The Masquerade

The Grand Ledger was a monolith of black obsidian and gold veins, looming over the city center. Tonight, however, it was draped in silk and lights. The Masquerade was the Council’s way of flaunting their wealth right in the face of the bank that held it.

Elara wore a gown of midnight blue, her face obscured by a mask of silver feathers. She wasn't just Elara Blackwood tonight; she was a shadow.

She moved through the crowded atrium, the music swelling around her. The security was tight. Wardens with magic-dampening halberds stood at every archway.

She spotted Julian instantly. He stood near the entrance to the Vault Sector, wearing a minimalist black mask. He wasn't drinking. He was scanning the crowd, his posture coiled like a viper.

Elara took a glass of champagne from a passing tray and spilled it.

It was a clumsy move, intentionally so. The liquid splashed onto the uniform of a nearby guard.

"Oh! I am so terribly clumsy!" Elara cried out, her voice pitched an octave higher than usual.

While the guard was distracted brushing off his coat, Elara slipped a small runestone into his pocket. It was a chaotic amplifier. Within seconds, the guard’s radio began to screech with feedback.

"Comms are down in Sector B!" someone shouted.

In the confusion, Elara slipped behind a heavy velvet curtain and into the service corridor.

She kicked off her heels, moving silently in bare feet. She reached into the slit of her dress and pulled out a slender rod made of rowan wood.

The corridor was warded. Glowing glyphs on the floor sensed intent. If anyone with "ill will" toward the Council stepped here, the floor would turn to lava.

Elara closed her eyes. Witchcraft wasn't about transactions; it was about feeling. She didn't pay the toll; she convinced the tollbooth it didn't exist. She hummed a low, dissonant note, weaving a shroud of "neutrality" around herself.

She stepped onto the glyphs. They flickered but held.

She ran.

She bypassed three patrols, used a sleep-hex on a technician, and finally reached the heavy blast doors of the Core Room. This was it. The Siphon was inside.

She placed her hand on the lock. It required a bio-signature of a Council member. Or... the blood of a witch to short-circuit it.

She bit her thumb, smearing a drop of red on the sensor.

The magic hissed, then the tumblers clicked. The massive doors groaned open.

Elara slipped inside, raising her wand, ready to destroy the machinery.

But she wasn't alone.

Someone was already there.