Three days.
Three fragile, sunlit days were all the alliance lasted before the fracture began.
It started quietly—too quietly for something that would soon shake the city to its foundations.
The first morning after the Cosmic Devourer's defeat, supply crates arrived at the Minaret Ward gates: medical kits, blessed ammunition, portable Noor generators, even fresh produce from hydroponic farms the Spire had kept for itself during the worst years. Volunteers unloaded them under the watchful eyes of Guardians and Guild liaisons. Children ran between the crates, laughing at the sight of real apples after months of rationed nutrient paste. Shaykha Amina accepted the delivery with a simple nod and a murmured blessing. No speeches. No fanfare. Just quiet acknowledgment that help had finally arrived.
Malcolm watched from the courtyard balcony, arms crossed, the new Veil of Eternal Night cloak settling around him like a second skin. The fabric felt alive—shadows rippling when he moved, gold threads glowing faintly when he breathed deep. The weight of the lootbox rewards still hummed in his blood: Blood Eclipse waiting to be tested, the sigils pinned to every Guardian's chest, Elandor's journal resting in his quarters like an open wound he wasn't ready to fully explore.
Margarita leaned beside him, red braids catching the weak sunlight, golden eyes scanning the crowd below.
Margarita: "They're being nice. Too nice."
Malcolm: "They're buying time."
She nodded. "Darius Voss doesn't strike me as the forgiving type. And Rourke… he looked at your cloak like it was the last piece he needed for his next big sale."
They had spent the previous night on the rooftop—quiet, close, sharing tea and mangoes while the city celebrated beneath them. No grand declarations. Just the steady rhythm of two people who had survived too much to rush anything now. Her shoulder against his, her hand occasionally brushing his when the wind turned cold. It was enough.
The second day brought joint training.
Guild strike teams arrived at the lower plaza—polished armor, synchronized movements, auras tightly controlled. The Guardians trained alongside them: Gronk's hammer clashes sending shockwaves that made elite soldiers stumble, Kira's lightning chaining through practice dummies with surgical precision, Elara's arrows splitting mid-flight into Noor bursts.
Malcolm sparred with a young Guild lieutenant who kept glancing at his cloak. When the session ended, the lieutenant approached—hesitant, respectful.
Lieutenant: "Sir… is it true you purified a greater devourer? Alone?"
Malcolm: "Not alone."
The lieutenant nodded, eyes lingering on the sigil pinned to Malcolm's chest—the Thorne emblem now shared with the entire party. He left without pressing further.
Liora visited that afternoon.
She arrived alone, cloaked in shadow, slipping past every perimeter ward the Minaret scholars had set. Malcolm met her in the small archive room beneath the main hall—shelves of ancient texts, Noor lamps casting soft gold light.
She carried a sealed case.
Liora: "The remaining pages of Elandor's journal. Unredacted. And a map—old Thorne safehouses beneath the city. Some may still hold void fragments."
Malcolm took the case without opening it.
Malcolm: "Why now?"
Liora: "Because the council is fracturing. Darius wants your Eater replicated. Rourke wants the artifacts. Valeria wants order. Amara wants justice." She paused. "I want to keep my promise to my brother."
Malcolm: "You watched me grow up alone. You could have stepped in."
Liora: "I thought solitude would forge strength. I was wrong."
She left as quietly as she came.
The third day broke everything.
A single encrypted message appeared on underground hunter forums, then spread like plague through every channel: a leaked Guild memo bearing Darius Voss's signature. The subject line was clinical: "Project Voidforge – Standardization of Symbiote Bonds."
The body was worse.
It outlined plans to "study and replicate" Malcolm's Cosmic Eater bond through controlled extraction and infusion. Diagrams showed containment chambers, neural inhibitors, void essence siphons. The final paragraph was chilling:
"Subject cooperation preferred. Coercion authorized if necessary. Projected outcome: Elite strike teams equipped with purified void fragments. Estimated reduction in civilian casualties: 87%. Risk to subject: Acceptable."
By mid-morning, the Minaret Ward was surrounded—not by enemies, but by its own people. Volunteers formed human chains at every entrance. Hunters from independent factions arrived in waves—some armed, some carrying signs: "No Experiments," "Guardians Are Not Tools." Children stood at the front, holding drawings of Malcolm and the team as heroes.
Shaykha Amina addressed the crowd from the balcony, voice calm but carrying across the plaza.
Amina: "We survived the plague through remembrance and community. We will not become the thing we fought against. The light we carry is not for sale."
Cheers rose—fierce, protective.
Inside the prayer hall, the team gathered around a holo-table displaying the leaked memo.
Gronk: "We hit the Spire. Take Voss's head."
Kira: "Too messy. We expose the whole thing. Make the city see."
Elara: "We need more than a memo. We need proof he's already started."
Malcolm remained silent, staring at the diagrams. The Eater stirred—hunger low but watchful, as if sensing the threat.
The doors opened.
Liora stepped inside—alone, hood down, silver hair catching the Noor light.
Every weapon in the room turned toward her.
Malcolm: "You shouldn't be here."
Liora: "I shouldn't have waited this long."
She placed a second data crystal on the table—smaller, heavily encrypted.
Liora: "Darius's private logs. Financial transactions with off-world void researchers. Samples of purified Eater essence smuggled from early rift sites. Names of test subjects—hunters who didn't survive. He's been planning this since the labyrinth fell."
Margarita stepped forward, golden eyes blazing.
Margarita: "And you're giving us this why?"
Liora: "Because I made a promise to my brother's memory. And because I've seen what happens when the Guild treats people like tools." She looked directly at Malcolm. "You broke the cycle. I won't let them start it again."
Silence fell.
Malcolm: "You expect us to trust you?"
Liora: "I expect you to use this. Publicly or quietly. Either way, the council fractures. And when it does, the real threats will come."
She vanished into shadow before anyone could respond.
Kira cracked the crystal in under an hour—Darius's arrogance had left laughably weak encryption. The logs were damning: payments to void cultists, black-market shipments of purified essence, lists of "volunteers" who had vanished from lower wards.
They didn't hesitate.
Kira hijacked every public holo-screen, forum feed, and Guild channel. No narration. No spin. Just raw evidence—timestamps, signatures, screams from test subject recordings.
The city ignited.
Lower wards marched by the thousands. Upper spires went into lockdown. Independent hunter guilds declared neutrality. The Minaret Ward became a fortress of light—volunteers forming defensive perimeters, scholars reciting protective verses over the crowds, children handing out water and dates to the weary.
Darius Voss was arrested by his own legion before sunset. Valeria Kane led the squad personally—her face on every screen as she read the charges.
Valeria: "The Guild will not tolerate those who betray its own. The alliance stands. The Guardians stand. We rebuild—together."
But the fracture had begun.
That night, Malcolm and Margarita returned to their rooftop.
The city below was a mosaic of protest lights, celebration flares, and the soft glow of Noor shields. Rain had returned—gentle now, washing the streets clean.
Margarita leaned against the railing, red hair damp, golden eyes reflecting the city.
Margarita: "You think it's over?"
Malcolm: "No. This was just the first crack. Greater voids are still out there. And now we have enemies inside the walls too."
She turned to him fully.
Margarita: "Good thing we've got each other."
He wrapped an arm around her—tentative at first, then sure.
Malcolm: "And the light we carry."
Somewhere in the distance, a new rift flickered—small, almost invisible, but growing.
The hunt never truly ends.
But for the first time, Malcolm didn't face it alone.
And the city—fractured, angry, hopeful—stood with him.
To be continued...