The next morning, the trio readied themselves. Azriel led the way, guiding Lysara and Gio toward the same alley from the day before—but something was off. The moment they stepped out, the atmosphere shifted.
Eyes followed them, yet no one made direct contact. It was subtle, but Gio's instincts flared.
"We can't let them follow us," he muttered under his breath.
Azriel nodded. "Agreed."
They attempted to shake the unseen watchers, slipping through side streets and weaving through crowds—but the pressure never left. Velmira's gaze was omnipresent. Every window, every alley, every open door felt like an eye fixed on them. The feeling crawled down their spines, cold and invasive.
Eventually, after a tense detour through a crowded marketplace, they broke the line of sight and ducked into the alley. No one around. Without hesitation, they descended into the sewage system.
They walked in silence, the putrid stench familiar by now. Azriel knocked against the metal chute. With a low hum, the illusionary wall shimmered and slid open.
Lysara and Gio stared in awe. "I... didn't even sense any magic," Lysara whispered.
"Neither did I," Gio added, eyes narrowed. "Whoever made this is no ordinary mage."
"He's not." Azriel said.
Waiting for them inside was the familiar cloaked figure.
"This is Corren," Azriel said. "The one I told you about last night."
Corren chuckled lightly. "Lysara and Gio, huh? You both look much better here than in his memories."
They exchanged greetings with quiet warmth.
"Nice to meet you," Lysara and Gio said in sync, earning a small grin from Corren.
"Likewise. Come on, let me show you around."
He gave them a brief tour through the chamber's maze-like corridors, eventually leading them to the same glowing orb Azriel had touched the day before.
As expected, when Lysara and Gio placed their hands on it, they witnessed the version Corren believed—the story of the Sealed Beasts. Not the triplets. Not Signo.
Azriel stayed silent, watching them closely. They already knew the truth. The orb had chosen to show them the lie. That alone confirmed one thing: only Azriel held the true connection to the triplets.
But this visit wasn't about truth—it was about unity.
Corren led them further down, through a stone archway, into a hall where the remnants of the resistance stood. Once a mighty force of a thousand, now barely ten people remained.
"This… is what's left of us," Corren said, tone heavy.
It wasn't an army anymore. It was a party—just enough to make a final stand.
Corren stepped forward, gesturing toward them. "Let me introduce you to those still willing to fight back."
Corren led the trio through a winding path deeper into the hidden chamber. The scent of old steam and metal grew thicker as they entered a dimly lit room. At its center stood seven figures, scattered across a makeshift war table, their gazes turning to the newcomers.
"This," Corren gestured, "is what's left of the resistance."
The first to approach was an elderly woman holding a glowing lantern.
"Name's Veyra," she said softly, her voice warm but firm. "I patch wounds and cast light where the Graces cast shadow." Her eyes lingered on Azriel. "You've brought something different with you... I can feel it."
Behind her, a giant of a man stepped forward, arms crossed, the metal on his limbs groaning as he moved.
"Thorne," he grunted. "I hit things. Hard."
Lysara raised an eyebrow, amused.
"He's underselling himself," Corren muttered. "He once punched through a magi-tank."
A flicker of movement passed near Azriel—barely a whisper in the air—as a masked figure materialized beside him.
"Kessle," Corren introduced. "She won't say much. She's the reason we know Velmira's patterns. Best infiltrator this side of Neuraleth."
Kessle gave a slow nod, then vanished again into the air like a mist slipping through cracks.
From the far side of the room, a burst of sparks lit the air as a young man adjusted a gear in a mechanical device.
"Ah! Visitors!" he exclaimed, adjusting his goggles. "I'm Renzo. I make things go boom, float, vanish, or explode on command." He held up a copper beetle with wings. It immediately exploded. "...Still working on the 'not exploding' part."
Next came a figure in tattered robes, eyes sunken but sharp.
"Dalaen Vire," he said, voice slow and heavy. "I remember truths others wish buried. The Graces taught me. Then tried to silence me. Now, I teach others."
Azriel felt the weight in his words—this one carried history like chains.
Beside him, a woman with glowing tattoos and a wild, wary stare stepped forward.
"Brikka. I track and hunt. Beast spirits answer when I call." She sniffed the air, then narrowed her eyes at Azriel. "You carry a scent I don't recognize. That's either good… or very bad."
And finally, leaning on a steel rod crackling faintly with electricity, a wiry young man gave them a lazy wave.
"Iro," he said, grin half-cocked. "If it sparks, I like it. If it explodes, I love it."
Corren clapped his hands. "Now that we're all acquainted—welcome to the last stand against the Graces."
"So… nine of you in this room," Azriel said, scanning the chamber. "Where's the kid?"
Corren's eyes lit up. "Oh, right!" He scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "He's quite the anomaly—but he does his job better than any of us. He holds back the underlings."
Azriel blinked. "On his own?"
Corren nodded. "Yeah. We don't know his name. We think he's mute. But... we can feel it—his hatred for the Graces runs deep beneath those dead eyes."
Gio, hearing that, stepped forward, a hint of disbelief on his face. He had seen the underlings firsthand during the war with the Vanderes. Their strength was monstrous, barely manageable even in squads.
"Sorry," Gio said. "But how does a kid stall those things?"
Corren smirked, pride flickering in his eyes. "He's probably not human. Honestly, we think he's a druid."
A hush fell over the room.
Druids. The old race of beast-bonded warriors said to be wiped out by the Graces during their rise to power. If one had survived—let alone a child—it would explain everything. The unnatural strength, the silence, the intensity in his eyes. And perhaps… the reason he had seen Azriel's core so clearly.
It was said beasts were more attuned to Signo's spirit than humans. Druids, being one with beasts and nature, had senses sharper than any Grace could ever comprehend.
Azriel nodded slowly, the puzzle pieces shifting into place.
"Anyway," Corren said, brushing the tension off with a warm smile, "it's nice to meet you all."
Just as Azriel opened his mouth to respond, a deep rumble echoed through the chamber—followed by a deafening explosion that shook the ground.
Worse—
It was close.
Renzo burst back through the wall, his breath ragged.
"This is bad!" he shouted. "I hear the voices of two underlings—Acrhil and Lucia!"
The room fell dead silent.
Of course, the resistance knew their names. They knew their voices, their patterns, their wrath. You didn't survive this long without knowing exactly what haunted the dark.
Everyone moved at once, grabbing weapons, muttering incantations, preparing their minds and bodies to fight. They were used to this. Risk was their constant companion.
Azriel, however, hesitated for a moment.
"Uh… do you guys have a sword or something?" he asked, lifting his small dagger and half-empty pistol. "Kind of hard to look threatening with just these."
To be fair, Lysara had her staff. Gio? He'd swiped an axe without blinking. You really couldn't blame Azriel for wanting something a little more… substantial.
Renzo dashed back through the wall again, tossing something toward Azriel.
"Here—best I could find!" he shouted.
Azriel caught it. Brass knuckles. Not ideal… but better than nothing.
He clenched his fists, letting muscle memory take over. Thankfully, the warrior whose instincts he'd absorbed was skilled in hand-to-hand combat. His goal now was clear: hold the line. No one dies—not today. And whatever happened, he couldn't die either. A flare right now would be catastrophic.
The group followed Renzo through the winding paths of the base toward the explosion site. The walls trembled. Dust rained from the ceilings. Two monstrous figures stood before a cracked wall, fists and claws digging into the structure. They hadn't found the illusion yet—but they were close. Too close.
Azriel's eyes narrowed.
He knew them.
Acrhil and Lucia—the very same underlings he'd tricked back in Yspa. Strong, relentless, and worst of all: vengeful.
Judging by the crumbled stone behind them, they'd already torn through several wrong walls trying to find the right one.
"Renzo, tell me you rigged this place," Azriel muttered.
Renzo just grinned.
Then it happened.
Acrhil rammed his spear through the final section of wall—shattering the illusion with one decisive blow. The shimmer vanished. They were exposed.
"FOUND YA!" Acrhil roared, stepping through the dust.