The air in the lower dungeon smelled of stagnant water, old straw, and the distinct, coppery tang of dried blood. Torches flickered in iron brackets along the damp stone walls, casting long, writhing shadows that danced around Rhovek Dalmarys like specters mocking his newfound responsibilities.Beside him, Zhaevor Kress held his magelight high, the cold blue beam cutting through the gloom. "Watch the third slab," the detective warned, his voice low and raspy. "The Assembly didn't just lock prisoners down here; they turned the floor into a tripwire matrix."Rhovek didn't answer. His fingers twitched inside his fine velvet pockets, instinctively mapping the invisible pressure plates beneath his boots. His old thief's instincts were screaming at him to turn back, to grab whatever loose silver was left in the administrative wing and flee the city before the whole political house of cards collapsed. But his body—that cursed, infuriating vessel of compulsory nobility—steadily carried him for

The cold rain of the Silt District washed over the cobblestones, turning the mud into a thick, gray soup that clung to the hem of Rhovek’s ruined velvet coat. Around him, the cheers of the outlaws had faded into a tense, uneasy murmur as the unnatural void on the northern horizon continued to swallow the stars. The sky above was no longer just dark; it was tearing open, bleeding a sickly, geometric violet light that made the teeth in Rhovek’s skull ache."That's not the cabinet," Zhaevor Kress muttered, pushing his wire-rimmed glasses up his nose as he stepped up beside Rhovek. The detective’s obsidian eyes reflected the creeping purple horror in the distance. "That’s an institutional-grade rift. Someone down in the deep catacombs just redlined the primary mana-core without a dampener.""Karth," Rhovek growled, his hands clenching into tight fists at his sides. He looked down at the disgraced minister, who was currently being hoisted to his feet by two of Harl’s thugs.Karth spat a mou

The basement of the Silt District headquarters smelled faintly of stale ale, wet wool, and the unmistakable, metallic tang of dried blood that stubbornly clung to the stone flags. Rhovek Dalmarys stood over a broad oak table, his bandaged hands resting flat against a sprawling map of Oakhaven. His fingers throbbed beneath the linen wraps, a dull, pulsing reminder of the mana-core he had wrestled into submission just hours ago, but he ignored the pain.Across the table, Zhaevor Kress adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses, sliding a heavy piece of parchment across the grease-stained map. The paper was stiff, yellowed at the edges, and smeared with a dark, dried pigment that looked uncomfortably like rust under the flickering amber lamplight."Found it in Malakor’s personal quarters beneath the primary archive," Zhaevor said, his voice a low, raspy hum. "The Midnight Assembly wasn't just building localized rifts or trying to clone a compliant monarch. That was a distraction. A very expensive,

The silver liquid inside Vane’s sarcophagus churned into a violent froth, the Alchemical glass cracking with a sound like a pistol shot. Lord High Inquisitor Vane didn't just wake up; he surged upward, his armored fists shattering the reinforced glass into a thousand diamond-like shards that rained across the marble dais.Rhovek didn’t hesitate. His old thief’s instincts screamed at him to run, but his body—that infuriating, hyper-competent vehicle of Dalmarys—exploded into motion before his brain could even issue the command. He vaulted over a low obsidian table, his hand sweeping up the heavy silver candelabra he’d eyed moments before, and hurled it straight at Vane’s head."Catch!" Rhovek yelled.Vane didn't even flinch. He casually batted the heavy silver object aside with the back of his gauntleted hand, sending it clattering into the darkness. The ancient inquisitor stepped down from the dais, his pale, scarred face twisting into a terrifying, skeletal grin. Half his features wer

The rain had stopped, leaving the Silt District coated in a thick, greasy mist that clung to the cobblestones like a shroud. Rhovek adjusted the collar of his coat, his bandaged hands throbbing beneath the damp linen. Beside him, Zhaevor Kress checked the cylinder of his magitech pistol with a quiet, practiced click, while Kervos leaned against the damp brick wall of the warehouse, casually tossing a heavy dagger from hand to hand."The note said come alone," Zhaevor muttered, not looking up from his weapon. "Which naturally means we’re bringing a full tactical squad of cutthroats.""The note was written by someone who thinks they're holding all the cards," Rhovek replied, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. "If Althus really wanted a private chat at midnight in a rotting clock tower, he wouldn't have bothered with dramatic ultimatums. It’s a trap.""A trap?" Kervos flashed a sharp, humorless grin, catching the dagger by the hilt. "Against us? Please. The last guy who tried to trap us is c