It didn’t take them long to find the cellar, though the closer they came, the heavier the air grew, carrying the faint stench of smoke layered over sweat, armor, and crushed herbs. Aurelius led the way down the narrow stone steps, with Etraon close behind and Ephron clinging tight to his hand. Laymerial and Lance followed in silence. The door at the base hung ajar, and when Aurelius pushed it open, they were met by a space that had clearly been used—blankets folded on a crate, a waterskin discarded in the corner, its contents still dripping. But the cellar was empty, the silence pressing down like a warning. Etraon’s chest sank as his eyes swept across the room. If Catherine and Sirena had left, it hadn’t been willingly.

He searched for signs that might explain their absence, though he knew Grey and Hawkes would have ensured nothing incriminating was left behind. What he found instead was worse: blackened streaks climbing the walls near the ceiling, faint but unmistakable, and the acrid tang of burned wood seeping down from the upper halls. He crouched, brushing fingers over scuffed boot marks that led toward the far exit.

“They were here recently,” Etraon muttered, voice grim. “But they didn’t leave on their own terms. Someone tried to smoke them out.” Ephron reached out to touch the wall, staring curiously as the black came off the walls and onto his hands. Etraon smiled at the sight.

Laymerial lifted the waterskin, shaking the last droplets into her palm before raising it to her nose. “Water,” she confirmed quietly, then knelt beside Ephron, pulling a cloth from her pack. “Here, Ephron. Wipe your hands.”

That was when the sound reached them—faint at first, then clearer as the group stilled: the clash of steel ringing along stone, the grunts and cries of combat somewhere further down the hall. Everyone froze, exchanging sharp glances. Fighting this close to the cellar could mean only one thing. Laymerial rose and drifted to the door, bow already in hand. Aurelius moved with her, positioning himself in the shadows just behind the frame—close enough to strike if anyone forced their way inside, but not exposed.

“I’m going,” Lance growled, jaw tight with determination. Laymerial caught at his sleeve, but he was already slipping past her, vanishing into the smoke-tinged hall beyond. Laymerial pressed her back against the stone, lips moving soundlessly in prayer. Etraon forced himself to stand ready, every muscle tight, waiting for the worst.

When the door finally burst open again, Lance staggered through, pale-faced and short of breath. “I found them,” he rasped, chest heaving. “Sirena and Catherine—they’re alive, but they’re fighting right now, holding off at least a dozen men.”

“Are you alright?” Laymerial demanded. “Did the smoke-?”

“No, it wasn’t the smoke,” Lance confirmed, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Or at least not entirely. I’m just out of breath from running.” She stared at him for a moment and finally, satisfied that her brother wasn’t putting on a show for her, let it drop.

“They won’t last without us,” Aurelius said grimly. “Even if they manage to fight them off, we have no idea if reinforcements are nearby.”

“And if Grey and Hawkes were nowhere to be found…” Etraon trailed off, looking at Lance for confirmation. He shook his head in reply.

“Then we go,” Etraon decided, nodding once.

Laymerial caught Etraon’s hand before he moved past her, her eyes sharp with resolve. “I’ll stay with Ephron, but we’re coming with you. We aren’t hiding here.”

“Y-.”

“Look, Etraon. It doesn’t do any of us any good for the two of us to stay here where we have no way of knowing if you’re all right and you have no idea whether we’ve been discovered. I’ll stay as far away as it makes sense and if they want Ephron, it’ll be over my dead body. You three—focus on the fight. I can defend us if need be.” Etraon hesitated as he wrestled with his feelings of wanting to keep them as far from the fighting as possible and the sheer logic with which Laymerial had dismantled his unarticulated argument. He sighed, finally releasing her hand with a wordless nod.

“Stay with Laymerial, Ephron,” he said then, waving for Ephron to join them. “Promise?” The young prince nodded again, running up to Etraon and solemnly holding out his pinky figure. Etraon locked his own around it and though Ephron’s lip trembled, he held his brother’s gaze.

The cellar door creaked as Aurelius eased it open, the muted roar of battle spilling in to replace the damp quiet. Etraon carried Ephron on his back and resuming their formation, they moved swiftly, steps light as they moved. Every so often, they crossed paths with a straggling enemy—an armored figure who had perhaps lost his squad or turned down the wrong passage. Those encounters ended quickly: Lance striking with silent precision and Aurelius shoving an attacker hard against the wall. Even Laymerial leapt into action with her staff, dealing swift and strategic blows to sensitive areas as Etraon turned Ephron away from the fighting as weapons flashed in front of them. Each clash was brief but left Etraon’s heart pounding harder, his ears tuned to the growing noise ahead.

The air thickened with smoke and the metallic smell of blood as they neared the fight. Etraon handed Ephron off to Laymerial, and drew his sword, his breath steadying despite the adrenaline rushing through him. At the end of a long hallway, he caught sight of the fight and motioning Lance and Aurelius forward, broke into a run. Then he froze, breath catching, as the now familiar sounds of wounded targoliths sounded just ahead—and suddenly, Catherine and Sirena were in view. Sirena stood behind Catherine, her staff poised to strike, when necessary, while Catherine fought off the targoliths that flanked them to either side.

The number of attackers had lowered from Lance’s original count of at least a dozen and the bodies that littered the floor was evidence that there had even perhaps been a small group of reinforcements that arrived later, only to be met by Catherine’s battle prowess. Aurelius and Lance rushed into the fight, pushing off the soldiers that were attempting to get around her. With their help keeping enemies off her flank, Catherine’s movements sharpened, carrying precision and power that only came when a fighter was free to concentrate. She cut down one man with a clean blow and met the next with such force the enemy staggered into Aurelius’s waiting labrys. Lance fought with controlled movements, each thrust of his weapon measured to end threats quickly, while Aurelius was raw energy, throwing himself at foes with a sheer ferocity that scattered their ranks. Etraon stayed to the edges of the room, guarding the routes that led out of the chamber. He struck down men who tried to retreat, each kill fueled by the determination to keep their enemies from summoning reinforcements. Sweat slicked his grip, his senses stretched thin as he scanned the room constantly for any sign of Varg or Auberon. Both were still absent from the field, but with every breath, every soldier down, Etraon expected to see either man step forward from the shadows.

Etraon turned to attack the oncoming soldier that charged at him when the man suddenly sprouted feathers in his forehead and Etraon chanced a quick look in Laymerial’s direction by the nearby stairs. A new arrow was nocked; she was clearly fully prepared to fire another shot if necessary. Ephron was protectively seated between her feet, holding her quiver steady next to him. Sirena, having seen the arrow fly, realized that Laymerial and Ephron were relatively well fortified by the stairs where they were hidden. From across the chamber, Sirena caught sight of them and while she was currently safe behind Catherine’s defenses, Etraon saw her hesitate only for a moment before her gaze locked with his. He gave her the faintest nod, an unspoken agreement, and Sirena broke away, skirts snapping as she darted across the battlefield toward the stairwell.

The sudden movement drew Catherine’s sharp glance, her head snapping around as Sirena left her side. For an instant, Etraon feared she would call her back, giving away Laymerial and Ephron’s location, but she kept her ground, blades flashing as she pressed her attackers back. When her eyes found Etraon across the chaos, he gave her a quick nod, acknowledging that Sirena’s sudden movement had been under his watch. She smiled then, lips parted in what Etraon could only guess from this distance was a wry chuckle, and charged forward now that she didn’t have to play defense any longer.

But not everyone had missed Sirena’s dart across the room. A soldier lingering on the edge of Catherine’s fight—perhaps the higher ranking officer of this group, given his additional decorations on his armor—turned sharply when Sirena ran. His eyes followed her straight to the stairwell, and Etraon saw the recognition dawn in his face: there were others hidden there. The man began to stalk toward the stairs and Etraon cursed under his breath, torn between his own position of warding off further reinforcements, having his own identity be noticed, and protecting Laymerial, Ephron, and Sirena. The man’s advance paused and Etraon felt his breath catch as a dark smile crossed the man’s face—he had seen Ephron’s small form tucked at Laymerial’s feet.

“Stay further up the stairs,” Etraon heard Laymerial’s voice ring out, tight but commanding. Her eyes met his and he knew that the omittance of Ephron’s name from that command had been intentional. “Take this with you! Don’t open your eyes.” Etraon’s chest clenched as he saw his little brother hesitate, then obey, clutching the bow and quiver awkwardly as he scrambled higher. Laymerial plucked two arrows from the quiver at his side before he was gone, stepping down from the stairs to join Sirena who by this time had made it to them and had her shod staff positioned firmly in front of her.

The approaching soldier had clearly thought better of killing them, sheathing his own sword and grabbing a fallen rod of sorts from the ground, clearly aiming to catch them and drag them to his own commanders rather than kill outright. The growing smile on his face spoke volumes and Etraon could only hope that this man was vastly underestimating his friends, thereby giving them a chance to surprise him. He swung the rod down toward Sirena, perhaps expecting her to retreat or falter. Instead, she planted her feet firmly, staff braced, deflecting each strike with measured movements. She wasn’t trying to wound him—at least not yet—but to hold her ground, turning aside his strength with a calmness that only frustrated his growing aggression. Beside her, Laymerial hunched low, clutching the arrows awkwardly in her hand, eyes wide as if she had no idea what to do with them. To anyone watching, she looked like little more than a terrified girl, desperate and cornered. Etraon felt the need to run towards them tug at him once more but knew that Laymerial likely had a plan and that his running in to help them would only further complicate things.

He lost sight of the exchange as two soldiers that had been pushed back to the ground by Aurelius bolted for the far end of the room. He couldn’t risk them escaping, not if they meant to bring reinforcements. He chased them down, cutting one down with a slash across the back before he could reach the doorway and drove his sword through the second just as the man turned, blade half-drawn. By the time Etraon whirled back toward the stairs, the fight had shifted. The soldier had somehow pushed Sirena into the stairs and moved on to who he perceived the weaker target was, Laymerial. Sirena looked up at Etraon and gave him a barely perceptible nod, before she returned to playing her role as a defeated defender, seemingly exhausted by the continuous onslaught. The soldier’s posture changed, his grip loosening on the rod in a swaggering show of overconfidence. He twirled it once, cocky and careless, before stepping in to finish what he thought would be an easy capture.

He lunged forward and even though Etraon had been watching the situation carefully, he could barely believe Laymerial’s terrifyingly precise response: she thrust both arrowheads forward into his wrists, driving straight into the leather guards near his wrists. The man howled, his grip failing instantly as the pain from Laymerial’s attack shot through his arms. Sirena sprung into action and launched from the stairs to deliver a quick jabbing thrust to the man’s eyes with her shod staff. This blow was surprisingly effective, and given the way he collapsed in pain, clawing at his eyes, Etraon heavily suspected that Sirena’s weapon had been coated in something highly dangerous. Blood began to stream from his eyes as the man’s own armored gloves tore at his skin and Etraon’s felt a tingle of horror creep up his neck. He looked up and Sirena was staring the man down with a very grim expression that confirmed his theory.

He didn’t linger on Sirena’s unsettling strike for long. The clash of steel pulled his attention back toward the center of the fight where Lance, Aurelius, and Catherine were still engaged. The three of them had tightened up their formation considerably, slowly but steadily taking down the handful of soldiers that remained. Catherine’s attacks were still steady and precise, but her hair was clearly drenched with sweat from fighting for so long. Lance’s stance had grown heavy, each thrust ever so slightly slower than the last. Aurelius, though grinning as always in the thick of a fight, was starting to struggle from holding off two opponents at once. Etraon tightened his grip and charged back toward them, seeing that the group was small enough now that there were hardly going to be any stragglers running off for reinforcements now.

The first soldier noticed his approach, swinging wide to block him, but Etraon’s momentum carried him through the man’s defense. His blade cut high, forcing the soldier to raise his shield, and Etraon used the opening to slam his shoulder into him, knocking him sprawling onto the ground. He wheeled to catch the next attacker, cutting low beneath the man’s guard. The clash was brief and brutal—two quick exchanges before his blade slipped between the plates of the soldier’s armor, cutting him down. Lance gave him a quick nod in acknowledgement as they briefly ended up next to each other, eyes focused on his own fight.

-----

Author's Note:
Yes, Sirena AND Laymerial are both clerics and bada***s. We love them and I will take no objections to this. 

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xoxo,

Elfarine