As Floren rose from her seat with measured grace, the folds of her white gown drifted around her like lazily drifting clouds. The air around her thickened—expectant, still. With a quiet gesture, she extended her hand, and the unseen currents of her power stirred. They moved through the air with a subtle hum.
Before her, the edge of the gathering space shimmered. The darkness that bordered the table and the stars peeled back, folding in on itself like a scroll. In its place formed a narrow corridor.
Floren stepped forward, passing into the corridor.
Mira and Elias stood behind her in frozen silence. Neither spoke. It was not fear that silenced them—it was reverence. A quiet understanding that what was happening was some truly mystical.
When Floren passed beyond the veil, she felt a subtle change in the air around her.
What she found was the City.
It greeted her like a whispered invocation: towers that stretched too high, arches that bent the laws of geometry, fog that clung to the ground like an old rumor. Gaslight flickered in brass lamps, casting long shadows across the cobbled streets beneath the feet of passersby. The scent of oil, damp stone, and something almost metallic filled the air.
She walked slowly at first, eyes taking in the surroundings. Elias and Mira followed behind her, glancing around cautiously.
Men and women bustled about—some in worn coats, others in cloaks stitched with symbols she couldn't yet decipher. At a corner, a vendor was selling bright glass trinkets. A child darted through a crowd, chasing a dog, giggling happily.
Floren kept her pace steady, her expression unreadable.
Suddenly, a flutter of movement caught her eye.
At a newspaper stand nestled between two crooked brick buildings, a page flapped gently in the wind. Her eyes scanned the bold headline:
THIRD VANISHING NEAR THE LOWER DOCKS — AUTHORITIES UNEASY, INVESTIGATION STALLED.
Beneath it, a sigil had been faintly stamped onto the edge of the print. An eye in a circle of feathers. Familiar—too familiar.
The thought came just as she felt it—a presence. Not hostile, but attentive. Watching.
Across the street, leaning casually against a lamppost, stood a man in an unremarkable dark coat and low-brimmed hat. His eyes—gray, calculating—watched her not with suspicion, but recognition.
When she turned slightly toward him, he pushed off the post and walked toward her with the deliberate calm of someone accustomed to strange things.
"New in the city?" he asked, voice crisp.
"I am," she replied without hesitation.
"You don't look it. People don't dress like that here." His gaze flicked briefly to the hem of her gown. "Means you're either from very far away—or someone important sent you."
"No one sent me," Floren said. "I chose to come."
He gave a short nod, as if that confirmed something. From his coat, he withdrew a card—plain, aged, and marked only with a wax seal. The same symbol: an eye within a circle of feathers.
"If you're the kind of person I think you are," he said, "you'll want to bring this to the address on the back. After nightfall. Don't knock. Just wait."
Before Floren could respond, the man turned and disappeared into the crowd. No flourish. No theatrics. Just smoke and fog swallowing his shape.
Floren looked down at the card in her hand.
It was heavier than it appeared—not in weight, but in presence. The thick, textured paper was coarse beneath her fingers, almost like pressed bark or cured leather. At its center, the wax seal radiated the faintest warmth, as if acknowledging her touch. She turned the card over.
Hollowshade House, No. 19, Wrym Street.
Behind her, Mira leaned close, practically bouncing on her heels, though her voice lowered into something more reverent.
"My lady," she whispered, "is it an invitation Like a… secret gathering kind of thing!"
Floren didn't immediately respond. She pressed her thumb lightly against the wax, and the symbol pulsed, just once, like a slow heartbeat. A ripple of awareness moved beneath her skin—something was watching, waiting for her decision.
Elias stepped up beside her, voice quiet but sharp. "My lady, that man… He recognized you."
Floren looked toward the street, where the stranger had vanished like smoke into the crowd. "Yes," she said simply.
"My lady, do you think it's a trap?" Elias asked.
Floren paused, her sea-green gaze steady. "If it is," she said, "it's one meant to test, not to harm."
Mira tilted her head. "So we're going?"
"We'll return at nightfall," Floren said. Her voice was calm, sure—but within, her pulse betrayed her uncertainty. She tucked the card into a hidden fold of her gown, allowing her fingers to linger on the fabric as if for reassurance.
They walked the city as dusk bloomed.
It was a place of winding alleys and looming buildings. Street signs twisted between languages. Doors bore warding marks in chalk that glowed faintly when touched.
Floren moved through it like a spectator in a play, silent but watchful. She absorbed everything—the texture of the air, the way certain corners bent the light, the scent of copper and rain that came from nowhere.
Mira followed close at her side, excited but contained. "My lady," she said breathlessly, "this place is so weird. I love it."
Elias, on the other hand, kept his eyes moving. "Too many signs of hidden hands," he murmured. "Someone's running this place behind a curtain. Has been for years, I'd guess."
Floren gave a slight nod. "Yes," she said. "This city isn't just old. It's layered."
"Like a spell," Elias muttered. "One that the caster never finished casting."
They continued through the fog as it thickened. By the time the sky deepened into bruised violet, they had found Grym Street—a narrow road flanked by leaning buildings and flickering gas lamps. At its end stood Number 19.
Hollowshade House.
The manor looked as though it had been forgotten by time. Ivy clung to its stone like the fingers of something long dead, and the windows bore dust so thick the glass was barely visible. And yet, Floren immediately felt the invisible presence.
"This feels…" Mira trailed off, arms wrapped around herself. "Uncomfortable."
Elias was already scanning the rooftops. "Too quiet."
Floren walked forward alone.
She didn't knock.
She simply waited.
Then, without a noise, the door opened.
A narrow hallway waited beyond. Dimly lit, the air inside held the scent of burnt incense, candle wax, and something bitter—old magic.
"My lady?" Mira's voice was small now, unsure. "Should we enter with you?"
Floren turned slightly. "Not tonight," she said. "This is a path I must walk alone."
Elias frowned but nodded. "We'll watch the street. If anything follows, we'll be ready."
"My lady," Mira added, "please be careful."
Floren offered the smallest of smiles. Then, she stepped inside.