-Tan'Thalon: Southern Quarter-
The city stirred before the sun fully claimed it. In the Southern Quarter, morning never waited for dawn. Life rose early here—before roosters, before light, before the rest of Tan'thalon remembered to breathe. The air carried warmth already. Ritual oils. Fresh bread. A sweetness that clung to the senses, pulling hunger from even the most disciplined passerby. It softened edges. Made people linger. Captain Elira moved through it unnoticed. That was the point. Today, she wore brown—messy, uneven, forgettable. A rough wig sat over her blonde hair, paired with worn clothes that blended easily with the modest wealth of the district. Nothing about her stood out. Nothing about her invited memory. She wasn't an illusionist. No magical illusions cloaked her presence. But she didn't need them. Observation was her craft. Timing her visits. Changing her routes. Altering her face just enough to be someone new each time. And this hour— this fragile moment between night and day— was perfect. For recruiters. For whispers. For things that didn't want to be seen in full light. She drifted between stalls as shutters opened and merchants laid out their goods. Bread, pastries, bundles of herbs—each stall competing not just in product, but in voice.
"Marigold! How are you?" a baker called out, his tone bright, practiced.
"Chaotic, as usual," came the reply, light but tired.
"I bet. Four kids will do that." A faint laugh.
"The smallest one just started walking."
"Then you'll need this."
Elira didn't look—but she listened. A basket shifting. Cloth brushing.
"I added an extra baguette."
A pause.
"Oh… I can't afford that this week."
The voice dropped. Pride bending to the cobblestones below Marigold's feet, but not breaking.
"Then it's free today," the baker said, softer now. "Just bring one of the bracelets you always make next time. My daughter's been nagging my ears off for one."
A quiet exchange. An unspoken understanding. Elira moved on. That was the Southern Quarter. Not rich. Not powerful. But held together by small kindnesses and quieter debts.
That was only one of the many dialogues going around though. Every marketeer wanted to announce their goods. Freshly baked or just finished. It was a hidden war of rivalries between them. The baker's conversation wasn't the one that piqued Elira's interest though. Serenya was right in tasking her with this mission. She let the noise wash over her. Dozens of conversations layered together—prices, gossip, laughter, complaints. Most of it meaningless. Most of it. Her focus shifted. Narrowed. Filtered. That was her superpower.
And then— there. A jeweler's stall. She didn't stop immediately. Just passed by, letting her gaze drift naturally over the display. Simple pieces. Modest craftsmanship. Nothing that justified the confidence she'd noticed over the past few days. Too few customers. Too much certainty. She circled once more, slower this time, letting fragments of conversation reach her.
"Business is on fire," the jeweler said.
The phrase lingered. Wrong. Elira's eyes flicked toward him briefly. His clothes were better than the rest of the quarter. Not extravagant—but clean. Maintained. Comfortable. Out of place. Her suspicion sharpened. When the crowd thickened, she moved closer—not directly, but enough. Her hand slipped into her satchel. Out came a small device. Palm-sized. Unassuming. It flickered to life in her grip, its surface lighting with faint indicators—tiny points of signal. Clustered. Near the jeweler. Elira's breath slowed.
"Lazulli," she whispered under her breath.
She didn't need to look again, but she did. Carefully. A transaction unfolded at the stall. A customer—well dressed for the quarter—placed a heavy pouch of coin onto the counter. Too much for what sat between them. A simple necklace. Three teardrop-shaped gemstones, blue as twilight. Elegant yet unremarkable— unless you knew what you were looking at. The faint glow confirmed it. Not decorative nor safe. This was definitely Lazulli. Elira's jaw tightened. No one used Lazulli in jewelry. Not openly anyway. The risk alone made it unthinkable—its charge unstable, volatile against bare skin. Which meant only one thing— this wasn't commerce. It was transport. Clean, discreet and hidden in plain sight. Her mind moved quickly, connecting the pieces. Small sales. High value. Controlled distribution. A network. Feeding something. She watched as the customer took the necklace and disappeared into the waking crowd. No hesitation. No fear. That meant trust, or indoctrination. Elira exhaled slowly. She wanted to move, to act. To stop it before it spread further, but Serenya's voice echoed in her mind.
Observe. Record. Do not break the line before we see where it leads.
Elira forced her hands to remain still. Her eyes followed the jeweler again, committing every detail to memory. Face. Movements. Patterns. If this was a vein— then she had just found where it surfaced. And somewhere beneath it— the rot ran deeper still.
-Tan'Thalon, somewhere beneath the city-
Deep beneath the Lower Ring, below even the dead, something listened. The chamber breathed in a quiet, unnatural rhythm. Lazulli sconces lined the walls, casting light that refused to settle. It bent and warped, shaped by illusion magic into something restless. Shadows stretched where they shouldn't, curling and sliding across the stone like living things. Nothing stayed still for long. Not truly. At the center of the room hovered a mapstone, pulsing with a dim blue glow, veins of the city shifting across its surface. Routes, depots, hidden channels—everything laid bare in constant motion. Above it, fragments of the city drifted like ghosts. Streets flickered in and out. Figures moved, then repeated, then broke apart again. Nothing whole. Nothing stable. Selvara stood over it, watching. Her violet eyes glowed faintly beneath her hood, mirroring the light of the projections. One hand rested in the air above the stone, fingers moving slowly, tracing paths only she could see. The illusions responded to her touch, bending and shifting as if they understood her intent. Two figures knelt behind her. Both wore deep red cloaks, their faces hidden in shadow. One was marked by thin scars running across his exposed skin, the kind left behind by magic that didn't always behave. The other was still. Composed. Watching everything, revealing nothing. The room hummed softly. A low, constant sound. Easy to ignore at first. Harder to forget once noticed. As if the chamber itself was listening.
Selvara spoke without turning. "Marrek."
Her voice was quiet. Controlled. But there was tension beneath it.
"Report."
The scarred man lowered his head further. "The Iron Vanguard struck Warehouse Twelve shortly after midnight," he said. "Twenty soldiers." He hesitated, just briefly. "Commander Serenya Kael led them."
That was enough. Selvara's hand stilled. The projections flickered, just for a moment.
"Serenya," she repeated.
The name lingered, not unfamiliar. Not unexpected. A faint smile formed on her lips.
"Of course," she murmured. "They send their iron saint."
Only then did she lift her gaze from the mapstone. Violet light caught in her eyes as the shadows behind her shifted more sharply, almost reacting to the change. Waiting. She said nothing for a while. Just watched the city move beneath her hand. Then her smile deepened. And the hum in the chamber grew louder.
Night settled over the Warehouse Twelve in Tan'Thalon's Lower District, lanterns flickering to life one by one. From a distance, they looked like scattered stars. Most of the city had gone quiet. Most—but not all. A Lazulli storage warehouse stood open. Serenya approached with twenty Iron Vanguard soldiers at her back. Their armor was wrapped in cloth to dull the sound, their movements precise, controlled. The air carried a faint scent of ozone and dust. Wrong, somehow. The doors gave way under force. Inside, crates were stacked in careful rows. Lazulli shards glowed faintly between the gaps, casting a low, uneven light. It was quiet, too quiet.
Serenya didn't raise her voice. "Seal the exits. No fire. Check the crates. Quickly."
The Vanguard moved at once, spreading out with practiced efficiency. No wasted motion. No hesitation. Captain Elira pried open the nearest crate and to no surprise found Lazulli shards inside. Etched on the crate was a closed eye. She barely had time to register it. The lanterns flickered once, and then went dark. The glow didn't vanish. It deepened. The shards pulsed, brighter now, like something waking.
The second figure shifted. It was subtle and measured.
"They seized the outer crates," a female voice cut softly through the chamber, measured as ever. "But did not breach the inner vaults." She paused slightly. "The sigils held. Long enough for Arcanist Vaal to intervene." The name lingered. "He… demonstrated considerable potency."
For a moment, nothing moved. Then Selvara stepped away from the mapstone slowly and deliberately. She circled it, the shifting Lazulli light sliding across her skin, coiling and uncoiling like living serpents drawn to her presence. Each step bent the illusions subtly—veins of the city pulsing brighter where her shadow passed.
"Considerable," she echoed softly.
Not impressed nor surprised. Her fingers trailed through one of the drifting projections. It fractured at her touch, scattering into smaller illusions before reforming again.
"Potency is expected," she continued. "Control is rarer."
A smooth, mocking voice sounded through the warehouse. "Ah… the Iron Vanguard. So predictable. So proud. Steel, shields, discipline. Against inevitability."
A male figure stepped out from the shadows, white robes ripple with Lazulli threads that crackled around him. His blond hair cut short on one side, but the other following the flows of his robes. His hands were already weaving entropy sigils in the air. Sparks of disintegration hissed where the symbols hung. His face was calm, almost bored. Serenya recognized him as an arcanist. A threat. She had seen him before somewhere. When she saw the symbols, she remembered. A wanted poster. She knew the name, Kerryth Vaal. A bounty of over a million for destroying towns and spreading Ba'Ham's word. Instantaneously she realised what he was capable of.
As she drew her blade, her voice turned like iron. "Vanguard! Form wall!".
Shields locked, a shining barrier of sound and discipline. Serenya stood at the front, sword raised.
"You've stolen from the wall. You've bled the city. Surrender and face judgment."
The arcanists' lips turned to a thin smile. "Judgment?" He repeated. "I am judgment. Behold Ba'ham's truth."
"Tell me exactly what Kerryth demonstrated, Sillis" Selvara wanted to know.
"Entropy rites. Fully realized. He reduced shields to rust, blades to dust. Serenya's line broke twice, yet they held on long enough to escape. She herself was injured." Sillis spoke with a smile.
Vaal slammed his palms forward. A wave of entropy rolled out — steel shrieked as shield edges corroded, weapons pitted and crumbled. Soldiers cried out as the very steel in their armor sparked and fractured. The Vanguard line staggered back, but held.
Captain Varros gritted his teeth. "Shields failing, Commander!"
Serenya snarled. "Hold them! Hold—!"
Another blast followed, causing a shield to dissolve in one soldier's grip, leaving him exposed — the entropy wave tore through his cuirass. He screamed and dropped. Serenya stepped forward, slashing at Vaal — but her blade met a shimmer of unraveling force. The steel rusted in her hand, breaking mid-swing.
Vaal mocked them. "See? Even iron bows before entropy. What hope has your wall, your council, your goddess?"
Serenya's captains dragged her back as Vaal lifted a Lazulli shard and twisted it into a crackling orb of raw energy. The warehouse shook, beams splintering. Workers screamed and scattered outside. Serenya tried to rally.
Her voice roared. "Fall back! Shields around the wounded! MOVE!"
The Vanguard retreated in formation, battered but not broken, dragging their fallen. Serenya was last to leave, holding her ruined blade in one fist. Vaal did not pursue — he simply watched, letting them go, confident of his dominance.
Vaal called after her. "Run, little vanguard. Bring more steel. I will unmake it all the same."
Outside, in the rain, the Vanguard regrouped. Armor ruined, morale shaken. Serenya breathed hard, clutching her bleeding side where entropy tore through her breastplate. Her jaw was set, but her eyes were dark with the knowledge: against this magic, steel alone will not hold.
Selvara let out a soft laugh. As though the outcome amused her more than it frustrated.
"A shame he didn't kill her," she said, almost lightly. "But fear will do."
Her gaze drifted back to the mapstone, watching the faint echoes of movement still lingering across its surface.
"The city will whisper of this," she continued. "And the council…" She tilted her head slightly. "…will taste panic."
She reached down, lifting a shard of Lazulli from the edge of the construct. It flared instantly at her touch. Not steady or natural. It pulsed like a heartbeat that wasn't hers.
"And the shipment?" she asked.
Sillis hesitated just enough to notice.
"Partially lost," she admitted. "The Vanguard seized four crates." Her hands tightened slightly beneath her sleeves. "But the experimental shards remain secure. Vaal relocated them once the soldiers withdrew."
Selvara considered that and nodded. "Good."
Her fingers turned the shard slowly, watching its unstable light dance across her skin.
"They have enough to fear," she said. "But not enough to understand."
The shard dimmed as she lowered it. Then she turned sharply.
"Did they see the prototypes?"
Marrek answered this time.
"No," he said. "The reanimated units were not deployed." He paused. "The first trials....".
"Where." It was not so much a question from Selvara, more a command to know.
"Site 457. The architect activated three."
Selvara's expression didn't change but the air did.
"Good. The Architect's plans require patience."
The chamber responded at the mention of that name. A ripple passed through the Lazulli sconces, their light warping, bending inward for a fleeting moment. The hum deepened, as if something unseen acknowledged the invocation. Both lieutenants lowered their heads further. Sillis spoke again, quieter now.
"The Vanguard will report this to the council. Serenya Kael will push for new armaments."
Selvara's smile returned slowly and knowingly.
"And the council," she said, "will finally remember what it feels like to be powerless."
She stepped back, her form slipping partially into shadow as the Lazulli glow bent around her.
"They will look for strength," she continued. "For leadership. For someone willing to act… when they cannot." The shadows curled tighter around her silhouette. "Now, tell me of the nobles."
Marrek straightened slightly—his robes shifting, though the movement felt… too smooth. Too perfect.
"Eldarion speaks loudly," he reported. "And gathers support. Two houses pledged him their votes this morning. A third remains cautious—but listening."
Selvara's smile sharpened. "Of course he does."
She extended a hand over the mapstone, and the illusions shifted. A name flared faintly in Lazulli light. Eldarion. Bound into the web like any other vein.
"He believes he is building his power," Her fingers traced the glowing tether. "But he gathers my chorus." Her voice softened. "My influence. My council." She let the light flicker once more before withdrawing her hand. "He is almost ready."
Sillis glanced up, unease creeping through her composure. "And the desert?" she asked. "Our agents' reports?"
Selvara stilled and with her, the temperature in the chamber seemed to drop. The Lazulli veins in the walls pulsed once. When she spoke again, her voice had changed. Lower and reverent.
"The sands move again," Images flickered faintly across the mapstone—fractured glimpses of distant ruin. "Villages swallowed. Monoliths rising." Her gaze deepened. "The Architect's work spreads." She turned, her cloak whispering across the stone. "Eldarion will want to hear this, He hungers for threats." A faint smile returned. "For battles he can win. For people he can 'save.'" Her laughter followed—soft, almost musical. "And he never sees the hand that guides him to them."
She moved away from the mapstone fully now, the darkness folding around her as though welcoming her back.
"Prepare my salon," she ordered. "Send word to our paladin. He will come." Her tone turned knowing. "Jealous. Bruised. Desperate to matter."
She reached the doorway, stopping just long enough to let the silence settle behind her.
"And when he does—" Her voice dropped to silk and steel. "—we will feed him just enough truth to make him dangerous."
The Lazulli lights dimmed as she stepped into the corridor. The chamber exhaled. Behind her, the lieutenants bowed deeply, unmoving until she was gone. Her face already shaping into the serene smile Eldarion believes.
-Tan'Thalon: Iron Vanguard barracks-
After the fiasco in the warehouse, the Iron Vanguard had retreated to their quarters. The injured were counted, as was the damage to their equipment. Varros' armor had taken the brunt of the encounter, though he himself was fortunate enough to have only sustained minor injuries. Serenya sat quietly in a corner, strapping her armor.. well, what was left of it.. of. The encounter had once again made a painful fact clear to her. She was just a human. A human among monsters. Against the might of a magic user even her steel bent.
It was a familiar female voice that came to her.
"Commander?" Elira asked carefully. "I have finished the report."
Serenya looked up looking like she could really use some good news. So Elira decided to lead with that.
"None died." That came a half hearted grin, knowing the rest that followed. "Three heavily injured, seven mildly. Varros says he's uninjured but strained his shoulder. fivehundredandthirtyfive gold worth of repairs to armor, shields and swords."
The commander sighed loud enough for the rest of the squad to hear. Varros nearly flinched. A part of him knew that it was a reaction to him. He'd always been the strong one, the tough one, the shield for others. Deep down inside he knew he was incredibly lucky though, lucky that none of the magic had hit him directly. If it had he'd been far worse off than just a strained shoulder.
Elira used this moment to gently prod her commander for information.
"Commander.. That arcanist. Who was that?" She swallowed. "I've never seen an arcanist disintegrate shields and armor so easily."
Serenya's expression changed as her gaze turned to steel again. She remembered the fight, every detail of it, and closed her fists so hard she could bend steel with her bare hands. Then she answered, carrying that same feeling in her voice.
"Kerryth Vaal.." She grit her teeth. "The Dissolver, as he likes to call himself."
Elira's eyes grew wide. She was one of the few in the Vanguard who was completely up to date on criminal files in Tan'Thalon. And this name.. She had seen it before.
"Vaal the unmaker." Elira whispered.
Serenya turned her gaze to her Captain. "You know him?"
Elira gave a faint nod. "Read about him. He refined entropy manipulation."
"He also reduced Kair'Mogul to ruins. Don't praise his history, Elira." Serenya said sternly, knowing his history all too well herself.
"I wasn't going to. He scares me to bone!" Elira confessed, fiddling with fingers out of nervosity. "But Commander. How are we supposed to defeat someone like that? Someone who can literally make our shield and armor disappear without even touching us?"
"We can't.." Serenya sighed after a long pause. "Not like this. Not with our current weapons."
Silence settled over the room. No one argued. The scrape of whetstones against damaged blades had ceased. Even the soldiers tending wounds found themselves listening. They all knew what she meant. Steel had failed them. Shields had vanished like mist beneath the arcanist's magic. Years of training, discipline, and perfectly drilled formations had meant almost nothing against a man who could simply decide that metal no longer existed.
Varros finally broke the silence. "So what now?"
Serenya did not answer immediately. Her eyes wandered over her battered company. Dented breastplates. Split shields. Bandaged limbs. Men and women who had marched into the warehouse believing themselves to be the strongest military force in Tan'Thalon.
Now they looked like survivors.
"We adapt," she finally said.
"How?"
"I don't know yet."
That answer weighed heavier than any command she had ever given.