Chapter 4: The Runner's Den
They didn't linger in the safehouse, the walls creaked with the weight of hunters above, and Lysera gave Elias only a handful of minutes to drink and breathe before she rewove the latch and pulled him back into the Threadway.
The passage hummed with quiet tension, its walls stitched with dim strands of violet light. Elias followed her careful steps, spear steady in his grip, Rook nestled against his chest once more. The cub's silver eyes flicked constantly to the weave, watching it with unnerving focus.
Elias cleared his throat, rough from smoke scars. "If I'm following you, I'm at least owed a name."
The elf glanced over her shoulder, pale hair catching the faint light, her eyes were cold, but there was a weight in them he hadn't seen before, something older than suspicion "Lysera," she said at last.
"Elias," he returned.
"I know," she said.
He almost laughed at that, but it came out more like a cough.
They pressed deeper into the passage, silence stretching until Elias spoke again "these Wardens if they catch me, what happens?"
Lysera's steps didn't falter "they drag you to the square, bind you to a stake, and burn until the Loom answers. If the Threads stir, they call you abomination, if not… heretic."
Elias's jaw clenched "hell of a coin toss."
"They fear what they cannot weave," Lysera said, her voice flat. "And you frighten them more than you know."
Rook stirred at that, lifting his head as if he understood Elias rubbed the cub's flank and muttered, "Guess we're both bad news, kid."
The Threadway bent into brick again. Lysera touched a knot hidden in the mortar, and the wall sighed open. Cold air and the stink of ash spilled in. They stepped into a narrow alley where collapsed walls leaned like broken ribs.
Elias scanned the ruins "doesn't look much friendlier up here."
"It isn't," Lysera said her cloak brushed stone as she moved quick and quiet, Elias matched her pace, years of training slotting into place, check corners, weapon ready, eyes sharp.
They passed a ruined square charred posts jutted from the center, blackened wood flaking into ash. Elias slowed, staring, Rook pressed tighter against his chest, ears low.
Lysera followed his gaze "wardens leave their sermons where all can see."
Elias didn't need her to explain his back ached with the phantom memory of fire, the rib that had punched his lung. He forced himself forward, voice low and bitter "your Church sounds like a real piece of work."
"They call themselves shepherds," Lysera said "but sheep are fattened before they're bled."
They cut through a side street the resonance in Elias's chest surged a beat before a scavenger lunged from a doorway, milky-eyed and snarling. He thrust quick and brutal, spear punching through its throat. The beast collapsed, glow fading into dust.
Rook sniffed at the body once, then turned away with a disdainful huff. Elias raised a brow "what, too good for scraps?"
The cub ignored him, silver eyes forward.
Lysera gave him a sharp look "it understands more than it should."
"Yeah," Elias murmured. "I've noticed."
They climbed a narrow stair, half buried in rubble, and came to a cellar door wedged between fallen beams. Lysera wove another knot, the latch loosening, inside, lanternlight glowed faintly through grey cloth, and voices murmured low.
Four figures waited, weapons close at hand. A long faced man with sharp eyes leaned on a short spear, gaze cutting first to Lysera, then Elias, and finally the cub.
"Saints take me," he muttered "you actually brought one."
Lysera didn't flinch "he survived the Threadways, he carries the cub, he is useful."
The man's mouth thinned "useful or cursed, we'll see." His eyes locked on Elias. "Name, stranger?"
Elias squared his shoulders, Rook standing by him "Elias."
The man nodded once "Garren Pike welcome to the Grey Hook if you live long enough, you'll earn the name."
The cellar felt tighter than it was, its walls lined with shelves sagging under jars and rope coils, the air thick with smoke dulled lanternlight. Elias stayed standing, spear close at hand, Rook sat down by his feet with silver eyes never blinking from the strangers.
The others looked like survivors scraped raw by years of fighting, a woman with a healer's kit strapped to her belt, dark hair tied back, gaze sharp as scalpels. A broad shouldered youth whose hands still bore the calluses of farm work. A quiet woman stringing a bow with practiced speed, her movements spare and efficient.
"This is Tamsin, Noll, and Elvi," Garren said, gesturing to each in turn. "We keep the Grey Hook breathing when the Wardens sniff too close."
Lysera leaned her crossbow against the wall and crossed her arms. "He is an outsider, but he needs answers, and he bleeds as we do."
Tamsin's eyes slid to Elias "Bleeding's not enough, outsiders bleed too, and the Church burns them all the same." She stepped closer, not unkind, but measuring "where are you from?"
Elias shifted his stance. Lying felt pointless, these people had eyes too sharp to fool, "not from your maps, another place, another world."
The cellar went still, even the lantern flame seemed to hesitate.
Elvi finally broke the silence, her bowstring humming as she tested its pull "then you shouldn't be standing, outsiders unravel."
"Yeah," Elias said dryly "that's what she said."
Noll leaned forward, curiosity shining under his unease. "Then how did you make it through the Threadway?"
Elias shrugged, rough voiced "stepped where it felt right, kept breathing, got lucky."
Lysera cut in "The Loom doesn't hear luck."
Garren grunted "luck or curse, doesn't matter tonight Wardens are sweeping. We hold or we run, same as always." He gestured to a bench "Sit, drink, Then talk."
Elias sank onto the plank, grateful despite himself, his muscles screamed.Rook followed beside him, the cub stretched, then curled neatly at his feet, tail flicking once like punctuation.
Noll crouched down, staring openly "saints, it looks like it's listening."
"It is," Elias muttered.
Tamsin crouched too, checking the pup's bandaged leg. She undid his wrapping, hands quick but gentle. Rook watched her, not snapping or whining, just tracking every motion. When she pressed at the wound, the cub huffed and shifted but didn't lash out.
"Not common," Tamsin murmured. "Most cubs bite through the bone before you get this close. This one… thinks."
"Yeah," Elias said. "I've noticed."
Elvi glanced at Lysera "and the Church would burn them both on sight."
"Which is why we move before dawn," Lysera answered.
Garren poured Elias a tin mug from a clay jug, the liquid steamed faintly, smelling of herbs and smoke. "Drink, it'll burn worse than your throat does, but you'll feel better for it."
Elias sipped. Heat crawled down his chest, loosening the ache in his scorched lungs. He swallowed again, slower, then exhaled through his nose "better than rotgut back home."
"You sound like a soldier," Garren said, watching him over the rim of his own cup. "You've carried weight before."
"Two tours," Elias admitted, before he could stop himself. The words hung, heavy with a past none of them could picture "doesn't matter here."
"Here it matters," Garren said "folk who fight and don't break, those matter most."
The cellar's silence broke with a low creak above, boots, slow, measured. The sound of hunters who didn't need to rush.
Lysera stiffened "Wardens."
Everyone moved at once, Elvi slid to a firing slit hidden between beams. Noll pulled a cord, shifting a stack of crates to block one hatch. Tamsin doused lanterns with grey cloth sacks, plunging the room into thick half light.
Garren hefted his hooked spear, jaw set "you brought heat with you, Elias, let's see if you're worth it."
The trapdoor rattled. A knock. Three deliberate raps.
"Evening," came the same smooth voice Elias had heard before. Polite, practiced. "We heard bells. Thought we'd check on our neighbors."
Elias's grip tightened on the spear, Rook pressed against his leg, silent but coiled.
Garren didn't flinch. "Shop's closed."
A chuckle from above "only wolves knock at night."
The trapdoor handle jiggled again, the air grew heavier, thick with the Loom's hum. Elias felt it vibrating in his ribs, warning him.
Lysera leaned close, whispering so only he could hear "Threadway's behind the bins. If I open it, you follow my steps exactly, no questions."
Elias nodded once.
The trapdoor slammed, dust sifted from the beams, another voice rose, harsher, in a tongue Elias didn't know. The pleasant one hushed him. "Peace, Brother. Wolves smell fear."
Garren barked, "Positions!"
The Grey Hook snapped into place, bowstrings drew, wards on the beams pulsed faintly, the air was a wire stretched too tight.
Elias braced his spear, Rook at his heel. His chest burned with that resonance again, humming like a drum in his bones. Whatever came through that door, he wasn't dying a second time without taking a piece of it with him.
The trapdoor bowed inward with a groan, dust sifted down in pale curtains, glowing faintly in the cloth dimmed lanternlight. The Grey Hook froze, every weapon angled up.
"Neighbors," the pleasant voice coaxed again. "We only ask for peace, let us in, and you will not burn tonight."
Elias felt the lie under the words the same way he used to hear it in warzones, occupiers promising safety while holding torches behind their backs. He braced his spear tighter, Rook pressed against his calf. The cub's hackles stood high, but its growl was low and controlled, almost deliberate.
Garren met Elias's eyes briefly, a soldier's look, if it comes to it, you fight with us.
Lysera moved to the bins at the back, her hand brushing a chalk knot. The wall trembled faintly. Elias caught the hum spike in his chest, sharp and insistent, he understood, Threadway, a way out.
"Wait," the harsher voice above snapped. The pleasant one hushed him again, then laughed softly "They whisper down there, outsiders always whisper."
Elias's heart hammered once, hard, outsider, They knew.
"Time's short," Lysera murmured. She pressed her palm to the wall, threads stirring like stirred water, a seam of shadow split open.
The trapdoor slammed again, harder this time. Wood splintered.
"Hide or burn," the Warden's voice rang down. "Choose."
Garren bared his teeth "go," he snapped to Lysera "take them through we'll stall."
"No," Elias rasped, stepping closer "I don't run while others hold the line."
"You'll run if you want that cub to see another dawn," Garren growled back.
The resonance surged, pulling Elias toward the opening seam. He glanced at Rook, the pup's silver eyes fixed on him, calm, steady, not panicked, deciding.
Elias swallowed hard and nodded once "alright, But you hold long enough for us to make it."
Garren gave a thin smile "Long enough."
The wall yawned wider, cold air poured through, carrying the hum of the Loom deeper below. Lysera slipped inside first, cloak vanishing into glow and shadow, Elias followed picking up Rook and putting him in his sling.
The wall sealed just as the trapdoor above exploded inward, boots and voices flooding the cellar. The last thing Elias heard before silence swallowed him was Garren Pike's voice, shouting like a man who'd already decided how he would die.
The Threadway closed around them, humming fierce and close, Lysera pressed them forward fast, her pale eyes sharp "Do not stumble," she warned. "Wardens can follow the weave if they choose."
Elias moved, every step guided by the resonance drumming in his bones, his lungs burned, throat raw, but his body remembered how to march under fire. Rook clung to him, gaze sharp, ears flicking at threads Elias barely understood.
They wove deeper, and the sounds of pursuit dulled, still, Elias didn't ease his grip on the spear.
Finally, Lysera slowed. She pressed her palm against another knot, weaving threads with a precision Elias couldn't track. A doorway unfurled from stone, spilling them into a narrow chamber lined with barrels and rope, the air smelled of leather and damp wood.
Lysera sealed it behind them, the hum of the Loom muffling to a faint throb. She leaned against the wall, breath even despite the pace. Elias braced his hands on his knees, chest heaving.
"Your people," he rasped "They'll hold?"
Lysera's gaze didn't waver "They knew the cost when they built the Hook, some threads cut themselves so others can pass."
Elias looked at Rook, who stared back as if weighing the same words, he straightened slowly, spear heavy in his hand. "Then I won't waste what they bought us."
For the first time, Lysera's mouth softened at the edges, not quite a smile, but close enough.
"Then perhaps you are worth the risk," she said quietly.