Night swallowed the Smokewatch District.
The toll of the curfew bell from the Arcanum Tower echoed through the fog, signaling the absolute ban on civilians roaming the streets.
Elka crouched behind a stone gargoyle ornament on the roof of the old temple. The night wind blew, bringing the scent of petrichor to his senses—instilling a fleeting sense of calm into his turbulent soul.
Down below, the city square lay desolate. Two massive runic billboards glowed blood-red through the night fog, forcing the city's doctrine upon anyone who looked at them:
THE ABSOLUTE LAW OF SAREXENTH:
MAGIC BOWS TO THE ARCANUM SYSTEM.
BLACK-LEVEL CRIMES:
1. MAGIC WITHOUT SEALS.
2. ILLEGAL SEALS.
Elka merely scoffed softly as he read it.
Soon after, Rizel's figure emerged from the shadow of a dead chimney, stepping lightly and soundlessly toward Elka. Her dark leather outfit blended perfectly with the pitch-black night.
"You finally kept your promise," Rizel whispered, a faint smile gracing her face.
Elka let out an ironic chuckle. "I always keep my promises. But this time, to keep my promise to you, I had to break another one."
Rizel understands it very well. She doesn't ask more.
With a subtle smile, she shifted her gaze far ahead. Piercing through the boundary of the slums, Albarion's Fortress towered arrogantly against the sky. Its jagged spires glittered, bathed in the light of limitless magic—a sickening contrast against the poverty and darkness of the settlements below.
"Is he still watching from up there?" Rizel muttered softly. "Albarion..."
"He should be the one who understands this reality better than anyone," Elka replied, his voice edged with bitter frustration. "I don't know how he can just sit in silence while all this madness unfolds."
"You still wear that," Rizel observed, her gaze dropping to the left side of his chest.
His hand unconsciously brushed against the small, flame-shaped emblem pinned to his tunic.
"I don't even know why I still keep it on," he admitted quietly. "Maybe it's just habit."
"Albarion used to award those brooches only to highly decorated royal officials, or to citizens who performed truly extraordinary deeds for the kingdom," Rizel said softly. "And you were one of them."
"Well, it doesn't mean that anymore," Elka replied with a cynical sigh. "Just consider it my last desperate grip on whatever sanity I have left to this dying Kingdom."
Beneath his worn cloak rested a golden brooch shaped like a blossoming bud of fire. It was awarded to him directly by King Albarion years ago, honoring Elka's heroic act of saving orphans from a collapsing, burning royal orphanage. He used to wear it with pride. Now, the object felt heavy, carving a deep gash into his conscience.
The temperature on the temple roof dropped drastically. The space behind them distorted, casting silhouettes that danced like a mirage.
Rizel suddenly glanced back, rubbing the nape of her neck. Though she couldn't see it, the scholar's razor-sharp instinct could always perceive the anomalous fluctuations in the air.
"I can feel its presence... Ashen," Rizel whispered, her tone shifting to high alert.
Ashen—the spectral manifestation of the pure fire spirit—shimmered through the darkness, though only Elka could confirm its existence.
"Yeah, right behind you," Elka replied calmly.
Ashen hummed low. A deep restlessness gripped the ancient spirit, emitting subtle signals of a looming threat... a pure intuition that clawed at Elka's mind. Tonight was no ordinary night.
Rizel took a deep breath, then glanced down at her left wrist. The shards of her clock-rune glowed a steady blue beneath her sleeve.
"It's time," Rizel said with finality, casting aside all hesitation as she locked eyes with her friend. "There's no turning back now. Follow me."
She pulled the hood of her leather cloak over her head, preparing to pierce the pitch-black night. Elka followed suit, hiding his face behind the thick shadows of the fabric.
Thunder rumbled softly in the distance, vibrating through the grey sky of Sarexenth. Drops of rain began to fall, slicking the cobblestone streets and cooling the suffocating air.
They moved quickly, leaping across the narrow gaps between buildings. The Smokewatch District looked like a monument to poverty layered with sheer despair. The stone walls were cracked and overgrown with moss. The wooden roofs leaked, allowing the heavy rain to drip freely onto the floors of the homes below. Rows of dead chimneys jutted around them like gravestones, blocking the blood-red moonlight as dark clouds slowly swallowed the night sky.
They crept soundlessly across the slippery ledge of an old warehouse roof. Below, the muddy streets reflected the dim glow of the scattered lanterns.
Suddenly, the golden flame brooch beneath Elka's cloak grew warm, the heat slowly crawling across his skin. As the temperature of the metal spiked, the empty space before him warped. Ashen manifested through the veil of the drizzle. The spectral form of the ancient spirit hovered restlessly, blocking the blacksmith's path.
Elka noticed it instantly. He slipped past her with practiced agility.
"Wait," he whispered, signaling for Rizel to halt and stay low.
Rizel immediately followed suit, flattening her body against the wet slate of the roof. Her eyes silently asked, 'What is it?'
Elka merely tilted his head in response.
The spirit's warning proved highly accurate. Moments later, the heavy thud of iron boots cut through the sound of the rain from the alleyway below.
A Flameguard patrol marched past. Pitch-black iron armor encased their massive frames, thick and deeply intimidating. Steel helmets covered their faces entirely, leaving only a paper-thin slit for sight. Behind those metal visors, the red lenses of their Sight-runes glowed brightly—capable of piercing the darkness like the eyes of demons lurking in the shadows.
Two guards walked slightly behind the main formation. Their mechanical voices echoed off the walls of the narrow alley.
"Did you hear the captain's orders this morning?" grumbled one of the guards, tapping the black armor plate on his chest. "Those rebel rats are getting bolder. Stay sharp for any suspicious movement."
"The Arcanum won't let them breathe much longer," his partner replied coldly.
Suddenly, the second guard halted. The black helmet slowly tilted upward, his gaze sweeping the darkness above—until it locked dead onto the roof ledge where Elka lay hidden.
Elka held his breath until his chest ached. Ashen surged wildly, reacting to the enemy's threat. If that guard noticed the anomaly on the roof, tonight would end in a bloodbath beneath the pouring rain.
Three seconds passed like hours.
"Keep moving," ordered the squad leader from the front, breaking the tension.
The guard remained still for a moment longer, then turned his head and resumed marching to catch up with his formation. Only when the heavy tread of iron boots completely faded around the corner did Elka finally exhale a shaky breath of relief.
Ashen slowly dissipated, taking the heat from the golden brooch with it as the armored squad disappeared.
The drizzle over Sarexenth suddenly skyrocketed into a torrential storm. The rain crashed down, mercilessly battering the stone roofs of Smokewatch, perfectly masking any sound of their escape.