Matrim sat hunched on the edge of the cot, staring at the faint glow of enchantments embedded in the cell bars. The hours since the crimson-eyed Guardian had left him stretched long and heavy. His muscles ached, wrists raw from the tight manacles, but it was the weight in his chest that gnawed at him most.

  His thoughts spiraled toward Varenhold again—bleeding into the present like a wound that wouldn’t close.

  He could still see the desert, cracked and dry beneath the blazing sun. Hear the shouts of his scattered company, blades clashing against raiders beneath crimson-streaked skies. And then the voice of his dying commander.

  “Find your purpose, soldier...”

  Matrim clenched his fists. Purpose. The word felt like a curse now, echoing between the cold stone walls of this cell.

  And yet, beneath the hopelessness, that same pull lingered. The strange current beneath Silvermoon hadn’t faded. If anything, it was stronger here, beneath the Bastion. He could almost feel it in the soles of his boots, humming faintly like it was waiting.

  The crystal’s vision gnawed at him too—visions of ancient Silvermoon, of ley lines pulsing like rivers beneath the city. And the way it had responded to him.

  He leaned his head against the wall, staring upward at the thin sliver of moonlight filtering in from a high-arched window near the ceiling. If there’s something buried beneath this city, why me?

  A quiet scrape of metal pulled him from his thoughts.

  The door at the far end of the hall creaked open, soft footsteps echoing down the corridor. Matrim’s pulse quickened, his body tensing.

  The crimson-eyed Guardian stepped into view.

  For a moment, she stood in silence, her presence filling the hall like a storm cloud. She wasn’t flanked by guards this time, nor was her expression the hard, unreadable mask she had worn before. There was something different about her—still cautious, still commanding—but no longer dismissive.

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  Matrim rose to his feet, watching her closely. “Did the council send you back to finish the job?” he asked, voice rough but steady.

  “No,” she said quietly, stepping closer to the bars.

  He frowned, crossing his arms. “So, what then? Come to offer more riddles and warnings?”

  Her crimson eyes narrowed. “You said you felt the pull,” she said, voice low.

  He nodded slowly. “I did.”

  She studied him, as if weighing every breath, every flicker of emotion in his expression. Then, she asked, “Where?”

  Matrim hesitated. “Since I first crossed into Silvermoon’s walls,” he admitted. “It’s like something’s been pushing me beneath the surface—pulling me somewhere I don’t understand.”

  The Guardian’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t challenge him. She simply nodded once, confirming some unspoken thought.

  “And you?” Matrim asked, cautiously. “You’ve felt it too, haven’t you?”

  For a long moment, she didn’t answer. Then, with a soft exhale, she said, “Yes.”

  Matrim’s brows rose. He hadn’t expected honesty. “So, what is it? Why are you and I the only ones feeling this?”

  “That’s what I need to find out,” she replied.

  Matrim paced within the confines of the cell, frustration building. “Then open the damn door,” he snapped. “If we’re both being pulled toward something, locking me up isn’t going to solve it.”

  Her gaze hardened again. “You’re still a danger to this city.”

  “To the council, maybe,” Matrim shot back. “But I’m not the one planting shadow magic beneath your garden.”

  That got her attention. Her eyes flickered with something—a brief flash of surprise.

  “You know?” she asked.

  “I’ve seen this kind of magic before,” Matrim replied. “In borderlands, deep jungles—cults, warlocks, the kind that poison the land.” He crossed his arms. “But nothing like this. This... it feels different.”

  Her expression shifted subtly—reluctance tinged with understanding. “It is.”

  He stepped closer to the bars. “Then stop treating me like some common thug and start treating me like someone who might be able to help.”

  The Guardian’s gaze flicked away, staring down the dim corridor. Conflict rippled beneath her composed exterior. Finally, her eyes returned to him.

  “I’ll come back tonight,” she said. “When the Bastion’s quiet.”

  Matrim raised an eyebrow. “So... you’re letting me out?”

  “No,” she said flatly. “I’m giving you a choice. Prove you’re not here to destroy this city.”

  “And if I refuse?” he challenged.

  Her expression darkened. “Then you’ll disappear into a deeper cell, and you’ll never see Silvermoon’s sky again.”

  Before Matrim could push further, she turned and disappeared into the hall’s shadows.

  Left alone once more, Matrim leaned against the bars, feeling the faint pulse beneath his feet.

  Whatever this place was hiding, he wasn’t imagining it.

  And now, neither was she.