Page 11 of Forged in Fire
A week of digging through the Guild’s intelligence networks led me here. Not the usual blood-and-threats extraction of information. Strategic research. Archaeological databases cross-referenced with satellite imagery. Magical disturbance reports spanning three centuries. The Guild maintains those resources for a reason—when you need to find something that doesn’t want to be found, you use every advantage available.
The file presses against my chest through the jacket’s inner pocket. I’ve memorized every word, every photograph, every energy signature diagram. Standard protocol. But this job carries weight the others didn’t. Veyra’s expression when she gave me the contract. Her deliberately vague answers. Double pay.
Why double?
Of course, I know the answer to that.
The road narrows to barely more than a hiking trail when I spot what I’m looking for. According to the satellite images, there should be nothing here but rock and scrub pine. When I first got here three days ago, at the start of my surveillance, I learned that reality tells a different story. A trail cuts through the forest—wide enough for vehicles, deliberately unmarked. Someone with serious money has been using this route.
I kill the engine behind a stand of trees, hidden from the main approach. The Ducati ticks as it cools, the only sound besides wind through branches and something calling in the distance. Might be a hawk.
Might not.
I stay low. Silent.
My bag comes off the bike, and I dig through its contents. Surveillance equipment first—camera with telephoto lens, electromagnetic detector, magical resonance scanner. Then weapons. Ceramic knife that made it through airport security. Collapsible crossbow that looks like a tripod when folded down.The modified Sig picked up from a Guild contact in Cluj-Napoca, loaded with suppression rounds, each bullet designed to punch through supernatural defenses.
Everything exactly where it should be. Everything maintained to perfection.
The trail climbs for another half mile before opening into a clearing that violates every natural law I know. Trees too uniform. Too deliberately spaced. Someone shaped this place, hid it from aerial detection while maintaining ground access.
Professional work. Expensive work. Work that took time.
They’ve been here a while.
I settle behind a fallen log, bark rough against my forearms as I steady the camera. I’ve picked a different vantage point each time I’ve been here. Each one giving visual access to different parts of the facility. The compound below looks like a research station playing dress-up as an archaeological dig. Prefab buildings masked as scientific facilities. But the security tells the real story.
Motion sensors disguised as weather equipment. Cameras hidden in fake bird boxes. Guard rotations timed to eliminate blind spots.
Three visible. Two more implied.
All human. All carrying weapons that gleam wrong in the afternoon light. Enchanted. Someone expects supernatural trouble.
The electromagnetic readings spike every few minutes, regular as a heartbeat. Whatever they’re protecting pulses with active power beneath the main building. The resonance scanner confirms what my enhanced senses already know—energy patterns that taste like ancient fire and sleeping stone.
My skin responds to each pulse. Heat spreads across my shoulders, down my arms, pooling in my chest. I’ve been near artifacts before. Dozens of them. This feels different.
Personal.
Like something calling my name.
I photograph everything. Guard positions. Weapon loadouts. Entry points. Escape routes. The work keeps my hands busy while my mind monitors threats and opportunities. Two ways in: the main approach, heavily monitored, or the service road that curves behind the compound. Twelve-second window where the cameras can’t cover both angles.
Tight. Manageable.
And then finally…finally, it happens.
I see him.
The target confirmation comes three hours into surveillance. A man emerges from the main building, and my enhanced vision locks onto details invisible to normal sight. Tall. Muscular in way that doesn’t seem battle-honed. Unremarkable. But the energy signature matches the briefing perfectly.
Dragon bloodline. Old. Powerful. Unnatural energy.
The recognition hits unexpectedly. I’ve never seen magical bloodline markers in person, but Guild training covered them extensively. Political dynamite wrapped in genetic legacy.
Why didn’t the dossier include this?
Doesn’t matter.
