Night fell slowly over Whitehold.
The sun dipped behind the jagged peaks to the west, casting the entire valley in long streaks of shadow. Beneath a blanket of frost-hardened silence, the forest breathed with tension. The group moved in a slow formation downhill, cloaked by darkness and snow.
Snow softened every step as the group left the ridge behind. Trees grew sparser here, the land opening to frostbitten stone and frost- laced brush. Every step toward the city felt like crossing into another world, a place where life still flickered, but had gone cold.
Veyl was near the front, steps light. His short blades had not left his hands since they began their descent. Tannic followed a few paces back, scanning the tree line for shifts in wind and sound. Viktor kept low, eyes darting often toward Kaavi…who moved in absolute quiet, one with the cold air.
The descent itself was uneventful. But every step closer to Whitehold felt heavier.
Near the mines
The old mining route lay ahead, half-swallowed by the land. A fractured arch of rock marked the entrance, part of it collapsed inward, but not enough to block passage.
"This tunnel was sealed decades ago," Joren murmured. "Abandoned after a collapse killed a dozen men. Locals say it's cursed."
"Cursed? are there ghosts in here too??" asked Gavril.
"Don't worry Gavril, there are no spirits here." Kaavi said behind him. "Just echoes, now let's hurry."
They stepped into the darkness, one by one. The walls closed around them…rough stone, damp with moisture, the ceiling low enough to bow heads.
Gavril cursed as he scraped his shoulder on a jagged outcrop.
Bloody hell. I should've just stayed back in town with Danil and Ren.
For several long minutes, there was only the sound of boots on stone and the shallow hush of breathing. No one spoke. Even Gavril stayed quiet, jaw clenched.
Then, a sudden shift. The air grew colder. A faint metallic scent floated through the tunnel.
Kaavi raised his hand. They halted.
"Smell that?" Corren whispered.
"Blood," Veyl said flatly.
Joren crept forward, signalling Liran to put out the torch. Around the next bend, a shaft of natural light pierced through a broken part of the ceiling. Snow had drifted in, glimmering faintly on the ground.
Beside it…three bodies. All wearing the uniforms of Whitehold guards.
But their faces were blank.
Not bloodless. Not burned. Just... wrong. Too smooth. One eye was missing on each of them. Torn out, it seemed, after death.
Kaavi stepped forward, crouching beside one. He didn't touch the corpse, only stared.
"They weren't killed by blade," he said. "And they weren't men anymore."
Joren examined a nearby wall…thin scratches, barely noticeable.
"They fought," he muttered. "Whatever killed them, they resisted."
Tannic looked uneasy. "I thought the puppets didn't turn on each other."
"They don't," Kaavi said.
He stood slowly. "We're close to the warehouse district. Whoever's running this part of the city likely no longer needed these ones."
Veyl kicked a nearby stone. "Discarded like tools."
"We don't know what we're dealing with yet. So, stay sharp." Kaavi replied.
Joren signalled for silence.
Then, very faintly, the distant sound of something…wet. Not blades clashing. Not metal. It was dull… sickening… rhythmic.
The sound of fists meeting flesh.
"This way," Joren said quietly.
They shifted direction, moving up along a snowy incline where the mine thinned. The noise grew louder…still muffled, but clear enough now to be understood.
Voices. Two men, arguing. Laughing. And something else beneath it… choking.
Joren motioned for the group to stay low as he approached a ledge overlooking one of the fortified side paths…a narrow snow-covered alley used for patrols, now seemingly abandoned.
What they saw below made them freeze.
A soldier lay on the ground, body twisted unnaturally. The uniform marked him as a Whitehold guard… but he didn't bleed. His limbs were stiff. His face slack.
A puppet.
Two men stood over him. Both tall, broad-shouldered, and clad in thick black armour layered over simple tunics. Their faces were similar. Twin brothers. One had a long scar over his temple, the other had a strange calmness that didn't match the scene unfolding before them.
The louder twin…his voice rough, full of venom…landed another kick into the puppet's ribs.
"You think you're useful?!" the first twin barked, voice raw with fury. "You limp-jointed sack of shit!"
"You hear that, you empty-eyed freak? Maybe if you didn't mess up your patrol route, we wouldn't be out here cleaning up your stinking mess!!"
The puppet didn't react.
He punched it again, a vicious hook to the ribs.
"We should kill it," the first snarled.
Then he turned and kicked the puppet in the gut. It folded, slamming into the dirt, then tried to stand again.
"You see that?" the loud twin barked. "Crawling around like it's got a spine!"
"Just finish it," the second twin muttered, voice ice.
"No." The first twin spat beside the thing's face. "I'm not done."
He pulled a knife from his belt and slashed the puppet's leg. It didn't flinch. He slashed the other.
The other twin knelt, grabbed the puppet's jaw, and twisted it hard. Bone cracked. "He's already gone." His voice was flat, emotionless.
The first twin snorted. "I don't give a shit. I hate these things."
He stomped the puppet's chest again. Then again. The sound of breaking bones echoed against the stone wall behind them. Bloodless, but brutal.
"Every time I see one of these creeps shuffling around like they own the place," he growled, "I want to rip that bastard's veins out and choke him with 'em."
The calmer twin stood. "He isn't even here. That's the problem."
"Damn! This whole city's ours now, and we're still licking the boots of that freak." His voice rose into a shout, rage bubbling out like bile. "We should be running Whitehold, not waiting on some masked lunatic hiding!"
He spat on the ground.
The other brother finally turned his head, staring at the puppet's still body. Then, in a quiet voice:
"He doesn't even care what these things are. They're tools. Meat. That's all."
A pause.
Then the loud one snarled, "If the Boss doesn't let us handle it soon, I'm going to start burning his little puppets."
"You already are," his brother muttered, without judgment.
The loud twin barked a laugh.
Then he drew his knife and, without hesitation, drove it through the puppet's eye. The body didn't twitch. Just collapsed inward like a sack of meat.
Above, the group stayed utterly still.
Even Gavril…who had seen his share of horror…swallowed hard. "What the f…"
Kaavi's eyes narrowed.
"They're not part of the puppeteer's command," he said quietly. "They hate him. But they're part of The Maw."
"Rogue elements?" Liran asked.
"Maybe not rogue," Kaavi replied. "Just different. The Maw isn't unified. Maybe they have branches and factions."
Joren shifted beside him. "And we've just found a more dangerous one."
"Two wolves off the leash," Tannic muttered.
Viktor didn't speak. He was staring down, hand clenched around the knife Veyl had helped him hold earlier. Something about the sheer violence below…even toward a puppet…cut deeper than he expected.
Kaavi gently placed a hand on Viktor's shoulder. The boy didn't flinch. He just nodded once.
"This," Kaavi said softly, "is what we're walking into."
The wind shifted, carrying the stink of ash and snow up toward them.
The twins were laughing again.
They had circled the alley's edge, snow crunching underfoot, until the warehouse courtyard sprawled before them-a stretch of flattened stone.