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  Sibetmonia greeted them with the stench of boiled cabbage, the acrid soot of forges, and a fog that swirled over the cobblestones as if the city were intentionally burying its secrets from outsiders. Stone arches, squat, broad-shouldered buildings, and heat-radiating smithies nestled against river bridges—everything served as a reminder that this was a Dwarven city, however long it had been crushed in the Empire’s iron grip. Human eyes here were less suspicious than elsewhere, but the Dwarves... the Dwarves remembered. The glances that slid past them were silent but sharp: “We haven't surrendered,” “We remember it all.”

  Violetta moved among the rescued, concealing her ears and tail beneath a borrowed mantle, feigning the role of a terrified girl from the eastern fringes. After the silence of the forest, every sound was an assault: the roar of the market, the rhythmic clang of metal, the low grumble of Dwarves muttering about “Imperial hounds gnawing at our mines,” and the whispers of women saying that “soon, it will ignite again, just like the old days.” The tension was thick, almost adhesive.

  The Sphere, remaining beyond the city walls, continued to monitor events through Violetta’s optical feed:[SCANNING: SOCIAL TENSION LEVEL — HIGH. PROBABILITY OF LOCAL INSURRECTION — SIGNIFICANT. RECOMMENDATION: AVOID DIRECT OBSERVATION.]

  The adventurers—Brenn, Irellis, Odd, and Tillo—led the group toward the temple. They moved with confidence, yet with the strained caution of those who know that one false step will shatter the ice. At the gate, a sentry glanced at the Dwarf and spoke curtly: “Welcome home, Captain.”

  They passed the guild, where a bounty board hung on the wall. The first was the bald man with the scar, marked WANTED: ALIVE OR DEAD. But below it hung another parchment—the one that sent a spike of ice down Violetta’s spine. From it stared a charcoal sketch of a beast-kin: white hair, violet eyes, features painfully familiar. The caption: SPECIAL ORDER FROM THE OCULUS. SUBSTANTIAL REWARD FOR INFORMATION. The seal—an eye pierced by a sword and crown.

  The Sphere responded instantly:[CONFIRMED: TARGET OF SEARCH IDENTIFIED AS SUBJECT. RISK OF IDENTIFICATION: ELEVATED. CAMOUFLAGE MANDATORY.]

  Violetta pulled her hood so low it nearly blinded her. Her fingers curled into a fist, and she pressed her tail against her spine until it ached. Soldiers approached—heavy boots, the rattle of plate, short, barked orders. Irellis led the group toward the temple, its walls choked with moss and the runes of the Western Conclave.

  At the entrance, two Imperial guards were vetting everyone. One, with a scar across his cheek, yanked the hair of a beast-kin woman ahead of them: “Chimera? Show your teeth.”

  Violetta lowered her head even further, shrinking her shoulders, trying to become a shadow. The soldier’s gaze slid over her, he snorted and grunted: “Clean.”

  Only then did she allow herself a shallow breath, enough to keep her heart from leaping out of her throat. Unrecognized—for now. But Sibetmonia lived on a tension that could ignite at any moment. And in this city, they remembered everything. Even what the Empire tried to erase.

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  Inside the temple, a different world reigned. The air was warm, saturated with incense, chamomile, mint, and licorice root that the Dwarves of the Stone Circle brewed to settle frayed souls. Dwarven nuns in grey habits moved silently, carefully, as if afraid to break the fragile hush.

  “Poor thing, sit,” one said, an elder with kind eyes. She led Violetta to a bench and offered a warm decoction. “Here, drink. If there are wounds—show me, I will tend to them.”

  Her hands were coarse from labor but gentle. She touched a scratch on the arm of a woman nearby, soothed a boy with a bruise under his eye: “Hush, little one. It will pass. We are here with you.”

  Violetta sat in silence, feigning exhaustion, eavesdropping on the room. The nuns’ whispers grazed her ears: “...The Stone Circle hasn't forgotten the mines...” “...The Eye thinks we have knelt...” “...At night, the girls bring food to the children, even with the guards prowling...”

  There was no performative sanctity here. None of the hollow phoniness of Amplios, where mercy was a shroud for cruelty. Here was a quiet, genuine heat, stubbornly holding out under the weight of occupation.

  A jagged memory of the cellars of Amplios cut through her—metal, screams, “purification.” Those scenes flashed before her eyes, and the contrast with this place was almost unbearable.

  But the light was short-lived.

  The doors burst open, and an Imperial priest stepped into the temple—gaunt, with an aquiline nose, dressed in a black cassock heavy with the gold of the Oculus. His gaze swept over the captives like they were mere inventory.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “Enough, Sisters,” he barked. “Medicine is for the loyal. Which of you is harboring anomalies? Show them all.”

  The grey-haired nun faltered slightly but stepped forward. “Your Holiness... they suffer like any other...”

  The priest dismissed her with a negligent wave. A soldier behind him seized her shoulder. “Their suffering is part of their purification,” he said coldly. “And your part is to serve the Empire, not the Stone Circle.”

  The captives froze. Violetta tucked her head lower, pinning her ears under the mantle. Everything inside her constricted, but she couldn't afford a single sudden movement.

  The priest strode through the hall, issuing orders to check everyone. His voice vibrated with tension, and a sickly cocktail of incense and human fear trailed in his wake. Just as abruptly, he vanished behind the doors, leaving the air in the temple feeling heavier, harder to swallow.

  Violetta waited a few seconds, just enough to drown her own footsteps in the muffled whispers of the faithful. Then, she slipped unnoticed through a propped-open door, glided down a narrow corridor, and vaulted through an open window into a side courtyard. Her heart beat faster than she liked, but her body moved with a fluid, silent grace, as if it knew the path on its own.

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  The city met her with the roar of a thousand voices. She wandered the streets, letting her hearing work at full capacity—muffled conversations, sighs, the click of locks, distant military commands. And amidst it all were strange fragments of phrases: “...need a new mask...” “...the Dwarves will forge it by morning, if the coin is right...” “...better not to show your face under the Imperials...”

  The longer she listened, the clearer it became: there were far more people hiding their faces in this city than those walking openly. People used the Dwarven workshops as readily as they once used temples—to conceal themselves, not to be seen.

  And at the same time... there were suspiciously few Imperial soldiers. It seemed the city was under total control, yet every patrol consisted of only three or four men, and they repeated their routes too frequently.

  [INCONSISTENCY,] the Sphere noted quietly. [DEMONSTRATION OF FORCE WITHOUT ACTUAL STRENGTH.]

  Violetta knew this should alarm her. But something else ached within her — the silence that had settled in her soul over the past year. She found herself thinking:Maybe I should have accepted their offer?

  The companions by the fire had seemed sincere. Cheerful. Alive. And... dangerous to her for that very reason.

  For if she attached herself to someone, and then lost them? If she couldn't protect them? Her fingers clenched reflexively, remembering the warm silhouettes that, in her past, had dissolved like smoke. She tried to push these thoughts away, but they were stubborn.

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  Thus, pondering and listening, she stumbled directly onto the market square. A chaos of scents and voices ruled here: roasted meat, spices, Dwarven herbs, the cries of vendors, the rustle of fabric. The flow of people forced her to move, and Violetta had nearly merged with the crowd when a familiar figure appeared ahead.

  Brenn was walking confidently, the rest of his group trailing behind. He was just finishing a sentence: “...settle the business with the captives and collect our pay...”

  His gaze slid over an Imperial patrol slowly prowling the edge of the square. Then, by chance—or perhaps not—it met hers. Brenn froze. “There you are,” he said, approaching. “See you didn't vanish into the fog. Good.”

  He paused for a moment, as if choosing his words, and slowed his pace. “We... well... we talked,” he began. “Remember our conversation by the fire? The offer stands. We aren't pressing, but... it would be dull without you.”

  His smile seemed too light to her—and that made it dangerous. Because it made her feel warmer. Because it reminded her too much of what she feared: attachment.

  But she didn't have time to answer. A scream erupted from a nearby alley. Female, piercing: “No! Let go!”

  Irellis lunged forward instantly, without a shadow of a doubt. “Wait!” Violetta charged after her. Her heart tightened: she couldn't leave someone in trouble. Not again.

  The alley was dark; the sharp stench of urine and rotting vegetables hit her nose. Two thugs had pinned a Dwarven woman to the wall. One muffled her mouth while the other rifled through her pockets. “Shut it, bitch! Or it’ll be worse for you...”

  Irellis struck first: a blade slid into the attacker’s shoulder smoothly, like a knife through warm wax. “Get off her!”

  The second thug yanked out a knife, but Violetta was already moving. Her palm flared—a compressed "Earth Bolt" slammed into his knee. A crack. A scream. He collapsed.

  The Dwarven woman could barely stand. “Thank you... gods, thank you...”

  Irellis caught her by the elbow, while Violetta touched the woman's wound with a warm, quiet healing spell. “You are safe now,” she whispered.

  A dull clank of metal. Heavy footsteps. Three Imperial soldiers stepped from the shadows of the alley. Emblems on their shoulders. Cold faces. “What’s this? A brawl?” one of them asked, scrutinizing Violetta. His gaze lingered. Too long. Too intently. The white hair, the hood that had shifted slightly... an ear might show if he looked closer.

  The Sphere issued a sharp alert:[ATTENTION. PROBABILITY OF IDENTIFICATION INCREASING. RECOMMENDATION: RETREAT OR COVER.]

  But in that moment, the others stepped up beside her. Odd stepped forward, his hand silently resting on his bow. Tillo raised a barrier—translucent, shimmering. Irellis stood between Violetta and the soldiers, shielding her. And Brenn threw a look that could have crushed stone: “Our business, soldier. Protection of a guild citizen. Lawful. If you want trouble, call the Lord. We’ll wait.”

  Dwarven stubbornness in his gaze did its work. The soldier held the stare for another second, grimaced, muttered something unintelligible, and turned away. Their boots hammered the pavement in silent fury.

  Violetta stood there, barely breathing. They had protected her. Without hesitation. Without conditions. Without even knowing who they were saving.

  [ANALYSIS: GROUP TRUST LEVEL — HIGH. RISK OF TREACHERY — MINIMAL.]

  Something twinged in her chest. “I... thank you. I will join,” she said, still wavering. “If you’ll have me.”

  Brenn grinned broadly and sincerely: “We already have, little one. Come on. The Guild is waiting. And a stew in honor of our new member, too!”

  They moved down the street. The fog parted; the lanterns flickered with warm light. And for the first time in a long time, Violetta didn't feel the cold. Only a warmth—fragile, but real. The situation in the city was on a kni

  fe's edge. But now, she wasn't alone.

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