Situation.

Morning broke with a pale, hazy light filtering through Hildrebrand's perpetual shroud of fog. Rael stood at the window of his rented room, watching the street below as merchants set up their stalls. The city felt muted, as if the world were holding its breath

He had sent the anonymous tip to the Order's enforcers only a few hours prior. Now, it was a waiting game. The Crowsfoot would react, and Rael intended to be there when they did.

Equipping a simple leather vest and traveler's cloak, Rael activated Veil Step and slipped out of the inn. He moved through the narrow alleys, his path winding toward the southern district. The distillery sat quiet and still, its worn exterior giving nothing away. But the subtle shift in the air, the new guards at the corners, the wary glances between workers, told him everything he needed to know.

The Order had struck.

His gaze tracked a pair of Order enforcers near the distillery's entrance. Their silver-edged armor glinted dully in the morning light, the emblem of the Order prominent on their pauldrons. They spoke in low voices, their hands resting on the hilts of their weapons.

"Another warehouse," one muttered. "This is the third this week."

Rael's lips curved. His tip had stirred more than he expected. The Order's purge of illicit trade was already underway, meaning the Crowsfoot had been on their radar before. His actions had merely nudged them into the open.

A commotion broke his thoughts. A man with a red scarf—Thorne—emerged from the distillery, his expression a taut mask of control. Workers followed, moving crates into a cart under the watchful eyes of the enforcers. Legitimate goods, by the look of it. A front to mask whatever "special cargo" they had already smuggled out.

Rael slid back into the crowd, keeping Thorne in his peripheral vision. The man spoke to the Order captain, his words smooth and practiced. Whatever deal he proposed seemed to mollify the enforcers, who stepped back, their suspicion not entirely gone.

The crates were loaded, and Thorne climbed onto the cart. As it rumbled away, Rael began to move. His steps were slow, deliberate. He let the cart gain distance, slipping between alleys and side streets. His tracking skill helped, highlighting Thorne's path with a faint shimmer only he could see.

The cart left the city's bustling heart, heading toward the quieter districts where the buildings turned to shadowy silhouettes against the morning mist. Rael's focus sharpened. If Thorne was heading to a safehouse, this could be his chance to learn more.

The cart finally stopped at a large, inconspicuous warehouse near the river. Workers emerged to meet Thorne. Their movements lacked the ease of practiced smugglers. Hired help, perhaps. Disposable.

Rael circled the warehouse, his silhouette blending with the dimness of the riverbank. He found a window half-hidden by creeping vines and slipped inside. The interior was a skeleton of metal beams and wooden crates, the air damp and tinged with mildew.

Voices echoed.

"…not enough time. The Order's cracking down. We need to move the rest of the cargo out of the city."

"Where to? The docks are crawling with guards."

Thorne's voice cut through the murmurs. "We use the tunnels. Tell the Crowsfoot to prepare. We're going to Blackmere."

Rael's eyes narrowed. Blackmere was a marshland east of Hildrebrand, a natural border between Order-controlled territory and the lawless Wilds. Smugglers often used it to move goods away from the watchful eye of the Order. If the Crowsfoot were rerouting their operations, then the situation was more dire than he'd expected.

He slipped back out as the workers began loading crates onto smaller wagons. Rael's mind raced, piecing the new information together. The Crowsfoot, they were retreating. Whatever the Order had stumbled upon was enough to make the syndicate pull back to safer ground.

Rael moved through the shadows until he reached the riverbank. He needed to get back to his room, compile his notes, and determine his next step. His mind drifted to the artifact hidden beneath his bed—the vials of shimmering liquid. He still didn't know their purpose, but if the Crowsfoot were cutting their losses, then those vials might be more valuable than he thought.

Back at the inn, Rael shut the door behind him and pulled out his notes. He spread the parchment and scribbled down the new details. He marked Blackmere on his map, drawing lines and connections between the Crowsfoot's known operations.

His eyes settled on the vials. He picked one up, watching the light refract through the liquid. The faint hum of magic resonated through his fingertips. Components, the man had said. But components for what?

Rael leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking under him. His expression remained neutral, but his thoughts burned. The Crowsfoot were making a move—and if he played his cards right, he could make that move work in his favor.

"All right," he murmured. "Let's see where this path leads."

Rael didn't waste time. His first step was to analyze the vials further. He rummaged through his pack, retrieving a small alchemical kit he had purchased earlier in the market district. The tools were basic, but enough for a quick field analysis. He set up a burner, a few beakers, and a small crystal that reacted to magical properties.

He uncorked one of the vials, carefully pouring a drop onto the crystal. The liquid sizzled, and the crystal glowed with a dim, violet light. Rael's fingers tapped a rhythm on the table as he watched. Violet often indicated shadow magic or binding rituals. Combined with the earlier findings, this added another layer of intrigue.

Rael shifted his focus to the coded notes he had acquired from the Crowsfoot camp. He had already broken the initial code, but now, with the knowledge of their move to Blackmere, the context shifted. He traced the keywords—"Vault 7," "Supply Chain," "Crowsfoot"—and began searching for hidden patterns.

The parchment contained not just orders but also a ledger. Numbers and names, seemingly random, began to align with known locations around Vash'kar and Hildrebrand. Rael's mind connected the dots, drawing lines across his makeshift map. The supply chain extended further than he initially thought, and some of the locations corresponded with Order outposts.

He leaned back, the pieces of the puzzle slowly falling into place. The Crowsfoot weren't just smuggling; they were supplying something—or someone—with specific magical components. The alchemical liquids, the discreet routes, and the sudden withdrawal to Blackmere all pointed to a larger scheme.

A name stood out in his notes: Thorne. Rael remembered the broad-shouldered man with the red scarf. Thorne's orders had been precise, the kind of commands that came from someone with direct ties to the top. If the mysterious organization was involved, Thorne could be a middleman—or worse, a direct agent.

Rael's thoughts crystallized around a dangerous idea. What if the Crowsfoot were funneling resources into something far larger than anyone realized? The church incident, the artifact, and now these vials—all roads seemed to lead to a hidden agenda. This was no coincidence.

His fingers tightened around the vial. He needed to tread carefully. Rael couldn't approach his guild openly while on his second account, but he could still manipulate the situation. If he alerted the Order with another anonymous tip, he might be able to force the Crowsfoot to reveal more about their backers. Alternatively, he could leak this information to a rival guild and stir the pot further.

He pocketed the vials and quickly packed his gear. As he slipped out of the inn, his silhouette melted into the twilight. 

The mention of Blackmere was too specific to ignore. If he wanted answers, he needed to be there when the Crowsfoot made their move.

* * *

The road to Blackmere was narrow and winding, cutting through tangled thickets and mist-laden marshes. The moon hung low, its pale light barely piercing the dense canopy above. Rael moved swiftly, his senses on high alert. The air was thick with moisture, every rustle and splash amplified in the stillness.

As he approached the edge of the marsh, a soft glow cut through the fog. Lanterns hung from makeshift posts, casting long, uneven shadows across the damp ground. Rael crouched low, his shortbow resting lightly in his grip. He advanced, slipping between reeds and twisted roots until the encampment came into view.

A cluster of figures moved around the flickering lanterns. Crowsfoot operatives, their leather armor damp and mud-streaked. Crates were stacked high, a makeshift dock extending over the murky water where flat-bottomed boats were being loaded. The entire operation had the air of a last-minute retreat—hurried, tense.

Rael's eyes scanned the scene. Thorne stood near the center, the red scarf unmistakable even in the gloom. His voice carried over the quiet, barking orders at the workers. "No delays. The boss wants this done before dawn. If we're still here when the Order arrives, we're finished."

Rael's lips pressed into a thin line. The Order must have acted on his earlier tip, tightening the noose around the Crowsfoot. The evacuation to Blackmere was not a planned move but a desperate one. And yet, Thorne remained calm, his focus unshakable. That kind of resolve came from confidence—or from knowing something others didn't.

He edged closer, slipping into an overgrown thicket. The conversation between Thorne and a hooded figure reached him in bits and pieces.

"…not enough time," the hooded figure was saying. "We need to inform Exalted."

Rael's pulse quickened. There it was—the connection he had been waiting for. The Crowsfoot weren't acting alone. Whoever Exalted was, they were pulling the strings behind the scenes. Whether the Crowsfoot were subordinates or partners, the link was undeniable. If this Exalted held sway over them, then these vials weren't just contraband—they were part of a larger plan.

Thorne's reply was sharp. "No. Orders were clear. We keep the goods moving, and we don't draw attention. Exalted will deal with the Order themselves. Our job is to make sure this cargo gets to the Wilds."

The hooded figure hesitated. "And if the delivery fails?"

Thorne's expression hardened. "Then we're all better off disappearing. You know how Exalted deals with failure."

He needed to act. If the cargo reached the Wilds, tracking it would become nearly impossible. Rael weighed his options. An all-out assault would be reckless, but he didn't need to win, he only needed to disrupt. He could force their hand, make them abandon the cargo or reveal more about their plan.

Rael shifted his weight, his ranger instincts taking over. His hand settled on his shortbow, its familiar weight grounding him. He drew a shallow breath, then activated Shadow Step, blinking forward into the shadows closer to the dock. His plan crystallized in his mind: target the boats, sink them or set them adrift. Without their escape route, the Crowsfoot would be trapped between him and the encroaching Order forces.

He slipped closer to the water's edge, his form a whisper against the reeds. A quick swipe of his knife, and the mooring ropes snapped. The boats drifted, their handlers none the wiser. Rael moved to the next dock, repeating the process, his motions fluid and precise.

A shout broke the quiet. One of the Crowsfoot had spotted the boats drifting away. Thorne's head snapped up, his eyes narrowing. "We've got company! Find them!"

Chaos rippled through the camp. Workers scrambled, crates overturned, and the hooded figure drew a wand, a thin line of flame sputtering to life at its tip. Rael moved, nocking an arrow and loosing it into a stack of crates. The arrow struck true, the impact sending them tumbling into the water. Their contents spilled out—more vials, shards of crystal, and bound scrolls.

The reaction was immediate. Magical energy crackled, the air growing sharp and electric. Whatever was in those vials, contact with water triggered a volatile reaction. The marsh water frothed, mist rising as the chemicals mixed, and an acrid smell filled the air.

Rael faded back, blending into the confusion. Thorne barked orders, his calm shattered. The hooded figure flung fire into the shadows, but Rael was already gone, slipping through the mist. The Order would arrive soon, finding nothing but panicked smugglers and ruined goods.