Chapter Ten- The Mole’s Trump Card

Chapter Ten- The Mole’s Trump Card

The tavern was nearly empty, the last few patrons long gone or drunk into silence. Candlelight flickered weakly across worn wooden walls. In the far back, past the kitchen and down a narrow hall, a hidden door creaked open to a room not meant for guests.

Inside, the air was thick with old smoke and newer tension. A round table stood at the center, maps of the Academy grounds spread across its surface—crisscrossed with notations, guard patterns, and hand-drawn schematics. A single oil lamp swung overhead.

Korin stood at the table’s edge. His arms were crossed over his chest, the fingers of one hand encased in a black leather glove. The glove was worn, singed at the fingertips—scars barely hidden underneath. His eyes, cold and precise, flicked toward the man seated across from him.

The Academy Guard was young. Too young for the weight on his shoulders. He sat stiffly, half his face buried in shadow, sweat clinging to his brow. Across from him, Harper ran a whetstone down the edge of a thin dagger, the metallic hiss cutting through the quiet like a warning. Vex sat silent in the corner, her hood low, face unreadable.

Korin broke the silence.

“So... it’s real. You’re sure?”

The guard swallowed. His voice was barely above a whisper. “I saw it myself. The Vault Chamber beneath the research wing. Elemental Cipher Stone. They moved it there last week.”

Vex didn’t move, but her voice was low and sharp. “Why the Academy? That’s not standard containment.”

The guard glanced toward her, nervous. “They said it’s a live defense trial. The generals want to see if the Academy’s golden team—those trainees—can guard sensitive assets.”

Harper chuckled without looking up. “So they handed a nation’s secret to a bunch of kids. Lovely.”

Korin’s mouth curled into a humorless smile. “Even better. That means the defenses won’t be what they should be.”

The guard shifted in his seat, voice thinner now. “You didn’t hear it from me. I’m risking my post just being here.”

Korin stepped forward, the floor creaking under his boot.

“You won’t be talking at all if we’re caught,” he said flatly. “And you’ll be dead if you disappear before the job’s done.”

He tossed a small coin pouch across the table. It hit the wood with a dull clink. The guard caught it mid-air, hands shaking as he felt the weight.

“You’ll be on rotation when they move the Cipher for its monthly reactivation,” Korin continued. “That’s when we strike.”

Harper leaned back, twirling her dagger lazily. “And if they don’t move it?”

Korin didn’t blink. “Then we make them move it.”

The lamp above them swung gently as the plan took shape—dangerous, quiet, inevitable.

The room was dim, its only illumination coming from the object at the center of the table—a magical blueprint of the Academy grounds. The lines of the map shimmered faintly in blue and silver, shifting as though alive, adjusting in real time with every whispered movement of the air. The walls around them were lined with crates, weapons, and dust-thick books no library dared to claim.

Korin stood closest, his gloved hand resting on the glowing map. The flicker of red from the scorch marks on his fingers gave the illusion of flame dancing just beneath the surface of his skin. Around him, the others leaned in: Harper, methodical and precise, knife still at her belt; Vex, cloaked in shadow, watching the map with a hawk’s patience; and Rell, quiet but coiled like a wire.

“There are three layers of wards surrounding the chamber,” Korin said, his voice low and focused. “Two of them will need elemental seals to deactivate. One fire. One light.”

Harper spoke first, casually flipping a small forge crystal between her fingers. “Fire’s easy. I can replicate the essence. The forgemasters left plenty of mistakes lying around.”

All eyes turned to Vex.

She didn’t flinch. “Light will be trickier. I’ll need something… radiant. Pure.”

Korin didn’t hesitate. “Then steal something radiant.”

His eyes narrowed, a sliver of cruel amusement in them. “Steal a Radiant.”

At the far end, Rell finally spoke. “And the guards?”

Korin gestured to a folded piece of parchment on the table, the wax seal of the Academy guard still intact.

“Our contact handles that. He’ll adjust the patrol roster the night the Cipher is scheduled for its reactivation cycle. Two squads guard the vault. One of them won’t be there. The other will be tired.”

He looked around at them, ensuring every word was heard and remembered.

“We go in masked. Silent. In and out before dawn patrol. No killing. Injure if you must—but this is not a war.”

A pause.

“Not yet.”

Vex tilted her head. “And if we’re seen?”

Korin smiled faintly. There was no warmth in it.

“Then burn it all down.”

He reached into his coat and withdrew a small, jagged black stone. He placed it carefully at the center of the blueprint. It pulsed once—slow and red, like a heartbeat muffled by earth.

“No evidence. No trail. No witnesses.”

The team stared at the stone in silence. Around them, the blueprint’s glowing lines began to dim, reacting to the dark object’s presence.

“That cipher…” Korin said, voice cold with conviction, “belongs to Ronan now.”

Korin stepped into the dimly lit chamber, the door creaking shut behind him. The air inside was thick—stagnant with the weight of secrets and long-held silence. Only a single candle flickered atop a small wooden table in the center of the room, its weak flame casting restless shadows that danced across the cold stone walls.

At the far end, shrouded in the gloom, a figure sat unmoving—almost blending into the darkness. The steady rhythm of Korin’s boots striking the stone floor echoed, each step measured, deliberate. As he neared, the figure shifted slightly, enough for the light to catch a glint in his eyes. It was Ronan.

He was tall and still, radiating a quiet authority. Even seated, there was an edge to him, like a coiled weapon waiting for an excuse to strike. A faint smirk played on his lips—calm, unreadable, dangerous.

"You’re here," Korin said, his voice low.

"I’ve been here," Ronan replied smoothly, his tone tinged with amusement. "Waiting. You’re late."

Korin didn’t rise to the taunt. Instead, he walked past him without pause and sat at the table, his face carved into a mask of seriousness.

"The job’s set," Korin said coldly. "Everything’s in place."

Ronan leaned forward slightly, intrigued. "And what exactly is my role in this? You’ve got the team, the guard... What’s left for me?"

Korin's eyes narrowed. "Your role is simple. You stay hidden. You only interfere when the plan falls apart."

A glint of something—perhaps understanding, perhaps mockery—flashed in Ronan’s gaze. His smile widened.

"You really think that’ll work?" he asked. "You trust them that much?"

"I trust the plan," Korin said, his voice ice. "And the moment it falters—you are the backup. The insurance policy."

The smile faltered for a brief moment, and Ronan’s expression shifted, posture tightening.

"I don’t need you," Korin continued, his tone unwavering, "unless everything goes to hell. If the guards turn, if the cipher isn’t where it should be, if we’re caught—I need you to handle it. You’ll be the one to clean up the mess."

Ronan nodded slowly, his voice low and edged with menace. "You really think we’ll be caught?"

Korin hesitated, just for a breath, then exhaled. "I’ve taken every precaution. But there are always variables—unexpected ones. That’s where you come in."

Ronan leaned back in his chair again, smirking. "And if your little team gets the cipher without any hitches?"

"Then you’ll never even see the inside of the academy," Korin replied flatly.

A dark chuckle escaped Ronan’s lips. "Fine. I’ll stay out of sight. But remember this, Korin—someone can’t plan for everything. Not even you."

Korin stood, his gaze steely. His voice dropped to a quiet, cutting edge. "We’ll make sure you never have to step in. That’s the goal. You stay in the shadows."

He turned and walked toward the door, his silhouette framed by the golden candlelight. Behind him, Ronan watched silently, his expression now stripped of humor—cold, calculating.

"Just remember, Korin," he called out softly. "Plans are only good until the first mistake."

Korin didn’t look back. "That’s why you’ll be waiting," he said, his voice already distant.

The door creaked again as it opened, and then shut, leaving Ronan alone in the darkness. The room returned to silence, save for the faint flicker of the candle. His smile had vanished, replaced by a gaze sharpened like a blade in the dark.

The Forge Hall thrummed with life. High above, the ceiling shimmered with floating orbs, each one shifting hues—fiery red, deep azure, emerald green, and more—attuned to the elemental presence of those below. Their glow cast a soft kaleidoscope of color across the vast chamber. In the center, a broad platform etched with ancient runes pulsed faintly with light, alive with forgotten power

But it wasn’t the anvils or tools of a traditional smithy that filled the room. Instead, immense slabs of obsidian-veined crystal hovered in the air—Resonalt Stones. They floated effortlessly, humming with unseen energy, each one subtly pulsing in rhythm with the aura of the students gathered nearby. There was a reverence to them, as though they were more than tools—almost sentient, waiting to be called upon.

Master Edwin strode to the front, his presence commanding. His robes shimmered faintly with arcane power, a glowing sigil over his chest pulsing like a living thing. He raised both hands, and the murmurs in the hall faded instantly.

“There will come a time,” he began, his voice calm yet powerful, “when you cannot reach for steel… when the only thing between you and death is your will.”

The students listened, unmoving, drawn in by the weight of his words.

“That is why you forge here—not for show, not for tradition… but to summon your weapon when it’s needed most.”

He turned and gestured toward one of the Resonalt Stones. It vibrated softly, resonating with his gesture like an instrument anticipating a note.

“These are the Resonalt Stones,” he continued. “They draw on your elemental essence to shape a weapon that is bound to you alone. Once formed, that weapon becomes yours—only yours. You can call it from nothing, but only that weapon. No second chances. No reforging.”

A wave of hushed voices spread through the students, curiosity and anxiety mingling.

Master Edwin’s eyes swept the room, stern but not unkind.

“This forge is unforgiving,” he said. “You will fail. But failing now is better than failing when lives hang in the balance.”

He stepped back. “Begin.”

The class stirred into motion, students breaking into small groups, each approaching a Resonalt Stone with equal parts wonder and apprehension. They placed their hands on the smooth, humming surfaces, focusing. Eyes narrowed, jaws clenched. Across the room, soft flickers of elemental energy sparked—flames curled and disappeared, water shimmered and stilled, air stirred faint breezes. Some stones flared brightly, only to dim again. Others remained stubbornly inert.

Master Edwin moved among them with quiet authority. He made no grand corrections—just small gestures, brief whispers. He stopped beside a girl struggling with water attunement. Her brows were furrowed, her shoulders tense.

“You’re pushing too hard,” he said gently. “Let it flow. Don’t command it. Invite it.”

With a flick of his fingers, a ripple of energy passed into the stone. The water shimmered, flowing more freely, its rhythm found. The girl gasped softly, adjusting her focus

“Focus on your intent,” Master Edwin called out to the room. “Not your ego. The weapon will mirror your truth—not your wishes.”

The hall remained filled with effort—of silence, of strain, of subtle sparks—and the quiet birth of something far more powerful than steel.

The air was thick with effort and elemental tension. Sparks flared, vapors curled, and the rhythmic hum of Resonalt Stones pulsed through the Forge Hall—until one tone broke through them all.

A deep, ringing pulse echoed across the chamber, clear and resonant, like a bell struck at the heart of the world. Every head turned.

At the center of it, calm and composed, stood Glenn. His hand rested on the surface of the Resonalt Stone, now glowing with a silvery hue. From that light, a shape coalesced—a long, metallic staff, fluid in its lines, yet firm in his grip. The weapon flexed slightly, as if alive, like a reed swaying in a breeze. He struck it once against the floor.

The sound it produced wasn’t loud, but it was powerful. A low, rippling vibration rolled outward, disturbing the very air around it. The stone beneath Glenn’s feet shimmered faintly in response.

Silence fell.

Master Edwin stepped closer, his eyes narrowed—not in disapproval, but in measured awe.

“A Sonic Reedstaff,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Sound-based weapons are rare. Very rare. And you did it without help.”

Glenn offered only a small nod. “It just… clicked,” he said quietly, as if the answer were too simple to explain.

And with that, a new current of energy spread across the hall. Confidence. Hope. Success began to spark in corners like wildfire catching dry brush.

Near the back, Kiara stood with eyes closed, her hands raised gently toward her Resonalt Stone. Light—pure and radiant—spiraled upward like golden threads, dancing in the air. Slowly, the energy shaped itself into a slender arcane staff, crowned with a delicate halo of floating crystal. The moment it settled into her hands, Kiara exhaled, her entire frame relaxing in quiet triumph.

Master Edwin watched her with a subtle nod. “Beautiful control,” he said, his voice soft. “A Staff of Quiet Light. You’ve channeled not just energy… but grace.”

A wave of cheers and shouts erupted around the chamber as more students succeeded—each success feeding the next, like a chain of stars blinking to life.

But not everyone celebrated.

At the far edge of the platform, Kael stood hunched over his Resonalt Stone, fists clenched. His breathing was ragged, and frustration bled from every movement. Again and again, he slammed his hand into the stone.

Sparks burst out. Flames lashed wild and hot, licking the edges of the platform with reckless hunger. The stone pulsed brightly, then dulled. Again.

“Come on,” Kael growled. “Come on!”

Master Edwin approached slowly. “Kael,” he said, voice even, “you’re forcing the power. You need to listen to it.”

“I am listening!” Kael snapped, not looking up. “It’s just… not saying anything back!”

He staggered back, panting. Sweat trickled down his brow, and the edges of his palms were scorched red from the heat. Around him, the others had paused—watching. No one laughed. Not yet.

Edwin’s tone softened, but his gaze remained steady. “Then maybe,” he said, “you’re asking the wrong question.”

Kael stood motionless, his fists trembling. His aura flickered restlessly along his fingertips—uneven, raw, untamed. Before him, the Resonalt Stone remained dull, unmoved.

Not far away, Glenn’s Reedstaff still hummed with a gentle thrum. Kiara clutched her glowing staff in silence, her gaze on Kael. There was no triumph in her eyes—only quiet sympathy.

The forge still burned around them. But in that corner, all was still. A young warrior, a silent stone, and the stubborn fire between them—waiting to be understood.

The throne room was quiet—but not peaceful. It was the kind of quiet that held weight. A silence that pressed in, thick with unsaid truths and unspent tension. Outside, the moon spilled its silver across the floor through a narrow arched window, casting long shadows across the cold stone.

A single flame flickered in an ornate brass sconce mounted beside the throne, its dim light dancing across the walls and catching on the war banners that draped the space like silent witnesses.

General Rodric stood by the war table, unmoving, his hands clasped behind his back. The silver in his beard glinted like steel under the candlelight. Scars lined his jaw, and his eyes were sharp as ever—honed by decades of battle, but tonight… there was something else in them. Worry.

King Aldric sat atop the obsidian throne, the lion of the realm emblazoned in gold behind his shoulders. His fingers were steepled before his lips, his eyes unreadable. Though cloaked in robes of midnight and gold, there was nothing soft about him. He was a man carved from purpose, forged by burden.

Rodric’s voice broke the silence first.

“There’s movement inside the academy,” he said, his tone measured. “Subtle. Deliberate. Files have gone missing. Roster changes made without clearance. No alarms, no confrontations—just quiet adjustments.”

Aldric didn’t look up. “And how blind are we?”

Rodric exhaled through his nose. “Blind enough that I’m certain of only one thing—we’ve been looking outward, preparing for Zareth, for the border fires and swordplay… while the real blade’s been carving from within.”

Aldric’s eyes flicked toward him at that. “Then we have a mole.”

“Or a faction,” Rodric replied, stepping forward, casting a long shadow across the floor. “Either way, they know what they’re doing. Not a whisper in the royal courts. Not a single coin moved through the usual spy circuits. No footprints. Just shadows.”

“The Cipher?” Aldric asked, his voice a touch lower now.

Rodric’s jaw tightened. “At risk. If it moves again, it becomes harder to shield. We've placed elite squads around the vault. Quiet ones. But if they make a play, it won't be loud. It’ll be surgical. Clean.”

Aldric leaned forward, finally lifting his gaze. His voice was steel beneath velvet. “No. If they go for it, it won’t be clean. Not if they fail.” He paused, then added with cold clarity, “And if they succeed… it won’t be theft. It’ll be declaration.”

Rodric nodded once. “You suspect Zareth?”

Aldric stood then, slowly, with the gravity of a storm cloud rising. He walked toward the window and looked out over the sleeping city, his hands clasped behind his back. “Zareth has patience. They poison wells, not wine. But this? This reeks of someone else. Someone with time. With reach. And with the arrogance to think they can walk away unburned.”

Rodric hesitated, then asked, “Shall I move the Cipher? The South Spire is narrow. Fewer access points.”

“No,” Aldric said, turning. “That shows fear. And fear breeds ambition in men who should have none. Let them come.”

Rodric's brows furrowed. “And if they do?”

Aldric’s eyes gleamed like firelight on steel. “Then we drag their names into the light… and hang their silence from the tower walls.”

In the forgotten underbelly of the academy—where time hung in the air like mildew and the walls whispered with the secrets of dead mages—a single candle sputtered.

Its glow barely reached the edges of the stone chamber, casting shifting patterns across the remnants of a long-abandoned alchemical lab. Cracked flasks sat on shelves. Sigils had faded to scars on the wall. Dust coated the floor like ash.

Korin sat hunched at a wooden desk warped by age, his dark eyes fixed on the collection of scrolls and diagrams spread before him. His fingers moved slowly, like a predator savoring the scent of blood. There was a stillness to him—deliberate, reptilian.

The blueprints of the Cipher vault were inked with precision. Guard patrol routes marked in red. Emergency protocols in faded ink. And beside them, a short list of names—each chosen, each expendable.

He spoke aloud, though no one was there to hear.

“It’s too risky to take the Cipher quietly,” he murmured, voice smooth as oil. “Too many eyes. Too many doors that don’t stay closed.”

His gaze slid to the name at the top of the parchment: RONAN. A wolf etched beside it.

“The team… they’re bait. That’s all. They’ll draw the guards out—into the wrong corridors. Into traps. Loud. Messy. Just enough chaos to make the elite squads forget what they’re actually protecting.”

He leaned back in his chair, letting the candlelight catch the glint of a throwing blade at his belt. In his palm, he rolled a silver token—Ronan’s, stamped with a wolf mid-leap. He watched it spin.

“Ronan’s the wild card,” Korin continued, his voice barely above a breath. “Unpredictable. Dangerous. But in chaos, he shines. He’ll charge in, teeth bared, leaving blood and confusion behind. They’ll never see me.”

He looked back to the vault diagram. A thin smile tugged at his lips—not joy. Satisfaction.

“While they’re drowning in the noise,” he whispered, “I’ll slip in, take the Cipher, and be gone before the bells finish ringing.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Everyone has a role to play. Even if they don’t know it yet.”