The chamber was buried beneath the city, sealed behind layers of stone, sigils, and false storefronts. Above them, merchants haggled and coins rang against glass. Below, the Grey Knights gathered in silence.
They wore grey cloaks draped over dark tunics and reinforced leather armor, the material worn thin in places, scarred and oiled so often it had taken on a dull sheen. No insignia marked them. No metal gleamed. They looked less like knights and more like executioners who had learned how to wait.
Lyle stood at the center, arms folded and feet tapping in impatience.
He noticed the empty space immediately. One of the men was not present.
'I thought I told these pieces of trash to all be present when I called them. My display with Torvin must not have been convincing enough of the power I have over their pathetic lives.'
His gaze flicked once—sharp, irritated.
"Hey, where is he?" Lyle asked.
No one answered at first.
Jax, leaning against a stone pillar, shrugged.
"Probably patrolling the city. You did say we should walk around just in case our target returns."
Lyle's lip curled.
"I believe," he said slowly, "that I made my orders absolute."
The air shifted. Even the more seasoned among them straightened.
Lyle turned in a slow circle, eyes cutting through the room.
"Once again," he continued, voice cold, "you all prove that you are nothing but discarded trash who just happen to be reused to serve Nordhelm's purposes."
'Stupid brat. We all know how desperate you are to complete this assignment and return to licking the queen's boots. This plan you've devised is nothing short of idiotic. There are too many holes in it, but you're too stupid to do anything about it. If we are trash, you are a maggot born of it.'
Torvin thought it, but said nothing.
He merely spat and reached up, rubbing the back of his neck where the brand lay hidden beneath cloth and skin. The mark burned faintly, as it always did when Lyle spoke like this.
They had moved from the Iron Forest into the city. Lyle had explained why—smug and certain.
"One," he had said, holding up a finger, "hunters will be entering the Iron Forest more and more due to the change in season and how easy it would be to gather Flowstone from the Node."
A second finger.
"And two—the old man will grow lax. Comfort breeds mistakes."
Torvin grit his teeth.
Lyle raised his hand, fingers curling slightly. Authority rippled outward, invisible but heavy. He reached for the bond between him and the knight—master and slave.
Silence.
His brow furrowed.
Again.
Nothing.
The connection was gone.
Lyle's expression darkened. "Interesting."
For a moment, he considered the possibility of betrayal. Then dismissed it. The brand was etched into the soul itself. Breaking it required specific resources—resources they did not have.
One of the knights shifted.
"I saw him leave the city."
Lyle snapped his gaze toward the speaker.
"He followed the blonde boy," the knight continued, swallowing, "and the hunter girl. Into the forest."
Lyle hissed through his teeth.
"Torvin. Jax," he said sharply. "Go."
Both men moved instantly.
Their grey cloaks snapped once in the air, leather armor silent beneath, and then they were gone—so fast they were mistaken for a sudden gust of wind leaving the jewelry shop that now served as their base.
The forest at night was never silent.
Snow creaked beneath boots. Wind whispered through blackened branches. Somewhere distant, something howled—and was answered.
Roric moved at the front of the patrol, axe strapped to his back. His breath steamed faintly in the cold air.
Behind him walked Wilcris, broad and gruff, his fur cloak pulled tight. Lysle followed, lighter on his feet, eyes constantly scanning. Fenn, young and quiet, kept his bow in hand. Old Garrett brought up the rear, staff tapping rhythmically against frozen ground. They walked upstream, accompanied by the soothing sound of flowing water.
"So," Garrett said cheerfully, "who's betting tonight's quiet?"
Wilcris snorted. "You say that every time."
"And every time," Garrett replied, "I'm tragically disappointed."
Lysle glanced over his shoulder. "If you keep joking like that, one of these days the forest's going to answer."
Garrett grinned. "I hope it does. Been ages since anything tried to eat me."
They were ensuring no diredeer had escaped subjugation. Most of the pack had already been dealt with, though a few had fled. It wasn't a major concern—they would eventually return as the herd settled into hibernation—but one could never be too careful. Especially since one of the three Apex leaders was already dead.
Fenn suddenly stopped.
"There," he said quietly.
Something floated on the surface of the stream.
They approached cautiously.
It was a body.
Garrett leaned forward, poking it with his staff.
"Well," he said, "that's unfortunate."
No one laughed.
Roric knelt, examining the corpse. Burned flesh. Torn muscle. Bite and claw marks.
"He fought diredeer," Roric said.
Fenn swallowed. "That's… impossible."
Wilcris frowned. "Those things could give even a Saint like you a run for your money."
"Do you really think that little of me?" Roric muttered.
Garrett nodded, tapping his staff against the ice, then pointed at the burns. "Aye. That wasn't the beasts."
Lysle squinted. "You're right. Those marks are deeper—more violent than what the diredeer inflicted." He pointed to two claw marks, one far more severe than the other.
Roric turned the body over.
He froze.
On the man's neck—charred but unmistakable—was a tattoo.
Roric's aura flared instantly, sharp and violent, making his comrades recoil as pressure slammed into them. Internally, anger surged through him.
'So my suspicions were right.'
The men he had seen before were Azure Rose Knights.
'What were they doing in the city?'
'How long had they been there?'
After all these years…
'Have they come after Jamie?'
His senses twitched—then locked on. Two distinct points of energy burned in the distance, golden-yellow Flow unmistakable.
'Saints…'
Without hesitation, he hurled his axe.
The weapon vanished into the trees, and a thunderous shockwave erupted outward as trunks shattered and snow exploded into the air.
Torvin and Jax leapt back from the impact zone.
"We've been found," Torvin hissed, kicking snow aside. "That bastard just had to get himself killed. Now we have to deal with the Hunter Chief."
Jax clicked his tongue. "Lets split."
"Huh? We can take him."
"No," Jax snapped. "We're not here to fight."
"Tch."
They separated just as Roric appeared like a force of nature, his fist slamming into the ground where Torvin had stood a breath earlier. The impact blasted a crater into the snow.
Jax landed atop a tree, grey cloak fluttering as he pulled his hood low, shrouding his face in darkness.
Roric looked up at him from the crater, eyes cold as winter itself.
Jax turned and ran.
Roric pursued.
Meanwhile, Wilcris and the others stood in confusion as the forest shook around them. Shockwaves tore through the trees, snow falling in heavy sheets as wood cracked and splintered in the distance. Roric was already gone—only the aftermath of his fury remained.
"What in the seven hells set him off?" Wilcris growled.
Lysle swallowed, eyes darting between the trembling treeline and the churned snow. "He didn't even say anything. One moment he was there, the next—"
"—the forest starts falling apart," Garrett finished, tapping his staff. "Typical Roric. Subtle as a collapsing mountain."
Fenn shifted uneasily. "Should we… follow?"
Garrett snorted. "And get flattened? I'd rather keep my bones where they are."
Another shockwave rippled through the forest, closer this time.
Wilcris cursed. "He's not the type to act on impulse. We'll ask him when he returns. For now, secure the body."
"Yeah," Garrett agreed. "Not as exciting as getting eaten, but action is action."
He glanced around, waiting for a reaction to the double meaning of his joke. They only groaned or rolled their eyes.
A soft crunch sounded behind them.
Torvin stepped out of the shadows, his grey cloak settling around him as if he had always been there.