Chapter 3 - Behind The Edifice 

The river carried them in silence. Minus Grunk and Rennik, who had split off from them upon exiting the inn. They would meet after Mara was freed, and if anything went wrong, Grunk assured them they had their backs.

They had scoured the docks for something unattended, and ended up with a leaky dinghy. Pen liberated it from the side of a cog while Ruffstrom kept the owner occupied.

The boat rocked beneath their weight as they drifted toward the Assembly building. The tall windows were mostly dark at this hour, like a row of half-lidded eyes.

Pen adjusted a small flask of lamp oil at his belt, a modest purchase before they had set out. Useful in an archive, but not, in this case, for reading.

The dinghy drifted in the shadow of the Assembly’s waterfront wall, its hull knocking softly against the stone. Hootalin crouched near the bow, Zander’s key turning slowly between her fingers.

“The waterfront entrance is around the corner,” Pen said a little too loud, prompting Larnala to shush him.

Larnala was gazing at the opposite river's edge, where crooked buildings loomed in darkness. “Get inside, see if you can open one of the windows above us."

Ruffstrom leaned in, lowering his voice. “And if you find anything of value—purely academic interest, of course—do let us know.”

“The dwarf first, thievery second,” Hootalin said.

“Try not to die,” Gok added.

“Try not to smell,” she shot back, already turning away.

A whisper of motion, and she was airborne, gracefuly rounding the corner and crossing the last stretch of dark water alone. She landed on the stone landing and turned to the heavy door. The key slid into the lock with practiced ease.

A soft click, and she slipped inside and vanished from sight, her magical invisibility settling over her like a held breath.

An imposing hall unfolded before her—marble floors, high ceilings, everything polished to the point of pretentiousness. A grand central staircase went up to another large double door two stories up. 

Hootalin rose, hovering just above the steps.

At the first floor landing, four guards stood, three of them leaning on their halberds and one on his harquebus, mid-conversation.

“…telling you, something big's about to happen—”

“—you said that last time—”

“I'm telling you, they're gonna ship of us on some half-baked quest for a dragon's hoard or sumthin'.”

Hootalin drifted past them, close enough to see the stitching on their uniforms, and reached the door at the top. It was an ornate door that demanded attention.

She started pulling on the handle.

The door creaked loud.

Too loud.

“…you hear that?”

Hootalin froze mid-air.

A guard came up the stairs and stopped before the ajar door, eyes scanning his surroundings with the slow, reluctant suspicion of someone who already hoped this would turn out to be nothing.

He took a step forward, and for a moment, he stood a few inches away from where she hovered.

He frowned, pushed the door shut again and went back down to his comrades down the stairs. 

With a small, practiced motion, Hootalin shaped an illusion at the bottom of the hall. The sound of a door somewhere on the lower level creaking open, then shutting again, the sound echoing just enough through the marble halls to suggest carelessness… or intrusion.

The reaction was immediate. Voices cut short. A brief exchange—sharp, uncertain—and then the heavy rhythm of boots moving away, drawn toward a problem that did not exist.

She opened the groaning grand door again and slipped through, hoping that she didn't just complicate matters.

Beyond it, a meeting chamber stretched out to her left. widening after an intial entranceway. Along the walls stood rows of armor.

She checked around the corner, where a great fireplace loomed, unlit but cavernous enough to hide a few bodies. 

Her attention settled on the mural at the far end, which to a human would be shrouded in darkness, but her eyes were well adjusted to it. 

It dominated the chamber, stretching from floor to ceiling, its presence impossible to ignore. The composition was split cleanly in two, one side coloured in a deep red while to the right the tone shifted to green. Several figures were portrayed on the mural—someone who was kneeling before a human, a robed figure and some sort of celestial being who floated above them all. 

She sneaked through the room, passing beneath the watchful gaze of empty visors, to study the mural more closely. Curiosity, as always, outweighed good sense.

Up close, the details sharpened.

On the left, the red was not uniform—it bled and darkened in places, thick with texture. The kneeling figure’s hand was raised not in defiance, but in offering, palm open. Before them stood another, their bare skin marked by lashes, each line deliberate, almost reverent in its precision.

Pain, sanctified.

On the right, the green softened the eye. The robed figure stood alone, posture composed, untouched. Above them, the winged presence hovered in quiet suspension, its form radiant but indistinct.

Grace, unearned or otherwise.

Hootalin flapped closer, her gaze narrowing, and then she saw it.

A slight imperfection in the stone, subtle enough to escape notice unless one had the eyes of an owlin. Near the kneeling figure’s outstretched hand, a small section of the mural did not sit entirely flush with the rest.

She reached out with one of her feet, her claws brushing the surface.

A faint, protruding, engraving revealed itself beneath the dust.

For Devotion.

Hootalin tilted her head, and pressed it. The text slid into the mural, and it felt like some mechanism was supposed to catch it, but didn't. The engraving returned back to it's original position.

Behind her, the sound of shifting metal broke the silence.

Shit.

She turned slowly, already aware of what was happening, but not willing to face the consequences yet. 

The suits of armor stirred. A gauntlet tightened around a hilt. A helm turned by a fraction. The faint scrape of metal on stone as one of them took a single, deliberate step forward.

I'm invisible, they can't see me... I think?

They began to move with measured steps. Blunted greatswords lifted with mechanical precision as they advanced towards the mural, but not to her. 

Hootalin exhaled quietly. She lingered just beyond the reach of the nearest suit, her invisible form suspended in careful stillness. She turned back to the mural, scanning it for more secrets. There were two more.

Above the angelic figure, hidden in the painted light, another engraving.

Under Grace.

And near the robed figure’s feet, carved so subtly it might have been mistaken for a flaw in the stone—

In Solitude.

She leaned in slightly, eyes tracing the composition again, fitting the pieces together.

Maybe there's an order to this?

She didn't get the chance to test it.

A sudden blow came from behind. The blunted greatsword crashed into her side with enough force to knock the breath from her lungs, the impact ringing through bone and muscle alike.

Her invisibility shattered instantly.

Hootalin stumbled forward, visible again to all the lumbering suits of armor, air catching sharply in her throat.

“—right,” she hissed, already reaching for the spell again.

Magic snapped back into place around her, the world swallowing her outline once more.

She didn’t hesitate. A quick push of force and she vaulted upward, landing atop one of the long tables as another strike cut through the space she had occupied a heartbeat before.

Another illusion was in order. A flick of her hand, and across the room a figure shimmered into existence—vague, indistinct, but convincing enough for the suits of armor.

Metal clanged. Boots struck stone. Most of them turned and advanced toward the false intruder, weapons raised with mechanical intent.

But one did not move, it remained near the mural.

Hootalin’s eyes narrowed.

Of course you are.

She hovered just above the table, gaze flicking between the three hidden elements, invested in the secret the mural clearly held. But she also had a job to do. Time for some brute force.

“For Devotion.”

A press. The internal mechanism faintly shifted.

“In Solitude.”

Another click, deeper this time.

The suit took another random swipe, hitting nothing but air.

“Under Grace.”

For a moment, nothing happened. Then the wall responded.

A low, grinding sound rolled through the chamber as part of the mural’s stone frame swiveled inward, revealing a hidden compartment carved into the wall behind it.

Gold gleamed within, laying atop heavy, sealed envelopes.

Hootalin quickly swept the contents into her satchel with practiced efficiency, hands moving faster than thought. Behind her, the illusion faltered as one of the suits cut through it.

The suit nearest to her cleaved his blade across the hidden compartment, mere moments after Hootalin retreated her hand 

She spotted the lever inside the compartment just as the first armored figure closed the distance again.

Without pausing, she grabbed it and pulled.

The stone frame slammed shut with a heavy crack, sealing the hidden cache once more.

The armor did not stop.

Of course it didn’t.

A blade swung through the space beside her, close enough that she felt the displaced air brush against her cheek.

Another followed.

Relentless. Methodical.

They didn’t need to see her.

They just needed to be right once.

Hootalin pushed off the table, already moving for the exit.

“Time to go,” she breathed.