They’re still perfecting our masterpiece, but all the other pieces have been falling into place. The city is falling to ruin, and it will be born anew, as I was.

  After Sel and Ryn split off from the others, they went their own separate ways once they cleared the Bellows. While she wouldn’t mind working with him, his intel gathering methods were a bit different than hers—he was a fan of getting close and personal, slipping under people’s guards with an amiable air and a sly smile. Sel didn’t love observing targets from afar, but it was far preferable than acting like Ryn.

  Perhaps you should keep a clear head for this mission, Sel, Kadran hummed.

  A flask appeared in her hand, and she greedily drank whiskey from it before she responded, If I did, I’d end up useless and far more distracted, lizard. Trust me.

  As they wove through the Warrens, keeping to alleys and shadows, Kadran sent a pulse of annoyance and said, You are impossible.

  And you’re a hog, Kadran.

  That’s hardly a good or accurate insult. When have you ever seen me scarf something down or roll in mud?

  Irrelevant. Sel stopped at one of the newer wooden tenements, then pulled on her Bond.

  Theurgy, bright and electric, surged into her. It took longer than usual—she didn’t practice much these days—but she focused. The air warped around her hands, silver crystal coalescing from her skin. She flexed her new, sturdy claws of hardlight, and dug them into the wall.

  The climb was easy and quick, taking less than a minute to scale the five story tall building. She took a moment to survey the ugly city. This high up, the twin Celestial Belts shone through thin clouds above. Their violet and silver light painted the sea of smog and tenements surrounding her. The five gleaming marble and crystal Lightsworn spires rose impossibly high to the north, in their own secluded quarter at the highest point of the city.

  Sel started across the rooftops at a relaxed pace, clearing most gaps between the buildings with ease. Those that rose higher, she simply clawed her way up. The exercise distracted her from Kadran’s constant humming and her own annoying thoughts.

  Interesting…I could’ve sworn I sensed Veldar nearby, not long ago, Kadran hummed sharply, like claws pressing into her brain.

  Not surprising. I’m sure he’s going to watch the rest of the team all night, when he’s not ruining some thug’s life, she thought. The severe man had little faith in most people.

  The minutes bled by in a haze, then suddenly she was atop a crumbling tenement in the third to last block of the Lanes. The building was just a burned shell, only two stories of it left standing. It gave her a decent view of the crossroads below, and the length of several streets.

  Sel pulled out a small spyglass, settled down near a broken window, and scanned the streets. A few commoners scurried through the smog, but otherwise she just spotted the occasional thug or garrison guard.

  Ten minutes later she was already bored out of her mind, but her boredom was alleviated as she noticed some figures in the shadows of the crossroads. A shift of a black cloth here, a glint of metal there—the Crow’s enforcers lurked there.

  They acted as silent sentries, which explained the lack of crime on these streets. Thugs and thieves took one look at their leering corvid skulls and hooked claws, then hurried on their way. She didn’t know if they used some specialized drug or chemtech apparatus like some of the other new gangs, but wisps of black smoke leaked from their metal corvid skull helmets every so often.

  Look there, to the left. Garrison captain approaching with some underlings. Kadran sent a slight pulse of alarm, which pulled her gaze to where he focused on.

  The captain did indeed stride down the street with four spearmen in tow—and he was heading straight for one member of The Murder. Likely some minor noble, the man wore a nasal helm, a light steel breastplate over chainmail and thick cloth, and had a hand on the pommel of the shortsword at his hip. She could see the look of disgust on his face as he surveyed his surroundings.

  The captain reached the uniformed and masked enforcer. They exchanged some words while the spearmen hovered nearby uncomfortably. The enforcer was given a pouch, and the garrison guards marched away a moment later.

  Using a criminal organization as extra guards? Desperate, she thought. She pulled out a nasty ration bar to gnaw on.

  Quite. The recent desertions and uprisings in nearby villages must’ve hit them hard. Explains their recruitment drives the last few months. Kadran was much more curious about it than her.

  Who would want to join the garrison anyway? Instead of guarding the people, their leadership and the nobility have been letting the Sovereigns and other criminal elements flourish. They continue to grow in power and flood the city with drugs, while people in power just smile and line their pockets, she thought.

  It’s fascinating. I doubt this odd ecosystem is part of Aureon’s vision. A delicate balancing act, where removing any major criminal element could invite even more disorder. I suppose that includes the Darkin—they’ve just been causing more issues for the Church lately.

  Oh they’ve been causing issues alright. But I think you underestimate the zealotry of the light-blinded. I’ve read tidbits of history from other kingdoms around the world. I can guess how this plays out. Sel tried to remember the texts, but it’d been several months since she’d been able to bring herself to read. Once her favorite past time next to collecting teas, she could barely bring herself to care about it now.

  Oh? Enlighten me, wise and studious one, Kadran hummed flatly.

  The only religion allowed, stamping out any hints of other beliefs. The Darkin is the largest cult I’ve ever heard of in the Empire, and some commoners—even soldiers and nobility—might truly believe whatever they’re preaching. Crushing them with ever increasing force might just make people flock to them more.

  Ah. I could see that happening. I won’t pretend to understand the Imperial faith, but I know the religion is pushed on everyone. It wouldn’t take much to sway someone away from the forced beliefs and harsh religious leadership, Kadran said. She could practically feel his mind churning as he thought about the possible consequences of this mission.

  That’d been another thing that filled her thoughts these last ten months. For nearly thirteen years, Sel had been raised by the High Matron to be the perfect tool, the perfect killer. Forced to Bond Kadran at a young age, she’d completed countless contracts for the Heaven’s Flame guild. It wasn’t until last year that she started considering the consequences and fallout from her endless, usually bloody work.

  She was, in a sense, responsible for the current state of the city. She’d dismantled the powerful Starhowl gang, who wielded foreign Sorithian Scaleforged weapons. Their sudden absence left an immense power vacuum that needed filling, letting the Alchemical Sovereigns rise to power in the underground. That made smaller gangs scramble to keep ahold of their territory, though some, like the Scorched or Harpists, have been gleefully participating in open warfare across the Warrens.

  The mercantile Charter Houses were in disarray, mere shades of their former selves. Three prominent merchant families in their ranks had been eradicated, after they broke contract to try and kill her in revenge for the Crimson Auction massacre that occurred years back.

  The garrison withered over the last year, after she made sure House Valorinth’s sterling reputation was in the gutters, in retribution for kidnapping her first and last love. The guard contracts had shifted from Valorinth to less effective houses, though they were still involved with the Imperial Military to a degree.

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  Even that noble’s death at her hands—Therron, she thought his name had been—had consequences besides her near death and subsequent hellish existence afterwards. Sometimes she thought about the moments leading up to the explosion, and the time after.

  The corrupted, unnatural Abyssal Starborn tearing its way into the physical realm to curl around the noble’s corpse. The writhing shadows just before the explosion of violet-black flames. Isslier saving her with some accursed drugs and operations, at the behest of Elara. The distorted hell of instability and hallucinations that had followed.

  She hadn’t been the only one affected by the man’s death. The Church had used the heretic as a means of fear and control. They increased raids on innocent’s to look for heresy, publicly executed those ‘corrupted by darkness’, and somehow managed to drive religious fervor into some of the populace.

  Her rather new favored pastime of drinking muddled her memories—too many contracts forgotten, their consequences forgotten as well, even though they found her eventually. Her mind wandered to the biggest disaster that came from her hand, besides the two innocent’s she killed last year.

  The murder of Lightsworn Celestine, after she’d killed his wife on accident.

  He had been the weakest on the council of five that rules the province from this city—headed by Grand Lightsworn Astrael—and it turned out she regretted ending him. The highborn bastard happened to be the only one working for the people, in his own twisted way.

  He’d been funding gangs and rebels across the region, bringing in Scaleforged weapons to arm those like the Starhowls. Several Lightsworn and Church officials colluded with him to push rebels to action, hamstring major trade and military operations by helping Vornish savages raid the coasts, and who knows what else. All in an attempt to broker change, and the betterment of the lives of commoners.

  And she’d killed him on guild orders.

  The guilty Lightsworn and officials had examples made of them, and a new one joined the council. Since Celestine’s death, their overall power rose from simply massive, to eclipsing all. They ruled the province as the chosen of the Ascendant, but they were nothing more than glorified nobles. She wasn’t quite sure what they did in their political games, or with their power, but it certainly wasn’t protecting the dregs of society.

  She shook herself from her ruminations, realizing she’d set down her spyglass to simply gaze into the swirling, dark gray smog. Kadran had fallen silent, but she could feel his presence pressing down on her mind. He’d apparently been raptly eavesdropping on her, the scaly fool.

  It’s been about an hour, Sel. The tenth bell rang not long ago. Don’t worry—you haven’t missed much, Kadran intoned, acting disinterested in her thoughts.

  “Remind me not to drift off into my mind again, space lizard. Too unpleasant,” she muttered, taking a swing from one of her several flasks. The whiskey made heat bloom within her, fighting off the night’s chill.

  Sel stood, muscles stiff and sore. She wasn’t going to find a trace of the Darkin around the Crow’s enforcers, or sticking to this part of the Lanes.

  It didn’t take long to reach the poorly paved street, Sel becoming one of the many shadows there as she slipped past the enforcers. She kept to alleys as she erratically drifted through several blocks. The ambiance remained the same: sections of newer wooden tenements crammed next to stretches of older, burnt-out shells, uneven streets coated in thick layers of ash and debris, and the scent of old smoke that clung to everything. It looked more like a blaze came through here just weeks ago, rather than months.

  She jerked to a stop, pausing at the lip of her alley. She did a bit of a double take, catching sight of a flutter of dark, violet trimmed robes disappearing around the corner of an alley not that far from her own.

  Sel hurried across the street and into the alley—and again, all she saw was a dark figure hastening away. She gave chase, groaning as the figure quickened their pace. After a few more alleys, the pair were fully sprinting now, kicking up ash, their footsteps muffled by the smothering smog.

  It took her nearly ten minutes and three blocks to catch up to them. The robed figure slowed as they reached an alley with a dead end. She stopped, less than twenty feet from him, caging him into the alley.

  They turned to her, then lowered their hood. An unremarkable, gaunt looking man stared at her. Just some commoner, it would seem.

  “Sister Seluna…to be graced by the shade hiding beneath the light. It’s an honor! We would be blessed if you joined us,” he said in kind tones, a soft smile on his pale face.

  What could that possibly even mean? Kadran hissed, unsettled.

  Don’t know. That Darkin priest from last year must’ve told his followers some horseshit or another. Sel strode forward slowly, edging closer to the fool.

  “I don’t know what you’re on about, pal. You lot have been pissing off the Church lately. Stupid move,” Sel said, trying to get a rise from the man.

  “Forget those heathens—those betrayers!” His face twisted in fury, but only for a moment. He went on calmly, “Those hypocrites will learn of the love we hold for them. Even if they’re the true heretics, we will show them the way. The Dark Star will rise again, and they will rid humanity of their pain. Wouldn’t you like that, Seluna? Don’t you tire of bearing that crushing pain, that loss? Wouldn’t you like true purpose, instead of staying mired in your doubts and scars?”

  Sel was ten feet away now, but she grew rigid and still as the man spoke beguilingly. She was sick of the pain—she was nothing but a frail shadow who drowned herself in liquor, just so she could numb that pain. Just so the hallucinations of monsters and Elara were kept at bay. She was so tired. Elara—

  She took a step forward as she snarled at the cultist—actually snarled like an enraged beast—and said, “Shut the hell up, don’t try and pretend you or any of your cult know me or my fucking pain.”

  “Oh, but we do know, Seluna. We know. The Darkin consist of equal parts sages and scholars, working for a better future, and broken wretches who want that beautiful future,” the bald, smiling man said. “We are all so, so broken, sister. Ground to ash by Aureon and his ilk. We all have loved and lost and hurt just like you. We are kin, in a way.”

  For some reason, she faltered, memories cutting through her hazy mind. She squashed those down, trembling—couldn’t afford to feel that always present pain. Sel took another few steps forward, her sharp, angular face set in a mask of ice and steel. One wouldn’t look at her and label her as wroth, given her stiff movements and blank expression—but the air around her almost vibrated with the barely contained rage.

  Rage at herself, mostly.

  “Calm yourself, sister. Just give the true way a chance. Come with me, listen to our sermons.” He held one calloused hand up, still smiling that damned smile. His face and voice were subtle, forgettable.

  She’d end him now, lest she failed to find the fool later among crowds of forgettable faces.

  Sel’s weapons whispered from their sheathes as she dashed forward, plumes of ash shooting out behind her. In poor form, she threw herself straight at the man, the slim shortsword in her right hand thrusting for his heart.

  Careful Sel— Kadran’s hissed warning cut off.

  The cultist sidestepped the thrust, then delivered a fist to her gut.

  She reeled back, falling to one knee as she involuntarily vomited up burning bile and liquor.

  The man’s speed was on par with her own, and the blow delivered with surprising power. He hadn’t been some simple commoner before donning those robes.

  “Your pain dims your greatness sister. You could be fighting for something righteous, instead of—”

  She leapt at him, dagger and shortsword flickering in a complex pattern of sweeps and thrusts, each missing the quick man as he danced about in swishing robes.

  “Stand still so I can stab you, you rotten bastard,” Sel growled, spinning forward and cleaving the air where he’d just been standing.

  His right hand—watch out! Kadran sent a sharp pulse of alarm through their Bond.

  Her assault faltered as the cultist knocked aside her sword with one hand as he darted forward. With his right, he held a slim spike of bone, aimed right for the center of her chest.

  She twisted awkwardly, stumbling away from the strike. The smiling man missed, gouging a jagged line across her left forearm. The pain didn’t even register to Sel as adrenaline pounded through her.

  It was her turn to dance. She ducked and wove around the man’s precise strikes, barely able to keep up with his movements. If she could just disarm him…

  She let him get close, waiting for the next thrust. When it came, she brought her starsteel dagger up, slashing at the spike.

  The weapons connected, and time slowed for Sel.

  The slender, smooth spike had runes carved into it. Violet light flared from it as her blade cracked the spike. The cultist smiled wider as he released the spike and jumped back, faster than she could react.

  The falling spike exploded, a ball of violet tinged black flame expanding from the bone after a fraction of a second.

  She fell to her knees, cowering before it. On reflex, a rough shield of silver, crystalline hardlight grew to protect her, though the explosion wasn’t large.

  She collapsed on the ash covered stone, dark brown eyes wild as she trembled. Seconds bled by, her heart beating against her chest as if trying to escape. Those damned flames—

  Sel. Sel! Kadran hummed, finally cutting through her distress. The cultist has been gone for almost thirty minutes. The spike exploded, but it wasn’t that powerful. You’re safe, Sel.

  She blinked, struggling to her feet after a few seconds. She forcibly made the trembling subside, digging her nails into the flesh of her palm until she drew blood.

  Sel slumped against the alley wall, fishing out her flask with unsteady fingers. The whiskey burned going down, but it helped steady her nerves.

  You should rest, Kadran hummed, too soft and musical. That cultist clearly meant to—

  “To what? Get in my head?” Sel took another long drink. “Well it worked. Bastard knew exactly what to say.”

  A pause stretched between them, filled only by the distant noise of the city and the drifting ash settling around her.

  His skill was on par with your own. Professionally trained. Kadran’s presence pressed harder against her mind, almost protective. And that weapon…he wasn’t trying to kill you, just impale you with it.

  “Maybe.” Sel pushed off from the wall, swaying slightly. “Guess we should wander a little more, then find Veldar. Share this lovely bit of intel about bone spikes that explode into…” She trailed off, jaw clenching.

  Into the flames that haunt your dreams? Kadran offered flatly.

  “Shut up, lizard.” But there was no bite to it. She started walking, letting her feet carry her through the writhing shadows of the Lanes. The alcohol dulled everything to a bearable haze—the memories, the fear, even Kadran’s concerned humming in the back of her mind.

  She had work to do. The rest could wait.