The Silver Phantom guildhall was quiet that night. The streets outside were still thick with the sounds of the Hollow Pit's crowd dispersing, but here, only the faint crackle of the hearth filled the air.
James and Ilyanna stepped in first, the rescued woman leaning heavily between them. Her weight was light—too light—and her breathing came in short, shallow bursts. Olivia, already at the front desk sorting papers, shot up from her chair.
"What happened?" she demanded, moving toward them.
"Found her in the Hollow Pit's cellar," James explained, carefully easing the woman onto the couch by the fireplace. "She… called for help. Literally. Through the wind."
Olivia's brows knit, but she didn't waste time with questions. She pulled off her gloves and began channeling soft green light into her hands, the warmth of her healing magic spilling across the woman's frail frame.
The color returned slightly to the stranger's face, but her eyes—bright gray and framed by messy strands of silver hair—remained sunken and weary. She raised one trembling hand and grasped Olivia's wrist.
"That won't be enough," she whispered. "Not for me."
James and Ilyanna exchanged a glance.
"What do you mean?" Ilyanna asked, kneeling beside her.
The woman managed a weak smile. "Name's Joan. I'm… a wind mage. And I am dying."
The words were simple, spoken without drama, but they landed heavy in the room.
Olivia's magic faltered for a moment. "You're still injured—"
"No," Joan interrupted softly. "This isn't from a wound. It's inside me. I've been rotting for months. No healer has been able to reverse it. My time… was going to run out in that cell."
She coughed, the sound raw and sharp, before continuing. "Even if you hadn't come, it wouldn't have been long. But…" Her eyes sharpened, sudden urgency breaking through her fatigue. "There's someone else down there. Someone I care about. My student."
Olivia sat back slightly, letting the woman's words sink in.
James leaned forward. "You mean in the Hollow Pit cellar?"
"Yes. His name is Darius Earthearth."
The name was unusual enough to make Ilyanna tilt her head. "What is he?"
"A Horseman," Joan replied. "A fighter. Enthusiastic to a fault, but gifted… and loyal. He's only level three, but his wind magic is promising. He has skills most full-grown warriors can't match yet—Wind Armor, Wind Punch, Gust, Wind Whisper, Aero Breathing. I've trained him for a year. He's like…" Her voice cracked. "He's like the son I never had."
James straightened. "Why is he still there?"
Her expression darkened. "Because Isaac Arturo got fond of him. Not for his talent, but for his race. Isaac likes… collecting people who are rare or exotic. Darius amuses him—he makes him money in the arena, and that's all Isaac cares about."
Olivia's jaw tightened. "I know Isaac's type. And I know what he does to the people he 'collects.'"
Joan's fingers curled into the blanket. "I can't get him out myself. I could barely stand until tonight. But you—" Her gaze flicked between James, Ilyanna, and Olivia. "You could. Please. I can pay you handsomely. Whatever I have left, you'll get it. Just… don't leave him there."
For a long moment, the only sound was the fire crackling.
James finally broke the silence. "We just came from there. They're already on alert because of you. Going back won't be easy."
Ilyanna crossed her arms. "We've fought harder fights than a few guards."
"That's not the point," James said. "The place is crawling with Isaac's men. And if Darius is being kept alive to fight, they'll have him under lock and key."
Olivia exhaled slowly. She had that look—the one she wore when weighing pride against practicality. "We're not a rescue squad. We're a guild barely on its feet."
Joan's voice cut through sharply despite her frailty. "And yet you pulled me out without thinking. Don't tell me you can't do it when you already proved you can."
The room went still.
James looked at Olivia. "We can't just leave him. You heard her—Isaac's not going to treat him like a person. He's a prize to him. That means the only way Darius leaves is if we take him."
Olivia's lips pressed into a thin line. She glanced at Joan. "You said you'd pay?"
Joan nodded. "Everything I have is in a sealed chest at my home. It'll be yours if you bring him to me. You have my word."
Olivia thought for a long moment before nodding. "Fine. But we do this smart. No rushing in like idiots. We'll plan it. Scout the place. When we move, we make sure we don't leave a trace."
"That's all I ask," Joan said, her shoulders sagging with relief.
They talked into the night, Joan giving them every detail she knew—where Darius was kept when not fighting, which guards favored coin over loyalty, the times Isaac was usually present in the arena, and even the back hallways that weren't on the public maps.
When Joan's coughing fits grew too frequent, Olivia finally stopped her. "That's enough. You need rest."
Joan didn't argue. She let Olivia guide her to one of the guest rooms upstairs.
James and Ilyanna stayed by the fire after she was gone. The flames danced across their faces, each lost in their own thoughts.
"You know this is going to get messy," James said quietly.
"It always does," Ilyanna replied. She was looking at the staircase, where Joan had just disappeared. "But she's right. If that kid's still alive, he doesn't have much time before Isaac decides he's more valuable broken than whole."
James nodded slowly. "Then I guess we move fast."
Olivia came back down, her expression unreadable. "Get some rest. Tomorrow, we start preparing."
Above them, Joan lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling. Her breathing was slow, labored. She had bought herself time, but she could feel her magic burning low, her body weakening further.
If the Silver Phantom failed, Darius's fate would be sealed.
And she wouldn't live long enough to try again.