Chapter 14: Setting the Trap

The night air in Velmire carried a strange stillness, thick with the scent of damp stone and distant smoke. Aedric walked with measured steps, his cloak drawn tightly around him as he and Lirian moved through the winding alleys of the slums. The flickering lanterns barely lit their way, casting long, twisting shadows on the cobbled streets.

It had been hours since their meeting with Jex, but his words still lingered in Aedric's mind. Vask the Red. The name alone carried weight. A man known for brutality, a war dog loyal only to Gorran, and the one responsible for keeping the underworld in check through sheer force. He had to be removed.

But it wasn't as simple as striking him down in the dead of night.

Vask was surrounded by enforcers—men hardened by years of violence, loyal not just to Gorran's coin, but to the power he gave them. To take down Vask meant more than just a single fight. It meant drawing him out, separating him from his men, and making a statement that would shake the underworld to its core.

Lirian walked beside him, her boots barely making a sound. Her hands were tucked into the folds of her cloak, but Aedric knew that beneath the fabric, her fingers were close to her daggers, always ready. She thrived in moments like these, in the space between planning and action.

"He'll be expecting something," she murmured, keeping her voice low. "After the vault, Gorran won't let his men be careless."

Aedric nodded. "Which is why we don't rush in. We wait. We learn his habits. We make sure that when we strike, there's no escape."

She smirked. "Patience doesn't suit you."

Aedric didn't respond immediately. She wasn't wrong. Every part of him wanted to move now, to act before Gorran had time to regain control. But rushing would only lead to failure, and failure meant death.

The safe house wasn't far now. They slipped through a narrow passage between two crumbling buildings, stepping over broken crates and discarded scraps. Aedric's mind drifted back to the past, to a time when he had been just another forgotten child in these streets, scraping by on stolen bread, always looking over his shoulder.

Now, he was the thing that lurked in the shadows.

As they approached the safe house, a figure shifted near the entrance. Aedric's hand instinctively moved toward the hilt of his dagger, but a familiar voice spoke before he could draw it.

"You're late."

Varen.

The former smuggler leaned against the wooden doorway, arms crossed, his sharp eyes flicking between Aedric and Lirian. He had been one of the first to join their cause, an expert in tracking shipments and learning things he wasn't supposed to know.

Aedric stepped past him into the dimly lit room. A single lantern flickered, casting a warm glow over the maps and notes scattered across the wooden table. A few others sat in the room—members of the rebellion, men and women who had chosen to stand against Gorran.

"Did you find anything?" Aedric asked, pulling back his hood.

Varen closed the door behind them. "More than I expected. Vask has been keeping to the Iron Hollow, one of Gorran's lesser-known hideouts in the industrial quarter. It's a converted warehouse, but it's built like a fortress."

Aedric frowned. "How many men?"

"At least twenty stationed at all times, but there's more moving in and out constantly. The place is a hub for their smuggling operations. You take out Vask, and you're not just cutting off muscle—you're hitting their supply lines."

Lirian whistled softly. "That'll hurt him."

Aedric studied the map on the table, his fingers tracing over the rough charcoal lines that outlined the district. The Iron Hollow was a problem. The number of guards made a direct assault nearly impossible, and any sign of an attack would send Vask retreating deeper into Gorran's protection.

"We can't attack him there," Aedric muttered. "It's too fortified."

Varen nodded. "Which is why we make him come to us."

Aedric looked up. "How?"

A small grin tugged at Varen's lips. "He's been running shipments every night. Weapons, coin, and whatever else Gorran's dealing in these days. If we take out one of those shipments—hit it hard, make it loud—Vask will have to respond."

Lirian leaned on the table, tapping a finger against one of the marked routes. "We need to be careful. If we do this wrong, we spook him, and he tightens security instead of coming out himself."

Aedric considered their options. A carefully executed ambush could work, but they had to be certain that Vask himself would respond, not just another of Gorran's lesser captains.

"Where's the next shipment moving?" he asked.

Varen pointed to a narrow road near the edge of the slums. "Here. Midnight. It'll be lightly guarded, probably six men, but it's enough to get his attention if they never make it back."

Aedric exhaled slowly.

This was the moment where careful planning met risk. If they miscalculated, they'd lose their only chance at drawing Vask out.

He looked to Lirian. "We'll do it. But we don't just kill them—we leave a message."

Her grin widened. "Now that, I can work with."

They spent the next hour planning the details, mapping out escape routes, ensuring they had contingencies in place. When the time finally came to move, the air outside had grown colder, the city wrapped in an eerie silence.

Aedric pulled his cloak tighter around him as they stepped into the night. This was the first real step toward bringing Gorran's empire to its knees.

And he would make sure it counted.