Nikodem Volkov stumbled into their grim sanctuary, dripping canal water and something darker. His breath tore unevenly, raw and rattling in his chest. “She… she’s doing it,” he gasped, clutching a gash on his arm. “Marika. She’s accelerating the grid.” Valeska pushed a spare rag into his hand. “Explain.” Casimir stood, a silent, imposing wall, his gaze fixed on the voltaic-tech prodigy. Olek, still pale but steady, watched from a corner, an unnerving calm in his eyes. “The High Council,” Nikodem choked out, pressing the rag to his wound. “They’re holding an emergency assembly at the Aevitern Spire. Marika… she convinced them my grid network is the only way to stabilize the city’s power during the Eclipse. But it’s not just about power, not anymore. She’s negotiating a full buyout. Billions. She’s pushing the grid to maximum output to demonstrate its ‘potency’ for the investors.” His voice cracked. “She doesn’t care about the Drowned Wards. She’s going to boil the canals dry with Murk just to make a profit.” Valeska felt a cold dread coil in her gut, quickly overtaken by a blazing fury. “So she’s leveraging mass slaughter for a quick sale.” “Precisely,” Nikodem whispered, his eyes wide with a terror that finally seemed genuine. “She’s promised them an ‘unprecedented surge’ of energy by the meeting's close. Tonight. Which means… the Murk will overwhelm everything below the spires. Starting with your home. Starting with Olek.” Casimir’s hand tightened into a fist, knuckles cracking. “The master switch. Where is it?” “In the central control room, adjacent to the grand hall itself,” Nikodem said, wincing as he shifted. “Hardened against all but the most powerful surges. And Marika has it locked down. Heavily guarded. She knows I might try to interfere.” “Then we go to the assembly,” Valeska declared, her voice sharp, cutting through the damp air. She looked at Casimir. “We expose her. We shut it down.” “Impossible,” Nikodem stammered. “It’s the Aevitern Spire. The most secure building in Ostrachova. Full military garrison. You won’t get within a klick, let alone inside the high hall itself.” Valeska’s lips thinned. “You built the grid, Nikodem. You know its weaknesses. And you will get us inside. Unless you want your name forever etched into the city’s memory as the architect of its demise.” His gaze flickered between Valeska’s unwavering stare and Casimir’s unyielding presence. “I… I know a service tunnel. A forgotten conduit. But it’s risky. Very risky.” “Good,” Casimir grunted. “We like risky.” Less than an hour later, the trio moved through the labyrinthine service tunnels beneath the city’s gilded spires. The air grew stale, thick with the scent of ozone and copper, an acrid discharge from overtaxed circuitry. The rumble of machinery above was a constant, unsettling pulse. Valeska carried the prototype schematics, carefully shielded in an optical-glass casing, her mind running through every possible confrontation. Casimir moved with the silent, predatory grace of a man who owned the darkness, his knuckle-duster a dim glow against his scarred hand. Nikodem, though still terrified, led the way with a desperate urgency, his shame a stark motivator. They emerged into a restricted service corridor, just outside the Aevitern Spire’s grand assembly rotunda. The polished marble gleamed under soft, diffused light. Heavy oak doors, inlaid with electrum, marked the entrance. Two uniformed watchmen, their rifles held loosely, stood sentry. Nikodem swallowed, his face pale. “This is it.” Valeska nodded. “Remember the plan. No mercy. No hesitation.” Casimir merely nodded, stepping forward. A blur of motion, a muted crack of bone against brass, and the sentries crumpled, unconscious. Valeska didn’t spare them a second glance. Casimir pushed open the heavy doors into an amphitheater under high, vaulted ceilings painted with constellations. Woven silks framed the stone, surrounding a massive, circular table where the city’s most influential ministers and corporate magnates sat. At the head of the table, bathed in the glow of copper-arc chandeliers, sat Marika, radiating smug confidence. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, immediately landed on Valeska. “Valeska Chernova!” Marika shrieked, her voice echoing through the stunned silence. She sprang to her feet, knocking over her ornate chair. “Order! Seize this slum-rat! She’s a jealous malcontent, a trespasser!” Her finger jabbed wildly at Valeska. “She’s attempting to sabotage our defense pact!” The assembled elites murmured, their eyes flicking between the disheveled trio and the enraged Marika. A few private retainers, roused by Marika’s shout, scrambled into position, weapons raised. “Defense?” Valeska’s voice was calm, cutting through Marika’s hysteria. She strode directly to the central table, ignoring the aimed rifles and the rising tension. Her stare locked onto Minister Kaelar, a portly man whose face had drained of color. With a deliberate motion, Valeska placed the optical-glass casing on the polished table. It chimed faintly. Then, with a practiced flick of her wrist, she activated the internal light source, illuminating the intricate, chillingly precise designs within. Schematics for Nikodem’s discharge towers. But these weren’t just power conduits. “These are not mere power generators, honored ministers,” Valeska announced, her voice ringing with icy authority. “These are incubators. Breeding grounds for the Murk. Nikodem Volkov’s celebrated grid is not protecting Ostrachova. It is feeding the very entities that prey on its citizens. It is turning our city into a monstrous farm of fear, all for the sake of profit.” A collective gasp rippled through the chamber. The councilors leaned forward, pale and rigid as they absorbed the undeniable evidence. The schematics showed horrifying detail: conduits designed to channel ambient terror, capacitors brimming with corrupted ether, all powering the spires while simultaneously fueling the creeping dread below. Marika’s face, usually so composed, contorted into a mask of pure, unadulterated fury. Her stolen empire, her carefully constructed lie, was crumbling before her eyes. The whispers escalated into a roar of outrage, directed not at Valeska, but at her. “A lie!” Marika screamed, her voice cracking. “She’s trying to sabotage my husband’s genius! She’s a nobody, a Drowned Wards scavenger! Don’t listen to her!” But the evidence was too compelling. Minister Kaelar, his face ashen, pushed himself away from the table, staring at Marika with dawning revulsion. Marika’s gaze darted to a prominent console against the far wall—the master control for the city's power array, humming under a crimson pilot lamp. Her vision narrowed. If she couldn’t have her empire, no one would. With a guttural cry of pure spite, Marika lunged. Her hand, trembling with psychotic rage, slammed down onto the console’s largest, most prominent switch, a lever marked ‘OVERLOAD’. A sickening *THUNK* reverberated through the chamber, followed by a low, humming groan that vibrated the very foundations of the spire. The crystal chandeliers above flickered violently, then flared with an unnatural, sickly green light. A deafening shriek echoed from the depths of the city, a chorus of nascent Murk, now fully unleashed. The air grew impossibly heavy, charged with a malevolent energy. Valeska’s eyes shot upwards, following the growing tremor. A spiderweb of cracks erupted across the opulent, painted ceiling, expanding with terrifying speed. Then, with a sound like grinding tectonic plates, the ceiling of the opulent gallery shattered, and a colossal sea of shadows began pouring directly into the room.

The Summit of Shadows