The Scribes' Blades' headquarters stood at the edge of Tlangthar, an imposing structure of living wood. The massive tree housing the Archives rose high above the surrounding buildings, its branches spreading out like a canopy of protection. Mana pulsed faintly along its trunk, and the glowing glyphs carved into the hollowed entrance shimmered like a silent welcome.
Larin and Rinku approached the entrance, their steps slow and deliberate. The fight still lingered in their bodies—every movement was a reminder of the cuts, bruises, and fatigue weighing on them. Larin's wrist throbbed dully, and Rinku's torn sleeve revealed a shallow but angry cut along her arm. The faint glow of blood-magic bandages wrapped hastily around her wound suggested she had already taken steps to heal it.
As they stepped inside, the air cooled immediately. The scent of aged parchment, crushed herbs, and faintly metallic mana enveloped them. The faint sound of the tree's creaking echoed through the Archives, its vast chambers lined with shelves of books, scrolls, and relics.
Rinku led Larin deeper into the labyrinthine structure, her pace quick despite her visible exhaustion. They climbed a spiraling staircase carved into the tree itself, the warm amber light from the runes embedded in the bark illuminating their path. Finally, they reached her chamber—a room tucked into one of the tree's larger branches.
The space was a chaotic blend of workshop and laboratory. Blueprints were pinned to the walls, their edges curling from age and exposure to mana. Devices of every size and complexity littered the tables—clusters of glowing orbs, interlocking gears, and faintly humming crystals. Shelves groaned under the weight of thick tomes, their spines marked with strange symbols. Larin hesitated at the threshold, taking in the disarray.
"What is all this?" he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.
Rinku smirked as she motioned him inside. "Prototypes. Experiments. Bits of inspiration. Everything here is a work in progress, including the ones that explode."
She picked up a device from a nearby table, its shape resembling a spinning wheel with a narrow telescope attached. She turned it over in her hands, the glow of embedded runes reflecting in her eyes. "This is a mana flow analyzer. It's supposed to map the flow of mana in objects or environments. Still doesn't work, though—it overloads and fries itself half the time."
Larin moved to another table, where a cluster of glass orbs sat connected by thin copper tubes. The orbs faintly glowed, their inner light pulsing at uneven intervals. "And this?" he asked, leaning in for a closer look.
"That's a purifier," Rinku said, setting down the analyzer. "Or it will be. The idea is to extract pure mana from tainted sources. It's finicky. One wrong adjustment, and it lights up the whole room—sometimes literally."
Larin chuckled, impressed despite his fatigue. "You've been busy."
"Always," Rinku replied with a grin. "This is how we innovate—trial, error, and the occasional broken limb."
She gestured for Larin to sit at a nearby stool. "Speaking of broken limbs, let's take care of those injuries before they slow us down."
Larin obeyed, pulling back his sleeve to reveal his bruised wrist. The skin was mottled with purples and yellows, the swelling stark against the surrounding flesh. Rinku retrieved a small vial of green liquid from her workbench, shaking it gently before uncorking it. The scent of fresh grass and rain wafted from the vial as she poured a few drops onto Larin's wrist.
"Hold still," she instructed, her voice softening. She traced a symbol in the air above the injury, her mana weaving into the liquid. The potion glowed faintly before seeping into his skin, a cooling sensation spreading through his wrist. The swelling began to recede, and Larin flexed his fingers experimentally.
"That's better," he said, nodding his thanks.
Rinku moved to tend her own wounds, pulling out a small metal disc etched with runes. She pressed it to her arm, the device emitting a soft hum as it stitched the cut closed with threads of glowing light. Larin watched, fascinated.
"Do all Scribes' Blades carry these?" he asked.
"Only the ones who survive long enough to invent them," Rinku replied with a smirk. "We learn by necessity."
Once they were both patched up, Rinku turned her attention to the artifact. She placed it on the central worktable, the room's light casting its details into sharp relief. The box's surface seemed almost alive, the dark wood glistening as though coated in a fine sheen. The etched runes shifted subtly, their patterns flowing like water, and the low hum it emitted resonated faintly in the air.
"Beautiful," Rinku murmured, leaning closer. "And dangerous."
Larin nodded, his eyes locked on the artifact. "What do you think it does?"
Rinku straightened, her brow furrowed in thought. "Artifacts like this usually hold something—knowledge, energy, sometimes curses. Whatever it is, it's not meant to be trifled with."
She began examining the artifact with a series of tools, her movements precise. A needle-thin probe extended from one device, tracing the runes as it emitted faint pulses of light. Another device projected a holographic image of the artifact's internal structure, its layers revealed like the pages of a book.
"Where does someone like Branth even find something like this?" Larin asked, his voice tinged with both awe and unease.
"In places you don't want to go," Rinku replied, her tone grim. "There are corners of this city—of this world—that aren't touched by laws or morals. Branth is one of the few who can navigate them. That's why we deal with people like him."
She gestured to the room around them. "The proper channels can't reach everywhere. That's where we come in. We operate in the shadows, working with people who don't follow the rules. It's a delicate balance."
Larin tilted his head. "Balance?"
Rinku nodded. "The underbelly isn't just chaos. It's an ecosystem. People like Branth are the center of it. They keep it from descending into chaos. But there are others—gang leaders, smugglers, informants. Everyone plays a role."
Her gaze grew distant. "It's a web of alliances and rivalries. Everyone has a purpose, and everyone has a price. The city above depends on the city below, even if no one likes to admit it."
Larin considered her words, the weight of the artifact pressing against his mind. "And you? Where do you fit?"
Rinku smiled faintly, her eyes sharp. "I navigate the shadows. I try to monitor the underbelly, even if it means getting my hands dirty."
The room grew silent as the hum of the artifact filled the space once more. Larin watched as Rinku returned to her work, her focus unwavering. The events of the night had shown him a side of the world he had never truly seen—a world of shadows and secrets, where survival depended on understanding the intricate dance between power and necessity.
As he left the Archives, the weight of the artifact lingered in his thoughts. It was a reminder that the choices made in the shadows didn't just echo—they shaped the world above.