Chapter Text
The wind moved softly across the mountainside as five figures carefully moved over the small ledges.
Elphwin pressed himself against the cold stone, one hand braced against a narrow ledge as he watched the flickering torchlight below. The Crja fort of Daytower stood beneath them — its walls lit in warm torchlight, scattered guards moving in steady patterns along the ramparts and lower paths.
From up here, they could see everything and no one could see them.
The ledge they stood on was barely wide enough for more then a careful step. Loose gravel shifted underfoot if weight wasn’t placed just right. One wrong move too far, one careless breath at the wrong time, and the fall would be long — and quite final.
Elphwin didn’t move as he watched the Carja guards move below.
Behind him, four shapes clung to the rock just as silently.
Alica. Londo. Brail. Kalrik.
Four of his most trusted Blackwings.
Alica shifted slightly, testing her footing on the ledge, then leaned slightly closer to Brail. Her voice was barely more than a breath in the night air.
“It feels good to finally do something,” she whispered.
Brail let out the faintest huff of agreement. “Yeah, I agree. Walking, watching, then more walking… I was starting to think this whole place was going to be as empty as the wastelands.”
Alica smirked faintly. “Careful what you wish for, after this there’s plenty of desert.”
Below, a pair of Carja guards passed beneath an archway, their conversation drifting up in fragments before being carried off by the wind, mostly bits about how the attack force might be doing.
Brail glanced down, eyes tracking them. “These ones don’t look even half as organized as the ones who attacked Mother’s Crown.”
“They don’t expect trouble here,” Alica murmured.
“They will, eventually.” Brail replied.
Elphwin raised a hand slightly.
The whispering stopped instantly.
His gaze moved across the fort again — He was counting steps, timing the individual guard rotations, marking the moving blind spots. Listing all the torches. Counting all the shadows. Studying every entry point he could see.
It was all far too predictable.
He shifted his weight forward just slightly, testing the next section of ledge.
It was secure, and they could continue forward now.
Without a word, he moved.
The others followed just as quietly.
Each step placed exactly where he had been but a moment before.
All above the fort.
Completely unseen.
The ledges twisted along the jagged mountain face, dipping and rising at odd angles, sometimes no wider than a hand’s width. Below, the Carja fort carried on as if nothing had happened — guards talking, boots scraping stone, the occasional clink of metal drifting upward, because to them, nothing had.
Elphwin slowed, then stopped abruptly.
The others followed his movement instantly.
He shifted slightly, angling his position to now properly look beyond the main structure — past the walls, toward the space just behind the fort.
What he saw held him there, which gave the other blackwings a mix of nervous curiosity.
Alica leaned just enough to follow his line of sight.
Her breath caught — silent, but sharp in her throat.
Behind the fort, set against the rocky mountainside, was a wide enclosure.
Full of cages, dozens of them.
And none of them were empty.
Brail’s jaw tightened as she took it in. Shapes moved inside the cages — figures pressed close together, some sitting, some barely standing. The faint flicker of torchlight revealed bandaged faces, tattered clothes, tribal markings. What looked like nearly a hundred prisoners.
Londo leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing as he used his focus to zoom in to get a better look.
“…Nora,” he whispered quickly. “Some of them.”
He shifted his gaze across the enclosure as best he could.
“And not just them. I count at least four other tribes, each with different markings.”
Kalrik’s hand clenched slightly against the rock. “We can hit it, set them free” he murmured. “We’re already here —”
“No.”
Elphwin didn’t raise his voice.
He didn’t need to.
Kalrik stilled immediately, but it was clear he couldn’t believe what he heard.
Elphwin’s gaze remained fixed on the cages as he quietly spoke.
“Not with only five,” he said quietly. “Not without serious preparation. And certainly not without a way to get them out alive.”
The words weren’t cold.
They were full of barely contained rage.
Brail exhaled slowly, tension tight in her shoulders. “He’s right,” she said reluctantly. “We’d free them just to get them killed in the escape, which would do no one any good.”
Kalrik didn’t argue further — but he didn’t look away either.
Elphwin shifted slightly, committing the layout to memory. Guard positions around the area. The placement of cages and how they were grouped. The numbers of prisoners held here.
“We report this when we return to camp,” he said.
Alica nodded once. “Ajax will want to know.”
“He will,” Elphwin said.
And when he did —
Elphwin was certain this place would not remain standing.
Elphwin moved again, continuing along the ledge.
The others followed.
The cages and prisoners remained behind them.
But not forgotten, not by a long shot.
---
An hour later, the fort was gone from sight.
The mountain had swallowed it as the Blackwings had moved past.
Elphwin and his squad crouched within a narrow crevasse, hidden deep between jagged stone walls. The wind didn’t reach here. The sound didn’t carry far. Even the stars above were reduced to thin slivers of light between the rocks.
Below them, half-buried in the mountainside, a Cauldron entrance pulsed faintly — its dim mechanical light breathing in slow intervals from within the earth as it worked.
They waited for a moment.
Londo broke the silence first, his voice low but tight, anger and displeasure clear in his voice.
“We should’ve done something.”
Brail didn’t hesitate to agree. “We could’ve hit the perimeter. Created a distraction. Bought some of them time perhaps to...”
Alica shook her head. “And then what? Five of us and a bunch of half starved prisoners against a garrison? You saw the numbers in that fort.”
“That doesn’t mean we should just walk past it,” Londo muttered.
“It means we don’t throw our lives away on a suiside mission,” Alica shot back, her voice was still controlled, but her anger was rising.
Brail shifted, frustration clear in the tension of her shoulders. “Those people are going to die if no one acts —”
“Enough.”
Elphwin’s voice cut through the crevasse.
Silence followed instantly.
He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t even move.
But all four of them went still, tense and waiting for what he said next.
Elphwin’s gaze stayed forward, toward the dim glow of the Cauldron below.
“That decision is not ours to make, we are blackwings, we are forbidden from making those choices ourselves” he said. “This involves the Nora. Their people are among those prisoners.”
A brief pause.
“And liberating the camp requires numbers we do not have.”
Brail opened her mouth—
“Focus on our mission, we must have no more distractions, no matter how we personally feel.”
she stopped herself back, clearly unhappy about doing so.
Elphwin finally turned his head slightly, just enough so that they could all see the heavy look in his eyes.
“We complete the mission we were given.”
No argument followed.
Londo exhaled slowly, some of the tension leaving him. Alica nodded once, already refocusing on their goal. Brail looked away, her jaw tight with contained anger — but said nothing more.
Kalrik adjusted his grip on the rock wall, his hand on his heart, as if steadying himself to the task ahead.
The Cauldron entrance pulsed again below them.
And the mission moved forward, with no further words spoken.
---
By midday, they had crossed the edge of the desert that made up most of carja territory.
The trees along the eastern ridge were sparse, but the foliage was thick enough to hide them if they stayed close to the ground. From their position, the mesa rose up ahead — sheer cliffs of red stone, crowned by the sprawling city structure of Meridian.
Even at a distance, it felt different from anything they’d seen so far, a true city and not a simple tribal village.
Dozens of guards moved along the outer walls in steady patterns, leaving no gaps in their formations. Banners marked with the Carja symbol shifted slightly in the wind. At the main gate, lines of soldiers stood in layered formation — more than enough to turn away anything short of an army.
Brail adjusted her Focus, allowing her to zoom in on the gate.
“Yeah…That’s not happening,” she said quietly. “We’re not getting in that way, not unless we want to die before we even get close.”
Londo gave a small nod in agreement. “Yeah. The front gate’s not an option.”
Alica didn’t disagree.
Kalrik shifted slightly, scanning the outer defenses, trying to find a gap, and not having much luck.
Elphwin said nothing, as his focus wasn’t on the gate.
Londo noticed first, glancing over to look.
“What are you looking at?” he asked quietly.
Elphwin lifted a hand slightly, shifting his Focus view, and allowing the others to see what he saw.
“Not the gate,” he said as he pointed toward the far side of the mesa.
There — attached to the side of the cliff — was a massive metal structure. A vertical lift, rising from the base of the cliff up toward the city above. Guards were posted there too, but far fewer then the front gate.
“Our way in,” Elphwin said with a smirk.
Kalrik leaned slightly, using his focus to see the lift in detail. “…That elevator?”
“Yes.”
Kalrik frowned. “We still need to get to it. That’s a lot of open ground.”
Alica shifted her position, adjusting her own Focus.
“Not all of it,” she said as she pointed slightly downward.
A river cut near the base of the mesa, winding through the terrain before passing near the lift’s lower platform, where a dock has been built. The banks were uneven, broken with rock and vegetation.
“That water gives us cover,” she said. “Less visibility from above. If we stay low and move with the current, we can get close enough without being seen.”
Brail glanced between the river and the lift. “…Still going to be tight to get past those guards.”
“It always is,” Londo muttered.
Elphwin watched the route in silence for a moment longer, noting the limited guard rotations, timing the movement between shifts.
Then he gave a small nod.
“We move at dusk.”
No one argued.
Elphwin kept his gaze on the lift a moment longer, then spoke.
“Once we reach the lower city from the river,” he said, “we split.”
The others shifted slightly, attention tightening.
“I go alone.”
No one questioned it.
“Alica, Brail — you take one path. Londo, Kalrik — the other. Keep to your different routes.”
Kalrik frowned faintly. “Less chance of all of us getting caught at once.”
Elphwin gave a slight nod. “And more chances of escape if something goes wrong. Once in the water, we are in full stealth. No unnecessary moves. No noise at all.”
He briefly looked out at the guards at the docks, most of which were casually leaning against boxes.
“If you have to take down a guard, you stay non-lethal. Make it fast, keep it controlled, and make sure no bodies are left where they can be found.”
Alica nodded once. “Understood.”
Brail exhaled slowly, adjusting her shoulder armor.
Elphwin shifted his focus back to the lift.
“When we reach it, we don’t use it.”
Alica glanced at him, confusion clear on her face. “Why not?”
Before Elphwin could answer, Londo did, already knowing what Elphwin was going to say.
“Because it moves,” he said. “Regularly on what looks like a schedule.”
He pointed slightly toward the structure.
“If it moves while they’re not expecting it, we’re exposed. We’ll have no real cover, nowhere to hide.”
Kalrik grimaced. “…Yeah. That’d do it.”
“So we don’t use it, we climb it,” Elphwin said.
His eyes tracked the outer frame — the overlapping metal supports, the thin cables, a few maintenance rungs.
“Use the exterior structure to quickly rise up, move slowly, keep full control of where you move, and make sure to stay out of sightlines.”
Alica looked out and quickly studied it through her Focus. “…it’s not exactly built for that, those upper struts look pretty weak.”
“No,” Elphwin said, “But it will hold.”
The plan was never easy, never safe, but like all blackwing plans it was solid.
Elphwin lowered his hand.
“We move at dusk.”
Again, no one argued.
---
By the time the sun dipped below the mountains, they were already in position.
The river carried them forward, as they skimmed just under the surface.
Cold water pressed against the dark armor and cloth, muting movement, swallowing the sound . The current did most of the work, pulling them slowly downstream toward the base of the mesa.
The five shapes of the Blackwings moved beneath the surface — barely visible, barely more then shadows on the water.
Their helmets were sealed tight, allowing them to use the breathing masks built into the design. Each inhale filled their lungs with air from a compressed capsule. There was no splashing as they swam, no motion beyond the simplest of movements.
Above them, the last light of day faded into the night.
Meridian’s lower docks came into view quickly — old wooden platforms, a few small moored vessels, and piles of crates stacked in uneven rows. Torches burned along the walkways, their light shifting with the slight wind.
Elphwin slowed, and the others followed in kind.
They held position beneath the surface, just below the edge of the docks as bootsteps passed overhead.
The voices were distorted by the water, but it was clear that what was talked about was routine.
A simple dock patrol.
Elphwin watched through the distortion of water as the guards moved along their route, pausing only briefly to stretch before continuing on, their path carrying them along the dockside and down towards the shallow area of the river.
He waited, counting the seconds.
Tracked the rhythm.
Then —
He moved, the others right behind him.
One by one, they surfaced just enough to take hold of the dock’s edge. They were all silent shapes moving through the night.
Elphwin pulled himself up first, rolling onto the wood without a sound. The others followed in sequence, one by one, each finding cover the moment they were clear of the water.
Behind crates.
Just inside nearby shadows.
Gaps between stacked cargo or meat and raw metal.
Within seconds, the dock was empty again.
No ripples in the water.
No noise in the night.
No sign anyone had been there at all.
The patrol turned the corner at the far end of the docks — none the wiser.
The Blackwings were now inside Meridian.
And still completely unseen.
The moment they were clear, the Blackwings separated.
No words were spoken, just a few hand signals and quiet movement.
Alica and Brail slipped off first, vanishing between tightly packed storage buildings near the waterline. Londo and Kalrik disappeared in another direction, keeping low as they moved toward the outer streets.
Elphwin went alone.
The lower area of Meridian was quieter at night, but unlike the upper area, never truly asleep. Workers still moved boxes of cargo beneath the torchlight. Guards calmly patrolled in rotating paths through the stone lined paths. Scattered voices drifted from taverns and open windows higher up the streets.
Elphwin moved through it all like a shadow, there one moment, then gone the next.
He crossed behind stacked crates without disturbing a single loose board. Climbed silently onto a low rooftop, then dropped to a balcony below without so much as a scrape of his armor. Every motion was precise — each a perfect example of skill not only for silence, but for timing.
A guard turned a corner and Elphwin was already there.
He slipped behind the man so closely that his black feathered armor nearly brushed the Carja’s shoulder as he passed. The guard never noticed he was less then an inch from another person.
Another patrol crossed the road ahead.
Elphwin flowed between them through a narrow gap, one hand briefly touching the cobblestone wall to steady himself as torchlight swept inches from his helm.
Still he moved completely unseen.
Then —
A guard near the dock entrance suddenly sneezed as he moved through the open area.
Elphwin was already moving past him when he quietly murmured,
“Bless you.”
The guard instinctively answered, “Thanks.”
Half a step later, the man froze.
“…Wait.”
He turned sharply, looking around the empty street.
Nothing there.
No footsteps.
No movement.
Just distant torchlight and the quiet sounds of Meridian at night.
The guard frowned, rubbed at his eyes, then shook his head.
“…I need sleep, first moving shadows and now voices in the night.” he muttered as he walked off.
Elphwin smirked to himself as he moved forward.
Farther ahead, the massive silhouette of the elevator structure loomed over the lower city.
Elphwin crouched beneath the shadow of the elevator structure, one hand resting against the cold metal support as he watched the streets.
One by one, the others emerged from the darkness to join him.
Alica appeared first, slipping between stacks of cargo crates. Brail followed close behind her. A few moments later, Londo and Kalrik arrived from the opposite side, both breathing steadily despite the rough terrain of their path through the lower city.
Elphwin gave a small nod once everyone was present.
“Report.” he said simply
Alica leaned in slightly, keeping her voice barely above a whisper.
“Encountered one guard,” she said. “He got lucky and nearly walked into us.”
Brail smirked faintly. “Literally.”
Elphwin’s helm tilted slightly toward Alica. “Where did you put him?”
“Tied up behind the eastern cargo stacks,” she replied. “Hidden well enough — but he won’t stay that way forever.”
Elphwin looked briefly toward the dockyard.
“Then we move quickly,” he said. “Before his friends notice he disappeared.”
Kalrik glanced upward, following Elphwin’s gaze as he looked towards the cliff.
The elevator tower stretched high above them, all metal beams, cables, and reinforced platforms disappearing into the darkness above. Torchlight glimmered faintly near the upper levels.
Londo quietly reached for the coil of climbing rope at his side.
Elphwin stopped him immediately.
“No ropes.”
Londo paused. “…Too visible I assume?”
“And far too loud,” Elphwin replied. “The metal struts will carry sound.”
He looked up again, measuring the structure.
“Use the claws, we climb the structure directly.”
Alica flexed her fingers slightly. “Thought you’d say that.”
One by one, the Blackwings raised then flexed their hands.
With a series of soft metallic clicks, curved claws extended from the gauntlets built into their armor — dark metal talons sliding into place over each finger.
Created for climbing.
Designed for killing.
Perfect for this.
Kalrik carefully tested his against the steel support beam beside him, the claws biting cleanly into the metal with no noise.
“…Still love these things.”
Brail smirked slightly. “You love anything sharp.”
“Correct.”
Elphwin stepped toward the structure first.
“Minimal sound,” he ordered quietly. “Three points of contact at all times. If you fall…”
Londo finished the sentence for him.
“…Try not to scream?”
No one laughed.
Then Elphwin drove his claws into the metal framework and began to climb.
The others followed close behind, disappearing upward into the dark skeleton of the elevator tower.
The climb became slower the higher they went.
Every movement was very deliberate now — carefully placed not just for silence, but also survival.
The Blackwings moved in near-perfect synchronization across the steel framework, claws biting softly into metal supports as they ascended toward the city above. No one spoke. No one wasted breath.
One by one, they activated their masks fully.
Then they activated their cloaks.
A faint shimmer passed across their armor as the woven panels built into their black feathered garments adjusted to the surrounding light and color. Shadows flowed over them, breaking apart their outlines until they almost vanished against the elevator structure and stone.
Even looking directly at the others became difficult.
Elphwin silently thanked the spirits they had found those Skyskimmers eight years ago.
Reverse-engineering the camouflage systems from the machines had taken the Lightweavers nearly a decade of failures, burns, and exploded equipment.
Worth it.
Far below, the guard's torchlight drifted across the docks.
No one looked up, cause no one had to.
The team continued climbing.
Then the structure changed.
The upper supports narrowed, the metal framework thinning as it curved closer toward the mesa itself. The beams became too narrow to reliably hold their weight, this metal was clearly chosen for style and not structure.
Elphwin stopped.
The others froze instantly.
Without a sound, Elphwin shifted sideways and pressed himself against the cliff face. The others followed, carefully transferring from steel to stone.
The rock was uneven, sharp, and far less stable then the metal.
Progress slowed further the high they got.
The only sound was the faintest scrape of claws against stone and the distant wind above Meridian.
Elphwin reached forward toward the next handhold —
Then stopped as his hand touched it.
He pressed gently against the protruding rock.
It came free immediately, allowing him to hold it in his hand.
He held it up briefly for the others to see, then crushed it in his hand.
The stone crumbled apart like dried clay.
Brail’s posture tightened slightly.
Elphwin simply motioned upward.
Not toward the lift.
Toward the palace side of the mesa.
The cliff there looked rougher, more weathered and craggy — but likely much sturdier.
Without hesitation, Elphwin began traversing sideways across the rock face.
The others followed carefully behind him, clinging to the cliff high above the Meridian docks as lights flickered below like stars beneath their feet.
The ledge was barely more than a shelf carved into the stone.
The Blackwings pulled themselves onto it one at a time, finally leaving the cliff face behind. Above them loomed the underside of the palace itself — massive supports of stone and metal extending outward from the mesa like the ribs of some giant beast.
From here, Meridian felt enormous.
Torchlight glowed from balconies and windows high overhead. Guards moved along elevated walkways in uneven patterns, their armor glinting faintly in the night.
But there was a problem, from their location there was no direct route upward.
Alica crouched near the edge of the ledge as best she could, scanning the wall above. “…That’s not ideal.”
“That's an understatement,” Brail muttered quietly.
Elphwin remained still for a moment, then activated the scanning software in his Focus, allowing him to hold onto the wall and lean out from the cliff.
The world shifted as he turned towards the palace above.
Lines of motion traced across his vision as the focus displayed heat signatures, patrol routes, and structural weak points. The Focus mapped movement patterns faster than the eye could follow.
Most of the palace was heavily guarded, with soldiers on nearly every level.
But they were not positioned evenly.
Elphwin’s gaze narrowed slightly.
There were several tiny openings.
Brief gaps where patrols overlapped poorly or repositioned too quickly.
Kalrik leaned slightly closer. “What do you see?”
“The palace,” Elphwin said quietly. “It’s our path forward.”
Kalrik frowned beneath his mask. “That place is crawling with guards.”
“It is,” Elphwin agreed.
Londo adjusted his Focus, studying the patrols himself.
“…But they’re inconsistent, that's the key.”
The others looked toward him.
He pointed toward one of the upper walkways where two patrols nearly crossed paths before abruptly redirecting.
“The routes keep changing,” he whispered. “No pattern holds long enough to truly guard an area.”
Brail grimaced. “That’s a problem.”
Londo shook his head slightly.
“No,” he said. “That’s the opportunity.”
He zoomed in further.
“They’re overcompensating. Too many route changes, too many adjustments. Guards are getting in each other's way instead of following routine.”
Alica caught on immediately. “…Meaning there are moments where nobody’s watching certain sections.”
“Exactly.”
Elphwin’s Focus highlighted another brief opening along the palace underside.
He looked upward once more.
“We move through the palace,” he said.
No one argued.
Because there was no better option.