The Fold was a place where light went to die. It existed in a pocket of reality defined by rows of towering obsidian pillars that stretched into an infinite, starless void. On the floor, ancient sigils pulsed with a rhythmic, sickly violet glow, casting long, distorted shadows that seemed to move of their own accord.

  At the far end of the hall, a massive staircase climbed toward a platform so high it was nearly lost to the gloom. Atop that platform sat a throne carved from cold iron.

  Five hooded figures stood at the base of the stairs, their heads bowed. They didn't speak; in this place, even a breath felt like a transgression.

  A male voice, resonant and chillingly calm, drifted down from the throne. It wasn't loud, yet it filled every corner of the Fold, vibrating in the marrow of those who listened.

  "The alignment draws near," the Master spoke. "Tell me... has the Fate Anchor been retrieved?"

  One of the hooded figures, a man with a voice like grinding stones, stepped forward. "The extraction is in progress, Master. There have been... minor complications, but they are being rectified. There should be no further issues."

  "Three days," the Master interrupted, the temperature in the room seemingly dropping. "I require the Anchor within the next three days. Our schedule has already been compromised. Losing the Loom-Breaker has slowed our progress, especially while the Starweave is still roaming free."

  At the mention of the Starweave, two of the hooded figures winced visibly, their shoulders tensing beneath their heavy robes.

  "We understand, Master," the first figure replied, bowing lower. "We will secure the Fate Anchor by tomorrow evening. The pieces are falling into place."

  A heavy silence followed, thick with the weight of unspoken threats. The silhouette atop the throne didn't move, yet the air grew even heavier, pressing against the lungs of the five subordinates.

  "You are dismissed," the Master finally said.

  The figures didn't wait. Each raised a hand, summoning a shimmering, dark portal. One by one, they stepped through the tears in reality and vanished.

  Two of the figures—those who had winced—stepped into the same swirling vortex.

  They emerged into the foyer of a sprawling, dark mansion. The air here smelled of old dust, expensive wine, and dried blood. As the portal hissed shut, both figures pulled back their hoods.

  Sylphaine shook out her pale hair, her face tight with a mixture of exhaustion and anxiety. Beside her, Valerion’s expression was a mask of cold, repressed fury. He tossed his robe onto a nearby velvet divan, his claws extending slightly.

  "The Master is showing more and more dissatisfaction toward us," Sylphaine whispered, her voice echoing in the empty hall. "And we are especially at risk now that the elf and that human are at Fangreach."

  Valerion paused, his hand gripping the hilt of his blade. He turned his red eyes toward his sister. "Are you worried that the Fox is gaining the Master's favor?"

  Sylphaine let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "Wouldn't that be natural? She has secured the most important piece of our puzzle, and what’s truly irritating is that they actually walked into Fangreach voluntarily. The Fox didn't have to lift a finger to succeed, while we put so much effort into the hunt only to be reprimanded and threatened."

  "Complaining won't change our standing," Valerion snapped, his eyes glowing with a feral light. "What is it you want to do? Storm Fangreach and take them by force? That would be nothing but a bickering that would only infuriate the Master further."

  Sylphaine stepped closer, her expression shifting from fear to a cold, calculating hunger. "I'm not talking about a siege, brother. But if only there were a way to make the Fox fail... Imagine if the Starweave were to suddenly escape her custody. And if we are the ones who re-secure her after that failure? We would regain everything we've lost, while the Fox loses everything."

  Valerion watched her, his expression unreadable. "You should think of other ways to prove your worth," he said, his voice dropping into a low, weary rumble. "Sabotage is a messy game, and you are far too obsessed with the Fox. Think of other ways instead of trying to undermine her."

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  Sylphaine’s eyes widened, her hands clenching at her sides. "Other ways? Dear brother, look at us! We are most likely one failure away from being discarded! Do you no longer care about our life and death?"

  Valerion turned away from her, his gaze drifting to the dark, moth-eaten tapestries lining the hall. A hollow, chillingly calm expression crossed his face. "I stopped caring about that a long time ago."

  Sylphaine huffed, her breath hitching in her throat as she looked at her brother’s indifferent back. "Whatever," she spat, her voice trembling with a mixture of fury and fear. "Stay here and wait for death to take you, then. I will do things my way."

  She didn't wait for a response. With a sharp, localized distortion of the air, Sylphaine leaned forward. Her form flickered, turning translucent and ephemeral for a split second as she phased directly through the solid stone wall of the mansion, vanishing into the night.

  Valerion remained alone in the hall, the silence of the mansion pressing in around him like a shroud.

  At Vulpine's Airship Dock, Aiven, Virelle, Pelka, and Vane stood in a disciplined line, the wind whipping their various garments. Cyria stood at the front, her tail flicking with a restless, sharp energy.

  "Listen closely," Cyria said, her playful demeanor momentarily replaced by the cold steel of a commander. "Once you get ahold of the Loom-Breaker, your priority is to get out and be back on the ship immediately."

  She then looked at Aiven, "We can discuss your private use of the artifact once you’re safely back in Vulpine territory. This island may be off the government’s books, but to minimize risks, the sooner you escape that fane, the better."

  Aiven adjusted his grip on his bag, his brow furrowing. "Who else would be in pursuit of an item on an island that doesn't even officially exist? If the government doesn't know about it, who does?"

  Cyria leaned in, her golden eyes shimmering with an ominous light. "There are those in Aerilis who are even more powerful than the government, Aiven. Or at least, those far more ambitious and less restricted by pesky things like ethics. You will know them when the time comes."

  A nearby operational beastfolk raised a hand, shouting over the roar of the warming turbines. "All systems nominal, Boss! We’re ready for lift-off!"

  Cyria stepped back, her mischievous grin returning. "Then go. I shall be waiting here for my prize—and for your safe return."

  The team headed up the boarding ramp. As they walked toward the living quarters on the lower deck, the ship gave a massive, low-frequency thrum that Aiven felt in the soles of his boots.

  Virelle drifted beside him.

  "I truly do not like being bossed around by that fox," Virelle muttered, her lower lip jutting out in a defiant pout. "She speaks to us as if we were her common delivery boys."

  Aiven looked at her, offering a small, tired smile of gratitude. "Thanks for being patient, Virelle. I know it's not easy for you to show that much restraint. But if we pull this off... and if the Loom-Breaker really works like you think it does..."

  He paused, looking at the glowing white lines on his obsidian arm. "Once we're back, we could probably find somewhere else to go. Maybe we can finally get you that new outfit we talked about."

  Virelle’s eyes instantly beamed, her entire aura brightening into a radiant lavender glow. She spun in a graceful circle, her prismatic orb humming a cheerful, melodic tune. "A new outfit? Truly? Away from this clinical architecture?"

  She loomed over Aiven, her face inches from his, her expression filled with a sudden, fierce determination. "Then I shall ensure this mission is a resounding success, Master. No legendary beast or sentient dungeon shall stand in the way of my fashion sense!"

  Aiven chuckled as the Cinder-Fox slipped its moorings and soared into the dawn, heading toward the unknown heart of the Sunken Fane.