The lesser guards came back before they could process things over.

Ryn straightened instinctively, posture settling back into neutrality as the guard office door creaked open again.

Two soldiers stepped inside.

The older one of them stopped short when he saw Fritz.

"…You alright?" the guard asked.

Fritz didn't answer.

His eyes were still unfocused, jaw tight, like he was holding back through sheer will.

The guard hesitated, then shut the door behind him. Lowered his voice.

"First time seeing it up close?"

Fritz swallowed. "Seeing what?"

The guard huffed softly, not in a mocking tone. Just…tired.

"The part we don't talk about."

He leaned back against the wall, helmet tucked under one arm. Close enough now that Fritz could see the faint discoloration along his neck.

"Pure Bloods," the guard went on. "Can be cruel sometimes."

He shrugged.

"They say it's tradition. Strength. Bloodline." A pause. "But damn if I know."

Ryn watched without speaking.

"And you?" Fritz asked quietly.

The guard glanced at him, then away.

"Mixed like me don't get a say," he said. "Looking away is our biggest creed."

A pause.

"They tell us Central swallowing the Outside will end the fighting," he continued.

"In a week's time, there'll be no more raids. No more violence."

Another pause.

"We go back to peace."

Fritz's hands tightened.

"So you're fine with it?" he asked. "With the Outer tribes being wiped out?"

The guard met his gaze.

"No," he said simply. "But I understand it."

He exhaled, rubbing at the back of his neck.

"Better them than us."

Silence lingered after the words.

Fritz swallowed.

"Then why Kharvos?" he asked, the question slipping out before he could stop it.

"He's supposed to be… the Hero. The one they talk about"

Ryn's head snapped toward him.

"Fritz—"

Too late.

The guard had already gone still.

He didn't look offended. If anything, his shoulders sagged a bit, like the name itself was a taboo.

"…That's what they call him," the guard said at last.

Ryn watched him carefully now.

"And what do you think of him?" Fritz pressed, quieter.

The guard exhaled through his nose. "A necessity."

He glanced toward the door, then back again, lowering his voice.

"Kharvos keeps Central united," he said. "Not because we love him. Because no one wants to be on the other side of him."

"That's not a hero," Fritz said.

"No," the guard agreed. "More like a warning…for those that step out of line."

Ryn felt something click.

"And Dheam?" he asked calmly. "That part of the warning too?"

The guard's eyes flicked up.

He hesitated.

Then, slowly shook his head.

"Dheam wasn't always like this," he said. "Not… this bad."

Ryn didn't react.

The guard leaned back against the wall, eyes unfocused now. Remembering.

"Bloodmanes controlled the outer tribes, sure. Always did. But there were boundaries…moral ones."

He scoffed softly.

"And now?" Fritz asked.

"Now?" The guard shook his head. "Now it's different."

He glanced toward the door, then lowered his voice further.

"Three weeks ago," he said. "That's when it changed."

Ryn stilled.

"Kharvos wasn't even recognized by half the Bloodmanes, let alone the Outside tribes," the guard went on. "Then suddenly, he's elected."

Fritz frowned. "Elected?"

"By the elders. By the Pure Blood councils. All at once." The guard let out a short laugh. "They called him Dheam's Hero the same night."

Ryn didn't react.

But his mind was already moving.

Three weeks.

The vials he'd seen earlier, blood from a beast touched by the Evernight corruption. Each one marked with an expiration date.

Next week.

That kind of blood didn't last long. A month at most before it degraded beyond usefulness.

Which meant—

It arrived when Kharvos rose.

The timing wasn't a coincidence either.

Three weeks ago, he'd been in Dunwick and had just saved Cardinal Leon from the Cult's hands.

Ryn's jaw tightened.

So they really were planning two steps ahead…

It felt like playing chess. He'd answered their check correctly—and only afterward realized what he'd left unguarded.

He exhaled slowly. It wasn't suspicion anymore.

Kharvos was aligned with the Cult of Evernight.

Which meant… two out of the six Hero Candidates were compromised.

So much for the "Hero's" Path.

For a while, no one spoke.

Probabilities ran through Ryn's mind. Branches splitting endlessly, every path ending in Kharvos, or the Cult, or both.

No.

That wasn't the problem in front of him.

Thinking like this would cost time he didn't have. He forced himself back into the present.

Dawn was approaching.

Ryn turned to the old guard and spoke.

"What happens to the captives?"

The guard blinked. "What?"

"The ones in the cells," Ryn said, nodding faintly toward the corridor.

The guard hesitated.

Not because the question was strange.

Because the answer was.

"They won't stay here," he said finally. "Once they've outlived their usefulness, the Pure Bloods will just dispose of them."

"And where do they go?" Ryn asked.

The guard shrugged.

"Outside. Somewhere past Central. Depends."

Ryn looked at Fritz.

Then back at the guard.

"How often?" he asked.

"Whenever there's a batch," the guard replied. "Usually at night."

That settled it.

"But don't get any funny ideas," the guard added, tone firm now. "I know they're pitiful, but it's not worth risking your life over it."

Ryn inclined his head slightly, as if accepting the warning.

"Of course," he said.

The guard relaxed.

Ryn's expression stayed neutral.

But inside, the shape of an answer was forming.

He leaned closer to Fritz, close enough that it looked like nothing more than a quiet exchange between soldiers.

"Leave first," Ryn murmured. "Say you're rotating out for patrol."

Fritz stiffened, just for a heartbeat, then nodded.

"I'll follow in a bit."

Fritz straightened, posture settling back into something passable. He pushed off the wall and headed for the door without looking back, already wearing the blank expression the Bloodmanes expected.

The guard barely spared him a glance.

Routine.

Ryn watched him go.

He waited until the guard's attention drifted. Until the rhythm of the block settled back into something dull and predictable. When he finally straightened, it felt natural, like the end of the shift.

"Stay sharp," the guard said as Ryn stepped toward the door.

Ryn inclined his head. "You too."

By the time he reached the outer passage, the sounds of the holding block had already faded into background noise.

Fritz was waiting where the patrol route bent, small alleyway where the shadows hid them from the sun's rays.

Ryn fell in beside him.

Then Fritz spoke, low and tight. "You figured something out."

"Yeah," Ryn said.

Fritz didn't press. He waited.

"They're not prisoners," Ryn continued quietly. "They're lab rats."

"They were on their way out of Central already," he went on. "Albeit…dead."

Fritz's jaw clenched.

"So what?" he muttered. "That doesn't help at all?"

"No," Ryn said. "We have to be the ones to confirm them as 'dead' on paper."

That got Fritz's attention, but he wavered.

"You know some of them won't make it, right?"

Ryn didn't answer immediately.

"Yeah," he said at last. "But it's better than leaving them all to die."

Silence stretched.

Fritz looked away, then back.

"And where do we redirect them to?"

Ryn lifted his gaze toward the city's edge, toward the faint outline of walls that marked the end of Central.

"Moonlight, I'll notify the others."

Another pause.

Then Fritz nodded once.

"Alright," he said. "Tell me what you need."

Ryn turned, already recalculating timing, routes, margins.

"We don't have much time," he said. "Tonight's is our only window. And we can't spend more time here."

Fritz flexed his hands, steadying himself.

"Then let's not waste it."

They moved again, footsteps quiet against stone.

This plan had to work, because if it didn't…

Dozens would suffer.

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