Later that night Ray arrived back into the booth at The Smelter’s Rest. The inn was loud, filled with the groans of exhausted miners, but Svane had prepared their area in the backroom and activated a small sound-dampening crystal on the center of the table, creating an invisible bubble of privacy.

Rina was already there. She looked pale, clutching a mug of cider she hadn’t touched.

“So what are we dealing with?”

Svane asked.

“As I told you earlier Kaelen is alive,”

Ray started, taking a long drink of water.

“I have found her location in the upper levels. She is being held in the East Wing, Two Gilded Wolves are posted outside her door. She is not in a cell; she’s under house arrest. She looked unharmed, but she was pacing. Like she needs to go somewhere and that time is running out.”

“That’s good news,”

Svane said.

“It means they haven’t decided what to do with her yet.”

“It gets worse,”

Rina interrupted, her voice tight. She looked at Ray, her eyes serious.

“What did you find out?”

Ray asked.

“From what I heard, I believe the Gilded Wolves aren’t occupying the manor,”

Rina said, leaning in.

“They’re liquidating it. I overheard two militia men talking. The Wolves have taken over the loading docks. They are stripping the house of everything valuable, paintings, gold, heirlooms. They are loading wagons as fast as they can.”

She took a shaky breath.

“And I also heard them talking about a timeline. They plan to burn the manor down to cover their tracks once they have secured the ‘Primary Package,’ that has to be Kaelen, is already secured for transport.”

Ray slammed his fist softly onto the table. The noise did not spread as it was being blocked by sound-dempenning crystal, but the intensity in his eyes silenced Svane and Rina.

“Burn the Manor Down?”

Ray hissed.

“Why go that far, what are they trying to hide?”

“If they burn the manor,”

Svane rumbled,

“they burn the evidence. And if Kaelen is the ‘Package,’ who knows where they are moving her.”

“What evidence are they trying to destroy?”

Rina asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.

“Why burn a noble house? Why steal the furniture? House Thorne is their ally. They have funded them. They work together.”

Ray went silent. He closed his eyes, retreating into his Mind Palace. The pieces were all there, the Gilded Wolves, the looting, the silence from Titus Thorne, the sudden urgency.

The Council of Archetypes convened in the dark theater of his mind.

Detective: ‘Look at the pattern, You don’t strip the copper wiring out of the walls if you plan to keep the building. You don’t steal the silverware if you plan to come back for dinner. This isn’t a repossession, kid. The question is, what secret are they trying to clean up?”

The Gritty Detective muttered, flipping through a phantom notebook, his cigarette smoke curling around his words.

Courtier: “It’s a purge, Titus Thorne made a fatal error. He thought his position in the Hand gave him some leverage. He likely threatened to expose something, if he didn’t get justice for his daughter. But what does he know that has prompted this reaction from the Hand.”

The Scheming Courtier agreed, his voice cold and sharp as cut glass.

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Conman: “But you cannot blackmail the bank that holds your mortgage. The Hand realized Thorne was no longer a silent partner. He was a leak. And what do we do with leaks?”

The Charismatic Conman slightly laughed at the naivety of it.

Veteran: “We plug them, Scorched Earth Protocol. Secure the high-value assets. Liquidate the liquid assets. Burn the structure to destroy any trace of evidence. It’s standard operating procedure of a criminal organization.”

The Grizzled Veteran grunted, taking out his phantom sword from its sheath.

Scholar: “Conclusion, House Thorne has been downgraded from ‘Strategic Asset’ to ‘Acceptable Loss.’”

The Eccentric Scholar concluded.

Ray opened his eyes. The whole meeting with these archetypes only took a short couple of seconds.

“Not anymore,”

Ray answered Rina, his voice dropping to a tactical whisper.

“You don’t liquidate an ally, Rina. You liquidate a liability.”

Ray pulled a piece of parchment from his pocket and grabbed a piece of charcoal. He began to sketch.

“Here is what we know,”

Ray said, drawing a line connecting Titus to the Argent Hand.

“Titus Thorne was furious at what happened to Kaelen from a top operative of the Hand. He tried to get some justice for her daughter. He likely threatened the Hand. Now the Hand is erasing him. They are taking the money, taking the daughter, and leaving a pile of ash.”

He drew a rough outline of the cliff and the manor.

“The front gate is a kill zone. A squad of Gilded Wolves, heavy wards. If we hit the front, they kill the hostages inside before we cross the courtyard.”

Ray circled a spot at the base of the manor’s foundation, overhanging the cliff.

“My scouting spotted this. It’s a thermal exhaust port. It’s venting heat directly from the sub-basement.”

“A vent?”

Svane frowned.

“Why does a residential manor have an industrial exhaust port?”

“That is the question,”

Ray murmured.

“Whatever Titus Thorne was doing for the Hand, he was doing it in the basement. And that is our way in.”

He drew a line up the cliff face.

“We climb the cliff. Take care of the grate. We drop into the sub-levels and move up through the servant’s passages to the third floor. We grab Kaelen, and we exit via the roof.”

“A vertical assault,”

Svane mused.

“Risky. If we get pinned down in the basement…”

“It’s the only way,”

Ray said.

“Rina’s intel changed the mission profile. This isn’t a rescue anymore; it’s a race. If that fire starts before we get to the third floor, we all die.”

Ray looked at Rina.

“You did good work out there. That timeline just saved our lives. We would have walked into an inferno if you hadn’t caught that gossip.”

Rina nodded, a flush of pride steadying her nerves.

Ray stood up, tossing a gold coin onto the table to cover their drinks.

“Let’s go,”

Ray said, his eyes cold.

“The Argent Hand thinks they’re closing an account tonight. Let’s go show them they miscalculated the interest.”

The party secretly arrived at the base of the base of the cliff, sticking to the deep shadows behind the warehouses. The roar of the nearest blast furnace was deafening here, a rhythmic, earth-shaking thud that vibrated in their chests.

The heat was oppressive. Sweat instantly slicked their skin under their cloaks.

“One last thing.”

Ray reached into his bag of holding, pulled out three simple, nondescript black masks. He tossed one to Svane and another to Rina.

“We are infiltrating a noble house occupied by the Argent Hand. If we are seen, we cannot be identified. Not by the guards, and not by the Hand.”

Svane caught the mask, his expression hardening. He tied the black cloth over his nose and mouth, checking the straps of his armor and loosening his sword in its scabbard. Rina pulled the mask tight, then flipped her hood up, instantly transforming from a worried girl into a faceless blade in the dark. Ray tied his own mask securely, then checked his belt pouches, alchemical vials, daggers, and thightened his ‘Theorist Gloves.’ Everything was primed.

“From this point on, we are ghosts,”

Ray said, his voice muffled but steady.

“No names. No faces.”

Ray then looked down at his shadow.

“Nox.”

Ray whispered.

The shadow-hound materialized from Ray’s silhouette. Ray tied a coil of high-tensile rope to Nox’s harness.

“Up. Secure the vent.”

Nox didn’t hesitate. It flowed up the vertical rock face like spilled ink. Minutes later, the rope went taut.

“I’ll go first,”

Svane said, testing the line.

“Once I am up, I can pull both of you up.”

Ray nodded in agreement.

Svane climbed with the ease of a veteran, once he arrived he signaled Ray and Rina to secure themselves in the rope. Ray and Rina tied themselves to the rope and they were pulled easily by Svane.

They huddled on a narrow ledge, three hundred feet above the churning factories. The heat pumping from the iron grate was intense, smelling of sulfur and magic.

Ray placed his hand on the grate his Theorist Gloves glowed.

“Focus. Ignis”

It was a simple cantrip, Create Fire spell but Ray twisted the formula. Instead of releasing the magic into a roaring sphere, using this Aether Infusion skill he injected the spell with extra aether and clamped down on the release. He condensed the energy, forcing the fire to manifest as a concentrated point of white-hot intensity directly beneath his palm.

The steel grate groaned. First, it turned cherry-red, then a blinding orange. Within seconds, the metal structure lost its integrity and began to sag, dripping away like melting wax to clear a path.

Svane was surprised at how Ray cast a simple cantrip spell to melt the metal grate, he knows the spell is not powerful enough to do that but in Ray’s hands a simple cantrip spell becomes lethal. He wanted to ask how Ray did it but he knew it was not the time to do that.

A dark, hot tunnel stretched before them.

Ray didn’t hesitate and used the Theorist’s Glove.

“Lumen” he whispered.

Crystal embedded in the gloves glowed with a faint low light at first. Ray controlled it and manipulated more mana into it and the light flared brighter, stabilizing into a steady, cold white beam.

“Lets go,”

Ray whispered.

“Silence from this point on.”

Rina drew her daggers. Svane drew his sword as well.

They stepped into the throat of the mountain. A race against time to save Kaelen.

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