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Dovrin Market – Early Morning

A thick fog curled through the cobbled streets of Dovrin, muting color and sound alike. The market was sluggish, filled with cautious footsteps and hushed voices. People moved like ghosts—faces pale, hands gloved, sleeves pulled high.

Amid them, two figures in long, dark coats and plain masks walked with purpose.

Winter Swann Verlice and Crane Murin blended in like shadows.

Crane (under his breath, sharp-eyed): "Three apothecaries shut. No open meat stalls. The plague's hit harder here than reported."

Winter (quietly): "Or they've kept it quiet on purpose."

He scanned the street through narrow slits in his mask—sharp golden eyes tracking crates of dried herbs, sacks of grain, and oddly sealed glass vials being passed from vendor to vendor.

A small child nearby coughed violently. Her mother yanked her away, muttering a prayer under her breath.

Winter's jaw clenched behind his mask.

Crane: "Smell that?"

Winter: "Rotten root oil. It's everywhere."

Crane: "It masks the scent of decay. Smart. Desperate."

They passed a stall of tattered books and trinkets—nothing valuable—but behind it, a man slipped a heavy pouch to a cloaked trader, who didn't stay long.

Winter (flatly): "That wasn't grain."

Crane's fingers tapped against his thigh, signaling silent code. Surveillance. Not now. But soon.

They rounded the market bend and entered a narrower lane where the fog thickened. Several carts were parked but covered, guarded by nervous-looking men. Winter slowed.

Winter (voice low): "Crane. That emblem."

He pointed with his eyes. One of the crates had a faint symbol—a faded crest smudged by dirt and smoke.

Crane (narrowing eyes): "Hayes family merchant line."

Winter: "Thought they pulled out of border towns three months ago."

Crane: "Guess they didn't pull out. Just went underground."

The two men stopped at a vendor selling cloth masks and sanitation charms. The old woman behind the table looked up, her eyes dull with fatigue—but she jolted slightly when she saw Winter.

Even masked, something about him had that Verlice gravity.

Vendor (softly): "You shouldn't be here."

Winter (gently): "Neither should this plague."

She said nothing—just pointed behind her, to a crumbling wall with a scratched message carved deep into it.

Vendor (low): "Burn the roots. They're poisoning the blood."

Crane stepped closer, touching the cracked surface.

Crane: "Burn the roots..."

Winter (grim): "We're not looking at an outbreak. We're looking at a plan."

They turned away from the stall, the mist swallowing their silhouettes as they headed deeper into the cursed town.

Dovrin – Near the Water Supply Reservoir

The streets narrowed as Levi Rose Adler and Evie Blaze Ford moved deeper into the city's skeleton, cloaked in plain traveler's clothes and hooded disguises. The buildings here were brittle with decay—moss creeping up the stones, the stench of stagnant water thick in the air.

They crouched behind a wall, peering at the canal ahead. Greenish water trickled slowly through the channel, unnaturally tinted and glistening with something more than rot.

Levi (murmuring): "That's not plague. That's alchemy."

Evie nodded beside her, but before either could move again, a shadow darted past them. A young vendor boy had trailed them and now reached for the pouch at Evie's belt.

Evie (grabbing his wrist): "You little—"

She twisted him around fast, slamming him against the wall with a sharp thud. The boy whimpered.

Levi (low and firm): "Evie."

Evie (growling): "He tried to rob me."

Levi: "We don't need attention. Let him go."

Evie held the boy's terrified gaze for a second longer, then shoved a few coins into his hand and hissed:

Evie: "Buy bread. Not poison."

The boy scrambled away. Levi was already moving.

They followed the canal down a crumbling path until the trail of green thickened. A soft rustle of movement made them stop.

Below, near the main underground water gate, ten men in dirty cloaks were crouched around the flowing water, tossing bundles of dried herbs and powder into the current.

Evie (whispering): "They're contaminating it."

Levi (cold): "Not anymore."

They moved fast—silent, coordinated. Evie slipped through the shadows, disarming the first man with a strike to the throat. Levi circled from the opposite side, freezing a man's foot mid-step with a glimmer of ice just under the water.

One by one, the saboteurs dropped—choked, struck, frozen, silenced. Until only one remained.

He'd caught the tail end of the ambush and was already charging—sword raised, headed straight for Evie's unguarded back.

Levi (shouting): "Evie!"

Evie turned too slow.

But Levi's hand snapped forward—ice spiraling from her fingertips like a silent scream.

The blade of frozen magic speared clean through the man's chest, cracking through bone and breath. His sword clattered uselessly to the ground as he dropped to his knees, eyes wide in shock.

Levi (coldly): "You picked the wrong water to poison."

The air was still.

Only the faint hiss of melting ice remained, dripping into the cursed current.

Evie (quietly): "Next time, I get the dramatic kill."

Levi allowed herself a small smirk.

Levi: "You had your chance."

They turned toward the water gate. The trail led even deeper, beneath the city. Somewhere down there was the source—and whoever had orchestrated this rot.

Underground Herb Trail – Dovrin Outskirts

Evie crouched beside one of the scattered herb bundles left by the saboteurs, pinching a few leaves between her gloved fingers. She sniffed once—and scoffed.

Evie: "These aren't local. This one grows in only three regions—and only one's anywhere near here."

Levi pulled her hood lower, eyes narrowing.

Levi: "Which one?"

Evie: "Vraun's Hill. South-east side. Old herbalist trade route. If they're sourcing from there, that's our next stop."

Levi: "Then we move. Before they realize we were here."

The two disappeared into the misted streets, shadows with a purpose.

A Little Later – Main Water Supply (Same Area Levi & Evie Just Left)

Winter and Crane moved like wolves—silent, swift, and unseen—slipping through the edges of the slums toward the buried heart of the old water system.

Crane paused near a broken fence, raising one gloved hand. Winter stilled beside him.

Crane (quiet): "We're being watched."

Winter: "Let them. We're not staying."

They stepped into the half-buried structure—once a grand aqueduct hub, now a decaying skeleton of cracked stone and rusted pipes. The moment they crossed the threshold, the air changed.

The scent of ice and blood hit them like a wall.

Ten bodies were slumped along the canal's edge. Nine—unconscious or barely breathing. The last...

Crane crouched by the corpse.

Crane: "Dead. Pierced clean through the heart. Something cold."

He looked up.

Winter was still. Staring.

Crane: "You thinking what I'm thinking?"

No response. Winter's golden eyes had locked on the wound—frozen at the edges, a faint shimmer still pulsing in the dark.

Winter (under breath): "Precision. Controlled. No splash. No shatter. Straight to the core."

Crane: "Someone else is here."

Winter (low): "Not just someone."

Crane rose, brushing off his gloves.

Crane: "House Adler, maybe?"

Winter finally looked at him. The corner of his mouth twitched—equal parts realization and something colder.

Winter: "Yeah. A certain someone."

They stood among the bodies, the stale air heavy with the scent of tainted herbs and faint blood. Crane pulled a small metallic orb from his belt, fingers already tapping the command sequence for the disintegration field.

But just before the hum began—

Winter (firmly): "Wait."

Crane paused mid-motion.

Crane: "We can't just leave this. If someone finds it, the trail leads straight to us."

Winter crouched again beside the body, studying the ice-laced wound.

Winter: "Exactly. Let them find it."

Crane's brow furrowed.

Winter: "That wound will raise questions. The kind only one person can answer—and it won't be us."

He stood and pulled a vial from his coat, scooping a few of the strange herbs into it.

Winter: "Take samples. No more."

Crane (frowning): "You want them to trace her?"

Winter's tone didn't waver.

Winter: "Yes. Because while they're chasing ghosts, no one's watching us."

Before Crane could respond, a golden pulse flickered at Winter's belt. The orb lit up—Alexander's voice buzzing through, dry and amused.

Alexander (from orb): "You two better not still be crawling in sewers. I'm at the hotel. No plague. Just dry wine and ugly wallpaper."

Winter (flatly): "We'll be there soon."

Alexander: "Good. I ordered food. You owe me."

Winter tapped the orb off. Silence returned.

Crane: "Let's hope the right people find the wrong trail."

Winter (quietly): "They will."