The sun had barely risen over King's Landing when Aurelian moved again, shadows clinging to him like a second skin. The city was restless, aware only in whispers that something unseen had touched its heart. Even the gulls circling above seemed hesitant, their cries muffled by tension in the air.
Elayne fell into step beside him, alert and quiet. "The crown will not forgive the theft of the Anchors. They're regrouping, and Ser Vayne isn't alone this time."
"I expected as much," Aurelian said. His eyes swept the rooftops, the alleys, and the twisting streets below. "They are predictable in their methods, yet arrogant in their confidence. That is all the advantage we need."
They descended into the lower city, weaving through narrow passages that smelled of salt, smoke, and old stone. Each alleyway seemed alive, whispering rumors, reflecting the fear of the people who had unknowingly felt the pulse of Nightbloom's power the night before.
Aurelian paused, placing his hand upon a wall scarred with ancient magic.
The Veil Anchors thrummed, sending subtle vibrations along his fingertips. He traced the hum to a concealed hatch, long forgotten, that led beneath the city.
"Elayne," he said softly, "there are truths hidden under this city that even the crown fears to uncover. That is where we go."
Her eyes narrowed. "You're certain it's safe? For us?"
Aurelian's lips curved faintly. "Safe is a luxury Westeros does not afford. But we are careful, and shadows are patient."
They entered the hatch, descending into tunnels that had been carved centuries ago, their walls lined with old wards and faded runes. Here, magic lingered—quiet, potent, ancient. The Anchors pulsed stronger now, sensing proximity to their kindred.
As they moved deeper, a voice echoed from the shadows: smooth, controlled, and unmistakably human.
"You move boldly, prince of Nightbloom," said Ser Alric Vayne, stepping from the darkness. He was flanked by two figures Aurelian did not recognize, both clad in black leather and bearing short blades etched with faint runes. "Do you truly believe you can gather these Anchors without consequence?"
Aurelian's shadow coiled around his feet, creeping forward like liquid night. "I do not believe. I know."
Vayne's eyes flicked to the Anchors. "Even so, you underestimate the Crown's patience—and its reach."
From the shadows behind Vayne, the two cloaked figures shifted, eyes gleaming unnaturally. Aurelian felt the tug of their power, faint but deliberate. They were trained in more than steel; these were men—or creatures—taught to sense magic and exploit it.
"Elayne," he whispered, "we are not merely fighting for survival. We are moving the pieces in a game they do not understand."
The first strike came from the right. Shadows leapt from the walls as Aurelian's own magic responded, wrapping around his attackers like thorned vines. One of Vayne's companions went down, caught in the coil but unharmed—merely restrained.
Vayne lunged, sword flashing. Aurelian sidestepped effortlessly, shadows extending to tip the blade aside. The room darkened as magic and motion intertwined.
"You move with the arrogance of a king," Vayne said, his voice calm amid the chaos. "But this is the Red Keep's city. It does not yield lightly."
"Then it will learn," Aurelian replied. His hand hovered over the Anchors, and with a subtle motion, he released a pulse that caused the tunnels to shiver. Stone dust fell from the ceiling; runes flared with recognition and alignment.
The two cloaked figures retreated, muttering curses. Vayne took a step back, reassessing. "Impressive," he admitted. "But the city is filled with eyes. You may evade me tonight, but I have resources you cannot imagine."
Aurelian's shadow stretched, fingers brushing the walls, moving silently. "Then I will meet them on my terms, not yours."
He secured the Anchors, feeling their combined resonance hum like a living thing. The tunnels were quiet now, but the echoes of their confrontation lingered in the stones.
Elayne exhaled softly. "Every move we make… they're watching. Waiting."
"Yes," Aurelian agreed, eyes distant. "But patience is our ally. The Crown's reach is long, but the shadows are eternal."
Far above, in the Red Keep, Vayne returned to the Small Council chambers, reporting what he had witnessed. Every word was measured, yet the unease in his voice betrayed the truth: the prince of Nightbloom was no mere threat.
And across the Sunset Sea, in Nightbloom, Queen Maleficent spread her wings, sensing the pulse of her son's victories. Her eyes gleamed with dark pride.
Aurelian had begun the game.
And Westeros was already losing.