Matrim sat on the cot again, staring at the stone floor, his wrists still bound. The iron bit into his skin, leaving faint welts from the hours spent in silence. His jaw clenched as the conversation with the council replayed in his head, looping like a curse he couldn’t shake.

  You will remain under the custody of the Guardians.

  He had been through worse. The Desert of Varenhold had left him broken and bleeding beneath an unforgiving sun, but this felt different. This wasn’t survival against raiders or mercenaries—this was a cage wrapped in velvet, enforced by political strings and ancient laws.

  The memory of the crystal flashed in his mind—the warmth, the strange familiarity—and the surge of power that left his blood singing. Whatever’s down there, they’re terrified of it... or of me.

  The door creaked open again. The same crimson-eyed Guardian stepped inside, but this time without her usual sharp commands. She paused just inside the threshold, her arms crossed, helmet tucked beneath one arm. Her expression was unreadable, but her posture was less rigid than before.

  “Get up,” she said after a long silence. The edge in her voice was still there, but it wasn’t as sharp. “You’re coming with me.”

  Matrim narrowed his eyes. “Where now? Another trial?”

  She shook her head. “No trial.” She motioned toward the door. “Just walk.”

  Matrim considered refusing but realized quickly that no answer he gave would matter. He stood without a word, following her as she led him out of the chamber and back through the winding corridors. The halls were quieter now, the usual bustle of city life muffled by thick stone and enchantments woven into the walls.

  Eventually, they emerged into a moonlit courtyard—a vast, serene space that contrasted sharply with the tension that had filled every previous moment since his arrest. Silver leaves swayed on ancient trees, and the ground was soft with moss-covered stone. Wisps of arcane light floated lazily in the air, casting the garden in a soft, ethereal glow.

  The Guardian stopped near a small stone bench and gestured for him to sit.

  “What is this?” Matrim asked, his voice low.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “The Veiled Garden,” she replied, folding her arms. “A place of reflection. You won’t find answers in your cell.”

  Matrim’s brow furrowed. “Reflection?” he echoed. “You don’t strike me as the type to offer moments of peace.”

  The faintest twitch crossed her features, but she didn’t rise to the bait. “I’m giving you time to think,” she said flatly. “Before things escalate.”

  He lowered himself onto the bench but didn’t relax. “I’ve been thinking since the moment you locked me up.”

  “And what have you come up with?” she asked, watching him carefully.

  Matrim exhaled slowly. “That I’m no closer to understanding why this city has its claws in me.”

  For a moment, the Guardian said nothing. The only sound was the faint rustling of leaves overhead and the soft hum of distant magic that permeated the air. Then, in a quieter voice, she said, “Silvermoon doesn’t have its claws in you.”

  He turned his gaze toward her. “Then explain why every time I walk these streets, it feels like something’s calling me. Why I’m standing in a city where I don’t belong, in a chamber I wasn’t supposed to find, staring at something that knew me.”

  Her crimson eyes darkened, but not with anger this time—something more cautious, conflicted. “This city is old. Its roots run deeper than even the council will admit.” She stepped closer, her tone guarded but laced with something resembling... curiosity. “You’re not the first outsider to claim they felt drawn here.”

  Matrim’s stomach turned. “And what happened to the others?”

  She didn’t answer right away. Instead, her gaze drifted toward the center of the garden, where a tall, stone structure stood. A tapestry was woven into the stone itself, faint symbols carved into the base—words Matrim couldn’t read from where he sat.

  “They disappeared,” she finally said. “Some were banished. Some were never seen again.” She turned back to him. “Silvermoon tolerates no risks.”

  Matrim shifted on the bench. “So, you’re here to offer me what—an easy way out before I share their fate?”

  Her eyes sharpened again. “No,” she replied. “I’m here to tell you that unless you figure out what this connection is—and fast—there won’t be anyone left willing to listen.”

  The weight of her words sank in as Matrim stared at her. She wasn’t just following orders, not anymore. There was something else beneath the layers of duty, something personal, though still hidden.

  “So why bring me here instead of tossing me back in my cell?” he asked.

  For a brief moment, something shifted in her expression. Pity? Or perhaps a sliver of understanding.

  “Because... if there’s even a chance you’re right, I need to know too,” she said quietly.

  Before Matrim could press her further, she turned her back on him, staring out into the moonlit garden. “Tomorrow,” she continued, “you’ll be moved to a holding site near the Wardens’ Bastion. You’ll have less freedom there.”

  Matrim stood slowly. “Why warn me?”

  She hesitated, then said without turning around, “Because once you’re there, you’re no longer my problem. And you’ll wish you were.”

  Silence fell again, heavy as stone. The garden, so peaceful on the surface, now felt like just another cage.

  But for the first time since his capture, Matrim saw a crack—small, but real—in the armor of the city’s guardians.

  And he intended to wedge it open.