Invasion of the Palace [5]

The Revenant stood at the jagged edge of the cliffs, gazing down at the churning waves below. The sea roared like a wounded beast, its relentless assault on the natural stone wall sending echoes across the expanse. Each crash of water against rock was a reminder of their precarious situation.

Mirak clung awkwardly to Lock's back, every muscle in his body taut with concentration. His mind wasn't on the salty spray that lashed at his face or the faint scent of brine in the air. His focus was locked entirely on the invisible flow of energy around them—the inlet of energy from the sun, the outlet of energy from the ground, and the tenuous system he maintained to guide the Revenant across the impossible path they now walked.

The surface of the water shimmered beneath them, unnervingly unstable. Waves surged and receded, threatening to drag them down with each crest. Mirak didn't trust his feet on this conjured miracle. Instead, he focused everything on Transference, threading the delicate system that allowed them to sprint across the sea as though it were solid ground.

It was maddening work. Unlike Harmony users like Solomon Fell, who could see energy flow as though it were second nature, Mirak was forced to rely on intuition and logic. He calculated and guessed, weaving strands of energy into place. Every step was a gamble; a single miscalculation could send them plummeting into the unforgiving waves below.

The law of Transference echoed the first law of Harmony: energy could neither be created nor destroyed. It could only be shifted, redirected, repurposed. Simple in theory, maddening in practice. Energy was invisible, intangible—like holding smoke in his hands. Mirak's role wasn't just as a guide but as a constant bridge between the Revenant and the natural forces that surrounded them.

Behind him, the others moved in unison, their faces tense. None of them spoke the words hanging in the salty air: that they trusted Mirak to keep them alive. The pressure was suffocating.

A bead of sweat dripped down Mirak's temple as he adjusted the balance of the system. His concentration faltered for a moment, and the entire group stumbled. A ripple spread through the water beneath their feet, and for an instant, the Revenant wavered on the edge of disaster.

"Mirak," Selene called lightly, her voice cutting through the tension. "Be a dear and don't let me fall. If you have to drop someone, make sure it's Volim or Kord."

"Hey!" Kord snapped, glaring over his shoulder. "Why do I get volunteered first?"

Selene turned with a teasing grin. "Because I'm charming and you're... well... you."

"That's why—" Kord started, but Mirak's strained voice cut through their bickering.

"If you two keep arguing," he gritted out, "I'll drop you both."

Selene raised her hands in mock surrender, though a mischievous smile lingered on her lips. The group pressed on, moving quickly but cautiously, the sound of the roaring waves ever-present beneath their feet.

Finally, they reached the sewer entrance—a rusted hatch set into the stone cliffs. Mirak sagged in relief as Lock heaved them both onto solid ground, the strain of maintaining the system fading as his boots touched the unmoving stone. His body trembled from exhaustion, his mind feeling like it had been stretched to its breaking point.

"Czenth," Lancelot commanded, gesturing to the hatch.

The metallic hand of the orcish cyborg pressed against the rusted surface. The hinges groaned in protest before a surge of energy rippled from Czenth's arm. A soft hum filled the air as the ancient mechanism unlocked, the heavy door swinging open with a metallic screech.

"The entrance to the sewers is open," Czenth said, his voice flat. "I've already disabled the orc-made traps in the first section and unlocked a few of the more stubborn doors ahead."

Mirak stumbled slightly as he adjusted to standing on solid ground. Selene stepped past him, lighting a small lantern and casting a warm glow across the group. She offered him a faint smile. "Keep your strength, Mirak. We can handle the rest the old-fashioned way."

"Certainly smells like the Twelfth District," Kord muttered, wrinkling his nose as the group descended into the sewers.

Lock smirked as they trudged through the filth. "Says the guy who's probably never ridden a horse. This is practically luxury."

Selene, ever graceful, danced around the filth with surprising ease, managing to avoid the worst of it. The others weren't as lucky. Mirak ignored the stench, focusing instead on the faint hum of energy that seemed to linger in the air around them.

After several long, tense minutes, Selene pointed to a small section of the sewer where pale light filtered through from above. "I think there's an entrance to the Palace up there," she said, gesturing to a maintenance hatch likely used by cleaning crews.

Lancelot stepped forward, his expression calm. "Selene, if you would."

Selene gave a mock salute, her smile mischievous despite the gravity of the situation. With a flick of her wrist, she handed the lantern to Lock and approached the ladder leading up to the hatch. Her movements were deliberate, and Mirak could see the faint shimmer of her Essence at work, a subtle manipulation of energy that made her ascent appear effortless.

The Revenant waited in tense silence as Selene inspected the hatch. Mirak's breathing was shallow, his exhaustion catching up to him. He knew this was only the beginning. The Palace loomed ahead, a fortress filled with traps, enemies, and dangers they couldn't begin to predict. And yet, the thought of retreating didn't cross his mind. This was what they had worked for—what they had bled for.

Selene's voice broke the quiet. "Hatch is clear. Looks like it leads to a storage area near the kitchens. Should be empty this time of night." She dropped down lightly, brushing her hands against her coat. "Your move, Lancelot."

The leader of the Revenant nodded, stepping into the faint light. "This is where it begins," he said, his voice steady. "From here on out, we have no second chances. Stay sharp. Stick to your tasks. And whatever happens, do not fail."

The group exchanged glances, each member silently steeling themselves for what lay ahead. Mirak adjusted the straps on his pack, his fingers brushing against the mechanism on his arm. He couldn't afford to falter now. The system of Transference he had relied on earlier had drained him, but it had also proven one thing: he could push beyond his limits.

The sewers stretched behind them, a testament to how far they had come. Ahead, the Palace awaited—a seemingly insurmountable fortress, guarded by secrets and power. But the Revenant were no ordinary thieves. They were the storm, and tonight, they would rewrite history.