The heavy doors of the Bastion shut behind her, leaving the outsider to his restless pacing. Narianna Valewind—Guardian Commander, Warden of the Veil—exhaled slowly, feeling the tension in her shoulders refuse to release. The flickering lanterns cast tall shadows along the hall as she lingered just outside the cell block.

  You felt it, didn’t you?

  Matrim’s words were a splinter beneath her skin. She had told herself it was nothing—that the outsider was grasping for leverage. And yet, the truth pressed harder with each passing hour. She had felt it. The same subtle current beneath the city’s streets, the same pull toward something buried beneath the foundations of Silvermoon. Something ancient. Something that refused to stay dormant.

  Enough. She shook her head and forced her legs to move. Focus on your duties.

  As she walked through the familiar stone corridors of the Wardens’ Bastion, she passed fellow Guardians sharpening blades, inspecting armor, or moving with purpose on their morning routines. Some offered curt nods, others avoided her gaze. The unspoken pressure of leadership weighed heavier today.

  Narianna forced herself into the rhythm of command. She inspected the western barracks, reviewed a trio of young recruits as they clashed in the sparring ring, and met briefly with two sergeants reporting on patrol routes near the Dawn Market. Each task helped her push Matrim—and the pulsing call beneath Silvermoon—further from her mind.

  “Commander,” one of the sergeants said as they walked the edge of the training grounds. “There are rumors spreading through the Gilded Quarter. Talk of the Umbral Court resurfacing.”

  Narianna’s gaze sharpened. “Rumors or evidence?”

  The sergeant hesitated. “Scouts claim they found traces of blood magic outside the market walls. Symbols near one of the leyline conduits.”

  Her jaw clenched. “Keep this between us. I’ll handle it.”

  The sergeant saluted and hurried off, leaving her standing at the edge of the grounds. For a heartbeat, she closed her eyes and tried to focus on the familiar weight of her enchanted armor. The sharp scent of steel and sweat from the trainees sparring nearby should have grounded her.

  But instead, her thoughts drifted back to the outsider’s defiance. The look in his eyes when he spoke of the pull, the way he didn’t flinch beneath the council’s judgment.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  I’ve felt it too, but I buried it beneath duty. Why hasn’t he?

  She opened her eyes and strode toward the citadel’s archives, hoping that the slow crawl of parchment and ink might anchor her mind.

  The records chamber was a vaulted hall deep beneath the Bastion, where the dust of centuries clung to scrolls and tomes filled with Silvermoon’s history. Guardians were rarely permitted to dwell here for long—only commanders and trusted archivists.

  At the far end, the archivist—a stooped, white-haired elf—barely acknowledged her arrival. Narianna bypassed him and headed straight for the oldest records, where the tomes were thick with lore on the leyline networks and the Guardians’ original duties.

  She thumbed through pages of ancient history, carefully avoiding any mention of outsiders or the forbidden depths. Stick to patrol reports, old leyline charts—anything but him.

  But Matrim’s voice echoed in the back of her mind. “Something led me here.”

  And there it was—that creeping doubt. That faint thread connecting his presence to the growing instability in the ley lines beneath the city. It was getting harder to convince herself it was coincidence.

  Frustrated, she slammed a book shut, earning a sharp look from the archivist across the chamber.

  “Sorry,” she murmured, smoothing a gloved hand over the leather binding.

  But apologies felt hollow.

  The dreams had worsened in recent weeks—visions of dark waters, swirling beneath Silvermoon’s glowing spires, voices murmuring from beneath the streets. She thought herself above such things. A Guardian, bound by the Code, didn’t falter.

  Yet here she was, burying herself in duties and scrolls, refusing to confront the storm rising just beneath her feet.

  You’re not the only one who’s felt it.

  She had admitted as much to him. To the outsider. The weight of that admission settled heavy on her shoulders now.

  By midday, she was reviewing defense formations with senior Guardians near the outer walls. She should have been fully focused—the bastion’s battlements needed reinforcement, the leyline disturbances near the market walls were growing—but her mind strayed every time.

  When a lieutenant mentioned recent disruptions in the arcane wards protecting the Veiled Gardens, Narianna’s stomach twisted.

  The pull has been stronger there too. The dreams always begin in the gardens.

  That evening, after another round of duties and formal reports, she found herself alone beneath the archway leading into the Veiled Gardens—the same place where she had first noticed the strange vibrations years ago.

  The moonlight spilled softly over the silvered leaves of the ancient trees, the enchanted blooms glowing faintly in the dusk. She stood there in silence, staring into the grove’s heart, where the ley lines whispered beneath the earth.

  This was where she usually found peace.

  Tonight, all she found was the echo of Matrim’s voice—and the realization that if the council refused to see what was coming, she might be the only one who could.

  You’re not the only one who’s felt it.

  No. She wasn’t.

  And for the first time in years, Narianna wasn’t sure who she feared more—Matrim Kaelen... or herself.