House of Blood

(I REALLY WANNA THANK THE READERS WHO HAS BEEN WOTH ME SO FAR, THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING OF THIS JOURNEY 😁)

* * *

The transit lift hummed with a low, rhythmic vibration as its iron cage rose through the vertical shafts connecting the Sunken Vaults to the High Archive’s upper rotunda.

Warm air replaced the sulfurous dampness of the lower conduits, carrying the smells of beeswax, old parchment, and oil lamps.

Solene stood at the front of the lift platform, her hands resting on the pommel of her sheathed rapier.

Beside her, Casper leaned against the brass handrail, twirling a piece of dry straw between his teeth. Lyra sat on an iron supply crate in the corner, meticulously wiping salt crystals from her spatial focus gems with a silk cloth.

Castor and Pollux stood near the back gates, motionless as iron sentinels.

Pollux’s gaze remained glued to the stone floor, her secondary hunting knife back in its sheath, while Castor kept his eyes trained on the rising shaft walls.

”You’re awfully quiet, Casper,” Solene noted, breaking the silence without turning her head. ”Usually, after winning a trial, you’re halfway through a bottle of wine or picking a fight with Julian’s vanguard captains.”

Casper spat the straw onto the metal grate floor.

”I’m thinking about those Secret Commission agents in the fountain chamber.”

”What about them?” Lyra asked, looking up from her gems. ”Castor and Pollux handled them in less than twenty seconds. They didn’t even get a crossbow bolt off.”

”That’s the point,” Casper said, turning his head toward Valerian, who stood calmly in the center of the lift with his leather ledger tucked under his arm. ”Those guys weren’t common street mercenaries or green academy recruits. They were trained Inquisitor remnants. And they were running like cornered rats the moment we walked in.”

”They were burning documents because their forward base was compromised,” Solene said smoothly. ”Their operation depended on remaining hidden beneath the drainage conduits.”

”No, Princess,” Casper said, shaking his head. ”They weren’t just burning documents. They were trying to get that silver tube out. The lead agent called it the ’primary register.’ Why would an Inquisitor agent care so much about a drainage blueprint?”

Valerian adjusted the dark linen blindfold across his face.

”Because it is not merely a drainage blueprint, Casper.”

Casper straightened.

”I knew it. What’s actually in that tube, Valen?”

Valerian reached into his inner coat pocket and pulled out the sealed silver cylinder he had retrieved from the fountain chamber floor.

He held it up slightly so the warm light of the lift’s oil lamp caught the etched brass symbols along its cap.

”It is a structural balance sheet,” Valerian explained, his voice low and even. ”For thirty years, the High Council believed Sector Zero’s lower aqueducts were naturally contaminated by residual ley-line salts. This document records the exact volume of raw alchemical brine diverted from Sector Three’s core refinery into the lower city.”

”Diverted by whom?” Lyra asked, her eyes widening.

”By the Secret Commission,” Solene answered, her voice dropping an octave as a cold realization settled over her. ”They weren’t just hiding the Mad Doctor’s laboratory. They were using Sector Zero’s municipal water grid as a disposal site for his failed core-synthesis experiments.”

Castor took a single step forward from the back gate, his voice cold and precise.

”The casualty rates in the lower residential quarters have increased by fourteen percent every winter for the past five years. The Council attributed it to black-rot fever.”

”It wasn’t fever,” Pollux added quietly, her first contribution to the conversation since her reprimand. ”It was core poisoning. The brine seeped through the stone foundations into the wellheads.”

Casper swore under his breath, slamming his fist against the brass handrail.

”The High Council signed off on those health reports! I remember reading the public notices in the plaza three years ago!”

”The Council reads what the archivists present to them, Casper,” Valerian said softly, sliding the silver tube back into his coat pocket. ”And three years ago, the senior archiving desk was overseen by officials who answered directly to the Secret Commission’s inner council.”

”Until you took over the ledger,” Solene murmured, turning her sharp blue eyes toward Valerian’s unreadable face. ”Which is why they tried to purge Vault Three.”

”The ledger merely records the entries, Princess,” Valerian replied smoothly. ”It does not create them.”

The transit lift ground to a heavy halt with a metallic CLANG.

The iron gates slid open, revealing the bright, vaulted expanse of the High Archive’s central reception rotunda.

Hundreds of cadets, senior scouts, and High Council scribes filled the polished marble floor. Banners bearing Cell One’s crest were already being hoisted alongside the official trial tally board.

At the base of the main marble staircase stood Representative Mirain Sec Sanguis, flanked by four silver-armored Honor Guards.

Beside her stood Senior Scout Gareth Vance, his arms crossed over his scarred leather chest guard, watching the lift open with a rare, approving nod.

”Cell One,” Mirain’s voice echoed clearly across the rotunda, holding up a scroll bound in gold thread. ”By order of the High Council, your retrieval of the Primary Structural Register from the Sunken Vaults has been verified. You are officially awarded First Place in the trial!”

A loud cheer erupted from the assembled cadets near the galleries.

Casper grinned, nodding toward a group of defeated vanguard captains standing near the eastern pillars. They looked away in bitter silence.

Solene stepped out of the lift, her posture regal and faultless as she approached Mirain’s podium.

”Representative Mirain. The register has been secured, and three Secret Commission agents have been detained in the fountain chamber below.”

Mirain took the silver tube from Solene with a formal bow.

”The High Council acknowledges Cell One’s exceptional efficiency. Scribe Valen’s logistical routing has once again proven decisive.”

Gareth Vance stepped forward, his sharp gaze shifting from Solene to Valerian, who stood at the rear of the team with his leather ledger tucked under his arm.

”A clean run, Scribe,” Vance said, his voice like grinding gravel. ”Though my scouts report that the lower drainage wall sustained structural damage near the sluice gate. Mind explaining how a simple retrieval team broke a First Era stone arch?”

Before Valerian could answer, Castor stepped forward, bowing crisp and low.

”The structural damage was caused by our unit, Senior Scout,” Castor reported flatly. ”The Terza Twins deployed high-density kinetic force against an alchemical lurker without verifying the stone’s load-bearing limits. Scribe Valen neutralized the collapse and secured the sluice gate before the gallery flooded.”

Vance glanced down at Pollux, who stood at rigid attention beside her brother, her eyes fixed firmly on the marble floor.

”Is that so?” Vance asked, raising a scarred eyebrow. ”The Terza Twins taking responsibility for a tactical mistake? That’s a first for Sector Six.”

”Scribe Valen’s corrective feedback was clear, Senior Scout,” Pollux said, her voice quiet, tight, and completely disciplined. ”We will adjust our operational parameters for the next trial.”

Vance let out a dry, gruff chuckle.

”Well, whatever Scribe Valen did to put teeth on your discipline, I suggest the rest of the vanguard takes notes.”

Mirain raised her hand, silencing the ambient chatter in the rotunda.

”With this trial complete,” Mirain announced loudly, her voice carrying through the acoustic arches, ”Cell One has qualified for immediate access to Sector Zero’s deep archive—the Vault of the First Sovereign. The Final Trial will commence tomorrow at dawn.”

Solene turned to look at Valerian.

”The Vault of the First Sovereign. That’s where the primary core-binding records are kept.”

”Where the complete history sits,” Valerian said softly. ”Unedited.”

”Are you ready for it, Valen?” Casper asked, walking up beside him and clapping him on the shoulder. ”After tomorrow, you won’t just be auditing numbers. The Council will have to give you a permanent seat at the Sector B desk.”

”A seat at the desk is merely more paper, Casper,” Valerian replied smoothly, dipping his fingers into his pocket to check the position of his three-copper iron stylus. ”What matters is whether the numbers balance at the end of the day.”

Castor and Pollux stepped up beside Valerian as the crowd began to disperse toward the banquet hall.

”Master,” Castor whispered under his breath, so low that only Valerian’s spatial sense caught it. ”Lord Julian’s faction is gathering at the upper balcony. They know Cell One has secured access to the First Sovereign’s vault.”

”They will attempt to intervene before dawn,” Pollux added in a tense murmur, her fingers twitching slightly at her side. ”Give us the order, and we will clear the upper balcony before midnight.”

”No,” Valerian commanded quietly, without shifting his head.

”Lord Julian is an impatient man, Castor. He will make his move inside the deep archive, where he thinks there are no witnesses.”

”Then we let him enter?” Pollux asked, her voice tight with suppressed excitement.

”We let him enter,” Valerian said, opening his leather ledger to a fresh, clean page and uncapping his stylus.

”And then we close the book.”