Despite the late hour, the central command of the New Liceas Police remained as busy as ever. Detectives sat at their desks, surrounded by towering stacks of paperwork. Among them, a man with short golden hair and sharp blue eyes studied a case with meticulous focus.

  The atmosphere shifted the moment the Captain arrived. Conversations ceased, chairs scraped, and every officer stood at attention. Rather than taking his seat, the high-ranking officer—short brown hair, immaculate white uniform—walked directly to the detective’s cubicle.

  He placed both hands on the desk and leaned forward. “What do you have for me, Callahan?”

  “Sir, I’ve finished organizing the missing persons reports. I believe I’ve found several connections worth reviewing.”

  “We don’t have time for that,” the Commander replied sharply. “I’m referring to the other matter I assigned to you. The robbery case from last month. Even with resources from the governor’s office, the department has produced no meaningful results. All we have now is pressure.”

  Officer Callahan swallowed before responding.

  “Some witnesses suggest not all stolen possessions ended up with the primary suspect. Several items are still unaccounted for in our official findings. That could indicate accomplices—or external interference obstructing the investigation.”

  He did not wait for interruption.

  “I’ve ordered a reconstruction of the scene at Gondola Station. It will take time to identify and verify every witness.”

  The Commander’s expression revealed exhaustion more than anger.

  “I have a meeting with the governor tonight. He’ll review the department’s annual report—and he will ask about this investigation.”

  “I’m sorry, sir… but that is all we have for now,” Callahan admitted, glancing at his colleagues before lowering his head.

  The Commander considered the information briefly, then addressed the entire floor.

  “If we’ve lost track of the main suspect, then I want everyone focused on recovering the missing artifacts. Zurin’Callahan—while we wait for updates, begin compiling a file on the so-called Almoner. We’ve received increasing reports about crushed gold incidents. It may be connected to the stolen treasures.”

  Officer Callahan immediately grasped the implication. The possibility that the thief had crushed portions of the stolen goods and distributed them as distraction could not be dismissed.

  “Sir, yes sir.”

  In the underworld, Lorien paid careful attention to the Syndicate grunts stationed throughout the black market. Rumors spread quickly: the largest criminal organization in the underground was offering a lifetime reward for information about the Almoner.

  Knowing that nearly everyone was searching for him did not deter Lorien from wanting to save Aristarchus and correct his own recklessness. Yet intervening again carried the same risk.

  First, he needed to discover where Aristarchus was being held. It seemed logical that the Syndicate would keep him somewhere central to their operations—but Lorien had no idea where that might be.

  Second, he would need to neutralize, or at least distract, the guards stationed there. He already had an idea for that.

  Moreover, he still possessed two powerful tools—and he intended to use them fully.

  As midnight approached and the abandoned clocktower loomed overhead, the underground reached its peak of activity. Illicit goods and currency exchanged hands by the second.

  After hours of observation, Lorien followed one of the Syndicate overseers back to the underground bar where they gathered. Before descending, he hid most of his belongings beneath refuse nearby.

  He walked down the stairs once more. A different guard blocked the entrance, though the hostility remained the same. This time, however, Lorien carried leverage.

  “I saw the Syndicate’s notice,” he said, masking his nerves as he raised a small cloth bag. “I have important information about the Almoner.”

  He was granted entry under heavy scrutiny. The pub was crowded with drinking tables, smoke, dice games, and Syndicate members indulging in vice.

  The guard shoved him toward a table at the far end. A man in a brown jacket and flat cap lounged there, surrounded by scantily dressed women.

  He noticed Lorien with visible irritation, though his attention remained otherwise occupied. After an uncomfortable delay, he dismissed the woman and glared at the guard.

  “What is this? Why bring this rat to me?”

  “He claims to have business with the boss.”

  The guard seized Lorien’s bag and tossed it onto the table. The man inspected its contents and grinned with predatory satisfaction.

  “You’ve caught my interest,” he said. “Speak.”

  Lorien hesitated. “What about the reward?”

  The man erupted into laughter. Abruptly, he stood. “The reward? Of course!”

  Without warning, he stepped forward and drove a fist into Lorien’s stomach.

  The air fled from the boy’s lungs. He doubled over, desperate to breathe. The thug lifted him by the back of his shirt, holding him upright as dozens of Syndicate members watched, laughing.

  “Now,” the man said calmly, accepting a cigarette from one of the women, “tell us what you know about the Almoner.”

  Still gasping, Lorien forced tears into his eyes. “He gave me this today…” he wheezed. “He mentioned… a gift at midnight. In the black market plaza.”

  The boss smiled, satisfied. He ordered the gold confiscated and Lorien thrown outside.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  The boy was hurled against a wall, left there bruised and recovering.

  Even so, events had unfolded largely according to plan.

  After retrieving the belongings he had hidden, Lorien lingered near the entrance. Eventually, he saw the boss exit the bar with several men. He was certain the man’s trail would lead closer to Aristarchus.

  Following on foot was impossible.

  Lorien activated his prototype, aimed upward, and propelled himself toward the roof of a slanted building. After the initial launch, he used the Vault’s power to replenish the chamber with pure magnesium.

  From above, he shadowed the Syndicate members across the rooftops.

  At first, his movements were cautious and uncertain. But gradually, he found rhythm and control, vaulting from building to building with a fluidity he had once only imagined.

  The pursuit led all the way to the shipyards, where unfinished exospheric vessels rested in skeletal frames.

  There, Lorien observed a heavy Syndicate presence around several warehouses. Men transported crates and patrolled in organized rotations.

  Just as he had feared, their numbers were overwhelming.

  Back in the market district, Lorien approached a group of boys lingering in the shadows. They were petty thieves, known for stealing from passersby and fleeing whenever the Syndicate drew near.

  A few of them scattered the moment they noticed him. Others stiffened and stood their ground, wary of his sudden approach.

  “I’m not here to cause trouble,” Lorien said calmly. “I bring a generous offer.”

  He tossed several small bags filled with gold dust onto the ground. The faint metallic clink immediately captured their attention. A couple of boys grabbed what they could and prepared to run.

  “There’s more,” Lorien added. “If one of you is willing to run a life-changing errand.”

  Confusion spread among them. After hurried whispers, most fled with what they had taken. Only one boy remained, curiosity outweighing caution.

  “Listen,” Lorien said quietly. “I know a path to the upper world. I’ll tell you how to reach it if you deliver one of these bags to the police—along with a message.”

  The boy frowned. “Even if that’s true, why would I go to the cops? They’ll just send me back. And how do you know I won’t disappear with the gold?”

  “I don’t,” Lorien admitted, scratching the back of his head. “But someone I respect once told me that people know what’s best for themselves. I’m giving you a choice—a chance to leave this behind and start a different life.”

  The boy remained doubtful. Still, he listened carefully to the directions of the hidden passage between the cities. He accepted the bag of gold—and vanished into the darkness.

  With that, Lorien had done all he could for the moment. What remained was waiting—and hoping the boy would choose wisely.

  Some time later, the stray emerged into the cold night of New Liceas. He stared at the clean cobblestone streets and glowing streetlights in awe, much like Lorien had once done.

  Eventually, he approached the central command building and stepped inside. Standing before the nearest officer, he lowered his head.

  “I was told to hand this over… in exchange for being placed in the Church’s orphanage.”

  Within minutes, the department was in turmoil.

  Meanwhile, rumors swept through the underground streets. The Almoner—the miracle giver, now a living myth—was said to be preparing a grand act of kindness at midnight in the heart of the black market.

  Both the police and the Syndicate went on high alert.

  High above, Lorien stood atop the abandoned clocktower. The underground city unfolded beneath him like a restless sea.

  The crowd that gathered far exceeded the Syndicate’s capacity to control it. Waves of people pressed toward the plaza, waiting for midnight to strike.

  At the Heeler Inn, dinner service had ended. The nightly shift was over.

  Larissa sat alone at a table, a single mug of beer resting before her.

  Five minutes before midnight, the inn’s doors burst open. A dark-skinned man with short curls stepped inside, breathing heavily.

  “Larissa… I got your message…”

  She did not relax.

  “It’s finally happening, Moses.”

  As the final minute approached, the entire underground revolved around one story.

  Below the tower, the Syndicate leader waited impatiently, tapping his foot against the ground. He had deceived Lorien earlier to claim credit for information about the Almoner. Now that the entire district anticipated the miracle, he worried his reward would diminish—or that he had acted too hastily by releasing the boy.

  If the Almoner failed to appear, the blame for mobilizing so many men would fall on him. His only reassurance was the single bag of gold he had confiscated.

  At the same time, police squads forced their way past checkpoints between the cities, entering the underground in pursuit of the Almoner—the suspected architect of the New Liceas University robbery.

  When midnight struck, Lorien released a piercing whistle that echoed across the district.

  Crows fell silent. Heads turned upward.

  There he stood—ragged and impossible—atop the clocktower.

  Recognition spread like wildfire. Cheers erupted. The Syndicate members, by contrast, stiffened with alarm, unable to conceive how to reach him.

  From above, Lorien watched the sea of faces. He had never sought attention, yet he had become a symbol of hope for Low Liceas.

  But this was not about salvation. It was about saving one man.

  He felt the selfishness of that truth and silently vowed to one day repay the city properly. For now, the show had to continue.

  Clad in the Almoner’s rags, he extended both arms. The crowd roared.

  “What are you doing? Get him!” the Syndicate leader shouted, his voice swallowed by the frenzy.

  The press of bodies trapped many Syndicate members in place as people surged closer to the tower.

  Lorien cast one final glance across the city.

  “I’m sorry…”

  He pulled a cord hidden at his waist. Dozens of small bags concealed beneath his garments tore free.

  The weak knots snapped in the wind. Gold scattered through the air.

  A rain of glittering dust fell upon the plaza.

  For a moment, disbelief paralyzed the crowd. Then chaos erupted. People clawed and shoved for even a handful of shining specks. Fights broke out instantly. Hope turned to greed; desperation to violence.

  From above, Lorien observed the inevitable outcome. He had expected no less—and Father Ben’s words about salvation echoed in his mind.

  It is time to leave…

  Though many Syndicate guards were distracted, some forced their way through the crowd and pursued him.

  Lorien activated the Vault and his grappling device, swinging from building to building toward the border of the upper city.

  There, both factions converged.

  “New Liceas Police! Stop!”

  The Syndicate halted just behind the Almoner, weapons drawn.

  The police commander and the Syndicate subleader locked eyes, each equally stunned.

  “Ignore them! Don’t let the Almoner escape!” the flat-capped gangster barked.

  “I said stand down!” the police commander countered, leveling their weapon at the criminals.

  Caught between them, Lorien did not hesitate. He raised his left arm, revealing his invention, and propelled himself toward the ceiling of the underground district—leaving both sides behind.

  The blast from the grappling chamber triggered gunfire. Police and Syndicate forces exchanged shots, neither able to ignore the other any longer.

  Though a firefight had not been part of his design, Lorien had no time to reconsider. The “Final Gift” had been a distraction—meant to draw the Syndicate into conflict long enough for him to reach the shipyards and uncover Aristarchus’s location.

  Panic also spread rapidly through the underground. News of the shootout sent civilians fleeing in every direction. Without order or restraint, the streets devolved into a stampede.

  But distractions did not last forever.

  From the rooftops, Lorien advanced quickly and silently. Above the chaos, he moved faster than anyone below—racing toward the shipyards before the time he bought faded.