A mix of wooden planks and metal grates on brick made their footsteps echo loudly down the tunnel, despite their every effort to be silent, and reverberated with the soft sound of flowing water in the channel below them. The path they had been taking was already like a maze, crossing over many other intersecting tunnels before. The only sign that they were even getting somewhere was the state of the pathways ahead of them; how maintained they were, unlike the area around the fence that looked to be intentionally stripped bare more and more by comparison.

It made sense to Oleander the further they went, even more so as she watched Fionn check the etchings on the stonework every so often. She had started to notice where some of the etchings were scratched out and replaced with a newer one nearby, unlike the singular marks they had followed from that storehouse. It all added up with the place being abandoned for however long.

“So, why were you doing business with Collins?” Fionn questioned her abruptly, keeping his voice down, “If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”

His question rattled her train of thought, and she struggled to give him an answer at first. It wasn’t that it was hard to recall, but rather that she didn’t ever give it too much thought. A mistake she wouldn’t admit to.

“Put simply: I kept getting forced back to him.” Oleander let a sigh escape her as she answered, “And I got tired of trying to find anyone else.”

He nodded noticeably, his back still to her, before moving to check another nearby wall for etchings a few metres ahead of them, “Sounds the same as about everyone else in the city lately. I’m assuming he didn’t know he was cutting deals with a Nephalim, though.”

“No, he didn’t.” She raised the lantern as she caught up beside him, eyeing the new etching that was unlike the others they passed by before. 

He had been tracing it with his fingers until she got closer, and was now pulling out one of his daggers to alter the symbol, “Good. That means it will take him longer to get a bounty on you.”

“Excuse me? A bounty? Already?” She shuddered at the thought.

“Yes. He’s probably already got a price out there to keep his goons roped into chasing you despite the magic you unleashed on The Thirsty Fish.” He finished altering the symbol, glancing over to her as he sheathed his dagger, “And unless you want to kill him, I know for a fact he won’t stop.”

She gave a shrug, shaking her head with pursed lips, “Tempting as that is, I don’t really want to deal with the mess of it right now.”

“Smart choice. Much as I want to get rid of him myself, I’m not in the mood for that either.” He motioned her to follow him down a more narrow tunnel nearby, dragging his hand along the stone bricks of the left wall, “Now, stay really close for this last stretch. There’s usually little beasts or slimes that get in from outside the city around these parts of the sewers.”

“It really might be better if I don’t stay too close. Casting any combat magic requires space, and we don’t have much of it down here.” She eyed the path ahead of them as she warned him, catching movement in the shadows at the edge of the light.

Oleander didn’t need, or want, to say that she was more than capable of handling herself outright. Risking the feeling of inadequacy in anyone who might work with her was troublesome enough. She wasn’t a one woman army, rather more like a glass cannon when it came down to it. Powerful, but fragile.

Fionn seemed to pick up well enough on her warning as he looked back to her, idly adjusting his muffler higher over his nose before pulling out a different dagger from a sheath on his hip. As he turned the blade over between his hands she caught the sheen of dormant runes along the fuller and quillons, and soon he was holding it by the blade with the pommel pointed to her, “Then you can use this for close quarters. It’s supposed to be enchanted but all it’s been good for for me is never getting dull.”

Staring at the offered blade she hesitated to take it for a moment, and instead raised the lantern a bit to get a look at the sheath on his hip the dagger had been resting in. It was clear enough that the leather sheath hanging off his hip was simply put together to hold the blade. It left her wondering where the actual sheath, or even scabbard, was for the dagger. Enchanted pieces like this usually came as a custom set, after all.

Reluctantly, she finally took hold of the grip and gently pulled the dagger towards her. It was much lighter than it looked, practically weighing both nothing while also feeling comfortably balanced. The craftsman ship was truly remarkable before she even took any of the still active passive enchantments it was sporting into account.

It left her with many burning questions about just where he likely “appropriated” it from, but she held back on them. They would have plenty of time for questions outside the city. She did have one important question she needed to ask him, however, and kept her voice down as she asked him, “Have you ever seen the runes on the blade active?”

Fionn looked to think on his answer, tapping the sheath on his hip before speaking with clear uncertainty in his voice, “Only once when I got it. And it was really dim then.”

Before she could even try to ask him if it came with a matching scabbard next a loud splash echoed somewhere behind them. As he looked beyond her, into the shadows left behind from the lantern, she bit her bottom lip in frustration. While his answer was enough to tell her it was probably already separated from its scabbard, it was no substitute for an actual explanation.

“Dim the light, quickly. We have company coming.” He whispered, wasting no time sheltering the lantern for her, still staring behind her into the darkness.

She could only give a nod, waving the dagger blade over the lantern while preparing a different command to it than the one that lit it. Intent was the most important aspect of this magic, and she wondered if the crystal inside it could take the abuse of the spell in its fractured state. As she dismissed her lingering hesitations about it, she let the word escape her lips with a solemn yet gentle tone, “Dorcha.”