The noble district was quieter than usual. Not the peaceful kind of quiet—the tense, watchful kind. The type that made the air feel heavier, the mist more suffocating. It wasn't just the usual mist-choked streets of Luthadel. There was a shift in the atmosphere, an awareness lingering just beneath the surface. Sothing was different today.
Mikhailis strode forward, his coat billowing slightly as he moved with a leisurely pace, a stark contrast to the nobles around him who walked with their heads down, steps quick and precise. They were avoiding attention, but that avoidance itself drew his interest.
Vyrelda matched his pace beside him, her sharp, predatory gaze scanning every face they passed. Her presence alone was enough to deter unwanted attention, her reputation as a seasoned warrior well-known even beyond Silvarion Thalor. Still, it didn't escape Mikhailis that so of the nobles weren't reacting as they should.
He nudged Vyrelda lightly with his elbow. "See that? So of them aren't bothered by the mist at all."
Vyrelda followed his line of sight, her hand instinctively shifting toward the hilt of her blade. "They know sothing we don't."
Mikhailis smirked. "Now that's interesting."
For all the complaints and suffering about the mist, for all the ways it crippled the common folk, here were nobles walking through it as if it were nothing more than a light morning fog. No hesitation, no unease. Just a steady, confident stride. It wasn't just arrogance—it was knowledge.
They passed a trio of noblewon draped in shimring cloaks, their faces partially obscured by enchanted veils. They were speaking in hushed tones, but Mikhailis caught the flick of a finger, the shift of a wrist—small, subtle gestures exchanged between them.
"Underground signals," he murmured under his breath, just loud enough for Vyrelda to hear.
Her expression darkened. "Are you sure?"
"I've spent enough ti in information markets to know the signs," Mikhailis replied, his golden eyes gleaming. "This isn't just politics. This is coordination."
Vyrelda exhaled slowly, clearly not liking the implications. "Whatever they're planning, it's happening soon."
Mikhailis let his gaze drift upward, scanning the rooftops and mist-wreathed spires above. The city wasn't just breathing unease—it was hiding sothing.
"Well," he said lightly, "I do love a good conspiracy."
Vyrelda rolled her eyes but didn't argue.
They continued through the noble district, winding through the mist-veiled paths toward their destination. The decrypted data had marked an old estate—one that, on the surface, seed like any other abandoned noble property, but beneath it lay sothing far more interesting.
As they arrived, the structure lood before them, its grandeur faded with ti but its presence still undeniable. The once-pristine stone walls were cracked and weathered, ivy crawling along its edges, but Mikhailis could still see the faint traces of old Serewynian engravings carved into the entrance pillars.
Vyrelda crossed her arms, eyeing the estate warily. "This place looks like it's been forgotten for decades."
Mikhailis smirked. "Not forgotten. Just erased."
His fingers traced the carvings, feeling the magic woven into the stone. The Serewynian sigils were faint but still pulsing with residual energy. Soone had once used this place for sothing important.
According to the decrypted data, this was once a secondary mist-control facility, predating the Technomancer rule. Before the kingdom had been forced into dependency, there had been a different system—one built on its own power, not borrowed control.
He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew the stolen Technomancer badge. It was a gamble, but if the system here still held traces of old Serewynian influence, there was a chance the modern technology had been integrated into it.
Vyrelda raised a brow. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"
Mikhailis flashed a grin. "Absolutely not."
With a casual flick of his wrist, he pressed the badge against the central engraving on the estate's entrance.
For a mont, nothing happened. Then, with a slow, pulsing hum, the runes embedded in the doorway flickered—first hesitantly, then steadily, until the light stabilized.
A low vibration rippled through the stone, and with a heavy, grinding noise, the entrance unlocked, the door shifting inward just enough for them to push through.
Vyrelda exhaled. "I hate that you're good at this."
"I'm a man of many talents," Mikhailis replied, stepping forward without hesitation.
Inside, the air was thick—not just with dust and age, but with sothing deeper. A lingering weight of magic, of history.
The facility beneath the estate wasn't large, but it was far from abandoned. Machines humd softly in the dark, their structures ancient yet still functional. Unlike the stark, modernized designs of the Technomancer relay stations, these machines had a different kind of presence. They weren't cold and efficient. They were integrated into the environnt, their forms shaped with the sa fluid, natural elegance that marked old Serewynian architecture.
Mikhailis ran a hand along the nearest console. "This place isn't dead."
Vyrelda frowned. "Then why hasn't anyone used it?"
Mikhailis had a feeling he already knew the answer. If this facility was once a part of Serewyn's original mist-control system, then it was a threat to the current order.
Because if the kingdom once had its own way of managing the mist—if it had a system that didn't rely on the Technomancers—then soone had buried that knowledge for a reason.
Rodion's voice cut in, his tone crisp as ever.
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