The Climb And The Current

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Dawn crept in beneath a veil of mist, casting the palace cliffs in a pale, cold light. The mountain loomed high above them now, ancient and unmoved. Somewhere behind those walls, Seri waited—bound, watched, and defiant.

But not alone.

The group moved with silent purpose, each heart synchronized by the same unspoken vow: bring her home.

Asteria adjusted his gloves, heat already simmering beneath the leather. Cain stood beside him, a stone blade strapped to his back, his jaw locked in quiet resolve.

Across the shallow rise, Mira tightened the straps on her borrowed satchel. Valron crouched beside her, checking the tension on a coiled rope they had scavenged.

Tarn stood watch in the shadow of a fallen tree, his warhammer resting beside him. He said nothing, but his eyes tracked every movement.

Cain dropped a small stone onto the makeshift map they had drawn in the dirt. "We move now. Mira, Valron—you enter first. Stick to the lower halls, find the tower's inner access. Draw attention if you must, but keep it silent for as long as possible."

Mira gave a sharp nod. "We'll find her."

Valron grinned. "Try not to miss us too much."

Cain glanced at Asteria. "We'll start the climb after Tarn clears the perimeter."

Asteria didn't answer—just looked up at the tower where a lone window caught the first rays of sun. His expression hardened.

---

The river near the western edge of the palace grounds shimmered in the pale light. The two crouched low beneath an old stone bridge, watching the slow patrol of two guards pass above them.

Mira whispered, "Now."

They surged upward. Mira moved first, swift as a shadow—water whirled from her flask in a thread-thin arc that knocked one guard into unconsciousness. Valron caught the other mid-turn, slamming his shoulder into the soldier's chest and catching him before he hit the ground.

They dragged the bodies beneath the bridge and stripped their uniforms quickly, donning the black-and-crimson tunics with uneasy familiarity.

"You think we'll pass for real guards?" Valron asked, tugging at the collar.

Mira adjusted his chestplate. "With that mug of yours? Just grunt and don't talk too much."

He smirked. "You like giving orders."

She didn't smile back—but the edge of her lip curved ever so slightly.

They slipped into the lower passage—ancient stone corridors that twisted below the palace. A heavy iron door stood ahead, partly ajar.

Valron stepped forward. "Ready?"

Mira nodded, hand on the hilt of her blade. "Let's go fishing in the Queen's dungeon."

---

On the opposite side, beneath the towering cliff face that held the Queen's palace like a crown, Tarn crouched in the trees.

He counted.

Four guards at the base—two stationed, two patrolling.

Tarn moved like an avalanche.

His warhammer struck with silent precision—bone and steel buckling under his blows. He moved with ruthless efficiency, catching the last man before he could cry out. When the dust settled, four bodies lay in the brush, unconscious and hidden beneath fallen leaves.

He touched the ground once. A signal.

Cain and Asteria emerged from the rocks below. Asteria took in the cleared space with a short nod. "He didn't even break a sweat."

Tarn shrugged. "Didn't need to."

Cain stepped forward, placing both palms on the cliff wall. Stones groaned and shifted under his control, forming jagged handholds and a spiraling ledge.

"Not perfect," Cain said, stepping onto the first one. "But it'll hold."

Asteria followed, fire coiling around his boots for grip and balance. "Let's move."

They climbed in silence, scaling the ancient tower stone by stone—wind whipping around them, each step a rise toward danger.

Halfway up, Asteria paused. "You feel that?"

Cain nodded. "Magic wards. We'll have to break them once we're close. Quietly, if possible."

Asteria narrowed his eyes toward the top.

"She's up there."

Deep beneath the palace, the air in the dungeon was thick with mildew and old silence.

Mira and Valron crept through the arched stone corridor, footsteps muffled on the damp floor. Shadows curled in the corners, and the flicker of distant torches barely reached them.

Two guards stood near the inner holding cells, lazily talking over a shared flask of wine.

Valron whispered, "You take left?"

Mira gave a slight nod. "As always."

They moved with the speed and synchronicity only earned through shared battles.

Mira struck first—her dagger sweeping across the first man's throat before he could gasp. Not a drop of blood spilled. Just pressure, then unconsciousness.

Valron slammed the second guard into the wall, choking his cry with a swift elbow to the throat. The man crumpled.

They dragged the bodies into an empty cell, shackling them like prisoners and locking the gate behind them.

Mira wiped her blade. "Let's hope the next ones are just as slow."

They moved to the heavy double doors at the far end of the corridor—the exit from the dungeon hall.

Valron knocked once.

Footsteps.

Clanking armor.

The small viewing slit slid open. "What is it?"

"Transfer order," Valron growled in his best bored soldier voice. "They want the prisoner moved upstairs."

The guard muttered and unlatched the door.

The moment it cracked open, Mira slammed her boot into the gap. The doors burst open, and in seconds, they were on them.

Valron took one down with a chokehold while Mira slashed across the other's knee and spun him into the wall. Both fell without a sound.

Valron exhaled. "Two more out of the way."

Mira stepped into the hall and looked up the spiraling staircase. "Time to climb."

---

The wind howled as Cain and Asteria reached the final platform—an arched balcony overlooking the sprawl of the royal city far below.

Cain paused, eyes narrowed. "Careful. There's magic laced through these stones."

He placed a hand against the wall and murmured an incantation under his breath. The stones shifted slightly, the old glyphs flaring, then dimming.

Asteria stepped past him. "This is it."

The tall double doors creaked open slowly, revealing the royal chamber.

There she lay.

Seri—seemingly asleep—wrapped beneath velvet blankets, her dark hair spread across the silk pillow. The morning light glowed softly through the windows, illuminating her face.

Too perfect.

Asteria's heart clenched. "Seri…"

He stepped closer.

Cain didn't move. His eyes scanned the room, breath slow. "Wait—"

Asteria reached for the blanket and pulled it back—

Empty.

A mannequin wrapped in cloth, with black hair stitched into the pillow. The illusion was crude up close—but from the door, nearly perfect.

Cain's voice dropped. "It's a trap."

The door behind them slammed shut.

From hidden panels in the walls, guards flooded in—silent, masked, armored in black and crimson. Blades drawn. Crossbows aimed.

Asteria turned in a slow circle. There were at least a dozen. Maybe more.

Nowhere to run.

Cain backed toward Asteria, drawing his blade. "She played us."

Asteria's fists ignited with a low, controlled burn. "Then we burn the lie down."

The guards raised their weapons.

The tower trembled.

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