The rays of light were diverted from the land as dark clouds churned above the city, filling its sky with dust and smoke.
Below, the bellowing of machinery engulfed the streets in a shroud of noise that knew no silence.
A cry rose from the lower district, faint yet distinct from the chanical roar. It echoed briefly before dissolving into the industrial thunder. The n of the city did not react, as though they had heard it countless tis before. So found the sound discomforting and turned their faces away. Others pressed their hands over their ears.
Yet on their faces, sha and guilt remained etched, as if they could not entirely forget the humanity they once possessed.
Along the narrow edges of the city stood arched windows that had once been high above the ground but were now reduced to crooked doorways, half-swallowed by rising streets and layered construction. Through them, people trickled in, fewer than before, yet still drawn by promise or desperation.
Above the main gate, a vast banner hung in rigid black cloth.
In capital letters, it read:
ELIAS-ASHMOLE.
Two n carrying unusually large baggage, as though they intended to settle in the land, slowly trudged toward the guards who were inspecting those entering the city.
When their turn ca, one guard called out, "You two. State your reason and purpose for visiting."
Rosacer removed the scarf that covered his face. "To stay," he replied calmly. "For the elixir."
His face was marked by a series of scars, so from claws, others from burns that had never fully healed.
The guard gestured for him to cover his face again. Behind him, a few of the other guards laughed at Rosacer’s stated reason. The guard facing him barely glanced at the docunts before waving a hand dismissively, signaling for both Rosacer and his companion to move along.
"Thank you," Rosacer said evenly as he pulled the scarf back into place.
Gringha gave a polite nod and followed behind, carrying a massive bag over his shoulder.
The guards cast sideways glances at their luggage but did not stop them for further inspection.
Gringha whispered under his breath, "Looks like we are in for now. But they will likely sell our luggage information. Soon, so bastard will co looking for it."
Rosacer replied calmly, "Yes. We should be ready for a fight."
He paused for a second. "Would the security forces intervene if we fought openly?"
Gringha smiled faintly. "Of course they would. But if we finish it quickly before they arrive, they might not be too much of a nuisance."
Gringha then removed his scarf. His voice, now clear and unfiltered, carried a sharper edge. "I will try to contact Amara."
He stepped closer.
"You stay alive until then."
With that, he tapped Rosacer on the shoulder and vanished the very next second into the dark, dingy, grease-stained veins of the city.
Rosacer glanced back for a mont, but Gringha was already gone. He sighed inwardly and continued alone through the trench-like arteries of the city.
The sll of oil and grease was prominent. Most citizens wore garnts treated with hydrophobic coatings. Water did not stain their clothes, and even grease slid from the fabric as they moved.
At regular intervals, a barrage of oily rain poured down when the upper furnaces expelled pollutants into the sky. Black droplets struck stone and tal alike, hissing faintly before running into grated drains.
Rosacer had already slipped into his suit beneath his long robes, which quickly burned away under the black rain.
He sighed again as his robes vanished from his body, leaving only his suit on him as he kept walking.
He had probably only walked a couple more minutes when he suddenly felt it.
A tingling sensation crawled beneath his skin, sharp and electric.
He turned around.
No one stood behind him. Only steam vents and passing figures who paid him no attention.
His heart began to quiver.
What is happening?
The locket at his chest grew warm. The grafted sigil engraved upon it began to writhe, its lines softening as though lting. The tal warped silently, reshaping itself in defiance of its original design.
Rosacer tore it free just as it changed completely.
The locket collapsed into a shard.
A broken mirror fragnt with an opaque surface rested in his palm, its edges cold yet pulsing faintly with inner pressure.
Then the system erupted within him without warning.
[Cruel Shard is reacting with the transmutation in the air.]
[Reek Shard is closer.]
[Reek Shard is in soone’s possession. Please maintain caution.]
Rosacer’s breath slowed.
Without another word, Rosacer invoked Oblivion.
In a single second he vanished, space folding inward like a silent collapse. Pale green flas erupted where he reappeared, tearing through the air beside Gringha.
Gringha leapt back instinctively, hand already reaching beneath his cloak.
The flas thinned.
A familiar figure erged from the flas.
Upon recognition, Gringha’s eyes relaxed.
"What was that?" Gringha snapped, half in anger, half in disbelief.
"Soone was following ," Rosacer replied, his voice grim. "Right after we parted."
"Who?" Gringha asked, tone sharpening.
Rosacer shook his head slowly. "I could not see them."
That answer unsettled Gringha.
He turned toward a narrower street branching to the right. Pipes ran low overhead, dripping condensation that sizzled when it struck the heated stone below.
"Here," Gringha continued. "The workshop of soone I know. We can lie low there for a while."
They crossed quickly and took the turn.
The house ca into view through a curtain of steam.
Smoke coiled thickly in the air. The entire surrounding area was slick with grease and oil. Dust stuck to the residue, coating the exterior walls in a lasting layer of filth that looked both dirty and grimy.
At first glance, the building looked pretty unremarkable. Two paneled windows, their glass clouded with layers of soot. A sturdy front door reinforced for extra security. Slim walls squeezed in between the neighboring structures.
But the roof told another story.
Ten chimneys rose from it in uneven formation, each exhaling continuous streams of smoke. So dark and heavy. Others faintly tinted green or violet. The sll of burning reagents lingered sharply beneath the industrial stench of the district.
Rosacer’s shard pulsed faintly in his pocket.
Gringha stopped before the door and knocked in a deliberate pattern. Three short strikes. One pause. Two slow knocks.
Just then from within, machinery clanked.
The noise paused for a mont. Then, behind the soot-stained door, the locks began to turn.
Just as the final click rang out, the door swung open.
Rosacer had already taken a step back, his fingers twitching slightly, ready to invoke Oblivion at the first sign of hostility. But when he saw that Gringha’s expression did not change, he forced himself to remain still.
From behind the door erged a tall, well-built figure.
Scars lined her arms and traced faintly across her neck, disappearing beneath the collar of her work clothes. Her face was strong, defined by sharp angles and a steady jaw, yet there was unmistakable warmth in her presence. She looked both battle-hardened and fearless.
Her long brown hair was tied loosely behind her back, strands escaping to fra her face. Her silver eyes were cold, almost tallic in their clarity, yet the calm depth within them softened the contrast. The warmth of her expression and the chill of her gaze should have clashed, yet sohow they completed one another, forming a beauty that was neither gentle nor cruel, but resolute.
Her eyes shifted from Gringha to Rosacer.
"You brought company," she said evenly.
Gringha gave a small nod. "We need a place to stay."
Her gaze lingered on Rosacer a mont longer, sizing him up... taking his asure.
"You are injured," she observed.
Rosacer said nothing.
The woman stepped aside, leaving the doorway open. Behind her, the interior glowed faintly orange from furnace light, shadows of rotating chanisms crawling along the walls.
"Co on in," she said. "Before the damn rats start sniffing around."
For so unknown reason, Rosacer felt slightly attacked by that statent, but he did not say anything as he followed Gringha inside.
The lady looked around carefully as she closed the chanical door behind them.
Inside, there were chambers, each marked with strange symbols, the walls covered in gri and decorated with an artistic flair Rosacer had never encountered before.
There were paintings on the wall, each depicting a kind of body horror beyond anything a human could imagine.
Rosacer stayed silent, turning his head forward and continuing to walk.
The lady led the way with Gringha following behind her. As they walked, no one spoke a word, and she kept her head held straight.
Soon, a plain door with no symbols ca into view, and the group stepped inside. The furniture and everything else looked as ordinary as in any typical house.
Once they had settled in, Gringha turned toward her and said, "Krodeshas, there has been so trouble in Vermis. My accomplice and I need a place to hide. Could you please let us stay here for a while?"
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