The river's song was a soft murmur beneath the ancient stones of the Whispering Bridge. Liora stood at the edge, her cloak heavy with mist. She watched the water swirl below, glinting with the faint glow of the city's lanterns. Liliane sat on the cold stone beside her, shivering beneath a borrowed cloak.
Liora touched the girl's shoulder. "You're safe now. At least for tonight."
Liliane's eyes, still clouded with fear and wonder, flicked to her. "He… he said he could show me what lay ahead. My future, and the city's. He called it the Shadowheart."
Liora's breath caught. She had heard that name whispered in the back rooms of taverns and hidden beneath layers of rumor—the Shadowheart, a cult older than the city's founding, or so the stories claimed. They said it was a power that could bend fate itself.
She forced calm into her voice. "You must not speak of this to anyone else. Not even your family. The more you speak of it, the more it listens."
Liliane swallowed hard, her lips pale. "What do they want from me?"
Liora hesitated. "They want what everyone in this city wants: power. And if they can't have it, they'll take your soul instead."
A soft cough interrupted them. Liora turned to see a boy standing a few paces away, half in shadow. His clothes were ragged but clean, and his eyes, sharp and watchful, missed nothing.
"You're Liora, the Shadowweaver, aren't you?" he asked, voice low and wary.
She didn't bother denying it. "Who's asking?"
The boy gave a crooked smile. "Name's Corin. I work for Mistress Halwen at the Veiled Lantern. She sent me to find you."
The Veiled Lantern was a teahouse by day, an information exchange by night. Mistress Halwen knew everything worth knowing in the city—and more than a few things better left unspoken.
Liora nodded. "Tell her I'll be there before dawn. And watch the girl."
Corin's gaze softened as he looked at Liliane. "I'll see her safe," he said, offering a small bow. "Mistress Halwen says you're to come quickly. She's heard whispers—about the Shadowheart's movements tonight."
Liora's mind raced. If Mistress Halwen had heard of the cult's stirring, there was no time to waste. She cast one last look at Liliane, then turned and slipped into the fog.
The streets of Lioren were never silent, even at this hour. Lanterns swayed in the mist, casting shifting pools of light. The city was a labyrinth of old stone and newer ambitions, each district with its own heartbeat.
She moved quickly through the Scholar's Quarter, where ancient libraries rose like monoliths. Scribes and mages would be working even now, transcribing tomes by candlelight, oblivious to the darkness creeping through the city.
Past the Scholar's Quarter lay the Shadow Markets, where forbidden goods changed hands in the gloom. She avoided the alleys where Bloodmages practiced their art—pale faces glinting with greed as they peddled elixirs of power. The smell of iron and incense clung to the air there, and she quickened her step.
Finally, she reached the Veiled Lantern, its windows glowing warm against the night. Inside, the hush of voices and the clink of porcelain filled the air. She pushed open the door and stepped into a world of shadowed secrets.
Mistress Halwen waited by the hearth, her silver hair coiled in an elegant braid, her eyes sharp as glass. "You're late, spellweaver," she said softly, her voice a melody that hid steel.
"Trouble on the bridge," Liora replied, sinking into the chair across from her. "The Shadowheart has made its move."
Halwen poured steaming tea into delicate cups, the scent of jasmine and something older, something darker, curling in the air. "So I hear," she murmured. "They've been quiet for too long. The old blood is stirring again."
Liora's fingers traced the rim of the cup. "You've heard more?"
Halwen inclined her head. "A name, spoken in the crypts beneath the Temple of Lores: Aric of the Dusklands. He seeks something—a gemstone of great power. The same stone the cult desires."
Liora's breath caught. "Aric… he was at the manor tonight. He moved like the shadows themselves."
Halwen's smile was faint. "Then the game begins in earnest." She reached into her sleeve and drew out a scrap of parchment. "A meeting will take place at the Sanctum of Echoes tomorrow night. The cult will be there—and perhaps this Aric, too."
Liora took the parchment. The Sanctum of Echoes was an old ruin beneath the city, once a temple to the goddess of memory. Now it was a place of forgotten things, where the past clung like cobwebs.
She stood, her resolve like iron. "I'll be there."
Halwen's voice softened. "Be careful, Liora. The Shadowheart is not like other cults. They deal in more than blood and power. They deal in the soul's deepest truths."
Liora nodded, her mind already turning. She would find Aric—and find out why his name echoed like a secret she had always known.
As she stepped out into the night, the city loomed around her—spires and bridges, markets and mansions. The magic in Lioren was as old as the bones of the earth, and tonight it whispered her name.
The game had begun. And she would not lose.