"Why are you here, then?"
The old man's voice had lost some of its earlier hostility, but the question itself had not become any less serious. He stood beneath the broken wall, one hand resting on the snake-headed cane, while smoke drifted slowly through the alley behind him. The ruined square was still loud in the distance, filled with shouting, running feet, and the occasional crash of something collapsing, yet the narrow alley seemed strangely isolated from it all.
Cairon kept his eyes on him. "I'm only looking for answers."
The old man gave a quiet hum. "Everyone is. I'll humor you, ask away."
"I found something a few days ago."
The old man listened as Cairon reached beneath his coat and brought out the silver vial, and something in his expression changed , subtle enough that another person might have missed it: his eyes dropped to the vial, his fingers tightened around the cane, and for the briefest moment the amused look disappeared from his face completely.
"And where did you find it?"
Cairon noticed the change, and answered with a question of his own. "I could ask you the same thing."
The old man looked at him again, and the corner of his mouth lifted. "Oh, perhaps you could."
Cairon held the vial between two fingers, turning it slightly so the pale liquid caught what little light reached the alley. "We found several of these in a shipment. I had one with me when the convoy was attacked. It broke, and some of the liquid went into me."
The old man's gaze moved to Cairon's side. "And it seems you survived?"
"Seems so."
"Interesting."
"Guess you know what it is."
"Kind of. I know what it can do."
Cairon waited, but the old man did not continue.
"What does it do?" Cai asked back.
"That depends on who's using it."
Cairon frowned. "That's not an answer."
"No, but it is the truth." The old man leaned slightly against his cane, looking almost more relaxed now. "There are people born with potential they never discover. Some spend their entire lives carrying something inside themselves without ever knowing it is there. Others awaken it naturally, through training, trauma, instinct, or whatever strange hand fate decides to use."
He glanced at the vial before he went on. "This makes that potential bloom."
Cairon said nothing, so the old man continued. "It doesn't create power. It forces something already present to the surface, whether the person carrying it is ready for that or not."
Cairon's thoughts went straight back to the street , the pressure beneath his ribs, the sudden wall of water, the Ironclad soldier thrown clear across the road , and he looked down at his own hand.
"So it awakened something in me."
"Perhaps."
"Perhaps?"
"I wasn't there when it happened."
"You seem to know quite a lot for someone who wasn't there."
The old man's smile returned. "You're observant."
"I have to be."
"I suppose you do."
Cairon studied him carefully. "Where did your people get the vials?"
The old man looked toward the broken tower. "They came with our latest cargo."
"From where?"
"We don't know."
"Who supplied it?"
"We don't know that either."
Cairon raised an eyebrow, and the old man noticed. "You're thinking I'm lying."
"I think you're leaving things out," Cai said.
"Those are not the same thing," the old man said.
"No. They're not."
For a few moments, neither spoke. Cairon could tell the man was hiding something , not because his words were obviously false, but because of the way he chose them, every answer technically useful while leaving the important part untouched. Cairon had learned that kind of behavior in Valdrin: people who lied badly were easy to deal with, but people who told half-truths were dangerous, like snakes waiting for you to make a mistake so they could bite you.
"So why were the Coilbloods gathered with the other alchemists?" Cairon asked.
The old man sighed. "Because everyone wanted the same thing. The Whisperbinders, the Obsidian Hermits, the Coilbloods , you know they're all the same in nature."
"And so someone did use it."
"Yes."
"What happened?"
The old man looked toward the square again, his voice dropping quieter. "Someone pushed their potential too far. The substance does not understand restraint. If there is something dormant inside you, it can force it awake, but awakening something and controlling it are two very different things."
Cairon thought of the blue water that had burst from his body. "And the explosion?"
"Someone lost control."
"Who?"
"I don't know."
Cairon watched him. The old man's face remained calm, but he was lying , there had been something in his eyes when Cairon asked who had caused the explosion, something that passed through them too quickly to identify. Cairon decided not to push. Not yet. Instead, he lowered the vial.
"So you used one."
The old man's eyes returned to him. "Did I?"
"You drank one in front of me."
A pause, then the old man laughed softly. "You really were like a little rat spying on me."
"You didn't seem as surprised by what happened as everyone else."
"I've seen stranger things."
"That's not an answer."
"No, it is not." The old man looked almost pleased. "You're learning."
Cairon couldn't help himself , a small smile found its way onto his face. The man was irritating, and also strangely likable: there was something about his presence that made the alley feel smaller, as though he carried more weight than his thin frame should have allowed. He spoke casually, sometimes almost warmly, but there was always something underneath it, something Cairon could not quite place.
The street was covered in a fog, like steam, only a little , a faint warmth that might have come from the explosion, or might not have. Cairon looked away, and the old man noticed.
"Something on your mind?"
"Nothing."
"You're a terrible liar."
"So I've been told."
The old man smiled. "I think I like you."
"That's unfortunate."
A quiet laugh escaped the old man. "Why?"
"I don't trust people who like me that quickly."
"Good. You shouldn't." The answer was so direct that Cairon almost laughed.
The old man adjusted his grip on the cane. "You should leave this place."
"Why?"
"Because whatever happened here isn't finished."
Cairon's eyes narrowed. "You know something."
"I know Valdrin."
"That's not the same thing."
"No," the old man agreed. "It isn't."
Cairon slowly moved his hand beneath his coat while the old man kept speaking, unaware, or at least pretending not to notice. "You found one of those vials. That alone is enough to make a lot of people interested in you. If they discover what happened to you after it entered your body, they'll want to know more."
"And you?"
The old man looked at him. "I'm curious."
"Only curious?"
"Mostly."
Cairon took another step while the old man was still talking. "You have no idea what you've stumbled into, boy. There are things beneath this city that have been waiting for…."
Cairon moved.
His hand came out of his coat with a Coilcord already in his grip, the weighted ends spinning rapidly as he threw it toward the old man's ankles. The old man saw it , Cairon was certain of that much , yet, almost uncharacteristically, he reacted a fraction too late. He jumped, lifting both feet from the ground as the cord passed beneath him, but one of the weighted ends caught his ankle for just long enough to disrupt his balance.
"Now!"
Vynn dropped from the roof and crashed into the old man's back with all the strength he had. The old man stumbled forward, and Cairon caught him before he could recover, twisting his coat and using his momentum to drive him hard into the ground. The old man's cane flew from his hand and struck the wall before rolling across the stones.
Cairon brought his elbow up beneath the man's chin , as hard as he could.
The old man's eyes widened, and then his body went limp.
Vynn stared down at him. "Did we just…"
"Yes."
"Did we just kidnap the old man?"
Cairon looked at him. "That's exactly what we just did."
Vynn swallowed. "Isn't that bad?"
"Probably."
Cairon checked the man's pulse ,still alive. "Get the Ironbind."
Vynn immediately reached beneath his coat and pulled out a compact brass device, roughly the size of a small book, cylindrical housings running along its sides, each one packed with tightly coiled steel cable. He crouched beside the unconscious man. "How does this work again?"
"Point it at him and pull the lever."
"That's it?"
"That's it."
Vynn aimed the device and pulled the lever.
CLACK.
The Ironbind released, four braided steel cables shooting outward to wrap around the old man's arms, chest, and legs before retracting with a sharp mechanical whine, the gears inside turning rapidly until his limbs were locked hard against his body.
Vynn stared at their prisoner. "That's really tight."
"Good for us."
Cairon stood and picked up the snake-headed cane, examining it for a moment, the snake felt eerie and alive, like at any moment it might move on its own. "Let's go."
Vynn looked at the unconscious man. "We're taking him all the way back?"
"Yes."
"What if he wakes up?"
"Then don't let him."
Vynn nodded quickly. Cairon took one last look at the old man, and something about it bothered him. The whole thing had been too easy ، He was sure the man had seen the Coilcord coming, had moved quickly enough to avoid it, and yet somehow let the weighted rope catch his ankle; even after Vynn hit him, his reaction had been strangely slow. Cairon couldn't explain it. Maybe the explosion had weakened him. Maybe he was simply old. Or maybe…..
He stopped himself. There was no point guessing. They had what they needed, for now.
---
The warehouse door opened with a low groan. Marek was standing over the map when Cairon walked in, and he looked up. "You took your time."
Cairon stepped inside, Vynn following behind him, struggling with the Ironbind. Marek's eyes moved toward the bundle of cables, then toward the unconscious man inside them, and his expression changed. "Who the hell is that?"
Cairon dropped the man's cane onto the table. "Someone who knows about the vials."
Marek stared at him. His eyes slowly moved to the crimson coat, then to the snake-headed cane, and the color drained from his face.
"Cai…"
Cairon looked at him. "What?"
Marek didn't answer immediately.
He walked closer,
His eyes never left the old man's face.
Then facepalming he whispered:
"You have no idea who you just brought through that door."