The broken place was quiet now. No sound of fire, no screams, only the soft sound of wind through burned stone.
Kaelen stood at the edge of the home, cloak pulled tight around his hurt body. Behind him lay the bones of the Veil Weavers—his family, his blood, his whole world.
He did not look back again.
The Black Book hung at his side, its weight heavier than metal. Even now, it beat weakly, as if happy with the pain it had pulled him through in the Mind Place.
Kaelen tightened his hold on the strap. *I'll use you. But I won't be owned by you.*
The path ahead wound through the ruined edges of Duskfall City—a spread of sharp towers and dark alleys, ruled not by kings but by gangs and killers. Here, news was money, and Kaelen needed one thing most of all: the Cabal's path.
---
He slid into the city at first light.
Traders yelled from stands selling magic dust, shadow-cloth, and stranger things brought from races beyond human lands. Iron Dwarves argued over rock, Sylthari sold small bottles of healing tree water, and Tidecallers shouted about rare shining pearls.
Duskfall was a meeting place of peoples—and a nest of knives.
Kaelen stayed in the shadows, his hood low. Veil Weavers were known here. And now, they were gone forever.
He moved toward the Crowmarket, an under-city market hidden below the bones of a fallen holy place. Story said it was where hired fighters, killers, and sneaky traders met when they didn't want the gangs watching.
And if anyone knew about the Crimson Cabal's moves, it would be here.
---
The Crowmarket was full of whispers and metal. Stands overflowed with cursed old things, forbidden magic papers, and beast-changer charms. Kaelen felt eyes on him the moment he walked in—hunters smelling blood.
He paid them no mind and walked to a bent stand lined with jumping candles. The seller, a Dream Weaver with coral-colored hair and eyes like fog, looked him over slowly.
"You walk heavy, shadow-born," she said. "You smell of sadness."
Kaelen's jaw got tight. "I'm looking for red face covers."
That got him quiet. A few heads turned nearby. The Dream Weaver tilted her head, fingers tapping the wood.
"Dangerous words," she whispered. "The Cabal has many ears in Duskfall. Why hunt them?"
Kaelen leaned close, shadows twisting faintly at his feet. "Because they took everything from me. I will pay them back."
The seller smiled a little, though her eyes looked nervously to the market corners. "Then you'll need more than anger, shadow-born. The Crimson Cabal doesn't hurt easy. But…" She slid him a folded scrap of paper. "There's a name. A place. Follow it, and you may find their trail."
Before Kaelen could answer, a sudden crash came from the far end of the market.
Covered shapes had come in—half a dozen of them, dressed in red.
The Cabal.
Fear swept the market. Stands fell over, magic sparked, people ran. The killers moved like wolves through sheep, cutting down those too slow.
Kaelen's heart pounded. His hand moved to the Book.
The book beat eagerly, its pages moving as if tasting the air.
Kaelen let out his breath. The time for quiet talk was over.
"Then let's see," he said softly, "if you'll bleed for me tonight."
The shadows rose, eating him whole.