PH1RE'S P.O.V
Maya and I crouched beneath the open-air walkway that lined the mayor's estate. The building was well-guarded but nothing we hadn't snuck into before. A narrow maintenance crawlspace below the floorboards gave us just enough of a view through the slatted wooden grating to spy on the meeting room.
The room above was modest—polished wooden floors, faded rugs, and a long table with mismatched chairs. The kind of place that said, "We're not corrupt—we're just underfunded."
Through the grate, I could see three pairs of boots—Mayor Grantham's worn leather shoes, Ethan's polished travel boots, and Cornelius's spotless black ones.
"How did you even know this was here?" I whisphered.
"Instincts on hiding money," she responded.
"What do you think they're saying?" Maya whispered, pressed beside me. Her breath tickled my ear, and I flinched slightly, trying to focus.
"We'll find out," I muttered. "Just give it a minute."
The voices above filtered in slowly, the wood muffling most of the words, but the longer we listened, the clearer it became.
Above
Mayor Grantham's voice: "You're telling me this is no longer a beast outbreak but a structured magical ritual? That's... quite the accusation."
Ethan, casually: "It's not an accusation. It's a deduction. The wildlife are far too organized, they even seem capable of information gathering, so it would either be at the very least an A-rank beast or a person. Now, I don't consider myself suicidal enough to stick around if that was the case."
Cornelius, smooth and unhurried: "I don't disagree. The behavior patterns of the wildlife—combined with the mana saturation in the forest—suggest a deliberate manipulation. My concern is who's behind it… and what they're trying to achieve."
Grantham: "And what of the explosion at the butcher's? Your adventurers were present during that incident."
Ethan, unfazed: "Yes. And they survived it. The butcher didn't. You can draw your own conclusions from that."
Maya leaned closer to the grate. "Gods, he's just casually admitting we were there."
I shrugged. "It's Ethan. His version of subtlety is getting bored halfway through a sentence."
Cornelius: "I've already verified their alibi. If they were involved, we wouldn't be having this conversation."
Ethan: "Cordell and I actually agree on something. Write it down, mayor. Momentous occasion."
Maya lunged forwards at that sentence, "That makes it sound like they know each other," she exclaimed maybe a little too loudly considering we were trying to stay hidden.
"I wouldn't be so sure,"
Grantham, clearly stressed: "You're both sure this is a ritual? Because if you are, we need to alert the capital."
Cornelius: "No. Not yet. We don't tip the board until we know what pieces are in play. If we request aid too early, we risk alerting the orchestrator."
Ethan: "And if this is part of a larger network, Austeria's internal politics will turn this into a parade before it becomes a solution. Besides, it's not like you'd want them to be privy to the Cephurian murder's going on in your county, right mayor" he half threatened.
I heard Maya snort beside me. "Look at him, I can hardly recognize the kind of person he is now."
I sighed then added, "You're not wrong,"
"Ethan might actually be good at this," I said, almost surprised to hear myself say it.
She blinked. "Wow. That's high praise coming from you."
"Don't get used to it."
I really didn't want to get used to it, just what happened after he left the orphanage to change him so much, it's not hard to understand that he wasn't the same person but why does it seem like I know almost nothing about him.
We're friends, right?
Gratham Stiffened: "You're aware of that," he said.
Ethan: "Of course, I was trying to figure out why you would pick a guild with a reputation like ours for a job like this, it was actually quite easy to figure out,"
Gratham : "So, you'll be using that information against me,"
Ethan: "I would think nothing of the sort, we can merely keep using each other,"
Gratham: "But the inspector has become privy to this information," he panicked looking towards Cordell.
Ethan: "Oh! I'm sure he and I can come to an agreement, right Mr. All powerful inspector,"
Cornelius: "Regardless, we've confirmed certain animals were embedded with sigils—sound-reactive ones. That changes things." he said ignoring Ethan.
Grantham: "Changes how?"
Ethan: "It means whoever cast those spells doesn't need to be close. Just... audible. And that makes everyone in this town a suspect."
Cornelius: "And that's why I've requested a list. Visitors. Traders. Locals. Anyone with even passing access to magical beasts. We cross-reference with recent arrivals, see who's been near the Red Ravens' lion."
Grantham, reluctant: "The townspeople aren't going to like this."
Ethan: "Good. Let them be nervous. Maybe someone slips."
Beneath the floor, Maya whistled softly.
"Did he just say something smart and strategic?" she whispered.
"Twice in the same conversation," I muttered. "We need to get him checked."
"Maybe Cordell's wearing off on him," she teased. "Next thing you know, Ethan will be brushing his cloak and ironing his shirt."
"He'd have to own an iron first."
Cornelius, almost too casually: "And what of the Red Ravens? I assume their contract ends once the wall is complete?"
Ethan, voice sharp: "We're not leaving. Not until this is resolved."
Cornelius: "That wasn't the question."
Ethan: "It was the only answer."
Maya raised her eyebrows. "Well, that sounded personal. They definitely know each other.
"Yep,"
I didn't say anything else. I was too focused on what had just shifted in Ethan's tone. That wasn't adventurer pragmatism.
That was loyalty.
Grantham, sighing: "If you intend to stay, do it quietly. The fewer questions I have to answer, the better."
Cornelius: "Of course. Discretion is my specialty."
There was a scrape of a chair being pushed back, and I quickly tapped Maya's shoulder. "They're getting up. Let's go."
We slipped back into the crawlspace shadows just as the door above creaked open.
Outside the Mayor's Office
We emerged behind a hedge a few minutes later, brushing dirt off our clothes and pretending we hadn't just eavesdropped on a top-level meeting.
Maya stretched, cracking her back. "So... what did we learn?"
"That Cordell's legitimate," I said.
"And that Ethan's got a whole secret life he hasn't bothered telling us about ."
I gave her a sidelong glance. "So, you still wanna follow Cordell?"
"Yep, but now for any information he may have about Ethan,"
I nodded. "All right. Let's split. Keep your ears open."
She nodded. "Always."
As she slipped into the crowd, blending effortlessly into the morning bustle, I lingered for a moment longer.
The Ethan I thought I knew would've slept through most of this mission.
So who the hell was the one upstairs?
—————————————————
Maya and I watched from across the plaza, half-hidden behind a fruit stall that smelled strongly of overripe pears and ambition. He stepped into the sunlight without missing a beat, adjusting the cuffs of his immaculate coat like he hadn't just spent the past hour confirming the existence of ritual blood magic in the region.
"Where's he going?" Maya muttered, already shifting her weight onto the balls of her feet.
"Let's find out."
We moved after him, keeping to the edges of the street. Cordell walked with the same irritating elegance as before, hands behind his back, posture perfect, pace unhurried. He passed shops, nodded politely to a few townspeople, and even paused once to inspect a crooked sign nailed above a candlemaker's stall.
"He's not doing anything interesting" I whispered.
"He probably doesn't think anyone's following him, I'm sure he would make an effort to be a more interesting specimen if he knew" Maya responding.
We trailed him through a shaded alley near the eastern merchant row, sticking to crates and awnings as cover. As he turned the corner into a quieter street that led toward the outskirts of town, Maya suddenly threw an arm out across my chest.
"Wait."
I froze. "What?"
"Look," she whispered.
Across the street, perched on the rooftop of a grain warehouse, was another figure—dark cloak, hood up, crouched low. They moved carefully, following Cordell from the high ground, steps soft and precise. Maya squinted and tapped the hilt of her dagger, her eyes narrowing.
"They're tailing him, too," she said, voice low.
"Doesn't look like town guard. Wrong gear," I noted. "Too light for patrols."
"And too good for your average thief," Maya added. "That climb's not easy."
Cordell hadn't reacted. If he'd noticed the figure, he gave no sign of it.
"Do we follow the follower?" I asked.
"Depends," she said. "Do you want to know who's watching the man watching the ritual?"
"When you say it like that, how could I not?"
We peeled off from Cordell's trail and circled around, using narrow side paths to get a better vantage point on the rooftop figure. From a shadowed archway, we got a clearer look: tall, agile build, dressed in black leathers. Not a Red Raven uniform. No visible insignia.
It's not Ethan or Bryn.
But they carried something strapped across their back—short and cylindrical. Not a sword. Not a bow.
"A case," I whispered. "For a scroll or maybe… an instrument?"
Maya sucked in a quiet breath. "Sound magic."
"Think they're the one who planted the sigils?"
"No," she said slowly. "Too reckless. If they were the caster, they wouldn't get this close unless they were trying to silence Cordell. Which means they don't trust him either."
"Or they think he knows something they don't."
The stalker crept across the rooftop as Cordell entered a low alleyway near the edge of the district—almost like he was intentionally isolating himself.
"It's a trap," I muttered.
"Could be," Maya said, her voice suddenly colder. "And Cordell might be the bait."
We watched as the rooftop figure shifted, reaching behind them and unsnapping the leather case. Inside was a long, silver flute—not ornate, not decorative. Functional. Mage-grade, reinforced along the spine.
"Time to move," I said. "If they're casting anything, it won't be subtle."
Maya was already ahead of me, leaping onto the nearby crates, scaling the wall in three steps, and landing behind the rooftop stalker with the grace of a dancer and the speed of a professional threat.
I scrambled up after her, slower, quieter, drawing on [Plus Step] only at the last moment.
Maya drew her blade and pressed the edge to the attacker's neck before they could bring the flute to their lips.
"I wouldn't," she whispered.
The figure froze.
I dropped beside her. "Hi there. We're really trying not to start fights today, so we'd be glad if you dropped the flute."
The stalker slowly turned their head. Beneath the hood, I glimpsed a pale, angular face—young, maybe mid-twenties. Eyes like polished glass, and lips drawn tight in grim silence.
"What do you want with the scribe?" I asked.
Their gaze flicked between us, calculating.
"I said—"
But before I could finish, they moved.
Not toward us—away. With a burst of mana that cracked the shingles beneath them, the figure launched themselves backwards off the rooftop and vanished into a plume of mist that flared from their boots.
Maya cursed and leapt to the edge of the building, scanning the streets below. It didn't take long to find the plume of purple mist that coalesced to form a hooded figure at the bottom of the building, he didn't even waste a breathe already fleeing at top speed.