The morning after the heist dawned with a city-wide hangover.
Not the fun kind.
The magical kind—the kind where wards buzzed faintly with residual interference, gossip flared through whisper scrolls like wildfire, and every street corner in Elvaris had a new poster:
⚠️ WANTED FOR ENCHANTMENT TRESPASSING AND ILLEGAL SIGIL BREACHINGTHREE INDIVIDUALS – UNKNOWN AFFILIATIONSUSPECTED TO BE FOREIGN AGENTS, CHAOS MAGES, OR HIGHLY EDUCATED MORONS
Below the text were three glowing outlines—vague, faceless, and somehow still offensive.
Below the text on the poster were three vague silhouettes: one tall and shadowy, one with spiky hair and a clipboard, and one that appeared to be holding a muffin.
"Hey," Kael said, pointing at the poster. "That's my muffin."
They were huddled in a cramped rooftop garden three blocks from the hideout—Riven had cleared out the local vine imps earlier with a bottle of spicy beer and threats of fire. The city buzzed below, ignorant but nervous. Shopkeepers whispered about anti-magic raids. Guild patrols had doubled. Golems now floated along leyline intersections like bureaucratic sharks.
"We've officially stirred the hive," Damian said, scanning the street through a scrying monocle. "Now we see who stings first."
"Pretty sure we already found that out," Mira muttered, pulling her cloak tighter. "The Guild's scrambling every magical trace signature in the city. They want us bad."
"They won't find us," Kael said confidently, "unless they invent divination algorithms based on sarcasm levels."
"…Don't challenge them," Mira said. "They will."
The Guild's Inner Council – Panic, Politics, and Paranoia
Deep in the spire of the Grand Guildhall, nine archmages sat in a circle of obsidian thrones. Their robes shimmered with power. Their expressions did not.
"The seal on Archive Sector Black was broken," one hissed.
"And the orb is missing," said another, whose face was wrapped in spell-cloth.
The Grand Magister—a tall woman with silver veins running through her skin like crystal circuitry—lifted a glowing sigil scroll from the air.
"We were breached by amateurs… who left no trace. That's not incompetence. That's intent."
One of the younger members frowned. "Should we alert the Crown?"
"We do not inform Veiralis until we know what was taken," the Grand Magister snapped. "Besides… this magic isn't royal. It's older. Wild. Patternless."
She turned toward a shadowed alcove—where a figure in a wide-brimmed hat and raven feathers leaned against the wall.
"You've been hunting arcane anomalies, haven't you?"
The figure smiled. "Always. And I know who did this."
Back in the Hideout – Visitors in the Smoke
Damian was drawing sigils in chalk. Riven sharpened a dagger with one hand and munched on the last of the stolen experimental muffins with the other.
Kael was poking the orb with a non-lethal probe. "It's not giving off magical heat. That means either it's inert, or super cursed."
Then the knock came.
Three short taps. One long.
They froze.
Mira whispered, "That's not one of ours."
Kael touched the wall. A small viewing enchantment activated—a glassy circle showing the door.
A stranger stood outside. Robes of gold and grey. No visible weapons. Eyes glowing softly behind a veil.
"A Herald," Mira whispered. "From the Concord of Ash."
"Who?" Riven asked.
"Independent arbiters. Neutral… mostly. They show up when magic gets weird."
Damian opened the door.
The Herald stepped in without ceremony, gaze sweeping the room.
"You've disrupted more than the Guild," they said, voice like ash caught in wind. "There are older things watching now. Things that haven't stirred since the Gods went quiet."
They turned to the orb.
"That shouldn't exist anymore."
Kael leaned in. "You mean the orb, or us?"
The Herald didn't answer. Instead, they left a single coin on the table—a platinum disk with a burning tree etched on one side, and an eye made of negative space on the other.
"When the lights go out," they said, "find the roots."
Then they vanished in a whisper of smoke.
"What was that about?" Damian asked.
Night fell.
The city calmed.
And the orb began to glow.
Not brightly. Just enough to pulse like a heartbeat.
Damian, Kael, Riven, and Mira gathered around.
Kael reached out with a spellthread scanner. "If this explodes, I just want everyone to know I was technically against opening it."
He tapped the surface.
The orb opened.
Not mechanically. Not magically.
It unfolded like a thought.
Revealing a vision.
A map—no, a network—of leyline intersections stretching across continents. And at its center… a void. A place with no magic. No energy. No history.
Labelled in ancient runes: THE FORGE.
Mira gasped. "That's impossible. That place—if it even exists—it predates everything. Even the leyline grid."
"Looks like someone didn't want it to stay buried," Damian murmured.
Kael stared at the glowing lines.
"Looks like we've got a new objective."