The narrow tunnel reeked of rot and rust. Damp stone walls glistened under the faint light of their lanterns, and water trickled past their boots with a soft, persistent gurgle. Every step echoed, amplifying the oppressive silence that hung heavy over the four Dawnbreakers as they stopped before a rusted iron grate — the sewer gate to the Old Foundry.

  Kaelen raised a hand, fingers curling like tendrils of caution.

  "Wait," he murmured, voice barely more than a breath.

  Verona let out a sharp sigh, the sound slicing through the damp air. “We have reliable intel. We shouldn’t waste time before dawn breaks.”

  "Trust him," Lysera said softly, her tone gentle yet firm. She glanced at Kaelen with quiet conviction. “Better safe than sorry.”

  Kaelen knelt by a small vent in the stone wall, pressing his palm against the cold metal. He exhaled slowly, and the air around him seemed to twist — a subtle ripple that slithered along the cracks in the wall, sneaking into the Foundry’s depths like smoke searching for a gap. He closed his eyes, senses extending outward: surfaces, echoes, movement.

  His brow furrowed. “Something’s walking near the entrance. Heavy… metal… not breathing.” He paused, letting the words settle. “It’s not human.”

  Luka’s low whistle cut through the silence. "Oh crap. They put an Auren Sentinel here."

  "Sentinel?" Lys asked, her brows knitting together in confusion.

  Verona leaned closer, voice a whisper that seemed louder in the confined space. “Automatic constructs. Made of steel and auren. Think of summoned beasts, but mechanical. Rare — royal-grade. Not indestructible, but if it sees you…” She tapped her temple. “It’ll scream. And the Jackals will hear.”

  Kaelen shook his head, frustration creeping into his expression. “We can’t enter quietly like this.”

  A tense beat of silence hung over them, thick and suffocating.

  “How about we make a noise here?” Lys suggested suddenly, eyes bright with the spark of mischief. “Make it come investigate?”

  Verona turned to her, an impressed lift of her brow. "That’s it. Good job, Lys."

  Lysera’s cheeks flushed with a faint pink, and she offered a small, proud smile.

  Kaelen grinned, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement. "Do we just bang the ladder till it comes down?"

  Lys shrugged, a casual tilt of her shoulders masking the tension she felt. “Sometimes, simplest is best. But someone fast has to do it — and hide just as quick.”

  “I’ll do it,” Kaelen said, stepping forward confidently.

  “I’ll do it,” Luka said at the same moment, their voices overlapping.

  Verona and Lys exchanged a look that screamed silent panic: Oh no.

  Kaelen turned to Luka, a competitive spark lighting his eyes. “I’m faster.”

  Luka smirked, a teasing glint in his gaze. "It’s okay, Kaelen. Let me show you my cool side."

  A pause. Kaelen shrugged, a hint of reluctant amusement on his lips. “Eh. Doesn’t matter. We’re both fast.”

  "Good choice," Lys muttered, a faint smile tugging at her own lips.

  The Dawnbreakers melted into the shadows, bodies pressing against the damp stone, hearts hammering in synchrony. Luka stationed himself beside the ladder leading up into the Foundry’s service hatch, muscles coiled like springs. He drew in a steadying breath, feeling the chill of the metal against his palm, the weight of anticipation pressing on his chest.

  Then — with a swift, precise motion — he slammed the hilt of his blade against the ladder. Clang! Clang! Clang!

  The echoes tore through the tunnel like a warning bell. Above, metal feet shifted with unnatural precision, each step a dull, resounding thud. The Auren Sentinel descended.

  It was a hulking figure, forged plates glinting dimly over glowing auren joints. Its face, inhuman and sculpted from bronze, bore a single, pale violet gem for an eye, pulsing softly with an eerie, mechanical heartbeat. It scanned the area with methodical precision, head swiveling with inhuman grace.

  Too late.

  From behind a support beam, Luka moved like smoke, a streak of controlled motion. His blade hummed with light energy, red-hot metal radiating an almost tangible heat. In one fluid, deadly arc, he slid behind the Sentinel and drove the blade into its spine.

  Fssssh!

  The glowing energy hissed and died. The construct crumpled silently, collapsing into a heap of inert metal.

  Kaelen emerged from the shadows, shaking his head with a mix of awe and exasperation. “That does not get boring at all.”

  Verona rolled her eyes, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “Trust me. It does.”

  Luka grinned, wiping a sheen of sweat from his brow. “Shall we?”

  The tunnel waited, silent and expectant, as the Dawnbreakers readied themselves for what lay beyond the rusted gate.

  The rusted ladder groaned under their weight as the Dawnbreakers ascended, one by one, boots landing softly on the cold, grated floor of the Foundry’s basement level. The air here was thicker, heavy with the tang of oil, rust, and burnt ozone. A low hum of unseen machinery reverberated through the walls, vibrating faintly through their boots and into their bones. Above them, four more levels loomed, each shadowed in darkness and secrecy.

  Kaelen lingered near a shadow-veiled column, eyes narrowing. His fingers brushed against the cold metal of the railing.

  “Should I check for traps… or sensors?” he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper, tension threading each syllable.

  Lys leaned closer, eyes scanning the dim corners like a hawk. “Yes. Why are you asking? We don’t know what surprises this place still has,” she whispered back, the faint glow from her wristlamp catching the determination in her gaze.

  Kaelen nodded, closing his eyes. His chest rose and fell as he lifted a hand and exhaled slowly. Wisps of pale wind spiraled from his palm, curling through every vent, slithering along cracks, and curling into every corridor like ethereal tendrils of perception. He felt the chill of metal, the vibrations of footsteps, and the subtle pulses of energy. His brow furrowed, the faint lines of concentration cutting into his otherwise relaxed features.

  “Two guards. Coming this way. Let me handle it,” Kaelen said quietly, voice steady, almost blending into the hum of the Foundry.

  Verona’s lips curved into a smirk, the faint glint of amusement in her eyes. “Alright then. Show me what you’ve got, kid,” she said, a mix of teasing and approval in her tone.

  In the blink of an eye, Kaelen was gone—a flash of silver and blue, moving faster than the eye could follow. The two patrolling guards shivered, an inexplicable draft brushing past their necks. A chill ran down their spines, the hair at the nape of their necks standing on end.

  Before they could react, Kaelen reappeared behind them, palms pressed firmly to their necks. Lightning surged from his fingertips, sharp, precise, and merciless. Crack! Snap! The electric current ran through them in an instant. Both guards dropped like stones, twitching once as their muscles spasmed, then lay still, inert.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Verona and Luka moved without hesitation, dragging the bodies into a corroded maintenance hatch that led down to the sewers. The metallic scent of blood mingled faintly with the damp, oily air. Kaelen chuckled softly under his breath, a gleam of mischief in his eyes.

  “Lys, did you see them flinch? Like fish outta water,” he said, grin widening as he shook his head in quiet amusement.

  Lys let out a brief, sharp chuckle but raised a finger to her lips, eyes narrowing with focus. “Focus,” she said, voice low and firm, cutting through the faint echo of dripping water and machinery hums.

  Ahead, a rusted metal staircase spiraled upward toward the second level. Shadows pooled at the edges, and dim light from broken fixtures flickered along the worn steps. The silence was almost oppressive, broken only by the faint scrape of their boots against metal grates and the distant drip of water echoing through the Foundry.

  The Dawnbreakers moved forward, their forms slipping like shadows along the walls, each step measured and deliberate, hearts tuned to the rhythm of tension and anticipation. Every creak of the metal underfoot felt like it could betray them, every whisper of air a potential alarm.

  The Foundry watched them, silent and indifferent, as they advanced deeper into its mechanical heart.

  The Dawnbreakers climbed the basement stairwell with the practiced quiet of thieves, boots whispering against cold iron. A dull, red emergency light bled through a cracked diffuser above them, painting everything in a bruised glow as they neared the second-floor landing. The air tasted metallic and hot, like a mouth that had been chewing on a spark.

  Two guards paced the upper landing, silhouettes punctuated by the faint hum of electrometers at their belts. Lys’s hand flashed, a sharp hiss barely louder than a breath: “Back.”

  They retreated without a sound, folding through the first-floor entryway and sinking into the shadow like smoke, close enough to feel the warmth of the guards’—and the Foundry’s—breathing, but not close enough to be seen.

  Luka’s fingers brushed his sword hilt, ready. “I’ll handle it,” he whispered, voice tight as a drawn wire.

  Kaelen stepped forward a pace and then stopped, eyes narrowing as he let the currents of the building pass over him. “Wait,” he said, quieter than a thought. “One of them has a sensor on his shoulder. We can’t get close.” His jaw worked; the annoyance there was almost boyish.

  Lys arched an eyebrow. “You saw that?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “I felt it. Wind stops when it reaches him—like something slicing through the air. A proximity scanner. If we get within a meter, we’re busted.” He tapped his palm against the banister as if testing a string he couldn’t see.

  Verona cracked her knuckles with that casual, dangerous smile she always wore. “What if I just knock him out with a rock?”

  Lys’s glance was incredulous. “Wouldn’t you kill him?”

  Verona rolled her eyes. “I know how to modulate my strength. He’ll just faint. Probably.”

  Luka’s eyes narrowed. “‘Probably’?”

  “It’ll be fine,” Verona said, as if summoning certainty could make the word true.

  The Foundry, unforgiving and patient, decided otherwise. The whispering—soft, nervous—carried up the stairwell. One guard’s head tilted. “Someone down there?” he called, voice bouncing off metal and concrete.

  “They’re coming,” Kaelen answered fast, and the single syllable sent them scuttling for cover. “Hide.”

  They scattered, folding beneath the stairwell where the shadows pooled deepest. The sound of boots overhead grew louder, a slow, calculated rhythm that stamped itself into the bones. One guard crouched, peering under the metal risers with a flashlight beam that swept like a searching eye—

  “Hey!” a voice barked from above, rough and impatient. “Boss said to guard the Doc’s office. Move it!”

  The guards grumbled, trading looks, then turned back toward the stairs. The searchlight passed harmlessly by. Relief left the Dawnbreakers in soft, shared exhalations; for a heartbeat everyone’s shoulders loosened.

  Kaelen’s mouth curled into something that might have been a smile and something sharper. He murmured to Verona, “Knock them out. Now.”

  She blinked. “What?”

  “Trust me. Go.”

  There was no time for debate. Verona seized two loose bricks from the stairwell’s mortar with the casual certainty of a hand that had done this before. She slung them—one, then another—with a practiced flick of wrist and hip. The bricks arced, struck with a muted, bone-deep thwack and thud.

  The guards went down like ropes cut—silent, limbs folding where they stood.

  For a long breath they listened to the settling dust and the faint metallic creak of the Foundry readjusting. Verona brushed her hands on her thighs as if dusting off a coat. “What now?” she asked, voice low and businesslike.

  Kaelen was already moving, fingers working at the collar of a uniform. “We wear their uniforms,” he said, voice quick and bright with the kind of grin that built plans. “If they’re guarding the Doc, that might be our engineer. We’ll blend in and walk right through the front.”

  Verona’s grin widened, amused and pleased at being outthought as much as at the trick itself. “Oooh. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  Kaelen tossed a spare jacket at her. “Lys, Luka,” he added, already stripping a second jacket off a slumped guard, “you’re our backup. If we screw this up, hit hard and fast.”

  Lys checked the strap on her wristlight and drew her blade an inch, the motion automatic. “Understood,” she said, voice quiet and steady.

  In a few efficient movements they stripped the fallen guards down and re-donned the battered uniforms. The fabric smelled faintly of machine oil and sweat; the insignia was a sickly brass plate that gleamed under the emergency light. Verona even copied the careless slouch, letting the weight of the jacket sit low on her shoulders.

  Now—masked by cloth and the pretense of duty—they climbed the stairs together. Their faces were concealed by the shadow of caps and the brazenness of practiced indifference. No longer intruders flitting in the periphery, they moved like parts of the Foundry’s own machinery: measured, ordinary, and utterly unremarkable.

  “Let’s find our Doc,” Kaelen muttered, voice a low promise. He led them up into the hum and heat, two borrowed faces walking into the belly of the machine.

  The second-floor corridor was dim, the overhead lamps flickering with age, throwing long, jittery shadows along the steel walls. Verona and Kaelen moved with the practiced ease of routine, clad in the black-and-grey uniforms of the facility guards. Their helmets were clipped to their belts, leaving their faces visible—a calculated risk meant to avoid appearing too conspicuous.

  Their boots whispered faintly on the polished steel floor, each step echoing a heartbeat through the narrow hallway.

  Then—

  “Hey! What are you doing here?”

  A young guard with a buzz cut and a clipboard turned the corner, brow furrowed in mild confusion. “We’re supposed to report to the Doc’s office. Come on.”

  Verona didn’t miss a beat, voice even, casual. “Yes, sir.”

  Kaelen mirrored her tone, slightly higher in pitch, “Sir.”

  They fell into step behind him, feigning familiarity. Verona could feel her pulse ticking faster with every turn of the corridor, her chest tightening against the uniform. Kaelen’s posture was perfect, shoulders squared, but she caught the faint twitch of his fingers—ready, impatient. He wanted to draw.

  The young guard stopped before a reinforced steel door, its brass placard dull with age:

  DR. DOVAIL – AUTHORIZED ACCESS ONLY

  Two senior guards flanked the doorway, arms folded, expressions carved from impatience and vigilance. One raised an eyebrow at the newcomers. The young escort glanced at Kaelen and Verona.

  “Stay here until you’re relieved,” he said, voice tight.

  Kaelen leaned slightly toward Verona, whispering, “Should I zap—”

  “What was that?” barked one of the older guards, voice sharp and unyielding. “You think this is some rookie hangout? Focus, or you’re getting a letter of reprimand.”

  Kaelen stiffened, eyes wide for a fraction of a second. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

  The other guard grunted, muttering something about greenhorns, then turned away.

  Minutes passed in silence. Verona could feel sweat beading beneath her collar, cool and prickling on her skin. Every breath was deliberate, shallow yet controlled. Every tick of the clock, every hum of the overhead light, was a reminder: a single misstep could spell disaster.

  Finally, one of the senior guards stretched his arms, a loud, deliberate motion. “We’re heading to the breakroom. Don’t screw this up. If I find out you left your post, your job’s finished.”

  Verona inclined her head, voice soft but firm. “Understood.”

  Once the guards rounded the corner and the hallway emptied, Kaelen exhaled audibly, shoulders loosening. “They don’t pay those guys enough to smell a setup,” he muttered, a dry humor in his tone.

  Verona stepped forward, fingers brushing the keypad, and entered the code they had extracted from the facility logs. A soft click echoed in the corridor, metallic and final. Slowly, deliberately, they pushed the door open.

  Inside, the room was dim and sterile. Polished floors reflected the faint red light from the corridor. Scattered papers lay in haphazard piles, dusty monitors blinked with stale data, and the faint scent of oil and chemical residue hung in the air. At the far wall, a man hunched over a table, examining blueprints with trembling hands. His coat was frayed, his white hair streaked with soot, and a heavy collar—part restraint, part transmitter—clung to his neck.

  Verona’s breath caught in her throat. She stepped closer, her voice low but steady. “Sir… are you Marrec Dovail?”

  The man turned, eyes sunken yet sharp, scanning them through the disguise, through the posture, through the careful fa?ade. He didn’t answer immediately. When he did, his voice was low and wary.

  “You’re not one of them.”

  Verona moved closer, hands slightly raised in reassurance. “We’re here to get you out. We don’t have much time.”

  Marrec’s gaze flicked past her, then to Kaelen, then back again. A wall in his expression crumbled, a man unspooling before them. “You shouldn’t have come,” he whispered, voice heavy with fear. “They have my daughter. You’re putting her at risk.”

  Kaelen stepped forward sharply, tension coiling in his shoulders. “Where is she?”

  Marrec’s voice cracked, a brittle edge to every word. “Not here. She’s held somewhere else in the sector. I get to see her once a week. That’s the leash they keep around my neck.”

  Silence fell, thick and heavy, hammering in the space between them. Verona looked to Kaelen, then back at Marrec, hands clenching at her sides. Her teeth pressed lightly together.

  “Damn it,” she muttered, low and furious.

  ? 2025 Damien Shard. All rights reserved. This story and all characters are original creations of the author. First released on Royal Road. Unauthorized reproduction, distribution, or publication in any form is strictly prohibited.