Day One of the hunt began with silence.
The kind of silence that wasn't empty—but heavy. Full. Like a sealed vault ready to explode if disturbed.
Fornos sat in the guest chamber of the Drenmire Guilded Garrison, where he had secured temporary access through one of his off-record contacts. Park was already in the room, reading the morning guard reports from the rooftop vantage he'd secured at dawn. Brassheart stood by the door, once again pretending to be just a glorified sculpture.
A ledger lay open in front of Fornos, its pages already inked with three names—only three.
Not of suspects.
Not yet.
These were the names of the dead.
Scrivener Hal – the inventor.
Marcus Veil – the auctioneer.
Nemo Darrik – the onstage bodyguard.
Each killed during the blackout. Each a different kind of asset to the auction. And all three—irreplaceable.
"This wasn't random," Fornos said aloud, though no one else had spoken.
Park signed a question with two fingers and a motion: Why just them?
Fornos pointed his quill to Hal's name. "Scrivener Hal built the prototype. Or at least assembled the last version we saw. Every rumor I seeded in the underground guilds over the past few months pointed to him as the source. Even if he wasn't the first mind to theorize the resonance chain, he was the one who proved it worked."
He drew a line under Hal's name, then circled it.
"Without him, it'll take years for any rival to replicate the device from scratch."
Then he tapped the second name.
"Marcus Veil—the auctioneer. He wasn't just some hired middleman. The man curated black market tech with a purist's obsession. He could tell an imitation from a relic-grade blueprint by the taste of the parchment."
Park raised an eyebrow.
Fornos didn't flinch. "He licked a Mana Script once and predicted the author's age to within three years."
Brassheart gave a faint whir in response. Even the golem seemed skeptical.
"And Nemo Darrik…" Fornos tapped the final name. "Mercenary. Two-year contract with Drenmire Guild Enforcement. Known for loyalty—so loyal, he wasn't paid with coin but with medical support for his war-torn brother. He was guarding the stage when the blackout hit."
Fornos leaned back, eyes narrowing. "All three had one thing in common. They weren't connected to any faction. They were Drenmire-based independents."
Park made a slicing motion across his palm and pointed toward the window—cut from the city's spine.
"Exactly." Fornos flipped the page and began writing a second list underneath the title: Next of Kin / Known Associates – Present in Drenmire.
1. Hollis Hal – Niece of Scrivener Hal. Junior engineer at the Southern Glassworks Guild. Recently reprimanded for attempting to reverse-engineer relay crystals. Last known address: West Bridge Tenement, Level 4.
2. Ryla Veil – Sister of Marcus. Works as a trade scribe and part-time auction ledger-cleaner. She manages estate closures for dead merchants. Attends Temple of Axium every third morning. Usually in the Artisan's Square.
3. Bren Darrik – Brother of Nemo. Paraplegic war veteran. Former aerial lancesman during the Border Quell. Currently housed in the Alms House under Drenmire's Civic Sanctuary Program.
Fornos read the list twice before nodding. "These are the only people who might have insight into motive—or worse—be used as leverage."
Park tapped the page beside Hollis's name. Start with her?
"No," Fornos said quickly. "Start with Bren."
That drew a puzzled glance.
Fornos elaborated, "Hollis might be brilliant, but she's impulsive. She's already on some Watch lists. If she had the blueprint, she would've bragged to someone by now. Or attempted to sell it. But Bren…"
He paused, considering the man he'd never met.
"Bren had a brother who bled out during a staged massacre. I don't believe in mercy crimes. And Nemo didn't die because he failed. He died because someone wanted a corpse planted on the stage—one that everyone would trust."
Park understood. A familiar tactic. You don't hide a theft by removing guards. You kill one and make it seem like resistance failed. It draws sympathy—not suspicion.
"Talk to Bren," Fornos said. "Gently."
Park signed a quick affirmation, then vanished without a sound.
Two hours later, Park returned, placing a single crumpled note on Fornos's desk.
Fornos read it. Once. Twice.
"He said: My brother wouldn't let three die for a blueprint unless he believed someone worse already had it."
Fornos leaned back. "Someone worse…"
He stood up abruptly, flipping back through the original rumor-weaving logs from months ago—coded missives sent to his Architects to plant whispers across guilds and back-alley salons. In one particular region—the Gutterlink Circuit, which funneled rumors to exiled alchemists and outcast engineers—he had introduced a false theory: that a crystal communication blueprint had once been stolen from a Relict worshipper.
It was a lie. A complete fabrication. But…
Now a thread began to emerge.
"What if someone believed it?" Fornos whispered. "What if someone thought this blueprint… wasn't a tool—but a curse?"
Brassheart made a sound, the golem equivalent of unease. Somewhere deep inside the brass-and-bone chassis, ancient gears tightened.
Park wrote something down. Do we tell the others?
Fornos folded the paper slowly.
"No," he said. "Not yet."
He added one more name to the list, beneath the known associates.
4. Varn Tessel – Former Codex Theorist. Expelled from the Anima Acolyte circle. Publicly denounced all attempts to merge communication magic with resonance crystal theory. Rumored to reside in Drenmire under false identity.
The game was no longer about who had stolen the blueprint.
It was about why someone had decided that no one should.
End of Chapter 93