Mabel Maverick along with two Hell-forged wardens stood at the shattered grounds of what used to be Alen's lab.
Half of it was gone. She crouched near the crater where the explosion had happened last time, her gloved fingers brushing over faint streaks of violet mist still clinging to the ground.
"Despite the long duration.... there's still some energy lingering here," she murmured. "Residual shadow energy."
One of her Warden...Zex, watched from a few feet away, his arms crossed, his crimson robe catching the faint morning breeze.
"Shadow energy?" he echoed. "That's nothing new. The Curse Beasts leave trails of it all the time.....so maybe they are beasts after all."
"No," she said sharply. "This one's different."
She held her palm over the mark, and a soft golden light shimmered around it. The residue reacted instantly, twisting like smoke trying to flee her touch. It wasn't wild—it was controlled.
Someone had shaped it. Directed it.
"This isn't beast-born," Mabel muttered. "This came from someone. Someone powerful."
The other Warden....Sax raised a brow. "You're saying it was a cultivator?....but I thought Shadow cultivators worked for us?"
She didn't answer.
The Masked Ones. The same mysterious group whispered of in fragmented reports. The same ones blamed for some deaths that happened recently.
"Uncle Sax," she said finally, "send word to the Archives. I want every scrap of record about hollow disappearances, wormhole disturbances, and unauthorized combat groups in the last five years."
Sax frowned. "That's a wide net, Mabel."
"Then we'll need a wide catch."
He sighed, watching her closely. "Your father will not like this."
She rose to her full height, her silver hair catching the light. "Father doesn't have to like it. He only needs results.....and I'm going to give him that"
Zex chuckled softly. "You sound just like your mother when you're angry."
Mabel didn't reply. She immediately casted a tracking technique....which immediately a trail was revealed . Her attention turned toward the blackened trail leading east—toward the slums near the Hollow Quarter.
The energy led that way.
And she intended to follow it.
As she walked away, she whispered under her breath:
"Masked Ones… Hollowborn… whoever you are, I'll find you."
---
Deep below, in the city's unseen belly, the Masked Ones' branch thrummed with quiet activity. The air was cold and filled with the faint hum of power. Veins of crimson light ran through the walls, pulsing like a heartbeat.
Sané sat at the edge of a stone platform, his mask resting beside him. The number 99 gleamed faintly in the red glow. He was shirtless, sweat tracing down his back as he caught his breath.
Before him, the arena stretched—rings of black sand stained darker with blood. In the center, two initiates clashed violently, their Vestiges blazing like storms.
"Again," came a calm voice from behind.
Sané turned slightly. Number 12 stood there, arms folded. Her black hair hung loosely, the faint burn marks on her mask was barely visible in the dim light. She always carried herself with stillness, but her eyes were sharp—ever watchful.
"They've improved," Sané said quietly, watching the combatants.
"They had to," 12 replied. "Weakness has no place here. You should know that by now."
Sané smirked faintly. "I learned it the hard way."
12 stepped forward, stopping beside him. "You three performed well in your last mission. 111 and 123 are progressing steadily. But you…"
She paused, studying him. "…You change too quickly, 99."
"Is that a problem?"
"It depends," she said. "Power gained too fast burns the vessel. I've seen Hollowborn rise like stars, only to fade before the dawn.....or they were consumed by their vestiges"
He didn't respond. His crimson eyes stared at the combatants still fighting in the ring.
In his mind, flashes returned—of that night. Of the wormhole tearing open again. Of the girl with silver hair standing before the crater, glowing like judgment itself.
He'd seen her eyes, just for a second. Cold, yet curious.
He didn't know her name, but something about that moment refused to leave him.
"Thinking again?" 12 asked quietly.
He nodded slightly. "The wormhole… it felt different this time. More… controlled. Like something was forcing it open."
12's expression darkened. "The Maker's Curse doesn't need a hand to guide it. It is the hand that guides others to ruin."
"Maybe," Sané muttered. "But it's coming more often."
12 turned away. "Then we'll be ready. The world doesn't know it yet, but the Masked Ones are preparing for something greater. Each trial, each blooding, brings us closer to balance."
"Balance?" Sané repeated.
"The world rejected us," she said. "Now we'll return the favor."
Before Sané could answer, a shadow approached. 111 appeared from the corridor, his armor-like Vestige fading off his skin like molten scales.
"New orders," he said, tossing a bloodstained envelope toward 12. "From Number 10 herself."
12 caught it, broke the seal, and read silently.
Her brow furrowed.
"Another mission?" Sané asked.
"Yes," she said slowly. "But this one is… different. A recovery. There's a relic buried near the edge of Dravenloch—inside the ruins of the old Cathedral of Chains. You're to retrieve it before anyone else does."
"What relic?" 111 asked.
She folded the note. "A Source fragment. The same kind of energy that awakened your Vestiges."
Sané's eyes narrowed. "If the Families were to find it first…"
"They won't," 12 said coldly. "You leave at dusk."
---
Above ground, Mabel Maverick's investigation had led her to that same cathedral.
She stood before its towering remains.
A relic site.
She could feel it. The aura was unmistakable—a pulse of energy older than the city itself.
Her hand tightened around her spear.
"This is it," she said to herself. "Whatever's hiding in these ruins… the Masked Ones will come for it."
From the shadows behind her, a man emerged—an old retainer draped in dark blue robes. "My lady," he said softly. "If I may—perhaps we should wait for reinforcements?"
Mabel smiled faintly. "If I wait, I lose the trail. No. We'll stay."
The old man sighed. "With just the four of us....I don't we would be able to hold out"
But Zex interrupted him before he could continue..."Are you questioning your liege?"
The old retainer quickly answered "I dare not" as he bows his head.
"We're more than enough" Sax said.
"I'm sure other Families would have heard about the disturbances this caused....and they will be on their way here....." Mabel Maverick said with a smile...as she continued.
"But little matter....I'm not here for this,but the masked ones... especially the one who left that trail"
"But at least My Lady, let's lay some traps" the old retainer said quickly.
As he began tracing runes into the dirt, her attention drifted once more to the cathedral's heart.
She felt something stir within it—deep, faint, but alive.
And somewhere below, beneath the cathedral's cracked floor, shadows shifted.
Night fell fast that day.
Sané and his squad moved through the underground tunnels that snaked toward the Cathedral of Chains. 123 carried a faint glowstone, its red light flickering across the wet walls.
"This place feels wrong," she muttered.
"It's ancient," 111 replied. "Older than Dravenloch itself. They say it was built over a pit where the first dwellers were buried."
Sané said nothing. His senses were sharp, his shadow creeping along the tunnel walls. He could feel movement above—several faint signatures.
"We're not alone," he whispered.
12, walking ahead, didn't even look back. "Then we finish fast."
They emerged into the cathedral's underbelly—a vast chamber lined with chained pillars and broken altars. In its center floated a shard of pure light, humming with restrained power.
The Source fragment.
Sané felt its pull instantly, deep in his chest where his Vestige resided.
But before they could approach, a voice echoed through the chamber.
"So, the rumors were true."
The Masked Ones turned.
At the far end of the ruin, framed by the shattered doorway, stood Mabel Maverick—her spear glowing faintly in her hand, her silver hair gleaming even in the dark.
For a heartbeat, no one moved.
Sané's eyes widened slightly behind his mask. He recognized her aura—the same one that had burned through the wormhole chaos.
12 stepped forward slowly. "Identify yourself."
Mabel's gaze swept across them. "I might ask the same, but I already know who you are."
"Oh?" 12 asked coolly.
"The Masked Ones," Mabel said. "Children of the Hollow. Orphans of the streets. Experiments gone right—or wrong, depending on who you ask."
Sané stiffened.
Her words cut through the air like knives.
"You've caused quite the stir," Mabel continued, lowering her spear slightly. "Azel Park. The Wyrmscourge deaths. The wormhole interference. Tell me—who do you serve?"
12 didn't reply.
Instead, tendrils began to pool around her feet.
Mabel's eyes hardened.
"So be it."
Her spear blazed gold.
And as the first blow struck, light and shadow collided violently within the ancient ruin—each side unaware that their fates were already tightly bound.
---
TO BE CONTINUED..