Morning broke in pale streaks of gold filtering through the narrow slit of a window in the new holding cell. Gone were the stone walls of the previous chamber. Here, inside the Wardens’ Bastion, everything was sharper, colder. The iron bars were enchanted, faintly humming under his fingertips when Matrim tested them. His cell was one of many, carved into the lower levels of the Bastion, where stone met steel and where sunlight barely reached.

  Unlike before, the halls outside were alive with movement. Boots on stone, the clink of armor, curt commands spoken in the musical language of the city. Guardians patrolled constantly, some eyeing Matrim as they passed, others ignoring him altogether, their focus elsewhere.

  The woman with crimson eyes hadn’t come back after the night in the Veiled Garden. The memory of her words lingered, though, gnawing at him.

  “Once you’re there, you’ll wish you were still my problem.”

  Matrim paced the cell, his mind racing. The council’s judgment. The crystal. The pull that still thrummed faintly beneath the surface of the Bastion itself. His fists clenched involuntarily. No escape, no answers, and no allies. Same as Varenhold.

  Back then, the sands had stretched endless beneath a burning sky, and every path led to ruin. Here, it was different—the sand replaced with stone, but the isolation, the helplessness—it was the same. But I survived the desert. I’ll survive this too.

  His thoughts were interrupted when the heavy door at the end of the corridor swung open. The crimson-eyed woman appeared again, accompanied by another figure, a man clad in silver-and-gold armor, his presence exuding both authority and disdain.

  The man walked with the assurance of someone used to command. His blonde hair was tied back, and his posture was sharp as a drawn blade. Even before he spoke, Matrim knew—this was someone who didn’t view him as a curiosity like the Guardian had.

  This was someone who saw him as a threat.

  “Is this the outsider?” the man asked, casting a quick glance toward the crimson-eyed woman.

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  “It is,” she replied, voice neutral.

  The man’s lip curled into a faint sneer as he stepped closer to Matrim’s cell, his eyes running over him as though assessing a broken weapon. “Doesn’t look like much.”

  Matrim met his gaze without flinching. “You’re welcome to step inside and find out.”

  The man’s sneer deepened, but he made no move toward the bars. “The council’s mercy is wasted on your kind,” he said, voice dripping with contempt. “You should’ve been executed when you were dragged out of that chamber.”

  “Yet here I am,” Matrim said coolly, though inside his pulse quickened.

  The woman next to him remained silent, her arms crossed as she watched the exchange. Her crimson eyes betrayed nothing.

  “I’ll make sure your accommodations remain… unpleasant,” the man said, stepping back from the bars. “If you value your life, you’ll stay quiet and pray the council’s patience lasts.”

  With that, he turned and strode out of the room, the sound of his boots vanishing into the echoing corridors. The Guardian lingered behind.

  Matrim exhaled through gritted teeth. “Friend of yours?” he asked, voice laced with sarcasm.

  Her expression remained unreadable, but there was something behind her gaze. A hint of reluctance, perhaps.

  “Captain Vaelor,” she said. “He speaks for many here.”

  Matrim leaned against the cell bars. “And you?”

  She didn’t answer right away, instead shifting her stance slightly. “I speak for Silvermoon,” she replied finally. “And right now, Silvermoon doesn’t trust you.”

  “Then why show me the Veiled Garden?” Matrim pressed. “You could’ve left me to rot already.”

  She hesitated, then stepped a half-pace closer to the bars. “Because...” Her voice softened, just slightly. “You felt something, didn’t you? In that chamber.”

  Matrim’s chest tightened. “I saw things—visions. History.”

  The faintest flicker crossed her face. “And the pull?”

  He nodded.

  For a long moment, her crimson eyes searched his. Then she said, almost reluctantly, “You’re not the only one who’s felt it.”

  The words hung heavy between them. Matrim straightened, surprised. “You too?”

  Her jaw clenched, as though she hadn’t meant to reveal that much. “It’s not your concern anymore,” she said quickly, her composure snapping back into place. “You’ll stay here until the council decides what comes next.”

  She turned to leave, but Matrim’s voice stopped her.

  “What is this city hiding?” he asked quietly. “Why are we both being pulled toward something no one else seems to understand?”

  She paused at the threshold, her hand resting on the doorframe. Without turning back, she replied, “When you’re ready to stop looking at Silvermoon like a battlefield, maybe you’ll start to see it for what it really is.”

  With that, she vanished into the hallway, leaving Matrim alone once more. But this time, the silence felt different.

  Because now, he wasn’t sure he was the only prisoner in Silvermoon.