Chapter 3: A Trail in the Fog
Elias Thorne trudged through the fog-drenched streets of Eldoria, his coat torn and blood-streaked, his mechanical arm whirring faintly with each step. The events in Brindley's workshop lingered in his mind, replaying with unsettling clarity. The shadowy creature, the glowing symbols, and the terrified man's screams were unlike anything he'd encountered in his years as an investigator. He'd always thought of himself as a man tethered to reality. Now, he wasn't so sure.
The journal in his pocket was heavy with unanswered questions, and his instincts screamed that this was only the beginning. Victor Caine had delved into something far darker than Elias had anticipated, and the Ouroboros Society was at the center of it all.
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The familiar sound of boots on cobblestones drew his attention. A constabulary patrol rounded the corner, their lanterns cutting through the fog. Elias cursed under his breath and stepped into an alley, pressing himself against the damp brick wall.
The constables were on edge. He could hear it in their clipped words and the hurried rhythm of their steps. News of what had happened in the Black Vein District would spread quickly, and Elias had no intention of explaining himself to the authorities. They weren't equipped to deal with what he'd just faced—or the trail he intended to follow.
The patrol passed, their lanterns casting fleeting shadows on the alley walls. Elias waited until their footsteps faded before stepping back into the street.
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The Golden Gasket, Eldoria's Underground Tavern
It wasn't long before Elias found himself in front of a nondescript door beneath a flickering gaslight. The Golden Gasket was a place where information flowed freely, for the right price. Its patrons were smugglers, thieves, and informants—people who thrived in the murky corners of the city. Elias had frequented it often enough to know its worth.
Pushing open the door, he was greeted by the familiar hum of hushed conversations and the tang of cheap ale. The air was thick with smoke, the kind that burned your throat and left your clothes reeking for days. Elias scanned the room, his gaze landing on a figure hunched over a table in the far corner.
"Vaughn," Elias said as he approached, pulling out a chair and sitting across from the man without invitation.
The man looked up, his one good eye narrowing. Vaughn was a wiry man with a face that had seen its share of fights. His other eye was a glass prosthetic, a crude but functional replacement that gleamed faintly in the dim light.
"Thorne," Vaughn muttered, his voice gravelly. "Didn't think I'd see you again. What do you want?"
"Information," Elias said, placing a coin on the table. "About the Ouroboros Society."
The room seemed to grow quieter at the mention of the name. Vaughn glanced around nervously, his good eye flicking toward the bartender before returning to Elias.
"You don't mess with them," Vaughn said, lowering his voice. "They're not just another secret society. They're… something else."
"Something like a shadowy creature summoned by glowing symbols?" Elias asked, his tone dry.
Vaughn flinched. "So, you've seen it."
Elias leaned forward. "I've seen enough to know I'm in over my head. I need to know what they're after, and why a scholar named Victor Caine was caught up in it."
Vaughn hesitated, his fingers drumming on the table. "Victor… I've heard of him. He was asking questions, dangerous ones. About the Philosopher's Prism."
Elias frowned. "The Philosopher's Prism?"
"It's a legend," Vaughn said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "An artifact said to be the key to mastering alchemy. The Ouroboros Society believes it can grant them unimaginable power. But the last time someone tried to use it…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "Well, let's just say the city still bears the scars."
Elias absorbed the information, his mind racing. If the Society was after the Prism, and Victor had stumbled onto something, it explained the strange events in the workshop. But it didn't explain why the scholar had vanished—or why he'd left behind the journal.
"Where can I find them?" Elias asked.
Vaughn gave a bitter laugh. "You don't find the Ouroboros Society. They find you. And if they know you're looking for them, you won't like how they say hello."
Elias's mechanical hand tapped against the table, the soft clicks drawing Vaughn's attention. "You don't seem to understand," Elias said, his voice cold. "I don't have the luxury of avoiding them. If I don't find them, they'll find me—and they'll take me apart piece by piece. So tell me what you know."
Vaughn studied him for a long moment before sighing. "There's an auction tomorrow night. Black market, high stakes. Word is, the Ouroboros Society will be there, looking for something tied to the Prism."
"Where?"
"Old Foundry District. Abandoned factory by the east gate. But listen to me, Thorne—you're walking into a den of wolves. They won't hesitate to rip you apart."
Elias stood, slipping another coin onto the table. "Let them try."
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As Elias stepped back into the foggy streets, his mind was already racing with possibilities. An auction meant more players, more opportunities to gather information—and more danger. If the Ouroboros Society was involved, it would be his best chance to learn their motives and figure out what had happened to Victor Caine.
The journal in his pocket felt heavier than before, as if it carried the weight of what was to come. Elias didn't know what he would find at the auction, but one thing was certain: the Ouroboros Society wouldn't let him walk away easily.
The fog thickened around him, but Elias didn't slow. Trouble was waiting for him, and he wasn't the kind to turn back. Not now.
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