Ashwen sprinted through the narrow alleys of Valeight, her boots kicking up small clouds of silver dust. The city had changed the moment Ilyan disappeared — the streets shifted when she wasn't looking, the buildings leaned closer, and distant laughter chased her like a wolf.
She didn't care.
Every few minutes, she stopped, pressed her palm to the cracked walls, and listened — for a heartbeat, for a sign, for anything. But Valeight whispered nothing back.
"Where are you, you idiot?" she muttered under her breath, tightening her cloak around her.
Ashwen had lost comrades before. It wasn't supposed to happen again. Not this way.Not him.
Rue trudged down the southern boulevard, Groat tucked safely inside her jacket.
The coin rattled nervously. "We should have brought maps. Or flares. Or maybe hired a small, expendable army."
Rue rolled her eyes. "Sure. Next time we'll send out a newsletter first."
They passed under a sagging arch where desperate merchants whispered at passing strangers. One tried to sell her a bottled sigh. Another offered a folded memory of a good day.
None could offer directions.
She checked every tavern, every crumbling shrine, every abandoned plaza. But Ilyan's trail was as cold as the dead lamps flickering above her.
Monsieur Loup strolled casually northward, twirling his cane, whistling a discordant tune. Of all of them, he looked the least concerned — but inside, his mind worked feverishly.
"Portal magics of that kind," he mused aloud, tapping his chin, "usually require a tether. Something he carried? A relic? An unpaid favor?"
He paused at a corner where the fog hung so thick it felt like walking through soup. A figure in a heavy robe approached him, face hidden.
"You search for something lost," the figure rasped.
"Non, monsieur," Loup replied smoothly, bowing with an unnecessary flourish. "I search for someone misplaced. A small distinction, but very important."
The figure extended a skeletal hand. In its palm lay a silvered mirror, cracked right down the middle.
"One glimpse. One price."
Loup gave the mirror a cursory glance, then smiled and flipped a coin into the air.It was gone before it hit the ground.
He peered into the mirror — and for a fleeting second, saw a familiar figure standing in a forest of broken clocks.
The mirror shattered in his hand, leaving only dust.
"Better than postcards," he murmured, brushing his gloves clean.
He adjusted his hat and continued on, his steps lighter, his smile returning.At least now he had a direction.
Meanwhile, deep beneath the city where no light dared linger, Ilyan awoke.
He sat up slowly, groaning. His head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton and regret. Strange sigils glowed faintly on the stone floor beneath him.
It wasn't just a new place. It was another part of the city — one that shouldn't exist.
The walls pulsed gently, breathing in rhythm with some unseen beast.
"Great," Ilyan muttered, dragging himself to his feet. "Kidnapped by bad architecture."
He checked his coat. Most of his relics were intact — though the important ones, like the memory-lantern and the emergency teleportation token, were conspicuously missing.
A heavy, wet cough sounded somewhere behind him. He turned — and saw figures moving between the shadows. People... or things that had once been people. Their faces were wrong. Smoothed over, featureless, like clay left out in the rain.
They moved without sound, circling.
Ilyan swallowed hard. "Okay. No sudden movements. No witty remarks."
A whisper brushed against his ear, chilling him to the bone.
"Your name is fading."
He bolted, running blind down a corridor that twisted and re-formed with every step.Behind him, the figures gave chase.
Back on the surface, the city itself felt heavier, as if mourning.
Ashwen regrouped with Rue and Loup near the Bridge of Unspoken Bargains, both parties empty-handed.
"He's not anywhere," Rue said, frustration leaking into her voice. "No tracks. No signs."
"He's not gone," Ashwen said fiercely. "Not yet."
Loup tapped his temple. "Saw a glimpse. Broken clocks. Someplace... old."
Rue frowned. "Broken clocks?"
Ashwen's eyes widened. "The Horologium District. It's abandoned. Has been for decades."
Groat buzzed urgently in Rue's pocket. "We go now before Valeight decides to eat him."
No one needed more convincing.
As they rushed toward the district, the city's twisted paths seemed to resist them — walls folding inward, alleys stretching into labyrinths. Valeight was alive, and it did not intend to make their rescue easy.
The group pressed on, racing against both time and the city's shifting will.
Deep below, Ilyan stumbled into a vast, crumbling hall.In the center stood a massive clock tower, snapped in half like a broken spine.
And at its base, an altar — and on it, something waiting for him.
A whisper echoed through the chamber.
"Choose. Forget... or be rewritten."
Ilyan clenched his fists.
"No," he whispered. "Not this time."
He stepped forward, the ground trembling beneath his feet.
Somewhere above, his friends were coming.
And they were not leaving without him.