Fragmented Flames [Portal Fantasy, Adventure, Comedy]

The abandoned mill loomed against Ebran's twilight sky, its broken windows gaping like a mouth missing half its teeth. Once the pride of the eastern district, it now hunched forgotten among newer buildings, its glory days moth-eaten and dusty as the bolts of fabric still rotting in its upper floors.

Five disguised women approached from different directions, each wrapped in black attire that had, until recently, clothed significantly deader people.

"This mask smells like charred nosehairs," Pyra muttered through the fabric covering her face, leaving only her eyes visible. "Also, pretty sure there's still some previous owner stuck to the inside."

"You think you've got it bad?" Kindle kept her voice low as they converged on the building's shadow. "Mine's got a suspicious crusty part right where my mouth is. I'm breathing through my teeth."

Cinder adjusted her stolen garments with the enthusiasm of someone arranging their own funeral attire. "Consider it motivation to complete this mission quickly. The sooner we're done, the sooner these clothes can have a tragic accident involving spontaneous combustion."

Nasir materialized from the darkness with the unsettling grace that seemed to be his default mode of transportation. Even in the dim light, his eyes gleamed with the particular intensity of someone about to send others into danger while remaining comfortably elsewhere himself.

"Remember," he whispered, "the Silent Hand communicates primarily through gestures. Basic acknowledgment is three fingers spread, palm inward." He demonstrated the movement. "Request for identification is—"

"Thumb across throat, two fingers up, like we're about to lose at cards," Kindle interrupted, demonstrating with flourish. She'd spent the past hour memorizing every hand signal with the fervent dedication of someone who believed their life depended on it. Which, to be fair, it probably did.

"And emergency evacuation?" Nasir quizzed.

Pyra's hand shot up, forming a gesture that looked alarmingly like a chicken having a seizure.

"That's... not even close," Nasir sighed. "It's this." He demonstrated a circular motion followed by a downward sweep.

"Right, right," Pyra nodded vigorously. "Toilet flush. Got it."

"Perhaps we should focus on entering without being immediately executed," Ash suggested mildly. Her eyes—the only visible part of her face—somehow managed to convey both serenity and existential concern simultaneously.

"The northeastern entrance is the least guarded," Nasir continued, tactfully ignoring Pyra's gesture interpretation. "It's rimarily by lower-ranked members. Present your identification markers, offer the standard greeting gesture, and proceed confidently."

"Confidence won't be a problem," Ember assured him, her eyes serious above her mask. "It's the 'not setting everything on fire if questioned' part that concerns me."

Nasir's mouth twitched in what might have been amusement. "I'll monitor from the surrounding district. If you're not out within three hours, I'll assume intervention is necessary."

"Your version of intervention isn't just leaving town, is it?" Cinder asked dryly.

His smile was decidedly unhelpful. "Good luck."

And then he was gone, melting into the shadows with practiced ease.

"I hate when he does that," Kindle muttered. "He's so dramatically mysterious I want to check his pockets for smoke pellets."

"Focus," Ember reminded them. "Five identical women are already suspicious enough. We need to move separately." She flicked two fingers toward the northeastern corner of the building. "Kindle, take point. Cinder and I will enter three minutes after. Pyra and Ash, three minutes after us."

"Why do I have to go alone?" Kindle protested.

"Because you're the only one who actually memorized those hand signals," Cinder pointed out. "Also, your improvisation skills don't immediately default to 'burn everything to cinders.'"

"Unlike some people," Ember added, glancing meaningfully at Pyra.

"Hey! My improvisation skills include 'burn everything to cinders' AND 'punch really hard,'" Pyra objected. "That's two whole skills!"

"Very impressive," Ash agreed with such gentle sincerity that it took Pyra a moment to realize she was being teased.

Kindle squared her shoulders and adjusted her mask one final time. "Right. Phase one: Don't die immediately." She slipped away toward the northeastern corner, her movements fluid and silent in a way that would have impressed professional assassins who hadn't been recently incinerated by her team.

Ember, Cinder, and Ash watched her go, then exchanged glances.

"Think she'll be okay?" Pyra asked, uncharacteristic concern threading through her voice.

"She's literally us," Cinder reminded her. "Just with more enthusiasm about stealing corpse-clothes."

"Three minutes," Ember murmured, eyes tracking the stars above. "Then we follow."

The Silent Hand facility's entrance was disappointingly mundane—a weathered door that might once have welcomed tired millers, now reinforced with subtle but effective wards that made the air shimmer like heat rising from sun-baked stone.

Two guards flanked it, their black attire identical to what the five now wore, faces similarly obscured. Only the silver embroidery at their sleeves, catching occasional moonlight like trapped lightning, marked them as anything other than particularly fashion-challenged night watchmen.

Kindle approached with the carefully measured confidence of someone who absolutely belonged there and was absolutely not wearing a dead person's underwear.

The guards straightened as she neared, hands dropping to weapons sheathed at their sides.

One raised three fingers, palm inward. Standard greeting.

Kindle mirrored the gesture smoothly, then presented the small metal disk Nasir had provided—a twin to the one Ash had found by the Vault entrance.

The guard studied it, then made a complicated gesture that looked like someone trying to swat a mosquito while simultaneously scratching their elbow.

Kindle's brain frantically flipped through her mental catalog of hand signals. That wasn't standard identification query. Wasn't authorization request either. What was—oh.

Divisional affiliation. They wanted to know which branch of the Silent Hand she belonged to.

She couldn't remember the Whisper Division signal. Was it the sideways swipe? The double tap? The thing that looked like milking an invisible cow?

A bead of sweat traced its way down her spine, pooling uncomfortably at the base of her back. Improvisation time.

Kindle made a deliberate gesture—hand closed, then opening like a flower while rotating wrist. Then she tapped her heart twice and drew a finger across her brow.

The guards stared.

Kindle stared back.

After a silence so tense you could have sliced it and served it with crackers, the first guard nodded slowly. He made a different gesture—palm out, fingers spread, then curling inward.

Proceed.

Relief flooded through her so intensely she almost broke character and did a celebratory dance. Instead, she inclined her head slightly and walked past them into the building, maintaining the measured pace of someone with Important Shadow Business to conduct.

Inside, the mill's original architecture remained on the ground floor—massive millstones lay dormant, the wooden gears and levers that once drove them now repurposed for decidedly different activities. The grain hoppers had been converted into storage for arcane components.

Where sacks of flour once piled, workbenches now stood covered in strange tools. The air smelled of dust, mildew, and something acrid that made her nose itch—a chemical signature she couldn't identify but instinctively recognized as dangerous.

Silent Hand operatives moved throughout the space with purpose, each dressed identically, each communicating through the same hand gestures Kindle had just barely managed to fake. Some worked at the benches, others consulted scrolls pinned to the walls, still others moved equipment between stations.

No one paid her any particular attention, which was both reassuring and somewhat deflating. She'd been prepared for immediate discovery, for alarms, for a dramatic battle against overwhelming odds.

Instead, she got... workplace indifference. It was almost disappointingly mundane.

Kindle moved toward a trapdoor at the far end of the room that clearly led down into what must once have been the mill's storage cellar, following Nasir's instructions to locate the research levels below.

As she walked, she took note of security positions, guard rotations, potential escape routes—all the things Cinder would yell at her for missing if she just barreled ahead as usual.

The stairs descended into darkness, opening into a series of tunnels that had been carved deep beneath the mill.

No mere cellar, this was an elaborate complex that extended well beyond the building's footprint. The passages were lit by sconces containing flames that burned with an unnatural blue-green light, casting sickly shadows that writhed against the stone walls.

The temperature dropped with each step, as if the earth itself rejected what was happening in the depths below.

Kindle paused at an intersection, listening for approaching footsteps, then made the gesture for all-clear against her thigh: a fist, thumb up, held diagonally with fingers wiggling twice. The signal wasn't meant for anyone here but it gave her something to do with her fidgeting hands.

Ember and Cinder stood before the same guards three minutes later, presenting their disks with confident motions that belied the anxious churn of their stomachs.

The guard who'd questioned Kindle made the same complicated gesture.

Cinder's mind raced. She hadn't seen what signal Kindle had used in response. What to do?

Ember saved them, making a completely different gesture than Kindle had—two fingers pointed downward, then rotating outward before pressing against her temple.

The guard stared for a long moment, then made a different signal than he'd given Kindle—horizontal slash across the chest, followed by a quick upward flick.

Ember nodded as if this made perfect sense and strode forward, Cinder half a step behind.

Once inside and out of earshot, Cinder leaned close. "What was that?"

"No idea," Ember admitted under her breath. "Made it up completely."

"And they bought it?"

"Apparently," Ember glanced around the repurposed mill floor. "Best guess? There are enough divisions in this organization that they can't keep track of all the signals."

"Or they're waiting to spring the trap somewhere more convenient," Cinder suggested, because optimism had never been her strong suit.

They moved toward the same trapdoor Kindle had descended, noting the same security details, adding their own observations to the collective mental catalog they shared. The absence of spoken communication among the Silent Hand operatives created an unsettling quiet broken only by the sounds of work—metal on metal, the scratch of pen on parchment, the occasional rustle of clothing as someone shifted position.

The underground complex welcomed them with its sickly light and clammy air. Ember led the way down the hewn stone steps, each movement careful and measured, ready to respond to any threat. Cinder followed, amber flames ready to burst from her fingertips at the first sign of danger.

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

Three levels down, they found Kindle pressed into a shadowy alcove, watching a larger chamber where Silent Hand members moved with purpose around what appeared to be an examination table. It was angled so they couldn't see what—or who—might be strapped to it, but the array of tools on the nearby trays suggested nothing pleasant.

"This place goes down at least three more levels," Kindle whispered as they joined her in the alcove. "I've counted four guard rotations and two security checkpoints ahead."

"Any sign of the research vault?" Ember asked, her eyes never leaving the examination chamber.

"Not yet, but there's something else." Kindle's voice dropped even lower. "They've got someone in there. Not sure if they're from this world or not, but they're being... studied."

Cinder peered around the edge of the alcove, squinting to make out details in the dimly lit chamber. The examination table was surrounded by Silent Hand members in the same black attire they wore, but with one critical difference—their masks bore silver markings around the eyes, elaborate patterns that caught the light like fish scales.

"Higher rank," she murmured. "Probably research division."

"The subject on the table is humanoid," Kindle continued, "but there's something off about them. Their skin has this weird shimmer, almost like they're not fully here."

"Dimensional resonance," Ash's voice came from directly behind them, causing all three to nearly jump out of their stolen clothes.

Pyra appeared beside her, eyes wide with excitement above her mask. "We found a back entrance! Well, more like Ash found it and I kicked it open, but the point is we're here now and—"

"Shh!" Ember hissed, pulling them deeper into the alcove. "How did you get down here without passing the guards?"

"Old grain chute," Ash explained, her voice serene as always. "Originally used for moving flour between levels. Now apparently used for moving other supplies."

"We saw weird glowy crystal things," Pyra added. "Like batteries, but ominous. Very aesthetically villain-lair."

Ember returned her attention to the examination chamber. The figure on the table had begun to struggle, their movements weak but desperate. One of the masked researchers made a gesture, and suddenly the subject went rigid, a silent scream visible in the arch of their back.

"They're torturing them," Kindle whispered, horror evident in her voice. "Whatever they're doing, it's hurting them."

"We need to find the research vault," Cinder reminded them, though her expression had hardened beneath her mask. "That's what we came for."

"We can't just leave someone being tortured," Pyra objected, flames beginning to curl around her fingers before Ember extinguished them with a sharp gesture.

"No flames," she warned. "Not unless absolutely necessary."

"Look at them," Kindle insisted. "They're from another world. Like us. We can't just—"

"I'm not suggesting we abandon them," Ember interrupted. "I'm suggesting we be strategic. We need to find the vault, secure the research, and then help them. In that order."

The five of them exchanged glances, a silent communication passing between them that went deeper than words. Finally, Pyra nodded.

"Fine. But if they start doing anything permanently damaging, all bets are off."

"Agreed," Ember conceded. "We should split up. Ash, Cinder, and I will continue searching for the vault. Pyra, Kindle, you two monitor the situation here. If it escalates, create a diversion and get that person out. We'll rendezvous at the entrance in thirty minutes."

"A diversion?" Pyra perked up visibly, even with most of her face concealed. "Like, a loud, chaotic, potentially flamey diversion?"

"As a absolute last resort," Ember emphasized. "Try for subtle first."

Pyra's eyes curved into what was undoubtedly a massive grin beneath her mask. "Subtle. Right. Got it. Super subtle."

Cinder sighed. "We're doomed."

Ember led Cinder and Ash deeper into the underground complex, moving with the confident purpose that was their best disguise. The architecture changed as they descended, transitioning from rough-hewn tunnels to chambers with walls so smooth they reflected the eerie blue-green light like underwater mirrors.

Each new section required them to present their stolen identification disks to guards with increasingly elaborate silver markings on their masks.

"They've built this place like one of those nesting dolls," Ember murmured as they passed yet another checkpoint. "A secret inside a secret inside a 'we'll murder you for finding this' secret."

"Question is," Cinder replied, "which doll has our research?"

They approached a particularly ornate doorway flanked by guards whose masks gleamed with silver tracery that made their faces look like cracked porcelain. A symbol hovered in the air before the entrance—a stylized eye with a vertical pupil that seemed to track their movement with the lazy malevolence of a cat contemplating whether you were worth the effort to kill.

The guard on the left made a demanding gesture, much more elaborate than the ones they'd encountered above.

Cinder's shoulders tightened beneath her stolen robes. "This is where our disguise falls apart."

Ember smoothly presented her disk, adding a hand signal that combined several movements they'd seen other high-ranking operatives use. The symbol before the door flared briefly, then changed from purple to blue, like a bruise ripening in reverse.

The guards stepped aside.

"I cannot believe that worked," Cinder whispered as they passed through the doorway into a circular antechamber.

"Maybe they just respect the audacity," Ember replied softly.

The antechamber contained multiple archways, each marked with different symbols. Some led to smaller research rooms visible through open doorways. Others were sealed with barriers of pulsing energy.

Ash studied each archway slowly, her head tilting as she absorbed the details. "These symbols... I think they're categorization markers. Like a library system, but for magical research." She pointed to an archway marked with what looked like a human silhouette splitting into multiple copies. "Transmutation... duplication, perhaps." Her finger moved to another symbol showing concentric circles. "This one suggests something about boundaries or barriers."

The antechamber bristled with archways, each marked with different symbols. Some led to smaller research rooms visible through open doorways. Others were sealed with barriers that hummed and shimmered like heat rising from summer roads.

Ash turned slowly, studying each archway with the careful deliberation of someone trying to read a menu in a language they half-remembered from school. Her eyes narrowed at an arch inscribed with a symbol resembling interlocked rings.

"That one," she said, her voice carrying the slight upward lilt of question rather than certainty. "If I were hiding research about crossing dimensions, I'd put it behind the symbol representing interconnected realms."

"How do you know that's what it means?" Cinder challenged.

Ash's mouth quirked. "I don't, necessarily. But similar symbols appear in several magical traditions I studied during our travels. And..." She pointed to the stone floor where faint scuff marks traced a path to that particular doorway. "Those look like they were made by people carrying something heavy. Something important."

"Not bad, Sherlock," Ember said with an appreciative nod.

They approached the archway. Unlike the others, this one featured a solid metal door etched with the same interlocked rings. Beside it, a crystalline basin filled with swirling liquid the color of tarnished silver protruded from the wall.

Ash leaned closer, careful not to touch anything. Her reflection wavered across the liquid's surface, distorting into five overlapping faces before settling back into one.

"Interesting," she murmured. "It recognized our... condition."

"Is that good or bad?" Ember asked.

"That depends on what this is," Ash replied, tilting her head. "It could be a recognition device of some kind. Magical systems often use amplification mediums—liquids that respond to a user's innate magical signature."

"Like magical fingerprinting?" Cinder suggested.

"Similar, though less precise and more..." Ash paused, searching for the right analogy. "Imagine if a doorknob shocked everyone who wasn't wearing the right kind of hat."

Cinder rolled her eyes. "Thanks. Perfectly clear now."

"I've seen something like this in Amaranth," Ember said, studying the basin. "The Guild has a variation that responds to license rankings. But this one seems more...alive somehow."

Ash nodded. "Their system could be tuned to specific magical signatures—probably embedded in those identification tokens we've been flashing around."

"So we're stuck," Cinder concluded, amber fire briefly illuminating her eyes before she tamped it down. "Unless one of us suddenly develops the magical signature of a Silent Hand cultist."

A contemplative silence fell as they examined the basin from all angles, careful not to disturb it.

"The question," Ash finally said, "isn't whether we can match a signature we don't possess, but whether their system is sophisticated enough to reject something it's never encountered before."

"Meaning?" Ember prompted.

"Meaning we're not from this world. Our magic operates on slightly different principles—like trying to play a record on a music box. The systems aren't compatible, but that might work in our favor."

"How exactly?" Cinder asked, suspicion threading through her voice.

"Magical security systems are designed to keep out specific threats," Ash explained, her voice taking on the distant quality it often did when she retreated into theoretical space. "If the system was built to reject everyone except authorized Silent Hand members, it has parameters for what constitutes 'authorized' versus 'unauthorized.' But what about something that doesn't register as either?"

"We'd be the magical equivalent of dividing by zero," Ember said, catching on.

"Precisely." Ash's eyes brightened with intellectual excitement. "If we present something completely outside their categorization system, one of two things happens: either the system crashes completely, or it defaults to a safe state—which could mean either lockdown or access."

"Fifty-fifty odds of getting in versus trapping ourselves," Cinder summarized. "Great plan. Really inspired."

"Better odds than we usually get," Ember countered with a shrug.

Ash studied the basin again. "I suggest we try something small first—just enough magical energy to test the system's response."

"Be my guest," Cinder said, gesturing toward the liquid. "I'll stand over here where it's less likely to explode."

Ash gave her a serene smile that somehow managed to convey both 'thank you for your confidence' and 'you're a coward' simultaneously. She held her palm just above the surface of the mercury-like substance, not quite touching it.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then the liquid began to ripple in concentric circles, as if responding to rain falling from an invisible cloud. The silver darkened, lightened, then cycled through colors like a rainbow being simultaneously assembled and disassembled. It reminded Ember of mixing paint and watching the colors swirl together, never quite blending.

A soft click echoed from behind the door.

"Did it work?" Cinder whispered.

Ember reached cautiously for the handle. It turned easily, and the door swung inward without resistance.

"Well," she said, "either we're in, or we've triggered some elaborate trap that's going to drop us into a pit of magical crocodiles."

"Let's find out which," Ash suggested, stepping through the doorway.

The chamber beyond was smaller than anticipated—a hexagonal room lined with shelves containing scrolls, books, and artifacts that radiated subtle magical energy. At the center stood a pedestal bathed in light from an unseen source, holding a single leather-bound volume so ancient its cover had faded to the color of dried blood.

"That's got to be it," Cinder said, approaching the pedestal. "Sitting there like it's posing for a 'most obviously important magical artifact' competition."

Ember moved to examine it, then hesitated. "This feels too easy."

"Their security relies on layers," Ash observed, gesturing back toward the doorway. "Each checkpoint is designed to filter out unwanted visitors before they reach this point. The book itself is probably the least protected object in the room because they never expected anyone unauthorized to get this far."

"Or it's a decoy," Cinder suggested, her eternal pessimism flowering gloriously in the fertile soil of a probable trap.

Ember ran her fingers around the pedestal's edge, searching for triggers or pressure plates. Finding none, she carefully lifted the book.

Nothing happened—no alarms, no collapsing ceiling, no sudden appearance of the aforementioned magical crocodiles.

She opened it, quickly scanning the first few pages. "Consciousness Transference and Dimensional Resonance," she read aloud. "By Elian Thorncroft and... the Pattern Weaver."

"The Pattern Weaver?" Cinder repeated. "The same one Nasir mentioned?"

"Apparently," Ash said, peering over Ember's shoulder at the text. The book's contents seemed to outline research into transferring consciousness between vessels—or between dimensions. The implications hung between them like smoke too thick to wave away.

"This isn't just theory," Ember said slowly. "These are experiment notes."

"Successful experiments, judging by the detailed observations," Ash added.

Cinder's face hardened. "Which means either Nasir was right and there's a connection between this Pattern Weaver and us, or..."

"Or it's an extraordinary coincidence that we happened to arrive in a world where someone was already studying exactly what happened to us," Ember finished.

"I don't believe in coincidences that enormous," Cinder muttered.

"Questions for later," Ember decided, carefully tucking the book into her tunic. "First, we need to get out of here with this research and find the others."

They retraced their steps through the archway and back toward the upper levels. The facility remained unnervingly quiet, the only sounds the occasional distant footsteps of patrolling guards.

"Something's wrong," Cinder murmured as they approached the level where they'd left Pyra and Kindle. "We should have heard explosions by now."

"Perhaps they successfully maintained their cover," Ash suggested.

The looks Ember and Cinder exchanged conveyed volumes of skepticism that could have filled libraries.

They rounded the corner to the chamber where they'd left their companions, only to find it in spectacular disarray. Equipment lay scattered like toys after a toddler's tantrum, half-melted instruments dripped from tables, and several black-clad figures sprawled across the floor in various states of consciousness and combustion. The examination table stood empty, its restraints hanging loose and partially incinerated.

"I see they went with the 'subtle' option," Ember sighed, gesturing to a Silent Hand mask that had been theatrically embedded in the ceiling.

A distant explosion rattled the stone beneath their feet, followed by the unmistakable sound of Pyra's gleeful laughter echoing through the tunnels.

"They went that way," Cinder pointed, her tone suggesting this observation ranked among her least necessary contributions to date.

They hurried in that direction, following a trail of destruction that a blind person could have tracked by smell alone. The path led upward, toward the main floor of the mill, punctuated by occasional crashes and Kindle's voice calling encouragement to someone—presumably the rescued subject.

They had just turned a corner when a cold, methodical voice echoed through the facility, cutting through the sounds of destruction with unnerving clarity.

"Intruders detected on Research Level Three. All agents implement lockdown protocols. Release the Shades."

The three exchanged glances, each reading the same question in the others' eyes: What the hell are Shades?

They didn't have to wait long for an answer. A chill swept through the corridor, dropping the temperature so rapidly that their breath clouded before them. The shadows along the walls deepened, congealed, and then... moved.

Detaching from the surfaces that had cast them, the shadows stretched into vaguely humanoid shapes—featureless silhouettes with limbs too long and joints that bent in directions joints really shouldn't.

"That," Ash announced with the particular tone of someone trying very hard to sound unimpressed, "is profoundly unsettling."

The Shades drifted toward them, their movements fluid and utterly silent. Where they passed, frost formed on the stone walls.

"Run?" Kindle suggested.

"Run," Ember agreed.

And they did.