Serif stood a few paces back from the edge of the archway, leaning out just far enough to peer into the void. Beside him, Commander Amir stood directly on the precipice, the tips of his boots hanging out over a drop that spanned a mile across and plunged into absolute darkness.

Above them, a blinding flash had split the sky—the Seventh Tier commander obliterating a warlock high over the city. Now, the fiery remnants of the warlock tumbled down into the Well. Serif watched the burning debris drift downward, flaming embers stubbornly refusing to die out, shrinking into tiny specks until the sheer, suffocating depth swallowed them whole.

The offshoot sewer chamber they occupied sat deep in the lower reaches of Shrine, nestled between the Eighth and Seventh Tiers. When the first wave of projectiles had struck the Perch, Amir insisted this was the safest place in the city. But this recent volley had turned their very bones into tuning forks, every deep rumble vibrating through the stone walls and echoing endlessly down the Well.

“That’s not good,” the Commander of the Fourth Tier muttered, staring down into the dark.

Serif glanced at Amir, then back out through the archway into the endless expanse.

“It’s still the safest place,” Amir repeated, his voice calm despite the reverberating stone.

“What do you think is goin’ on?” asked Drawly, the half-dwarf, half-Angellen, shifting his heavy frame.

“Seems to me there was a miscalculation.”

“Does that mean this—” Jetter started, his voice trailing off into the echoes.

“No. Most definitely not,” Amir cut in. “It really only begins tonight.”

“What do you mean by a miscalculation?” Serif asked.

“The Seventh Tier—most likely their Commander—is far more effective than Keda originally thought. Judging from what I suspect just happened, Commander Ire brought a great many battle-mages up from the Seventh to watch the skies above the city.”

Silence settled over the chamber as each of them listened to the echoes bouncing through the Well. Then, from above, came a low, feral, harrowing call. Amir’s jaw tightened; he knew that sound well from his time in the Wilds.

“At least something is going according to plan,” Amir murmured.

“What was that?” Serif asked, a chill running down his back.

“The mud-eaters. It’s going to be a busy night for the First and Second Tiers. A very busy night indeed.”

“Underkin?”

“Aye,” a voice called out from down the corridor.

Rook stumbled into the dim light, both hands raised high, his knuckles scraping against the low, lignin-covered ceiling of the confined corridors. Behind him shadowed a figure holding the point of a short sword rested firmly atop Rook’s shoulder.

Amir scoffed. “Kill him if he was sleeping and toss him. I don’t want his screaming on the way down to alert anyone,” he said, gesturing casually toward the mile-wide drop.

A low laugh came from behind Rook.

“I wasn’t, I swear it!” Rook pleaded, his voice cracking.

Earlier, Amir had issued a strict warning: if anyone on watch slept or was caught sleeping, they would die. Every man in the group would be required to drive the tip of his own steel into the failed sentry’s gut. Initially, Serif had doubted the command—he had never seen his father, Sernan, make such ruthless decrees—but Amir had taken the first watch himself to set the standard, earning Serif’s quiet respect. Which meant Rook was now in grave danger.

“I wasn’t asleep!” Rook babbled. “He snuck up on me.”

“Because you were dozing off?” Amir asked, though his tone betrayed more boredom than anger.

“No, honest! He was a shadow, sir. He was just a shadow.”

“Let him go, Trillion,” Amir sighed. “Go back to sentry.”

Trillion released Rook, slapped the man on the rear with the flat of his blade, and handed back the sword to Rook, who hurried off into the darkness back to his post. Stepping into the chamber with an exaggerated flourish, Trillion hopped off the ledge—a drop of only a few inches—and straightened his long, black coat.

“Report,” Amir said.

“Good and bad. The Warlock thing isn’t going so well.”

“You don’t say.”

“Aye. They were supposed to just be up there the whole time, but looks like that won’t be happening,” Trillion grinned. “Though some things are working well. Your daughter managed to successfully poison the Commander of the Second Tier.”

Serif, Sernan, Drawly, and Jetter all exchanged stunned looks. A Druid, poisoned? Druids possessed natural immunities to most toxins; one being poisoned—let alone the Commander himself—was unheard of.

Amir chuckled softly. “Did she kill the girl yet?”

“No. Don’t think so. Not yet. But Miron and a group have left. Whole Tier is mobilizing up there.”

Amir perked up, turning from the edge. “Left? How?”

“The new Arcanarch. Seems like the weave or whatever isn’t nearly as messed up as Keda said it was going to be.”

“Another miscalculation.”

“Aye, and those add up.”

“The Fifth remains untouched so far, correct?” Amir asked.

“Aye. The Fourth, unfortunately, took some damage when the Perch fell over the eastern wall. But what’s crazy is I could have sworn that damned Warlock was about to drop a javelin onto the Fulcrum.”

“Probably was trying to defend itself.”

“And if it leveled the place and the Guard Commander was turned to pulp,” Trillion countered, “how the hell would we get the gauntlet?”

“Piss on the gauntlet,” Amir spat. “That’s one of Keda’s priorities, not ours. There’s more in the Vault. What else?”

“Carne and the boys are hiding north of the Fulcrum. All’s good there. I’ll go join them and wait out the night.”

“Even if you can’t get his gauntlet, make sure you kill Harlan, Trillion.”

“Aye, definitely. He’s on my bucket list.”

“Anything else?”

“Second Tier are Astral and Spell-Fang are disarray right now. Spell-fang seems to be eliminating some of their competition during this turmoil.”

“Talis is staying, right?”

“Aye, for now. But not really our concern, but they may not put up the best of fights against the dirt-eaters.” Trillion started.

“I figure as much,” Amir interrupted. “dirt-eaters will hopefully have their run of the place.”

“Want me to go check on them? Maybe kill Resal too?”

Amir laughed. “Don’t be stupid. That one is as dangerous as Ire. You’d have greater success killing Miron. I think the lady wants him for something. And besides, I wouldn’t go anywhere near the tower. It’s temporary, from my understanding.”

Drawly snorted, at the word play, “temporal–temp..” and before he could finish both Amir and Trillion looked at the beefy half-breed suspiciously.

Serif listened intently and wondered if that meant what he thought. If it too was going to be attacked.

“Anyways. It’s a shame for Miron. I kinda liked the man, reminds me of my old man.”

“He’s a dog. A feckless coward. Commander in name only. Someone that deserves the living drop to meet the Dead Devil.”

Trillion shrugged.

“Right,” Amir said, breaking the quiet. “We will see you tonight.”

“Aye. Oh, Silmuth’s—the big fella.”

“Von…” Amir asked.

“Aye. Von-Veis. Be careful of him. Big bastard moves faster than you’d think. Saw him covering the old man when the–” Trillion whistled, “went over.”

Amir let out a low, thoughtful hum. “Noted. Thank you. I will see you outside the Fulcrum. Don’t forget to unlock that door. And watch out for Harlan. That gauntlet will—”

“Aye, aye, you’ve told me,” Trillion cut in.

Amir scowled. “Don’t be stupid, Trillion.” Then after a moment added, “or careless.”

“Aye, to the latter and the former.”

With a nod, Trillion turned and walked silently back down the corridor. Moments later, a sudden yelp echoed from the dark as Trillion must have startled Rook once more.

Amir shook his head. “I’ll be on sentry. Sernan, you will come relieve me in an hour.”

“Aye, sir.” 

Amir pushed himself up and disappeared down the passage, leaving Serif and Sernan sitting across from each other in silence.

“Beggin’ your pardon, but what the hell is the ‘living drop’?” Drawly asked, waiting until Amir had fully departed down the passage.

Jetter leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper. “A fancy name for gettin' thrown into the Well—” he gestured toward the black void beyond the archway “—while you’re still drawin' breath. Old telemancers who were more curious than they ought to be probed the depths and returned half-mad, blabberin' about claws in the dark tearing at their souls.”

Serif knew the old tavern tales, too. Everyone did. Stories of Commander Shae casting the Dead Devil’s severed head into that same abyss, letting it scream until the faint yellow glow at the bottom finally went cold.

“Where are you from, Drawly?” Serif asked, genuinely curious. The man had joined the group only a year prior, but rarely did they make small talk. “How do you not know that?”

Drawly shrugged. “When ya busy in the mines turning big rocks into little rocks and those little rocks into shiny rocks, the folk are often too tired to be telling stories at the end of the day.” Drawly frowned. “We keep to our own. Well, my own keep to their own and the other own to theirs, if you catch my meaning.”

Serif didn’t quite understand the distinction, but he caught the quiet ache in the half-breed's eyes—a man belonging nowhere, possessing no culture or legends of his own, forever living on the margins of other men's stories.

A sharp movement caught Serif's eye. His father was trying to get his attention.

“Boy.” Sernan jerked his chin toward a shadowy patch of wall near the archway, away from other prying ears.

Serif followed. Sernan slid down against the damp lignin, motioning for Serif to crouch across from him. His father flicked his gaze toward the corridor, where Rook was skulking back to his bedroll like a whipped hound.

“I see the way you look at him,” Sernan muttered. “You watch Amir close, boy. Big men like him think they be ruling the whole wide world, but he’s trapped down here just like anyone of us.”

“He makes his own prison,” Serif said quietly. “Sounds better than what we got going for us? Finding ourselves in everyone else’s? Maybe we can join a crew and at least have some say–”

“A prison is a prison, whether you built the walls yourself or rented a ‘Lock from the Seventh to grow ya own walls,” Sernan grumbled, shaking his head.

“But that’s why we’re here, doing this, isn’t it? To escape it.” Serif gestured upward, toward the city above.

“To go to another prison more like,” Sernan hissed, leaning in until his breath turned sour in the cramped air. “You think they’re gonna just let us go, ya damned fool? We’ve seen too much. We heard too much. That evil bastard, that Captain and Amir talking so openly in front of us—”

“Maybe they trust us?”

Sernan nearly burst out laughing before slapping a hand over his mouth. “Damn, boy, you are your mother’s son. Stupid.”

Serif ground his teeth.

“A Tier Commander aligning with a Strands agent? And if he’s talking about the actual Avaric Keda? You’ve any idea who that was?”

“I’ve heard the name—”

“You haven’t, fool. Keda was alive during the days of Shae, Raise—fuckin’ Derjinn, Serif. Fookin’ four-hundred years ago. Four-hundred!” Sernan emphasized with a hiss, holding up four trembling fingers. “If that devil is back, we’re all dead. We’ll be awaking up on Riven’s beach before we’s know what hit us.”

Serif looked around anxiously. “Then why the hell did you agree to this?”

“‘Cause I’m a prisoner who’s tendin’ to choose mine own prison.” Sernan gestured toward three other men resting a few dozen feet away, pointing to the heavy canvas satchels brought along for the Vault plunder. “Them bags. There’s powerful folks in the Strands. Cities you’ve never dreamed of—big, endless places like Kaelmorn and Teth. You think after all these years I only know Amir? No, boy. I be knowin’ many people. And I be knowin’ exactly where they be camping out. They got folks in Azureden and on Cesure isle.”

Serif kept his face rigid, watching his father in cautious, horrified silence.

“When we see a break—when we hit the beach—we run,” Sernan whispered, a greasy smirk touching his mouth. “Just make sure you grab the most profitable loot. Don't weigh yourself down with garbage.”

Serif felt as if his father was offering him no choice and he  masked the cold spike of horror in his gut. Betray Amir and the Fourth? They have spies everywhere. Agents who will be in the city long after Amir and his Reavers are gone. Sernan wasn't leading them to freedom. He was casually plotting to abandon the whole crew. To strip the bodies before running like a rat into the dark.