The Anomaly's Path

"...The Crimson Mines."

Seraphina’s voice was flat, but I could see the recognition in her eyes. Cassian shifted by the window, his golden-blue eyes narrowing.

"The Crimson Mines," Seraphina repeated, as if tasting the words and finding them bitter.

"Are you sure?" Seraphina asked, her eyes boring into mine.

"That’s what she said," I replied. "She told me it’s near the war zone, an off-limits area. It’s a forbidden zone, surrounded by a forest so thick and infested with monsters that nobody ever goes there."

Seraphina nodded, "That place is a death trap. It is in the neutral territories, near the old war zones. The area around it is technically forbidden. Too many monsters. No one goes there unless they have no other choice."

"Which makes it the perfect hiding spot for someone like Voss," Cassian said.

Seraphina leaned back, her fingers tapping rhythmically against the wooden desk. "If he’s hiding there, it makes sense. The terrain alone is enough to keep the Church and the military away. It’s a dead zone."

I sat across from her, my hands resting on my knees. The blood was gone from my skin, but I could still feel it under my nails. I could still hear Silla’s screams echoing in my ears.

"There is something else," I said.

Seraphina looked at me.

"I found out what Voss is doing. He is obsessed with immortality," I continued. "He is not just experimenting on children and others for fun. He has a goal. He wants to create immortal soldiers. Vessels that will regenerate from any wound, that will keep fighting even after they should be dead. He wants to build an army that cannot be stopped."

Cassian’s face went pale.

"He’s experimenting on everyone he captures to find a soul that can handle the stress of the process. He believes he can anchor the soul to the body permanently," I said.

"No matter how much damage the body takes, the soul will not leave. It will just keep healing, keep fighting, keep killing. He calls it the Perfect Vessel."

Seraphina’s jaw tightened. "If he succeeds..."

"Then the demons will have an army that cannot die," I finished. "And the Empire will fall."

The room was silent for a long moment.

Cassian crossed his arms, his expression grim. "And to create a vessel like that... he needs someone with a unique soul ability. Someone who can bridge the gap between life and necrotic energy."

I nodded. "Mia. That’s why he took her. Her ability is the key he’s been looking for. That is why I did not want to tell you about her power. I did not want it to fall into the wrong hands."

"So that’s why you were so hesitant to tell us about her power," Cassian said, his voice soft with understanding. "You knew if her ability fell into the wrong hands or even the right ones she would never be free again. She’d be a tool for whoever held her."

"I had to protect her," I said. "But now, her power is the very thing that’s going to kill her if we don’t move."

Seraphina stood up, her face tight with a new kind of urgency. "We can’t let him succeed. The war at the border is already a nightmare. The other races, the Elves, the Dwarves, they aren’t helping. They’re fighting demons on their own fronts and they’ve left us to rot. If Voss creates an immortal legion, we are doomed. Not just the kingdom, but everyone."

She looked at the map pinned to her wall. "We have to hit him now. We have to kill him before the first vessel is perfected. We know what he wants and where he is hiding. The question is, how do we get to him?"

"How?" Cassian asked. "We can’t just march an army into a forbidden zone. He’ll see us coming from miles away and collapse the mines or kill the hostages before we reach the first level."

I stepped toward the desk. "I found a way in. Silla and Grog weren’t just there to see Marta. They were there to deliver a catalyst for her body and to coordinate a new shipment of ’materials.’ Apparently, a slave caravan is scheduled to enter the mines in two days. It’s a regular delivery to keep the labor force high."

Seraphina’s eyes narrowed. "You want to disguise yourselves as slaves."

I looked at Seraphina. "Yes, we disguise ourselves. A few knights and I will go in as the slaves. We will let ourselves be captured and taken inside. Once we are in, we break free and find the children. The rest of you will follow behind, close enough to strike when we give the signal."

Seraphina shook her head. "It is too risky. If they recognize you—"

"They will not recognize me. I will change my appearance again. And even if they do, it does not matter. I am not the same person who fought them in Wayford."

Cassian spoke up. "What about Morana? She will sense your mana the moment you enter the mines."

I had thought about that too.

"Then you and Seraphina will create a distraction," I said. "Something big enough to draw her attention away from the lower levels. She is still weakened from her fight with Roran. She will not want to risk a direct confrontation unless she has to."

Seraphina was quiet for a long moment. Then she nodded.

"It is reckless," she said. "But it might work."

Cassian crossed his arms. "Who goes in with you?"

"Ren, Elena and Dorian. Three more knights. No more than that. If we go with too many, we will draw suspicion."

Seraphina stood up. "We move in two days. Use the time to rest. You will need your strength."

I stood up and walked to the door.

"Leo," Seraphina called out.

I stopped.

"You have changed," she said. "I am not sure if it is for the better. But you are still standing. That counts for something."

I did not turn around. "...It will have to be enough."

I walked out into the hallway. Then the hunt would begin.

_

Two days had passed since I walked out of Seraphina’s office.

The first day was spent planning. We gathered in the room, Ren and Elena and Dorian and the other knights who had volunteered for the mission.

Seraphina stood at the head of the table with a map spread out before her, pointing at routes and fallback points and the locations of Seraphina’s scouts. Cassian stood by the window, watching the street below, his golden-blue eyes calm and steady.

"We hit the caravan before it reaches the mines," Seraphina said, tapping the map with her finger. "You take the place of the slaves. The rest of us will follow at a distance, close enough to strike when you give the signal."

Ren asked about the guards, the number of demons, the layout of the mines. Elena asked about the children, about how we would get them out, about what to do if something went wrong. Dorian said nothing. He just sat in the corner with his arms crossed, his scarred face unreadable.

I did not say much. I just listened.

...And now we were here.

The forest outside the Crimson Mines was a wall of black rot and twisted branches. The trees looked like they had been dead for years, their bark cracked and bleeding sap that smelled of sulfur and decay.

The ground was soft and wet beneath our boots, and the air tasted of ash and something else, something old and hungry that made the back of my throat burn.

We lay in the tall, dead grass of the pass, watching the road below. The sun had not yet risen, and the world was still dark, wrapped in a grey haze that made it hard to see more than a few hundred feet in any direction.

"Here they come," Ren whispered.

In the distance, the rattling of chains and the heavy thud of wheels signaled the arrival of the slave caravan.

Six wagons moved slowly toward the forbidden zone, pulled by mangy beasts that looked half-starved and fully broken. Their ribs showed through their matted fur, and their heads hung low as they trudged through the mud.

Demon-human guards walked alongside the wagons, their whips crackling with low-level mana. I counted twelve of them, maybe more. They wore dark armor and iron masks, and they moved with the easy confidence of people who had done this many times before.

"Remember," I said, my voice barely a breath. "No survivors. No signals. We take their places, and we do it fast."

Elena gripped her twin swords. Dorian adjusted his heavy cloak. Ren checked the blade at his hip. They looked at me, waiting for the signal.

I closed my eyes for a moment and forced my mana down into the pit of my stomach. The black lightning hissed in protest, wanting to roar, wanting to lash out at the men below. I choked it down and pushed it deep, deeper than I had ever pushed it before.

The first wagon reached the kill zone.

"Now," I breathed.

We moved like shadows.

There was no glory in it, just quick and silent work. Ren took the guard at the front, his blade sliding between the man’s ribs before he could make a sound. Elena cut down two more, her twin swords flashing in the dim light. Dorian moved like a mountain, slow and inevitable, crushing throats with his bare hands.

I killed three.

The first did not see me coming. I grabbed his head and twisted, and the sound of his neck breaking was lost in the rattle of the wagons.

The second turned at the wrong moment, and my blade opened his throat before he could shout a warning. The third tried to run, but I was faster. I caught him by the collar and drove my sword through his back, feeling the blade scrape against his spine.

He fell without a sound.

Ten minutes later, the road was silent again.

I walked to the wagons and looked at the real slaves huddled inside.

There were maybe twenty of them, packed into the wooden cages like animals. They were hollow-eyed and starving, their faces pale and their bodies thin. Most of them looked like they had not eaten in days.

Some had fresh bruises on their arms and faces. One of them, a young girl, was crying silently in the corner.

"Ren," I said. "Get them to the fallback point. Seraphina’s people will take care of them."

He nodded and began unchaining the slaves, helping them down from the wagons one by one. His voice was soft as he spoke to them, telling them they were safe now, that no one would hurt them anymore.

I turned away.

The iron shackles on the floor of the lead wagon were rusted and cold, stained with old blood that had turned brown over time. I picked them up and felt the weight in my hands. The metal was rough against my palms, and the edges were sharp in places, worn down by years of use.

I locked them around my wrists.

The metal bit into my skin. It felt real. It felt like giving up.

But I was not giving up. I was just changing my face.

I walked to the edge of the road and knelt by a puddle of muddy water. The ground was wet from the rain that had fallen the night before, and the mud was thick and dark.

I scooped up a handful and rubbed it across my face.

The mud was cold and gritty against my skin. I worked it into my cheeks, my forehead, my chin, covering my face. I rubbed it into my hair, darkening the white streaks that stood out against the black. I smeared it on my neck and my hands, any place where my skin might give me away.

Elena knelt beside me and did the same. Dorian followed. Ren was last, his face set in a hard mask as he covered himself in the dirt of the road.

When we were done, we did not look like knights anymore. We looked like slaves. Broken, dirty and hollow.

"Change your clothes," I said. "Take the rags from the cages. Leave your armor here. Seraphina’s people will collect it."

We stripped off our coats and our boots and our belts, leaving them in a pile by the side of the road. We put on the torn shirts and ripped pants of the slaves, clothes that smelled of sweat and fear and old blood.

I looked at myself in the reflection of a muddy puddle.

A stranger stared back at me. Black hair streaked with white, now dulled with mud. Pale skin now grey with dirt.

I turned and walked to the wagon.

The knights who had taken the guards armor climbed onto the wagons. They cracked their whips and shouted orders, and the beasts began to pull. The wagons lurched forward, and we moved toward the mountain.

The Crimson Mines loomed ahead of us, a massive wound in the earth surrounded by jagged cliffs and dead trees. The entrance was a stone maw, wide enough for three wagons to pass side by side, lined with flickering green torches that gave the air a sickly glow.

The gates ground open with a sound like a dying animal.

I looked through the slats of the wagon as we rolled inside. The guards on the walls watched us pass, their faces hidden behind iron masks. They did not look twice at the slaves in the wagons.

The green torches cast long shadows that danced across the stone floor. Ahead, the tunnel descended into darkness, deeper than I could see.

I felt the mana in the air shift.

It grew heavier, thicker, hungrier than before. It pressed against my skin like a living thing, testing me, tasting me. Whatever was down here, it was waiting.

I clenched my fists inside the chains.

Mia, I thought. I am coming.

The wagon rolled into the darkness, and the gates slammed shut behind us.

The sound echoed through the tunnel like a death sentence.