Selriph followed him into the deeper dark, the damp air growing colder with every step. The wall came, sometimes narrow, sometimes wide, accompanied by meandering turns. They finally reached a smooth-walled cavern. The walls were no longer adorned with stonework—raw, natural, almost cave-like, and yet bearing features that indicated the room was dug by hand. The only light came from a few loose lanterns and glowmoss scattered throughout.

  At the centre of the chamber stood an aged man, face weathered with age lines. A bald patch in the middle of his deep grey hair. His eyes were sharp and alert; His muscular frame was beyond that of his age.

  “Ah, you brought him, Rix,” the old man said, voice rough and gravelly, as if decades of smoke and dust had scraped it raw. He met Selriph with an appraising gaze. “And he seems to be here in one piece. Good.”

  Rix gave a short, amused snicker and nudged Selriph forward with a sharp elbow. “Well, kid, ‘ere’s your chance. This is yer... examiner. I guess you’d call him. Old Vick. He’s got a very special test for ya.” He smirked. “Think you can prove your worth?”

  Selriph hesitated. Vick had expected him, but how? Did this Rix fellow have enough time to tell him while he was dealing with the Templars? There was no way he made the physical trek that quickly. Yet, this suggested coordination. How? A sending stone, perhaps…? Did they expect him even before he stumbled down here?

  “Heh, examiner, I like that,” he gestures back to Rix. “And this here is the head of the Tunnel Rats, though I am sure you are already well acquainted with him. “

  Of course, he is the leader; That explains a lot.

  “Not the biggest surprise I’ve had today. You seemed sharp enough to lead the downtrodden of the city; otherwise, I would not have come looking for you after my little bout with the Templars,” Selriph said plainly.

  Vick gave a dry, amused chuckle. “Oh, a smart one too, eh, Rix? Might have some use after all.”

  He stepped forward, gaze boring into Selriph’s. “Down here, we play by different rules. We protect our own. We don’t rat each other out to the guards and the Templars. And we take what we need to survive.”

  “Anyone who doesn’t like the Templars already gets a plus one in my book,” Selriph said flatly.

  That earned him a broad grin from the old man, yellowed teeth flashing in the low light. “Well, well. A kindred spirit.”

  Vick clapped Selriph on the shoulder with surprising strength. “But we are gonna need more than our shared disdain for the authority figures up there; everyone here has something they can contribute to our survival down here.” He let the sentence hang in the air and continued: “So I am going to test you: see that old chest over there?”

  A chest? Is this going to be some lock-picking exam?

  Vick gestured toward the far side of the chamber. Selriph followed the motion and spotted it—an old square-shaped coffer. It looked unimpressive. The wood was dark; the hinges, rusted. Completely unremarkable and, strangely, not locked, not on the outside at least.

  But as he looked, he felt something — a pulse, a subtle warmth coming from the chest. Not physical, but it reached out to him either way.

  There was something inside. And he already had an idea as to what it could be.

  “I see a wooden chest, and it doesn’t even seem like there’s a lock on it,” Selriph replied, slightly sarcastically. “You want me to show you I know how to lift a lid?” A slight chuckle escaped his lips at the end of his statement.

  Vick’s face didn’t mirror Selriph’s humour. “It’s what’s inside that needs to be opened. It won’t be easy, though–you might need to exhibit a special skill set. And if you aren’t able to, back up into those tunnels you go; We have more than enough mouths here already.” He glanced at Rix. “Let’s just say you need to be very special if you want in with us. ”

  Rix snickered as he moved toward the chest. “Watch yerself, kid. This ain’t some lockbox you can jimmy open with a hairpin.”

  Selriph exhaled slowly. “Of course, it wouldn’t be as simple as that. Let me see what you have in store for me.”

  A mere moment after the words left Selriph’s mouth, the old man yanked the rusty latch.

  The chest creaked open slowly. Vick's face was bathed in blue light, accentuating his age lines.

  “Let’s see you try, boy,” he said, stepping back, arms folded. “That may look like a pretty lockbox, but you need to be creative to get in. Opened through special means.” Eagerness and anticipation beamed from his grin.

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  Selriph stepped forward. The blue glow pressed up against his vision, a sharp contrast to the dim lighting of the cavern–his eyes adjusted, and he saw an object within–a small lockbox—the size of a bow. Its surface pulsed with a blue hue. A soft, rhythmic clicking seemed to emanate from the keyhole of the lockbox.

  He felt the tingle instantly. Magical energy. He wasn’t sure of the exact nature, but it was likely that the box was an enchanted item, enchanted by someone. The hum of energy, not unlike the kind he had been practising in secret.

  This isn’t random; they know who I am, or at least have a very good idea. Should I just pretend I don’t know how to open this box? They could still rat me out to the Templars.

  No, if they wanted me nabbed, they would not need to go through this trouble. This box would implicate themselves too; it has magical energy after all.

  They said they had no love for the Templars….

  This test was no trap; it was meant to determine his magical aptitude. If he passed, he could earn their trust, make himself useful in their eyes.

  Selriph took a steadying breath. Then reached out.

  His fingers felt the pulse of energy–equal parts hum of static, the other warmth of fire—the air felt charged. Small jolts of power shot through his outstretched hand, which caused him to pull back slightly. This confirmed it: a magical lock, and the key was likely his own arcane power.

  How were Vick and Rix expecting him to solve this, though? Blast it with some lightning and hope that the lock would somehow come loose? No, there had to be more than that; perhaps the trick was to change the magical energy permeating the box. Enough to force it to unlock?

  He had tried something like that before, using one hand to disrupt and change the magical signature in the other. The sensation was unique. It was like simultaneously repelling and attracting a piece of metal with a magnet. He could disrupt a flame in his hand or feed it more energy.

  Perhaps the same principle could be applied here?

  He closed his eyes and let his arcane energy rise within him, responding to the lockbox’s enchantment. Selriph’s magical energy began to gather in his fingers, causing sparkles of blue arcane light to bounce between his outstretched hands and the box. All the while, across the room, Vick and Rix exchanged a glance, the nature of which could not be made out from his peripheral vision.

  The lockbox pulsed faster, reacting to his arcane signature. The clicking sped up.

  Selriph leaned in closer. There were small runic glyphs now visible on the surface of the box, glowing in synchronised pulses. He could feel it; In the centre of the box was a well of magic, swirling but stable, a nebulous mass of what felt akin to liquid light.

  His instinct told him one thing: there was a stable equilibrium of arcane energy sustaining the locking mechanism. If he could use his arcane energy and tune it to a similar signature, he could then use that to subtly disrupt the flow of energy in the box, just enough to break the pattern, which might cause the arcane lock to give way.

  He reached again, this time not to force it open, but to listen. To feel the rhythm, the pulse, the frequency of the lock’s heartbeat.

  He tuned his magic to that rhythm. His breathing slowed down, feeling and imagining his magical energy melding with the box.

  He felt a feeling of synchronicity, not entirely unlike his own attempts to manipulate the magical energies between his hands, but different; He had not manipulated an external magic source before, not yet anyway.

  With precise control, he then did the next step: sending out small disruptive charges of magical energy into the lockbox and its runes. The patterns began to flicker, losing their steady, rhythmic pulse. The box shivered on the table it stood on.

  Vick’s eyes widened slightly. Rapt focus held the old man’s posture, a stark contrast to his earlier nonchalance. His head jutted forward to better observe what was unfolding before him.

  The box suddenly trembled, an audible kra-kok emanating as it shook. Selriph knew he had pushed too far; the arcane energies of the box would de-sync with his, and they would repel off each other.

  He steadied himself, holding his hand steady with his other, carefully pulling back the flow of mana. Gradually, the runes settled back down, though still out of rhythmic regularity.

  The air was thick with tension. Even as Rix’s expression was replaced by pure engagement. The two men were watching the young boy.

  Then, Selriph found it.

  Just the right rhythm, the right amount of energy. He slowly channelled a small, incremental amount into that pattern, matching its frequency, its tempo, and as he passed the threshold, he felt he was the one in charge of the box’s magical ecosystem. In that movement, the runes glowed even brighter.

  The last step: all he had to do was force the energy in the box to dissipate, like he would his own spell. The runes shone as they reached their apex in brightness. Adhering to Selriph’s internal command, they went dim.

  Cleck

  The box clicked. Loud. Final.

  The small sound echoed in the dead silence of the chamber.

  The lid popped open. Selriph stepped back, and his hand fell to his side. They tingled from the magical energies he had channelled.

  Inside the box lay a few scattered pieces of parchment, a few loose trinkets, a coin and something else—another object half-obscured by cloth.

  I wonder what that is; it almost looks like…

  Rix stepped forward, eyebrows raised. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered.

  But Selriph didn’t hear him. His gaze was fixed on the object half obscured by the cloth; He could only see its right half, but that was enough—the insignia, the 4 sided cross, the right half of a gryphon’s face.

  His blood ran cold.

  He knew that symbol.

  Selriph could only barely mutter the words from his mouth. His lips tingled, equal parts from the recognition of the symbol and the aftermath of his magical display.

  “Why… Why is there is Templar Badge in there…?”