The night air smelled like salt and cold steel.
Elma crouched in the shadow of a crumbling archway, hood pulled low, eyes scanning the quiet street ahead. Thorn territory always felt different from Vale's. The streets here were older, narrower. Lanterns burned lower, as if they feared being seen.
Beside her, Calista was silent as frost. The wife's usual elegance was stripped away—dark trousers, hair pinned tight, a dagger strapped against her thigh instead of jewelry. It made her look dangerous in a way that drew Elma's gaze too long.
"Eyes forward," Calista murmured, catching her staring.
"Can't," Elma whispered back. "You're distracting."
Calista shot her a sharp look, but her lips curved faintly. "We're not here for fun."
"Yet," Elma said.
The faintest breath of laughter escaped Calista, but it was swallowed quickly by the tension in the street. This wasn't Vale territory; every shadow here could hold a spy.
The shard strapped to Elma's wrist pulsed faintly, guiding them like a compass toward the vault. She trusted it, but she didn't trust how alive it felt—like it was hungry.
"You're sure this will work?" Calista whispered as they crept along the wall.
"Nope," Elma said, flashing her a grin. "But if it doesn't, we won't live long enough to regret it."
Calista rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth softened.
The vault wasn't a building. It was a crypt.
They stood at the edge of Thorn's private cemetery, a manicured garden of black marble headstones and silent fountains. The moon cast everything in pale silver, making the statues of saints and angels look more like watchful hunters.
Elma crouched, pressing her hand against the shard. It pulsed, pointing them toward a small, unassuming mausoleum at the center of the garden. No guards. No visible defenses.
"That's bad," Elma muttered.
"Or clever," Calista whispered. "They want people to think there's nothing worth guarding."
They slipped through the gates, footsteps muffled by the thick grass. The air here was heavy, thick with enchantments. The kind that didn't hum or glow, but waited like a predator holding its breath.
The mausoleum door wasn't locked, but when Elma pushed it open, a shiver ran down her spine.
Inside was silence and candlelight. The walls were lined with empty crypts—no bodies, no bones. Just a single pedestal in the center, holding a black box etched with runes that glimmered faintly under the moonlight.
"That's it," Elma said softly.
Calista's hand touched her arm. "Wait. Look."
Elma followed her gaze. Faint lines in the floor formed a circle of sigils around the pedestal. A trap.
"I hate clever people," Elma muttered.
Calista crouched, tracing the lines with her gloved fingers. "This isn't just an alarm. It's a binding seal. The moment you touch the box, it'll lock you in until the Thorn heir comes to collect."
"Rauth," Elma said. "Figures."
"Figures," Calista echoed.
They crouched side by side, studying the circle. It was beautiful—sharp, geometric lines intersecting with symbols that seemed to twist if you stared too long. Elma hated to admit it, but whoever designed it was a master.
"Can you break it?" Calista asked.
"Not without blowing the building up," Elma said.
"Then what do we do?"
Elma's grin was slow and wicked. "Cheat."
She slid her hand into her sleeve, pulling out the shard. The runes on the floor pulsed faintly when it came near, like animals sensing a predator.
The shard's hum deepened, and Elma felt a prickling sensation crawl up her arm, like static before lightning.
"Cover your ears," she whispered.
Calista didn't ask why. She obeyed.
Elma pressed the shard to the edge of the seal.
The sound wasn't a crack or a boom. It was a sigh—a low, exhausted breath that made the candles flicker out all at once.
The runes dimmed, their light bleeding away like dying embers. The seal collapsed inward, a ripple of power disappearing into the floor.
When the last of it faded, the pedestal stood unguarded.
"Neat trick," Calista whispered.
"Not mine," Elma said, slipping the shard back into her sleeve. "It wanted this as much as we do."
She approached the pedestal and lifted the box. It was surprisingly light, but the hum of magic inside was unmistakable.
Calista moved closer, peering down at it. "That's the second fragment."
"Yep." Elma turned it in her hands, admiring the craftsmanship. "And now Nitron's leash just got a lot more complicated."
They left the mausoleum without incident, but neither of them relaxed. The streets were too quiet. The shadows too deep.
Calista walked close to Elma, their shoulders almost brushing. "We should burn it," she said suddenly.
"The box?" Elma asked.
"The leash. The fragments. All of it." Her voice was low, sharp. "We're playing his game. We should be ending it."
Elma glanced at her. There was no mask tonight, no queenly poise. Just raw anger and exhaustion.
"You sound like me," Elma said.
Calista gave her a look. "Maybe you're rubbing off on me."
"Good," Elma said, smirking. "You needed it."
Calista's laugh was short but real. "You're insufferable."
"And yet, here you are."
They paused at the edge of Thorn's territory, slipping back into the cover of night. The mansion lights glimmered faintly in the distance, waiting like a predator's gaze.
Calista stopped, hand brushing Elma's sleeve. "You ever think about… after?"
"After what?"
"All this," Calista said softly. "After Nitron. After the leash. After the power games. What would you do?"
Elma was quiet for a long moment. She looked at Calista, her expression softening.
"Leave," she said finally. "Take you somewhere far. Somewhere quiet. No one to bow to. No one to kill for."
Calista's breath hitched. She looked away quickly.
"That sounds impossible," she whispered.
"Everything worth having does," Elma said.
They stood in the quiet for a moment longer, just breathing. No leash. No plans. Just the fragile dream of something else.
Then the shard pulsed sharply in Elma's sleeve. Once. Twice.
She pulled it out.
The box glimmered faintly, and a sigil burned across its surface. Not Thorn's crest. Not Vale's. Something older.
The shard vibrated harder, and a whisper slithered into her mind. You're not ready to hold this.
Calista stiffened beside her. "What is it?"
Elma didn't answer. Her knuckles were white around the box.
Somewhere behind them, far in the dark streets of Thorn territory, a bell tolled. Slow. Measured. Like a heartbeat counting down.
They weren't alone.
[Quest Updated: Retrieve the Second Fragment]
Status: Complete
New Objective: Unlock the Fragment's Voice
Risk Level: Unknown
They moved faster after that, but Elma's thoughts stayed behind in the mausoleum, on the way the seal sighed, like it had been waiting for her.
And when they finally slipped back into the manor, she couldn't shake the feeling that something else had followed them home.