Sane woke up slowly, the kind of waking that came with weight—heat pressed against his sides, an unfamiliar warmth anchoring his arms. For a brief moment, his instinct surged, his body tensing as his senses reached outward.
Then the memory of last night followed.
Then he looked at the two women who layed each at his side.
Their breathing was even, synchronized in a way that immediately marked them as twins. One rested against his chest, her arm draped loosely across his torso, while the other lay half-turned toward him, her dark hair fanned across the pillow.
The room was quiet, as the early light filtered through the narrow window casting pale lines across the walls.
He exhaled.
Everything from the night before returned in fragments—controlled fragments. The drink, the heat that followed. The pull that had nearly drowned his reason.
He had been drugged, yes, but lucidity had remained, a thin but unyielding thread he had clung to throughout the night.
Still, he had not expected this.
A threesome. Twins, no less.
For a fleeting moment, something like disbelief crossed his face. Then it faded, replaced by his usual calm detachment. Surprise was pointless now. What mattered now was control—what always mattered.
He carefully disentangled himself, moving with deliberate slowness so as not to wake them. The floor was cold beneath his feet. He saw his trousers lay crumpled nearby, and he retrieved them, putting them on with practiced efficiency.
But he couldn't find his shirt..
Then he remembered.
A faint crease formed between his brows as he stood upright, scanning the room. The torn fabric had not survived the night. He clicked his tongue softly, considering whether leaving half-dressed would draw unnecessary attention.
"You'll find something in the wardrobe."
Peah's voice was still heavy with sleep, but her eyes were open. She hadn't moved from the bed, only propped her chin on her hand as she watched him. There was no embarrassment in her gaze—only mild amusement.
He turned toward the wooden wardrobe embedded into the wall. Inside, neatly folded, was a simple dark tunic. Plain and functional. It suited him far better than the shirt he'd worn the night before.
He put it on without comment.
Weah shifted then, stretching languidly before sitting up. "Last night was fun," she said lightly, as though commenting on a shared meal rather than something far more dangerous.
Sane paused at the doorway. Just for a moment.
Then a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth—not warmth, not affection, but acknowledgment. Then he turned and left without another word.
---
The inn was already awake when he returned.
The low murmur of voices filled the common room, mingling with the smell of stale ale and boiled grain. At a corner table sat the others—123, 111, and 200—exactly where they had sat down the day before.
They were waiting.
111 was the first to look up. His eyes narrowed slightly the moment Sane entered. 200 followed, her gaze was sharp and calculating. 123 merely glanced at him, before taking her eyes off him.
And then there was the letter.
111 held it loosely between two fingers, the seal already broken..... suggesting they had read it.
"You're late," 200 said flatly.
Sane took a seat without responding. The bench creaked beneath his weight. As he settled, the air around him shifted—itbwas subtle, but unmistakable. His aura had changed....It was deeper now, denser, like still water concealing an unseen depth.
123 noticed immediately. "You went out for a walk," he said, tone dry. "And came back… heavier."
111's gaze dropped briefly to the unfamiliar tunic. "That's not yours."
Sane met their eyes one by one. "I needed air," he said calmly. "Saw a merchant opening early. Bought a shirt."
A pause followed.
200 scoffed. "At dawn? With no coin with you?"
123 studied him for a long moment before waving a hand dismissively. "If he doesn't want to say, pressing won't help. He's here. That's enough."
111 hesitated, then nodded. "We'll let it go."
They didn't believe him.
But belief was not required....
111 slid the letter across the table. "This arrived while you were gone."
Sane broke the remaining seal and unfolded the parchment. The handwriting was precise, controlled, unmistakably hers.
He read...
"To those still breathing,
Circumstances have changed. I will not be able to join you in the near future.
You are to proceed immediately to the City of the Blind. Do not investigate further matters in Dravenloch city.
There, you will meet Number 11. He will provide further instructions and determine your next course of action.
Trust no rumors nor anyone. Just move quietly.
— 12"
Sane folded the letter slowly.
The City of the Blind.
That name alone carried weight—political, spiritual, and strategic. A place where information flowed like currency and ignorance was a weapon. If 12 was redirecting them there, then whatever was unfolding in Dravenloch was already beyond containment...and it was not their business nor concern.
Before he could speak, voices drifted in from the other side of the inn.
"…wormholes again," someone whispered. "Third one this week."
"They say they're appearing closer to the inner districts now."
A rougher voice cut in. "If not for the Skull Family, the city would've fallen apart already. Young Master Ban and his elites sealed two breaches themselves."
Another scoffed. "You really think they did it for the people? Don't be naive. No one moves that much power without a reason."
A chair scraped. "Dravenloch is finished. Half the population has already fled. Merchants, scholars—gone."
Someone else spoke, voice lowered almost to nothing. "I heard the High Council might finally intervene."
That last sentence snapped through the table like a blade.
99—who was listening quietly—stiffened. His eyes gleamed faintly. "The Council?" he murmured. "That would be a first."
If the High Council truly moved, then this was no longer a regional issue. It was escalation—open acknowledgment that the balance was breaking.
Truth or rumor, it didn't matter.
12 had already made her decision.
"We leave," Sane said at last. "Now."
No one argued.
They rose together, blending back into the flow of the inn as though they had never been there at all.
Dravenloch would continue to rot with—wormholes widening, factions circling, and powers awakening that should have remained dormant.
Ahead lay the City of the Blind.
And whatever awaited them there would not be merciful...