Somewhere in Doctor Drey's questionable excuse for an apocatery…
The room smelled like burnt herbs and questionable decisions. Bandages lay scattered across a table, some of them possibly used. Nyssa sat up, cradling a cup of something that may or may not have once been tea. Drey, the "doctor," loomed over her like a grumpy crow in a lab coat.
"Stay. In. Bed," Drey growled, for the fourth time in five minutes.
"I'm fine," Nyssa grumbled, already reaching for her coat. "It's just a curse. It's not like it's—oh, I don't know—terminal."
"YET!" Drey snapped, nearly knocking over a shelf of expired medicine. "You got spellrot running through your veins like spicy soup! Sit your overly brave, chronically stupid self DOWN."
Before Nyssa could sass him into a coma, her communicator buzzed.
She pressed the rune. "Linda? Where are you guys?"
There was the sound of shuffling, someone munching on bread, and then—
"Yo," Linda's voice came through. "We're at Talis' bakery. And yes, I mean actual bakery. You know the one with the terribly misleading name? 'Talis' Tasty Treats'? Yeah. We're hiding in the bread bunker."
Nyssa blinked. "Wait—your hideout is… a bakery?"
"Don't start," Linda muttered. "Talis is very defensive about it."
In the background, Talis yelled, "I WILL DEFEND THIS BREAD WITH MY LIFE."
Linda sighed. "Anyway, we are here too. You should come."
Nyssa was already halfway off the bed. "Great. I'm on my way—"
"SHE'S NOT GOING ANYWHERE!" Drey screeched like a banshee being denied caffeine.
He stormed into the frame, pointing dramatically at the communicator like it owed him rent. "Did you just TELL her to leave?! She's on bed rest!"
Linda's voice went deadpan. "And you're on my nerves, bud."
Nyssa grabbed her boots. "Relax, Drey. It's not like I'm going to war."
"Yet!" Drey hissed again, now clutching a bottle labeled "Possibly Medicine?" like a holy relic. "Do you know how long it took me to stabilize your curse?! If you get up and walk around now, it could relapse! Or mutate! Or explode!"
Nyssa paused. "Explode?"
Drey blinked. "Okay, no, not explode. That was dramatic. But you could pass out and fall into soup. That's a medical hazard."
She gave him a flat look. "You're just mad because I beat you at Ether-Chess while cursed."
Drey grunted. "A cursed patient should not be allowed to castle their king three times in one game."
Nyssa rolled her eyes. "Still sounds like you're mad."
"Because I AM!"
Linda's voice cut through again. "Nyssa. Ignore the dramatics. We have fresh bread and drama waiting. Talis is feeding Zoren like a starving raccoon."
"Wait… Zoren's there?"
Silence. Then Linda cursed. "CRAP—uh—no! I mean… no! He's, uh, not here. Definitely not. He's at a spa. In the woods. Very far away. With… a goat. Zoren the goat. Definitely not the guy. Nope."
Nyssa squinted. "Linda."
Talis could be heard in the background: "LINDA, STOP LYING, HE'S RIGHT HERE—"
BEEP.
Linda hung up.
Drey facepalmed. "You're going anyway, aren't you."
Nyssa grabbed her coat with a grin. "Yup."
"…Can I at least come along so I can scream at people when you collapse?"
"Of course. You'd do that anyway."
Drey muttered something in another language—probably a curse. Or a recipe.
Meanwhile… back at the bakery
Zoren finished his third loaf and blinked. "Did… did Nyssa say she's coming?"
Linda, deadpan. "Yes. Also, I may have panicked and told her you were a goat."
Talis blinked. "We can make that work. I've got horns in the costume drawer."
Zoren sighed into his soup. "This is why no one takes us seriously."
Talis shrugged. "Speak for yourself. I take my pastries very seriously."
---
The door to Talis' Tasty Treats jingled open.
Everyone turned.
Nyssa stepped in, hair tousled, eyes alert. Her coat still bore faint scorch marks, and her right arm was bandaged under a sling. She looked tired, worn—but very, very alive.
Zoren stood up so fast his chair nearly flipped. "Nyssa—!"
Nyssa blinked. "You're here?"
She marched right up to him.
"I heard you came out of the Dungeon of Illusion," she said, arms crossed. "Alive. In one piece. Breathing. Talking. Eating bread, apparently."
Zoren coughed. "I mean… technically, yes?"
Nyssa narrowed her eyes. "And you didn't come see me first? You went on a snack break before telling me you weren't dead?"
Zoren raised both hands like a man negotiating with a wild beast. "Okay, okay, listen—there was… a soup situation. And a Talis situation. And a Linda smacking-me-with-bread situation. I was going to come find you!"
"Uh-huh." Nyssa's expression didn't budge. "You 'were going to.' Right after you finished stuffing your face."
Talis coughed from the counter. "To be fair, he was mid-bite when we told him you were cursed. He almost choked."
Nyssa blinked. "Cursed?"
Zoren pointed at Linda. "She said it like it was normal!"
Linda shrugged. "It's been a weird week."
Nyssa sighed and sat down at the table, wincing slightly.
Zoren moved beside her immediately. "Hey—are you okay? I mean, really okay?"
Nyssa glanced at him, softer now. "Thanks to the apothecary. Drey, right?"
Doctor Drey, who had been quietly sipping tea in the corner like some herbal ninja, gave a lazy wave.
Zoren turned to him and stood. "Thank you. Truly. If you hadn't helped her…"
Drey raised an eyebrow. "She's the reason you got away?"
Nyssa nodded. "The Titan Council was gaining on him. I drew them off. Took a little… extra damage in the process."
Zoren looked like he wanted to punch a wall. Or ten.
Nyssa touched his arm. "You're here. That's what matters."
Zoren exhaled slowly, then sat beside her.
The group fell quiet for a moment, the warm scent of bread wrapping around them like a blanket.
Then Nyssa leaned forward, her eyes steady.
"Alright," she said.
"Tell me."
Zoren blinked. "Tell you what?"
Her expression didn't flinch. "What happened in the Dungeon of Illusion?"
The room went still. Even Talis stopped mid-chew.
Zoren looked at her.
He blinked.
Silence.
Even the humming oven in the back seemed to grow quieter.
Zoren opened his mouth to speak.
And then closed it.
The warmth of the bakery suddenly felt a little colder.
----
In the Titan Council Branch in the city
The room was frozen in the awkward silence Franklin had conjured like a spell. His grin didn't falter as he casually strolled further into the chamber, sipping his drink with exaggerated nonchalance.
"Now, I know what you're all thinking," Franklin said, spinning theatrically in place. "How did this fine specimen of raw survivability make it out of the Dungeon of Illusion alive?"
The chubby woman with too many rings narrowed her eyes. "More like—how are you still alive at all?"
Franklin clutched his chest. "Madam, your words wound me." He took another slow sip. "But not as much as the fourth trial of the dungeon. Very metaphorical experience. Really opened my chakras."
Behind him, the council door, still slightly ajar, creaked just a touch more. Nobody noticed.
Because Franklin had the room exactly where he wanted them—confused, annoyed, and absolutely unsure if he was a threat or a very lost janitor.
"See, the thing about illusions," Franklin said, pacing as if giving a lecture, "is they only work on people who don't believe in themselves. And me? I believe in myself so hard I once gave myself a pep talk in the mirror and walked away more inspired than when I started."
Monocle Man pinched the bridge of his nose. "Please, for the love of all things Titan-born, get to the point."
"I am the point," Franklin said, finger raised triumphantly. "I am the very tip of the spear of destiny!"
Behind the Council's distracted huddle, two shadows slipped through the hall, pressing themselves against the inner wall of the records chamber. Ivar Pendrol—scanned the hallway with narrow eyes.
"Keep low," Ivar whispered. "Guards change every five minutes. We've got three."
Next to him, Aiden Pendrol, with a glint of mischief in his eye, nodded while pulling a rolled-up pastry out of his sleeve.
"Do not eat right now," Ivar snapped.
"I work better when I'm nourished and am feeling sleepy," Aiden muttered, biting into it anyway.
They slipped past a clunky filing desk and slid under a half-broken shutter door leading into the Restricted Archive—a room that hadn't seen real use since before the war with the Titans. Dust coated everything. Rows of files, scrolls, and glowing glyph tablets lined the shelves like sacred relics of bureaucracy.
Aiden activated a low-light rune. Pale blue light hummed to life, revealing the seal they were after.
"Top shelf, left corner," Ivar muttered. "Council reports on Titan Core experiments. 7th Veil Cycle. Before the Titans fell."
Aiden nodded, wiping crumbs from his lips. "So we're just gonna… walk out with it?"
"No. We take the glyph copies. Memorize what we can. Then burn the ones they're still using so they don't track us."
"Charming plan," Aiden muttered. "And if they find out?"
Ivar looked toward the hallway.
"That's why we brought Franklin."
Cut back to the Council room.
Franklin had now perched on the edge of the Council's table, legs crossed like a storyteller mid-saga.
"So anyway, there I was, standing on a bridge made entirely of my own regrets—don't ask how, illusion logic—and the monster in front of me says, 'You cannot pass until you face your true fear!' And I said—"
He paused dramatically.
"—'I'm not afraid of anything except forgetting my mother's birthday, and spoilers for my favorite book series.' So naturally, the monster vanished in a puff of glitter and trauma."
The frail man with the glasses looked like he was seriously rethinking his career.
Just as Commander Orwin stood to speak, something beeped.
A silent alert rune near the hallway pulsed once.
Orwin's eyes sharpened. "Wait."
Franklin's smile twitched. "Uh-oh."
In the archive, Ivar cursed under his breath.
"They've got motion wards. Too late now—grab the glyph!"
Aiden yanked the glowing data tablet from the wall. Alarms didn't go off, but the air thickened—the building knew.
Franklin jumped onto the table.
"Gentlemen, ladies, beautiful Councilmembers of Veyrith—I regret to inform you that I'm now performing a disappearing act. Prepare to be amazed!"
He tossed a smoke crystal onto the floor. It fizzled.
Nothing happened.
"Uh…"
The monocle man stood up. "He's stalling. Detain him!"
Suddenly—BOOM!
A small, controlled blast went off in the archives—just enough to short the lights and cause a flicker in the rune grid.
Ivar and Aiden sprinted down the hall, ducking into an auxiliary vent tunnel just as guards rushed the hallway.
Franklin looked at the startled Council, shrugged, and then backflipped off the table. It was mostly a stumble. He knocked over a chair.
He saluted them from the doorframe.
"Catch you on the flipside!"
And vanished down the hallway.
A long pause.
The ponytail woman sighed. "We just got played by Franklin."
Orwin muttered darkly. "Send word to the Federation. Now, Follow them."
---
The night air was thick with tension as Ivar, Aiden, and Franklin darted through the shadowed alleys of Veyrith's city streets. Their feet pounded against the cobblestones as the sounds of boots echoing behind them reached a fever pitch.
"MOVE!" Ivar shouted, eyes darting over his shoulder.
"I'm trying!" Aiden grunted, barely squeezing through a narrow gap between two buildings. "Why does everything have to be so narrow?"
"I thought you worked out!" Franklin yelled back. He was leading the charge, surprisingly nimble for someone who couldn't even manage stairs without tripping five minutes ago.
"I do!" Aiden snapped. "AM justing feeling sleepy, I should have just slept in an inn before we leave for city"
"Not the time for self-reflection!" Ivar barked, pushing Aiden forward.
Behind them, a squad of Titan Council officers closed in—swift, relentless, and seriously overprepared.
Their uniforms were sleek, dark, with the Titan Council's emblem glowing faintly on their shoulders. They were known as The Black Ember Squad, and they were not here for a casual stroll.
One of them, a tall woman with a white streak in her otherwise jet-black hair, called out. "You think you can outrun the Black Ember Squad? Think again!" Her voice was a mix of confident annoyance and an undercurrent of "We will crush you."
Franklin turned and grinned back at her. "Ha! You think you can catch me? I'm Franklin, baby! The last guy who tried to catch me ended up in a pool of glitter."
One of the squad members—Jethro, a lanky guy who looked like he could use a few good meals—narrowed his eyes. "You've got the wrong kind of confidence, man."
"Says the guy who probably trips over his own shadow," Franklin shot back, dodging a thrown dagger mid-sentence. He shot a wink at Aiden. "You see that? Classic distraction move!"
Ivar's expression darkened as he pushed forward. "Shut up, Franklin! These guys are more dangerous than we thought."
Suddenly, there was a whoosh as a flaming whip lashed out from one of the squad's members—Celia, the whip-wielding specialist.
"DODGE, YOU MORONS!" Celia yelled, cracking the air like thunder.
Franklin's eyes widened as the fiery tip of the whip zoomed inches from his face. "Whoa, I didn't sign up for this level of commitment! I just wanted to steal a few old scrolls!"
"I thought we were just getting out!" Aiden shouted, his hands reaching up to pull Franklin forward as he narrowly avoided the whip. "I'm NOT ready for a flaming torture session!"
Ivar's hand shot out, grabbing a ledge to leap up into a higher alleyway. "Keep moving!"
But before they could catch a break, a heavy sound like thunder made their blood run cold.
"ETHER GRENADE!" shouted Leo, a stocky officer with a deep voice, grinning madly as he hurled a glowing, pulsing grenade toward them.
"A GRANA—?!"
"DODGE!" Ivar screamed.
Franklin, Aiden, and Ivar all threw themselves in different directions, their limbs flailing with chaotic precision. But Aiden, in his usual charming way, tripped over his own feet—again.
"NOOO!" Aiden shouted as he faceplanted, only narrowly avoiding the grenade's trajectory. "Not my beautiful face!"
The grenade, still in mid-air, spun toward the end of the street. It exploded in a blinding flash. The ground shook with an earth-rattling boom as the shockwave sent debris flying.
And then... a building collapsed.
The three of them blinked as they saw the wreckage pile up in front of them.
A gigantic sign—a huge, welcoming sign that read "Talis' Tasty Treats" now buried under rubble—squashed a good portion of the street. The neon lights that had once read "Sweetness and Magic in Every Bite!" now flickered and died.
Franklin's face froze, and then his lips quivered with dread. "Uh…."
Aiden turned, eyes wide. "Wasn't that—?"
"It was the bakery." Ivar finished grimly.
The three of them stood there, breathing heavily, still in the shadow of the chaos.
Franklin scratched his head. "...Well, that wasn't part of the plan."
Aiden opened his mouth, but he couldn't think of anything appropriate to say. The bakery—the very bakery that they ate bread and soup from Talis, where they left zoren and the others —was now rubble. And they were the cause of it.
"You guys." Franklin's voice wavered slightly. "We're in trouble."
Ivar's face was red from both frustration and the intensity of the chase. "You think?!"
Franklin shot him a sideways look. "Well, technically, it was that ether grenade that caused the chaos—not me throwing that last chair out the window."
Aiden's eyes narrowed at Franklin. "You really had to throw a chair?"
Franklin shrugged, putting his hands up. "It felt right! You know, a little chaos makes the escape more exciting!"
Aiden let out a frustrated groan. "We're gonna die before we even make it out of the city, aren't we?"
"Yep," Ivar said, exhaling sharply. "And I'm going to personally blame Franklin for every single bit of it."
The Black Ember Squad had caught up, their figures rising ominously from the mist behind them. Celia's whip crackled, and Jethro was already lining up another throwing knife.
"Run!" Ivar shouted, snapping out of his frustration. "We've got no time to waste, and that bakery's not going to rebuild itself!"
Franklin gave them an overconfident grin, despite the situation. "What do you mean? That bakery is Talis's. Talis and zoren is probably there that means he will be seen too."
"Dude—this is serious!" Aiden shouted.
Ivar spun around, gritting his teeth. "Shut up! They're getting closer!"
Franklin gave a dramatic bow. "And so begins the real escape."
The three of them sprinted off again, leaving the Black Ember Squad's chaotic chase in their wake. Franklin, Aiden, and Ivar had seriously fucked up this time and zoren luck was showing that it not good again —but somehow, they might just make it out alive.
---
To Be Continued