Chapter 7: Chapter Six – Ashes Beneath Iron, Part III: Whispers Beneath the Whining Moon

CHAPTER SIX – ASHES BENEATH IRON, PART III: WHISPERS BENEATH THE WHINING MOON

“The first fang never bites — it waits, and watches.”

DAY 230 OF THE TWELVEFOLD CYCLE

Era of Concordance, Year 812 – Deep Duskhorn | Midnight | Kaelira POV

----------------------------------------

Light rain trickled over the circular city-state.

Even though it was dark, the sounds of Black Fang echoed miles off the coast of its border. Its walls curved like ribs along the night horizon, torchlight dancing off stone and river, each gate leading to a different rhythm — South for trade, East for blood, North for power, West for the rich.

Kaelira stood under the shadow of the western cliffs, eyes on the high walls of the Residential Fang. She didn’t come this way for its gardens or its silence. She came because this was the least watched at midnight — and because no guard posted at the noble gates would expect seven undocumented Beastkin children trailing behind a cloaked woman in the rain.

She didn’t bother with the gate.

She crouched beside a collapsed viaduct, vines hanging low from its arch. Her gloved hand slipped beneath a moss-covered latch that looked more like a rock than a door. A faint click echoed beneath the stone, and a slab gave way, revealing an old sewer chute angled down into darkness.

She glanced back.

“I know I was cold to her…” she thought, adjusting the smallest girl’s hood, tucking the fur tight around the child’s fever-warm face. “But if she’s truly expected to be the next queen… she has to understand that all of her choices have consequences.”

The girl blinked up at her, amber-ringed eyes glassy, breath rattling in her lungs.

“Miss K… a-are we almost there?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Kaelira nodded once, low and calm.

“Yes, little one. We’re close to Lord Ethel’s hideaway now.”

It wasn’t much. Just a rat hole through Black Fang’s underbelly. But it led where they needed to go — beneath Trader Fang, to the Whining Moon.

----------------------------------------

Black Fang Sewers

She helped the girl down first, gripping her frail waist and lowering her slowly. The others followed, each one slower than the last. Sick, tired, but still walking.

Still alive.

Kaelira Kaylee still had all seven of the Beastkin kids with her.

The rain had soaked through their cloaks, their feet, even their hair. Every step squelched against the stone as they walked.

The deeper they went, the worse it smelled — rust, piss, mold. Drips echoed across the tunnels. Kaelira led from the front, blade sheathed, senses sharp. She didn’t speak unless she had to. Her eyes flicked to every sigil carved into the sewer walls, faded resistance codes scrawled by hands that had died long before these kids were born.

The three that stuck closest to her stayed silent for a while.

Aelka, the sick girl, her cough coming every few minutes even though she tried to bite it back.

Grin, the boy with the striped ears and sandals that didn’t match, kept tripping but never stopped moving.

Tov, the quiet one — maybe six — holding onto a ripped reed-doll with one eye. He hadn’t said a word since they left the swamp.

The others followed like shadows.

Kaelira didn’t rush them. She’d made this path many times. She knew the timing, the routes, the checkpoints that didn’t exist on any official city map.

They passed beneath Political Fang first. North side. Reinforced bricks, newer sewer lids, treated silver pipes that buzzed faintly with anti-arcane current. Syndicate paranoia. She didn’t pause.

Next came the southeast bend — the channel where the Cryden River forked beneath the city’s spine. The water above hummed with mana. Old piping echoed it down into the stone.

They reached a narrow bridge of knotted rope and broken stone. Kaelira crossed it first, her boots barely making a sound. One by one, she lifted the children across. No complaints. No panic.

Just silence.

“Miss K… what’s above us now?” Grin asked once they reached the other side.

Kaelira looked up at the low, curved ceiling, her tone flat.

“Arena Fang.”

That was all she said.

“Bad memories.”

Eventually, the path narrowed. The old metal piping gave way to carved stone — rougher, older, less treated. The smell thickened with each step.

They were under Trader Fang now.

The most dangerous part.

The most alive.

This is where Ethel’s routes began.

This is where Ruki would have entered — if Kaelira had timed her separation right.

And it was too quiet.

Kaelira slowed, holding out an arm. The children stopped behind her.

The tunnel floor vibrated slightly. Not from weight — from pressure. A faint hum leaked through the stones, rising upward.

Kaelira knelt beside an old sewer grate and peered through the rusted bars.

Above them, flickers of red and orange danced across stone.

Crowds. Boots. Shouting.

Spellfire.

She narrowed her eyes.

Through the haze, she saw something — no, someone — moving like a storm across the upper walkway.

A figure sprinting, cutting through heat and confusion — fast, deliberate, wrapped in lightning.

Kaelira’s breath tightened. The pressure in the air told her everything she needed.

“No way… she made it this far already?”

Aelka tugged her hand.

“Is it… him?” the girl asked softly.

Kaelira didn’t answer at first.

She stood.

“No,” she said finally.

“…It’s her.”

They moved quicker after that.

The final stretch of the tunnel opened into what looked like a dead end — an old, sewer-blocked alley buried beneath the Trader quarter.

No light.

No markings.

Nothing but a crumbling stone wall and ankle-deep water.

The kids stopped. Some of them shifted nervously.

Aelka coughed again. Grin’s ears twitched.

Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

Tov clung tighter to his doll.

“Little ones,” Kaelira said, her voice cold and steady. “For your safety… you must listen to all of Lord Ethel’s instructions.”

The sharpness in her tone made even Grin flinch.

“…Miss K, we won’t say anything, promise,” he said quickly, eyes darting around the alley, “but are we… in the right place?”

Kaelira didn’t answer with words.

She walked forward.

To anyone else, the wall looked solid — cracked, dirty, covered in lichen.

But for a caster?

For someone trained in the old ways?

The mana bled off this wall like breath from a sleeping beast.

Kaelira stopped two steps from the surface and slowly pulled the bandage off her right hand.

Her skin lit instantly.

The Queen’s Crest flared to life, golden and violet, pulsing across her palm.

The same crest that had burned awake the night she and Ruki broke the camp gates.

As she lifted her hand, the wall responded.

A mirrored glyph emerged in the stone, shining brighter with every pulse. Mana shimmered through it — and the wall split, slow and steady, like the city itself was opening its eyes.

The kids gasped as the seam carved open.

Steam hissed. A path revealed.

Beyond it — a stairway that led down, warm air rising up from the hidden door. It smelled like firewood, fruit-brew, and old dust.

Kaelira turned to them.

“Behind this wall,” she said, “is The Whining Moon.”

Her eyes swept across the group.

“Until you’re old enough to stand on your own… you’ll stay here.”

“But how’d you… how’d you open it?” Grin asked, stepping closer.

Kaelira glanced down at her hand, now dimming.

Then met his eyes.

“Because I carry her mark,” she said. “And because I was once like you.”

A pause.

“I’m the Queen’s shadow.”

She walked forward without another word.

The stairway was narrow, carved in old basalt, torches mounted every few turns. The deeper they went, the warmer the air became.

At the bottom was a wine cellar that didn’t sleep.

Massive oak barrels lined the walls, stacked three high. Crates of dried herbs, bottled cider, spiced brews, smoked meats — everything stored clean and sharp. Arcane cooling stones buzzed low beneath the floor.

It didn’t feel like a dungeon.

It felt like preparation.

The kids froze in the archway, staring wide-eyed.

Tov whispered something in Beastkin tongue that even Kaelira couldn’t catch.

At the far end of the hall, a figure leaned against the stone support beam.

Juizo.

Not related to Ethel by blood, but everyone in the Moon knew better than to test that bond.

He had a braid slung over his shoulder, a sleeveless tunic, and two fang-mark tattoos crossing over each wrist.

He grinned as Kaelira stepped in.

“Lady Kaelira,” he said with a lazy salute. “Smelled rain and ash and figured you were close.”

“I didn’t ask for a welcoming party,” she replied, already scanning the corners.

He shrugged. “Didn’t give you one. Just sent someone up. Ethel’s clearing the back hall.”

His eyes moved to the kids.

“Seven this time? Thought you’d be down to four.”

“We don’t bury survivors,” she said.

Juizo nodded once. “Yeah. That’s the Ethel way.”

Aelka leaned toward Kaelira’s leg, eyes wide.

“…Are we safe here?”

Juizo stepped closer, squatting to meet her eye level.

“You’re not just safe,” he said, smiling, “you’re under contract.”

The girl blinked.

Juizo stood again.

“Any kid under Ethel’s house works. But they also eat. Sleep. Train. And grow.”

He looked at them all.

“You follow orders, stay smart — and no one in this city touches you. You’re not slaves. Not anymore. You’re ours.”

Kaelira didn’t speak again. She just watched the glow of the torches ripple across the glyphs etched into the barrels.

Safe. For now.

But only just.

----------------------------------------

Basement Council Chamber, The Whining Moon

📅 Day 230 of the Twelvefold Cycle

🕛 Era of Concordance, Year 812 — Deep Duskhorn | Early Morning

The door sealed behind them with a hiss of old magic.

The room beyond was dim but warm — lined with stacked casks, low-hung lanterns, and aged stone. A faint, earthy scent lingered in the air. Spices. Old wood. Mana-soaked dust.

At the end of the chamber, flanked by two armed guards and seated at a thick oak table carved with claw marks and burn grooves, sat a man who didn’t need an introduction.

Ethel Kolgrac

Silver-white hair pulled back in braids. His frame was monstrous even seated — broad shoulders, thick arms traced with faded red tattoos and old arena scars. Beastkin ears flicked as he reached for a clay mug, pouring amber mead from a dark glass bottle without a word.

He didn’t smile when Kaelira entered.

But he nodded.

“You made it.”

Kaelira exhaled — just once — then stepped aside as four older Beastkin women swept in behind her. Selene gave each child a once-over before nodding curtly to the caretakers.

“Take them upstairs,” she said. Her voice was soft, but her presence snapped like authority in silk. “Keep them warm. Bathe them. Nobody gets near them but our own.”

The caretakers bowed and ushered the children out with gentle words and quiet hands.

When the door clicked again, the air changed.

Kaelira’s shoulders dropped slightly — the kind of drop that only came when there were no little ones to protect.

Ethel slid a mug across the table. “You look like shit.”

Kaelira took it without ceremony and sat. “Feel like worse.”

Beside her, Juizo leaned against a stone support beam, arms crossed. That usual amused look danced on his face, but it didn’t reach his eyes tonight.

Selene remained standing, arms folded, her long black coat still damp from the sewer mist. The firelight caught on the gold thread of her collar — the insignia of the Tachi Trade Company, stitched beneath her family crest.

“You’re late,” Ethel said bluntly.

“You’re lucky I came at all,” Kaelira replied, voice low. “I passed under Arena Fang. There’s unrest in the city.”

Ethel grunted. “That’s one way to say it.”

Juizo’s tone dropped in. “Word is spreading. A Fang-ranked mercenary was taken down tonight… by a lone Beastkin girl. No name, no guild, no crest.”

Kaelira froze mid-sip.

“…Lightning?”

Ethel didn’t answer at first. He watched her reaction like a man studying a blade before touching it.

“She moved like a storm,” he said. “Took down a sanctioned adventurer in less than a minute. Spared the crowd. Didn’t kill unless cornered. Wore chains like armor. Used lightning like breath.”

Kaelira set the mug down, very slowly.

Selene spoke next. “That kind of noise doesn’t stay local.”

Her voice was colder now. More calculating.

“Three different bounty scribes already made it to the upper tavern. Imperial Shillings offered in bulk. The Vel Caedryn Syndicate is already sniffing. If she’s truly what the rumors claim…”

“She is,” Kaelira interrupted quietly.

They all looked at her.

Kaelira didn’t blink. “I watched her burn her own collar off. I saw her touch the crest and live. She’s not guessing. She’s resonating.”

Ethel didn’t look surprised. Just tired.

“And yet… you left her up there.”

“She made her choice,” Kaelira said, sharper than before. “And you told me yourself — if she can’t bear the weight, then she isn’t the one.”

“I also told you,” Ethel growled, “that the world’s patience for mistakes like ours is running out.”

A silence settled, broken only by the low creak of pipes and muffled footsteps from the floors above.

Selene finally stepped forward, eyes narrowed. “If this is what we’ve waited for… then we need to stop hiding. We’ve paid the Syndicate enough in Imperial Shillings to build their floating palace twice over. And Victor—”

“Don’t,” Ethel warned.

Selene’s jaw tensed.

“No,” she snapped. “If you won’t say it, I will. That bastard’s been waiting for a slip. He doesn’t give a damn about our people. He sees your tavern as a threat. He sees the children we protect as leverage.”

Juizo nodded quietly. “I’ve heard the same. The slavers’ guild’s been stirring in Eastshore. Sanctum Spears have clashed with the Dwarves up north. Birel’s zealots haven’t said anything yet, but their scouts have been active near the old quarry roads.”

“We can’t keep this going forever,” Selene said, voice sharp now. “We need a plan. We need a name we can stand behind. If she’s the Queen… if she’s Lurie’s heir—”

“She’s not ready,” Kaelira cut in. “And if she was… she wouldn’t need us to tell her.”

The room went still again.

Ethel’s hand clenched around his mug, then relaxed.

“She’s lightning without a path,” he said finally. “Untrained, untrusted, and already hunted. If we’re going to make it to spring, she needs more than a name. She needs teeth.”

Juizo finally stood up straight. “Then let me do it.”

Kaelira raised an eyebrow.

“You?”

“She doesn’t need another general barking orders,” Juizo said. “She needs someone who moves like her. Speaks her language. Someone who can teach her how not to die.”

“You just want a front-row seat to the rebirth,” Selene muttered.

He grinned. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Ethel leaned back, silent for a long moment.

Then he looked to Kaelira.

“You said she made a choice. Fine. So did we.”

He stood, massive frame rising like a stone wall.

“If this is who she really is… then the world just changed.”

Selene nodded once, sharply.

“The Syndicate will come for us sooner than later. The taxes won’t hold forever.”

“And Victor?” Juizo asked.

Selene’s lips curled into a smile.

“He’ll be the first one to burn.”

----------------------------------------

[End of Chapter Six]