The Bastion’s grand war hall was unusually empty for this hour. Torches burned low in the sconces, casting tall shadows along the walls decorated with the banners of Silvermoon’s past victories. Captain Vaelor stood alone near the map table, hands pressed against the aged wood as he stared at a leyline chart scattered with tokens representing Guardian patrols.

  The reports from the Garden’s outer wards weighed heavily in his thoughts. Pulses of unstable magic. Leyline fractures spreading beneath the city. Agents within the Gilded Quarter whispering about faint tremors felt beneath the stone roads.

  And no word from Narianna.

  “She’s gone too far,” Vaelor muttered under his breath, anger coiling like a serpent in his chest.

  He paced the room, the faint creak of his boots against the old stone echoing sharply. His mind returned to the confrontation at the well—how she had stood in front of him, shielding the outsider. How the High Lady herself had shut him down.

  First Calthira. Now Narianna.

  His grip tightened as he circled back to the table, eyeing the Guardian sigils pinned across the map. He could feel the cracks splintering through Silvermoon’s foundation—not just in the ley lines, but in the loyalties of those sworn to protect it.

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  A faint knock at the door snapped him from his thoughts.

  “Enter,” Vaelor said sharply.

  A junior officer stepped inside, armor still hastily fastened. He saluted, eyes wide with tension. “Sir, there’s been a disturbance.”

  Vaelor’s head snapped up. “Where?”

  “The Veiled Gardens. The leyline sentries reported a surge beneath the grounds. It’s spreading to the Dawn Market perimeter.”

  “Underground?”

  “Yes, sir,” the officer said quickly. “And... the ley channels have destabilized near the Bastion’s foundation. Some patrols report residual shadow magic along the eastern walls.”

  Vaelor’s stomach tightened. They’ve already breached further beneath the city.

  And yet the High Lady’s order still rang in his head: “You will object silently.”

  His jaw clenched. She’s paralyzed the council, and Narianna has disobeyed orders by siding with the outsider.

  “This city’s leadership has lost its footing,” Vaelor muttered under his breath.

  “Sir?” the officer asked cautiously.

  Vaelor straightened, masking the anger brewing beneath his polished veneer. “Mobilize two squads to the Gardens. Quietly.”

  The officer hesitated. “The High Lady—”

  Vaelor’s voice sharpened like a dagger. “I said quietly.”

  The officer saluted and departed without further question.

  As the door shut behind him, Vaelor exhaled through clenched teeth. His gaze drifted back to the leyline map. In his mind, he could already see where the lines frayed beneath the surface—where something deep beneath Silvermoon stirred.

  “They’ll tear this city apart chasing old ghosts,” he whispered. “And if Calthira or Narianna won’t stop them...”

  His fingers curled into fists.

  Then I will.