Snow fell softly outside the warehouse as evening fell over Whitehold.
Joren and Gavril stepped through the side entrance, boots crunching the frost-dusted floorboards. The scent of old wood and iron greeted them. The interior was dim, the last of the orange daylight trickling in through the cracked rafters.
Kaavi was exactly where they had left him…seated cross-legged in the far corner, back straight, hands resting gently on his knees. He hadn't moved.
Gavril muttered, half in awe, half in irritation, "He's still there? Been hours."
As if in response, Kaavi stirred slightly but didn't rise. His breathing was calm, precise.
Just then, the main door creaked.
Veyl and Tannic entered, both wrapped in thick cloaks, boots speckled with snow. They looked alert. Tannic nodded toward Joren.
"Scouted three sectors east," he said. "Shops were quiet. People kept to themselves. Nothing seems out of ordinary."
"West was similar," Veyl added, voice soft. "Two guards near the forge were puppets. The rest... hard to tell. But no new movements."
Joren leaned against a beam, arms crossed. "So, nothing strange?"
"No more than usual," Tannic said.
Joren exhaled, then shared what they had seen in the city earlier… the old man dragged off, raving about souls and puppets. As he spoke, the others listened quietly.
Gavril said nothing, only shifted slightly, jaw tight. The memory of it still dug into him.
When Joren finished, Corren spoke first. "You think that old man knew something?"
"Either that, or maybe he just saw too much," Joren replied. "And no one listened."
Kaavi finally opened his eyes.
He rose slowly to his feet.
Joren, standing nearby, noticed it first… a faint falter in Kaavi's stance. The slight weight shift, the stiffness in his left leg. Subtle. But not there before.
He's overexerting, Joren thought.
He's not letting it show, but… it's there.
Beside him, Gavril also watched Kaavi closely.
Dammit, old man. You're pushing yourself too far.
But like Joren, he said nothing. Kaavi didn't need pity… and they both knew the circumstances, they had no time to worry.
Kaavi walked toward the center of the room, his steps calm, though slightly slower than usual.
"The ravens returned," he said.
He looked to the map spread out on a crate.
"There are two sites of interest," he continued. "Both near the southern district. One is an old grain warehouse…now sealed. The other... a forge, but no smoke rises from it. I saw crates…wooden, marked, sealed tight-loaded onto wagons and prepared to send down the old south road."
"Crates?" Liran asked. "Transporting goods?"
Kaavi's gaze hardened. "No goods. Puppets."
A silence settled over the group.
"They're not just taking over Whitehold," Kaavi said. "They're shipping them elsewhere. Probably doing the same to other towns in the region."
Corren ran a hand through his hair. "So, it spreads like rot."
Tannic added, "And without resistance… there's no warning."
Gavril crossed his arms. "Bastards are planting these freaks like seeds."
Kaavi nodded. "Exactly."
There was a long pause before Viktor spoke, voice low. "Then… what do we do next?"
Kaavi looked at him. Then turned his eyes toward Joren.
"We're not going to strike yet," he said. "But we need more details… inside the warehouse, the forge, the guards' movements. If we want the Baron to succeed, we need to make sure every blow lands where it matters."
He turned toward Viktor. "You'll come with me. You'll assist."
Viktor blinked. "Me?"
"You've to train yourself, and nothing is better than real world experience. It's time for you see it from the inside."
Gavril raised a brow. "Wait. You're taking the boy?"
"He need to learn. I'll guide him. I'll show him what to look for."
Joren nodded. "I'll come too. You'll need cover."
Kaavi gave a single nod. "We leave at midnight. Only us three. The rest stay and prepare."
A few hours later...
Tannic tossed a strip of dried meat into the fire. "Heard you got new boots," he said without looking.
Gavril, seated with his back against a beam, scowled. "What of it?"
Veyl leaned against the wall, arms folded. "They look… almost clean."
"Suspiciously un-beggar-like," Corren added with a smirk.
Liran chuckled. "Did you rob a noble's laundry line?"
Gavril muttered, pulling his coat over his knees.
First, they drag me around the city, then rob me blind at the shoemaker. And now this. Bloody boots better last me a year.
"They feel good though, don't they?" Joren said, passing by.
Gavril looked up with the weary resignation of a man who knew he'd never hear the end of it.
They do. But I'll freeze before I admit it.
He grunted. "They'll do."
Liran grinned. "You're welcome, pretty feet."
"Shut up!"
Midnight
The warehouse had gone quiet again, save for the soft breaths of those resting.
Kaavi stood at the threshold, cloak drawn tight, his eyes already turned toward the dark ridgeline in the distance. Joren adjusted the straps on his shoulder, glancing back at Viktor.
"You ready?" he asked.
Kaavi said. "We'll observe the forge and the sealed warehouse. I want you there. I want you to see what I see."
"You mean through the... the technique?"
Kaavi nodded once. "You've trained with me. But now it's time to walk the path…even if only a step."
Joren raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He merely fastened his gloves and started heading toward the alley.
Viktor stood up, still unsure, still processing. He hesitated.
Kaavi placed a hand gently on his shoulder. "You won't be doing it alone. I'll share the tether with you. Think of it as following the wind, not trying to catch it."
Gavril, half-asleep by the fire, cracked an eye open.
He's really taking the kid, huh. Well... guess we all get thrown in the river sometime.
He didn't say a word…just pulled his coat tighter and went back to pretending to sleep.
They reached the ridgeline overlooking the southern quarter. The snow had thinned, revealing slate rooftops and chimneys that no longer smoked.
Below, the old forge squatted like a dead furnace… dark and silent. A few dim lanterns burned around its perimeter. Wooden crates were stacked in orderly rows near the loading bay, guarded by blank-eyed men who didn't speak.
Joren crouched low behind a half-collapsed wall. Kaavi knelt beside Viktor.
"Close your eyes," he said softly. "Don't try take control. Just observe for now."
Viktor nodded. His breathing slowed. Kaavi's hand rested against his upper back… firm, anchoring.
"Now," Kaavi whispered.
Viktor felt it.
A pulse, but a pressure... like opening a door in a silent house. His thoughts, normally so internal, felt stretched… lifted.
Then the vision bled in.
He saw rooftops. Through raven's eye view. A flicker of steel. A guard changing shifts. The crates…numbered. Marked with red wax. One was moving.
The link deepened. He felt Kaavi's presence beside his own, steadying it.
Then it slipped.
The control snapped for a heartbeat.
A jolt struck behind Viktor's eyes…sharp and cold. His breath caught as the world fractured into overlapping sounds and flashes.
He tore away from the connection with a gasp, stumbling slightly as pain throbbed in his skull.
Kaavi steadied him.
"You held on longer than I expected," the old warrior said quietly.
"I… I couldn't keep it," Viktor admitted, hand still clutching his forehead.
"You did well," Kaavi said. "Tonight was to feel the current. Next time, you'll learn to swim."
Viktor nodded slowly, the ache in his head already fading.
Joren, watching from the corner of his eye, didn't interrupt. His gaze remained on the dark warehouse below.
"They're hiding something in those crates," he muttered.
"And sending them elsewhere," Kaavi said. "The rot travels."
The three of them remained still, cloaked in wind and shadow.
Below, the puppets moved without question.
Above, the snow began to fall again, soft as ash.