Dem glanced at the miners, still face-down on the cavern floor. "How long until they wake?"
Moon hovered above them, spinning lazily. "If you used that outside, it would last only seconds. But here—near true power—it persists as long as the caster remains close."
"Is that beastkin magic?" Dem asked. "Do you know more?"
"Not exactly beastkin," Moon said thoughtfully. "But something your kind can access—if they possess the right bloodline and talent."
Dem knelt beside the female miner and removed the manajewels from her bag. They were warm to the touch, energy flooding his body the instant he held them.
"If you take what they've already mined, they'll notice," Moon warned.
Dem weighed a jewel in his palm. "Won't they notice anyway?"
Moon shook her translucent head. "Right now, they believe they're still working. If you take from the edges—away from them—it's possible nothing will register."
Dem nodded and moved to the far side of the bed. "I don't know how to extract them cleanly."
Moon laughed, light and musical. "You won't need to. I am what binds them. As long as I allow it, you can take them without tools."
"Convenient," Dem said, touching the first cluster and lifting it free with ease. "Where's your heart?"
"Near the center, at the bottom." Moon drifted closer, excitement flickering through her glow. "Place them here. I'll tell you when it's enough."
Dem worked carefully, drawing stones from the core until a small, star-shaped jewel revealed itself—pulsing softly, like a living thing.
"This?" he asked.
"Yes. With that, I'll retain a minimum awareness."
Dem set it gently with the others—but didn't stop.
"Dem?" Moon drifted closer. "If you take too much, they'll know."
"I'll take from the center," Dem said calmly. "It'll look like an air pocket developed. They won't know the difference."
Moon blinked. "That's very—"
"It was never theirs," Dem cut in. "And it serves my plan to leave less behind."
Moon fell silent as time stretched. Dem removed a substantial portion of the manajewels, shaping the hollow carefully before replacing the outer stones and allowing Moon to rebind what remained.
When he stepped back, the bed looked untouched.
"It does look the same," Moon admitted softly. "How will you take me from here?"
Dem lifted his hand, displaying his storage ring. "Can you enter?"
Moon drifted closer, luminous eyes bright with curiosity as she leaned in. "Oh… it's so spacious. And there are so many interesting things. W–what is that?"
Her head vanished into the ring, drawing a soft chuckle from Dem.
"Did you find my tatzelwurm? Her name's Nephira."
"She's amazing!" Moon reemerged, clapping her hands. "Does she know many games?"
"Unlikely," Dem said dryly as he stowed the manajewels, leaving only the heart. "She knows how to pounce and eat things."
Moon hummed happily. "She's lovely. Thank you, Dem."
"In you go."
Dem waited until Moon's presence slipped into the ring before shifting into his rat form.
The miners were already beginning to stir when Dem squeezed back through the narrow passage. Time was short. His next move was Chava.
Under the muted glow of a clouded moon, Dem moved like a shadow. The night lay still until the sound of a single rider reached him.
He faded aside, shifted, and dressed as the horse approached.
Dem stepped onto the trail as the rider reined in.
"Who goes there?" The voice was young, Galieo-born.
"You Chava?" Dem asked. It cost him nothing to try.
"I am. You Rego?"
Dem considered. "No. I'm his replacement. And I'm not interested in your business."
Chava urged his horse closer, posture relaxed. "Replacement?"
"Rego won't be coming," Dem said. "The arrangement between your commander and his father doesn't concern me. But you should know—Rego intended to silence you. Along with the miners."
Chava's hand drifted toward his sword. "Is Rego dead?"
"No. He's alive, out of the area—for now."
"I don't like this."
Dem snorted. "No shit. He was going to kill you, and your commander signed off on it."
Silence stretched before Chava exhaled. "What's your role in this?"
"I'm replacing Rego as Scout Commander," Dem replied. "That's it. He left a journal naming you as his contact—and detailing how you were to be dealt with."
Chava's jaw tightened. "Do you know what we were actually doing?"
Dem shook his head. "I assume something stupid enough to get you killed. Poaching, piracy, greed—it doesn't matter. I don't care. If I see you after tonight, I won't hesitate."
Chava laughed harshly. "You don't understand what's at stake."
Dem raised a hand. "Stop. I don't want to. I did you a favor by showing up. What you do now is your problem."
Chava turned east and spurred his horse into a canter.
Dem waited, then followed.
He reached the hidden entrance after Chava arrived, slipping inside after him.
"You heard me," Chava was saying. "Rego planned to deal with all of us. Me included."
The miners stood tense, tools half-raised.
"We're not important enough to leave alive," Chava continued. "Not with a fortune like this."
The woman knelt, lifting her lantern. "There's less here than we thought."
Chava stepped closer. The miners flinched.
"What does that mean?"
She illuminated the manajewel bed. "We've removed several layers. The center's darkening. We think there's a large air pocket."
Chava swore. "How much less?"
"About a fifth of our original estimate."
Another miner lowered his light. "It's hollow. Like an egg."
"Couldn't we just leave it here and go?" Lim straightened slowly, easing his back after more than a day of nonstop work. "I'm not as young as the rest of you, but my life's worth more than a pile of manajewels."
"What if—" Soni, the youngest, met Chava's eyes. "If we're going to be hunted anyway, I don't mind taking everything."
"Take it all and be ready to move," Chava decided. "My commander isn't someone I trust anymore. Decide now—come with me and the manajewels, or stay and take your chances without them."
"Since it's come to this…"
Dem's voice from the darkness startled them all. Chava's hand snapped to his sword. Their conversation pushed him into a different direction.
"W-where did you come from?" the woman asked, staring at the lean figure emerging from shadow.
"Easy," Dem said. He reached into his ring, produced a small table and chair, and sat, setting a book on the surface. "You won't last without a plan. And that treasure will vanish fast unless you have a backer."
Chava watched as Dem opened the book. "Is that an atlas?"
Dem nodded, unbothered as Chava stepped closer. "A new settlement is taking shape far away from Galieo or Dhrygal. You'll be safe—relatively."
"The Independent Isles?" Chava leaned in. "I haven't heard of this."
"Here." Dem tapped the map. "Where the poison markers are. They're building, consolidating power. They'll need settlers—miners included."
Lim squinted. "Poison markers?"
"The poison is gone," Dem said. "It's safe. That's only known to a few."
"They'll take strangers like us?" Soni asked.
"Not just anyone." Dem's gaze moved across them, measuring. "I'll give you a letter."
Chava hesitated. "Why would they listen to a Dhrygal officer?"
"The two in charge are family."
"You'll tell them about the manajewels?" Chava asked.
"Yes," Dem said. "They won't rob you—but sanctuary has a price. You'll give up a portion."
Chava glanced at the miners. They nodded. "That's fair."
Dem took out a pen and quill. "You can read it when I'm done."
He wrote:
Ember and Isa,
I hope this letter finds you well. The bearer is Chava, accompanied by four miners. They're fleeing forces that would rob and kill them for what they carry. I've offered them sanctuary in the settlement you're building.
You should know they possess a substantial amount of manajewels. I'll leave all terms and decisions to you.
—Dem
He let Chava read it aloud, then folded and sealed it. "Be honest. Be respectful. You'll be treated fairly."
"Why haven't you joined them?" Chava asked.
Dem shrugged. "Eventually." He stood. "Good luck."
They watched him leave. At the entrance, Dem paused.
"Move fast," he said. "Take everything and make haste. Powerful people will come looking—for all of you."
Dem rode his courser most of the way back, but left it hidden a few miles from camp before returning on foot. It was time to rejoin the tribals and shed the skin of Lieutenant Duscan. First, though, he needed the intel his scouts had gathered.
The camp was settled when he passed through the guarded entrance. He entered his tent and collected the reports left on his table.
Nothing of note. A force similar in size to theirs had established a mirror camp across the border. Neither field commander knew they were little more than scenery—placed to distract while the lords behind them carved up a manajewel deposit.
Dem compiled the findings and snorted softly.
"Someone's going to be very disappointed."
Between what rested in his storage ring and what the miners had taken, there wouldn't be so much as a splinter left.
He slept a few hours and woke at dawn. Captain Hanza stood near the Commander's table and glanced up as Dem approached.
Dem handed over the compiled report and waited.
"Good enough," Hanza said at last. "Give your scouts the day off. We'll probably see action tomorrow. Or the next."
Dem saluted crisply and turned away.
Time to go.
Inside the command tent, Leon Fen had been watching him too closely.
By the time Dem reached his own tent, his scouts were already gathered.
"You've worked hard," Dem said. "Take the day. Rest."
They dispersed quickly, leaving only Gero and Juni.
Dem motioned them inside.
"Do you think there'll be fighting?" Gero asked quietly.
Dem shrugged. With the cause removed, both camps would likely fold once the truth surfaced. "Hard to say. Keep your heads down."
Gero studied him. "You're leaving."
"Yes."
Dem didn't elaborate. The less they knew, the safer they were. "Odds are the conscripts will be released in a few days."
After they left, Dem waited—then extended his senses.
He undressed without a word, stowed everything in his ring, shifted, and slipped into the rain.
Storm clouds broke overhead, turning paths to rivers and sightlines to haze. The rat moved fast—then stopped.
Heat.
Even at distance, it stood out. Soldiers. Too many. Surrounding his tent.
They'd come for him.
Dem's nose twitched. Decision made.
Several minutes later, after searching the camp, the would-be assassins returned to the command tent.
Four figures in black approached the guarded entrance—professionals. Killers, the Commander's henchmen.
The guard stepped aside without question.
Danshar entered first.
"Commander, Lieutenant Duscan is no longer—"
He stopped.
The smell hit him before the sight.
Leon Fen sat slumped in his chair, throat opened into a grotesque smile.
"Fuck," Danshar muttered, drawing steel. He checked the body out of habit, then turned. "Find Hanza."
"No need," Vida said, already moving. He gestured toward the far side of the tent.
Hanza lay face down. One precise wound at the base of the skull.
"Assassin," Vida said. "Someone very good."
Danshar nodded. Fen and Hanza—both capable fighters—killed without alerting the guard.
East of camp, Dem rinsed blood from his hands in the driving rain, untied his courser, and mounted.
The mission was over.
It was time to go home—to the Sentry Force.