The meeting ended without warmth.
Ban left the chamber with Mabel, his two Hell-forged wardens following like silent shadows.
Outside, the air felt lighter. But the city still carried fear in its bones.
As Ban and Mabel moved through corridors and courtyards, somewhere else in Dravenloch another group moved quietly, trying to remain unseen.
The Masked One's had stayed hidden.
Not because the city was still openly dangerous—at least on the surface, Dravenloch was calmer now. The wormhole had closed. Patrols had increased. People had started to breathe again.
But safety made hiding harder.
When a city was burning, nobody would notice....if a stranger slipped through the smoke. But when a city began to settle, strangers tend to stand out.
Every unfamiliar face drew questions. Every unusual movement earned attention.
So the Masked One kept to narrow passages and broken roofs, silent as dust.
Number 111 walked with a restless energy, glancing at the buildings as if counting the cracks in the walls.
Number 12 moved differently. She was calm, controlled. Like someone who never wasted a step.
And behind them was Number 99, Sanè—ever quiet, watchful.
They moved through a damaged district where the stones still carried wormhole residue. The air would shimmer faintly if you stared too long.
After a while, Number 111 broke the silence.
"Why does it keep happening here?" 111 asked, voice low. "Wormholes open in other cities, yes. Even Vain City has had them. But Dravenloch…" They gestured at the broken streets. "It's like the sky hates this place."
The Masked One's listened but they said nothing. Sanè did not speak either, but their eyes stayed fixed on Number 12, waiting.
Number 12 answered, voice steady. "Dravenloch is special."
111 scoffed softly. "That's not an answer."
"It is," 12 said, "but you want the details."
They walked a little farther, then slowed near a cracked wall, listening for patrol sounds before continuing.
"Long ago," 12 began, "Dravenloch was built on an old site. Not just land. An old seal."
111's steps slowed. "A seal?"
Number 12 nodded. "Before the families ruled cities, before the councils, there was something buried under this place. A rift node. A point where the boundary between realms is thin. It was sealed by ancient wardcraft."
Sanè's eyes widened slightly behind the mask he wore. Even the rest of the Masked Ones tilted their head, paying closer attention.
Number 12 continued, her tone was simple and clear. "The seal was meant to keep the boundary stable. But seals don't last forever. Over time, the city grew. Cultivators trained here..... that's why the Maverick family was said to be the most powerful..... because of the crack...cause occasionally some kind thing of energy would leak out....which in turn strengthens warriors. Exceptions were made. While Wards were rebuilt on top of old wards. Power gathered in layers."
111's voice lowered. "So the seal is weakening."
"Yes," 12 said. "And wormholes are like cracks in glass. When the glass is already weak in one spot, it cracks there again and again."
Sanè swallowed. "Why didn't anyone move the city?"
"Because the Maverick Family turned the seal into an advantage," 12 replied. "For years, the thin boundary made it easier to sense spiritual currents. Easier to cultivate. Easier to forge ward patterns. Dravenloch became strong because of it."
111's tone sharpened. "But now it's killing them."
Number 12 nodded once. "Now it's failing. And every wormhole that opens damages the seal further. Like tearing stitches out of a wound.....but I don't think this wormhole was caused by the weakening of the seal "
One of the Masked One's - 200 spoke,his voice muffled. "So it will keep happening."
"It will," 12 said. "Unless someone repairs the ancient seal. Or replaces it with something stronger."
111's eyes narrowed. "And can that be done?"
Number 12 did not answer immediately. The pause was heavy.
Sanè looked from 12 to the rest of the Masked One's as they suddenly felt nervous, as if they had stepped into a conversation too dangerous to hear.
Then the sound of hooves and armored steps reached them.
They froze.
From a nearby street, five riders appeared—moving with the sharp discipline of trained hunters. They wore Wyrmscourge gear, and their eyes swept the ruins with practiced alertness.
They were the five Ban had assigned to patrol for lingering beasts.
One of them spotted the group near the cracked wall and immediately raised a hand, signaling the others to stop.
"Hold!" the Wyrmscourge expert called out. "Identify yourselves."
The group did not move.
The Masked One's stayed still. 111's hand twitched near a hidden weapon. Sanè's breathing became shallow.
"Answer," the expert demanded, stepping closer. "This district is under patrol. If you're civilians, move to shelter zones."
Still no response.
The Wyrmscourge expert's eyes narrowed. "You're not civilians."
He made a small gesture, and the other four riders shifted position, forming a half-circle. Not attacking yet, but ready.
"Last warning," the leader said. "Who are you?"
Number 111 glanced toward Number 12, clearly expecting her to speak.
But Number 12 didn't speak.
Instead, she moved.
It happened in one clean motion.
She stepped forward, her foot barely making sound on broken stone. Her hand lifted, two fingers extended—not dramatic, nothing flashy either....just clear precision.
The air snapped.
A pressure wave struck the five Wyrmscourge experts like an invisible hammer.
Their horses bucked and staggered, suddenly unable to move properly. The experts themselves stiffened, as their muscles locked. Their bodies tilted awkwardly as if their own strength had been turned against them.
One of them tried to shout.
But no sound came out.
The leader tried to draw a weapon.
His hand stopped halfway, frozen.
In a single move, Number 12 had subdued all five—binding their bodies with a silent force that made them incapable of calling for help.
They could still breathe.
They could still see.
But they could not fight.
They could not speak.
They could not signal.
Sanè's eyes went wide, shock and awe spilling through his usual calm face.... though hidden by his mask. Even the Masked One's looked startled, their head turning slightly toward 12 as if seeing her clearly for the first time.
Number 111 stared too, though they tried to hide it.
"You…" 111 whispered. "You did that with one move."
Number 12 lowered her hand. Her voice stayed quiet. "We can't be exposed. Not now."
The trapped Wyrmscourge experts glared, humiliated and furious, but he could not move.
Number 12 looked toward the city center, where patrols and politics were tightening like a net.
"It's all risky," she said. "But Dravenloch is becoming quieter. And as I said before quiet cities notice strangers."
She glanced at the frozen experts. "We move now. Before someone else comes looking."
The group slipped away through the ruins....as they depart the city...leaving five elite Wyrmscourge warriors locked in place—alive, silent, and unable to warn anyone that something far more dangerous than beasts had moved through Dravenloch's broken streets....or atleast that's what they thought.
And above the city, the sky remained calm.
For now.
But the ancient seal beneath Dravenloch was still weakening.
And when it tore again, it would not care who was innocent, who was guilty, or who had arrived late.
---
TO BE CONTINUED...