The Alchemist's Last Wish

We slipped from Greyline under the choking fog of dusk, eyes sharp, weapons close.

No sign of the Carrion shadow. No whisper of pursuit.

But the Market had changed. Its silence clung to us like ash.

By the time we reached my workshop, night had fallen thick and heavy. Liran checked the street twice before slipping inside, bolts sliding fast behind him. Ashra followed, quiet as breath.

I locked the door, fingers brushing the old wards carved into the frame.

The sigils flickered—faint, uncertain. Like they no longer believed they could keep danger out.

Ashra drifted across the room, eyes skimming my shelves, my scattered notes, my father's old blueprints left untouched since the fire.

"So much dust," she murmured. "So much waste."

Liran dropped his pack on the bench.

"No more riddles. What did you see in that vault sigil, Ashra?"

She turned, smile thin and brittle.

"Layers. A gate within a gate. Whoever sealed that vault didn't trust simple locks. There's an inner cipher—a living one."

I frowned. "Living?"

"A thinking seal. Old Guild work. Bound to alchemical essence. You don't open it with code or keys." Her eyes glinted. "You open it with blood. The blood of a marked line."

I felt the color drain from my face.

Liran swore softly.

"Corwin," he said, voice low. "Your father was Guild-born. His seal. His line."

Ashra nodded.

"And you, boy Vale... are his heir."

My throat tightened.

"It needs my blood to open."

"Just a touch. Just enough to wake the lock." She leaned closer. "But once it wakes... what else sleeps behind that door may stir as well. The Carrion Order would kill you to stop it. The Guild would have, too... once."

Her gaze flicked to the scattered parchment, the broken circuit diagram of the Philosopher's Seal.

"That vault is more than gold and formulas. It's the last living fragment of the Guild's true art. And it's calling to you, Corwin Vale."

I gripped the edge of the bench.

Liran crossed his arms.

"We need more than knives and maps. We need protections. Glyphs. Wards. The old kind. Essence-forged."

He glanced at me.

"Your father's journals. Did you save them?"

I hesitated.

Then reached for the hidden drawer beneath the workbench.

The old leather-bound volume slid free—charred at the edges, brittle, smelling of soot and oil.

My father's final writings.

I laid the book on the table.

Ashra whistled low.

"Forbidden scripture. That's worth more than your lives in the black market."

Liran flipped the pages, careful fingers tracing glyphs, diagrams, fragmented warnings.

"Here. Binding Circles. Strong ones. Blood-anchored. Could hold back the vault's guardian for... minutes, maybe. Long enough."

"Guardian?" I said softly.

He didn't meet my eyes.

"There's always a guardian."

Ashra touched a crumbling diagram.

"Flux stones. We'll need four. And essence salt. Not cheap. I can get them—but not tonight. The streets aren't safe."

I nodded.

"Tomorrow. At dawn."

Liran set the journal down.

"We'll make the circles. Forge the seals. Prepare everything. But Corwin..."

His voice was low, strange.

"Once you open that vault... something will come through. Something old. Maybe not from this world."

Ashra smiled faintly.

"And not all of it will want to stay locked away."

The room fell silent.

The wind outside shifted—soft and hollow.

A faint tap-tap-tap at the far window.

Liran froze.

I moved to the glass.

A single feather lay on the sill.

Black as pitch.

Slick with oil.

A fresh mark.

I stared into the dark street beyond—but no figure stood there. No shape stirred. Only the quiet, waiting night.

Behind me, Ashra's whisper cut the silence.

"The Carrion Order watches, alchemist. You cannot hide."

I closed the shutters. Bolted them tight.

And the dread in my chest curled deeper.

Tomorrow we would gather the last tools. Draw the last circles. And after that...

The vault.

And whatever waited in its hollow heart.

Corwin glanced at Liran across the workshop, the glow of the rune diagrams casting long shadows on the walls.

"How did you find me that day?" he asked softly. "In the old guild ruins. I never told anyone I was going there."

Liran was quiet.

For a long moment, he only tightened the strap on his belt, checking the edge of his blade.

Then:

"I was following you."

Corwin stiffened. "Why?"

Liran smirked faintly. "Because you're predictable. Curious. Stubborn. Just like him." His gaze flicked to the old journal—the last remnant of Corwin's father. "When that letter came, you vanished. I knew exactly where you'd go."

Corwin frowned. "You shouldn't have known about the letter."

"I didn't." Liran shrugged. "But I knew you. Knew you wouldn't be able to leave the old Guild Vaults alone. You've been dreaming of them since we were kids, Vale. Since the workshops at Marrow Street. Since the Purge."

His voice softened.

"You never let go of the old stories. The Philosopher's Circuit. Your father's secrets."

Corwin stared at him.

"You followed me... to save me?"

Liran's mouth twitched.

"Maybe. Or maybe to see what you'd wake down there. Maybe to see if the last of the Vale line would actually open the gate the Guild sealed a century ago."

He met Corwin's eyes—something sharp, something unfinished there.

"I wasn't going to let you vanish into the dark without me. Not after everything."

The fire crackled softly.

"You dragged me out," Corwin murmured. "When the floor gave way. When the vault doors stirred."

Liran's gaze darkened.

"I heard the sound. Metal shifting. Stone breaking. You never screamed—but I knew. Something woke when you touched the seal. Something old."

He flexed his fingers, as if remembering the burn of the glyphs on the stone.

"I pulled you clear. And I carried you back to the surface before whatever watched us from the vault could reach you."

Corwin shivered, remembering the cold breath at his neck.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Liran smiled faintly.

"Because you weren't ready to know. Not then. Not until that letter found you."

His smile faded.

"Not until now."

The candle guttered.

Somewhere outside, the distant hollow call of a crow echoed through the night.

And Corwin knew, in his bones, that Liran had left something unsaid.