Moonlight filtered through drifting clouds as Lyra-Cade and Malach tiptoed down a narrow street lined with shuttered windows and runic lantern posts. The air hummed with residual magic: Silverreach's wards—like invisible threads—stretched across rooftops, interlocking in a lattice that protected the city. They passed silent shopfronts—booksellers, alchemy vendors, arcane forges—long since closed.
Malach checked the worn scroll tucked inside his robes. "We need to reach Guardian Gate before the triple-ward resets at midnight. We must use Elysion's rune-pulse to unlock the threshold."
Lyra nodded, following the faint glow of the runic lantern in Malach's hand. "Every second matters."
They turned a corner and approached a grand marble archway standing astride the cobblestone road. Its keystone bore two runic circles overlapping—one representing knowledge, the other representing guardianship. Below, a pair of silver gates—each etched with concentric runic glyphs—stood closed. A golden plaque above read: "Guardian Gate—Access Restricted to the Worthy."
Lyra stepped close and examined the glyphs: a pattern of seven nested runic rings, each ring bearing a line of Elysion's Founding Verse. She took a deep breath and looked at Malach. "We must recite the Verse and align our rune-pulses to resonate with each ring."
Malach nodded. He held the obsidian tablet fragments before him—three segments of Elysion's star sigil. He pressed his ring against a small indentation on the gate. The runic rings flared, swirling as if alive with energy. They danced around the plaque in faint violet light.
Lyra steadied her voice. "By ironborn will and silent forge… bind the heart of code and chain." She traced her finger along each chalked tablet's edge. Sparks flickered around her fingertips—her ward glowing. Malach placed his hand over hers, together calling forth the next line of the Verse.
The silver gate's runes shimmered, forming a prismatic wheel. The first ring's glyphs pulsed in time to their recitation. Malach continued:
"Four facets prepare the path; connect the fragments, let old magic breathe anew."
As he spoke, he lifted the three obsidian fragments and placed them in a triangular pattern on a carved runic pedestal set flush with the gate. The fragments snapped into place, aligning perfectly, edges meeting to form a six-pointed star. At their center, a tiny notch awaited a seventh keystone—absent now. Malach pressed his runic ring into the notch. Immediately, the fragments glowed sapphire and the pedestal vibrated.
Lyra whispered grimly, "We must be precise." The runic lantern's glow brightened, reflecting off her determined face. She and Malach tightened their link, reciting the final incantation:
"By Veritas's hand and ancient oath, open the path to knowledge's vault. Grant us peace to guard the world, but if malice lingers, deny its claim."
A vortex of runic light spiraled down the gate's surface. Violet and gold filaments danced like living serpents. The concentric rings rattled in place—one, two, three—building to a crescendo. With a thunderous click, the silver gates swung inward, revealing a dimly lit hall lined with obsidian columns and silver runic inlays.
Lyra and Malach exchanged breathless looks. "Guardian Gate is open," Malach whispered.
They slipped through the gate and entered a long, narrow corridor. The obsidian floor was polished smooth; flickering runic lanterns hovered overhead. The walls bore reliefs: mythical artisans forging runic chains, guardians forging keys, and the Founding Pillar in its glowing grandeur.
Lyra's pulse hammered as she led the way deeper inside. She recalled Malach's instructions: beyond the corridor lay three wards—each guarded by a sentinel. They needed to pass each sentinel by presenting the codex scroll that corresponded to that ward's order. Tonight, only two scrolls remained unclaimed: Volume I (the Palimpsest) and Volume II (the Conduit Blueprints). They had Volume III with them, so they needed to retrieve Volume II tonight.
Malach halted before a towering bronze door etched with the glyph of twin phoenix wings. On either side stood silent sentinels—automaton guardians wrought of silver and cerulean runes. Each held a runic staff topped with a glowing crystal. Their visors bore no eyes—only smooth, runic-etched plates.
Lyra took a steadying breath. "We need Volume I or Volume II to open this."
Malach pulled his scroll from his robes—an aged Palimpsest: Elysion's handwritten verses detailing the Conduit Blueprints. The parchment glowed faintly under his ring's runic light. He stepped forward before the door, clearing his throat. "By the Concord of Pillars and Chains, grant us passage. I, Malach of the Vale, bear the Palimpsest of Eternal Forge."
The automaton sentinels shifted—one to the left, one to the right—raising their staffs. A hum pulsed as runic glyphs etched into the door lit up. They scrutinized the scroll. After a heartbeat that stretched like an eternity, the sentinel on the left lowered its staff. The right sentinel stepped aside.
With a low rumble, the bronze door swung open, revealing an inner chamber—less than grandiose but hushed with reverence. Shelves lined the walls, each heavy with codices wrapped in faded cloth. A single pedestal in the center bore Volume II, bound in silver scales. The cover's runic lettering read: "Conduit Blueprints: Elysion Veritas's Lost Designs."
Lyra's breath caught. She approached the pedestal, tension mounting. Halting only a pace away, she placed her hand on the cover. The runes pulsed, responding to her warmth. Malach reached over and gently lifted Volume II.
Suddenly, the floor trembled. A chorus of crackling runic warnings echoed through the chamber. The bronze door slammed shut behind them with a resounding clang. Lyra whirled, dread washing over her.
"Malach—what happened?"
He clutched Volume II as the runic lanterns flickered. "The Guardian Gate's second ward has closed. We must leave—quickly."
Lyra closed her eyes, clearing her panic. She recalled the runic pathway: another corridor led east to a secret passage—to the main archive hall. They had to outrun the ward's reset. She grabbed Malach's wrist. "This way."
They sprinted out of the chamber, retracing steps through the warded corridor. As they passed a row of silent columns, runic lanterns snapped off behind them. One by one, lights died, plunging them into darkness. Malach's scroll glowed, illuminating their path as they ran, feet slapping against obsidian floor.
At the corner ahead, they skidded around a turn—only to find a third sentinel blocking the exit. This one stood taller—its runic staff swirling with blue fire. Its helmet bore a triple-serrated crest, and its runic glyphs flickered more intensely.
Lyra's heart thumped. "We can't face another sentinel."
Malach hissed, "We need to lull it with the Palimpsest. Throw my scroll so it lands atop the runic circle by its staff."
He hurled the scroll like a frisbee; it landed neatly, pages open, resting on a runic circle engraved into the floor. The guardian primed its staff. Runic flames coalesced around the scroll. The sentinel advanced—a mechanical wind stirred dust, rattling runic lantern stubs.
Lyra's legs trembled. She raised her ward: a quick circle, then a flick. A pale barrier sparkled, deflecting the sentinel's staff blast that seared the floor where the scroll lay. Pages smoldered but remained intact—emitting a pulse that caused the sentinel to halt.
Malach seized the moment. "Go! Through the side arch!"
He directed her toward a narrow arch to the left. They dashed through just as the sentinel's staff collided with the barrier in a shower of sparks.
Lyra and Malach rounded the arch into a spiral staircase leading down. The sentinel's roar reverberated above as it charged the barrier, runic flames pulsing faster. Lyra's knees shook as they descended.
At the staircase's base, they surfaced into the main archive hall—a cavernous space ringed with colossal bookcases. A row of runic lecterns stood at the center, scattered scrolls littering the floor. Malach's eyes flicked toward a bronze relief above an iron door: the sign of the Founding Pillar—half-hidden behind stacks of dusty tomes.
Lyra caught her breath. "We must reach the Founding Alcove now before they disable the wards entirely."
Malach nodded, clipping Volume II to his belt. "Follow me."
They raced past reading tables, vaulting overturned benches. Ward lanterns overhead flickered eerily as if sensing their panic. In a far corner, they spotted a relief carving of a phoenix atop a cobblestone gate—one of the markers for the lower passages leading to the Founding Alcove.
Lyra sprinted toward the carving, lungs burning. Behind her, echoes grew louder—ward sentinel hammers striking the corridor above. Sparks dropped through cracks in the flooring as runic circuits strained.
They reached the carving and pressed a hidden rune. A section of wall slid open, revealing a steep ramp descending into the archive's depths. Beyond, they heard the sentinel's roar—closer now.
Malach grasped her hand. "This way."
They plunged down the ramp, vaulting low archways into a vaulted corridor etched with golden runic arrows. Their footsteps thundered as they ran past sculptures of founding artisans wielding hammer and chisels. A faint blue light glinted at the far end—lighting the entrance to the Founding Alcove.
Lyra's legs pumped. She slid through the narrow doorway just as the sentinel's staff smashed the ramp above—bellowing in frustration. Malach dove beside her, catching his breath.
Ahead lay the Founding Alcove: a round chamber carved from white marble, runic filaments spiraling toward a domed ceiling. At its center stood a shallow, unused basin hewn of silver and steel: the place where Elysion's consortium once poured molten runes. Pillar fragments lay scattered—mostly broken—but one alcove contained a locked chest inscribed with archaic runes: "Palimpsest Refuge."
Lyra approached the chest, hands trembling. She inserted the Palimpsest scroll from her pack into the lock. Slots clicked as runic circuits aligned. The chest's lid slid open, revealing a smaller cylinder: the "Conduit Diagram"—a scroll sealed in a crystal vial.
Malach reached for it, but a tremor rattled the Alcove as the sentinel burst in—staff crackling with arcane flame. Its runic helm glowed violet as it advanced, hindering their retreat to the ramp.
Lyra, heart pounding, gripped her wrench. "Malach—take the scroll. I'll delay it."
Malach wrapped the vial in protective cloth and secured it to his belt. He drew Cairn's ward token and positioned himself near the cylinder.
Lyra raised her wrench and dashed toward the sentinel, winding herself into a stance. The sentinel's staff slammed into the floor, sending a wave of runic energy. Lyra rolled aside, narrowly avoiding the blast. She hurled a ward tablet at the sentinel's feet; it landed near its joints, sending a pulse of arcane energy that briefly slowed the construct.
The sentinel's runic core pulsed faster: a low mechanical roar as it recalibrated, focusing on Lyra. Each footstep it took sent tremors through the marble flooring.
Lyra darted behind a marble pillar and raised her ward token, chanting a quick binding incantation. The runic barrier shimmered around her, deflecting the sentinel's staff when it burst forward, runic flames sizzling against the ward. Sparks rained down as the barrier held—for a few seconds.
Malach called from the chest's side: "Lyra, hurry!"
Lyra nodded, sweat streaming down her face. She hurled Cairn's runic chalk at the sentinel's knee joint, marking it with a sealing rune. The joint seized, and the sentinel staggered.
Malach seized the chance and dashed past Lyra, clutching the vial. "Got it! Let's go!"
He sprinted up the ramp as Lyra dove aside, wrench in hand. The sentinel roused, purple runes flaring across its helm. It swung its staff, cracking the marble railing as Lyra leaped to the ramp.
Malach waited at the top, ward lantern glowing, eyes wide. Lyra scrambled up behind him. Together, they slammed the hidden door shut just as the sentinel's staff smashed through the ramp's entrance—and came to rest mere inches from their retreat.
Lyra exhaled, breath ragged. "We have it."
Malach pressed a thumb to the vial's crystal. "Volume II is ours. Now… we return to the guildhouse before Guardian Gate resets."
Lyra looked back, lantern in hand. The silent sentinel's purple glow receded as it powered down. Malach pressed his ring against a runic panel, opening the hidden door once more. They dashed through the corridors they had traversed only minutes before—past Guardian Gate, past the open silver wards, then down the narrow street where the cold night air hit them like a wave.
They clutched the Conduit Diagram's vial in triumph. The Palimpsest and now the Blueprint would allow them to complete Elysion's star sigil. With the final runic formula in hand, they could bind Azrael's Heart—for good or ill.
Malach exhaled, pocketing the crystal scroll. "We must hurry to the Ironforge Guild before the city stirs."
Lyra nodded. "Lead on."
They ran under the silent gaze of Silverreach's walls—avoiding every lantern and guard patrol—until they reached the sturdy door of the Ironforge Guild. Malach pressed the ring once more; the runes flickered, unlocking the door with a final click.
Inside, the apprentices—Sigfrid, Toren, and Harkin—slept soundly. Ashen—glow now dim—hovered above the hearth, warding the sleeping forms. Lyra's footsteps echoed as she set Volume II on the table beside the other artifacts.
Sigfrid stirred, opening bleary eyes. "You made it."
Lyra exhaled, exhaustion mingling with relief. "We did. Here—this is the Conduit Diagram. Double-check it with Cairn's fragments."
Malach placed the crystal vial next to the obsidian tablets. "We have everything we need to forge the complete binding. Tonight, at the Grand Anvil in Silverreach's Forge, we begin."
Ashen's runic glyph brightened faintly. "I will prepare for your return."
Lyra sank onto a bench, head swimming. "First… we rest."
As dawn's first light peeked through the cracked boards of the guildhouse's windows, Lyra drifted into a dreamless sleep—knowing that by nightfall, Ironhaven's fate would hang on their next moves