The Iron Gate

The Hollow Bastion buzzed with tension.

Marcio stood before the war table, his breath steady but his thoughts storming. Kael unfurled a thin, yellowed map — one corner marked in blood-red ink.

“This,” Kael said, pointing with a calloused finger, “is our target.”

The map showed a smaller compound just outside the massive Fortress of the Iron Gate — a nondescript stone structure tucked along the fortress’s eastern flank. Unlike the main fortress, this one lacked towers or reinforced battlements. It was labeled in Arkavian script as Logistics Annex C.

“A glorified filing room,” Kael continued. “But inside are troop manifests, patrol schedules, and a list of known resistance sympathizers. We need them to make our first move — a coordinated strike against three resource convoys.”

He looked up at Marcio. “This is your trial. Not because it’s easy, but because you can walk through their barriers undetected — if you keep control of your Diwa.”

Marcio stared at the map, then at the softly glowing focus stone on the table. “And if I don’t?”

Elianore stepped forward. “Then we both die.”

Marcio blinked. “We?”

She pulled her hood back, revealing her sharp features. “You’re not going in alone. My Diwa is attuned to obscuration — light-bending, aura concealment, vanishing.” She offered a slight smile. “I walk in places no one sees.”

Kael nodded. “You’ll go together. But once you’re inside, the final move is on you, Marcio. Elianore can’t unlock the Diwa-sealed chamber. Only you.”

Marcio clenched his fist, the focus stone’s residual warmth still humming against his palm. “Let’s do it.”

---

The Infiltration Begins…

The world outside Elyria was different at night — quieter, like the earth itself held its breath. Cloaked in shadows, Marcio and Elianore moved through the same hidden aqueduct tunnel that had brought him to the Bastion. But this time, the path ended at a side trench beneath the ridge, where the annex wall loomed above them, dimly lit by torchfire and glyph lamps.

A guard passed nearby, boots crunching gravel.

Then Elianore whispered, “Close your eyes.”

Marcio obeyed.

A rush of wind. A strange tug on his skin. And then — nothing.

He opened his eyes. Everything looked… muted. The torchlights no longer burned bright; sounds were muffled.

Elianore’s voice floated to him like mist. “I bent the light. The guards won’t see us unless we move too fast or touch the wards directly.”

Her hand found his. “Stay close. And stay calm.”

They moved like drifting shadows through the outer courtyard. Marcio felt his pulse rising. Ahead, the annex door — simple iron, no Diwa wards yet.

Elianore produced a thin blade and unlocked it silently.

Inside was a narrow hall lined with crates and parchment racks. The stale air stank of mildew and ink. Faint glyphs pulsed along the corridor walls — diwa detection wards designed to sense marked energy.

They crept carefully, Marcio matching Elianore’s fluid steps. She guided him past the first ward by whispering a strange phrase — and it shimmered, allowing them through.

Then they reached the inner vault chamber — a large iron door sealed with a glowing Diwa glyph shaped like a jagged sun. The power radiating from it made Marcio’s skin crawl.

“This is where I stop,” Elianore whispered. “These glyphs… they react violently to my energy. You’re still undefined. You’re our way through.”

Marcio stepped forward, his breath slow and measured. He remembered the forge — the way Gorio had taught him to feel the heat, not fight it. He placed the Diwa focus against the sigil.

It pulsed once.

Then again — faster.

Marcio closed his eyes, letting the rhythm of the forge guide his breath.

Inhale. Hammer rises.

Exhale. Strike.

The glyph dimmed, and the vault door groaned open.

---

Inside the Vault…

Scrolls. Dozens. Crates labeled in Arkavian script. Marcio scanned for the crimson seals.

He found them — five scrolls bound with red cord, each stamped with the sigil of an imperial hawk. He grabbed them quickly, stowing them in his pack.

Then the air shifted.

He turned — and froze.

A lone Arkavian officer stood at the threshold, armor half-unbuckled, torch in hand.

“Who—?!”

Elianore struck like wind — appearing behind the man and jamming a dagger to his throat.

“Don't scream.”

The officer froze, trembling. The officer tried to knock Elianore back with diwa infused fist but then Elianore cut his throat fast swiftly leading to the officer dying on the spot. Elianore’s eyes met Marcio’s. “Time to leave.”

---

The Escape...

As they slipped back through the hall, alarms triggered behind them. One of the outer glyph wards had registered the vault's opening.

“No more stealth,” Elianore said.

They ran.

Marcio felt the Diwa inside him responding to danger — vibrating with wild energy. A soldier spotted them at the corner, but Marcio reached out instinctively, flaring his hand. A pulse of invisible force threw the guard against the wall.

Elianore blinked. “You’re channeling.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“You better mean it next time.”

They slipped through the annex gate, back into the trees — just as red flares exploded above the Fortress of the Iron Gate.

---

Back at the rebel camp…

Kael slammed his fist on the table, scrolls unrolled before him.

“Troop movements. Suppression zones. Prison lists.” He looked at Marcio. “You brought us our first breath of air.”

Elianore leaned against the stone wall, arms crossed. “He moved like a first-year cadet, but his instincts kicked in. Raw. Untrained. Powerful.”

Kael looked at Marcio one last time. “You lit a spark inside their wall, boy.”

Marcio didn’t answer. He stood at the edge of the firelight, his hands still shaking. He could feel his Diwa inside him — like a storm kept barely at bay.

He had entered as a shadow.

He returned as a flaming light the Empire would soon fear.

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