Adrian's boots scraped the palace's outer wall, the night air sharp with frost and fear. The coded letter and ledger, sewn into his cloak, felt heavier than ever. Tonight, Mira would use Princess Eryn's blood to crack the royal vault, where proof of House Draven's treachery—and House Valorian's innocence—waited. The Dravens' latest note, Blood won't save you, Valorian, echoed in his mind. They knew his name, his plan, and they were close. Too close.
Lira and Toren crouched beside him, shadows in the moonlight. Mira led the way, her scarred hands steady as she checked a stolen guard map. "Sewer gate's ahead," she whispered. "Blood's ready. Stay sharp."
Adrian's stomach churned. The vault was a fortress of wards and steel, and even with Eryn's blood, one misstep meant death—or worse, capture. Lira's eyes met his, steady but tense. Toren's jaw was set, his redemption still unproven. Trust was a gamble, but Adrian had no choice.
The sewer gate creaked open under Mira's rune-work, its stench choking. They slipped inside, the tunnel's damp walls pressing in. Adrian's copper disc, etched with a disruption rune, was his only weapon. His magic was weak, but his mind was a blade, and he'd honed it sharp.
Mira led them to a hidden stair, emerging in a palace basement. The vault's door loomed ahead, a slab of steel carved with glowing runes. Guards patrolled, their steps echoing. Mira smeared Eryn's blood on the door, whispering chants. The runes pulsed, then dimmed. A click sounded—success.
"Inside, now," Mira hissed. They slipped through, the door sealing behind them. The vault was a cavern of shelves, piled with scrolls, jewels, and sealed boxes. Adrian's heart raced. The truth was here, somewhere.
"Spread out," he said, voice low. "Look for Valorian records, five years old."
Lira and Toren nodded, splitting off. Mira guarded the door, her eyes scanning for traps. Adrian rifled through scrolls, his fingers trembling. A sealed box caught his eye, marked with a Valorian crest. He pried it open, revealing a parchment—his father's handwriting. Draven falsified treason charges. Royal decree, signed by Kael, hides truth.
This was it. Proof. His chest tightened, relief and rage warring. But a shout shattered the silence. "Intruders!"
Guards stormed in, swords drawn, magic crackling. Mira's runes flared, slowing them, but the vault was a trap now. Adrian stuffed the parchment into his cloak, mind racing. "Run!" he yelled.
They bolted for a side passage, but Toren stumbled, a guard's spell grazing his leg. Adrian grabbed him, hauling him up. "Move, Vael!"
Lira threw a stolen crystal, its pulse dimming the guards' magic. They reached a narrow tunnel, but Mira stayed back, her face grim. "Go," she said. "I'll hold them."
"No!" Adrian protested, but she shoved him forward, sealing the passage with a rune. Her sacrifice burned in his chest, but there was no time to grieve.
The tunnel led to a courtyard, guards closing in. Adrian's disc pulsed, disrupting a mage's spell, but they were outnumbered. Lira's face was pale, Toren limping. Then a voice cut through: "Stand down!"
Elara emerged, her robes stark against the chaos, guards at her side. "Corveth, enough," she said, voice cold but eyes flickering with something else—recognition? "You've gone too far."
Adrian's heart sank. Elara had known his note, his fight, but now she was the wall between him and freedom. "I have proof," he said, clutching the parchment. "The Dravens framed my family."
Her gaze hardened. "Show me."
He hesitated, the guards' swords too close. But Elara's tone held no betrayal, only demand. He handed her the parchment, his fate in her hands. She scanned it, her face unreadable, then folded it. "This changes nothing tonight," she said. "You're under arrest."
As guards bound his wrists, Adrian's mind screamed. The parchment was real, the truth in Elara's hands, but the Dravens still had allies. Toren's eyes met his, guilt and fear raw. Lira's hand brushed his, a silent vow to fight on.
Then Elara leaned close, her whisper barely audible: "The king will see this. Stay alive."
The words were a lifeline, but the cuffs were cold. The vault's truth was his, but the Dravens weren't done. As guards led him away, a figure watched from the shadows—Lord Kael, free and smirking. Adrian's blood boiled. The fight wasn't over. It was just beginning.