Zero stared at Anya's scroll as if it were a live scorpion. Elder Theron. Jax the smuggler. Secret meetings. Crate markings. This wasn't a test of his esoteric knowledge; this was a detailed intelligence report that could get someone killed. Specifically, him, if anyone ever connected him to it.
His first instinct, a powerful surge of pure, unadulterated terror, was to burn it. Destroy the evidence. Pretend it never happened. But then, a sliver of his 'Master' persona – that deeply ingrained part of him that craved the drama and significance of his imagined role – asserted itself. The Master wouldn't burn a report from a trusted Acolyte. The Master would… act upon it. Or at least, appear to act upon it.
But how? He couldn't exactly send Anya a note saying, "Excellent work, Acolyte! Now, please deal with these dangerous criminals while I hide under my bed."
He paced his room, the scroll clutched in his sweaty hand. He needed a response. A new directive for Anya. Something that acknowledged her findings without actually requiring him to do anything dangerous.
Inspiration, as it often did for Zero, struck from the pages of his favorite pulp novels. The wise, enigmatic leader often gave their operatives missions that seemed unrelated but were, in fact, subtly connected to the larger scheme. Yes! He wouldn't address the Theron/Jax issue directly. That was too… mundane. Too obvious. Instead, he would give Anya a new task, one even more profound, one that would symbolically address the corruption she'd uncovered.
He grabbed a fresh sheet of parchment and his crimson-tinged ink. He would instruct Anya to investigate the symbolic source of the city's decay, the very emblems of its supposed virtue. He began to write: "Acolyte, your perception is keen. The serpent's coil is but one thread in a tapestry of shadows. Now, turn your gaze to the symbols of Veridia's supposed strength – the Griffon of Imperial Justice, the Scales of Commerce held by the Guilds, the Radiant Sun of the Grand Temple. Observe how these icons are… tarnished in practice. Find where their light casts the deepest, most deceptive shadows. The Path requires understanding of illusion as well as reality…"
It was perfect! Vague, philosophical, and it sent Anya off to look at statues and buildings instead of active smugglers. He'd then have to figure out how to get this new instruction to her. The Shrine of Lost Socks dead drop! He'd have to brave it himself, leave this new scroll, and hope she understood his coded notice about checking the dead drop. This was getting complicated. He made a mental note to simplify his communication methods if he ever accidentally recruited a third disciple.
***
Two days later, Barric stood before the dilapidated personnel entrance of the Warehouse of Silent Shadows. He had completed his initial survey of the city's northern and eastern defenses. His findings were sobering: rot and neglect were widespread. It was information the Master needed.
He entered the warehouse as before, his senses alert. The vast, dusty space was silent, save for the familiar drip of water and the mournful sigh of the wind. The 'Sanctum' in the corner was undisturbed, the crate-throne empty. No Master awaited him.
Disappointment, sharp and unwelcome, pricked at him. He had expected… something. Further instructions. A sign. He was a soldier; he understood waiting for orders, but this silence felt unproductive.
He scanned the immediate area. Perhaps the Master had left a message for him? His eyes fell upon the main warehouse door, a place he hadn't examined closely during his recruitment. Tacked to the rough, splintered wood, almost invisible in the gloom, was a small, square piece of cheap parchment covered in cramped, crimson-tinged script. The same script as the scroll from the thyme bundle.
Barric approached, detaching it carefully. He squinted at the text: "Instruction to the Honoured Acolyte of the Penumbral Fold: When the three-legged raven (see Fig. Alpha, Appendix III of the Obsidian Scrolls – Not Provided) thrice circles the weeping moon…"
He read the entire convoluted message, his brow furrowing deeper with each incomprehensible line about non-existent appendices, lunar phases tied to shadow density, and passphrases for silent guardians of forgotten alcoves.
What in the blighted hells is this? Barric thought, utterly baffled. This wasn't an order. It wasn't a report template. It was… gibberish. Flowery, symbolic, entirely impractical gibberish. He was a soldier. He understood clear directives, chain of command, tangible objectives. This… this was like trying to grasp smoke.
Was this another test? A riddle he was meant to solve to prove his worthiness or intelligence? He re-read the line Anya had latched onto: "…the forgotten alcove where misplaced hopes find solace…" It meant nothing to him. He wasn't looking for solace for misplaced hopes; he was looking for a way to report critical vulnerabilities in the city's defenses!
Frustration warred with his ingrained sense of duty. The Master operated in mysterious ways, that much was clear. Perhaps this coded message was not meant for him, or not meant for him yet. He decided to leave his own report, as Anya had. He'd prepared a concise summary of his findings, focusing on actionable intelligence: guard numbers, patrol weaknesses, compromised fortifications. He placed his scroll on the crate-throne, a soldier's offering to an enigmatic commander. He would continue his primary mission – assessing the city's defenses – until clearer orders were given. This "Penumbral Fold" and its weeping moons were beyond his current comprehension.
***
Argent, from his rooftop vantage point, observed Barric's arrival and departure with keen interest. Another one! This operative, 'Subject Three: Stone-Guard' (due to his build and the glint of a shield), was even more imposing than 'Blade-Dancer.' He moved with military precision, surveyed the warehouse with a professional eye, and also appeared to interact with something on the main door before leaving his own small package in the 'Sanctum.'
Incredible, Argent marveled. The operational security is flawless. Multiple, independent agents, all utilizing the same dead drop system but with no direct contact between them. Each with their own schedule, their own purpose. And the initial notice on the door serves as a dynamic instruction board, updated as needed by a handler like 'Shadow-Clerk.'
His respect for the Crimson Path's unknown leader grew. This was no amateur. This was a master strategist, weaving a complex web of operatives throughout the city. He was more determined than ever to understand their ultimate goals. He made a note to investigate the history of raven symbolism in Veridian military orders; the broken weather vane couldn't be a coincidence.
***
Meanwhile, the bounty notices for the "Bleeding Eye Vandal" – featuring Ren's enthusiastic, if artistically challenged, rendition of the symbol – had attracted attention beyond the irate Dyers' Guild.
In a sparsely furnished office within the City Watch Central Citadel – a place far removed from Captain Valerius's corrupt precinct – Commander Thorne Marius, a man whose face looked like it had been carved from granite and then left out in the rain, examined one of the notices. He was a veteran of border wars and urban unrest, a man who had little patience for incompetence or corruption within his own ranks.
"This symbol," Marius said, his voice a low growl, tapping the crude drawing. "It's a debased version, but the core elements… troubling." He looked at his intelligence officer, a quiet, observant woman named Lieutenant Kael. "The last time Veridia saw widespread use of uncontrolled eye iconography with crimson elements was during the Night of Crimson Tears, a century ago. That was the Mad Seer Elara's cult. They preached societal collapse and blood sacrifice."
"Records indicate that cult was entirely eradicated, Commander," Kael replied.
"Records can be… incomplete," Marius grunted. "This 'Bleeding Eye,' as the bounty calls it, appearing now, targeting a Guild… It could be a prank. Or it could be something far more dangerous testing the waters. Assign an investigator. Quietly. I want to know who is drawing these, why, and if there's any connection to… older, more organized troubles. Start with this Dyers' Guild Master Borin. See what he really knows."
Lieutenant Kael nodded. "I have just the man, Commander. Discreet. Thorough."
The ripples of Zero's accidental creation were beginning to reach shores he couldn't possibly imagine, and forces far more competent than his terrified acolytes were starting to take notice.