Denizens of the Labyrinth

Moxores stood as a testament to survival, ambition, and the unyielding will of those who had carved their names into history. The stronghold had once been on the brink of ruin, its walls cracked, its halls echoing with the ghosts of battle. Now, it thrived. The banners of the Black Wing Faction fluttered in the high winds; their insignia marked on newly fortified towers. A kingdom in all but name, built by warriors, wanderers, and those who had cast aside the chains of weaker factions.

Jazmel sat upon his throne, the obsidian seat carved from the remnants of a long-felled tyrant beast, its edges adorned with the talons of creatures he had slain. From this vantage, he saw what they had built. The great halls of Moxores were alive with movement. Warriors sparred in the lower grounds, the clang of steel ringing out in a rhythmic symphony. Scouts returned from distant lands, bringing intelligence and maps of territories yet to be claimed. Merchants, once hesitant to deal with outcasts and warlords, now lined the inner sanctums, trading rare goods for the safety and prestige of doing business under the Black Wing's banner.

It had been months since the Sworn had last dared to attack their stronghold, and though the scars of that battle remained, they had mended stronger than before. The walls had been rebuilt, reinforced with dark stone that gleamed under the sun, and at night, flickered under the eerie glow of the enchanted braziers that lined the battlements. Their numbers had swelled warriors, mystics, and tacticians, all drawn by the legends of Jazmel and his closest allies.

Mary, the War Commander, was rarely at rest.

She stalked through the training yards, overseeing drills with a cold, calculating gaze. Her command had transformed the once disparate warriors into a formidable army, their movements precise, their formations unbreakable. She was the spear of the Black Wing, ensuring that no enemy would ever find them unprepared again.

At this moment, she stood upon the war balcony, a great map stretched before her as she discussed strategy with the battle captains. Their expansion had not gone unnoticed, and though the Sworn had retreated into the shadows, others would come. That was the nature of power.

"Fortifications along the eastern pass need to be doubled," she instructed, tapping her gauntlet against the map. "We've driven out the beasts there, but their dens are a risk. If the next Beast Tide erupts from those caverns, we'll have a war on two fronts."

A messenger arrived, kneeling before her. "A scouting party has returned from the west. The Blood Fangs are on the move."

Mary's eyes darkened. "Then we deal with them before they think they can deal with us."

Even as war loomed, she ensured the Black Wing stayed three steps ahead.

Melle, the Chief of Staff, had no battlefield to rule but hers was the war of logistics, and she waged it flawlessly.

The growth of the faction had demanded structure, and she had built it from the ground up. Where once chaos had ruled the administrative halls, now there was order. She had formed a team of support officers scribes, quartermasters, tacticians who ensured the stronghold ran like a well-oiled machine.

She sat in the council chamber, skimming through reports with the efficiency of someone who knew exactly what needed to be done.

"Food stores are at an all-time high," one of her aides reported. "Our recent trade routes with the northern merchants have secured a steady supply of rations, and the hunters have reported a surplus."

Melle nodded. "Divert some of it to the reserves. We plan for famine before famine finds us."

Another aide stepped forward. "Recruits are coming in faster than expected. Some are green, other veterans looking for a cause. The barracks might not hold them all if we keep expanding at this rate."

"Then we build more barracks," Melle replied simply. "Send for masons, expand the living quarters. No one joins the Black Wing to sleep in the mud."

Her system ensured that the faction's resources be it weapons, armour, supplies, or manpower were always in place before they were needed. She had turned Moxores into a city that thrived, not just endured.

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From his throne, Jazmel watched all of this unfold his warriors training, his commanders planning, his people building a future. This was no longer just a stronghold. It was a power in its own right.

But power always invited challenge.

And he would be ready.

Jazmel turned the small origami swan between his fingers, its delicate folds a stark contrast to the cold weight of the throne he sat upon. Katie's mark. She had been sending them ever since her unit had begun targeting Sworn bases silent messages in the form of intricate paper birds. Each one carried an unspoken meaning: We're still alive. We're still hunting.

But with every clash, with every base they burned to the ground, they still hadn't found the true heart of the enemy. The Sworn's headquarters remained elusive, hidden behind layers of deception and misdirection. And that worried him.

Gilmore, Tango, Bannerman, and Katie were among his best deadly, relentless, and skilled enough to carve through enemy ranks like spectres in the night. But their victories were dragging them deeper into the Sworn's shadow, closer to whatever trap lay in wait.

And then there was Katie.

Jazmel frowned, setting the swan down beside the others. She was getting too close. Not just to the enemy, but to something else something harder to name. A quiet thread of concern wound itself through him, one he wasn't sure he had the words for.

The war with the Sworn wasn't over. Not yet. And if they weren't careful, they might not like what they found at the end of the hunt.

Jazmel leaned forward on his throne, fingers steepled, the flickering torchlight casting long shadows across the war chamber. The origami swans sat beside him on the armrest, a growing collection of silent messages from Katie. Their meanings were layered reports of victories, locations of fallen Sworn strongholds, but beneath them, something more.

A subtle shift in her tone. A tension between the words.

She was getting too close.

Mary stood with arms crossed, the maps before them marked with the remnants of Sworn fortresses they had razed. "She's pushing deeper than we expected," she said, her voice clipped, serious. "And we still don't know where their true base is. Every time she moves, she risks walking straight into their hands."

Baek, ever composed, rested a hand on the hilt of his Jian. "She is skilled," he said, "but skill does not outweigh preparation. If the Sworn have let her get this far, it is not because she is unseen it is because they have chosen not to stop her."

Sadé exhaled sharply, leaning against the stone wall. "So what are we saying here? That they're baiting her? Drawing her in for something bigger?"

Charme, silent until now, tapped a gloved finger against the table. "It wouldn't be the first time," she murmured, eyes sharp with thought. "The Sworn don't just let things happen. They let people think they are in control, right until the moment they aren't."

Jazmel closed his eyes for a moment, considering their words. Katie wouldn't stop. That was the problem. She was chasing something, and it wasn't just victory it was understanding, clarity. She wanted to find them.

"We pull her back, she'll fight us," Mary said. "She's got Tango, Gilmore, and Bannerman. If we tell her to stop now, they'll dig their heels in, and we might lose our best strike team."

Baek nodded. "But if we do nothing, she could walk into something we are not prepared to extract her from."

Silence stretched between them, heavy with possibilities.

"We need to support her," Sadé finally said. "But without making it obvious."

Jazmel's fingers tightened against the arm of his throne. "Then we send reinforcements. Shadow units. Scouts. She thinks she's operating alone, but we make sure she's never actually alone."

Charme smirked. "A hidden blade behind her back. I like it."

"But who?" Mary asked. "Who do we send that won't tip her off?"

Baek, ever the quiet tactician, accepted the decision with a simple nod. His presence alone would ensure Katie, and her team had the support they needed. Tera Nema and her unit Morwen, Myn, and Grace were specialists in infiltration and reconnaissance. If anyone could track the Sworn's true headquarters without being seen, it was them.

"I'll keep them in check," Baek assured, adjusting the hilt of his Jian. "Katie won't realize we're there until we need her to."

Mary remained at the war table, eyes scanning over the ever-changing borders of their influence. "Good," she said. "We need someone watching her back, and we can't afford to lose momentum here. I'll keep the stronghold secured." Her gaze flicked up to Jazmel. "But what about you?"

Jazmel finally stood, the motion enough to draw the full attention of the room. His next words left no room for debate.

"I'm going to find the City of Tiamat."

A hush fell over the chamber. They had all heard the name before Genesis, the lost city of the Tyrants. A prison. A tomb. A myth.

"I'm going to free them."

Baek's brow furrowed, and Mary exhaled sharply, but before either could argue, Charme chuckled from the corner of the room. "About time," she said, rolling her shoulders. "Guess that means I'm coming with you."

Jazmel inclined his head. That had never been in question.

Then, Sadé stepped forward, arms folded across her chest. "I'm going too."

He met her gaze, searching for the argument in her stance. There was none. She had already decided.

For a moment, he considered challenging her, but he knew it would be pointless. Instead, he simply inclined his head.

"So be it."