The path into the Krellian Deeps was not a road, but a wound carved into the world. After a grueling hour of descent along a treacherous switchback trail, the full, staggering vista of Rusthaven yawned open before them—a nightmare-dream of a city clinging parasitically to the walls of the chasm itself.
It was a vertical sprawl of corroded metal platforms and crude stone ledges, connected by a dizzying web of swaying rope bridges and groaning, steam-powered gondolas. The air was a thick, acrid soup of coal smoke and alchemical runoff, and the endless, reverberating sound of forge hammers and grinding gears formed a constant, industrial heartbeat.
"The upper levels are the 'Crown Tier'," Vance explained, his eyes narrowed as he scanned the area. "Relatively safe. The major Merchant Guilds and some of the northern Barons maintain outposts there to manage their mining and trading interests. It's where you go for official business." He pointedly looked at Rhyse. "The Synkar outpost is there, my lord. Or what's left of it. It's been under attack by Valtari-backed prospectors for years. Showing your face there would be like lighting a signal fire."
"We have no business at the Synkar outpost," Rhyse confirmed, his gaze sweeping over the chaotic panorama. His true destination, the ancient hidden outpost of his ancestors, lay far deeper in the Deeps, beyond this lawless city. "We need to go down."
"Down" was an understatement. As they descended via a massive, groaning lift platform, the semblance of order vanished. This was the Sump. The narrow walkways were slick with grime, the air thick with the smell of cheap ale and desperation. Here, every shadow held a threat, and every alleyway was a potential ambush. Mercenaries with cold, dead eyes leaned against corroded walls, their allegiances for sale to the highest bidder. Information brokers whispered in coded phrases in darkened corners, their currency secrets and betrayals. This was the true heart of Rusthaven, the engine of illicit trade that the Valtari Syndicate called home.
They pushed through the crooked doorway of The Leaky Crucible, its rusted hinges groaning like a wounded beast. The tavern was exactly what its name suggested—a dim, grimy den where the air smelled of old grease and spilt ale, with walls stained the color of tarnished copper. Stale smoke clung to the low ceiling beams, swirling in the flickering lantern light. This was the kind of place where transactions were made in hushed tones, where blades stayed sheathed just long enough for deals to be struck before blood could follow. Neutral ground, but only barely.
Rhyse chose the most secluded booth in the corner, its cracked leather upholstery patched haphazardly with mismatched scraps of hide. The wooden table bore the scars of countless knives—some marking bets, others threats—and its surface was tacky with residue from drinks long since spilled. He didn't sit so much as claim the space, shoulders squared beneath his reinforced overcoat.
"Vance," he murmured, voice low but edged with command, "you and Bellweather cover the door. Watch for anyone taking too much interest." The vanguard gave a silent nod, his scarred knuckles tightening briefly on his glaive before he turned. "Flint," Rhyse continued, meeting her gaze, "our backs. No one gets close without warning."
The team shifted into position, forming an unspoken perimeter—loyal steel between him and whatever the Sump might spit out tonight. Satisfied, Rhyse closed his eyes. Every ambient sound sharpened—the clink of glasses, the rasp of drunk laughter, the creak of the floorboards beneath shifting boots. He exhaled, porous to the currents of danger around him.
System, activate Sensory Enhancement Suite.
Light flared behind his eyelids. Gold hemorrhaged from the Synkar coffers somewhere far above, unseen, untouchable—except for the way his veins thrummed with sudden, precise awareness as the System announced:
[1,200 Gold Sovereigns Expended.]
The tavern's dull roar resolved into a symphony of whispers. He filtered through the noise, hunting for keywords: Valtari. Shipment. Krellian. Channel.
Rhyse stood still, his eyes closed, as the Sensory Enhancement Suite flooded his senses with a myriad of sounds from the tavern. The beginning was overwhelming - the clinking of glasses, the boisterous laughter of patrons, and the constant murmur of conversations. He let the sounds wash over him, filtering through the din to pick up snippets of conversation from nearby tables.
At first, the conversations were mundane: discussions about the latest shipment of ale, complaints about the weather, and boasts about recent exploits. Rhyse's mind began to wander, his focus drifting between the various conversations. He caught fragments of a heated debate about the merits of different types of armor, a couple arguing over a game of dice, and a group of shady-looking characters haggling over the price of a rare component.
As the minutes ticked by, Rhyse's attention began to wane, his ears straining to pick out anything of significance from the sea of noise. The tavern's patrons were a rough bunch, and most conversations seemed to revolve around trivialities or veiled threats. Just as he was starting to think that activating the Sensory Enhancement Suite had been a waste of gold, he caught a few words that made him perk up.
A gruff voice, partially obscured by the surrounding noise, mentioned something about a shipment. Rhyse's ears tuned in, homing in on the conversation. The voice was coming from a table a little ways off, partially hidden by a pillar. The speaker's words were hushed, but Rhyse's enhanced senses picked up the gist of the conversation.
"...the 'V' are moving something big," the voice grumbled, the words barely audible over the din of the tavern. Rhyse's mind snapped into focus, his heart quickening as he processed the information. The 'V' likely referred to the Valtari Syndicate, a rival faction that had been causing trouble for House Synkar. "'The Serpent's Eye,' they're calling it. Needs a specialized courier."
The conversation continued, with another voice hissing back, "...heard the usual channels are too hot. They're using a secure network. Top brass only. Even a whisper of the access codes would cost you a limb." Rhyse's interest was piqued; this was the kind of information he had been searching for.
As he listened intently, a particular word caught his attention - whisper. It was a name he had heard before in Valerius's reports, associated with a notorious information broker known for being expensive and allegedly infallible. The mention of this name sent a spark of excitement through Rhyse; this could be the lead he needed to uncover more about the Valtari Syndicate's plans.
As his mind processed this, the Synkar Core chimed with a new directive.
[New Quest Issued: Uncover the Krellian Conduit]
[Objective: Identify the nature and access point of "Channel Krellian," the secure communication network used by Livia Hawthorne and the Valtari Syndicate. Reward: Significant progress on [Identify the Assassins' Handler] Quest Line, System Advancement, [Schematic: Arcane Scrambler (Rank 2)]. Note: This objective is critical for intercepting the "new package."]
He had a goal, but no path. How did one find a ghost like "Whisper" or crack a secure network in a city of enemies?
Then, another chime. This one was different. A notification, not a quest.
[Secure Communication Received from Operative: L. Meadowlight. Uploaded to Host's Secure Communication Channel. Host is too far away from a working Synkar Terminal. Activating Synkar Core as a temporary terminal.]
[Displaying Message...]
The message appeared in his mind's eye, as concise and professional as Lyra herself.
Subject: The Serpent's Eye.
Your uncle's recent panic has borne fruit. He made a clumsy, coded inquiry regarding Livia's "package." I intercepted it.
The package is a person, not an object. Designation: "The Serpent's Eye." He is a high-ranking Artificer from the Eastern Guilds, blackmailed into service. A specialist in... network infiltration. He is the key to their next move.
The carrier is a Valtari operative known only as 'The Courier'. He specializes in important cargo and operates out of a clockwork repair shop in the Rusthaven Sump called 'The Gilded Cog'. It is a known Valtari front.
They are waiting for a final confirmation signal via Channel Krellian before they move the Artificer. I will try to track the signal.
Be careful, my lord.
Rhyse's eyes snapped open. The noise of the tavern rushed back in, but it was distant, irrelevant. He had it. A name, a place, and a target. A human weapon Livia intended to aim at the heart of the Synkar network. And he was here, in Rusthaven, waiting to be delivered.
His mind raced. A direct assault on The Gilded Cog, a known Valtari front, was suicide. He could walk in, but he wouldn't walk out. He knew the what and the where, but not the how. He needed to understand the terrain of this underworld, the shifting allegiances, the secret pathways. A frontal assault was a fool's errand; he needed a scalpel, not a sledgehammer.
He looked at his small, loyal team, their faces grim and ready in the flickering lamplight. They had left the world of politics and pitched battles behind. Now, they were stepping into a world of shadows, spies, and assassins. They were warriors, not spies. To navigate this den of thieves, he needed an expert.
Moreover, the specifics of the Krellian Channel remained unclear - it could be related to the courier or something entirely different. To devise a viable plan, he required more intelligence, and there was one individual who could provide the necessary insights.
"We're no longer just gathering information," Rhyse said, his voice a low, dangerous hum that cut through the tavern's noise. "We need to find Whisper."
A cold, determined smile touched his lips.