The prison cell smelled of damp stone and cold iron. Somewhere in the dark, a single drop fell into a puddle with the patience of a clock marking seconds. Gideon slept like a soldier — half-conscious, a knife tucked in the straw at his side. Caleb sat with his back against the wall, polishing the one blade they hadn't taken. Malachi's breathing was steady but his hands twitched, running ghost-pistol drills even in sleep.
Eliakim sat cross-legged in the corner, the Codex of Imreth balanced on his knees. Its pages were older than the Spire itself, written in a script that shifted when you blinked. He turned a leaf of paper and watched ink bloom into lines and curves, until the cell wall in front of him seemed to fade, replaced by a sprawling diagram made of light.
The combat web hung in the air — threads of silver, red, and black connecting names and weapons like constellations:
Korras – Gravebind Gauntlets: choke point enforcer, strength drain, disrupts front-line push.
Veyth – Chain-Blade: air mobility, misdirection, tempo breaker.
Selvas – Arrowcatcher's Bow: battlefield control, range denial, precision killing lanes.
Dravik – Axe-Shield: weapon disruptor, stance breaker, brute tempo control.
Raviel – Spindrift Edge: delayed wound strikes, morale disruption.
Zaryth – Moonfang Saber: surgical disarms, in-combat recovery, tempo inversion.
Serakh Draemyr – Silver Sigils: formation anchor, unspoken command vector.
Eliakim studied the lines until the Codex began to pulse with a deeper pattern. Two of the web's nodes glowed faintly — Zaryth and a shadowed figure labeled only as Vaeryn.
The Codex began weaving new lines — gold and green — showing information flow, not swordplay. Zaryth's gold lines ran toward the King, but also arced away toward another, unseen master. Vaeryn's green lines spidered out in opposite directions — toward an entirely different foreign power, yet also looping back to feed falsehoods to the King.
Two double agents, each pretending to serve one side while secretly serving another — and both pretending to serve each other.
Eliakim's fingers traced the space where their lines intersected. The Codex whispered in thought-shapes: Tension. Redundancy. Discrepancy.
He saw it then — the fault line. Zaryth and Vaeryn had to maintain their mutual illusion to survive. If one was exposed before the other, the survivor's whole cover collapsed. That made their relationship both a strength and a liability.
Ezra's name burned in the Codex's margin. The book didn't just show him the web — it showed him how to pull it apart without cutting it. Ezra's location was inside the Talons' perimeter, but not in Serakh's direct custody. That meant Zaryth and Vaeryn had to cooperate to keep him hidden. If Eliakim forced a contradiction between their stories — in a way only Ezra could answer — they would have to move him.
And movement was opportunity.
He began marking the board:
Trigger the Discrepancy – Feed Zaryth intel that forces him to act in a way Vaeryn's cover can't support.
Force a Relocation – Predict the safest hand-off route for moving Ezra between their jurisdictions.
Exploit the Transfer Window – Hit them when their formation is weakest — when Selvas's lines of control can't be set, and Dravik is pulled to cover Korras's flank.
Control the Tempo – Neutralize Zaryth's recovery advantage by isolating his wounded before he can return them to the line.
Anchor Disruption – Use Serakh's reliance on unspoken coordination against him by scattering his sight-lines.
The Codex's ink began to fade, leaving only one phrase burned into his mind:
A web can be cut… but it can also be untied.
He closed the book softly. The stone walls of the prison reasserted themselves. Caleb looked over. "You think of a way out?"
Eliakim smiled faintly. "Not out of here. Out of their game."
In his mind, the web hung perfect and waiting. All he needed was the first wrong word to pass between Zaryth and Vaeryn — and the rest would unravel.