Aiven stood his ground, his obsidian arm whirring in a low, defensive hum. He looked at Sylphaine with a sharp, unfiltered alert. The last time he had seen her, she had been a nightmare in motion—her blood-magic tendrils burrowing into Virelle’s ear, forcing the traumatic memories of Hearthport’s destruction to resurface like jagged glass.

  His heart hammered against his ribs. What could a vampire as strong as her—someone capable of bringing Virelle to her knees—possibly want from him?

  Sylphaine let out a long, dramatic sigh, her high white twin-tails swaying as she tilted her head. She idly smoothed the crimson-accented lapel of her dark coat, looking at Aiven with a pout that was entirely too playful for the graveyard of mythical beasts surrounding them.

  "Oh, honestly, little human. Do not stare at me with such hideous cautiousness," Sylphaine purred, her melodic drawl echoing off the damp stone walls. "It’s quite hurtful to my feelings. I’ve even gone to the trouble of dressing up properly and fixing my hair for this little excursion. A bit of appreciation for the aesthetic wouldn't kill you."

  Aiven didn't relax his stance. "What do you want from me?”

  Sylphaine floated a few inches closer, her boots hovering just above the unconscious, massive frame of Vane. She tapped a pale finger against her chin, her red eyes sparkling with a mischievous hunger.

  "Direct. I like that," she said, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. "I want you to help me make the Fox fail."

  Aiven’s brow furrowed. "The Fox? Who are you talking about?"

  Sylphaine rolled her eyes and gestured dismissively toward the floor. Pelka and Vane lay slumped in the shadows, their breathing shallow and rhythmic. "Stop playing dumb. I’m talking about these goons' employer. The one who took you in, promised you safety from the Aerilis government, and probably fed you those ridiculous gold-flecked buns."

  "You mean Cyria," Aiven clarified, the pieces of the puzzle beginning to tremble in his mind.

  "Yes, the Great CEO herself," Sylphaine sneered, the name tasting like poison on her tongue.

  "And why should I help you sabotage her?" Aiven asked. "She’s the only reason we aren't in a government cell right now. She gave me shelter and fixed my arm."

  Sylphaine let out a sharp, mocking laugh that sounded like breaking crystal. "Oh, you sweet, naive little variable. Cyria isn't helping you. She’s using you for her own agenda. She’s playing a very dangerous game of double-crossing the Master.”

  "The Master?"

  Sylphaine waved her hand dismissively, the air distorting slightly around her fingers. "You’ll find out soon enough. We’re getting off-topic. The point is, I need to regain my standing, and the best way to do that is to get you and the elf out of her custody. If she loses her assets, she becomes a liability. And the Master does not tolerate liabilities."

  Aiven paused, his mind racing through the logistics of everything he had learned since arriving at Fangreach. He looked at the desiccated husks of the mythical monsters on the floor, then back at the white-haired vampire.

  "Wait," Aiven said, his voice lowering as the dots connected. "Is Virelle... is she planned to be handed to this Master?"

  Sylphaine’s mischievous smile widened, revealing the sharp, ivory tips of her fangs. She clapped her hands together in a slow, patronizing applause. "Look at you! Quite quick on the uptake once you put that clerkly mind to work. Yes. Virelle is the Key. She was always meant to return to the Fold."

  Sylphaine drifted even closer, until the scent of old roses and iron enveloped him. "I don't know why Cyria sent you to this damp rock," she added, her eyes narrowing. "The Master specifically ordered her to keep Virelle in place. The fact that she sent you two out here, into a spatial dead-zone where transmissions are blocked... it means she’s planning something. She’s a traitor to the Master's design."

  Aiven stayed silent, but his fear was beginning to be replaced by a cold, analytical clarity.

  If that’s the case... he thought, looking toward the far end of the hall where the path deeper into the fane lay. If Cyria is a traitor to this 'Master'... then she isn't our enemy. She’s hiding us.

  If this Master wanted to exploit Virelle’s power—to turn her back into the ‘Star of Destruction’ that leveled Hearthport—then Cyria’s corporate greed was a sanctuary. The fox wasn't trying to hand them over; she was trying to keep them for herself, away from a much darker fate.

  "Well?" Sylphaine prompted, her eyes glowing with anticipation. "What do you say, human? Help me embarrass the Fox, and I might even let you keep your other arm."

  Aiven looked at Sylphaine, then at his glowing obsidian prosthetic. He realized then that helping Sylphaine would be the ultimate mistake. If Cyria was going against the Master, then helping Cyria succeed was the only way to keep Virelle safe.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  If I side with Cyria, Aiven thought, his eyes narrowing slightly, I have a chance to use the Loom-Breaker. I can break the seal on my mana. The thought of that unlimited power, that "star in a bottle," was the only leverage he had. If he followed Sylphaine, he would remain a weakling, and Virelle would be handed to a "Master" who treated her like an engine part. Cyria might be a shark, but at least she offered him the tools to become more than a victim.

  He kept his expression neutral. He didn't plan to tell Sylphaine about the mana-unsealing. Not yet.

  Sylphaine’s eyes narrowed, her playful smirk twitching with impatience. "Why are you taking so long to think, little human? My patience is a very shallow pool. Perhaps I should cut off your other arm to make the decision-making process go a bit faster?"

  Aiven winced but didn't back down. "And what exactly am I supposed to do? How do I 'help' you foil Cyria’s plans?"

  Sylphaine laughed, drifting around him like a ghost. "The easiest way is for you to simply run away. If what you want is a sanctuary safe from the government, I have places for that too. I simply need the Fox to lose the pieces the Master wants so much. When the Master finds out she lost Virelle, he will be... disappointed. And that is when I swoop in. I’ll tell him I caught her right as she was escaping Cyria’s negligent custody."

  "And you think I’d just allow us to be your puppets?" Aiven asked, his voice gaining a rare, steel-edged grit. "The ending is the same. You hand Virelle over to this Master anyway."

  Sylphaine stopped drifting and hovered directly in front of him, her face inches from his. "You don't have much of an option, human. You can try to fight me, but the struggle would end in a heartbeat with your head being separated from your shoulders. Brother Valerion told me about that dormant, broken power of yours, but let's be realistic: it's too unstable. It might activate, it might not. And even if you somehow managed to defeat me, you’d still just be a puppet for the Fox."

  She turned her back to him, her white twin-tails swaying as she looked at the graveyard of monsters. "Think about it. If the Fox is only using you and Virelle to get whatever treasure this dungeon is hiding, it’s bad news. Once you retrieve that artifact, do you think she’ll let you go? You’ll be locked in a deeper cage and eventually sold to the Master anyway."

  She glanced over her shoulder, her red eyes glowing with a dark, prophetic light. "And if she really plans to betray the Master? Then it’s even worse. Once the Master finds out—and he will find out—the entirety of Fangreach will likely be erased from the map. He would come for Virelle regardless, and he wouldn't leave any witnesses behind."

  Sylphaine turned back, her expression shifting into a terrifyingly soft, persuasive look. "It’s better for you to just follow me. At least I am willing to spare you. You can go back to being a clerk, or a low-rank adventurer playing at being a hero. Just run away from Cyria, let me house you for a while... and then let me have Virelle."

  He knew he couldn't beat Sylphaine at this point. The power difference was a canyon he couldn't jump. He suspected the only reason she hadn't simply snapped his neck and dragged his body away was because she didn't want to risk Virelle going berserk. As strong as the vampire siblings were, triggering a Scion of the Arcane in a blind fury would be tactical suicide.

  His only hope was the Loom-Breaker. If he could reach it and use its power to unseal the ocean of mana within him, he might finally have the strength to free himself from this hierarchy of monsters and corporate sharks. But he had no idea where the Loom-Breaker was. And judging by Sylphaine's words, she didn't seem to know about its existence in this dungeon either; she was only focused on on Virelle and foiling Cyria’s plans.

  He had to play along until an opportunity presented itself.

  "Sure," Aiven said, his voice dropping into a quiet, resigned tone. "I’ll help you. But on one condition."

  Sylphaine tilted her head, her crimson eyes widening with a mocking surprise. "A condition? Little human, why do you believe you are in a position to bargain with me?"

  "Because you're in a hurry," Aiven countered, crossing his right arm over his chest. "You’re free to try killing me now. But then you’ll have to deal with a raging Virelle who has nothing left to lose. And if my 'broken' power decides to wake up during my death throes, this entire islet might not survive the encounter. Then your Master will eventually find out, and he might think you were the one who tried to snatch his asset away from Cyria’s custody prematurely. You’d lose even more favor than you already have. You’d look like the failure, not Cyria."

  Sylphaine went silent for a few seconds, her red eyes scanning his face for any hint of a bluff. Then, she let out a sudden, sharp laugh that echoed through the graveyard.

  "Oh, I like you! You really do have a clerk's mind for risk-assessment," she giggled, smoothing her dark coat. "Unlike my brother, who is far too suited for those boring diplomatic talks, this has never been my strong suit. Fine, I’ll listen. It wouldn't hurt to help a fly, as long as the fly knows its place."

  Aiven took a breath. "We were sent here to retrieve a certain artifact. I have no idea what it actually does, but I plan to make sure Cyria doesn't get her hands on it. If she really is planning to betray this Master of yours, then that artifact is likely something that could help her cause him damage. I want that artifact for myself. I want to be a strong adventurer once all of this is over, and this artifact could probably help me achieve that.”

  Sylphaine’s mischievous smile flickered with a hint of skepticism. "If this artifact is truly that strong, then the Master should have it. Why should I let a human keep a weapon?"

  "The Master is already something like god, isn't he?" Aiven said, pressing his advantage. "He wouldn't need a trinket from a rotted shrine if he's as powerful as you say. Besides, you don't need to worry. A strong artifact in the hands of a former clerk wouldn't be enough to harm someone like him. I have no grand plans for world domination, Sylphaine. I just want to fulfill my dream.”

  Sylphaine thought for a while, her finger tapping rhythmically against her chin. Finally, she shrugged, her white twin-tails swaying. "Fair enough. A fly with a stinger is still just a fly. Very well, I accept. The deal is that I help you get this little toy, and in exchange, you follow me, leave the Fox behind, and let the elf stay with me until I hand her over to the Master."

  "Yes," Aiven said firmly.

  Sylphaine looked around the empty, blood-stained hall. "And how exactly do we get to this artifact? This dungeon is playing games with its geometry, and I’ve already killed enough of its pets to know it’s getting cranky."

  Aiven gestured toward the unconscious bodies of Pelka and Vane lying on the cold stone. "They know the way. Pelka has the mapping artifacts and the mana-meter. If you want the artifact, you need them awake—and cooperative."