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Idonea hesitated, her fingers brushing unconsciously at Nellith’s ring. “I’m only passing through,” she said, forcing her tone to stay light.

The woman smiled faintly. Her empty gaze turned towards Idonea as if she saw her just fine. “The Templars sanctified these themselves,” she said. “They shine when truth is near, and dim when corruption lingers.”

She plucked one from the row and held it out. The charm pulsed faintly, a rhythm too low, like a heartbeat.

The pulse met her own, and the hairs on Idonea’s neck rose. A subtle Current stirred in the air. The charm was drawing on it — searching. Her pulse quickened.

Another woman beside her leaned in eagerly. The old woman pressed a pendant into her hand, and its light stayed calm, steady.

But when Idonea took half a step closer, the faint copper glow flickered.

The blind woman’s smile faltered, her head tilting. “Strange,” she whispered. “It’s seldom wrong.”

Beneath the stall’s counter, Idonea glimpsed slender copper wires feeding into a bronze disc. Recognition hit hard. Witch-trap. Her pulse stuttered.

She stepped back at once, feigning disinterest as she turned away. “Another time,” she murmured.

Behind her, a sound split the air. An alarm, high-pitched, piercing.

Above, Lance shrieked.

Idonea clutched her ears as the wail tore through her skull, reverberating in her teeth. The crowd scattered.

Lance’s hiss was sharp and furious. He punched right through the lady, just below the right shoulder. Lance glided on and upwards, a trail of gore following him.

Consarn!

Specks of blood spattered on her arms, face, and white clothes. The lady slumped forward into the stall. A scream echoed around as blood dripped down from her body. Idonea’s heartbeat raced and her ears tuned into every surrounding sound.

Heavy footsteps echoed off the cobblestones. She spun, breath ragged, trying to locate the direction through the shifting blur of bodies and smoke. Lance circled above her, his scales flecked with crimson. Her heart thudded; her skin became clammy.

A shrill, tearing cry from Lance spurred her into motion. Idonea bolted, boots scraping against the stone as she darted from the stall, pushing past fleeing citizens and upturned carts, away from the corpse, the alarm.

She skidded to a halt.

A wall of Octopi emerged ahead like a tide of ink. Their faces remained hidden behind stitched leather and brass. Her momentum nearly carried her into them.

She turned sharply. Another alley blocked. Another. Another. The market suddenly too narrow to breathe in.

An embroidered patch on the unplated arm gave away their Arm designation. Arm of Flame, direct assault infantry. But they were only there to corral her.

Three Templars emerged in a perfect triangle, their formation purposeful.

Lance let out a low, furious hiss and shot upward, vanishing into the choking clouds above. Out of reach, and out of sight.

The Templars were worse than the Octopi. Sun-gold tabards over ivory armour. Burnt orange shoulder cloaks, and heavy maces swinging at their belts.

She swallowed — going up against the force amassed before her would be suicide. Catching one drunk man unaware was easy. Escaping from three Templars and a wall of Octopi? Not likely.

One stepped forward, his boots echoing. His tabard stood stark against the white beneath, embroidered with the golden sunburst of the Radiant Dawn. A pentocular device covered one eye, its multiple lenses whirring and shifting, ticking like a pocket watch as it studied her.

“All around you is Current,” he said, his voice low and unhurried.

Idonea’s throat clenched. She knew she faced certain death; she'd blood all over her.

The Templar stepped closer. “Our sensor found you out, and then you killed her.” His uncovered eye flicked to the corpse behind the stall. “And based on the injuries… you must be a Riven.”

“No.” The word barely made it past her lips. Her shoulders hunched forward, and tears pricked her eyes. She was smarter than this.