The next evening, as the sky darkened and lanterns were lit around the townhouse, Char stood at the edge of the central hall, watching Merrick prepare.
The plan was set.
Merrick, for all his eccentricities, knew how to captivate a crowd. His small bag of tricks had grown significantly over the years, and tonight, he was going all out. The townhouse's grand hall, with its high wooden beams and warm candlelight, was already packed with villagers seeking a distraction from the flood damage. The storm had left many weary, and the promise of an evening show had lifted their spirits.
Char pulled his hood lower, scanning the room. Flint was here. That was what mattered. He sat near the center, sipping a drink, relaxed but ever-watchful. If they were going to pull this off, they needed him focused entirely on Merrick's performance.
The magician stood on an overturned barrel, his tattered cloak swirling around him as he raised his arms. "Ladies and gentlemen! After days of rain and hardship, I present to you—a spectacle of light and wonder!"
A few amused murmurs ran through the crowd, and Flint raised an eyebrow.
Then Merrick snapped his fingers.
A flash of golden sparks erupted above him, cascading in slow, shimmering waves. Gasps filled the hall. He clapped his hands together, and from the sparks, a glowing dove burst forth, wings flaring as it soared across the rafters, leaving a trail of luminescence in its wake.
More cheers. Perfect.
Char slipped away from the crowd unnoticed, his role now complete. Merrick had them. Now, he just hoped the other two were getting on just as positively with their sides of the plan.
*
Benjamin moved swiftly through the muddy outskirts of the village, keeping to the shadows. He clutched a rough map Mira had scrawled onto a piece of parchment earlier that day, leading him away from the main roads, toward the cliffs beyond.
He didn't trust magic. Never had, never would. But this was the best chance the kid had of getting to Jaffalex quickly.
And if they were gonna do this, they were gonna do it right.
The instructions were clear—find the hidden path that led under the town and follow it to the cave entrance. Mira had sworn it existed, a barely visible trail carved into the landscape. Flint had covered it up well, ensuring no one wandered in by accident.
Benjamin suddenly paused. He saw a weird part of a rocky face, as if it had been purposefully covered up with foliage. Nature hadn't done it itself, but instead it was man-made. Benjamin approached and used his axe to hack away at the foliage until a small crack leading deeper into the rock face appeared.
Benjamin grunted. "Well, here goes nothing."
And he descended into the dark crevice.
*
She pulled a small metal pin from the sleeve of her dress and knelt before the keyhole, hands steady despite the rush of adrenaline.
Flint was meticulous about his security, but Mira had spent her childhood sneaking through this building. She knew his habits, his routines—and his mistakes.
With a few careful twists, the lock clicked open.
She slipped inside.
The room was just as she remembered it—neat, orderly, every parchment in its place. A single lantern burned on the desk, illuminating shelves filled with records, maps, and keys.
Mira's gaze darted around.
Where would he keep it?
She moved swiftly, scanning each drawer. She knew the key wasn't for a simple door—Flint wouldn't take that risk. It would be special, unique. Something that activated the circle.
A soft scraping noise made her freeze.
Footsteps.
Mira's breath hitched.
Flint?
No. He was still at the show. He had to be.
But someone else was moving nearby.
She ducked low, pressing herself against the desk as she listened. The footsteps faded, moving further down the hall.
Not Flint. A worker, maybe?
Mira exhaled slowly and turned back to her search.
She checked the bottom drawer—and there it was.
A small iron disc, engraved with unfamiliar symbols. It was warm to the touch, humming faintly with magic.
The key to the ritual circle.
Mira's fingers closed around it.
She had it.
Now, she just had to get out.
And pray no one saw her.
*
The warm glow of Merrick's magical display still filled the grand hall, but Char's focus had already shifted. He had seen Flint move.
The administrator had been watching the performance with mild amusement, arms crossed, drink in hand—until something had changed. Maybe it was instinct, maybe it was caution, but Flint's expression darkened, and without a word, he turned and left through a side door.
Char tensed.
Why?
Had he noticed something? Was it just a coincidence?
Either way, Char wasn't about to take any risks. He slid through the crowd, weaving past enthralled spectators, then ducked into the corridor after Flint, careful to keep his steps light.
The administrator moved swiftly through the dim passageways, his boots tapping sharply against the wooden floor. Purposeful. Not wandering—heading somewhere.
Does he know? Char thought.
His stomach tightened. He can't. It's only been a few minutes.
But Char couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.
Then, Flint took a sharp turn down a hallway leading toward his office.
Mira's there.
Char's breath caught.
He had to do something. No matter what, he wouldn't let Mira get hurt. Not because of him… If he had to, he was willing to fend off Flint with whatever he had in his arsenal. Hesitantly, Char cleared his throat. Flint stopped, and slowly turned around, his face dark and expressionless.
He'd seen him now. No more hiding.
*
Benjamin moved carefully through the underground tunnel, every sense on alert. The passage was narrow, just wide enough for a man to pass through without hunching. Damp earth pressed in around him, and the deeper he went, the colder it became.
His grip tightened on his axe. Almost there.
According to Mira, this tunnel led directly to the cave where the ritual circle was hidden. It should have been a clear path.
But nothing was ever that easy.
A faint rumble ahead made him stop.
Benjamin narrowed his eyes. What the hell was that?
Then, the tunnel shook.
Loose dirt fell from the ceiling, and a low, grinding sound echoed through the passage. Like stone scraping against stone.
Benjamin's jaw clenched.
Then he saw it.
A hulking shape moved in the darkness ahead.
It was massive, humanoid in shape but entirely composed of jagged, earthen stone. Its arms were thick like pillars, its legs sturdy as tree trunks. As it moved, the ground shuddered beneath its weight.
A guardian.
Benjamin had fought plenty of things in his time. Men. Beasts. Monsters.
But a damn rock golem?
"Of course," he muttered, rolling his shoulders.
No choice now.
The golem let out a deep, guttural noise—like boulders crashing together—then charged.
Benjamin leapt aside, just as a colossal stone fist slammed into the tunnel wall, cracking it open.
Fast.
For something that looked like a walking landslide, it moved with alarming speed.
Benjamin swung his axe, aiming for a joint in its shoulder, but as soon as the blade connected—
CLANG.
The steel barely scratched the surface.
Benjamin gritted his teeth.
"Well," he grunted, backing up, "this'll be a pain in the ass."
*
Mira barely had time to duck.
A wooden cane whistled through the air where her head had been just moments before, cracking against the desk.
She rolled backward, landing in a crouch, her dagger drawn.
Across from her stood one of Flint's assistants. A tall, wiry man with sharp eyes and a practiced stance. He held his dueling cane like a rapier, one foot poised forward.
"Didn't think I'd find a rat in here," he mused.
Mira steadied her breath. She recognized him—Darron. One of Flint's enforcers. He had always been too sharp, too fast, and far too good at catching people where they shouldn't be.
She cursed under her breath. Of all people.
"You shouldn't be here," he said, shifting his grip.
Mira forced a grin. "Neither should you."
Then he attacked.
The cane swung low—a feint. Mira dodged right, only to realize too late that the real strike was coming from the other end.
The cane flipped in his hand and jabbed her ribs.
She gasped, stumbling back, but lashed out with her dagger, forcing him to retreat.
Darron smirked. "Not bad."
Mira didn't answer. She was already moving again, adjusting her stance, circling him.
He was stronger, more experienced—but she was faster.
She had to end this quickly.
So she did something reckless.
She rushed him, eyes narrowing with deadliness.
Darron was ready. He swung the cane in a wide arc—
But Mira dropped low.
She slid beneath the swing, twisted her wrist, and slashed. Her dagger sliced across his forearm.
Darron hissed in pain, jerking back, his grip faltering— Mira lunged. She slammed into him, driving her dagger toward his chest—
But he caught her wrist.
The two struggled, locked in place, inches from each other, breath ragged.
"You're making a mistake, girl," Darron growled. "This, after all we did for you? After we essentially raised you? You ungrateful slag…"
Mira gritted her teeth.
No.
She wouldn't lose here.
She wouldn't.