clean up a crime scene in real time.”

  Tavrin nodded nervously. “I’ve been watching the movement orders. Whole streets cleared out with no warning, then locked down like they were never there. It's not just city politics anymore—it’s something else.”

  Ethan’s Pack shifted closer around him. Pixie’s ears were stiff with tension; Moose stood like a stone beside the door. Amelia, near the corner, faded slightly into the shadows, already in a half-ready state. Mason rested his hands on the back of a chair, not sitting, just watching.

  Gwenna finally spoke, voice low. “Let’s get organized. We’ll need everyone ready when the time comes. Call me on the communication stone and we’ll meet back here after we gather resources and people.”

  Ethan nodded. “I need to swing by the inn and grab a few things. I’ll check in once we’re done.”

  Ethan and his Pack made their way through the city, moving quickly and quietly. The air felt tense, the usual sounds of evening replaced by uneasy silence and hurried footsteps. As they approached the Silverthorn Inn, Ethan’s pace unconsciously quickened.

  When they reached the street, something immediately felt wrong. The inn’s front door hung open, one hinge splintered and half off its frame. Inside, chairs and tables were overturned, dishes shattered across the floor, and the familiar warmth was gone—replaced by a cold, uneasy stillness.

  Ethan stepped inside, scanning the wreckage. A broken mug lay near the hearth. The pantry door was wrenched open. He called out, voice echoing into empty rooms, but no one answered.

  Pixie sniffed at the floor, fur bristling, while Moose’s low growl rumbled through the quiet.

  Near the foot of the stairs, Ethan’s gaze caught on a small, gray ribbon with white edging, half-crushed against the floorboards—Amelia’s old ribbon, the one Tessa always wore now. He picked it up, turning it over gently in his fingers, his chest tightening at the sight.

  “They’re gone,” he said quietly, voice flat. “Someone took them.”

  Lyra’s expression darkened. “This wasn’t a robbery. They knew who they were after.”

  Just then, footsteps shuffled from the back hallway. Linette, the inn’s baker, appeared in the doorway, her apron stained and her face streaked with tears. She hugged herself tightly, shoulders shaking.

  “Ethan—” her voice cracked. “They came so fast. Guards. I—I hid in the pantry. I heard shouting. They dragged Mara and Jorrin out first, then the kids. Even the littlest ones. Nobody would help. They just watched—some of the neighbors turned away.”

  She started sobbing, covering her mouth with her hands. “I wanted to do something. I wanted to help. But I just—” She squeezed her eyes shut, choking back more tears. “I couldn’t get taken again. Not again.”

  Ethan crossed the room in two strides and set a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You did what you could. You survived. You can help us now—tell us exactly what you saw, every detail.”

  Linette nodded shakily, struggling to catch her breath as she began to recount everything she remembered, her words tumbling out between sobs.

  She managed a shaky breath, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. “There were at least six city guards. They wore the colors—red and black. One of them called Mara by name. Jorrin tried to fight, but they pinned him fast. They said the family was needed for ‘city business.’ The kids were crying. I tried to stay quiet—if they found me, they would have taken me too.”

  Ethan listened carefully, anger simmering under his steady expression. He glanced at his Pack, each of them tense and ready. This wasn’t just another attack. It was personal.

  “Linette’s voice broke again. ‘They took everyone, Ethan. Kip… Even Tomlin. I heard them talking—they said something about the City Dome, that’s where they were heading. Then the guards slammed the door, and I stayed hidden until I heard your voices.’”

  Ethan nodded, his decision already made. “We’re going to get them back.”

  He looked to Lyra, Pixie, and the rest of the Pack. “We move now. The City Lord took my friends—my family. We’re not letting him keep them.”

  For the first time since entering the ruined inn, Ethan let the full weight of what had been taken settle over him. Mara and Jorrin had welcomed him like kin. The Silverthorn Inn had become more than shelter—it was home. And now the City Lord had crossed a line that couldn’t be ignored.

  He squeezed the ribbon in his fist, then tucked it safely away. “Let’s move.”

  He took out his communication stone and activated it, pressing it tight to his palm.

  “Gwenna,” he said, voice low and urgent. “It’s the Silverthorns. City guards took Mara, Jorrin, Senna, Kip, Tessa—even Tomlin. They were heading for the City Dome.”

  A beat of silence. Gwenna’s reply came through, thick with shock and anger. “Not Mara. Not Jorrin and the kids… Ethan, you know they’re like family to me. Please—just get them back.”

  “I’m not stopping,” Ethan said. “We’re going now.”

  “Be careful,” Gwenna said. “I’ll rally the Guild and meet you at the Dome.”

  Ethan ended the call and looked to his Pack. “We’re getting them back. Now.”

  Ethan pocketed the stone and headed straight for the door. The Pack fell in around him without hesitation.

  Amelia was first to speak, her voice determined but trembling a little. “I’m going to save Tessa. She’s my best friend. I don’t care how many guards there are.”

  Pixie bounced ahead, tail high, her cape and trinkets jangling with every quick step. “Let’s make this loud! I’ll bite anybody who tries to touch our family—watch me!” She flashed a wild grin, teeth bared and ready.

  Moose lumbered close, ears pinned back and eyes storm-dark. He rumbled, “They shouldn’t have touched the inn. Shouldn’t have touched them. I’ll break any wall they hide behind.”

  Buster, for once, didn’t bother hiding the worry in his voice. “If they hurt Kip or Tomlin…” He shook his head, hackles raised. “We’ll get them back. All of them.”

  Lyra moved to Ethan’s side, her presence calm and steady. “You lead, I follow,” she said quietly. “Whatever it takes.”

  Mason shook his little stone fists in fury, jaw set with fierce determination.

  Nobody second-guessed. Nobody slowed. The Pack left the ruined inn behind and took to the streets, moving fast and purposeful toward the city center—each stride driven by one thought: they were getting the Silverthorns back. No matter what.

  Ethan stopped just past the threshold and turned hard to the side, sprinting down the alley beside the inn. The homestead structure stood dark and silent, its newly shaped walls catching the last light of day. He pushed through the open frame, eyes scanning for movement—any sign that Mara or the kids might have made it here.

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  Nothing. No voices, no footfalls. Just the half-built rooms, the rough-cut stone, the smell of mortar and dust.

  He ran the perimeter once, checked the workbench, the sleeping mats, the storage crates. Empty.

  They hadn’t made it here.

  He turned back toward the street. The Pack was already waiting—silent, tense, ready.

  They moved together.

  The city was slipping toward night as they left the ruined inn. Mana lanterns flickered to life along the alleys and across the main roads, washing the cobblestones in shifting pools of blue and amber light. Shadows stretched long between the buildings, swallowing doorways and filling the corners with uncertainty.

  Ethan kept to the side streets, the Pack moving in tight formation behind him. Pixie darted from cover to cover, cape fluttering, eyes sharp for patrols. Amelia stayed close to the walls, barely more than a shadow herself. Buster’s ears twitched at every sound; Moose’s bulk made for an imposing shield, while Lyra matched Ethan step for step, ready for anything.

  They moved quickly, silent and determined, slipping through darkening lanes and weaving around the few townsfolk still out at this hour. Every step toward the City Dome pulled at Ethan’s nerves, but there was no time for hesitation. The fear of what might happen to the Silverthorns—his family—overrode everything else.

  No one talked about repercussions or the size of the guard force between them and their goal. There was only one thought: get the Silverthorns back, whatever it took.

  When the city’s white stone Dome finally rose above the rooftops ahead, rimmed by the glow of evening lanterns and shadowed by the last traces of daylight, Ethan slowed, signaling the Pack to fan out and stay low. The real work—finding and freeing the family—was about to begin.

  He led the Pack forward at a crouch, hugging the shadowed edges of a stone alley. Moose took point beside him, alert and silent. Pixie’s paws were nearly soundless on the pavers, her new ribbon trailing just above the ground. Buster pressed in behind, big and tense, muttering to himself in the bond about what he’d do to anyone who’d hurt their friends. Amelia stuck close to Lyra, her scarf tied neatly at her throat, her blue eyes scanning the rooftops and windows for any sign of movement.

  The city had changed since sunset. What should have been a quiet evening was filled instead with shouted orders and heavy boots echoing in distant streets. City guards in mismatched armor moved in hurried groups, torches flickering as they herded townsfolk from the market and into their homes. Lantern Row—usually safe and quiet—felt tense and brittle, the air thick with something like fear.

  Ethan paused at the corner of a shuttered apothecary, motioning for the Pack to stop. He scanned for signs of patrols, waiting for the nearest group of guards to pass before slipping across the street toward the Dome’s perimeter wall.

  No one spoke. Even Pixie was silent, her excitement replaced with a low, rolling tension that made her hackles stand up. Buster’s growl rumbled in Ethan’s mind. Let me at ‘em, he muttered. Just give the word.

  They ducked into a narrow alley, the walls close and damp. Here, Ethan spotted what he’d hoped for—a rusted sewer grate, half-hidden behind a broken barrel and a pile of rags.

  Up ahead, a city guard leaned against the wall, half-shadowed under a flickering mana lantern. He took a long swig from a dented canteen, attention drifting, his other hand tapping restlessly at the hilt of his baton.

  Pixie flashed a quick warning through the bond. There—he’s alone.

  Ethan sent a steady wave of intent through the bond: We need him alive and quiet. Grab him fast and silent—then we’ll get answers.

  Moose shifted closer, muscles tense. Buster kept to the back, watching for surprises. Lyra stayed low, ready to move. Mason, not privy to the bond, stayed close to Ethan, watching his hands for the signal and trying his best to look inconspicuous.

  Now, Ethan said in the bond.

  Moose stepped out first, blocking the guard’s escape. Pixie darted in low and fast, tripping him at the knees. Ethan moved in at the same moment, and Mason, quick to react, helped haul the guard off balance with his small, strong arms. The guard grunted, staggered, then crumpled with a soft thud to the alley floor—just as Amelia slipped in and clamped a paw over his mouth.

  No shouting. No struggle. They worked as a unit, every move practiced in the bond—except Mason, who just followed Ethan’s lead, eyes locked on him, ready to help.

  Let’s get him below, Ethan said through the bond. We don’t have time for bystanders.

  Moose pried up the sewer grate with a controlled push of earth magic. The guard squirmed once but was quickly dragged down the narrow shaft by Pixie and Ethan, with Mason following right behind. The rest of the Pack slipped after, moving fast and quiet.

  Once they were below, Moose dropped in last and sealed the grate from beneath with a wave of power—stone and rust fused together, no way for sound or stray light to escape.

  In the tunnel, the guard stared wide-eyed as the Pack surrounded him, city uniform smudged with grime. Mason stayed near Ethan’s side, keeping quiet, waiting for direction.

  Buster stepped in, weaving thick vines around the guard’s wrists and ankles. Flowers sprouted in the knots, tightening as the man struggled. Moose kept one massive paw on his shoulder, holding him still.

  Ethan crouched in front, keeping his voice flat. “You’re going to answer a few questions. Where are the Silverthorns—Mara, Jorrin, Senna, Kip, Tessa, and Tomlin?”

  The guard glared at him, then looked away. “I don’t know names. Anyone taken tonight goes to the lower cells under the Dome—special holding. That’s all I know.”

  Ethan’s gaze didn’t waver. “How many guards down there? What’s the best way in?”

  The man tried to spit but stopped when Moose’s grip tightened. “It’s locked up tight. Two dozen guards, City Lord’s private squad. Captain keeps the keys. There’s a back service hall, but it’s locked at night. Food and laundry go through a side door. That’s it.”

  Lyra stepped closer, her eyes cold. “You’ll tell us every access point. Start talking.”

  He hesitated, shaking his head. “No… not supposed to…” He started to tremble. Red light began to glow beneath his skin—not veins, but jagged cracks that spread up his arms and neck.

  Buster’s vines tightened as the guard’s body began to twitch, the cracks growing brighter. His limbs distorted, elbows and fingers twisting the wrong way. The air thickened with a wrongness that made Ethan’s skin crawl.

  The guard’s voice dropped, twisting into something deep and unnatural as his eyes flared red. “Need to make more. Need to spread.” The words rasped out, echoing strangely in the tunnel, and for a heartbeat it sounded like something else was speaking through him.

  Suddenly, blue system light bled across Ethan’s vision, and everything seemed to flicker at the edges. System prompts pulsed in and out of focus, some lines sliding away before he could read them. There was static—an electric buzz behind his eyes, like the system itself was pushing him to act.

  Corruption Detected: Human Host

  System: Intervention Advised

  Warning: Arcane Dissonance—Hostile Corruption

  System Stability: Compromised

  Recommend: Cleanse

  The system’s presence felt insistent, almost personal, flooding his sight with blue haze and static, the messages overlapping and shuddering in the periphery.

  The guard erupted, snapping Buster’s vines with a jolt of corrupted strength. His arms elongated with a wet pop, hands flexing into claws. Red cracks crawled up his face and jaw, mouth gaping too wide as he shrieked. The wrongness in the mana hit Ethan like a blast of cold air.

  “Hold him!” Ethan barked, voice tight. In the bond: Don’t let him loose!

  Pixie darted in and bit down, but the flesh felt wrong beneath her teeth. Amelia slashed at the guard’s arm, drawing black-red blood. Moose braced against the wall, using all his weight to pin the guard’s torso, but the corrupted man thrashed with inhuman power, knocking Buster sideways and nearly dislodging Mason, who had latched onto one leg.

  Lyra hurled blue fire into the fray, but the flames fizzled against the pulsing red cracks that spiderwebbed the guard’s body. The air in the tunnel stank of ozone and burning rot.

  Ethan forced mana into his sword, the blade flaring with white-blue light. The system flashed again, more urgent, more personal, crowding his vision with warnings and the pressure to cleanse.

  Mana Weapon: Cleansing Protocol Engaged

  Corruption Response: Active

  Proceed

  He lunged and drove his sword into the guard’s chest, right through the heart of the spreading cracks. The wrongness lashed out, cold and sharp, but the Pack held their ground.

  There was a blast of light, an eruption of foul-smelling steam, and then the tunnel fell silent. The red cracks faded. As the corrupted guard finally went limp, the last traces of red mana burning away, Ethan’s vision flickered again—just for him, blue static washing over the edges of his sight.

  Corruption Cleansed: Hostile Entity Neutralized

  System Stability Restored

  A faint surge of relief pulsed through the system, as if the world itself eased for a heartbeat. For Ethan alone, it felt like the pressure behind his eyes finally let go. The messages faded back to silence, the blue haze slipping away.

  For a long moment, nobody moved. The Pack panted, eyes wide, fur bristling and hackles up. Moose stepped back, shaking off the last of the guard’s taint. Pixie spat blood onto the tunnel floor. Buster looked shaken but determined.

  A scuffle echoed from a side tunnel. A small, muddy kobold crept into the faint light, clutching a resin satchel. He stared at the Pack and the still-smoking guard, nose wrinkling.

  “Bad magic,” the kobold said, edging back a step. “City-man go wrong. Not normal. Not safe.” He hunched close to the wall, looking from Ethan to the corpse, clearly rattled.

  Ethan, still catching his breath, called over quietly, “We’re looking for tunnels that go near the Dome. There are people being held inside. Do you know a path?”

  The kobold hesitated, then gave a wary nod. “Old tunnels. Some go close. I show. Quick now. Not good here.”

  Ethan gave him a short, grateful nod. “Show us.”

  The kobold scurried ahead, leading them deeper into the tunnels. The walls narrowed and the ceiling dropped low enough that even Ethan had to duck. The air grew colder, thick with the scent of damp stone, rot, and the faint ammonia tang of old refuse. Dripping water echoed through the black, and every few yards, the kobold paused, listening, before darting on.

  They wound through twists and sudden drops, sidestepping ancient sludge and slick moss. Sometimes the only sound was their breath and the steady shuffle of their feet. Even Pixie’s tail stayed low, her usual bravado gone in the hush of the old city’s veins.

  After what felt like ages, the kobold stopped beneath a section where the tunnel ceiling arched wider and higher than before. Stained bricks and bits of ancient trash littered the floor below a rusted, iron-bound door set awkwardly into the wall just above their heads. Faint scraps of city light seeped down through cracks, and the stink of waste was stronger here.

  The kobold pointed up, keeping his voice low. “City-men use old door. Dump trash, dirty water. Sometimes not locked. Kobolds watch. Too dangerous—guards come sometimes, or bad city-men. We not go, but we see. You go up, maybe quiet. But move fast.”

  Ethan studied the door, noting how the grime and rust thinned near the hinges and handle. This was used, recently. It wasn’t a grand entrance, but it was a way in—maybe their only shot.

  He turned to the Pack, his voice low and steady. “This is it. We stay together. Quiet until we can’t be quiet. We get them out.”

  Buster shifted his weight, claws flexing. Moose rumbled agreement. Pixie’s eyes glittered with tension, and Lyra placed a calming hand on Amelia’s head, steadying the young fox as she stared up at the faint light.

  Mason pressed close to Ethan, jaw set, fists clenched.

  Ethan gripped the handle and glanced once more at the kobold. “Thank you. If you want to wait, stay hidden. If not—get clear.”

  The kobold gave a quick, nervous nod, already backing away into the dark. “Pack strong. Hope you win.”

  Ethan looked once at his Pack, took a breath, and pushed the door. It groaned, but swung open.

  Stale light and the clatter of distant guards’ voices spilled down. Ethan climbed up first, silent and ready, and the Pack followed—one by one—emerging at last into the underbelly of the Dome.