Clover watched with interest as the Shade poured wax carefully onto the mould he had painstakingly engraved. He moved with such precision, such fluidity of motion, that she found herself holding her breath. And although his tools were crude, not a drop of wax was wasted.

It was not this that truly captivated her, though. It was his gaze, both intensely focused, yet also far away, as if he were searching the sea, trying to pierce those dark depths with his eyes alone. She wondered what might happen if her rescuer looked at her that same way. Or how those skilful fingers would feel on her skin.

Clover shuddered.

"Are you okay?" Trudge asked, breaking her fantasy to pieces just as his hammer would a stone.

She shook her head, attempting to clear her thoughts.

"What's wrong?" he asked worriedly.

"What? Nothin's wrong," Clover denied. "Just was thinkin', is all."

"Uh. Okay," Trudge mumbled. "What about you, are you alright, Malady?"

"My shoulder is broke, of course I'm not alright," she replied through clenched teeth. "And just call me Mel. I hate that stupid name."

"Uh. Okay. Do you want this pain tonic I got?" he asked.

"Yes! You id- " Mel held back some biting words, then continued in a slow, tired voice. "Yes... that would be lovely."

Trudge smiled and handed her the vial, which she eyed for only a moment before drinking. It took effect in less than a minute, and the woman sighed.

"You shouldn't rely on that stuff too much," Reed said gloomily. "It can become a habit. And not a good one. One of my lovers is lost to it. Or was."

Mel nodded dully. "Only for the shoulder, wouldn't touch... the uh... the um... stuff... otherwise."

Toby slipped from his shadowy corner, signing them to silence with a sharp motion. "Don't disturb the Captain."

They heeded the order, quieting and watching as the Shade carefully pryed a newly cooled seal from its makeshift mould. Then he heated the pot of wax and poured again.

Clover could hear him muttering; it was one of the benefits of aligning the few points she did in Perception. It almost sounded like he was reciting a poem or a song. His words would often take on a rhythmic bent, as if he were following some unheard drum. It was both soothing and scary at times, and came and went like a cold breeze.

It made her shiver.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Trudge asked again.

"She's probably just daydreamin' about the Shade," Mel whispered, chuckling. "Aren't you?"

She nudged Clover with her good arm, but still winced from the motion.

"Shut up," Clover hissed. She could feel her cheeks burning as Reed's stare grew annoyed and Trudge's gaze saddened, retreating in resignation.

Toby Blades simply glared, repeating his gesture to be silent.

"Fine," Mel huffed softly. Then she continued drawling, "Not like it's a big secret that he's handsome. Written right on his pretty face, it is. I tell you, if me and the Shade had met on better terms, then I would be stuck on him like a skulg on stone. You'd need a crowbar to-"

"Damn!" the Shade cried out. "Not enough, it's too thin."

The eighth of the seals, the one he had just poured and had just cooled, crumbled in his hand. Flakes fell from his fingers like snow.

The men grimaced.

"Any more of that red wax?" he asked.

"No," Toby stated. "But there's blue, black, green and gold."

"Does it have to be red?" Trudge asked. "Can't you use any colour?"

"I could attempt it, though I believe a forgery should be as close as possible to the original," the Shade said.

"Do you think the Spire really cares about the colour?" Toby asked.

"Perhaps," he replied thoughtfully.

"If we had some white wax, you could colour it with some red ink," Reed suggested.

"No, they don't mix like that," Clover said, glad that her expertise could be helpful. "You need something else."

"You a candle maker or somethin'?" Reed asked.

"My father was, before he got sick," Clover said. She kept her face steady, though it took a great effort.

"My mum got sick," Trudge commiserated. "And after that, my dad disappeared. Barge said it's cause he had debts. But I never heard nothin' about that."

"Yeah, yeah, and I don't want to hear it neither," Reed said dismissively. "We all got a sad tale to tell. That's why we're here and not in the Mer Spire or workin' a proper job at the docks or in the districts."

Those words only earned him frowns, but he was right.

"Well, if we're all out of red wax and we can't make any more. Then I'm afraid it's back to hunting knights for the last two seals we need," the Shade said.

"You could try the other colours," Trudge said.

The Shade looked over the bars of wax before him, his gaze searching deeply again. After nine seconds, he shook his head.

"No, these won't suffice," he said.

"You didn't even try," Reed said.

"He doesn't need to," Toby stated, spinning a dagger absently in his hand. "He's a Scout, just bloody trust him already, would you. Has he led us wrong yet?"

The crew went silent, and the Shade smiled warmly, pleased by the praise.

"Get ready and shoulder your packs, we leave in nine minutes," their Captain ordered. "We have a vault to raid and some knights to fight."

---

Fritz skulked forward, then peeked around a cold corner. Though he hadn't heard any marching feet nor stomping boots, he was keenly aware that the knights were quiet foes. There could be a hulking man-alike lurking in any of the hallways ahead.

Thankfully, there was nothing to be seen; the passage was empty save for the sound of mournful winds moaning outside the windows.

He signalled the all-clear, then resumed their advance. They were close to the vault and had successfully avoided any perils so far. Still, Fritz was intent on being careful. Rushing wouldn't aid them at all, even if they had a wounded member that needed to be healed as soon as may be.

His caution paid off. As they were approaching the vault's gate and had only just ducked into a side room, the tall figure of a patrolling knight lurched into view. They waited as it passed, oblivious to their presence.

"Aren't we going to kill that knight?" Trudge whispered.

"Not yet, I'll liberate the chest first," Fritz said.

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It wasn't just greed that informed his decision, he also needed to see if the seals would be consumed by the vault's gate, as he assumed, or if they could be recovered and reused to be 'granted passage'.

"Wait here, I'll be back with great Treasures in less than nine minutes," Fritz boasted quietly.

He was pleased and almost proud when none argued his course of action. He donned his Cloak of Dusk, then proceeded to the vault and its crude, iron portcullis. It was only a few minutes away and soon he was in front of the crossed bars.

He pressed three seals, all of them false, gently into the indentations he'd discovered.

The metal gave no response.

Fritz waited apprehensively, then looked over his shoulder to make sure he was alone in the hallway. He was. Turning his attention back to the seals, he inspected each one in turn. They were the more flawless of the forgeries, and nothing seemed too off about them.

They each hummed with that heavy energy, and fit perfectly in their proper places. Their strips of parchment fluttered softly in the breeze.

As he stared harder, Fritz heard faintly the stomp of many feet. A regiment of man-alike soldiers, mere minutes away from finding him if he lingered in front of the gate for too long. He was about to slip away and hide from his foes when a grinding sounded and the portcullis began to slowly rise. The seals melted away as it did so, the wax bubbling, spitting and dripping, leaving pools on the ground that looked eerily like splattered blood. The parchment simply burned to ash and smoke.

He stood there, indecisive, not knowing whether he should flee or wait for the agonisingly sluggish gate to open enough to squeeze under. He'd already lost the three seals, so it would be a waste not to enter. Then again, it was bound to be deadly. He could feel the many traps beyond the bars, the tingling in the back of his mind was a fervent hum.

Fritz chose to listen to his instincts. In this moment, he felt the reward was worth the risk. He dropped to his stomach and crawled, then he was up and dashing through the vault.

Traps, one by one, activated as he sprinted to the silver chest. Great pendulums of sharp steel swung from the roof, spikes speared up from the floor, and sudden gouts of flame caressed him.

He knew Danger Sense and Trap Sense, while potent, weren't quite powerful enough to navigate all the hazards unharmed, yet. Still, he braved the gauntlet gallantly, suppressing his Umbral Phase for the charge, planning to save it for the escape.

He dodged, ducked, leapt and sidestepped the various perils, and although he was deft enough to avoid most of the deadly devices, he could not pass through completely unscathed.

Fritz came to a stop before the chest, and, ignoring the singeing and the stinging he felt on a few spots of his skin, he lifted it and tucked it under one arm. Then he was back to sprinting, jumping and slipping past blades, spears and fire. To his horror, he saw that the gate was descending and it had closed completely by the time he was two-thirds through the room.

Another trap.

He shook off his fear and let the last of the cleaving pendulums strike him. Darkness embraced him. The blade sliced right through his shadowy body, and he drifted through the portcullis's bars without hindrance.

He had some fear that the chest wouldn't fade with him, but his worries were in vain. It remained in his embrace and the silver-banded wood gleamed just as bright in the bleakness of his phasing. In fact, it seemed to glow faintly with an inner light.

Unfortunately, there was no time to observe this peculiarity properly. His Passive ended, and he found himself back in the hall, the thud of boots quick approaching. There was an intent to that marching, like the soldiers had sensed something amiss. Still, they weren't swift enough to catch Fritz, not if he ran at full pelt, which he did.

Racing across the stone brick, he activated his Aspect of the Eel for another spur of speed, though he didn't truly need it. He was out of the vault's hallway before the man-alikes had a chance to see hide or hair of him.

Fritz darted into the room where his crew were hiding, appearing before them in a swirl of dark fabric. His cloak fanned out around him, and he noticed it was full of cuts and covered in small burns.

"What stinks like burned hair?" Clover complained, before jumping to her feet.

"What happened to you?" Reed said, startled into standing.

"Got the chest?" Toby asked.

Fritz scowled at the last question, hefting the chest into view and displaying its gleaming bands of silver.

"It's real!" Clover squeaked.

"Whoa, so pretty," Mel said drowsily.

Trudge and Reed grinned.

"You wouldn't believe how many traps I had to foil to seize upon this," Fritz boasted.

"How many?" Trudge asked.

"At least thirty," Fritz said, exaggerating only a little.

"Yes, very impressive," Toby said. "Shall we get to the good part?"

"Hmm," Fritz mused. "I'm not sure I've been praised enough yet for my great gallantry and even greater generosity."

"How are we meant to praise your generosity when you haven't given us anything yet?" Toby countered.

Fritz took mock offence for a moment, then grinned. "Too true. Let's see what Treasures the chest has for us. Make way."

He strode into the centre of the room and placed down the silver-banded box. There it sat for a precious second before Fritz flipped open its lid.

Light of all colours danced within the box, shifting and scintillating. He reached down and seized upon the first object within. His hand drifted, guided by his Awareness, and his fingers felt cool, beaten leather.

A book, old and thick. A tome of forbidden wisdom. A Technique, perhaps. Its cover had no title, but already it felt familiar. It had a weight he knew.

He opened to the first page and read: "Theories on the preservation and perils of hierarchy, tyranny and unjust authority, and the measures and methods with which to dismantle and dissolve them. Assembled treatises and essays by Theodore Flynte and various other authors, anonymous, annotated and apparent."

Fritz stared at the long title and grimaced.

"A book?" Clover asked.

"A bloody door stopper," Reed said.

"Theodore Flynte, why do I feel like I've heard of him before?" Toby asked, peering down at the open page.

"Because you have," Fritz said somewhat sourly. "He wrote 'The observations.'"

"Is that a second in the series then?"

"It could be," Fritz hedged.

"Can we check what else is in the chest already?" Reed asked impatiently.

"Yes, right, go ahead, each of you take something," Fritz said distractedly. He couldn't help but feel like the book was an omen. And not a particularly good one.

He discarded the paranoid premonition and focused instead on what was being removed from the chest.

Reed was first in line. He pulled out a buckler of burnished brass. He grinned, revealing a whole slew of misaligned teeth. Toby was next, as his grin was even wider when he displayed a sheathed dagger in his hand. When he drew the grey metal blade they saw it had a strange, many coloured, oil-slick gleam.

Clover came after, and she found herself holding a rod made of foggy, white crystal. Trudge reached in and grasped a set of sturdy boots. They were of light brown leather and were capped with bright steel.

Mel was last, and she sluggishly held up a gold ring to her face, eyeing the square ruby it was set with.

"Whoa," she said.

Fritz wanted to agree, but the chest still had more to give. Its light, though diminished, wasn't spent. He reached in again and pulled out a belt bag, then a vial of some glittering, clear liquid and a sash of yellow silk. There was nothing else, and the chest began to fade away from sight.

"No gold?" Toby asked.

"It seems not," Fritz said.

"That's odd, isn't it?" Clover asked.

"This whole Spire is odd," Fritz stated.

"True as the rain," Toby agreed.

"Wonder what this does," Mel said, still enchanted by the ring. "Think it's a Treasure?"

"I suspect most of them are," Fritz said. "Though we don't have to guess. Didn't you bring Know-notes?"

"Hmm?" Mel asked, looking up. "That's right, I did bring one."

Her realisation was echoed all around, and the crew scrambled for their packs.

They were interrupted by the blasting of a horn in the distance.

"What's that?" Reed asked.

"I think they've noticed the vault is empty," Toby said.

Fritz frowned and made his way to the room's empty doorframe, then he scanned the hallway.

There at one end was a knight, it lumbered with far more vigour and fervour than any had previously shown, and to Fritz's alarm, it would stop before each side room and stare into it, searching for thieves. Searching for them.

"No time to Note your Treasures. Store them away or carry them, we must escape," Fritz ordered, retreating from the door. As he dashed to his gear, he scooped up the sash, vial and belt bag and threw them unceremoniously into his traveller's pack along with the book.

Then, Fritz leading the way, they fled. Upward, and towards the Stairway.

---

The loud blaring of a horn woke Barge, then Nail.

Bucket had been on watch. They had volunteered him for the task when he didn't stop complaining about his frost-burnt fingers. A present from a knight's icy armour.

He had thought it was likely another lie that the scum would use to shirk any heavy lifting. But now that Barge looked, even with his blurry, sleep-sticky eyes, he could see that Bucket's fingers had blackened past his nails, and his hand was a deep purple. That wasn't a good sign.

Bucket staggered to his feet, sweating and swaying. He stared around in dull confusion and stepped on one of the empty glass vials by his feet. It crunched.

"What was that?" Nail growled.

"A horn?" Bucket guessed groggily.

"Not that," Nail said, striding right up to the man and pointing at the littered floor. "That! Where'd you get all them tonics!?"

Bucket smiled crookedly. "You know where I got 'em."

"You little bastard, I'll drown you," Nail seethed, reaching for the man's neck.

Bucket leapt back, drawing his shortsword with his good arm. "Piss off! Look at my arm! I need the stuff more than you do!"

"They're not yours to take. They're mine!" Nail yelled.

"Stop shouting!" Barge cried. "I think there's something coming."

The two stopped arguing, listening to the halls and the whistling wind. Then they heard the ominous rattling of chainmail.

"Get ready." Nail signed, turning his attention to the door and pulling his axe from its loop.

Barge deemed it was lucky they had decided to sleep in armour, because the very next moment, a towering figure peered into the room. If they had chosen otherwise, they would be like squid in a barrel.

As it was, it still didn't look good. Not good at all.

The great helmeted head turned this way and that until it stopped, staring at Nail.

Barge drew his notched sword, wrapped it in shadow and charged before the knight could bring its halberd to bear. Similarly, the other two of the crew set upon it in a frenzy. Hacking and chopping, casting Strikes and Stone Spikes one after the other.

It only drove the man-alike back briefly, though they had cleaved and crushed parts of its plate armour.

"Why is it here? They're meant to ignore the rooms," Nail barked in their short respite.

"Don't know," Bucket said. "The horn?"

"I bet the Shade did something," Barge claimed. It was more a lie than a guess, but giving the two a common foe would stop them from fighting each other for a time.

"That stupid prick," Bucket growled. "I'll kill him, I will."

"Not before I skin him and cut off his hands!" Nail shouted.

Barge felt some relief that they took the bait, but that didn't last long.

The knight lunged into the room, and while it couldn't swing its long-hafted weapon skilfully in those small confines, it didn't need to. The halberd swept through the chamber, narrowly ducked by the crew before they closed in, and struck it with every Ability they had. It wasn't long before both sides were ragged, bloodied and barely standing.

Barge heaved, and the knight mirrored him, great gouts of cold breath blowing from its dented helm. Then it breathed in one long breath.

"It's about to roar again!" Bucket screamed. "Got to get out! Out!" He sprinted towards the door, but it was blocked by the knight's bulk, and a shield battered him away, throwing him from his feet.

"We're gonna die. I got to get out," he kept wheezing as he struggled to stand.

Nail let out a roar of his own as the knight's throat began to rumble like an avalanche.

Barge knew it was hopeless and that they were going to die here, frozen as solid as statues.

In his last moments, he regretted. Regretted drowning his father. Regretted returning to the Spire. And most of all, regretted abandoning his brother.

"Sorry, Trevor."

He closed his eyes tightly. His sword fell from his hand. He waited.

Suddenly, the burgeoning roar was cut off, and there was quiet.

Barge thought he was dead, but he could still hear harsh breaths. His own and those of Nail and Bucket. There was also a thick gurgling.

He opened his eyes just in time to see the knight fall, an arrow deep in its neck, blood gushing out in a torrent.

With a clang and a clatter, it struck the ground, lifeless.

"Ah! Fancy meeting you fine folk here," an exceedingly arrogant voice intoned.

Barge nearly groaned, but couldn't. As infuriated as he was, he had no strength to speak.

The Shade stepped out from the dimly lit hall and smirked. "Well done distracting the knight. We did need another seal or two. I don't suppose you'd object to us taking this one?"

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