Chapter 13: The Alchemist's Knowledge
The interior of Magnus's safehouse was as chaotic as the Mirelands outside. Shelves lined the walls, crammed with jars of strange herbs, vials of glowing liquids, and books with titles that made Elias's head spin. The air was thick with the scent of alchemical experiments—sharp and acrid, but not entirely unpleasant. A cluttered workbench dominated the room, its surface covered with tools, open tomes, and half-finished contraptions that whirred faintly in the dim light.
Magnus closed the door behind them, his gray eyes flicking to the satchel slung over Elias's shoulder. "You said Ouroboros is after you. How long do we have before they find this place?"
Elias shrugged, his mechanical arm clicking softly as he adjusted the strap. "Hard to say. We've slowed them down for now, but it won't last. They sent a Warden after us in the Mirelands."
Magnus's expression darkened. "A Warden? They're not taking chances, then."
"They know we have the shard," Lyssa said, setting her pack on the workbench. "And they'll stop at nothing to get it back."
Magnus's gaze lingered on Lyssa for a moment, his lips pressing into a thin line. "I warned you, Lyssa. When you ran from Ouroboros, you didn't just make enemies—you made yourself a target. And now you've brought that target here."
"We didn't have a choice," Lyssa shot back. "If we don't figure out how to stop them, they'll tear the Veil apart."
Magnus sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You're not wrong. But this shard…" He stepped closer to Elias, his hand outstretched. "Let me see it."
Elias hesitated for a moment before pulling the shard from his satchel. It glowed faintly in the dim light, its runes shimmering with an otherworldly energy. Magnus's eyes widened as he took it, his fingers tracing the intricate patterns etched into its surface.
"This is… dangerous," Magnus muttered, his voice tinged with awe and fear. "Do you have any idea what you're carrying?"
"Enough to know it's trouble," Elias said. "Victor Caine's journal called it a key. Lyssa said it connects to the Veil."
Magnus nodded, carefully placing the shard on the workbench. "The Veil is the barrier between our world and the Unseen—a realm of chaos and power that no mortal was ever meant to touch. Ouroboros believes breaking the Veil will grant them access to limitless energy, but they don't understand the cost."
"What's the cost?" Elias asked, his tone grim.
Magnus met his gaze, his eyes shadowed. "The Veil doesn't just keep the Unseen out. It keeps us safe. If it's breached, the chaos on the other side won't just flood through—it will consume everything."
Elias's jaw tightened. "So, how do we stop them?"
Magnus turned back to the shard, his fingers moving over its surface as if searching for something. "The shard is only part of the key. To breach the Veil, Ouroboros needs both the shard and a specific alchemical ritual—a process that requires immense precision and power."
"We already destroyed the conduit," Lyssa said. "That should set them back."
"For now," Magnus replied. "But Ouroboros won't give up. They'll find another way."
Elias crossed his arms, his mechanical hand tapping against his side. "What about the shard itself? Can we destroy it?"
Magnus frowned, his eyes narrowing as he examined the artifact. "The shard is… complicated. It's not just an object—it's a vessel for Veil energy. Destroying it outright could unleash that energy, causing more damage than it prevents."
"Then what do we do with it?" Lyssa asked.
Magnus stepped away from the workbench, pacing as he thought. "There's a way to neutralize it, to sever its connection to the Veil. But the process is risky. It requires a specific alchemical catalyst, one that's nearly impossible to create without the right materials."
Elias raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess. The materials are in some dangerous, hard-to-reach place."
Magnus nodded. "The catalyst requires a rare substance called Veilsteel. It's a metal infused with traces of Veil energy, and it can only be found in one place—Eldoria's Iron Tombs."
Lyssa's expression darkened. "The Iron Tombs? You're serious?"
"What are the Iron Tombs?" Elias asked, glancing between them.
Magnus sighed. "A massive, underground crypt beneath Eldoria's industrial district. It was built centuries ago to house the remains of the city's founders, but over time, it became a dumping ground for dangerous alchemical experiments. The place is a death trap—full of toxic fumes, unstable machinery, and… other things."
Elias groaned. "Of course it is. Because this mission wasn't dangerous enough already."
Magnus gave him a faint smile. "If it were easy, Ouroboros wouldn't fear it."
Elias leaned against the workbench, his mind racing. The shard in Magnus's possession felt like a ticking bomb, and every second they spent debating was another second Ouroboros could use to close the gap. The Iron Tombs sounded like a nightmare, but if Veilsteel was the key to neutralizing the shard, they didn't have a choice.
"How much time do we have before Ouroboros finds us?" Elias asked.
"Not long," Magnus said. "They'll track the shard's energy. We need to move quickly."
Lyssa straightened, her expression resolute. "Then we leave tonight. The Iron Tombs aren't far, and the sooner we get the Veilsteel, the better."
Magnus nodded, though his expression remained grim. "Be careful. The Iron Tombs are more than just dangerous—they're cursed. If you're not careful, you won't make it out alive."
Elias adjusted the strap of his satchel, his revolver gleaming faintly in the low light. "We've made it this far. A cursed crypt isn't going to stop us."
Magnus didn't look convinced, but he handed the shard back to Elias, his fingers lingering on it for a moment. "Keep it safe. And whatever happens, don't let Ouroboros get their hands on it."
Elias nodded, slipping the shard back into his satchel. "We'll be back."
As they stepped out into the cold, damp air of the Mirelands, Elias couldn't shake the feeling that the Iron Tombs would be the most dangerous leg of their journey yet. And somewhere in the shadows, Ouroboros was waiting.
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