Celeste moved like she owned the night.
Kael followed her across the rooftops of Vireholm, his boots slipping on rain-slick tiles, his cloak trailing behind him like smoke. Below, the city pulsed with the neon color of mana, the hum of power lines weaving through the fog.
She didn't look back.
Part of him hated her for that.
He kept his hand near his dagger anyway. If this was a trap, he wouldn't die begging.
They reached the highest spire of the Cradle Market, where gold-colored glass domes shimmered under spelllight. Celeste crouched near the edge, her runes flaring faintly as she scanned the streets below. Kael joined her, peering over the ledge.
Below them, through the dome's glass, lay a treasure trove of forbidden magic.
The market was packed with Varnel agents and black-market smugglers trading relics that should have been destroyed centuries ago: soul cages glowing faint blue, cursed tomes bound in skin, mana crystals that throbbed like hearts.
And near the center of it all stood a vault door marked with the Varnel crest.
Kael's breath caught as he took in the scene.
"That's one of their off-books vaults," Celeste murmured. "Every transaction. Every bribe. Every experiment. Records they don't even keep at the mansion. Burn this place, and you don't just hurt them. You expose them."
Kael's knuckles whitened around the hilt of his blade.
"All this time…" he said, voice low, "and you never struck it yourself?"
Her lips pressed into a thin line.
"I've… tried," she admitted. "But it's warded. Too many guards. Too much noise. And they'd know it was me. I needed someone like you—someone who doesn't matter to them."
Kael turned to her sharply.
"I matter, now."
Her silver eyes met his, unflinching. "Then prove it."
She rose, drawing her blade in a single, fluid motion.
"The wards reset at midnight," she explained. "We strike at the changeover. You handle the vault. I'll keep the guards occupied."
Kael's brow furrowed.
"You're trusting me," he said flatly.
She allowed herself the faintest curve of her lips—something almost like a smile.
"I don't trust you," she replied. "But I trust your hate."
The words lodged in his chest like a splinter, but he didn't argue.
When the bells of Vireholm began to toll midnight, they dropped together into the market.
Kael landed in a crouch behind a line of crates, the heat of the enchanted lamps baking his shoulders. Ahead, Celeste was already moving, her cloak flaring as she launched herself at a pair of armored guards. Frost bloomed on the floor beneath her feet, and the sound of steel-on-steel rang out.
The crowd scattered in screams as her blade cut through the first two guards. Runes flared on her arms, freezing rifles mid-fire. Kael sprinted toward the vault while the chaos spread.
He skidded to a halt before the door. Wards shimmered over the steel, ancient sigils etched in faint gold. He drew his dagger, twisting the override chip into place, and drove it into the center rune. Sparks hissed, sigils flared white, and the whole door groaned.
Behind him, Celeste held her ground, her cloak a blur of frost and shadow as guards surged at her.
Kael didn't look back.
The vault door cracked open. He slipped inside.
It was worse than he expected.
Stacks of ledgers, bound and blood-stamped. Glass cases full of relics, each one whispering in the dark. A basin of liquid mana that glowed like molten silver. And on the far wall—a row of cages, each one holding a child no older than Kael had been when they took him.
He froze.
One of them—a boy with soot-smudged cheeks and wide, terrified eyes—looked up at him and whispered:
"Are… you here to help us?"
Kael's blade trembled in his hand.
For the first time in years, he felt his rage falter, replaced by something heavier.
"Yes," he said hoarsely. "I am."
He smashed the cages open one by one, herding the children toward the vault door. The noise outside had grown louder—Celeste still fighting, still buying him time.
When the last child stumbled free, Kael grabbed a fistful of ledgers, a sack of relics, and lit the rest on fire.
The vault began to roar with heat and smoke as he sprinted out, children clinging to him, the ledgers pressed to his chest.
In the market, Celeste stood amid a circle of frost and corpses, breathing hard, her blade dripping ice.
She glanced at him—at the children behind him, at the flames rising from the vault.
And for once, her mask slipped.
She smiled.
Just a little.
Kael nodded at her as they slipped into the smoke and vanished into the alleys together.
Behind them, the market burned, and the banners of House Varnel began to fall, one by one, into ash.