The wind had grown sharper by the time the three returned from the southern ridge.
Snow whispered beneath their boots as they crossed back through the quieter alleys of Whitehold. No words passed between them. Not out of secrecy…but fatigue. Kaavi's face was unreadable, but his pace had slowed. Joren walked a step behind, eyes flicking to the rooftops every so often. Viktor trailed just behind, the echo of his first real attempt at the Mind's Eye still throbbing faintly behind his eyes.
They'd seen enough for one night.
The forge below had remained silent, lifeless. The marked crates, the stiff guards, the puppet being loaded with unnatural precision into the cart…all of it burned itself into their memories. For Viktor, young and unsure, the unease had lingered longer than the headache.
By the time they slipped back into the warehouse through the side entrance, the fire was already lit and the others were gathered around the old table in near silence.
Gavril looked up first.
No questions were asked.
They knew where the three had gone, and the weight they carried back with them was clear enough in the lines of their faces.
Kaavi walked over to the same corner he had sat in earlier and slowly lowered himself down, silent.
Joren rolled his shoulders and hung his cloak by the wall before moving toward the others. Viktor paused just inside the door, glancing at the fire, then to the rest of the group, unsure if he should speak or simply sit.
The night was deep now…thin frost webbed over the warehouse, and the fire in the centre of the floor had burned low, casting a dull orange glow. The others were asleep or resting in their corners. Only the wind moved, howling faintly across the roof like something with breath.
Kaavi sat in silence, fingers resting on his knees. His cloak draped over his shoulders like the wings of a crow.
Viktor sat beside him; knees hugged to his chest.
His head still ached.
Not sharply. Just a pulse. Like a stone dropped into deep water that hadn't stopped rippling. He hadn't said anything after they returned. He didn't need to. Kaavi knew.
Kaavi always knew.
Across the room, Gavril shifted under his coat, snoring softly and muttering something foul in his sleep. The others were quiet.
It felt like the world had curled in on itself, waiting.
Viktor looked down at his own hands. They still trembled a little. Not from fear. Not quite. It was the weight of what he'd seen...
Of what he'd felt...through that tether. The puppets, the crates, the stillness in their eyes. It made his skin crawl, like something alive had brushed past his thoughts.
He pressed his forehead against his arm.
You can't be scared of what you need to see.
Kaavi had said that once. He didn't remember when. Maybe it had been months ago. Or maybe it was only in his mind, born out of how Kaavi moved…quiet, always watching, like he had seen too much to flinch anymore.
Viktor wasn't there yet.
But maybe he could be...
The sound of boots crunching frost outside stirred the silence.
Tannic returned, slipping through the rear entrance with short nod. Gavril stirred, groaned, and sat up, grumbling.
"Didn't think you'd be back in one piece," Gavril muttered.
Tannic tossed a glance his way. "City's calm."
"For now," Tannic said, voice low. "But there's movement near the southern grain stacks. Wagons. Covered. And too many guards to be coincidence."
Kaavi opened his eyes slowly.
He rose, the motion fluid…but Joren caught it again. That slight pause. A minor hesitation as Kaavi shifted weight from one leg to the other. Barely a flicker.
He's still pushing himself.
"Report," Kaavi said.
Tannic began recounting what they'd seen. Nothing loud. No patrol shifts too irregular. But too many signs of movement for a city that supposedly wasn't preparing for war.
Tannic added, "They're quiet, yes. But there's tension beneath it. People missing. A boy who sold turnips yesterday is gone. His father pretended he never existed."
Kaavi nodded once.
Then Viktor, still sitting, asked quietly, "Do you think they're…replacing people every night?"
Everyone turned slightly toward him.
Veyl, surprisingly, answered. "Slowly. If they did it all at once, people would notice. But a few every night…"
"They let the city rot from the inside," Corren muttered.
Kaavi turned toward the map and knelt beside it. He tapped two locations with his finger both near the southern wall.
"These are where they gather the crates," he said. "One site was already known. The forge. The other is a warehouse near the old river docks."
He looked at Joren. "Tonight, we send eyes closer. I want confirmation before the Baron arrives."
"What about the ones being shipped out?" Gavril asked. "Those wagons… where are they going?"
Kaavi paused.
"There was something else," he said. "The crates… not all of them were ordinary. One of the ravens circled low. Some had marks…deep red. Sigils. And some crates… was loaded by hand, with more care. The figures inside wore silk. Fine boots. Rings."
Veyl raised an eyebrow. "Nobility?"
Kaavi's voice darkened. "Maybe or merchants. Someone with access and power. Someone they'll use to open gates elsewhere."
Corren whistled. "They're not just controlling cities… they're planting seeds."
"If those reach another major outpost…"
"They'll do to the next town what they've done to Whitehold," Kaavi finished.
Gavril exhaled slowly. "These bastards are playing the long game."
He looked around. "Then we burn those carts before they move."
"Not yet," Kaavi said. "Not until the Baron strikes. If we act too early, they'll scatter. And we lose the whole root."
The fire crackled in the centre of the room. Viktor watched it flicker. The silence stretched.
Then Kaavi looked at him.
"You rested?"
Viktor nodded, slowly.
"Good. You're coming."
Viktor blinked. "Now?"
Kaavi stood fully. "You're not ready to fly on your own yet. But you'll observe again. Tannic, you come with us."
Tannic nodded once, already checking his quiver.
Joren turned to Kaavi. "You're going again? You've barely…"
Kaavi looked at him, firm. "We have hours. Not days."
Joren didn't argue.
They moved under cover of snow, keeping low along the ridge path that overlooked the warehouse district.
This time, the crates were clearer. Marked in red, sealed tight, and lifted with care. One wagon bore not only a puppet driver, but two guards wearing city cloaks…real ones. Not puppets. Not yet. Watching the crate as if it held something sacred.
Viktor crouched behind Kaavi, heart thudding.
"You'll feel the tether again," Kaavi whispered.
Viktor nodded, ready.
Kaavi paused. "You won't hold it long. Don't try. Just follow. See."
Viktor closed his eyes.
The link returned like breath through glass. Softer this time. Less forceful. He didn't control it. Kaavi did.
Through the raven's eyes, he saw the rooftops of the southern warehouse. The crates were marked carefully. Some had gold trim. One even had a family crest, though faded.
They're preparing to plant these things somewhere important.
A noble's estate? A court? A lord's inner circle?
The thought made Viktor's skin crawl.
Then a flicker.
One of the guards… he turned. A faint tremble in his hand. His mouth opened slightly, like he wanted to say something. But his eyes…blank.
Not a puppet.
Not yet.
Kaavi's voice entered his mind, calm.
Viktor's chest tightened.
"They're starting slow… testing who they can take without raising alarm. It's how they spread. Quiet, like rot under wood."
Then, once more, the tether snapped. The cold spike behind his eyes came fast, but he let go before it could root too deep.
He opened his eyes with a soft grunt.
Kaavi steadied him.
"You released early," the old warrior said. "Good. You're learning when to stop."
Viktor breathed slowly.
"They move tomorrow," he whispered. "With the dawn."
Kaavi nodded. "Then we burn them at dusk."
Viktor glanced at him. "Won't that draw attention?"
"Yes," Kaavi said. "But If we hit them just as the Baron strikes from the front, they'll collapse from both sides."
The three watched the wagons a moment longer.
Then they vanished again into the storm, like shadows beneath the snow.