The capital of Aethelgard didn't gleam—it glowered. Stone walls stained with soot, pennants bearing the Luminous Church's sun sigil snapping in the wind, Templar patrols marching in lockstep. The air smelled of roasted chestnuts, horse dung, and fear.
Kael and his guild arrived not as assassins, but as **merchants**.
Lord Arion of Blackwood had provided more than kind words. He'd given them legitimacy. A sealed decree granted "Velaris Trading Company" safe passage—a cover so perfect it stank of noble privilege. Lyra, as "Madam Velaris," wore fine wool and a sharp-eyed calm. Bastian, as "Master Varek," grumbled over crates of "fine Blackwood steel." Elara, as "Apprentice Morn," fluttered her eyes at guards while planting listening charms in market stalls. Garrick, disguised as a retired Templar bodyguard, scanned rooftops with practiced vigilance. Kael, hooded as a scribe, kept tally of everything.
Their "cargo" was carefully chosen:
- Crates of grain (to win favor with starving districts)
- Bastian's "kitchen knives" (Void-Forged daggers in plain sheaths)
- Lyra's "ledgers" (maps of sewer tunnels and guard rotations)
- Elara's "herbal tinctures" (Soulrot and truth serums in apothecary bottles)
They secured a warehouse in the **Dawn District**—a poor quarter near the river, known for its weavers and its silence. It was here Lord Arion's influence was strongest. His agents met them that night—two grim-faced men with the Blackwood oak tattooed on their forearms.
"Arion sends word," the lead agent said, voice low. "Malrik knows you're coming. He's doubled Inquisitor patrols. The Penitent Omega Units are active—no humanity, just hunger." He handed Lyra a scroll. "This is the layout of the Grand Cathedral. Malrik never leaves the **Sanctum of Whispers**—a room warded against scrying, built over the Godswound."
Lyra unrolled the map. Her breath hitched. "The Godswound… it's real."
Kael studied the schematics. The Sanctum was a fortress within a fortress. But every fortress has cracks.
Their first move wasn't violence. It was **truth**.
Elara, mimicking the voice of a high-ranking Inquisitor, spread whispers in taverns: *"Malrik hoards grain while children starve. Malrik sells souls to a demon."* Bastian left anonymous crates of grain in alleyways, stamped with the Crimson Lotus symbol. Lyra leaked forged Church documents to sympathetic scribes, detailing Malrik's embezzlement.
The people of the Dawn District watched. Listened. And for the first time in years, they **whispered back**.
One evening, an old weaver approached their warehouse, eyes darting. "They took my granddaughter," she said, voice trembling. "Said she had 'unclean blood.' Took her to the Cathedral three nights past."
Kael knelt before her. "What was her name?"
"Lena," the woman whispered. "She's eight."
Garrick's hand tightened on his sword. Bastian's jaw clenched. Elara's eyes glistened.
Kael placed a hand on the woman's shoulder. His **Soul-Thread** ability flared, not to read her, but to *anchor* her. "We will find her," he said, his voice quiet but absolute. "And we will bring her home."
That night, the Crimson Lotus split up.
Lyra and Bastian infiltrated the Cathedral archives, seeking Lena's intake record.
Elara and Garrick watched the orphanage transports.
Kael phased through the city's shadows, hunting the truth.
> **[QUEST INITIATED: RESCUE LENA OF THE DAWN DISTRICT.]**
> **[WARNING: PENITENT OMEGA UNITS PATROLLING CATHEDRAL PERIMETER.]**
> **[NEW STATUS (TEAM): ALL MEMBERS +1 WIS (URBAN AWARENESS).]**
The capital was a cage.
But cages have keys.
And the Crimson Lotus had just found the first one.