Chapter 19: Enemies On A Narrow Path

The archway loomed like a mouth of stone, its ancient curve swallowing the dim light of their torches. Fine dust drifted from above as if the mountain itself exhaled, tired of keeping its secrets.

Lucian stood just inside the threshold, his head tilted slightly, hand resting on the hilt at his side not in fear, but in readiness. An instinct that he had gotten after years of dancing on the edge of death's blade.

The path ahead forked into several archways, each a vein of darkness snaking deeper into the cursed earth. But what made the group freeze wasn't the tunnels.

It was the soft echo of boots. Dozens. Controlled. Coordinated. From the shadows beneath the far arch stepped out an opposite group. Lucian and co had come across evidence of another group on the mountains but they had never encountered them so nobody really bothered about them. They were too busy trying to stay alive to be bothered about another unknown party.

The unknown party came in tight formation. Figures, a dozen at least, emerging from the mist like shadows breaking through water armored in high-gloss black with deep burgundy trim. Their suits were sleek, tailored, precision-forged; not mercenary gear, but corporate war-grade. Insignias gleamed faintly on their shoulders: A single black flame encircled by broken chains. Each one moved like part of a machine, efficient, deliberate. Not a word spoken.

At their front, a woman emerged. She wore no helmet. Her face was pale, sharp, and perfectly still.

A long cloak of layered synth-fabric trailed behind her, marked with a single black flame encircled by broken chains. She held her hands behind her back as if she were leading a gallery tour, not standing in the heart of a dead mountain.

She had the same carefree attitude that Tavian Vael had.

Joran stepped forward. His expression was neutral, unreadable. "Virells." The woman stopped three paces away, and gave a short nod. "Vaels."

A flicker of recognition passed through Kaela's eyes but she didn't speak.

Lucian said nothing. He remained still as the grave, listening to the pattern of their footsteps, the weight in the air, the subtle tension that sparked like flint behind the greetings. These weren't explorers. These were predators.

The woman's voice cut through the air like polished glass cool, deliberate, with just the right note of disdain.

"Unexpected," she said, tilting her head ever so slightly. "We assumed access to these depths was... exclusive."

Across the distance, Kaela took a single step forward. "Looks like your assumption was wrong."

Seryn Virell's eyes flicked to her, then to Tavian, then back to the group as a whole. "Clearly. Though I'd be very interested in knowing how a Vael-led unit stumbled so precisely onto a route we spent years decoding."

Joran didn't move. "We don't answer to the Virell Consortium."

Seryn smiled but it was the kind of smile that never reached her eyes. "Of course not. But you do answer to someone."

She turned slightly, addressing Tavian more directly now. "Did Daddy finally give you a mission of your own? Or is this just another one of your pet tantrums, Tavian?"

Tavian's posture didn't change, but his voice dropped a fraction. "Still obsessed with my family's business, I see."

Seryn's expression didn't shift, but her soldiers bristled behind her.

"You're not the only ones with interests in these mountains," Kaela said, voice sharp. "Maybe it's time you accepted that."

"Oh, I've accepted it." Seryn's tone chilled. "But I'd hate to think we're going to get in each other's way. Again."

Lucian stood slightly behind the group, feeling the unspoken history like static between them. Old rivalries. Thinly veiled threats. No swords yet, but close.

The weapons weren't the only sharp things in the room.

"Pity." Her eyes flicked toward the rest of the group lingering on weapons, stances, the blood-streaked boots. "Looks like you've seen the worst of it already."

"We handled it," Kaela said flatly.

"Did you?" Her gaze settled briefly on Lucian, then passed on. His blindfold placing him out of place. Tavian cleared his throat lightly. He couldn't allow Lucian to enter her sights.

"We could ask the same. You're looking a bit… lighter in numbers." A few of the Virells tensed. Only slightly. The woman didn't flinch. "We lost a few to the mountain." She said.

"Seems it has an appetite for pride," Tavian replied with a tight smile. One of the Vael gaurds let out a low, warning breath. Lucian could feel the unspoken challenge stretching between the two groups like a taut wire. Each waiting for the other to misstep.

Joran's voice cut through the air. "This isn't the place for flexing muscle," Joran said, stepping forward, voice flat. "Or sharpening knives. Name and rank."

The woman didn't flinch. Her eyes gleamed faintly in the dim light as she stepped ahead of her guards, the sleek insignia of the Virel Consortium catching the torchlight.

"Seryn Virell," she said, calm and precise. "Field Director, Third Arm. Promoted last quarter. This expedition is sanctioned."

A twitch passed over Tavian's jaw. "Congratulations," he muttered dryly. "Still kissing boots to climb that ladder, I see."

Seryn's lips curved. "Still hiding in the family shadow, are we?"

Kaela exhaled sharply through her nose. The tension was immediate, familiar, the kind of venom only old bloodlines could brew.

Garrick snorted, unimpressed. "Sanctioned by who?"

"Higher than you," Seryn replied without turning to face him. "Which, admittedly, doesn't narrow it down."

Kaela's hand dropped toward the edge of her holster touching it, but not drawing. Lucian noticed how none of the Consortium soldiers reacted. Either they didn't care… or they were confident.

Joran's eyes narrowed. "And your objective?"

Seryn's smile returned, cool and unreadable. "Survey. Recovery. Possible containment."

"Vague," Tavian said. "Even for you."

"You're not exactly known for transparency either, Vael," Seryn replied, brushing imaginary dust off her shoulder. "I was half expecting this encounter. Sooner or later, we were bound to step on each other's toes."

Lucian's brows creased slightly at the undercurrent in her voice curious, wary, restrained. There was no surprise in her arrival, only calculation.

"House Vael doesn't answer to Consortium directives," Kaela said. "Let's not pretend otherwise."

"Nor does the Consortium defer to glorified relic hunters," Seryn countered, her tone light but cutting. "Let's not start measuring whose bloodline pisses farther. We're both here for reasons best left off the record."

"And yet," Joran murmured, "here we are. Same trail. Same tomb. Same deaths."

"We came across some records of this place and we decided to explore it. Our young master is here to gain experience." Joran replied with an efficiency that made it seem like he had practiced this excuse for a number of times.

A flicker of something passed behind Seryn's eyes. She didn't respond to that.

The air hung still for a long beat, eyes locked, fingers near triggers. Not quite a standoff. Not yet.

Then Seryn gestured faintly to her side. "We've taken losses too. You're not the only ones bleeding for answers. But if you're looking for a brawl, take a number."

Kaela's voice was low. "We're looking for a way forward."

"Then maybe we walk it together. For now."

Lucian watched them carefully. There was no warmth here. Just shared danger and the kind of rivalry that never died, only waited.

And beneath it all, questions no one was willing to answer.

Not yet.

Lucian noted the way she delivered each word like it was on a separate plate. Careful. Sanitized.

"And yours?" she asked in return.

"Similar," Joran said. Her smile remained. "How convenient." They stood there for a long moment. Silence filled the cavern, as cold and heavy as the stone. The distant drip of water. The hum of low-power cores. Lucian, behind his still posture, read the room like a text.

No one here was stupid. Everyone wanted something. No one wanted to say it first. Then a rumble echoed from one of the far tunnels. Faint. Distant. Enough to remind them all where they were and what still hunted beneath the mountain's skin.

Joran glanced at Kaela, then back at Seryn. The mist clung to the air like the breath of a sleeping beast, heavy with the coppery tang of old blood and damp stone.

The silence between the two groups stretched, taut as a wire. "We both know splitting up in a place like this only gets more people killed," Joran said at last, his voice low but firm, like gravel scraped across steel.

Seryn's lips curved, not quite a smile. "And I'm no fan of collecting corpses." The torches hissed softly as they burned, their pale blue flames flickering against jagged walls slick with condensation. Faint echoes pulsed through the corridors, as though the mountain itself was listening.

Kaela stepped forward, her silhouette sharp against the shifting shadows. "Then we go together. We pool resources, share information. Watch each other's backs."

Seryn gave a short nod, her visor glinting. "Until we're out of this cursed mountain." Her voice remained poised, but the weight behind it was unmistakable. Not warmth, strategy. Survival.

"No command games," Joran said. "No power plays. One team. One objective."

"Agreed," Seryn replied. "For now." Behind her, the Virel Consortium operatives adjusted their formations in silent synchrony.

Each wore armor as sleek as it was functional, matte-black plating laced with faintly pulsing veins of light, their insignia stitched in deep crimson across their chests, a half-moon split by a jagged fang.

Their eyes, hidden behind reinforced visors, gave nothing away. Kaela's team looked less refined but no less dangerous. Ironbrands in battered gear, marked by scars, dirt, and silent endurance. Where the Virels looked like shadows sculpted from war, the Ironbrands looked like survivors, gritty, brutal, real.

"I'll have two of my men, Marik and Lenna trail the rear," Seryn added, her voice crisp. "If anything tries to pick us off, it'll find more than it bargained for."

Kaela's fingers brushed her sidearm, no threat, just reflex. The Virell's could be quite treacherous at times. "You double-cross us, and you'll wish you hadn't."

Seryn arched a brow. "Please. If I wanted you dead, we'd be speaking over a pile of ash."

Lucian stood just behind the front ranks, half-shadowed. His fingers ghosted over the hilt of his dagger, the cool metal steadying. He listened not just with ears, but with every nerve. To the way boots shifted, breaths caught, to the pause between words that said more than the words themselves.

"I don't like them," he muttered under his breath.

Tavian, standing beside him, smirked. "No one asked you to." Lucian's face remained still. "Good. Makes it easier to watch them bleed if they betray us." Seryn turned, catching the whisper with sharp ears honed by years of maneuvering through silence and sabotage. "Then let's not give each other a reason to be poetic."

A long pause followed. Then Joran lifted a hand. "We rotate point. Two-man scout, one from each group. No unnecessary risks."

Kaela gestured to Garrick. "You're with Marik."

The Ironbrand gave a grunt but didn't protest. They moved slowly, the two groups merging like opposing tides forced into the same channel.