《Forged in Blood - a gritty dark fantasy (Guild of Assassins, book 2)》 I. Soren and Alaric followed the grey-robed attendant through the winding corridors of the Assassins¡¯ Guild headquarters. When they reached an oak door, the attendant rapped twice and ushered them inside. Soren stopped at the sight of Raz sitting behind a broad desk. Raz¡ªthe man who had recruited them, the man who had killed Soren¡¯s father. He glanced up at their entrance. ¡°Soren, Alaric.¡± He set his quill aside and gestured to the seats across from him. ¡°Please, come in.¡± Soren settled into one of the chairs as Alaric lowered himself into the other. ¡°You both appear to be recovering well after the Threshing.¡± Soren nodded. ¡°We endured.¡± He kept his tone neutral, still unsure where this meeting was headed. ¡°Such trials are never easy.¡± A grin flashed across Raz¡¯s scarred features. ¡°But you showed exceptional resilience and fortitude. You should be proud.¡± Alaric shifted in his seat. ¡°We did what we had to. Nothing to be proud of though.¡± Raz looked between them. ¡°You passed the Threshing. Most who are entered do not live to tell the tale. The determination to succeed, whatever the challenge¡ªthat is the foundation needed to attain true mastery in our trade.¡± He leaned forward, steepling his fingers. ¡°And so I wish to mentor you both, to nurture that potential through specialised training.¡± Soren remained still and silent, his lips pursed. Raz held up his hands. ¡°I know tensions linger between us and I don¡¯t take your position here for granted.¡± His features softened. ¡°Still, I believe we can accomplish great things together.¡± Soren weighed Raz¡¯s words. Was this offer genuine, or a trap to toy with them? ¡°What would this specialised training entail?¡± Raz smiled. ¡°My area of expertise lies in subtlety¡ªintelligence gathering, impersonation, moving unseen through hostile territory. Skills that favour scalpel over sword.¡± ¡°So, you¡¯re a surgeon?¡± Alaric asked. ¡°In a sense.¡± Raz tapped the ledgers on his desk. ¡°Understanding the flow of finance is another essential tool. Information and money grease the wheels of power.¡± He raised a finger. ¡°Speaking of which¡­¡± Raz slid two leather pouches across the desk. ¡°These funds should cover your expenses for the next few weeks.¡± Soren weighed the purse, keeping his face composed. This was no paltry sum. ¡°When do we begin?¡± Raz chuckled. ¡°Patience. Your formal training starts tomorrow. For now, rest and reflect on how far you¡¯ve come already.¡± His expression turned solemn. ¡°The path of a contractor is not undertaken lightly. But for those few with the fortitude to walk it, the potential for wealth and mastery are great.¡± Soren licked his lips. ¡°Mastery?¡± The corners of Raz¡¯s mouth twitched. ¡°Indeed.¡± ¡°We¡¯re ready.¡± Beside him, Alaric stiffened. ¡°Excellent.¡± Raz moved towards the office door, beckoning them to follow. ¡°Come. Your new quarters have been prepared.¡± Soren rose and rubbed the back of his neck. ¡°When you say tomorrow, which tomorrow do you mean?¡± ¡°You have a full day. It is dawn now. The day is yours.¡± Soren hesitated, holding back as Raz made to leave the office. ¡°There is one thing still weighing on me from the Threshing.¡± ¡°Oh?¡± Raz inclined his head. ¡°Speak freely.¡± Soren glanced at Alaric before continuing. ¡°Taking a life under threat of your own death, that¡¯s one thing. But the images still haunt me.¡± He closed his eyes, images of blood and death flashing through his mind. ¡°Tell me, how do you cope?¡± ¡°I understand such deeds can challenge one¡¯s spirit.¡± Raz tapped his chin. ¡°But always remember we are tradesmen fulfilling a service. Sentiment has no place on the executioner¡¯s block, nor in the contractor¡¯s work.¡± ¡°This wasn¡¯t some contract though. I murdered fellow recruits¡ªI still see their faces in my dreams.¡± ¡°When memories haunt, I¡¯ve found it helps to picture each face fading to grey, losing all distinction. Imagine their features blurring, bleaching of colour and life until only faint shadows remain.¡± Soren tried visualising Kierak¡¯s face fading to a flat grey mask, empty of meaning. The image brought a sense of calm. Raz moved closer to Soren. ¡°As their faces fade, allow your thoughts to drift, like leaves on a river. Don¡¯t cling to what cannot be changed.¡± Soren took a long breath, picturing the other fallen recruits one by one. The exercise left his thoughts more settled, the memories less vivid. ¡°Remember, the past is done. But we always have a choice which path leads forward.¡± Raz gripped Soren¡¯s shoulder. ¡°I have faith yours will be a worthy one.¡± Soren managed a thin smile in return. ¡°I look forward to resuming our lessons tomorrow.¡± Raz dipped his head. ¡°It will be my honour. Until tomorrow then.¡± A female attendant led Soren and Alaric through the bright halls. At last they reached an iron-banded door which the attendant unlocked. ¡°These will be your quarters.¡± Soren stepped inside. Thick rugs warmed the stone floor while a table bearing a bowl of fruit and carafe of water stood to welcome them. His gaze lingered on the two beds with their plush quilts and fat pillows. Alaric let out a low whistle. ¡°Far cry from that drafty old fortress, eh?¡± He flopped down on the nearest bed. The attendant sniffed. ¡°As an initiate of the Guild, you have earned some privileges. When not training, your time is your own to spend as you will.¡± She eyed them both. ¡°But be prudent. Err too severely, and consequences will follow.¡± ¡°What kind of things we talking here?¡± Alaric asked. ¡°No getting drunk. No taking drugs. No engaging the services of prostitutes.¡± ¡°We¡¯ll be on our best behaviour,¡± Soren said. The attendant nodded. ¡°Very well. I¡¯ll have suitable attire sent for moving through the city.¡± She withdrew, the door clicking shut behind her. Soren stood over his bed and pressed the mattress, soft but firm. Alaric sat up on the bed. ¡°Fancy a look around town then? Could do with a change of scenery and a hot meal after whatever that crap was they called food in the infirmary.¡± Soren¡¯s stomach rumbled in response. ¡°Good idea. Let¡¯s explore this place.¡± He patted the purse in his pocket. ¡°Feels nice to finally have some cash at our disposal.¡± Soon, the attendant returned with fresh clothes in a basket and set them on the table. ¡°Shall I have food brought to you here, or would you prefer to eat in the dining hall?¡± Soren and Alaric exchanged a look. ¡°We were thinking of finding somewhere in the city,¡± Alaric said. Soren frowned. ¡°We should save our coin and eat in the dining hall.¡± ¡°Yeah. I guess you¡¯re right. No need to splurge just yet.¡± He gestured to the attendant. ¡°Lead the way.¡± Soren and Alaric followed the attendant through the Guild¡¯s pristine corridors, their footsteps echoing off the polished stone floors. Alaric leaned in close. ¡°What do you reckon we should do first? I¡¯ve heard tales of Welttor¡¯s famous caramel cream cakes. They say they¡¯re so rich, you can feel your teeth rotting as you eat them.¡± Soren glanced at the attendant¡¯s back. ¡°Welttor¡¯s a big city, full of people who might not take kindly to a pair of northerners poking around. We should avoid drawing attention to ourselves.¡± Alaric rolled his eyes. ¡°Come on, Sor. We¡¯ve been given a bit of freedom for once. Surely we can enjoy it without looking over our shoulders every second?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not saying we can¡¯t enjoy ourselves. I¡¯m just saying we need to be smart about it. Remember why we¡¯re here.¡± ¡°You¡¯re no fun.¡± He glared at Alaric. ¡°You¡¯re right. But who can blame me?¡± ¡°We need to find joy wherever and whenever we can in this place. Things are going to go pretty dark pretty quickly if we don¡¯t.¡± ¡°You¡¯re probably right.¡± Alaric grinned. ¡°Of course I¡¯m right. I¡¯m always right.¡± Soren sniffed. ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking.¡± ¡°Oh, Sor¡­don¡¯t do that. It never ends well when you start thinking.¡± Soren¡¯s glare returned. ¡°I¡¯m serious.¡±This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. The attendant took a left, leading them around a corner. ¡°So, what is it?¡± ¡°Something doesn¡¯t seem right about Raz.¡± Alaric shrugged. ¡°Well, yeah. He¡¯s a trained killer. Nothing¡¯s going to seem right about him.¡± Soren shook his head. ¡°No, it¡¯s more than that.¡± ¡°What do you mean.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know yet. But I can¡¯t shake the feeling that we¡¯re missing something important.¡± Before Alaric could respond, the attendant came to a halt before a set of wooden doors. She turned to face them. ¡°The dining hall.¡± Their conversation died as they stepped into the bustling mess, the aroma of hot food making Soren¡¯s stomach rumble. They filled their plates with bacon, eggs, and toast before finding seats at one of the long wooden tables. Around them, other members of the Guild ate and talked in hushed tones, the clink of cutlery and scrape of plates echoing off the cream walls. Soren sipped his black tea, his eyes roving over the hall. ¡°Just think, someday we¡¯ll be full members of the Guild seated here.¡± Alaric stared at his plate, pushing the eggs around with his fork. ¡°You must at least be excited to start training with Raz.¡± Alaric¡¯s jaw tightened. ¡°Oh yes, thrilled.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t seem very enthused by the prospect.¡± Alaric dropped his fork onto his plate. ¡°Maybe I¡¯m less eager than you to cosy up to your father¡¯s killer.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not fair.¡± Alaric¡¯s glare bored into Soren. ¡°Do you still remember why you¡¯re here?¡± ¡°Of course I do.¡± Alaric leaned forward. ¡°Funny, seems you¡¯re more fascinated by the craft¡­you hardly mention your father these days.¡± His voice dropped to a whisper. ¡°This was meant to be about justice, not pursuing power for its own sake.¡± Soren looked away. ¡°My motivations haven¡¯t changed. But we can¡¯t reclaim the past now, only move forward.¡± He met Alaric¡¯s eyes. ¡°Our reasons for staying may not be the same as our reasons for coming.¡± Alaric¡¯s nostrils flared and he shook his head. ¡°What is it?¡± ¡°Nothing.¡± ¡°Speak.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a slippery slope you¡¯re on, that¡¯s all.¡± He stood, the wooden bench scraping against the floor. ¡°I¡¯ve lost my appetite.¡± ¡°Alaric, wait.¡± Soren raced after him. ¡°Let¡¯s not fall out. Please.¡± Alaric stopped and glanced down at his cast. ¡°This whole thing is taking a toll on both of us.¡± Soren squeezed the bridge of his nose and sighed. ¡°I know. That¡¯s why we should take a look around the city. Get something of ourselves back. Like you said, find some joy.¡± ¡°You¡¯re right.¡± He smiled weakly. ¡°Let¡¯s go explore this city properly. Have some fun for once, eh?¡± Soren returned the smile. ¡°Fun. Almost a foreign concept after so long, isn¡¯t it?¡± ¡°It doesn¡¯t have to be¡­¡± Returning to their room, Soren and Alaric changed into the fresh clothes left by the attendant. They exited onto bustling streets, the early morning vendors opening for the day. Soren took in towering buildings and crowded thoroughfares, feeling lost among so much movement and noise. ¡°Where should we even begin? It¡¯s all so¡­¡± ¡°Overwhelming?¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± Weaving through throngs, they soon settled at an oak table near the back of a coffee house. Soren sipped from the steaming black liquid. ¡°Have to say, this is nice coffee.¡± Between sips, Alaric glanced around the crowded room. ¡°So strange being among normal folk going about their lives, oblivious to what we¡¯ve been through.¡± Soren nodded. ¡°Makes me wonder if we can ever fit in to civilised society again.¡± Alaric raised his eyebrows. ¡°Who says we were ever civilised?¡± Soren laughed. ¡°Reckon we should find some real drinking holes.¡± ¡°Let¡¯s pace ourselves. One thing at a time.¡± Soren glanced around at the patrons. ¡°Not sure I could cope with a beer right now.¡± ¡°Fair enough. Gin then? Or rum?¡± Soren grinned. ¡°For now, I just want to get to know this place.¡± Alaric rolled his eyes and let out a dramatic sigh. ¡°Fine. You win.¡± Soren savoured the last sip of his coffee, the rich dark roast warming him against the autumn chill outside. Across the table, Alaric knocked back the dregs of his own cup. ¡°We¡¯ll have to remember this place. Perfect spot to unwind after training.¡± ¡°And far better brew than the sludge they serve back home.¡± Alaric looked down at his cup. ¡°What¡¯s home anymore?¡± ¡°You know what I mean.¡± Alaric met Soren¡¯s gaze with watery eyes. ¡°I know.¡± Soren stood and stretched, his joints creaking after sitting for so long. ¡°Shall we continue our explorations?¡± Alaric rose. ¡°Yeah, let¡¯s do this.¡± They headed out the door onto the city streets. Leaves drifted down from the canopy of trees that lined the avenue. Soren tucked his hands into his pockets, bracing himself against the wind blowing in from the docks. Merchants called out from stalls bursting with vibrant silks, exotic spices, and artisan crafts while lively music drifted from a busker¡¯s guitar at a crowded central square. Passing a bakery, Soren sniffed the yeasty aroma of fresh bread. ¡°I wish we hadn¡¯t eaten now. That place smells great.¡± Alaric grinned. ¡°It does. Must be those caramel cream cakes.¡± Soren entered the bakery. The warm, sweet scent enveloped him as they approached the counter, eyeing the array of pastries and cakes on display. ¡°Two caramel cream cakes, please.¡± The baker, a portly man with flour-dusted hands, beamed at them. ¡°Ah, excellent choice! You won¡¯t find better in all of Welttor.¡± Cakes in hand, they exited the shop and found a nearby bench overlooking a small square. Pigeons pecked at crumbs scattered across the cobblestones, while seagulls wheeled overhead. Soren took a bite of his cake. His brow furrowed as he swallowed. ¡°Huh.¡± Alaric, who had already devoured half of his, paused mid-bite. ¡°What?¡± ¡°It¡¯s just¡­¡± Soren took another small bite. ¡°It¡¯s not that great, is it?¡± Alaric shrugged. ¡°Now that you mention it, yeah. It¡¯s a bit¡­underwhelming.¡± ¡°You know, I reckon old Cara¡¯s honey cakes put these to shame.¡± Alaric nodded. ¡°Creation¡¯s truth. Remember those apple tarts she¡¯d make? Now those were something special.¡± Soren looked down at his half-eaten cake, then at the birds still pecking around their feet. With a sigh, he tossed the remainder onto the ground. Alaric followed suit, and they watched as the seagulls and pigeons descended in a frenzied swarm, devouring the cakes in seconds. ¡°At least someone¡¯s enjoying them.¡± Soren leaned back on the bench, crossing his arms. ¡°I don¡¯t get it. Everyone raves about these cakes. The baker acted like they were some kind of delicacy. But they¡¯re just ordinary.¡± ¡°Maybe we just picked a bad bakery?¡± ¡°Maybe. Or maybe people just like to hype things up. Make the ordinary sound extraordinary.¡± Alaric turned to look at him. ¡°Don¡¯t go getting all cynical on me now, Sor.¡± Soren shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m not being cynical, I¡¯m being realistic. Think about it. How much of what we¡¯ve been told¡ªabout the Guild, about our training, about anything really¡ªhas turned out to be the whole truth?¡± Alaric was quiet for a moment. ¡°I see your point. But still, there¡¯s a difference between being cautious and losing faith in everything.¡± ¡°Is there? Sometimes I wonder if knowing what¡¯s true and what isn¡¯t is as simple as it used to seem.¡± ¡°You know what? Maybe the cakes aren¡¯t all they¡¯re cracked up to be. But that doesn¡¯t mean everything¡¯s crap. We¡¯ve just got to¡­I don¡¯t know, be more discerning, I guess.¡± Soren nodded. ¡°You¡¯re right. We can¡¯t take everything at face value anymore. But we can¡¯t dismiss everything either. It¡¯s about finding the balance, isn¡¯t it?¡± ¡°Exactly.¡± Alaric stood. ¡°Now, what do you say we find something actually worth eating? I¡¯m still hungry.¡± Soren managed a small smile as he got to his feet. ¡°Alright.¡± They skirted by an herbalist¡¯s stall, the fragrant bundles of drying lavender and sage filling Soren¡¯s nostrils. ¡°We could spend hours just people watching here.¡± Alaric gestured to a theatre with bold lettering advertising upcoming performances. ¡°Music, dance, comedy.¡± He turned to Soren. ¡°You think we¡¯ll ever get a chance to see those things?¡± Soren shrugged. ¡°Who knows? Maybe. I think the higher up you get in the Guild, the more freedom you have.¡± Alaric clasped his shoulder. ¡°Don¡¯t let our trade make us forget how to live.¡± ¡°We¡¯ll share it all. Fine meals, theatre, music¡­¡± Soren and Alaric ambled aimlessly for the next few hours, enjoying the freedom of movement. As they turned down a quiet avenue, a stationer¡¯s shop caught Soren¡¯s eye. He paused, staring at the display of journals, and drawing implements arranged in the window. Alaric followed his gaze. ¡°Thinking of taking up art again?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­seems a waste of the Guild¡¯s coin.¡± ¡°You deserve a bit of indulgence. Might help centre your thoughts.¡± Alaric cocked an eyebrow. ¡°Unless you¡¯re afraid you¡¯ve lost your touch?¡± Soren¡¯s fingers itched for the feel of charcoal sweeping over textured paper. But he hesitated, shaking his head. ¡°It¡¯s a frivolous indulgence. I should remain focused on developing more practical skills.¡± Alaric nudged him towards the door. ¡°Come on. Let¡¯s at least take a look.¡± Soren wavered, part of him longing to rekindle that simple joy. ¡°Fine, you¡¯ve made your point.¡± The scents of parchment and ink enveloped Soren as he stepped inside. His eyes roved over stacks of blank journals, just waiting to be filled. His fingers trailed over the tomes, feeling their potential. After so long immersed in the assassins¡¯ world of danger and deceit, this glimpse of his past kindled almost painful nostalgia. Selecting a sturdy leather-bound sketchbook, Soren allowed himself to imagine the satisfaction of capturing scenes and scenery within its pages. He chose a set of drawing pencils and some sticks of charcoal, picturing sweeping strokes bringing form to the shadows in his mind. Approaching the counter, Soren set out the supplies. The shopkeeper peered at him over wire-rimmed spectacles as he tallied the cost. ¡°Let¡¯s see now¡­charcoals, fine sketchbook, drawing pencils¡­¡± His voice trailed off as he scribbled numbers. ¡°Comes to twenty-five krones for the lot.¡± Soren raised his eyebrows. ¡°That can¡¯t be right.¡± The shopkeeper shrugged. ¡°That¡¯s the price for quality. Take it or leave it.¡± Swallowing his disappointment, Soren forced a polite smile. ¡°It is a fair amount you ask. Perhaps if you could lower it somewhat?¡± The old man¡¯s eyes glinted. ¡°I could offer you twenty-four krones, but no less. My wares are priced fairly and crafted to last.¡± Soren glanced at the sketchbook¡¯s cover. ¡°How about twenty?¡± The shopkeeper shook his head. ¡°Absolutely not. The best price I can do is twenty-four.¡± ¡°Twenty-two, then.¡± ¡°No.¡± Soren let out a sigh. ¡°You sure you can¡¯t go any lower on price?¡± The shopkeeper raised his hands. ¡°Not if I¡¯m to stay in business.¡± ¡°You drive a hard bargain, sir.¡± Soren managed a thin smile. ¡°Sadly twenty-four is too steep for my current means. But I appreciate you taking the time.¡± The shopkeeper grumbled as Soren placed the art supplies back. Alaric¡¯s hand clamped down on his shoulder before he could exit. Without a word, he handed twenty-five krones to the shopkeeper and bundled the equipment back into Soren¡¯s arms. ¡°What are you doing?¡± ¡°Consider it a gift for better days ahead.¡± Alaric nodded at the sketchbook. ¡°There¡¯s more to this world than darkness and blood. You¡¯re an artist. Remember that.¡± Soren could only swallow past the lump in his throat. ¡°Thank you. But this is too much.¡± Alaric waved a hand. ¡°Nonsense, it¡¯s nothing. You deserve a bit of light after all the crap we¡¯ve endured.¡± Soren shook his head. ¡°But these supplies aren¡¯t cheap.¡± ¡°If you insist on repayment, how about you sketch my portrait at some point? Just make sure you get me on my good side.¡± Soren laughed. ¡°Why would anyone want a portrait of the back of their head?¡± Alaric gave him a shove and grinned. Back in their room, Soren settled onto his bed and opened the sketchbook. With a fortifying breath, he selected a stick of charcoal. His hand hovered over the pristine parchment as he gazed about for inspiration. But nothing stirred him. The creative spark he¡¯d known so keenly before lay buried beneath layers of brutality. With a sigh, he slid the sketchbook aside. Alaric had meant well, but returning to artistry would not be so simple. Too much weighed on him now¡ªthe deeds committed aboard that ship, the blood on his hands, the unanswered questions about his father¡¯s murder. Perhaps, in time, inspiration might return. But for now, he would continue focusing his energy on the training ahead. He lay for almost an hour, staring at nothing as Alaric dozed on the opposite bed. Sitting up, he opened the sketchbook again and selected a stick of charcoal. He swept it across the parchment in a quick slash. As simple lines took form, some long-dormant part of him awoke. After a while, Soren found himself shading the distinctive features of Nia, Isolde, Ganrel, and Jareth. Movement next to him broke his trance. Alaric peered over his shoulder at the portraits. ¡°Ah, I wonder what¡¯s become of them out there¡­¡± ¡°Who knows? I hope¡­I hope they¡¯re still alive.¡± ¡°Yeah. Who knows what crap the Guild¡¯s thrown at them. Maybe ours wasn¡¯t the only Threshing.¡± Together they sat in silence, staring at the page. Soren¡¯s hand continued sketching almost of its own will. The hulking outline of Kierak took shape under his charcoal. Staring at that sneering visage, the implications of what he had done aboard the ship struck him deep in the gut. Before he could stop himself, a tear splashed down, blurring the harsh lines. He scrubbed the charcoal portrait into a grey smear. He had killed, and lost some essential piece of his own humanity. ¡°I see their faces too.¡± Alaric spoke in little more than a whisper. ¡°Just wondering ¡®what if?¡¯¡± Soren turned to see Alaric slumped on the edge of his bed, his eyes distant. ¡°We did what we had to in the moment.¡± Alaric shook his head. ¡°And there¡¯s no undoing what we did.¡± They sat in silence for a long moment before Soren spoke. ¡°We bear these scars together. Wounded, not broken.¡± ¡°Yeah. We¡¯ll get through this.¡± ¡°I think Raz spoke the truth¡ªthere¡¯s little room for sentiment here. We must accept what¡¯s done and move forward.¡± Soren closed the sketchbook and set it aside. ¡°We can¡¯t live in the past.¡± II. After breakfast the next morning, a male attendant ushered Soren and Alaric from the dining hall. ¡°Come. You¡¯re expected.¡± As they neared the main entrance, a familiar figure caught Soren¡¯s eye. ¡°Master Kurgan?¡± The silhouette paused at the threshold, framed by the doorway. ¡°Master Kurgan!¡± Soren called out, quickening his pace. The attendant blocked his path, spreading his arms wide. ¡°Keep moving. You¡¯re expected elsewhere.¡± ¡°But that¡¯s my old master. I need to speak with him.¡± ¡°I said, keep moving.¡± Soren watched as the figure disappeared into the bustling street beyond. Alaric sidled up next to him. ¡°I don¡¯t think that was Kurgan.¡± Soren frowned. ¡°Are you sure? I could have sworn¡­¡± ¡°Come on.¡± Alaric nudged him forward. ¡°Let¡¯s not keep him waiting.¡± They followed the attendant down a flight of steps, the air growing cooler and damper. At the bottom, the attendant opened a door. ¡°Welcome to the Vault.¡± He gestured them inside and the door closed behind Soren and Alaric, leaving them alone. Soren¡¯s eyes widened as he took in the cavernous chamber. Weapons hung from racks¡ªswords, daggers, and bows. Rows of shelves stretched into shadowy recesses, laden with an assortment of jars and bottles. The musty scent of old parchment mingled with the sharp tang of metal and leather. Soren¡¯s fingers itched to explore, to touch and examine every object. ¡°Impressive, isn¡¯t it?¡± Soren started at the familiar voice. He turned to see Raz emerging from between two towering bookshelves, a slight smile playing on his lips. ¡°Master Raz.¡± Soren bowed his head. Alaric looked around. ¡°What is this place?¡± ¡°The Vault will be where you conduct the next phase of your training.¡± Alaric crossed his arms. ¡°Why us? We¡¯ve barely begun our training. What about all the others still at the fortress?¡± Raz¡¯s smile widened. ¡°You were being assessed, not trained. You were chosen for the Threshing for a reason.¡± Alaric scoffed. ¡°Yeah, because we¡¯re the worst of the lot.¡± Raz shook his head. ¡°On the contrary. All students go through the Threshing when the masters have uncovered their talents.¡± Soren¡¯s brow furrowed. ¡°Our talents? What do you mean?¡± Raz¡¯s eyes glinted in the lamplight. ¡°You both possess qualities the Guild finds intriguing.¡± ¡°So, we were the best?¡± Alaric asked. Raz shook his head. ¡°No.¡± ¡°So, we were the worst?¡± ¡°No.¡± Alaric turned to Soren. ¡°I¡¯m so confused.¡± Soren opened his mouth to press further, but Raz was already moving on, beckoning them to follow. ¡°Come. Let me show you some of the tools of our trade.¡± Soren followed Raz through the labyrinth of shelves, his eyes boring into Raz¡¯s back. A familiar twinge flared in his chest as his father¡¯s killer moved with such casual grace. Yet, the burning desire for vengeance that had once consumed him had dulled to a low simmer. Raz may have wielded the blade, but he wasn¡¯t the true architect of his father¡¯s death. He was certain the real answers lay hidden somewhere within the Guild, perhaps within the Vault. Soren swallowed his resentment, forcing himself to focus on the present. He needed to bide his time, to learn, to climb the ranks. Only then might he uncover the truth he sought. As Raz paused before a rack of peculiar devices¡ªtraps and mechanisms of intricate design¡ªSoren steeled his resolve. He would play the dutiful initiate, for now. He would learn everything Raz had to teach. And someday, he hoped, all of this would lead him to the answers he craved. ¡°A contractor must be prepared for any situation.¡± Raz lifted a small metal contraption from its stand. ¡°This, for instance, is a lock pick of my own design. It can defeat even the most complex tumblers in a matter of seconds.¡± He replaced the device and moved on to a shelf holding an assortment of vials and powders. ¡°Poisons, of course, are a staple of our craft. But equally important are their antidotes.¡± He tapped one of the jars and a black bug through itself against the glass. ¡°You¡¯ll become intimately familiar with both.¡± Soren¡¯s gaze lingered on the creature as they continued their tour. Raz led them to a table strewn with maps and documents. He lifted a brass monocular, offering it to Soren. ¡°For surveillance from a distance. Essential for gathering intelligence on your target.¡± Soren peered through the eyepiece, marvelling at the clarity of the magnified view. ¡°And here.¡± Raz spread out a sheaf of papers. ¡°We have shipping schedules, trade routes, and detailed maps of the major towns and cities across Wiete. Knowing your target¡¯s movements is half the battle.¡± He pulled out several leather-bound ledgers. ¡°Genealogies, financial records, and other such documents are invaluable for understanding your target. Knowledge is power in our line of work.¡± Soren¡¯s head spun with the wealth of information laid out before him. Raz clapped his hands. ¡°Now then, I believe it¡¯s time we outfitted you properly.¡± He strode to a closet and threw open its doors, revealing rows of neatly hung garments. He withdrew two sets of clothing¡ªgrey hooded tunics and leggings. ¡°Your attire.¡± He handed a set to each of them. ¡°Go on, try them on.¡± Soren unfolded the tunic, surprised by its weight. The fabric was soft but sturdy, with a silk lining that felt cool against his skin. As he slipped it over his head, he noticed areas of increased thickness around the chest and stomach. ¡°Wyvern scales,¡± Raz said. ¡°Sewn into the lining. Light but remarkably effective as armour.¡± Alaric let out a low whistle as he examined his own tunic. ¡°Look at all these pockets! I¡¯d have killed for something like this on the ships.¡± Soren cinched the tunic¡¯s belt. The hood cast his face in shadow without impeding his vision. ¡°How does it feel?¡± Raz asked, circling them with an appraising eye. Soren flexed his arms, testing his range of motion. Despite the added weight of the wyvern scales, the tunic allowed for fluid movement. ¡°It¡¯s perfect.¡± Raz nodded. ¡°These tunics are more than mere clothing.¡± He gestured for them to approach a table, upon which lay an assortment of small objects¡ªlockpicks, vials, thin blades, and other tools of the assassin¡¯s trade. He lifted one of the grey tunics. ¡°Think of it as a mobile arsenal, designed to conceal a variety of tools and weapons.¡± He ran his fingers along the tunic¡¯s seams, revealing hidden pockets and compartments. ¡°Observe.¡± With deft movements, Raz began tucking various items into the tunic¡¯s concealed spaces. A set of lockpicks disappeared into a slim pocket along the sleeve. Vials of unknown substances found homes in reinforced pouches near the waist. Stilettos slid into sheaths built into the lining. ¡°The key is to distribute the weight evenly.¡± Raz adjusted the placement of a small grappling hook. ¡°You must be able to move naturally, without betraying your presence, or the presence of your tools.¡± Soren watched as the tunic seemed to swallow up item after item without any noticeable change in its silhouette. Alaric shook his head. ¡°But won¡¯t grey stand out? I thought assassins were all about blending in. Surely black would be better?¡± Raz chuckled. ¡°A common misconception. True stealth isn¡¯t about not being seen¡ªit¡¯s about not being noticed.¡± He tapped his temple. ¡°The human mind is remarkably adept at overlooking the mundane. Dressed like this, you¡¯ll be virtually invisible in plain sight.¡±Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. Soren considered this. ¡°I see. We become part of the scenery.¡± ¡°Precisely. You¡¯re catching on quickly.¡± Alaric fidgeted with one of his many pockets. ¡°So, what now? Do we start learning all those fancy poisons and lockpicking tricks?¡± Raz¡¯s expression turned serious. ¡°In due time. For now, I want you both to familiarise yourselves with the Vault. Study the maps, examine the tools, read the texts. Knowledge is the foundation upon which all else is built.¡± He gestured towards the rows of bookshelves. ¡°You¡¯ll find treatises on history, politics, anatomy, and a hundred other subjects. I expect you to become well-versed in all of them.¡± Soren¡¯s eyes widened at the sheer volume of information before them. ¡°How long do we have?¡± ¡°As long as it takes. But I wouldn¡¯t dawdle. The Guild doesn¡¯t suffer idle hands.¡± Raz turned on his heel and strode towards the exit. ¡°I¡¯ll return later to check on your progress. Don¡¯t disappoint me.¡± The heavy door closed behind him, leaving Soren and Alaric alone in the cavernous Vault. Alaric let out a long whistle. ¡°Well, this ought to be fun.¡± Soren ran his fingers along the spine of a nearby book. ¡°It¡¯s¡­overwhelming.¡± ¡°You can say that again.¡± Alaric wandered over to a weapons rack, lifting a curved dagger from its stand. ¡°Where do we even start?¡± Soren¡¯s gaze swept across the Vault, taking in the dizzying array of objects and texts. ¡°We start at the beginning.¡± He plucked a tome on basic anatomy from the nearest shelf. ¡°And we work our way up.¡± Alaric grinned, replacing the dagger. ¡°Right you are. Though I might need your help with some of the big words.¡± Soren smiled, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. ¡°We¡¯ll muddle through, as always.¡± He settled at a large desk and pored over the anatomy text, his sculptor¡¯s eye appreciating the intricate diagrams of muscles and bones. He traced the lines of tendons and ligaments, marvelling at the complex interplay of systems that made up the human form. Yet as he studied, his gaze shifted, focusing instead on cataloguing the body¡¯s vulnerable points, imagining how a well-placed blade could sever a crucial artery, or paralyse a limb. ¡°It¡¯s fascinating, isn¡¯t it? The human body is like a work of art, each part perfectly designed for its function. But it¡¯s also fragile, delicate.¡± Alaric glanced up from his own book. ¡°Sounds like you¡¯re mixing your old craft with the new.¡± Soren nodded. ¡°There¡¯s an artistry to it, in a way. The sculptor shapes stone to create beauty. The assassin¡­well, I guess we shape flesh and bone to create¡­¡± He fell silent. After a moment, he shook his head, not wanting to dwell on that line of thought. ¡°What do you make of what Raz said about the Threshing? About us being chosen for our talents?¡± Alaric frowned. ¡°I don¡¯t know what to think. We were told we were the worst, that the Threshing was punishment. Now they¡¯re saying it was because we¡¯re special? It doesn¡¯t add up.¡± ¡°I know. Why lie to us in the first place? What purpose did that serve?¡± ¡°To see how we¡¯d react under pressure, whether we had it in us to kill.¡± ¡°Possibly. But it makes me wonder what else they might be lying about. Can we trust anything they tell us?¡± ¡°For all we know, this whole Guild could be built on lies. Maybe everything Raz just said to us is a lie. Maybe the Threshing was what we were originally told, maybe it wasn¡¯t. I don¡¯t think it actually matters though. The Threshing, the training, all of it¡ªthey¡¯re just ways to break us down and rebuild us into what they want.¡± Soren glanced around the Vault. ¡°We probably shouldn¡¯t discuss this here. We never know who might be listening. There could be ears in the very walls.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure there¡¯s all sorts of body parts in the walls¡­and under the floor.¡± ¡°You know what I mean.¡± Alaric nodded. ¡°You¡¯re right. We need to be more careful.¡± They lapsed into silence as they returned to their studies. Hours slipped by as Soren and Alaric immersed themselves in the wealth of knowledge contained within the Vault. Soren found himself engrossed in a comprehensive treatise on poisons, his mind reeling at the sheer variety of deadly substances detailed within its pages. ¡°Listen to this,¡± Soren said, breaking the silence. ¡°There¡¯s a poison here derived from a rare sea creature that causes temporary paralysis from the neck down, but leaves the victim fully conscious, still able to feel pain. They¡¯d be aware of everything happening around them, unable to move or speak.¡± Alaric looked up, his lip curling. ¡°That¡¯s terrifying. Imagine being trapped in your own body like that.¡± Soren nodded. ¡°The book says it was once used by pirates to interrogate captives. They could torture them for information without fear of them escaping or fighting back.¡± ¡°Brutal. But I suppose that¡¯s the point, isn¡¯t it? We¡¯re not exactly training to be healers here.¡± Soren turned back to the book, his finger tracing a diagram of the creature. ¡°It¡¯s strange. Part of me is repulsed by all this, but another part...it¡¯s like solving a puzzle. Understanding how these substances work, how they interact with the body, with each other. It¡¯s fascinating in its own way.¡± Alaric gestured to the map spread out before him. ¡°Speaking of pirates, come look at this.¡± He pointed to a detailed chart of ocean currents. ¡°With information like this, you could predict a ship¡¯s course days in advance.¡± Soren leaned over to examine the map. ¡°And combined with those shipping schedules¡ª¡± ¡°You could intercept any vessel, anywhere in the world. It¡¯s not just about the physical skills, is it?¡± ¡°I¡¯m starting to see why all this is here. The more we know, the more options we have, the more effective we can be.¡± As the day wore on, Soren felt his mind expanding, filling with new knowledge and possibilities. The brutality of the Threshing seemed a distant memory in the face of this intellectual challenge. He found himself making connections between disparate fields of study, seeing how knowledge of anatomy could inform the use of poisons, or how understanding architecture could enhance surveillance techniques. The creak of the door startled him. He looked up to see Raz entering. ¡°Well now.¡± Raz surveyed the open books and unrolled maps. ¡°I see you¡¯ve been busy.¡± Soren straightened. ¡°Time got away from us, I¡¯m afraid.¡± Raz waved a hand. ¡°No need to apologise. Curiosity and a thirst for knowledge are virtues in our line of work.¡± He peered at the open texts. ¡°Poisons and navigation, eh? Interesting choices.¡± Alaric shrugged. ¡°Seemed as good a place to start as any.¡± ¡°Indeed.¡± Raz nodded. ¡°And have you found anything of particular interest?¡± ¡°The complexity of it all,¡± Soren said. ¡°I never realised how much... preparation goes into being an assassin.¡± ¡°A contractor.¡± Raz¡¯s eyes glinted. ¡°Many assume our craft is all about the kill. But the true art lies in the planning, the research, the careful orchestration of events.¡± He moved to stand behind them, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. ¡°You¡¯ve taken your first steps into a larger world, but I have no doubt you¡¯ll rise to the challenge.¡± Soren dipped his head. ¡°Thank you.¡± ¡°I think that¡¯s enough study for one day. Return to your quarters and rest. We¡¯ll reconvene here at dawn.¡± As twilight settled over Welttor, Soren sat cross-legged on his bed, a stub of candle casting flickering light across the pages of his sketchbook, charcoal sweeping across the parchment in confident strokes. Images from the anatomy book danced in his mind, informing each line and curve as he sketched. He found himself applying the newfound knowledge to his art, noting how the underlying structure of muscles and bones gave form to the human figure. A familiar face began to emerge from the page¡ªthe weathered features of Master Kurgan taking shape beneath his fingers. He added depth to the eyes, capturing Kurgan¡¯s stern gaze. The strong jaw, the creased brow, the slight downturn of the mouth. Where once he might have focused solely on capturing Kurgan¡¯s likeness, now he found himself noting vulnerable points¡ªthe carotid artery along the neck, the delicate bones of the eye socket. Was this what it meant to become an assassin? To see every face as a potential target, every body as a collection of weaknesses to be exploited? From his own bed, Alaric rolled onto his side, peering at Soren¡¯s work. ¡°What are you drawing? You¡¯ve been at it for ages.¡± Soren hesitated for a moment, then turned the sketchbook to show Alaric. ¡°Master Kurgan.¡± Alaric¡¯s eyebrows rose. ¡°Blimey, that¡¯s good. It¡¯s like he¡¯s staring right at me.¡± He squinted at the drawing. ¡°Though I don¡¯t remember the veins on his neck looking quite so¡­pronounced.¡± Soren glanced back at the sketch and shifted his weight. ¡°Just trying to apply some of what we learned today.¡± Alaric nodded. ¡°Mixing business with pleasure, eh?¡± ¡°Something like that.¡± Soren studied the drawing. ¡°I can¡¯t stop thinking about this morning.¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°I know it was him I saw leaving the Guild. But what was he doing here?¡± Alaric sighed, sitting up and running a hand through his hair. ¡°Soren, we¡¯ve been over this. It wasn¡¯t him.¡± ¡°How can you be so sure? I¡¯d recognise Kurgan¡¯s gait anywhere. The way he holds himself, the slight limp from that old injury¡ªit was him, I¡¯m certain of it.¡± ¡°His gait?¡± Alaric shook his head. ¡°The bloke had his back to us. And we were being hustled along by that bloody attendant. You barely got a glimpse.¡± Soren¡¯s jaw tightened. ¡°I know what I saw, Alaric. Years of studying under Kurgan, watching him move around the workshop. It was him.¡± ¡°Look.¡± Alaric¡¯s tone softened. ¡°I get why you want it to be him. A familiar face, a connection to your old life. But Welttor¡¯s a big city. There¡¯s probably loads of people who walk like that. Old men with bad backs, former soldiers with war wounds¡ªany number of explanations that don¡¯t involve your old master showing up halfway down the country at the headquarters of an assassins¡¯ guild.¡± Soren frowned. ¡°But if it was him, don¡¯t you think that¡¯s important? What business would a sculptor have with the Guild?¡± Alaric swung his legs over the side of the bed, leaning forward. ¡°And what if it was him? What then? You heard what Raz said about discretion. We¡¯re initiates now, Soren. We can¡¯t go sticking our noses where they don¡¯t belong.¡± ¡°So, we just ignore it?¡± ¡°That¡¯s exactly what we do. You¡¯ll drive yourself mad trying to guess at things that aren¡¯t real. It¡¯s best to just forget about it and focus on our training.¡± Soren opened his mouth to argue further, but the look in Alaric¡¯s eyes made him pause. With a sigh, he closed his sketchbook. ¡°Maybe you¡¯re right. It¡¯s just hard to let go of the past sometimes, you know?¡± ¡°I know. But we¡¯re here now, for better or worse. We¡¯ve got to make the best of it. It doesn¡¯t make sense him coming all this way.¡± ¡°Maybe he¡¯s looking for me.¡± ¡°Maybe. Or more likely, it wasn¡¯t him.¡± Soren let out a long sigh. ¡°You¡¯re right. It doesn¡¯t make any sense. I must have been seeing things.¡± ¡°Exactly.¡± Alaric stretched back out on his bed. ¡°You know, being an initiate is way better than being a recruit. More relaxing, isn¡¯t it?¡± Soren nodded. ¡°It has been nice to have time to create again. And I have to admit, today¡¯s study was a welcome change from the brutality of the fortress.¡± Alaric grinned. ¡°No one trying to bash our heads in or have us run over stupid obstacles. Just books and maps. And those tunics! I still can¡¯t get over all those hidden pockets.¡± ¡°The intellectual challenge is stimulating, in a way I didn¡¯t expect. All that knowledge, just waiting to be uncovered. It¡¯s almost exciting.¡± Alaric propped himself up on one elbow. ¡°See? That¡¯s the spirit. Focus on the positives. We¡¯re learning things most people never even dream of. And we¡¯re doing it in relative comfort, I might add. No more freezing our backsides off in drafty barracks.¡± Soren chuckled. ¡°I suppose you have a point there. Though I¡¯m not sure I¡¯d call these beds the height of luxury.¡± ¡°Compared to what we¡¯ve been sleeping on? They might as well be stuffed with eiderdown and unicorn hair.¡± ¡°Still, we shouldn¡¯t get too complacent. This is the Guild, after all. You saw those weapons in the Vault. The poisons, the traps, all of it. We¡¯re not here for a scholarly retreat. We¡¯re being trained to kill.¡± Alaric¡¯s smile faded. ¡°Yeah, I suppose you¡¯re right. Easy to forget what we¡¯re really here for.¡± ¡°We need to stay ready, keep our guard up. For all we know, this could be just another test. See how we handle a bit of comfort, if we let our skills slip.¡± ¡°You really think they¡¯d do that?¡± ¡°After everything we¡¯ve been through? I wouldn¡¯t put anything past them.¡± Soren ran a hand through his hair, suddenly feeling very tired. ¡°We can enjoy the reprieve, but we can¡¯t forget why we¡¯re here or what¡¯s at stake.¡± ¡°Do you ever wonder if we made the right choice? Joining the Guild, I mean.¡± Soren¡¯s gaze drifted to the window, to the darkness beyond. ¡°I¡¯m not sure we ever really had a choice.¡± ¡°I know, but sometimes I think about home, about the life we left behind. Maybe we should have just¡­I don¡¯t know. Found some other way.¡± Soren turned back to his friend. ¡°And what would that other way have been? My father was murdered, Alaric. Your future on the ships was gone. We came here for answers. We can¡¯t lose sight of that, no matter how comfortable things might seem right now.¡± Alaric nodded. ¡°You¡¯re right. It¡¯s just hard sometimes, isn¡¯t it? Knowing what we¡¯re becoming.¡± ¡°It is. But we¡¯re in this together, remember? Whatever happens, whatever they throw at us, we¡¯ve got each other¡¯s backs.¡± ¡°Always.¡± Soren managed a small smile. ¡°Now, we should probably get some rest. Who knows what Raz has in store for us tomorrow?¡± ¡°Probably something horrible and painful, knowing our luck.¡± ¡°Yeah, probably.¡± Soren set his sketchbook aside and blew out the candle, darkness settling over the room. He lay back, staring at the ceiling, his mind still churning. Despite Alaric¡¯s reassurances, he couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that he¡¯d seen Kurgan. And if it was his old master, what did that mean? III. Soren blinked against the sudden brightness as he and Alaric followed Raz onto the rooftop, the morning sun warm on his face. The flat expanse of weathered tiles stretched out before him. A low parapet encircled the roof¡¯s edge, its stone surface worn smooth by countless years of wind and rain. Tightly packed buildings of brick and timber sprawled in all directions, their roofs a patchwork of slate and thatch. Winding streets snaked between them, already bustling with early morning activity. Plumes of smoke rose from workshops and bakeries, carrying with them the scents of fresh bread, molten metal, and the ever-present hint of salt from the sea. Raz produced two monoculars from within his robes, handing one each to Soren and Alaric. ¡°Observe the marketplace. Focus on the grocer¡¯s stall near the fountain.¡± Soren raised the lens to his eye, adjusting the focus until the stall came into sharp relief. ¡°Tell me what you see.¡± ¡°The bloke¡¯s got a big bushy moustache,¡± Alaric said. ¡°And he¡¯s wearing an apron.¡± Raz sniffed. ¡°Not just the obvious, but the details. The things most would overlook.¡± Soren studied the man. ¡°He favours his left leg slightly¡ªan old injury, perhaps. His apron is stained with juice from the berries he¡¯s arranging, but there¡¯s an odd discolouration on his right sleeve that doesn¡¯t match.¡± He paused, noting the man¡¯s interactions with customers. ¡°He¡¯s friendly, smiles often, but there¡¯s a tension in his shoulders. And he keeps glancing towards the alley behind his stall.¡± ¡°Good observations. Alaric, would you care to elaborate?¡± ¡°Er¡­he¡¯s got a lot of apples? And¡­oh, he just shortchanged that old woman.¡± ¡°Look deeper. What else can you discern about him? His habits, his concerns?¡± ¡°Right, well¡­he seems to favour the customers on the left side of his stall. Keeps his back to the right side more often than not.¡± ¡°Better. Now, what might that tell you?¡± ¡°He¡¯s¡­I don¡¯t know. Maybe, he¡¯s protecting something? Hiding something. Hard to say.¡± ¡°Very good. Always consider the motivations behind observed behaviours.¡± Soren nodded. ¡°It¡¯s like with sculpting. You have to take it in the round, not just one aspect.¡± ¡°Indeed. Context is king.¡± Alaric frowned. ¡°Context? Who¡¯s he?¡± Soren lowered his monocular. ¡°It¡¯s the difference between calling someone an idiot with a smile on your face¡ª¡± ¡°Or a knife in their hands,¡± Raz cut in. Alaric nodded. ¡°I get it. You can¡¯t just look at a gust of wind and decide to change course. You have to consider everything¡ªthe way the clouds are stacking on the horizon, the sudden quiet of the gulls, how the swells are moving under the hull. A single dark cloud doesn¡¯t mean a storm, but when the air gets heavy and the sunrises turn red, you know rough weather¡¯s brewing.¡± Raz gave a slight smile. ¡°Precisely. Understanding the bigger picture¡ªthe context¡ª leads to wiser decisions.¡± He gestured towards the market square. ¡°Notice how the woman in the blue dress keeps adjusting her necklace. What might that tell you?¡± Soren focused on the figure, watching as she touched the pendant at her throat. ¡°She looks nervous about something.¡± ¡°Or it¡¯s new, and she¡¯s not used to wearing it yet,¡± Alaric said. ¡°Just guessing though, isn¡¯t it?¡± ¡°It is,¡± Raz said. ¡°But watch how she interacts with others.¡± Soren observed as the woman approached various stalls. With most vendors, she seemed relaxed, her gestures open. But when she neared the grocer¡¯s stall, her posture stiffened. ¡°She seems wary of the grocer.¡± Alaric sniffed. ¡°Still doesn¡¯t tell us why though.¡± ¡°Keep watching,¡± Raz said. ¡°Look for patterns. Remember, our main focus is the grocer.¡± Soren found himself slipping into a sort of trance. The marketplace became a living puzzle, each person a piece with their own shape and purpose. He watched as a wiry merchant haggled with a fishmonger, noting how the merchant¡¯s left eye twitched each time he made a counteroffer. He observed a group of children playing near the fountain, their seemingly random movements revealing a complex game with unspoken rules. But always, his attention returned to the grocer¡¯s stall. The man¡¯s friendly demeanour never wavered, his bushy moustache bouncing as he laughed with customers. Yet Soren began to notice the way the grocer¡¯s eyes darted to the alley behind his stall every few minutes, the slight hesitation before he reached for certain crates of produce, the tension in his shoulders that never quite eased, even in quieter moments. ¡°What do you see now?¡± Raz asked. Soren blinked, realising he¡¯d been staring through the lens for Creation knew how long. ¡°The grocer¡¯s not what he seems. There¡¯s a pattern to his customers. Most are ordinary folk buying fruit and veg. But every so often, someone approaches. They carry themselves differently.¡± Raz cocked an eyebrow. ¡°Differently, how?¡± ¡°They just seem, I don¡¯t know. More purposeful, I guess.¡± Raz nodded. ¡°Go on.¡± ¡°When these people come, the grocer changes too. It¡¯s subtle, but, it¡¯s like his smile becomes fixed, like he¡¯s holding a pose. He glances around more. No coin is exchanged. But the grocer hands a small package over.¡± ¡°Maybe they¡¯re just friends?¡± Alaric said. ¡°I¡¯d always come to see you at the workshop.¡± Soren shook his head. ¡°No, it¡¯s more than that. Look at how they leave. And the grocer always seems more relaxed after these exchanges, like a weight¡¯s been lifted.¡± He turned to Raz. ¡°He¡¯s involved in something illicit, isn¡¯t he? Probably smuggling. Those ¡®special¡¯ customers¡ªthey¡¯re not there for fruit.¡± ¡°An astute deduction. What led you to that conclusion?¡± ¡°Did you see how he tensed when that city watchman walked by?¡± Raz nodded, his expression neutral. ¡°Go on.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not just that. Watch the next ¡®special¡¯ customer. See how they approach?¡± As if on cue, a well-dressed woman sauntered up to the stall. ¡°There.¡± Soren pointed. ¡°She¡¯s pretending to examine the apples, but she¡¯s not even looking at the fruit.¡± Alaric squinted through his own lens. ¡°Yeah, I see it. She looks nervous.¡± ¡°Exactly, Now watch the grocer.¡± The woman leaned in, whispering something. The grocer shifted. ¡°Did you catch that?¡± Soren asked. ¡°The way he tapped his fingers on the crate? Three short, two long. It¡¯s a code. It has to be.¡± ¡°Intriguing,¡± Raz said. ¡°What else?¡± ¡°His sleeve.¡± Alaric shook his head. ¡°His sleeve?¡± ¡°The stain. It¡¯s not from any fruit I¡¯ve ever seen. Could be ink, maybe? For marking packages or keeping records.¡±If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. Alaric frowned, focusing on the grocer. His eyes widened. ¡°Wait a minute. Look at what he¡¯s handing to that woman. It¡¯s not fruit.¡± Raz leaned in. ¡°What do you see?¡± Alaric squinted, his brow furrowing. ¡°Hang on¡­wait. It¡¯s some kind of fish¡± ¡°A fish?¡± A deep line set on Soren¡¯s brow. ¡°Why in the void would a greengrocer be selling fish?¡± ¡°Not just any fish.¡± Alaric gasped. ¡°By Creation, that¡¯s a dreameel. I¡¯ve only seen one once, when I was out with the fishing fleet.¡± ¡°A dreameel?¡± Raz pushed out his bottom lip. ¡°Tell us more, Alaric.¡± Alaric lowered his monocular, his face grim. ¡°They¡¯re rare, and they secrete this inky substance. Touching it can send you into a living dream, apparently.¡± Soren¡¯s gaze snapped back to the grocer, zeroing in on his sleeve. ¡°So that stain could be from the eel¡¯s secretion.¡± Alaric nodded. ¡°That stuff stains like nothing else. And it explains why he¡¯s so jumpy around the city watch.¡± Raz looked between them. ¡°So, what¡¯s your conclusion?¡± Soren took a deep breath. ¡°The grocer is running a smuggling operation. Dreameels sold to Creation knows how many customers. The coded exchanges, the hidden transactions¡ªit all fits.¡± Alaric let out a low whistle. ¡°A simple greengrocer, at the centre of a drug smuggling ring. Who would¡¯ve thought?¡± Raz raised a finger. ¡°An excellent deduction, but there¡¯s still a missing piece. What are we overlooking?¡± Soren frowned, reviewing the evidence in his mind. He turned to Alaric. ¡°Any ideas?¡± ¡°Nothing.¡± Soren swept his gaze across the marketplace, his focus lingering on the alley. ¡°We haven¡¯t seen any money change hands between the customers and the grocer.¡± Alaric scratched his chin. ¡°Maybe that¡¯s deliberate. If he¡¯s not technically selling them, it¡¯d be a lesser offense for the Magistrates, right?¡± ¡°True,¡± Raz said, ¡°but it doesn¡¯t explain the full picture. What do you suggest, Soren?¡± ¡°I think we should watch the alley more closely. I bet there¡¯s more going on there than we¡¯ve seen.¡± After a few minutes of observation, a man emerged, making his way towards the grocer¡¯s stall. ¡°There,¡± Soren said. ¡°Did you see that? A flash of light from the alley, just for a moment.¡± ¡°Reflection off something metal, maybe?¡± ¡°It¡¯s got to be an accomplice. Someone who handles the money, keeping it separate from the grocer and the goods.¡± He watched as the customer approached the stall. This time, Soren noticed a subtle interaction he¡¯d missed before. The customer tapped a specific pattern on the counter, which the grocer responded to with his own series of taps. ¡°The tapping must confirm the payment¡¯s been made.¡± Alaric nodded. ¡°I think you¡¯re right.¡± The grocer handed over a small package. Raz clapped his hands together. ¡°Excellent work, both of you. You¡¯ve unravelled a complex operation layer by layer. This is the level of observation and deduction that sets true contractors apart.¡± Alaric let out a low whistle. ¡°Who knew there¡¯d be so much going on in a simple marketplace? Makes you wonder what else is happening right under our noses.¡± ¡°Indeed,¡± Raz said. ¡°The world is full of secrets, initiates. Your job is to uncover them, and when necessary, to use that knowledge. Remember, information is often the deadliest weapon a contractor possesses.¡± As they prepared to leave the rooftop, Soren cast one last glance at the marketplace below. ¡°What should we do about the grocer?¡± Soren asked. Raz stopped and turned to him. ¡°It¡¯s not really my concern. And nor should it be yours.¡± ¡°My father always said justice is all of our concerns.¡± Raz shrugged. ¡°A na?ve perspective, I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll agree.¡± Soren narrowed his eyes. ¡°My father was a good man. He didn¡¯t do anything¡ª¡± ¡°Again, that is not my concern.¡± Alaric glanced between them. ¡°Everything alright?¡± ¡°Quite,¡± Raz said. ¡°I simply need to discuss something with Soren in private. Why don¡¯t you head back to your quarters? We¡¯ll join you shortly.¡± Once Alaric had departed, Raz turned to Soren, his expression unreadable. ¡°You showed remarkable aptitude today, Soren. Your ability to synthesise information, to see patterns where others might not is a rare gift.¡± Soren shifted under Raz¡¯s intense gaze. ¡°Thank you, sir. I¡¯m just trying my best to learn.¡± ¡°Indeed.¡± Raz stroked his chin. ¡°Tell me, have you given any more thought to why you were chosen for the Threshing?¡± Soren¡¯s brow furrowed. ¡°I¡¯m not sure. You said our talents had been uncovered, but¡­¡± ¡°But you don¡¯t know what those talents might be. Consider today¡¯s lesson. The ease with which you grasped concepts that take most apprentices weeks to master.¡± ¡°What are you saying?¡± Raz¡¯s eyes glinted. ¡°I¡¯m saying, Soren, that you may possess abilities beyond the ordinary. Abilities the Guild finds extremely valuable.¡± Soren¡¯s mind raced. ¡°But what does that mean for me? For my training?¡± ¡°It means.¡± Raz placed a hand on Soren¡¯s shoulder. ¡°That your path may diverge from Alaric¡¯s sooner than you might expect. The Guild has plans for you, Soren.¡± Soren¡¯s throat tightened. The thought of leaving Alaric behind, of facing this new world alone, sent a spike of fear through him. ¡°We wouldn¡¯t have recognised the dreameels without him.¡± ¡°A minor detail.¡± Raz¡¯s grip tightened. ¡°The time is coming, Soren. You would do well to prepare yourself.¡± The evening shadows lengthened across the room as Soren sat cross-legged on his bed, sketchbook balanced on his knees. The events of the day played through his mind as his charcoal swept across the page, bringing to life the scenes they¡¯d witnessed from the rooftop. He paused, studying the half-finished portrait of the grocer taking shape before him. The man¡¯s bushy moustache and friendly smile were there, but something was missing. Soren frowned and glanced over at Alaric. ¡°What exactly do dreameels look like? Up close, I mean?¡± Alaric looked up from the text he¡¯d been poring over. ¡°Why¡¯s that?¡± Soren shrugged, gesturing to his sketch. ¡°I¡¯m trying to draw what we saw today, but I didn¡¯t get a look at one. Thought it might help to add it to the composition.¡± Alaric set his book down and sat beside Soren on the bed. He peered at the sketch. ¡°You¡¯ve got the grocer down, I¡¯ll give you that. As for the dreameel...¡± He closed his eyes for a moment. ¡°They¡¯re not like normal eels, that¡¯s for sure. Longer, for one thing, and thinner. About half the length of your arm, but no thicker than your thumb at the widest part.¡± Soren¡¯s charcoal hovered over the page as he listened. ¡°The head is narrow, almost arrow-shaped. And the eyes¡­Creation, the eyes are something else. Big and round, taking up most of the head, and they seem to glow faintly in the dark. A sort of pale blue.¡± As Alaric spoke, Soren¡¯s hand moved across the paper, quick, sure strokes forming the eel¡¯s sinuous body. ¡°Its skin¡¯s not scaly like most fish. It¡¯s smooth, almost velvety looking, and it shimmers. Not like fish scales catching the light, but more¡­well, more like the surface of a soap bubble, you know? All swirling colours that never quite settle.¡± Soren nodded, his charcoal dancing across the page as he tried to capture the qualities Alaric described. ¡°And then there are the patterns. Swirling all along its body. They¡¯re faint. But when the eel is agitated, or when it¡¯s secreting, the patterns light up. It¡¯s like watching lightning shoot across its skin.¡± Soren¡¯s hand moved faster now, adding intricate details to the eel¡¯s form. He paused only to switch to a softer charcoal, using it to add depth and shading to the creature¡¯s undulating body. The dreameel seemed to writhe on the page. Alaric whistled. ¡°That¡¯s exactly it. It¡¯s like you¡¯ve pulled the image straight out of my head.¡± Soren sat back, studying his work with a critical eye. ¡°I¡¯ve not quite captured that shimmering quality you described.¡± ¡°Are you joking?¡± Alaric shook his head. ¡°It looks like it could slither right off the page. I¡¯ve seen the real thing up close, remember? Trust me, this is what it looks like.¡± Soren closed the sketchbook, setting it aside. ¡°So, are you going to tell me what happened with Raz after I left? I thought you were this close to shoving him off the roof.¡± Soren sighed, running a hand through his hair. ¡°Bet he gave you a right earful, huh?¡± ¡°Not exactly. Things¡­I don¡¯t know. I thought¡­I don¡¯t know what I thought.¡± Alaric settled back against the wall, his eyes fixed on Soren. ¡°Well, that was clear as dishwater.¡± Soren took a deep breath. ¡°Raz¡­he thinks I have some kind of special talent. Something the Guild is particularly interested in.¡± Alaric snorted. ¡°Well, yeah. Anyone could see you picked things up faster today. You spotted things I missed entirely.¡± ¡°Raz said it might mean our training takes different paths. Eventually.¡± After a long silence, Alaric nodded. ¡°Different paths. What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡± Soren spread his hands. ¡°I don¡¯t know, exactly. He said I should be prepared.¡± ¡°Prepared for what?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know. Changes, I guess.¡± Alaric got up and started pacing the room. His footsteps echoed in the confined space. ¡°You don¡¯t really hear about assassin duos, do you?¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± Alaric stopped. ¡°Don¡¯t you see? The Guild won¡¯t want us working as a pair. It¡¯s solo work, isn¡¯t it?¡± ¡°But we¡¯re stronger together. I told him that you were the one who figured out the eel stuff.¡± ¡°How come he didn¡¯t take me aside to offer his little pearls of wisdom, huh?¡± ¡°Believe me, I don¡¯t like it any more than you do.¡± Alaric whirled on him. ¡°Don¡¯t you? Because it sounds like you¡¯re being groomed for something special. Maybe you¡¯ll be too important for the likes of me soon enough.¡± Soren recoiled, stunned by the bitterness in Alaric¡¯s voice. ¡°How can you say that? After everything we¡¯ve been through?¡± Alaric sagged against the wall. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± He looked up at Soren, his eyes glistening. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean that. It¡¯s just¡­what am I supposed to do if they take you away?¡± Soren stood, crossing the room to grip Alaric¡¯s shoulders. ¡°Listen to me. No matter what happens, no matter where they send us, we¡¯re in this together. You hear me? Together.¡± Alaric met his gaze. After a long moment, he nodded, some of the tension easing from his frame. ¡°Yeah. Yeah, alright.¡± Soren stepped back, his brow furrowing. ¡°Wait a minute. Something doesn¡¯t add up here.¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°Think about it. Why would Raz tell me this in private? Why try to separate us?¡± Soren¡¯s brow furrowed. ¡°What if¡­what if this is just another test?¡± Alaric straightened. ¡°You think he¡¯s trying to drive a wedge between us?¡± Soren nodded. ¡°It¡¯s exactly the kind of mind game the Guild would play. They¡¯ve been breaking us down physically and mentally since day one. Why stop now?¡± ¡°Damn.¡± Alaric puffed out a breath. ¡°We¡¯re playing right into their hands, aren¡¯t we?¡± ¡°We can¡¯t let them manipulate us like this. We¡¯ve survived this far because we¡¯ve had each other¡¯s backs. Why would they want to change that?¡± Alaric rubbed his chin. ¡°You¡¯re right. They¡¯re testing our loyalty, our resolve.¡± ¡°Exactly. They want to see if we¡¯ll turn on each other at the first sign of favouritism or separation.¡± Alaric grinned. ¡°But we¡¯re smarter than that.¡± ¡°We can¡¯t let doubts and paranoia become weapons they use against us. We have to be tougher than that.¡± ¡°And who says contractors have to work alone anyway? We come as a pair. We support each other, fill in each other¡¯s gaps.¡± ¡°Right! Think about today. I spotted the patterns, but you knew about the dreameels. Together, we solved the puzzle faster than either of us could have alone.¡± Alaric¡¯s eyes lit up. ¡°We¡¯re more than the sum of our parts. That¡¯s got to be valuable to the Guild.¡± ¡°Exactly. They must have seen that potential in us from the beginning. Why else would they keep us together through the Threshing and beyond?¡± ¡°They wouldn¡¯t waste resources training us together if they didn¡¯t see value in our partnership.¡± Soren gripped Alaric¡¯s shoulder. ¡°So we stick together. No matter what they throw at us, no matter what mind games they play. We¡¯re a team.¡± Alaric nodded, clasping Soren¡¯s arm. ¡°A team. To the bitter end.¡± IV. The early morning sun cast long shadows across Welttor¡¯s docks as Soren and Alaric stood in a narrow alleyway with Raz. The air hummed with the aromas of saltwater and fish, mingling with the scents of spices from far-off lands. Sailors hauled cargo, traders haggled over prices, and street vendors called out their wares in singsong voices. Raz swept his gaze over the crowded streets before settling on his two initiates. ¡°Today¡¯s lesson, is about the art of subtlety.¡± Alaric raised an eyebrow. ¡°Subtle assassins? And here I thought we were learning to charge in, swords swinging.¡± Raz¡¯s glare silenced him. ¡°Your wit may serve you well in some situations, Alaric, but not here. Subtlety is the very essence of our craft.¡± Soren nodded. ¡°It¡¯s about blending in, right? Becoming part of the background?¡± ¡°Partly. But true subtlety goes beyond mere appearance. It¡¯s about behaviour, awareness, the ability to move through a crowd without leaving so much as a ripple in your wake.¡± He gestured to the throng of people before them. ¡°Observe how they move, how they interact. Each person here has a purpose, a destination. To blend in, you must appear to have the same.¡± Alaric scratched his chin. ¡°So, we¡¯re learning the subtle art of subtlety?¡± Raz¡¯s eyes narrowed, and Alaric¡¯s smirk faded. ¡°This is no laughing matter. The skills you learn today could mean the difference between success and failure, between life and death.¡± Soren and Alaric exchanged a glance. ¡°Your task is simple. Make your way to the end of the central pier without drawing attention to yourselves.¡± Soren opened his mouth to ask a question, but Raz had melted into the crowd. Alaric shrugged a shoulder. ¡°I guess that¡¯s our cue.¡± Soren took a deep breath, surveying the drift of people before them. ¡°Right. Subtle. We can do subtle.¡± Sweat beaded on his brow as he stepped from the alleyway. He hunched his shoulders, trying to make himself as small as possible. Rough stone scraped against his back as he pressed himself against the nearest building, inching along the wall. His eyes darted from person to person, searching for any sign that he¡¯d been noticed. A gap opened in the flow of pedestrians, and Soren darted forward, slipping behind a stack of crates. From his new vantage point, Soren spotted Alaric struggling to navigate the crowd. Alaric tried to weave between two merchants deep in conversation, but his elbow caught the sleeve of one, nearly upending the man¡¯s basket of fish. The merchant shot him a glare before turning back to his companion. Soren waited for a group of dockworkers to pass, then darted to Alaric¡¯s side, pulling him into a doorway. ¡°This isn¡¯t working,¡± Alaric said. ¡°I feel like every eye is on us.¡± Soren scanned the crowd. An old woman selling cockles narrowed her eyes at him. ¡°You¡¯re right. We need to¡ª¡± His words were cut short as a burly man shouldered past them, nearly knocking Soren off his feet. He stumbled, grabbing Alaric¡¯s arm to steady himself. Soren¡¯s cheeks burned. So much for being subtle. He could almost feel Raz¡¯s disappointment radiating through the crowd. His mind raced. There had to be a better way to blend in, to become part of the background. But what? ¡°Come on.¡± He straightened up, trying to adopt a more natural posture. ¡°Let¡¯s try something different.¡± Alaric cocked an eyebrow. ¡°You don¡¯t say.¡± Soren glanced back at his friend, realising how conspicuous they must look¡ªtwo young men skulking along the walls, trying to avoid contact with anyone. ¡°We¡¯re going about this all wrong. We need to blend in, not hide.¡± Soren carried on, adjusting his pace, and trying to match the flow of the crowd towards the pier. A group of street performers had set up near a busy intersection, juggling flaming torches and performing acrobatic feats. A crowd gathered to watch, creating a bottleneck that forced Soren and Alaric to push their way through. Bodies pressed against him from all sides. ¡°This is ridiculous,¡± Alaric said. ¡°How are we supposed to be subtle when we can barely move?¡± ¡°Patience. Remember what Raz said about having a purpose? Let¡¯s try to look like we belong here.¡± Soren pushed on, adopting the purposeful stride of a man with somewhere to be. ¡°You there!¡± a man called, his arms laden with strings of colourful beads. ¡°Fine gentlemen like yourselves surely need some jewellery for your ladies, eh? Best prices in all of Welttor!¡± Soren tried to wave him off, but the vendor thrust a handful of beads towards them, nearly hitting Soren in the face. ¡°Come now, don¡¯t be shy! These will make your sweethearts swoon!¡± ¡°No, thank you.¡± Soren stepped back, trying to avoid the vendor, but his heel caught on an uneven cobblestone. He stumbled, his flailing hand striking the vendor¡¯s outstretched arm. Hundreds of colourful beads clattered to the ground, bouncing, and skittering in all directions. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry!¡± Soren dropped to his knees and scrambled to gather the scattered beads. ¡°Please, let me help.¡± As he lunged for a string of red beads, he knocked into a woman carrying a basket of bread. She yelped, nearly losing her grip on her wares. ¡°Watch it, you clumsy oaf!¡± Soren mumbled another apology Laughter rippled through the gathered spectators. Alaric crouched beside him, trying to help gather the beads. He managed to scoop up a handful, only to have them slip through his fingers and scatter once more. A fresh wave of laughter erupted from the crowd. ¡°Do you have any idea how long it takes to string these?¡± The vendor asked. ¡°Weeks of work, ruined!¡± As Soren continued to gather the beads, he caught sight of Raz standing at the edge of the crowd, arms folded. When Soren glanced up again, Raz was gone. How could he ever hope to become an effective assassin if he couldn¡¯t even navigate a simple dockside market without causing a scene? Soren¡¯s cheeks burned as he handed over a fistful of coins to the bead seller. He kept his eyes downcast, unable to meet the amused gazes of the onlookers. ¡°We should keep moving.¡± Soren pushed his way through the crowd, his ears ringing with the echoes of laughter. He could feel eyes following them as they retreated, and it took all he had not to break into a run. As they put distance between themselves and the bead vendor, Soren¡¯s mind raced. How could he have bungled things so badly? Every move he¡¯d made had only drawn more attention. ¡°Well,¡± Alaric said as they turned onto a less crowded street, ¡°I think it¡¯s safe to say we¡¯ve failed spectacularly.¡± Soren nodded. ¡°Raz is going to be furious. We couldn¡¯t have drawn more attention to ourselves if we¡¯d tried.¡± The crowds thinned as they neared the waterfront, the cries of seagulls growing louder. The salty tang of the sea filled Soren¡¯s nostrils. As they reached the edge of the docks, Soren¡¯s eyes were drawn to a familiar silhouette in the harbour. His breath caught in his throat. ¡°Look.¡± Alaric followed his gaze, his face paling as he spotted the ship where they had undergone the Threshing. ¡°What¡¯s it doing here?¡± Soren shook his head, unable to tear his eyes away from the ship. ¡°I don¡¯t know. You don¡¯t think¡­¡± He couldn¡¯t finish the thought. ¡°They wouldn¡¯t do that again, would they?¡± Alaric¡¯s hands began to shake. A sheen of sweat glistened on his brow. ¡°I don¡¯t think I can go through that again.¡± Soren wanted to reassure him, but the words stuck in his throat. The truth was, he didn¡¯t know. The Guild had already proven itself capable of unimaginable cruelty. Who was to say they wouldn¡¯t subject them to another Threshing? ¡°We¡¯re initiates now,¡± Soren said. ¡°We¡¯ve already proven ourselves. There¡¯s no need for another Threshing.¡± But even as he said it, doubt gnawed at him. What if their failure today had disappointed Raz so much that he¡¯d decided they needed to be tested again? What if all their training up to this point had just been preparation for an even more brutal trial? Alaric¡¯s breathing had grown rapid and shallow, his eyes fixed on the ship. ¡°Hey.¡± Soren placed a hand on Alaric¡¯s arm. ¡°Look at me. We¡¯re completely fine. We¡¯re not on that ship. We¡¯re here, on solid ground.¡±If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Alaric blinked, seeming to come back to himself a little. He nodded, though his eyes kept darting back to the ship. ¡°Come on.¡± Soren steered Alaric towards the central pier. ¡°Let¡¯s finish what we came here to do. We can worry about that later.¡± As they walked along the pier, the ship loomed in his peripheral vision, a dark reminder of what they¡¯d endured¡ªand what they might face again. They reached the end of the pier without incident, but any sense of accomplishment was overshadowed by the uncertainty churning in Soren¡¯s gut. He found himself scanning the crowds, searching for Raz¡¯s familiar figure, dreading what their instructor might say. ¡°Now what?¡± Alaric asked. Soren shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t know. We wait, I guess. And hope that ship isn¡¯t here for us.¡± Alaric shuddered. ¡°I can¡¯t go through that again. I can¡¯t¡­¡± ¡°Me neither.¡± He glanced at the ship and then searched around for signs of Raz. ¡°I wonder where he is?¡± Alaric shrugged, leaning against a mooring post. ¡°Maybe he¡¯s giving us time to reflect on our failures.¡± ¡°You know.¡± Soren tore his gaze away from the ship. ¡°I think we might have been approaching this all wrong.¡± Alaric raised an eyebrow. ¡°How do you mean?¡± ¡°Well, think about it. We were so focused on trying to be invisible that we ended up sticking out like sore thumbs. Real subtlety isn¡¯t about hiding¡ªit¡¯s about fitting in.¡± Alaric nodded. ¡°I see what you¡¯re getting at. If we¡¯d just acted normal, no one would have given us a second glance.¡± ¡°Exactly. Instead, we were so tense and hyperaware that we drew attention to ourselves.¡± As they continued to dissect their mistakes, Soren felt a presence behind him. He turned to find Raz standing there, his expression unreadable. ¡°Well? What have you learned?¡± Soren took a deep breath. ¡°That true subtlety isn¡¯t about skulking in shadows or trying to be invisible. It¡¯s about understanding your environment and adapting to it.¡± Alaric nodded. ¡°We should have been focusing on blending in, not hiding. Acting natural instead of¡­well, acting like we were trying not to be noticed.¡± Raz looked between them. ¡°Go on.¡± Soren glanced down at his feet. ¡°We probably would have attracted less attention if we¡¯d separated and taken different routes.¡± ¡°Very good. You may have failed in the execution, but you¡¯ve grasped the underlying principles. That¡¯s a start.¡± Soren and Alaric exchanged a glance. ¡°However.¡± Raz¡¯s voice hardened. ¡°Understanding is only the first step. You must learn to apply these lessons instinctively, without thought. Until then, you are not ready for field work.¡± Soren nodded. ¡°We understand. We¡¯ll do better next time.¡± ¡°See that you do.¡± Soren¡¯s gaze drifted back to the ship. Taking a deep breath, he turned to Raz. ¡°Why is that ship here?¡± Raz¡¯s expression remained neutral. ¡°The Guild has many operations, Soren. Not all of them concern you.¡± ¡°Is there to be another Threshing?¡± Raz¡¯s eyes narrowed, but he nodded. ¡°Indeed. The Guild is always seeking new talent.¡± Soren swallowed hard. ¡°Will we¡­will we have to take part again?¡± Raz laughed. ¡°You¡¯ve already proven yourselves, have you not?¡± ¡°That¡¯s not an answer. Please, just tell us clearly.¡± Raz studied him for a moment. ¡°The Threshing is for recruits. You are initiates now.¡± Relief flooded through Soren, but he¡¯d learned not to take anything at face value with the Guild. ¡°I¡¯m glad to see you being more assertive, Soren,¡± Raz said. ¡°It¡¯s how to get what you want in this life.¡± Something clicked in Soren¡¯s mind. He took a deep breath, steeling himself. ¡°In that case, I want to know who hired you to kill my father.¡± ¡°You¡¯re asking the wrong questions, Soren.¡± He turned to leave. ¡°No!¡± Soren moved to block his path. ¡°I will find out. One way or another.¡± Raz¡¯s eyes flashed. ¡°Take care, initiate. Making enemies of the Guild would be unwise.¡± Alaric stepped forward, placing a hand on Soren¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Let it go, Sor.¡± He turned to Raz. ¡°What¡¯s next for us, then?¡± Raz¡¯s posture relaxed. ¡°Return to the Vault. I¡¯ve set out some texts on infiltration you should study.¡± Before either of them could argue, Raz melted into the crowd, leaving Soren and Alaric alone on the pier. Soren clenched his fists. ¡°Come on,¡± Alaric said. ¡°We¡¯d better get back to the Vault.¡± Soren scanned the yellowed pages of the ancient tome before him. The Vault¡¯s musty air filled his nostrils as he leaned in closer. ¡°Listen to this.¡± He glanced at Alaric across the table. ¡°¡®The key to successful infiltration lies not in stealth alone, but in the art of belonging. An infiltrator must become so seamlessly integrated into their environment that their presence raises no suspicion.¡¯¡± Alaric nodded, his own book open before him. ¡°Makes sense. Like what Raz was trying to teach us at the docks.¡± ¡°It¡¯s about understanding the rhythm of a place, the way people move and interact.¡± ¡°Here¡¯s something interesting.¡± Alaric tapped his page. ¡°It says that one of the best covers for infiltration is to take on the role of a servant, or worker. People tend to overlook those they consider beneath them.¡± Soren pushed out his bottom lip. ¡°I can see that. No one pays attention to the person cleaning the floors or serving the food. You could gather all sorts of information that way.¡± He set down his quill with a sigh. ¡°What is it?¡± Soren ran a hand through his hair. ¡°It¡¯s my father. I need to know¡­¡± Alaric closed his book. ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking about that. What if¡­what if he was telling the truth when he said you were asking the wrong question?¡± Soren frowned. ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°Well, we¡¯ve been assuming all along that Raz was hired to kill your father. But what if it wasn¡¯t like that at all? What if there wasn¡¯t a contract in the usual sense?¡± Soren had been so fixated on finding out who had hired Raz that he hadn¡¯t considered other possibilities. ¡°Go on.¡± Alaric leaned in. ¡°What if your father somehow angered the Guild? Maybe it wasn¡¯t a contract at all, but some kind of¡­ I don¡¯t know, retribution?¡± Soren shook his head. ¡°But what would a fisherman have to do with the Guild? It doesn¡¯t make sense.¡± ¡°I know, I know.¡± Alaric held up his hands. ¡°But maybe it¡¯s not what we¡¯ve been thinking all this time. Maybe there¡¯s more to the story than we realise.¡± ¡°What if¡­what if it has something to do with Master Kurgan?¡± ¡°Sor, we¡¯ve been over this. It wasn¡¯t him you saw.¡± ¡°But I know it was. What if he¡¯s somehow involved in all this?¡± Alaric leaned back. ¡°Do you really believe Kurgan would hire an assassin to kill your father? Think about it, Sor. Does that make any sense at all?¡± Soren opened his mouth to argue, but the words died on his lips. When he put it like that, it did sound far-fetched. ¡°Look, we¡¯ve both been through a lot. The Threshing...it messed with our heads in ways we probably don¡¯t even fully understand yet. Isn¡¯t it possible that when you thought you saw Kurgan, you were still dazed from everything that had happened?¡± Soren wanted to deny it, to insist that he knew what he¡¯d seen. Had Kurgan really been at the Guild, or was it just his mind playing tricks on him? A shadow fell across their table. Soren looked up to see Raz standing over them. ¡°I trust you¡¯re finding the texts enlightening?¡± Soren closed the book in front of him.. ¡°Yes, very much so. There¡¯s a lot to take in.¡± Raz nodded. ¡°Good. Understanding these principles will be crucial for your future assignments.¡± He paused, his gaze lingering on Soren. ¡°Remember, a contractor¡¯s mind must be as sharp as their blade. Don¡¯t let yourself become distracted by¡­irrelevant matters.¡± The warning in Raz¡¯s tone was clear. Goosebumps ran across his arms, but he forced himself to meet Raz¡¯s eyes. ¡°Of course. We¡¯re here to learn, after all.¡± ¡°Indeed you are.¡± Raz¡¯s lips curved into a smile that didn¡¯t reach his eyes. ¡°But remember, practical application is just as important as theoretical knowledge.¡± ¡°I understand.¡± ¡°Speaking of which.¡± Raz raised a finger and moved deeper into the Vault, returning a few moments later with a sack. He set the sack on the table with a metallic clank and loosened the drawstring, revealing dozens of locks of various sizes and designs. ¡°Lockpicking is an essential skill for any contractor. It can mean the difference between success and failure on a mission.¡± The locks ranged from simple padlocks to complex mechanisms with multiple cylinders. Raz selected a basic padlock and held it up. ¡°We¡¯ll start with something simple. The key to lockpicking is understanding how locks work.¡± He produced a set of slender tools from his pocket. ¡°These are your picks and tension wrench. The tension wrench applies pressure to turn the lock cylinder, while the pick manipulates the pins inside.¡± Soren watched intently as Raz demonstrated. ¡°First, insert the tension wrench into the keyway and apply light pressure. This simulates turning a key. Now, take your pick and feel for the pins inside. Each pin needs to be lifted to the correct height for the lock to open.¡± With deft movements, Raz manipulated the lock. Something clicked and the shackle popped open. ¡°Your turn.¡± Raz handed each of them a lock and a set of tools. Soren took the lock and inserted the tension wrench, trying to replicate Raz¡¯s movements. ¡°Gently,¡± Raz said. ¡°Too much pressure will bind the pins.¡± Soren inserted the pick and probed inside the lock, but couldn¡¯t differentiate between the pins and the lock¡¯s internal mechanism. ¡°I can¡¯t feel anything.¡± ¡°It takes time to develop the necessary touch. Try closing your eyes and focusing solely on the sensations in your fingertips.¡± With his eyes closed, Soren found he could better concentrate on the subtle feedback from the pick, the slight give as it encountered a pin. ¡°That¡¯s it. Now, apply gentle upward pressure until you feel the pin set.¡± Soren lifted the pin. A faint click came as it set into place. ¡°Good. Now find the next pin.¡± Beside him, Alaric grunted in frustration. ¡°I think I¡¯m just jamming everything up.¡± ¡°Relax your grip. Let the pick do the work. You¡¯re not forcing the lock open; you¡¯re finessing it.¡± Soren continued working on his lock, finding and setting each pin in turn. Just as he thought he had them all, the tension wrench slipped, and he felt the pins drop back into place. ¡°Damn it.¡± ¡°That¡¯s normal,¡± Raz said. ¡°The cylinder can spring back if you lose tension. Start again.¡± Soren repositioned the tension wrench and began once more. This time, he maintained steady pressure as he worked the pins. Something clicked and the lock opened. ¡°I did it!¡± ¡°Well done. Now try it again, faster this time.¡± As Soren reset his lock, Alaric let out a triumphant whoop. ¡°Got it!¡± ¡°Excellent,¡± Raz said. ¡°Both of you seem to have a natural aptitude for this. Let¡¯s move on to something more challenging.¡± He selected two more locks. ¡°These have security pins. They¡¯re designed to give a false set, tricking you into thinking you¡¯ve opened the lock when you haven¡¯t.¡± Soren took the new lock and began working on it. ¡°I think I¡¯ve got it.¡± But when he tried to turn the cylinder, it remained closed. ¡°You¡¯ve hit a false set,¡± Raz said. ¡°One or more of the pins are caught on a lip. You need to apply slightly more pressure and finesse them into place.¡± Soren frowned as he adjusted his technique. He could feel how some pins seemed to catch as he lifted them. With careful manoeuvring, he managed to coax each pin into its proper position. The lock sprang open. ¡°You¡¯re picking this up quickly.¡± ¡°Ha! ¡®Picking.¡¯ I get it.¡± Raz glared at Alaric. ¡°I did not make a joke.¡± Alaric smirked. ¡°Still funny though.¡± Soren shook his head. ¡°It¡¯s not that funny.¡± They continued working on the locks for a while, Soren¡¯s confidence growing with each syccess. Alaric muttered curses to himself. ¡°I can¡¯t tell if I¡¯m hitting security pins, or just messing it up.¡± ¡°Here.¡± Raz moved to Alaric¡¯s side. ¡°Feel how the pin seems to stick slightly? That¡¯s the security pin catching. You need to apply just a bit more pressure, then ease off as you set it.¡± Under Raz¡¯s guidance, Alaric soon had his lock open as well. Over the next hour or so, Raz introduced them to increasingly complex locks. There were locks with multiple cylinders, locks with rotating discs instead of pins, and even a few with magnetic mechanisms. Soren found himself engrossed in the challenge. Each new lock was a puzzle to solve, requiring a combination of touch, hearing, and intuition. He discovered he had a knack for visualising their internal workings. Alaric, while not quite as quick as Soren, showed steady improvement. His large hands, which had initially seemed ill-suited to the delicate work, proved dexterous once he got the hang of it. ¡°Remember,¡± Raz said as they worked. ¡°In the field, you¡¯ll often be picking locks under pressure. Practice until you can do this without looking, in any conditions.¡± As the lesson drew to a close, Raz presented them with one final lock. ¡°This one combines several different mechanisms. It will test everything you¡¯ve learned today.¡± Soren examined the lock, noting its unusual weight and the complexity of its keyway. He began working on it, quickly realising that this was unlike anything he¡¯d encountered before. Just when he thought he had one section solved, another would reset. Beside him, Alaric grumbled under his breath as he grappled with his own lock. After nearly twenty minutes of intense concentration, Soren felt a final click. The lock opened in his hands. ¡°Impressive,¡± Raz said. ¡°You have a real talent for this, Soren.¡± A few minutes later, Alaric¡¯s lock opened as well. He wiped sweat from his brow. ¡°That was a beast.¡± ¡°You both did well,¡± Raz said. ¡°With practice, you¡¯ll only get better.¡± He began packing away the locks and tools. ¡°How are you feeling? Your injuries from the Threshing¡ªare they healing properly?¡± Soren rotated his shoulder, testing it. ¡°Much better. I barely notice it now.¡± ¡°Same here,¡± Alaric said. ¡°Think I¡¯m back to full strength.¡± Raz nodded. ¡°Good. We¡¯ll be resuming your physical training soon. It¡¯s crucial that you maintain peak condition. For now, though, you should rest. You¡¯ve done well today, but don¡¯t let it go to your heads. There¡¯s still much for you to learn. That amount of time to pick a lock would be unacceptable in the field.¡± As Raz turned to leave, Soren cleared his throat. ¡°Thank you for the lesson. It was enlightening.¡± Raz paused, studying Soren. ¡°Just remember, the skills we teach you here are tools. How you use them¡­that¡¯s up to you.¡± He turned and disappeared into the stacks. Soren and Alaric sat in silence for a moment. ¡°Thank for the lesson?¡± Alaric cocked a half smile. ¡°You¡¯re so wonderful, Raz.¡± ¡°It doesn¡¯t hurt to keep on Raz¡¯s good side.¡± ¡°Nah, you meant that. You¡¯re loving this, aren¡¯t you?¡± Soren shrugged. ¡°Think what you want.¡± V. Soren entered the training room, its stone walls lined with an array of daggers, staffs, and bows. Alaric whistled behind him. ¡°You could open a smithy with the amount of steel in here.¡± Soren nodded. ¡°I¡¯m looking forward to trying out some of these weapons.¡± Raz stood waiting in the centre, arms crossed, his scarred face an expressionless mask. ¡°Forget your weapons for today. Steel can fail you. Flesh can be far deadlier, in the right hands.¡± He gestured for them to take their positions. Raz began to move. His elbow connected with the throat of a nearby practice dummy, the impact echoing through the room. In the same fluid motion, he swept the dummy¡¯s legs, sending it crashing to the floor. ¡°Unarmed doesn¡¯t mean unarmed if you know where to strike.¡± Alaric stepped forward, a grin on his face, and righted the dummy. He planted his feet, falling into a boxer¡¯s stance. ¡°I¡¯m not useless without a weapon, you know.¡± He threw a flurry of quick jabs against the dummy, each punch well-placed and powerful. Raz watched, a half-smile playing on his lips. ¡°You¡¯ve got some skill Alaric. But brute force alone won¡¯t always save you. Your opponents won¡¯t always fight fair.¡± In a blur of motion, Raz intercepted Alaric¡¯s next punch, twisting his arm behind his back. Alaric grunted as Raz shoved him away. ¡°Always assume they¡¯re faster, smarter, and more dangerous. You adapt or you die.¡± Soren¡¯s throat went dry as he realised it was his turn. He stepped forward, acutely aware of how stiff and awkward his movements were compared to Alaric¡¯s. He threw a punch, but even to his own eyes, it was hesitant and weak. Raz sniffed. ¡°Too rigid. Too slow. You¡¯re thinking too much.¡± He stepped closer to Soren, demonstrating a punch that stopped just short of contact. ¡°You¡¯re treating this like it¡¯s something separate from what you know.¡± ¡°Alaric¡¯s the one who¡¯s trained for this.¡± Raz began to circle him, his gaze intense. ¡°Fighting is no different from sculpting, Soren. It¡¯s about control, precision, understanding your materials. When you sculpt, you don¡¯t force the stone. You shape it. You see the art in it.¡± Soren shook his head. ¡°This is different.¡± ¡°No. There¡¯s artistry here too. You learn where to press, where to carve, and you break it apart with as little effort as possible. You¡¯re an artist, Soren. This is the purest art.¡± Soren¡¯s brow furrowed as he tried to process Raz¡¯s words. Raz grabbed his hand, placing it against his own shoulder. ¡°Here.¡± Raz indicated a spot near the clavicle. ¡°Press. Harder.¡± Soren applied pressure to the point Raz had shown him. To his surprise, Raz winced. ¡°See? Not about strength. It¡¯s about knowing where to apply it.¡± Something clicked in Soren¡¯s mind, the frustration giving way to focus as he began to see the parallels Raz was drawing. When Raz attacked again, Soren managed to sidestep, using Raz¡¯s momentum against him. It was clumsy, but there was promise in the movement. ¡°It¡¯s like working the stone,¡± Soren said. ¡°You don¡¯t just attack it¡ªyou guide it.¡± Raz nodded. ¡°You¡¯re learning. This isn¡¯t about brute strength. It¡¯s about knowing your opponent better than they know themselves.¡± As the lesson continued, Soren found himself approaching the techniques with a newfound perspective. He began to see the human body as a complex sculpture, each muscle and bone a potential point of leverage or vulnerability. Raz demonstrated a series of strikes and holds, each one precise and effective. ¡°The key is to disrupt your opponent¡¯s balance. Once you¡¯ve done that, even the strongest fighter becomes vulnerable.¡± Soren watched, picking up on the subtle shifts in weight and alignment that made each move work. When it was his turn to try, he found that thinking of it in terms of sculpting and anatomy helped him move more naturally. ¡°Better,¡± Raz said as Soren successfully executed a throw. ¡°You¡¯re starting to understand. But understanding isn¡¯t enough. You need to make these movements instinctive.¡± For the next hour, Raz drilled them in a series of katas. Soren¡¯s muscles burned with exertion, sweat dripping into his eyes as he repeated the same moves over and over. But with each repetition, he felt his body adapting, the movements becoming more fluid and natural. ¡°It feels wrong,¡± Alaric said after Raz corrected his stance for the third time. ¡°Everything I¡¯ve been taught says to keep my guard up.¡± ¡°And that¡¯s exactly why you need to change,¡± Raz said. ¡°Your opponents will expect a certain style of fighting. The moment you deviate from that, you gain an advantage.¡± As the training session wore on, Soren found himself more engaged in the process. There was a complexity to hand-to-hand combat that he hadn¡¯t appreciated before. Each technique was like a puzzle, requiring the right application of force at precisely the right moment. Raz signalled for the pair to stop. ¡°Let¡¯s see how you fare against each other. Soren, attack Alaric. Alaric, defend.¡± Soren hesitated, glancing at his friend. Alaric raised his fists. ¡°Don¡¯t hold back.¡± Soren nodded, trying to recall everything Raz had taught them. He settled into a more relaxed stance, avoiding the rigid posture he¡¯d started with earlier. Alaric launched forward, his first blow a powerful jab, aimed straight for Soren¡¯s face. Soren slipped to the side, letting Alaric¡¯s fist whistle past his ear. The movement felt natural, almost like he was flowing around the punch rather than avoiding it. ¡°You¡¯re supposed to be defending.¡± ¡°This is how I defend.¡± Alaric followed up with a series of quick strikes, each one powerful and well-placed. Soren found himself on the defensive, circling and weaving, making himself a difficult target. ¡°You¡¯re faster than you look,¡± Alaric said, throwing another jab that Soren barely avoided. ¡°And you¡¯re slower than you think.¡± He saw an opening and took it, ducking under Alaric¡¯s guard and pressing his fingers into the pressure point near Alaric¡¯s collarbone. Alaric grunted, stepping back. ¡°Lucky shot.¡± He feinted left, then came in with a powerful right hook. Soren saw it coming and tried to use Alaric¡¯s momentum against him. But his timing was off. Instead of redirecting the blow, he caught the full force of it on his shoulder.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. Pain exploded through Soren¡¯s arm, and he staggered back, gasping. Alaric pressed his advantage, closing in with a flurry of punches. Soren skipped backwards, desperately trying to create space. ¡°Not so cocky now, are you?¡± Alaric grinned, landing another solid hit to Soren¡¯s ribs. As Alaric came in for another attack, Soren dropped low, sweeping his leg out in an arc. Alaric¡¯s feet went out from under him, and he crashed to the ground with a heavy thud. Soren pounced, trying to pin Alaric¡¯s arms. For a moment, they grappled on the floor, each trying to gain the upper hand. Alaric bucked his hips, throwing Soren off balance. Their positions reversed, Alaric pinning Soren to the ground. ¡°Nice try, but see how you get out of this one.¡± Soren struggled, but Alaric¡¯s weight had him trapped. With a twist of his body, Soren managed to hook his leg around Alaric¡¯s neck, pulling him into an awkward position. For a tense moment, they were locked together, neither able to gain a clear advantage. Alaric released his grip. ¡°Enough.¡± Chest heaving, Soren scrambled to his feet. He winced, feeling the ache of newly forming bruises, but extended his hand to Alaric. With a grunt, he pulled his friend up. ¡°Excellent work. You¡¯re beginning to understand.¡± Raz clapped his hands. ¡°Again.¡± Taking a deep breath, Soren centred himself. He circled Alaric, noting the way his friend¡¯s weight shifted, the subtle tensing of muscles hinting at his intentions. Soren moved in, his left hand darting out in a feint. Alaric¡¯s eyes followed the movement, his guard rising. Soren dropped low, aiming to sweep Alaric¡¯s legs. Alaric sidestepped, his feet dancing across the stone floor. In the same fluid motion, he countered, a lightning-fast jab shooting towards Soren¡¯s face. Soren flinched, feeling the air displaced by Alaric¡¯s fist as it stopped mere inches from his nose. ¡°Good reflexes, Alaric,¡± Raz said. ¡°But you¡¯re still thinking like a boxer. Those ingrained habits will get you killed against an opponent who knows what to look for.¡± His gaze shifted to Soren. ¡°Try again. This time, remember what I said about disrupting balance. Don¡¯t just attack¡ªcontrol the flow of the fight.¡± Nodding, Soren reset his stance. He circled Alaric, slower this time, his mind racing to recall Raz¡¯s earlier lessons. Alaric struck first, a powerful right hook. Soren ducked, feeling the whoosh of air above his head. He placed a hand on his friend¡¯s back, guiding him past. Alaric stumbled. His guard dropped. Soren¡¯s fingers found the pressure point near Alaric¡¯s shoulder. Alaric made a sharp intake of breath. His arm went limp, hanging at his side. ¡°Damn.¡± He glanced at his arm, shaking it out. ¡°That¡¯s nasty.¡± ¡°But effective,¡± Raz said. ¡°The human body is full of such vulnerabilities¡ªlearn them, exploit them, and even the strongest opponent becomes manageable.¡± On Raz¡¯s signal, Soren darted in, aiming for another pressure point. Alaric pivoted, using his good arm to deflect Soren¡¯s strike. In the same motion, he hooked a foot behind Soren¡¯s ankle. Soren teetered, but managed to roll with the movement. He came up in a crouch, narrowly avoiding Alaric¡¯s follow-up kick. The two continued to exchange blows, their movements becoming unpredictable. Soren was still no match for Alaric¡¯s raw strength, but he was learning to adapt. Where once he would have tried to meet force with force, now he redirected, evaded, turned Alaric¡¯s power against him. But Alaric adapted too, his boxing guards giving way to a more open stance, his movements becoming more chaotic. Alaric grabbed Soren¡¯s arm, attempting to force Soren to the ground. Soren twisted his body and Alaric¡¯s grip slipped, throwing him off-balance. Soren swept Alaric¡¯s legs, sending him crashing to the floor. Before Alaric could recover, Soren was on him, applying pressure to a sensitive nerve cluster in his neck. Alaric tapped the ground, signalling his yield. ¡°Alright, alright. I give. Where in Creation did you learn that last move?¡± Soren released the hold, helping Alaric to his feet. Both were breathing hard. Raz raised a hand. ¡°You¡¯ve both shown improvement. But there¡¯s still much to learn.¡± He approached Soren. ¡°You¡¯re beginning to understand the principles, but you¡¯re still too hesitant. In a real fight, that hesitation could cost you your life. You need to commit fully to each action.¡± ¡°I will try harder next time.¡± Raz turned to Alaric, ¡°And you, you have the opposite problem. You¡¯re too eager to engage, too reliant on your strength. A clever opponent will use that against you. Learn to be patient, to wait for the right moment to strike.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll try.¡± ¡°Now.¡± Raz took a step back, ¡°I want you both to come at me. Together.¡± Soren and Alaric exchanged a glance. ¡°Don¡¯t be afraid. I won¡¯t hurt you¡­too much.¡± Soren and Alaric moved in tandem, Alaric leading with a flurry of punches while Soren tried to circle behind. Raz redirected Alaric¡¯s punch into Soren, sending them both stumbling. Before they could recover, Raz had Alaric in a chokehold and Soren pinned to the floor. ¡°Never assume that numbers alone will save you.¡± Raz released his hold. ¡°A skilled fighter can turn your teamwork against you if you¡¯re not careful.¡± As Soren picked himself up off the cold floor, it struck him that he still had far to go. ¡°That¡¯s enough for today,¡± Raz said. ¡°Practice what you¡¯ve learned.¡± As Raz turned to leave, Soren tugged his sleeve. ¡°Wait!¡± Raz paused, looking back with a raised eyebrow. ¡°I want to know more,¡± Soren said. ¡°About how you do it. How you move like that.¡± ¡°That will come, Soren. Until then, rest is your friend.¡± As Raz disappeared from the training room, Soren turned to Alaric. His friend was rubbing his throat where Raz had held him. ¡°What do you think?¡± Alaric shook his head. ¡°I think we¡¯re in for a world of hurt.¡± Soren nodded, his mind already racing with the possibilities. He thought back to Raz¡¯s words about sculpting and fighting. There was a truth there that he was only beginning to grasp. The mess hall buzzed with the low murmur of conversation and the clinking of utensils as Soren and Alaric settled at their usual table. Soren winced as he lowered himself onto the bench, his ribs protesting the movement. ¡°I think I might have cracked a rib.¡± Alaric grinned, rubbing his shoulder where Soren had targeted a pressure point. ¡°You¡¯re one to talk. I still can¡¯t feel my left arm properly.¡± As he mopped up the last of his stew with a chunk of bread, Soren leaned back. ¡°I never thought I¡¯d say this, but I actually enjoyed today¡¯s training.¡± Alaric raised an eyebrow. ¡°Who are you, and what have you done with Soren?¡± Soren chuckled. ¡°I¡¯m serious. There¡¯s an artistry to it that I hadn¡¯t appreciated before. The way Raz moves, it¡¯s like he¡¯s shaping the fight, guiding it where he wants it to go. It¡¯s not so different from coaxing a form out of clay.¡± ¡°I can see that. For me, it¡¯s like being on a ship in a storm. You can¡¯t fight the waves head-on, but if you know how to read them, you can use their power to your advantage.¡± ¡°But we¡¯ve still got a long way to go. Raz took us both down without breaking a sweat.¡± Alaric grimaced. ¡°Don¡¯t remind me. I¡¯ve never felt so outclassed in my life.¡± ¡°That¡¯s why we need to practice,¡± Soren said, lowering his voice. ¡°Not just during training sessions, but on our own time too. We need to get to a point where we can hold our own against him.¡± Alaric nodded. ¡°You¡¯re right. But how? It¡¯s not like we can just start brawling in the corridors.¡± Soren glanced around, making sure no one was listening. ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking about that. We could use our room to practice some of the techniques. And I want to go back to the Vault, look at those anatomy texts again. Now that I¡¯ve got a better understanding of how to apply the knowledge, I think I might pick up on things I missed before.¡± ¡°Good idea. And maybe we could find some books on different fighting styles? Might give us an edge if we can surprise Raz with something he hasn¡¯t taught us.¡± ¡°Exactly what I was thinking.¡± Soren grinned. ¡°There¡¯s got to be something in that massive library that can help us.¡± ¡°Definitely.¡± Soren ran a hand back through his hair. ¡°There¡¯s something else.¡± Alaric frowned. ¡°What do you mean?¡± Soren hesitated for a moment. ¡°I can¡¯t help but think¡­what if there¡¯s information about my father¡¯s death in there somewhere? A ledger, or a record of contracts, or something?¡± ¡°Sor, I know you¡¯re still looking for answers, but do you really think they¡¯d leave that kind of information just lying around for initiates to find?¡± Soren sighed. ¡°Probably not. But I have to try.¡± Alaric nodded. ¡°I know. And I¡¯m with you, whatever you decide to do. But we need to be careful. If Raz or any of the other masters catch us snooping around¡­¡± ¡°I know, I know. It¡¯s just frustrating. We¡¯re right here, in the heart of the Guild, and I feel no closer to the truth than I did when we started.¡± ¡°We¡¯ll find a way. But for now, let¡¯s focus on what we can control. Getting stronger, faster, smarter. The better we are at this stuff, the more freedom we¡¯ll have to move around and find answers.¡± Soren nodded. ¡°You¡¯re right. One step at a time.¡± As the mess hall began to empty, Soren and Alaric made their way back to their room. The corridors were quieter now, most of the other initiates having retired for the night. ¡°So,¡± Alaric said as they reached their door. ¡°What¡¯s the plan for tomorrow? More getting our arses handed to us by Raz?¡± Soren grinned. ¡°Probably. But I was thinking we could get up early, head to the Vault before training.¡± Alaric nodded. ¡°Sounds good. But don¡¯t forget, we need to be careful not to overdo it. Raz will notice if we¡¯re too exhausted to keep up during training.¡± ¡°Good point. We¡¯ll keep it short, just an hour or so. Enough to get a head start without wearing ourselves out.¡± As they entered their room, Soren¡¯s eyes fell on his sketchbook, lying untouched on his bedside table. ¡°You should take some time for that too, you know. Don¡¯t lose yourself completely in all this Guild stuff.¡± Soren picked up the sketchbook, running his fingers over the cover. ¡°Maybe I¡¯ll do some sketches of the fighting forms we¡¯ve been learning. Might help me understand them better.¡± As they prepared for bed, Soren¡¯s mind continued to race with possibilities. He imagined combining his artistic skills with his newfound combat knowledge, creating a style of fighting that was uniquely his own. But he still had no idea who had ordered his father¡¯s death, or why. The Guild remained a maze of secrets and half-truths, and he was no closer to finding his way through it. As he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, Soren made a silent vow to himself. He would master every skill the Guild could teach him, become the best they¡¯d ever seen. And then, when the time was right, he would use those skills to uncover the truth. VI. Soren lay in his bed, staring up at the ceiling. His mind refused to grant him the peace of sleep. Questions about the Guild, about Raz, about his father¡¯s murder, swirled in an endless loop. Across the room, Alaric¡¯s rhythmic snoring grated on his nerves. Soren envied his friend¡¯s ability to fall into such a deep slumber, but whished he would sleep more quietly.. He turned over, pulling the thin blanket tighter around himself, but it did nothing to quiet the voices, to dull the images. The more he learned about the Guild, the more questions arose. Who really controlled this shadowy organisation? What were their true motives? And how in the name of Creation was he supposed to uncover the truth about his father¡¯s death through the secrets and half-truths? The room felt suffocating, the walls pressing in on him. He couldn¡¯t take it anymore. Sleep was a lost cause, but perhaps he could find some answers, or at least a distraction. Soren slipped out of his bed. He paused, glancing at Alaric to ensure his movements hadn¡¯t disturbed him. Satisfied Alaric remained oblivious, Soren crept towards the door. He snagged a cloak from the back of a chair, wrapping it around himself against the night¡¯s chill. The door opened with the barest whisper, and Soren slipped out into the hallway. The corridors stretched before him, cold and empty, lit only by the occasional flickering gaslamp. As he navigated the twisting passages, every corner felt like a potential ambush point. His heart raced, imagining Raz or one of the other masters appearing, demanding to know why he was wandering the halls at this hour. But no one materialised from the shadows. The Guild, it seemed, slept as soundly as Alaric. Soren¡¯s feet carried him, almost of their own accord, to the Vault. He hesitated outside the door, his hand hovering over the handle. Was this wise? If he were caught here, how could he explain himself? But the hunger for answers outweighed his caution. With a deep breath, Soren pushed open the door. It creaked, the sound seeming to echo through the entire building. He froze, certain that at any moment, alarms would sound and guards would descend upon him. But the silence held. Steeling himself, Soren slipped inside the Vault. Rows upon rows of bookshelves stretched into the darkness, filled with dusty tomes, ancient scrolls, and manuscripts. A single candle burned on a distant desk, its feeble light barely reaching the closest shelves. Soren pulled the hood of his cloak lower over his face, though he knew it was a futile gesture if anyone were to discover him here. He began his search, his eyes straining in the dim light to make out the titles on the spines of the books. Shadows danced along the shelves. Some of these books held secrets about the Guild, its history, and its members. But which ones might hold the key to understanding his father¡¯s murder? His fingers trailed along the spines, the tactile sensation grounding him as his mind raced with possibilities. He spotted a thick volume with faded gold lettering: ¡°The Order of the Guild: Rules and Structures.¡± With trembling hands, he pulled it from the shelf. Glancing around, Soren moved to a corner where the candlelight barely reached. He opened the book, its pages yellowed with age, the musty smell of time rising from within. As he began to flip through the pages, his eyes widened at the wealth of information before him. ¡°There are always thirty-three masters of the Guild,¡± he read aloud to himself, his voice a whisper. ¡°Each master holds a different domain. No more, no less. When a master dies, they are immediately replaced.¡± Soren¡¯s brow furrowed. Thirty-three masters¡­but why that specific number? And who was responsible for choosing them? He wondered if this system had existed since the Guild¡¯s founding, and what it meant for those beneath the masters, like Raz. Was Raz destined to become one of the thirty-three, or was he forever relegated to a lower rank? As he continued to turn the pages, Soren¡¯s breath caught in his throat. His eyes locked onto a passage: ¡°Any who train with the Guild and wish to leave must die.¡± The words hit him like a physical blow, a cold dread filling his chest. There was no way out. A knot of panic began to form in his stomach. He had known, on some level, that joining the Guild was a lifelong commitment. But to see it spelled out so bluntly, to know that death was the only alternative to serving the Guild, was almost too much to bear. Forcing himself to continue, Soren turned more pages, his eyes devouring every scrap of information. He came across a section detailing the roles of peripheral Guild members¡ªfixers and recruiters. ¡°Men and women who are installed within normal jobs in the community, acting as the Guild¡¯s eyes and ears. They gather information and identify potential recruits.¡± The Guild¡¯s influence was far more pervasive than he had ever imagined. They could be anywhere, anyone. The tavern keeper who had served them drinks, the blacksmith who had repaired Alaric¡¯s knife, even the old woman who sold flowers in the market square¡­any of them could be working for the Guild. The walls of the Vault seemed to press in closer, the sense of being trapped growing stronger. The Guild¡¯s fingers were in everything, their reach extending far beyond the confines of this building. How could he ever hope to uncover the truth about his father¡¯s death? And even if he did, then what? The pages blurred together as he read faster and faster, desperate for more knowledge, more understanding. A sound broke through his concentration. Soft footsteps approached. ¡°You¡¯re late.¡± Soren froze, a deep pulse pounding in his skull. He raised his eyes from the book to see Raz standing at the Vault¡¯s entrance, arms crossed over his chest, Alaric at his side. ¡°You seem to have lost track of time, Soren.¡± Soren shut the book. How long had he been down here? What time was it? Raz stepped forward, his gaze sweeping over the book in Soren¡¯s hands. Would Raz demand to know what he had been reading? Would he punish him for being in the Vault without permission? ¡°Come. You have training.¡± Raz turned on his heel and walked away. Alaric hesitated for a moment, then fell into step behind Raz. Soren lingered, his mind reeling. He replaced the book on the shelf. The Guild was far more dangerous, far more all-encompassing than he had ever imagined. With a deep breath, he followed Alaric and Raz out of the Vault. He glanced at Alaric, walking ahead of him, and felt a pang of guilt. His friend had followed him into this dangerous world out of loyalty, and now they were both trapped. There was no way out, no simple path to the truth. The sun had barely crested the horizon when Raz led Soren and Alaric into Welttor¡¯s central square. Despite the early hour, the city was already alive. Soren squinted, his mind still groggy from his excursion to the Vault. ¡°Look around you,¡± Raz said. ¡°What do you see?¡± Soren¡¯s eyes swept over the buildings surrounding them. Each structure seemed to represent a different era, a different style of architecture. Some were squat and sturdy, built of rough-hewn stone, while others soared upwards, their spires piercing the sky. Ornate facades stood alongside utilitarian structures. ¡°I see... a mix of styles,¡± Soren said. ¡°Old and new, grand and simple.¡± Raz tapped his foot against the cobbled ground, drawing their attention downward. ¡°In Welttor, every building tells a story. Some were built by the Ostreich Empire to show their power, others to defend against the slave rebellions, others to showcase wealth. Most have their secrets. It¡¯s your job to read these buildings, to understand their purpose, their weaknesses, how they can be another weapon in your arsenal.¡±If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. He gestured to a towering mansion across the square adorned with intricate carvings and columns. ¡°See those doors?¡± Alaric snorted. ¡°You¡¯d need a battering ram to get through those.¡± ¡°Indeed. But they¡¯re rendered useless if you know about the servant¡¯s entrance at the rear. Security is a game of perception¡ªwhat they want you to see versus what they hope you¡¯ll miss.¡± Raz led them down a winding alley, his footsteps silent on the cobblestones. He stopped and pointed to a weathered building on their right. ¡°Look there. What do you see?¡± Soren gazed up at a crumbling stonehouse with a series of narrow balconies running along its side. ¡°I don¡¯t know. It¡¯s just a house?¡± Raz shook his head. ¡°Those balconies. Notice how they¡¯re staggered? A skilled climber could use them to ascend to the roof without ever touching the main walls.¡± Soren¡¯s eyes widened. The balconies did indeed form a sort of irregular ladder up the side of the building. ¡°And there.¡± Raz gestured to a nearby tavern. ¡°See that ledge running just below the second-storey windows? In the right light, it casts a shadow that makes it nearly invisible from the street. But it¡¯s wide enough to traverse if you¡¯re careful.¡± Soren nodded. As he continued to follow Raz through the city, he began to notice details he¡¯d overlooked before¡ªthe way certain windowsills were just deep enough to provide a foothold, how some decorative carvings could serve as handholds for a skilled climber. Beside him, Alaric shifted his weight from foot to foot. ¡°This is all very interesting, but when are we going to actually do something?¡± Raz¡¯s gaze snapped to Alaric, his eyes narrowing. ¡°Patience. Understanding comes before action. Would you charge into battle without knowing your enemy?¡± Alaric scoffed. ¡°At least in a battle, I¡¯d be moving. This standing around and looking at balconies isn¡¯t exactly what I had in mind when I signed up for this.¡± ¡°Is that so?¡± In a blur of motion, Raz grabbed Alaric by the collar and shoved him against the nearest wall. ¡°Then by all means, show us how it¡¯s done. Climb to the roof of that tavern. Now.¡± Alaric¡¯s eyes widened, but a grin spread across his face. ¡°Finally.¡± He pushed away from Raz and approached the tavern, eyeing the wall for a moment before leaping up to grab a low-hanging sign. He swung from it, reaching for the ledge Raz had pointed out earlier. But as his fingers grasped for purchase, they slipped and he crashed to the ground with a grunt. Raz stood over him, shaking his head. ¡°Your lack of patience could prove deadly if you don¡¯t learn to stop and observe before acting. Now, get up and pay attention. Your life may depend on it one day.¡± Alaric climbed to his feet, brushing dirt from his clothes. As they continued their tour, Soren¡¯s mind raced with the possibilities each new detail presented. Raz stopped before an older building with high walls and arrow-slit windows. ¡°This was built for defence during the first rebellion. Those windows look too narrow to slip through¡ªbut with the right technique, you¡¯d be inside in seconds.¡± Soren tried to imagine how one might contort their body to fit through such a small opening. He found himself studying the building¡¯s structure, noting the placement of each stone, each potential handhold. It was like looking at a half-finished sculpture, seeing not just what was there, but what could be. As they continued, Raz delved into the basic security measures used throughout the city¡ªguards, watchtowers, and more subtle defences. ¡°Some buildings are rigged with hidden alarm systems. When you plan a contract, you don¡¯t just think about how to get in, but how to get out without setting off a chain of consequences.¡± Soren had always thought of assassination as a straightforward task. But this¡­this was something else. They came to a narrow alley flanked by tightly packed buildings. The rooftops formed a patchwork of ledges, pipes, and wooden beams, creating a network of potential paths. Without warning, Raz sprinted forward, his body a blur of motion as he scaled the nearest wall. Raz¡¯s hands found invisible holds in the stonework, his movements fluid and precise. In seconds, he had reached a balcony, then swung from a pipe to a neighbouring roof. With a graceful leap, he landed back in the alley. ¡°You need to learn to move through the city without being seen. We are raised to assume that paths run along the ground. Walls, roofs, ledges¡ªthey¡¯re all just pathways if you know how to use them.¡± Alaric stepped forward and rolled his shoulders. ¡°Let me try.¡± Soren watched as Alaric approached the wall. His friend¡¯s strength was evident in the powerful way he pulled himself up, muscles straining as he reached for the balcony. But where Raz had been fluid, Alaric was all raw power. He made it to the balcony, but his movements were clumsy, lacking the grace and speed of their instructor. ¡°Strength isn¡¯t enough,¡± Raz said. ¡°You need to flow with the city. Watch your weight distribution. I expected more from someone used to rigging. Every move should conserve energy. You don¡¯t want to get caught halfway up a wall with no breath left to escape.¡± Alaric¡¯s face fell, but he nodded. Raz turned to Soren. ¡°You try.¡± Soren stood before the wall, his heart pounding. Rough stone loomed before him. He reached out, his fingers trembling as they brushed against the cool surface. ¡°Come on, Sor,¡± Alaric called. ¡°It¡¯s not that hard.¡± Ignoring the taunt, Soren took a deep breath and leapt for the first handhold. His fingers grasped the edge, but as he tried to pull himself up, his foot slipped. He scrambled for purchase, his nails scraping along the wall as he slid back down to the ground. Gritting his teeth, Soren tried again. He heaved himself up to the first ledge and reached out for the next hold. Was it too far? Would it support his weight? Once again he found himself back on the ground. ¡°You¡¯re thinking too much, Soren. Don¡¯t see the wall as an obstacle. It¡¯s a medium. Like stone beneath your chisel, it responds to your touch. You need to feel your way through it.¡± Soren closed his eyes, feeling the rough texture of the stone against his palms. In his mind¡¯s eye, he saw not a wall, but a block of marble waiting to be shaped. Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes. Where before he had seen insurmountable heights, now he saw a network of possibilities. That slight protrusion could support his foot. The shallow indent above was perfect for his fingers. He began to climb, finding holds almost instinctively, as if the wall itself guided him. He flowed upward, each movement bleeding into the next with a grace that surprised him. As he neared the top, Soren caught sight of a narrow ledge just out of reach. Without thinking, he pushed off from his current hold, his body twisting in mid-air. For a moment, he was suspended in nothingness. Then his fingers found the ledge, gripping as he swung his legs up and over. Perched on the rooftop, Soren looked down at Raz and Alaric. ¡°Well done,¡± Raz called up. ¡°Now, let¡¯s see you get down.¡± Soren grinned. He stood up, surveying the city in all directions. The rooftops stretched out around him, each gap and ledge a challenge waiting to be met. Without hesitation, Soren took a running leap to the next roof, rolling to absorb the impact. Rising to his feet, he continued his descent, each move more confident than the last. He dropped back to the ground in front of Raz and Alaric. ¡°Not bad,¡± Raz said. ¡°You might make an Apprentice yet.¡± Raz led them to an unassuming building near the marketplace, its exterior plain and weathered. He approached a section of the wall, his fingers probing at the stones. Something clicked, and a portion of the wall shifted, revealing a hidden entrance. ¡°The city is full of passages like this,¡± Raz said as they entered. ¡°Learn to find these. They¡¯re often hidden in plain sight¡ªunderneath loose stones, behind tapestries, disguised as parts of the architecture itself.¡± Raz demonstrated how some structures had concealed compartments¡ªspaces between walls where valuable items might be stored. He showed them how to tap along walls, listening for hollow sounds or feeling for subtle drafts. ¡°Many will try to conceal their secrets with thick stone or reinforced wood. But every builder leaves a flaw. All you need is patience and the right touch to find it.¡± Raz turned to face them, his scarred face unreadable as he studied his two students. ¡°There are a hundred ways to navigate this city. Force will get you through some walls, but finesse will get you through most. Learn to balance both, or you¡¯ll find Welttor has a way of burying those who don¡¯t respect it.¡± As Raz signalled the end of their lesson, Soren took one last look at the sprawling cityscape. Welttor was no longer just a set of streets and buildings. It was a training ground, a puzzle, and a potential battleground. And he was determined to master it. As night fell, Soren lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind racing with the revelations from the Vault. He sat up, the sudden movement making his head spin slightly. ¡°Alaric. Get up.¡± A grunt was the only response from the other bed. ¡°We need to train.¡± Soren rose to his feet and began to pace. ¡°If we¡¯re going to survive here, we can¡¯t waste any time.¡± Alaric groaned and rolled over, pulling his blanket over his head. ¡°Not tonight. I¡¯m too tired. We trained all day. I just want to rest.¡± How could Alaric be so complacent? Didn¡¯t he understand what was at stake? Soren strode over to Alaric¡¯s bed and yanked the blanket away. ¡°You think we can just take it easy? There¡¯s no rest here.¡± Alaric sat up, his eyes bleary as he glared up at Soren. ¡°What¡¯s gotten into you? We¡¯ve been pushing ourselves for days, and you want more? We need to pace ourselves or we¡¯ll be useless in training.¡± Soren¡¯s hands clenched at his sides. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you what I found out in the Vault. But first, we train.¡± Alaric threw up his hands. ¡°I don¡¯t care what you found. None of it matters tonight. What matters is getting enough rest to survive tomorrow.¡± He flopped back down on his bed, turning his back to Soren. ¡°You don¡¯t care that they¡¯ll kill anyone who tries to leave? You don¡¯t care that we¡¯re stuck here, with no way out? If we don¡¯t train, we die. You think Raz will go easy on us? You think we¡¯ll be safe if we don¡¯t push ourselves?¡± Alaric turned to him, his face set in a scowl. ¡°Fine. If you¡¯re so desperate to train, let¡¯s train.¡± He stood up, squaring off with Soren. ¡°No punches. No kicks. We grapple. But after this, we¡¯re done, and you¡¯re letting me sleep.¡± Soren nodded. ¡°Agreed.¡± Alaric lunged first, going for a headlock. Soren ducked under his arm, pushing him back. ¡°I read¡­¡± Soren said as he tried to break Alaric¡¯s grip. ¡°Anyone who trains here and tries to leave¡­they¡¯re marked for death. There¡¯s no way out unless you die.¡± Alaric grunted as he tried to pin Soren to the wall. ¡°I figured that out the moment we got here. Did you really think we were free to leave whenever we wanted?¡± Soren pushed Alaric off. How could he be so nonchalant about this? They locked arms again, both struggling to gain the upper hand. ¡°And there are people¡ª¡¯fixers¡¯ and ¡®recruiters¡¯¡ªhidden among the normal folk, watching everyone, waiting to pull the right people into this.¡± He narrowly avoided Alaric¡¯s attempt to trip him. ¡°We could have been marked for this long before we even knew it.¡± Alaric shook his head. ¡°Sor, it doesn¡¯t change anything. We¡¯re still stuck here. None of this will help us.¡± He twisted, using his weight to throw Soren off balance. They crashed to the floor, Alaric pinning Soren beneath him. ¡°We¡¯re done for tonight,¡± Alaric said as he pushed himself up. ¡°I don¡¯t care what you read in the Vault. What I care about is surviving each day, and that means resting when I can. You should do the same.¡± He grabbed his blanket and sat back on his bed. ¡°And stop wandering off alone in this place. You don¡¯t know who¡¯s watching.¡± Soren remained on the floor, staring up at the ceiling, his body aching. ¡°I can¡¯t rest. Not until I get answers. I need to know what really happened to my father. I need to understand what this Guild really is.¡± Alaric sighed, rubbing his face. ¡°Fine. But don¡¯t drag me into it.¡± He turned away, pulling the blanket over his shoulders. ¡°Do what you want. Just don¡¯t get yourself killed in the process¡­or me.¡± Soren stayed where he was for a long moment, the cold of the stone floor seeping into his bones. He pushed himself to his feet and moved to the small desk in the corner of the room. In the flickering light, he pulled out a sheet of parchment and a stub of charcoal. His hand moved almost of its own accord, sketching out the layout of the Guild¡¯s headquarters as he remembered it. Every corridor, every room he¡¯d seen. The Vault couldn¡¯t be the only place where the Guild kept its secrets. And somewhere, there had to be answers about his father¡¯s death. He glanced over at Alaric¡¯s sleeping form. Survival wasn¡¯t enough. And if Alaric wouldn¡¯t help him, he¡¯d find a way to do it on his own. He needed answers. But there was also the pull of the craft, of the art, of the lure of mastery. The candle burned low as Soren worked, adding details to his map, jotting down notes about the Guild¡¯s structure and the little he knew about its hierarchy. Thirty-three masters, always. But who were they? How were they chosen? And where did Raz fit into all of this? He would continue his training, push himself to excel in every lesson Raz taught them. But he would also watch, listen, gather every scrap of information he could. And when the time was right, he would use all of it to uncover the truth. VII. Soren¡¯s boots sank into the damp earth as he and Alaric followed Raz deeper into the forest. The canopy blotted out the sky, plunging them into twilight. ¡°Today, you¡¯ll learn to disappear,¡± Raz said. ¡°It¡¯s not enough to complete your contract. You need to vanish afterward¡ªleave no trace that you were ever there. If they find a footprint, a strand of hair, even a disturbed branch, you¡¯ve failed.¡± Soren nodded. This wasn¡¯t just about moving quietly¡ªit was about erasing oneself completely. ¡°The exercise is simple.¡± Raz gestured beyond the clearing. ¡°Follow me. Stay close, but not too close. Watch and learn.¡± Without another word, Raz melted into the trees. Soren took a deep breath, trying to centre himself before following. He glanced at Alaric, then stepped forward. Soren tried to mimic Raz¡¯s fluid movements, to distribute his weight evenly as he¡¯d been taught, but it felt unnatural, forced. Every leaf, every twig, became a noisy obstacle. Ahead, Raz appeared and disappeared, always just out of reach. Even knowing where to look, Soren could barely track Raz¡¯s progress through the undergrowth. He left no disturbed foliage, no bent branches to mark his passage. It was as if the forest itself conspired to hide him. ¡°He¡¯s a ghost,¡± Alaric said. ¡°I think he¡¯s letting us see just enough to follow.¡± ¡°Damn.¡± Alaric blew out a breath. ¡°I think you¡¯re right.¡± The realisation of just how deadly Raz could be¡ªhow deadly they were being trained to be¡ªhit Soren hard. ¡°Watch your weight when you walk,¡± Raz said. ¡°Step on the edges of your feet. Distribute your balance evenly. Don¡¯t let your heel dig into the ground.¡± Soren adjusted his stance, focusing on the points of contact between his feet and the forest floor. He found the lighter touch improved his balance, allowing him to move more smoothly over the uneven terrain. A loud crack shattered the silence, followed by a muffled curse from Alaric. Soren turned to see him frozen mid-step. ¡°You¡¯re thinking too much,¡± Raz said. ¡°The moment you hesitate, you make noise. Stop trying to fight the forest. Move with it, not against it.¡± Alaric nodded, his jaw clenched. Soren wanted to offer some words of encouragement, but any sound now would undermine the lesson. As they pressed on, Soren found himself falling into a rhythm. He began to see the forest not as an obstacle to be overcome, but as a material to work with. Each step became a negotiation with the earth, each movement a conversation with the shadows. The similarity to his sculpting work struck him. This, too, was an art form. Instead of coaxing form from stone, he was shaping absence, carving out a space of stillness in the living, breathing forest. ¡°Blending in isn¡¯t about being invisible,¡± Raz said. ¡°It¡¯s about becoming part of the environment. Don¡¯t just hide. Become the shadow. Become the silence.¡± Soren pressed himself against the rough bark of a massive oak, feeling its ancient stillness seep into him. He regulated his breathing, willing his heartbeat to slow, to match the patient pulse of the forest around him. For a moment, he felt it¡ªa perfect unity with his surroundings, with Creation herself. Raz materialised before him. ¡°There¡¯s more to this than just walking softly. You¡¯re not just hiding from enemies. You¡¯re hiding from the world itself. When you disappear, you become nothing¡ªand nothing is the hardest thing to catch.¡± Raz turned and vanished into the shadows, leaving Soren and Alaric alone in the clearing. Soren stared after him, a deep furrow settling on his brow. How had they ever managed to track Raz down? The implications sent a shiver through Soren. Had Raz wanted to be found? Had their entire journey to the Guild been orchestrated from the start? Soren glanced at Alaric, wondering if similar doubts plagued his friend. But now wasn¡¯t the time to voice his suspicions. Minutes stretched into what felt like hours as Soren and Alaric waited in the clearing. The forest seemed to mock them with its silence, holding its secrets close. "He could be anywhere by now," Alaric said, running a hand through his hair. "Did you see which way he went?" Soren shook his head. "I lost him when he passed that fallen oak." He gestured toward a trunk carpeted in moss. "After that¡­" He spread his hands. They searched the area in widening circles, looking for any trace of their mentor''s passage. Soren examined every twig, every patch of disturbed earth, drawing on everything they''d just learned about tracking. But Raz had truly become nothing, just as he''d taught them. "This is useless," Alaric said after their third sweep. He looked up at the dense canopy, squinting. "Maybe from higher up¡­" Before Soren could protest, Alaric was scaling the nearest tree, his movements quick and precise. The branches swayed under his weight as he climbed higher, disappearing into the leafy darkness above. Soren waited, studying the ground near the tree''s base. Even Alaric''s ascent had barely disturbed the forest floor¡ªhe was learning, at least. A few minutes later, Alaric dropped down beside him. He shook his head. "Nothing. Just trees and more trees in every direction." He brushed bits of bark from his hands. "We should head back to the Guild." Soren wanted to object, to keep searching, but he knew Alaric was right. The lesson wasn''t about finding Raz¡ªit was about understanding just how completely someone could vanish when they truly knew how. "Yeah. Let''s go." As they made their way back, Soren found himself moving more carefully than before, conscious of every step. He thought of Raz''s words about becoming nothing, about hiding from the world itself. On their return to the Guild, Raz met Soren and Alaric in the entrance lobby. ¡°Come.¡± Raz led them to a training room deep within the Guild¡¯s halls. He stopped in the room¡¯s centre, his scarred face cast in shadow. ¡°Now, we focus on the most essential tool of our trade.¡± With a fluid motion, he produced a dagger forged from ravenglass, its form so smooth it seemed to bend the scant light around it. Soren found his eyes drawn to it, drawn to its impossible darkness. ¡°The dagger is the weapon of choice for contractors. It¡¯s small, quick, and intimate. A tool for close quarters, where there¡¯s no room for error.¡± The dagger in Raz¡¯s hand wasn¡¯t just a weapon¡ªit was an extension of the assassin¡¯s will, a physical manifestation of deadly intent. Raz held the dagger out for inspection. ¡°This is my ravenglass dagger. Only those worthy will ever wield one. But until then, you train with something simpler.¡± With his other hand, Raz produced a pair of steel daggers. ¡°All your training¡ªfighting, anatomy, stealth¡ªit leads to one moment. The completion. The kill. This is where it all comes together.¡±If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. Raz demonstrated the proper grip: firm, yet flexible, his wrist relaxed but ready to strike at any moment. ¡°Hold it like this. Not too tight, or you¡¯ll lose the fluidity of your movement. But not too loose, or it¡¯ll slip when you strike.¡± Raz stepped towards Soren first, placing the steel dagger¡¯s hilt in his hand. ¡°Like this.¡± His touch was precise as he adjusted Soren¡¯s grip. ¡°A dagger isn¡¯t a sword. It doesn¡¯t need wide, sweeping motions. It needs precision. Accuracy.¡± He looked between Soren and Alaric. ¡°When you strike, you aim for completion¡ªnot a show of force, but a whisper of death.¡± As Soren felt the weight of the dagger, something clicked in his mind. The balance, the control required¡ªit wasn¡¯t so different from his sculpting tools. Soren¡¯s movement became more fluid as he followed Raz¡¯s instructions. ¡°The human body is your medium now, Soren. Learn its weaknesses, its vulnerabilities, just as you learned the grain of the stone.¡± Soren nodded. This was about control, precision, and understanding the fragility of the human body, just as he understood the fragility of marble. Raz led them through a series of strikes, showing them how to target weak points on the training dummy¡ªthe neck, the kidneys, the heart. ¡°Stealth doesn¡¯t end when you approach your target. It ends when they die without ever knowing you were there.¡± As Soren practiced the movements, he found himself falling into a familiar state of focused concentration. The world narrowed to the blade in his hand, the imaginary targets before him. A muffled sound broke his concentration. Soren glanced over to see Alaric struggling with the exercises, his movements jerky. Raz noticed too, his eyes narrowing. ¡°You can¡¯t hesitate. The moment you do, your enemy will exploit it, and you¡¯ll be the one lying dead. You must commit to the contract. Commit to your role.¡± Alaric nodded, his jaw clenched tight. He raised the dagger again, trying to mimic the brutal neck strike Raz had demonstrated. But halfway through the motion, he stumbled back, the dagger clattering to the floor. He bent double, retching violently. Soren took a step towards him, but Raz¡¯s outstretched arm stopped him. ¡°Let him work through it.¡± Alaric straightened, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He bent down, retrieving the fallen dagger. ¡°I¡¯m not giving up. I¡¯ll do it, even if I hate every second of it.¡± He met Raz¡¯s gaze, refusing to look away. Raz studied him for a long moment. ¡°Good. You don¡¯t have to like it. You just have to commit.¡± Alaric dipped his head. ¡°I know¡­I will.¡± ¡°Now, let¡¯s focus on the final stroke. The key is to strike swiftly and decisively. No hesitation, no half-measures.¡± He demonstrated a series of quick movements. ¡°The jugular, here. A single, precise cut, and your target bleeds out in seconds. Or here.¡± He indicated a spot just below the ribs. ¡°Angled upward, your blade finds the heart. Death is nearly instantaneous.¡± Soren found himself mimicking the motions, his body moving through the forms, striking the dummy with a grace that surprised him. ¡°Good, Soren. The dagger is an extension of your will. Don¡¯t think about the strike¡ªsimply act, commit.¡± As the lesson progressed, Raz showed them how to use the dagger in conjunction with other skills they¡¯d learned¡ªhow to approach silently, strike from the shadows, and vanish without a trace. ¡°Remember, the dagger is just a tool. Your true weapon is your mind. You must be able to read a situation in an instant, to know exactly where to strike and how to escape. Every contract is a puzzle, and the dagger is just one piece of the solution.¡± Soren nodded. He could see how all their training was coming together¡ªthe stealth, the combat skills, the knowledge of anatomy and human behaviour. It was all leading to this¡ªthe perfect, silent kill. As he continued the drills, each movement became more precise, more controlled. He barely noticed the ache in his muscles, the sweat dripping down his back. His hand moved with newfound confidence. For the first time since joining the Guild, Soren felt like he was truly on the path to mastering the assassin¡¯s art. Beside him, Alaric¡¯s movements were steady, his face a mask of concentration. But Soren sensed the tension in his shoulders, the slight tremor in his hands as he mimed lethal strikes. Raz prowled around them, his eyes sharp and assessing. ¡°Every strike must be as precise as a chisel on stone. Commit to it. Do not fail. Commit.¡± As the lesson drew to a close, Soren stood still for a moment, his breathing steady, his mind calm. The chaotic thoughts and moral qualms that had plagued him seemed distant now, replaced by a sense of purpose and clarity. Raz regarded them both. ¡°You¡¯ve made progress. But remember, this is just the beginning. The true test comes when you face a living, breathing target.¡± Soren was ready. He accepted what the Guild needed him to be, what he needed to become. As they prepared to leave the chamber, Raz raised a hand. ¡°Soren, a moment.¡± Alaric hesitated at the door, but Soren nodded for him to go ahead. As the door closed behind him, Soren turned to face Raz, standing straight and meeting his instructor¡¯s gaze. ¡°You¡¯ve taken to this quicker than most, It¡¯s impressive.¡± ¡°Thank you, sir.¡± Raz¡¯s lips twitched in what might have been a smile. ¡°Don¡¯t thank me yet. The path you¡¯re on is not an easy one. The skills you¡¯re learning, the person you¡¯re becoming¡ªit will change you in ways you can¡¯t yet imagine.¡± ¡°I understand.¡± ¡°Good. Because soon, very soon, you¡¯ll be put to the test. And I expect you to excel. I expect you to commit.¡± Soren dipped his head. ¡°I will.¡± Raz clapped a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. ¡°I know you will.¡± Soren paced back and forth as Alaric sat on the edge of his bed. Soren had been quiet since their training session, lost in thought. The weight of unspoken words hung between them. He stopped mid-step. ¡°There¡¯s something wrong.¡± Alaric chuckled. ¡°You mean besides everything in this cursed Guild?¡± ¡°It doesn¡¯t make sense.¡± ¡°What do you mean.¡± Soren met his eyes. ¡°Raz. How easily we tracked him down after¡­after my father..¡± Alaric nodded. ¡°It wasn¡¯t that easy.¡± ¡°No. He¡¯s a master of stealth. We shouldn¡¯t have been able to track him like we did. It¡¯s like¡­I don¡¯t know. Like he wanted to be found..¡± Alaric raised an eyebrow. ¡°You¡¯re overthinking it, Sor. We got lucky, that¡¯s all it was.¡± ¡°Lucky?¡± Soren moved closer. ¡°You really think that? Raz knows how to disappear. We¡¯ve seen it first-hand. He¡¯s practically a ghost, and we were just two kids from Nebel Hafen. How could we have found him¡­unless he let us?¡± Alaric stood up, shaking his head. ¡°You¡¯re being paranoid. You¡¯re seeing patterns where there aren¡¯t any. Why would Raz, or anyone in the Guild, care about a couple of nobodies from a fishing town?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know why.¡± Soren clenched his fists. ¡°But I¡¯m going to find out. I¡¯m going to confront Raz.¡± Alaric¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Are you completely mad? He¡¯ll cut your throat before you finish your sentence. You don¡¯t just demand answers from a man like Raz.¡± He moved to block Soren¡¯s path. ¡°You¡¯ve been thinking too much since you found that book.¡± Soren tried to push past him, but Alaric stood his ground. ¡°But don¡¯t you see? None of this adds up. Why are we here? Why were we recruited so easily? What if this was planned long before we even knew it? What if my father¡¯s death wasn¡¯t random?¡± ¡°Soren, listen to yourself. You¡¯re connecting dots that don¡¯t exist. This is crazy talk.¡± ¡°Is it?¡± Soren¡¯s eyes darted around as if the very walls might be listening. ¡°What if everything we¡¯ve done¡ªeverything that¡¯s happened¡ªhas been orchestrated?¡± Alaric threw up his hands. ¡°You¡¯re reaching at ghosts. I get it. Your father¡¯s death was awful, and you¡¯re still trying to make sense of it. But you can¡¯t go accusing the Guild of some grand conspiracy. You¡¯ll get yourself killed.¡± ¡°And what if I¡¯m right? What if there¡¯s more to all of this than we know?¡± Alaric grabbed Soren¡¯s shoulders, forcing him to meet his gaze. ¡°Listen to me. We¡¯re here because we had no other choice, and Raz saw something in us. That¡¯s it. Maybe it¡¯s not more complicated than that.¡± Soren shrugged off Alaric¡¯s grip. ¡°But what if it is? What if we¡¯re just¡­puppets?¡± ¡°Even if we are, what good does knowing that do us? We¡¯re still trapped here. We still have to survive.¡± ¡°But at what cost? At the cost of our souls? Our humanity?¡± Alaric sighed. ¡°You¡¯re exhausted. You¡¯re not thinking clearly. Get some sleep, and in the morning¡ª¡± ¡°I don¡¯t need sleep!¡± Soren glowered at him. ¡°I need answers!¡± ¡°And how do you plan to get them? By storming into Raz¡¯s quarters and demanding the truth? He¡¯d gut you before you could blink.¡± Soren paced again, his mind racing. ¡°There has to be a way. Maybe we could sneak into the Vault again, look for more information.¡± ¡°And risk getting caught?¡± Alaric shook his head. ¡°No way. I¡¯m not letting you do that.¡± ¡°You can¡¯t stop me.¡± ¡°I can try.¡± Alaric shook his head. ¡°You¡¯re my friend, Soren. I¡¯m not going to let you throw your life away on a hunch.¡± ¡°A hunch? Is that what you think this is? I¡¯ve been piecing this together for weeks. It¡¯s all connected.¡± ¡°Connected to what? What grand scheme could possibly involve two nobodies like us?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know yet. But I will find out. Even if I have to tear this place apart stone by stone.¡± Alaric¡¯s expression softened. ¡°Sor, please. Listen to yourself. You¡¯re talking about going up against the most dangerous people in the world. People who kill for a living. Is that really worth it?¡± ¡°If it means uncovering the truth? Yes.¡± Alaric ran a hand through his hair. ¡°And what about me, huh? Have you thought about what your little crusade might mean for me?¡± Soren paused, caught off guard by the question. ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°I mean that if you go down this path, you¡¯re not just risking your own life. You¡¯re risking mine too. We¡¯re in this together, remember? If you fall, I fall with you.¡± Soren squeezed his eyes closed. He hadn¡¯t considered the implications for Alaric. ¡°Look,¡± Alaric said, his tone gentler. ¡°I understand why you¡¯re doing this. I really do. But you have to think about the consequences. Not just for you, but for both of us.¡± Soren slumped onto his bed, the fight draining out of him. ¡°I can¡¯t just let it go. I can¡¯t ignore the feeling that we¡¯re being manipulated.¡± Alaric sat down next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. ¡°I¡¯m not asking you to let it go. I¡¯m just asking you to be smart about it.¡± Soren nodded. ¡°So, what do you suggest?¡± ¡°We keep our heads down. We train, we learn, we become the best damn assassins this Guild has ever seen. And all the while, we keep our eyes and ears open. We gather information, but we do it carefully. No confrontations. Just patient observation.¡± ¡°Alright. We¡¯ll do it your way.¡± Alaric sniffed. ¡°Don¡¯t you see¡ªthis is your way. Since when do I go for the patient observation thing.¡± ¡°You¡¯re right. No point risking everything¡­yet.¡± Alaric nodded, the tension evaporating from his shoulders. ¡°Good. Now, can we please get some sleep? We¡¯ve got training in the morning, and Raz will have our hides if we¡¯re not at our best.¡± As they prepared for bed, Soren¡¯s mind continued to race. He lay awake long after Alaric fell asleep. Alaric was wrong. There was a pattern there, Soren was sure of it. A hidden truth waiting to be uncovered. He would have to wait, would have to bide his time. But he would uncover the truth, no matter what it took. VIII. Soren and Alaric entered the training room. In the centre stood a single practice dummy, beside it, a solitary dagger. ¡°This is different,¡± Alaric said. Soren nodded. ¡°Where¡¯s Raz?¡± A muffled grunt sounded from behind one of the walls. Soren tensed, exchanging a glance with Alaric. The door creaked open, and Raz stepped in. ¡°Today¡¯s lesson is about dealing with unexpected surprises.¡± Before either Soren or Alaric could respond, Raz stepped back out of the room, the heavy door slamming shut behind him. For a moment, silence reigned. With a crash, a section of the wall burst open. A massive wild boar charged into the room, its tusks gleaming, its eyes blazing. ¡°By Creation!¡± Alaric dived to the side as the beast barrelled past. Soren scrambled for the dagger. His fingers closed on the hilt just as the boar wheeled around for another charge. ¡°Alaric!¡± Soren tossed the weapon to him. Alaric caught it, but hesitation flickered across his face. The boar¡¯s hooves clattered on the stone floor as it charged again. Soren grabbed the practice dummy, using it as a makeshift shield. The impact sent him stumbling backward, his arms jolting from the force. ¡°We need to work together!¡± Soren strained to keep his footing. ¡°Distract it!¡± Alaric nodded, circling to the side and waving his arms. ¡°Hey, you overgrown pork chop! Over here!¡± The boar¡¯s attention snapped to Alaric, giving Soren a moment to catch his breath. This was no training exercise¡ªone wrong move could mean death. As the boar charged Alaric, Soren rushed forward, slamming the dummy into the beast¡¯s side. The impact threw the boar off course, sending it crashing into the wall. ¡°Now!¡± Alaric lunged, dagger raised, but at the last moment, he hesitated. The boar swung its massive head. Its tusk caught Alaric¡¯s leg, sending him sprawling. ¡°No!¡± Soren rushed to his side, placing himself between Alaric and the beast. The boar scraped the ground, preparing for another charge. Soren¡¯s mind raced, recalling every lesson on anatomy and weak points. If the boar¡¯s structure was anything like a human¡¯s¡­ ¡°The dagger! Pass it to me!¡± Alaric tossed the weapon, and Soren caught it just as the boar began its charge. Soren dodged to the side. A searing pain tore through his left arm, the boar¡¯s tusk grazing him. As the boar dipped its head for another charge, Soren¡¯s mind raced. The pain lanced through his arm, but he forced himself to focus. ¡°Alaric!¡± He dodged another rush from the boar. ¡°We need to tire it out! Use the dummy!¡± Alaric scrambled to his feet, blood oozing down his leg, and grabbed the practice dummy. With a grunt, he hefted it in front of him. ¡°Hey, porky!¡± Alaric slapped the dummy¡¯s chest. ¡°Over here!¡± The boar¡¯s attention snapped to Alaric, its eyes blazing, snout grunting. ¡°Now!¡± Soren called. ¡°Lead it to the wall!¡± As the boar thundered towards him, Alaric waited until the last possible moment before diving to the side. The beast, unable to change course, slammed head-first into the stone wall. Soren winced at the impact. He rushed forward, dagger in hand, aiming for the boar¡¯s exposed flank. The beast wheeled around, catching Soren off guard. He stumbled backward, barely avoiding the thrashing tusks. ¡°Soren!¡± ¡°I¡¯m alright.¡± His left arm throbbed. ¡°Again! We need to keep it moving!¡± Alaric used the dummy to provoke charges, while Soren looked for openings to strike. But the boar was relentless, its hide too thick for Soren¡¯s glancing blows to do much damage. ¡°We need to end this.¡± Soren breathed hard, his left arm hanging bloody at his side. ¡°I¡¯m going to try and mount it.¡± Alaric¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Are you insane? That¡¯s suicide!¡± ¡°We don¡¯t have a choice. Get ready with the dummy. When I give the signal, provoke a charge. I¡¯ll try to jump on its back as it passes.¡± Alaric positioned himself near the wall, dummy held high. Soren took a deep breath, steeling himself. ¡°Now!¡± Alaric slammed the dummy against the wall. ¡°Come on! Come get some!¡± The boar lowered its head and charged. Soren waited, every muscle in his body tensed. As the boar raced past, Soren leapt. He grasped the coarse hair on the boar¡¯s back. But his injured arm failed him. Unable to pull himself fully onto the beast, Soren found himself dragged along the ground, the rough stone floor tearing at his clothes and skin. With a desperate heave, he managed to roll free, gasping in pain as he collided with the wall. ¡°Sor! Are you alright?¡± Soren struggled to his feet, his entire body screaming in protest. ¡°I¡¯m fine. This isn¡¯t working.¡± The boar thrashed its head and let out a series of grunts. Its breaths came in heavy snorts, steam rising from its heaving flanks. ¡°Call him.¡± Alaric roared and shook the dummy. ¡°Come on, piggy!¡± The boar charged, its bulk a battering ram. Alaric tried to dodge, but fatigue slowed his movements. The beast caught him full in the chest, slamming him against the stone wall. The dummy clattered to the ground as Alaric crumpled, gasping for air. "Alaric!" Soren lunged forward, but the boar''s sudden turn caught him off guard. Its tusk sliced through the air where his head had been. He stumbled backward, his boots sliding on the blood-slicked floor, and went down hard. The impact drove the air from his lungs. Through blurred vision, he saw the boar wheel around, preparing another charge. He rolled desperately, feeling the rush of air as the beast thundered past. "Get up! We can''t stay down!" Soren staggered back-to-back with Alaric as the boar circled them. Blood ran down Soren''s arm, and Alaric''s breathing came in ragged gasps. "Once more," Soren said. "We''ll try to pin it against¡ª" The boar charged before he could finish. They dove in opposite directions, but Soren''s injured arm gave way as he landed. He sprawled across the floor, the dagger skittering from his grasp.If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. Alaric snatched up the practice dummy again, but his movements were sluggish. The boar caught the edge of the dummy, spinning Alaric off balance before he crashed to his knees. "We can''t¡­" Alaric coughed, spitting blood. "We can''t keep this up." Soren''s eyes darted around the room, desperate for anything they could use. His gaze landed on the table. "Help me with this." Together, they staggered to the table and tilted it on its side, creating a wedge against the wall. "When it charges." Soren retrieved the dagger. "The angle will force it up..." Alaric nodded, too winded for words. He positioned himself to the side, clutching the dummy. The boar grunted, its sides heaving, foam flecking its jaws. Blood and sweat had matted its bristly hide. "Now!" Alaric swung the dummy, and the boar charged. The table caught its lowered head at an angle, forcing its bulk upward. For a moment, the beast seemed to hang in the air, its belly exposed. Soren didn''t hesitate. He drove the dagger up into the boar''s unprotected underbelly, throwing his whole weight behind the thrust. Hot blood gushed over his hands as the blade found its mark. The boar''s squeal split the air. Its legs thrashed, but momentum carried it over the table. It crashed to the ground behind them, twitched once, and lay still. ¡°Is it dead?¡± Alaric asked. ¡°I think so.¡± Soren collapsed against the wall, chest heaving. Beside him, Alaric slid to the floor, the dummy falling from his fingers. For a long moment, the only sound was their laboured breathing and the slow drip of blood on stone. A guttural roar shattered the silence. The boar heaved itself up, blood streaming from its wound, eyes blazing. Its hooves scraped against the stone as it gathered itself for another charge. Soren¡¯s fingers tightened around the blood-slick dagger. Blood sprayed from its wound with each thundering step, leaving a crimson trail across the floor. Soren didn''t dive away this time. He leapt into the charge, his body moving with an instinct he didn''t know he possessed. The boar''s bulk filled his vision, its hot breath on his face. Soren twisted to the side. The beast''s momentum carried it past as he pivoted, and in one fluid motion, he drove the dagger down into its heart. The blade sank to the hilt. The boar''s momentum carried them both forward. Soren held on, his fingers locked around the dagger''s grip as they crashed to the ground. The impact jarred every bone in his body, but still he held on, driving the blade deeper. Deeper. The beast''s final breath came out as a whimper. Then stillness. Soren lay there, half-pinned beneath the boar''s massive bulk, his chest heaving. Blood¡ªhis and the boar''s¡ªpooled beneath them both. "Sor!" Alaric limped over, helping him wrestle free from under the dead weight. "That was either the bravest or the stupidest thing I''ve ever seen." "Probably both," Soren managed, his voice raw. He stared at the fallen beast, its eyes now glassy and vacant. Soren¡¯s left arm throbbed, blood seeping through his torn sleeve. The door opened, and Raz entered, surveying the scene. ¡°You both survived. Good.¡± Soren helped Alaric to his feet, both of them battered and exhausted. ¡°Soren,¡± Raz said. ¡°Your quick thinking and willingness to act decisively saved both your lives.¡± His gaze shifted to Alaric. ¡°And you.¡± He sniffed, his lip curling. ¡°Your hesitation could have cost you dearly. In our line of work, mercy is a fatal weakness.¡± Alaric nodded. ¡°I understand, sir. It won¡¯t happen again.¡± ¡°See that it doesn¡¯t. Come, both of you, get cleaned up and tend to your wounds. ¡° Soren and Alaric followed Raz through the winding corridors of the Guild. Soren¡¯s left arm throbbed, blood still seeping from the gash left by the boar¡¯s tusk. Beside him, Alaric limped, his face pale and drawn. ¡°I thought we were done for back there.¡± Soren nodded, unable to find the words. The memory of the boar¡¯s final moments played out again and again in his mind¡ªthe resistance as the dagger plunged in, the terrible squeal, the light fading from its eyes. But it was necessary. And the training helped. Raz led them into a small room, its walls lined with shelves stocked with bandages, vials, and various medical instruments. In the centre stood an examination table. Raz gestured to the table. ¡°Sit.¡± Soren pulled himself up onto it, wincing at the pain in his arm. ¡°Today, you learn to heal yourselves,¡± Raz said. Alaric¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°But we don¡¯t know the first thing about¡ª¡± ¡°Then it¡¯s time you learned.¡± Raz moved to a nearby shelf, selecting a needle, thread, and a bottle of clear liquid. ¡°Pay attention. This lesson may save your life one day.¡± Raz held up the needle. ¡°First, sterilisation is crucial. Infection will kill you as surely as any blade.¡± He dipped the needle in the clear liquid then held it over a small flame. ¡°Now, for the wound.¡± Raz turned to Soren. ¡°Remove your shirt.¡± Soren complied, cringing as the fabric peeled away from his injury. The gash was ugly, running from his biceps nearly to his elbow. ¡°Clean it thoroughly.¡± Raz handed Soren a cloth soaked in alcohol. ¡°This will hurt.¡± Soren gritted his teeth as he pressed the cloth to the wound. The stinging brought water to his eyes. But he forced himself to continue, cleaning away the dirt and dried blood. ¡°Good. Now, the sutures. Watch closely.¡± Raz demonstrated the technique on a piece of leather, showing how to pierce the skin and tie off each stitch. Soren watched, his mind focused despite the pain. "Your turn." Raz handed Soren the needle and thread, his face impassive as ever. Soren stared at the curved metal, its tip gleaming in the torchlight. The wound in his arm throbbed, blood still seeping from the ragged gash. "Clean it first. Thoroughly." Soren''s hands trembled as he poured spirits over the wound. The liquid ignited every nerve ending, sending spots dancing across his vision. He watched, oddly detached, as pink-tinged alcohol ran down his arm, dripping onto the stone floor. Raz examined the wound. "Keep the stitches close. You don''t want it reopening." Across the room, Alaric looked on, his face growing paler by the moment. Soren took a deep breath and pinched the edges of the wound together. The sensation made his stomach turn¡ªraw flesh against raw flesh, slick with blood and cleaning spirits. "Like this?" He positioned the needle. "Angle it perpendicular to the wound. And don''t hesitate. The longer you wait, the worse it feels." The first pierce of the needle made him gasp. It was a different kind of pain than the initial injury¡ªsharp, precise, demanding his complete attention. He watched, mesmerized, as the metal disappeared into his flesh, then emerged on the other side. "Steady now. Pull it taut, but not enough to tear." Soren drew the thread through, fighting a wave of nausea at the crawling sensation of it sliding through his skin. Blood welled around the entry points, but he forced himself to focus. "Am I doing this right?" He tied off the first stitch, his breath coming in short bursts. "Well enough. Keep them evenly spaced." Alaric made a choking sound and stumbled toward the door. The second stitch was somehow worse than the first¡ªnow he knew exactly what to expect. But as he continued, a strange rhythm began to emerge. Pierce, pull, tie. Pierce, pull, tie. The pain became almost mechanical, something he could observe rather than experience. "The body is like any other material," Raz said. "It can be broken, cut, torn. But it can also be mended. Remember this feeling. You may need to do this again someday." Soren nodded, sweat running down his temples. The wound was slowly coming together under his hands, angry and puckered but sealed. Each stitch felt like a small victory, a triumph of will over flesh. The final knot brought an unexpected sense of accomplishment. He sat back, suddenly exhausted, and examined his work. The line of black stitches was uneven in places, but it would hold. "Here." Raz handed him a clean bandage. "Not too tight. The wound needs to breathe." Soren felt the pull of the stitches as he nodded. The pain was still there, but it felt different now, duller, throbbing. ¡°Now you.¡± Raz said, turning to Alaric. Alaric¡¯s face, already pale, seemed to lose what little colour remained. ¡°I¡­I don¡¯t think I can.¡± ¡°You can and you will. Or would you prefer to bleed out on your next mission?¡± Alaric swallowed hard and nodded, taking the needle with shaking hands. As he began to clean his wound, Soren moved to help him. ¡°No.¡± Raz clamped a hand on Soren¡¯s shoulder. ¡°He must do this himself. In the field, you won¡¯t have someone to rely on.¡± Soren stepped back, watching as Alaric struggled with the needle. His friend¡¯s hands shook, and more than once he had to stop, closing his eyes, and taking deep breaths. ¡°You can do this,¡± Soren said. ¡°One movement at a time.¡± Alaric nodded, his jaw set. Slowly, he began to close his wound. Each stitch seemed like a battle, but the gash began to close. ¡°It¡¯s not pretty,¡± Raz said as Alaric tied off the last stitch. ¡°But it will hold.¡± Alaric sagged, colour returning to his face. ¡°You¡¯ve both done well today. You faced death and emerged victorious. You¡¯ve learned to heal your own wounds. These are crucial skills for any contractor.¡± He paused, his gaze moving between them. ¡°But remember this¡ªthe wounds you can see are often the least dangerous. It¡¯s the ones you can¡¯t see, the ones that bleed inside, that can truly destroy you.¡± Soren felt a chill at Raz¡¯s words. The trauma of taking a life, the constant dance with death¡ªthese were the unseen wounds that could fester and rot. ¡°Return to your quarters and rest. Tomorrow will bring new challenges.¡± Soren winced as he adjusted his position in bed, trying to push away the throbbing pain in his left arm. ¡°Sor, I never properly thanked you. You saved my life back there.¡± Soren turned to face him, ignoring the twinge of pain the movement caused. ¡°We had each other¡¯s backs. That¡¯s what partners do.¡± ¡°Partners, Right.¡± ¡°We¡¯re stronger together. Always have been, always will be. You know this.¡± Silence fell between them for a moment, broken only by the soft crackle of the candle flame. ¡°How did you do it? How did you kill that boar?¡± Soren stared at the ceiling, considering the question. The memory of the boar¡¯s death flashed through his mind¡ªthe weight of the dagger in his hand, the resistance as it plunged into flesh, the life fading from the beast¡¯s eyes. ¡°I didn¡¯t think. I just did what I had to do. It was us or the boar, and I chose us.¡± Alaric nodded. ¡°Do you think you could do that with a person? Take a human life?¡± ¡°Yes. We¡¯ve already been through the Threshing. We¡¯ve seen death up close. We¡¯ve¡­caused it. We¡¯ve killed. Both of us.¡± ¡°That was different.¡± Alaric sat up in his bed. ¡°The Threshing was about survival. Self-defence. But carrying out a contract¡­that¡¯s something else entirely.¡± Soren shook his head, wincing as the movement sent a fresh wave of pain through his arm. ¡°Is it really so different? In the end, it¡¯s all about applying what we¡¯ve learned, putting our training into practice. It¡¯s all about survival.¡± ¡°But we¡¯re talking about ending a life¡ªa cold, calculated murder. Someone¡¯s son, daughter, parent. How can you be so calm about it?¡± Soren sat up as well, meeting Alaric¡¯s gaze. ¡°Because this is the path we chose. We can¡¯t afford to hesitate or second-guess ourselves¡± Alaric looked away. ¡°I¡¯m not sure I can be that detached. That cold.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not about being cold. It¡¯s about being professional. Doing what needs to be done, no matter how difficult it might be.¡± ¡°And what about our humanity? Where does that fit in?¡± Soren had no answer. The question echoed his own doubts, the ones he tried so hard to push aside. He thought of his father, of the justice he sought, of the monster he was becoming. Was he willing to sacrifice his humanity in pursuit of that goal? ¡°I just know that we¡¯re in this now, for better or worse. We have to see it through.¡± Alaric nodded. ¡°I guess. I just¡­I hope I¡¯m strong enough for what¡¯s to come.¡± ¡°You are. We both are. ¡° The candle sputtered and died, plunging the room into darkness. In the quiet that followed, Soren listened to Alaric¡¯s breathing even out as his friend drifted off to sleep. But for Soren, rest remained elusive. He revisited the day¡¯s events in his mind, analysing every move, every decision. The boar¡¯s charge, the feel of the dagger in his hand, the precision required to suture his own wound. Was he losing himself in pursuit of his goal? No. He was still Soren, still an artist. He wasn¡¯t a monster, could never be a monster. The ease with which he had taken the boar¡¯s life, the clinical detachment he felt when discussing the possibility of killing a person¡ªwere these signs of his growing mastery, or symptoms of a deeper change within himself? Soren thought of his father, of the questions surrounding his death. He had joined the Guild seeking answers, seeking justice, seeking revenge. Not the lure of mastery. Not the artistry of it all. Not the feeling that he could be great at this¡ªthe best. Each throb of his wound seemed to pulse in time with his thoughts. In the darkness, Soren flexed his injured arm, feeling the pull of the stitches. There was an odd beauty to it¡ªthe precise placement of each stitch, the careful mending of torn flesh. Like his sculptures, but different. Living art. Each stitch represented a decision¡ªto endure, to learn, to become something more than he was. The Guild was changing him, sculpting him into something new. But unlike stone, he could feel every cut, every strike of the chisel. He thought of the boar''s eyes as the light faded from them, of the way his hands hadn''t shaken at all in that final moment. The kill had been clean, precise¡ªbeautiful, even, in its own terrible way. He wasn¡¯t a monster¡ªhe was an artist. IX. Morning sunlight filtered through narrow windows, casting long shadows across the Guild¡¯s stone corridors. Soren and Alaric trailed behind Raz, their footsteps echoing off the walls. The remains of breakfast sat heavy in Soren¡¯s stomach¡ªhe¡¯d barely managed half his portion, the pain in his arm stealing his appetite. ¡°Feels like my leg¡¯s being stabbed every time I take a step,¡± Alaric said, his limp more pronounced than the night before. ¡°And these stitches¡­Creation¡¯s mercy, they pull with every movement.¡± Soren nodded, carefully adjusting his left arm. ¡°Couldn¡¯t sleep. Kept rolling onto it by accident.¡± ¡°We should stop by the infirmary,¡± Alaric said, lowering his voice. ¡°Get something for the pain¡ª¡± Raz stopped so abruptly that Soren nearly walked into him. Their mentor turned, his dark eyes sharp in the morning light. ¡°No drugs. No herbs, no potions, no numbness.¡± ¡°But¡ª¡± Raz¡¯s glare silenced Alaric. ¡°The pain is not your enemy.¡± Raz¡¯s gaze moved between them. ¡°It is your teacher. Learn to feel it. Learn to understand it. Learn to control it. Only then can you truly master yourself.¡± Without waiting for a response, Raz turned and continued down the corridor. He stopped before the Vault. Soren followed Raz inside, Alaric close behind. ¡°A contractor doesn¡¯t just rely on blades and shadows,¡± Raz said. ¡°Information is your most powerful weapon. When seeking a target, you don¡¯t start with the man. You start with his life.¡± He gestured to the shelves around them. ¡°His finances, his connections, his habits. Everything is recorded somewhere¡ªbirth records, tax filings, business dealings. This is how you will find you quarry.¡± Alaric shifted his weight beside Soren. ¡°Seems like a lot of reading.¡± ¡°Is that a problem, Alaric?¡± Raz narrowed his eyes. ¡°Would you prefer to stumble blindly after your target, hoping to get lucky?¡± Alaric straightened, shaking his head. ¡°No, sir. I just¡­I¡¯m better with my hands than my head, is all.¡± ¡°Then you¡¯d better start improving your mind. Or you¡¯ll find yourself very short-lived in this profession.¡± Raz strode over to a nearby shelf, pulling down a thick ledger. He opened it, flipping through pages of densely written tax records. ¡°Say this is our target.¡± He pointed to a name. ¡°What does his tax filing tell us? His income, his assets, where he does business. You know where he keeps his money, where he spends his time.¡± Soren leaned in, his eyes scanning the columns of numbers and notations. He could see patterns emerging, a picture of a life laid bare in ink. Raz handed a folder to Soren. ¡°Birth records can tell you his family, his connections. A marriage? A child? These are weaknesses you can exploit.¡± As Soren leafed through the documents, his mind raced. He couldn¡¯t help but wonder if somewhere in this repository, there might be answers about his own father¡¯s death. About why he and Alaric had been chosen for the Guild. Raz turned to Alaric. ¡°Financial records are like a map of his life. Follow the money, and you¡¯ll find him.¡± ¡°But how does knowing where someone banks help us kill them?¡± Raz¡¯s lips curled. ¡°Think, Alaric. If you know where a man keeps his money, you know where he¡¯ll go when he¡¯s desperate. If you know his business dealings, you know who he meets with, when, and where. Every piece of information is a thread. Pull enough threads, and a man¡¯s life unravels before you.¡± Soren nodded. ¡°It¡¯s not just about finding them physically. It¡¯s about understanding them completely. Their motivations, their weaknesses, their patterns.¡± ¡°Exactly,¡± Raz said. ¡°The more you know about your target, the more ways you have to reach them. Sometimes, the completion isn¡¯t even necessary. The right piece of information, leveraged correctly, can destroy a man more thoroughly than any blade.¡± As Soren continued to read through the documents, he started piecing together connections. He noted how someone¡¯s spending habits or their home address listed in tax filings could give away more than their physical movements. ¡°Look here.¡± Soren pointed to a series of entries in the ledger. ¡°This man makes regular payments to an address across town. It¡¯s not listed as a business expense. Could be a mistress, or maybe a secret family.¡± Raz nodded. ¡°And how might you use that information?¡± ¡°If it¡¯s a secret relationship, that¡¯s leverage. Or if we needed to find him quickly, we¡¯d have another location to check.¡± ¡°Precisely. Every detail, no matter how small, can be crucial.¡± Alaric furrowed his brow. ¡°This is really how we find people? Paper and numbers?¡± Raz smirked. ¡°Every man leaves a trail, Alaric. Your job is to read it. The physical skills we¡¯ve been honing are important, yes. But they¡¯re useless if you can¡¯t find your target in the first place.¡± As the lesson continued, Soren found himself engrossed in the documents. He began to understand how a skilled assassin could use this information to not just find a target, but to predict their movements. Throughout it all, a part of him remained alert for any information that might shed light on his own situation. He scanned names and dates, looking for anything that might connect to his father¡¯s death or his own recruitment. But if such information existed in the Vault, it wasn¡¯t in these documents. As Soren reached for another ledger, he caught a glimpse of something at Raz¡¯s hip. The hilt of his dagger, its handle an impossible, perfect black. ¡°Sir, that dagger¡­why does the Guild use them? They seem unusual.¡± Raz¡¯s hand moved to the dagger¡¯s hilt. ¡°The ravenglass daggers are a Guild secret, Soren. Their properties make them uniquely suited to our work. But that¡¯s not something you need to concern yourself with. Not yet.¡± Soren knew better than to press the issue. After several hours working through documents, Raz finally closed the ledgers and stepped back. ¡°Next, we take this knowledge to the streets.¡± Welttor''s autumn sun cast long shadows across the cobblestones as Soren and Alaric followed Raz through the crowded streets. Each step sent fresh waves of pain through Soren''s arm¡ªthe morning''s lesson in the Vault had taken its toll, hours of hunching over ledgers and tax records making his stitches pull with every movement. The city''s afternoon bustle swept around them¡ªmerchants calling their wares, the clatter of cart wheels, the cry of gulls wheeling overhead. Beside him, Alaric limped. "Who knew reading could be so exhausting?" "At least the numbers didn''t try to gore us." Ahead, Raz moved through the crowds, his grey cloak barely disturbing the air. He made it look effortless¡ªthis navigation of the city''s chaos. Soren tried to mimic his mentor''s fluid movements, but his injured arm threw off his balance, making him feel clumsy and obvious. They approached a busy intersection where four major thoroughfares met, the press of bodies growing denser. The aroma of fresh bread from a nearby bakery mingled with the sharp tang of fish from the docks and the earthier scents of horses and unwashed humanity. Raz stopped and turned to them. ¡°You¡¯ve seen the theory. Now, it¡¯s time for practice.¡± His gaze snapped to Soren. ¡°Your target¡¯s name is Rudolph Glasson. Find him. That is all you need to do. Find him.¡± Before Soren could ask for more details, Raz was moving again, forcing them to follow. They ducked under a merchant¡¯s awning, the smell of spices filling the air. ¡°Glasson is clever, keeps a low profile,¡± Raz said, sidestepping a group of factory workers. ¡°You¡¯ll need to start where his life is documented¡ªcity hall, tax records, anything that can point you to him.¡± As they stepped onto a less crowded side street, Raz turned to face them. ¡°I¡¯ll be watching.¡± He melted into the crowd. Soren exchanged a glance with Alaric. ¡°Right,¡± Alaric said. ¡°Where do we start?¡± ¡°Birth records, marriage certificates¡ªanything that can give us a foundation to work from.¡± ¡°This is going to be super boring, you know?¡± Soren shrugged one shoulder. ¡°It¡¯s like a puzzle, isn¡¯t it? We need to work out who our target is, where to find him. All we have at the moment is a name.¡± Soren led the way through the crowded streets, trying to blend in with the flow of pedestrians. He found himself aware of every movement, every glance from passersby. Was that woman looking at them suspiciously, or was he just being paranoid? The sprawling Central Square of Welttor stretched out before them. The City Hall dominated one side, its stone fa?ade glowing white in the afternoon sun. Beside it stood the Grand Library, its domed roof glinting. The Tax Office and various other administrative buildings completed the square. As they approached the City Hall¡¯s main entrance, Soren¡¯s steps faltered. Two guards flanked the main entrance, their uniforms crisp, postures rigid. Soren nodded towards the guards. ¡°I don¡¯t think they¡¯re just going to let us waltz in. What if we¡¯re turned away?¡± Alaric grinned. ¡°Maybe that¡¯s part of the test. Sneaking past the guards, making it a proper heist. Could be fun, eh?¡± Soren rolled his eyes, but couldn¡¯t suppress a small smile. ¡°Let¡¯s try the direct approach first. Save your swashbuckling for when we really need it.¡± ¡°You¡¯re no fun.¡± As they reached the entrance, one of the guards stepped forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. ¡°State your business.¡± Soren dipped his head. ¡°We¡¯re looking for information in the records office, sir.¡± The guard¡¯s eyes narrowed, but after a moment, he nodded. ¡°Records office is down the main corridor, third door on the left. Don¡¯t make any trouble.¡± ¡°We won¡¯t.¡± Soren and Alaric stepped into the City Hall¡¯s cool interior and followed the guard¡¯s directions, their footsteps echoing off the marble floors. As they walked, Alaric let out a sigh. ¡°Well, that was disappointing. I was hoping for at least a bit of adventure. Maybe a wall to climb, or some chandeliers to swing from.¡± Soren chuckled, shaking his head. ¡°Sorry to disappoint. Next time we need to break into a heavily guarded fortress, I¡¯ll let you take the lead.¡± ¡°Promise?¡± ¡°Absolutely. Now come on, let¡¯s find those records before you decide to liven things up.¡± Soren entered the records office and came to a stop in front of a reception desk. A clerk with neat hair and wire-rimmed glasses looked up from his papers. ¡°Can I help you, gentlemen?¡± ¡°We¡¯re looking for information on a man called Rudolph Glasson. Family history, that sort of thing. It¡¯s for a genealogy project.¡± The clerk eyed them for a moment before shrugging and pointing them towards a section of shelves. ¡°Birth records are there. Marriage certificates two rows over.¡± Soren¡¯s eyes swept across the rows of shelves, each laden with thick, leather-bound volumes. He drifted through the stacks, his fingers trailing along the spines of the books. ¡°Birth records, birth records¡­¡± He stopped when he spotted the right section. ¡°Over here,¡± They pulled several heavy tomes from the shelves, spreading them out on a nearby table. Soren flipped open the first book, his eyes scanning the neatly written entries. Names, dates, parents. But none matching their target. He closed it with a sigh and reached for another. Beside him, Alaric was already on his third book. ¡°This is pointless.¡± He slammed the tome shut. ¡°We could be here for days!¡± ¡°Wait, let¡¯s think about this logically. We can rule out children and probably anyone younger than twenty for now.¡± Alaric nodded, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. ¡°Right, good thinking. So where do we start?¡± ¡°Let¡¯s begin with the books from about twenty years ago and work our way back.¡±Stolen story; please report. Soren set to work with renewed focus, methodically going through each year. The books for those in their twenties yielded nothing. Alaric groaned as they finished another volume. ¡°Maybe we should try a different approach?¡± Soren shook his head. ¡°No, we keep looking. Let¡¯s try the next year.¡± He moved through more records, setting each year aside. Alaric groaned. ¡°We don¡¯t even know if he was born in Wiete.¡± ¡°We don¡¯t. That¡¯s true. But we can¡¯t rule it out¡­not yet.¡± Soren opened the book for those born thirty-seven years ago, He traced down the list of names. ¡°Got him! Rudolph Glasson, born thirty-seven years ago. Parents were Marcus and Eliza Glasson.¡± Alaric leaned in. ¡°Well, I¡¯ll be damned. You were right.¡± Soren and Alaric turned their attention to the marriage records. The shelves in this section were arranged differently, with more recent records easily accessible. ¡°if he¡¯s thirty-seven now, we should focus on records from the last fifteen years or so. He¡¯s unlikely to have married before his early twenties.¡± Alaric nodded, already pulling down a volume. ¡°I¡¯ll start with the most recent and work backwards. You take the older ones.¡± Soren agreed, and they set to work, the rustle of turning pages filling the air. After a while, Alaric let out a low whistle. ¡°Sor, I think I¡¯ve got something.¡± Soren looked up from his own book, eyebrows raised. ¡°Yeah?¡± With a grin, Alaric slid a document across the table. ¡°Rudolph Glasson, married to a woman named Clara.¡± His finger traced the line of text as he continued, ¡°And look here¡ªhis occupation is listed as a solicitor.¡± Soren leaned in. ¡°This is perfect. We¡¯ve got his age, his family status, and his profession. It¡¯s all starting to come together.¡± Alaric nodded. ¡°So, what¡¯s next? Where do we go from here?¡± ¡°Well, now that we know he¡¯s a solicitor, we might be able to find more information about his professional life. Tax records, business registries, that sort of thing.¡± ¡°Right.¡± Alaric rose to his feet. ¡°And maybe property records too? If he¡¯s successful, he might own more than just a family home.¡± ¡°Good thinking. Let¡¯s see what else we can dig up.¡± Soren and Alaric made their way through the corridors of the City Hall, following signs to the land registry office. The room they entered was smaller than the records office, with walls lined with filing cabinets. ¡°Can I help you?¡± asked a clerk, peering at them over a stack of documents. ¡°We¡¯re looking for property records for Rudolph Glasson,¡± Soren said. The clerk nodded and disappeared into a back room, returning moments later with a thick file. ¡°Here you are. Please return it when you¡¯re finished.¡± Soren and Alaric huddled over the file, flipping through pages of deeds and contracts. ¡°Creation¡¯s teeth,¡± Alaric said. ¡°Look at this. Glasson doesn¡¯t just own a house. He¡¯s got properties all over Welttor.¡± Soren nodded, his finger tracing down the list. ¡°And not just in the city.¡± ¡°Well, it¡¯s not much use for finding where he lives, is it? He could be in any of these places.¡± Soren¡¯s brow furrowed. ¡°Maybe not for where he lives, but it might help us find where he works. A solicitor this successful is bound to have an impressive office.¡± They pored over the list again, scrutinising each address. But nothing stood out as an obvious business location. ¡°This isn¡¯t getting us anywhere,¡± Alaric said. ¡°Wait a minute.¡± Soren traced his finge over the legal jargon at the bottom of each deed. ¡°Look at this. The same legal firm is cited in all of these property documents.¡± Alaric leaned in, squinting at the small print. ¡°You¡¯re right. Blackstone & Associates. Think that¡¯s Glasson¡¯s firm?¡± ¡°It has to be. But there¡¯s still no specific address listed here for the business itself.¡± He flipped through the pages again, hoping to find some clue they¡¯d missed, but came up empty-handed. With a sigh, Soren closed the file. ¡°We need more information. Let¡¯s return this and see if we can find out where to look next.¡± He approached the clerk¡¯s desk, handing back the folder. ¡°Where would I find the address for a specific business in the city?¡± The clerk adjusted his spectacles. ¡°That would typically be in the tax office records. They keep a registry of all businesses in Welttor.¡± Soren nodded and they turned to leave. ¡°What business are you looking for, if you don¡¯t mind me asking?¡± Soren hesitated for a moment. ¡°Blackstone & Associates. It¡¯s a legal firm.¡± The clerk¡¯s eyebrows rose. ¡°You don¡¯t need to go to the tax office for that. They¡¯re not far from here, actually. Their offices are near the magistrates¡¯ court, just east of the square.¡± ¡°Thank you, sir. You¡¯ve been incredibly helpful.¡± As they hurried outside, Alaric grinned at Soren. ¡°Well, that was a stroke of luck. Shall we go pay Blackstone & Associates a visit?¡± ¡°Absolutely. Let¡¯s see what we can find out about Glasson¡¯s workplace.¡± The afternoon heat pressed down on them as they descended the City Hall''s wide steps. Soren''s arm throbbed worse than ever¡ªall that reaching for heavy volumes had taken its toll. "Even if Glasson doesn''t work there anymore," Alaric said, favouring his injured leg as they crossed the square. "They might have his home address on file." Soren wiped sweat from his brow. "You really think a legal firm would hand over that kind of information to complete strangers?" "It''s not like we have much else to go on, do we?" Alaric gestured at the bustling square around them. "Unless you fancy knocking on every door in Welttor." They turned east, following the clerk''s directions. The streets grew narrower, the buildings taller and more imposing. Law clerks and well-dressed merchants hurried past, the sound of their boots on cobblestones mixing with the distant toll of the Magistrates'' court bell. At the corner of a side street stood a three-story building of polished granite, its windows gleaming in the afternoon sun. A brass plaque beside the door read "Blackstone & Associates, Solicitors at Law" in elegant script. ¡°This is the place.¡± ¡°Now what? We still don¡¯t know if he¡¯s actually here. We can¡¯t afford to rouse suspicion.¡± Soren pushed out his bottom lip. ¡°You¡¯re right. Raz would have our hides.¡± He glanced along the street, searching for inspiration. ¡°Wait here.¡± Alaric said, ducking into a nearby bakery. He emerged a few minutes later with a box of cakes. ¡°We¡¯re going to make a delivery.¡± Inside the office, Soren approached the receptionist with a smile. ¡°Delivery for Mr. Glasson.¡± He placed the box on the desk. ¡°A gift from Mr. Harding.¡± The receptionist frowned. ¡°I¡¯m afraid Mr. Glasson is in meetings all day. But I can make sure he gets these.¡± ¡°I was hoping to deliver these to Mr. Glasson himself.¡± ¡°I¡¯m afraid that won¡¯t be possible.¡± ¡°Is he in the building, at least? Mr. Harding was hoping for a quick word if possible.¡± ¡°He is, but as I said, he¡¯s unavailable. I¡¯ll be sure to let him know you stopped by.¡± ¡°Thank you.¡± Soren scanned the portraits on the wall, his gaze lingering on a portrait of a man in his mid-thirties. ¡°Is that him?¡± The receptionist nodded. ¡°It is. Now, if you would like to leave your parcel, I will make sure it is delivered.¡± Soren set the cakes on the counter and made his way back outside to join Alaric. ¡°He¡¯s in there, but we can¡¯t get to him directly. We¡¯ll have to wait and watch.¡± ¡°You sure he¡¯s there?¡± Soren gave a nod. ¡°And I know what he looks like. It¡¯s just a case of waiting until he steps out.¡± ¡°You got a look at him?¡± Soren shrugged. ¡°At his portrait. But I could tell the artist had skill. It should be easy enough to spot him.¡± He led them to a nearby building, finding a secluded spot on the rooftop that offered a clear view of Blackstone & Associates. They settled in, their eyes fixed on the entrance. ¡°This is going to be tedious,¡± Alaric said, shifting on the hard tiles. ¡°My leg¡¯s killing me.¡± Soren fixed his gaze on the street below. ¡°Maybe, but it¡¯s necessary. We can¡¯t afford to miss him.¡± As the hours crawled by, they watched a steady stream of people entering and exiting the building. Lawyers, clients, couriers. But no sign of Glasson. The sun began to dip lower in the sky,. Had they missed him somehow? What if there were other exits they couldn¡¯t see from their vantage point? ¡°Sor, we¡¯ve been here for hours. Maybe we should call it a day and try again tomorrow.¡± Soren flexed his fingers against the chill. ¡°He has to come out eventually.¡± But as the street lamps hissed to life and the flow of people from the building slowed to a trickle, even Soren began to doubt their strategy. ¡°Alright, maybe you¡¯re right. We can come back early tomorrow and¡ª¡± Soren¡¯s words cut off as he caught sight of a man exiting the building. He was in his mid-thirties, with a confident stride and an expensive-looking suit. ¡°That¡¯s him. I¡¯m sure of it.¡± Alaric squinted down at the street. ¡°Which one? The one with the briefcase?¡± Soren nodded, already moving towards the edge of the roof. ¡°Come on, we can¡¯t lose him.¡± Soren scrambled down from their perch. As they hit the street, He caught a glimpse of Glasson turning a corner. ¡°This way.¡± He broke into a brisk walk to keep up with their target without drawing attention. ¡°Sor, my leg.¡± ¡°We can¡¯t afford to lose him.¡± Soren followed Glasson through the winding streets, using every stealth technique Raz had taught them. He found himself slipping into the rhythm of pursuit, blending with crowds and shadows. ¡°He¡¯s cautious, but not careful enough,¡± Soren said as they watched Glasson enter a stately townhouse. ¡°He doesn¡¯t expect to be followed.¡± Raz¡¯s sudden appearance made both Soren and Alaric start. ¡°Not bad,¡± Raz said. ¡°You found him, tracked him home. But you made mistakes along the way.¡± He led them to a vantage point with a clear view of Glasson¡¯s home. ¡°When you watch a house, you don¡¯t just look at the target. You watch everything. Who visits? Who comes and goes? What does the house tell you?¡± Over the next hour, Raz pointed out details Soren would never have noticed on his own. The frequency of visitors, the patterns of lights in different windows, even the way Glasson¡¯s curtains were drawn. ¡°These are things you use to plan your next move. You strike when they least expect it.¡± As night fell, Raz signalled for Soren and Alaric to follow. Using the lockpicking skills they¡¯d learned, Soren and Alaric gained entry to the house. They moved silently through darkened hallways, every creak of a floorboard setting Soren¡¯s nerves on edge. They reached what appeared to be Glasson¡¯s study. Light spilled from beneath the door. ¡°Go on,¡± Raz said. Soren took a deep breath, steeling himself for confrontation. He pushed the door open and found Glasson sat behind his desk. He looked up and smiled. ¡°Well done.¡± He rose to his feet. ¡°I knew you were watching. I saw you.¡± He pointed at Alaric. ¡°Outside my building. The moment you asked about me in the records office, a message was sent to me. But still, you followed through. That takes skill.¡± Raz stepped forward. ¡°You tracked him, followed his trail, and got inside. But you were seen¡ªsloppy at the tax office.¡± He turned to Alaric. ¡°And you need to learn how to blend in better.¡± Alaric nodded. ¡°Yes, sir.¡± ¡°This was a test,¡± Raz said. ¡°You did well. But there¡¯s always room for improvement. You¡¯ll need to be better if you want to survive in the Guild.¡± Glasson returned to his seat. ¡°Tell me, how was it done?¡± Soren hesitated, glancing between Raz and Glasson. ¡°Should I¡­I mean, is it safe to discuss our methods here?¡± Raz nodded. ¡°Good instinct, Soren. But Mr. Glasson here is what we call a fixer. He does a lot of work for the Guild. You can speak freely.¡± Soren took a deep breath. ¡°We started at the City Hall, checking birth and marriage records. That gave us your age and family status. Then we moved to property records, which led us to Blackstone & Associates.¡± Glasson leaned forward. ¡°And how did you find the firm¡¯s location?¡± ¡°The clerk at the registry office told us. We asked about the business directly.¡± Raz nodded. ¡°Impressive that you didn¡¯t need to resort to tax records. However, asking the clerk about Blackstone & Associates specifically was what tipped off Mr. Glasson. In a real contract, that could have alerted your target.¡± Soren winced but nodded. ¡°How did you know it was me leaving the office?¡± Glasson asked. ¡°Your portrait in the reception area. I memorised your features while I was there.¡± Raz¡¯s lips curved into a slight smile. ¡°The delivery ruse was clever. It confirmed Glasson¡¯s presence without raising too much suspicion. However, using a false name like ¡®Mr. Harding¡¯ could have backfired in a real situation. It¡¯s best to avoid unnecessary fabrications when possible.¡± ¡°Thank you, sir. And thank you, Mr. Glasson, for your part in this test. We¡¯ll apply these lessons in the future.¡± Glasson nodded. ¡°You¡¯ve got potential, both of you. Keep honing your skills.¡± With final nods, Soren and Alaric followed Raz outside. Raz turned to them, his face half-hidden in shadow. ¡°Rest well tonight. The real work is just beginning.¡± When Raz disappeared, Soren turned to Alaric. ¡°We did it. We actually did it.¡± ¡°Yeah, we did. But at what cost? We¡¯re learning to stalk people, to break into their homes. Doesn¡¯t that bother you?¡± Did it? Soren thought of the thrill he¡¯d felt piecing together Glasson¡¯s life, the satisfaction of tracking him down. But he also thought of the darker implications of their work. ¡°It does a little. But I think it¡¯s necessary. We can¡¯t hold onto the old ways of looking at right and wrong if want to find the truth, uncover the secrets.¡± Alaric looked at him. ¡°You¡¯re still on about that, aren¡¯t you? Your conspiracy.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t let it go. I won¡¯t. And everything we¡¯re learning, every skill we master¡ªit¡¯s bringing me closer to the truth.¡± Alaric sighed. ¡°Just be careful, Sor. This path we¡¯re on¡­I¡¯m not sure where it leads, but I don¡¯t think it ends well for people like us.¡± ¡°I disagree. I¡¯m going to make this work.¡± That night, Soren lay awake, his mind racing with the events of the day. He turned onto his side, willing sleep to come, but it was useless. His arm ached, his stitches tugging with every movement. The questions buzzed louder in the quiet of the night. Questions about his father¡¯s death, about the true nature of the Guild, and about the ravenglass daggers favoured by its members. Slowly, carefully, he slipped out of his bed, his bare feet touching the cold floor. He paused, listening to ensure Alaric¡¯s snores remained undisturbed, and dressed. With one last glance at Alaric¡¯s sleeping form, he slipped out into the hallway. Soren moved with the shadows, his footsteps muffled, his senses on high alert. As he approached the Vault, Soren paused, taking a deep breath to steady himself. The pull of potential answers was too strong to resist. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the Vault¡¯s towering shelves as Soren slipped inside. The heavy door whispered shut behind him, sealing him in the cavernous chamber. He paused, listening for any sign that he¡¯d been detected, but the only sound was the pounding of his pulse in his ears. He moved through the stacks, his eyes scanning the spines of ancient tomes and weathered scrolls. The ravenglass daggers had consumed his thoughts since he¡¯d first glimpsed Raz¡¯s weapon. There had to be information about them somewhere. He started with the catalogue, his fingers tracing down columns of neatly written entries, flipping page after page. But no matter how carefully he searched, references to ravenglass remained elusive. He turned to the index, hoping for a more direct route to the information he sought. He found entries on poisons, combat techniques, even detailed histories of the Guild itself. But of ravenglass, there was no trace. He delved deeper into the stacks, pulling out books at random, scanning their contents for any mention of the material. But his search remained fruitless. What if the information wasn¡¯t there at all? What if the Guild was hiding it somewhere else, another library, perhaps? A sound froze him in place. The creak of the Vault¡¯s door opening, followed by soft footsteps approaching. Without thinking, he dove behind the nearest stack, crouching low. The footsteps drew closer. Soren held his breath, his mind racing through possible excuses, escape routes. Through a gap in the shelves, he caught a glimpse of the intruder and recognized Alaric¡¯s familiar form. Soren stepped out from his hiding place. ¡°Alaric.¡± Alaric whirled around. ¡°What in the void are you doing here?¡± Soren held up a book. ¡°I wanted to know more about the ravenglass daggers. There¡¯s nothing here about them.¡± Alaric groaned, running a hand over his face. ¡°Are you insane?¡± ¡°I know, I know. But I couldn¡¯t sleep. I kept thinking about those daggers, about all the secrets the Guild is keeping from us. Don¡¯t you want to know the truth?¡± Alaric limped closer. ¡°Of course I do. But not like this. We¡¯re just initiates. There¡¯s probably some vault where they keep the real secrets. Stuff we¡¯re not meant to know yet.¡± Soren¡¯s shoulders slumped. ¡°You¡¯re probably right. But I can¡¯t just sit back and wait for them to decide we¡¯re ready. ¡° ¡°But this isn¡¯t the way. If we push too hard, too fast¡­¡± The sound of the Vault¡¯s door opening again cut Soren off before he could respond. Raz¡¯s imposing figure filled the doorway, his scarred face thrown into sharp relief by the flickering candlelight. ¡°What are you two doing here?¡± Soren stepped forward. ¡°I came to find out about the ravenglass daggers. There¡¯s nothing in the Vault about them.¡± Raz¡¯s lips twitched. ¡°You won¡¯t find anything about ravenglass here, Soren. You¡¯re an initiate. You¡¯ll be told what you need to know, when you need to know it.¡± ¡°But the information wouldn¡¯t be in the Vault anyway, would it?¡± ¡°No, it wouldn¡¯t. And you should heed Alaric¡¯s advice about getting some rest.¡± He paused, his gaze sweeping between them. ¡°It¡¯s good advice, after all.¡± How much had Raz heard? How long had he been watching, listening? ¡°Sir,¡± Alaric said. ¡°We didn¡¯t mean any disrespect. We¡¯re just eager to learn.¡± ¡°Impatience can be deadly in our line of work. You¡¯d do well to remember that.¡± Soren hesitated for a moment. ¡°Sir, if I may ask¡­why do we use ravenglass instead of steel?¡± Raz¡¯s expression remained impassive. ¡°Ravenglass has unique properties. It won¡¯t crack or bend, and it never needs sharpening.¡± He paused, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. ¡°There are other qualities that become apparent to those who progress to apprentice level.¡± Soren leaned forward. ¡°What other qualities?¡± Raz shook his head. ¡°All in due time, initiate. Knowledge must be earned.¡± He studied them both for a long moment. ¡°Since you¡¯re both up and so enthusiastic about ravenglass, perhaps it¡¯s time we forged a dagger of your own..¡± Soren and Alaric exchanged glances. ¡°Really?¡± Alaric asked. Raz nodded. ¡°But first, you need to find enough pure ravenglass to forge a dagger.¡± ¡°Where would we find that?¡± Soren asked. Raz¡¯s smile grew wider. ¡°That, initiates, is for you to figure out. But know this¡ªyou must not buy or trade the ravenglass, nor can you take it from a Guild member, or the Guild¡¯s stores.¡± Alaric¡¯s brow furrowed. ¡°Are we¡­are you expecting us to steal it?¡± Raz nodded. ¡°That¡¯s exactly what you need to do.¡± X. Soren sat hunched over the desk in his quarters, his quill scratching across the pages of a notebook. His brow furrowed as he scribbled down potential ideas, each one crossed out almost as quickly as it was written. Across the room, Alaric paced back and forth. ¡°This is impossible. How are we supposed to find enough ravenglass to craft a dagger? The stuff¡¯s rarer than gold.¡± Soren looked up from his notebook. ¡°We have to think this through logically. Where would something that rare be kept?¡± ¡°If I knew that, we wouldn¡¯t be sitting here racking our brains, would we?¡± Soren tapped his quill against the desk. ¡°We need to look somewhere public, somewhere with historical artifacts maybe.¡± Alaric paused in his pacing. ¡°Maybe an auction house. Or, what about a noble¡¯s estate? Some of those old families have private collections, right?¡± Soren shook his head. ¡°How would we know if they even had any?¡± ¡°Fair point.¡± Alaric sucked in his bottom lip. ¡°What about stealing from the Guild itself? I bet they¡¯ve got plenty of ravenglass stashed somewhere.¡± ¡°Are you mad?¡± Alaric shrugged. ¡°It could work.¡± ¡°Raz said we can¡¯t.¡± ¡°Yeah, but it¡¯s not like we¡¯re dealing with an organisation known for its integrity, are we?¡± ¡°If they catch us trying to steal from the Guild, it¡¯s over for us. And besides, even if we could find their supply, I doubt it would be accessible to initiates like us.¡± Alaric slumped onto his bed. ¡°So what, then? We just give up?¡± ¡°Not necessarily.¡± He turned back to his notebook, flipping through the pages. ¡°The museum.¡± Alaric looked up. ¡°What about it?¡± ¡°There¡¯s bound to be some ravenglass on display there.¡± ¡°Go on.¡± Soren stood. ¡°The museum is publicly accessible. It won¡¯t be easy, but we could scout it during the day, blend in with the visitors, learn the security routines.¡± ¡°Museums have guards, traps, big snarling dogs that will rip your throat out.¡± ¡°We¡¯ll figure out the details once we¡¯re in. It¡¯s not impossible¡ªwe¡¯ve got stealth training, lockpicking. I think it¡¯s our best shot.¡± Alaric sighed. ¡°I hate that this is our best option. But I guess you¡¯re right.¡± Soren nodded. ¡°We¡¯ll scout the place first, see what we¡¯re up against.¡± ¡°Sor, doesn¡¯t it bother you that the Guild wants us to be no better than common burglars?¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°I mean, we¡¯re talking about theft here. Breaking into a museum, stealing a priceless artifact. How is that any different from a common criminal?¡± Soren leaned back in his chair. ¡°It¡¯s odd. You¡¯ve accepted the idea of killing for the Guild, but somehow stealing seems worse?¡± Alaric¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Accepted? I haven¡¯t accepted anything. Killing, stealing¡ªnone of it sits right with me.¡± ¡°We have to do what¡¯s necessary. If it means stealing, that¡¯s what we must do. It¡¯s all part of our training, our mission.¡± Alaric shook his head. ¡°Where do we draw the line, huh? Should we rob a child if the Guild asks us to? Kill a child? A baby?¡± ¡°Of course not! I¡¯d never do that. There are limits.¡± ¡°But who decides those limits? I¡¯m not happy with the idea of being a criminal. What if we¡¯re caught? What if we get sent to prison, or worse, hanged in the public square?¡± Soren moved to place a hand on Alaric¡¯s shoulder. ¡°We have to be careful, that¡¯s all. If we do it right, we won¡¯t get caught.¡± Alaric shrugged off Soren¡¯s hand. ¡°Those laws exist for a reason. We can¡¯t just ignore them because the Guild tells us to.¡± ¡°The Magistrates have shown they¡¯re toothless when it comes to the Guild. They won¡¯t touch us.¡± ¡°Maybe for the higher-ups. But do you really think they¡¯d risk everything for the sake of initiates like us? We¡¯re expendable, you and me.¡± Soren¡¯s jaw set. ¡°If we do our job right, we won¡¯t have to worry about that. We¡¯ll be in and out before anyone knows we were there.¡± Alaric sighed. ¡°I don¡¯t know, Sor. This all feels like we¡¯re crossing a line we can¡¯t come back from.¡± Soren sniffed. ¡°I think that ship has already sailed.¡± ¡°No.¡± Alaric met his gaze, shaking his head. ¡°I don¡¯t believe that.¡± ¡°We¡¯re part of the Guild now. Our old lives, our old morals¡ªwe have to leave them behind if we¡¯re going to survive here.¡± ¡°And what if surviving means losing ourselves in the process?¡± Soren had no answer for that. Silence stretched between them. ¡°We¡¯ll find a way to do this without compromising who we are,¡± Soren said. Alaric nodded. ¡°I hope you¡¯re right. For both our sakes.¡± Soren took a deep breath. ¡°Look, the best way to stay out of trouble is to plan thoroughly. We need to know exactly what we¡¯re doing before we attempt anything.¡± ¡°Right. So, we¡¯re just moving on?¡± ¡°Better that than complaining.¡± Alaric glared at him. ¡°I¡¯m not complaining.¡± ¡°Good. Because we need to get a plan together. If we do this right, we might find a way that keeps us out of harm¡¯s way and does the least amount of damage. We¡¯re not looking to hurt anyone or destroy property¡ªwe just need that ravenglass.¡± Alaric sighed. ¡°You¡¯re still talking about stealing something that isn¡¯t ours, Sor. No matter how we dress it up, it¡¯s still theft.¡± Soren nodded. ¡°I know. But if we¡¯re going to be thieves, we¡¯re going to be the best we can be. Precise, careful, leaving no trace. And most importantly, we¡¯re not going against the Guild¡¯s wishes. We know what the consequences of that would be.¡± Alaric rolled his eyes and groaned. ¡°Fine. You¡¯re right, as usual. Where do we start?¡± ¡°We start in the Vault. There¡¯s bound to be something there that can help us. And then we scout the museum.¡± ¡°Alright. Let¡¯s do this. But Sor, we need to be extra careful. At the first sign of real danger, we bail. Deal?¡± ¡°Deal.¡± Soren pulled down volumes from the Vault¡¯s shelves, adding them to maps and books already laid out on the table. ¡°We need to know everything we can. Layout, security, potential escape routes.¡± Alaric grabbed a random book off the pile, eyeing the cover. ¡°You really think we¡¯ll find that in books? Sounds more like something we¡¯d have to figure out on the ground.¡± He plopped down into a chair, flipping the book open with a heavy sigh. ¡°We start here. Build a foundation of knowledge before we step foot in the place.¡± ¡°If you say so.¡± For the next hour or so, Soren immersed himself in the Vault¡¯s vast collection of historical records and reference books. His eyes scanned page after page, cross-referencing information and checking public records of donations and acquisitions. Soren¡¯s finger paused. ¡°Alaric. I think I¡¯ve found something.¡± Alaric moved to Soren¡¯s side. ¡°What is it?¡± ¡°The Dagger of Ragnar Wolfsbane. It¡¯s said to be one of his famed weapons, made of pure ravenglass.¡± ¡°Never heard of him.¡± Soren shrugged. ¡°According to this, the dagger was once paired with a matching sword, but the sword has long since been lost.¡± He flipped through a few more pages. ¡°It says the dagger was part of a private collection that was donated to the museum about fifty years ago.¡± He looked up at Alaric. ¡°It¡¯s here. It¡¯s in the museum.¡± Alaric leaned in. ¡°Does it say where in the museum?¡± Soren shook his head. ¡°No, but at least we know what we¡¯re looking for.¡± Alaric nodded. ¡°Alright, I guess we just need to figure out where it is.¡± ¡°That¡¯s our next challenge. We need to find out everything we can about the museum¡¯s security measures.¡± ¡°But these books might be out of date. I think we should go and look for ourselves. Maybe that dagger¡¯s not even there anymore.¡± Soren leaned back in his chair. ¡°That¡¯s a good point. We¡¯ll scout the museum. Make sure the dagger¡¯s there. Come up with a plan.¡±Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. ¡°Now you¡¯re talking. We¡¯ll blend in with the visitors, study the guards and stuff.¡± ¡°Exactly.¡± ¡°We¡¯ll get answers either way.¡± He clapped Soren on the shoulder. ¡°Let¡¯s just hope it¡¯s worth it.¡± ¡°We should make a list of what to look for. Guard positions, security measures, possible entry points.¡± ¡°Good idea. And we need to figure out how to get a closer look at that dagger without arousing suspicion.¡± ¡°If it¡¯s there.¡± Alaric nodded. ¡°And if it¡¯s not?¡± ¡°We¡¯ll figure something else.¡± ¡°We should also think about a cover story,¡± Alaric said. ¡°Two young men spending hours in a museum might raise suspicions.¡± Soren grinned. ¡°I¡¯m an artist. I¡¯m there to study.¡± ¡°What about me?¡± ¡°You can be my lowly servant.¡± Alaric gave him a playful shove. ¡°Or, you could be mine.¡± ¡°You could be a student. Researching for a project on ancient weaponry, or something.¡± ¡°Better. It gives us an excuse to linger and ask questions without seeming suspicious.¡± Soren nodded. ¡°Let¡¯s do this.¡± He returned the books and maps to the shelves and led the way back to their quarters. The stitches in his arm pulled as he slipped his leather-bound sketchbook into his pack, followed by a cloth-wrapped bundle of charcoals. ¡°Really committing to this artist role, aren¡¯t you?¡± ¡°Role?¡± Soren cocked an eyebrow. ¡°The best disguise is the one closest to truth.¡± He adjusted the pack¡¯s strap to avoid putting pressure on his wound. ¡°Besides, sketching gives me an excuse to sit and observe without drawing attention. Just remember we¡¯re only there to look around. No heroics, no impromptu heists. We scout, we leave, we plan.¡± ¡°I know. We¡¯re just two ordinary citizens visiting a museum. Nothing more.¡± ¡°Ready?¡± Alaric nodded, pushing himself to his feet with a grimace. ¡°As I¡¯ll ever be.¡± The Grand Museum of Welttor dominated the eastern end of Scholar''s Square, its marble columns rising against the afternoon sky. Twin stone wyverns flanked the broad steps. Soren''s palm grew slick against the strap of his pack as they approached. Every visitor ascending those steps could be a Guild watcher, every guard could be reporting their movements back to Raz. "We should circle the building first," Soren said. "Get a proper look at what we''re dealing with." They veered left, following a narrow alley that ran along the museum''s eastern wall. Here, the grandeur of the front facade gave way to utilitarian stonework. They rounded the back of the building, where delivery wagons would make their stops. Empty crates were stacked against the wall, and a loading dock stood silent and unused. Halfway down the western side, partially hidden behind an ornamental shrub, Soren spotted a wooden door with iron banding. A simple lock secured it. "There. That''s our way in tonight." Alaric studied the door. "Less obvious than the main entrance. But what if there are guards inside?" "We''ll deal with that when we come to it." Soren was already noting the door''s position relative to the nearby streets, the shadows that would conceal their approach. They completed their circuit, ending up back at the bottom of the museum''s steps. "Ready to go in?" Alaric asked. Soren nodded. ¡°Quite the climb.¡± Alaric stared up at the thirty-odd steps. ¡°Hope my leg holds up.¡± They joined the steady stream of visitors making their way up. Soren tried to keep his pace natural despite the growing tension in his shoulders. Beside him, Alaric¡¯s breathing grew laboured, each step causing him to wince. Halfway up, they paused, pretending to admire the view of the square below. ¡°Need a moment?¡± Soren asked. ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡± Alaric¡¯s jaw was set, but his face had grown pale. ¡°Just¡­longer steps than they look from below.¡± They continued their ascent, Soren fighting the urge to look over his shoulder. The afternoon sun beat down on the white marble, creating a glare that made his eyes water. A guard stood beside the massive bronze doors, his uniform crisp, his posture parade-ground perfect. As they approached, he barely glanced their way, his gaze sliding past them to the next group of visitors. They were in. The entrance hall soared above them, its vaulted ceiling lost in shadow despite the sunlight streaming through tall windows. Their footsteps echoed off polished marble floors, joining the hushed murmur of other visitors. Display cases lined the walls, filled with delicate porcelain and gleaming metals that caught the light. ¡°Remember, we¡¯re just two friends enjoying the exhibits,¡± Soren said, adjusting his pack. His eyes tracked the movement of a guard passing between two marble pillars. ¡°Act natural, but stay alert.¡± Alaric nodded, his limp less noticeable now. ¡°Where do we start?¡± ¡°Let¡¯s do a general sweep first.¡± Soren studied a map mounted on the wall, noting the positions of stairwells and service doors. ¡°We need to get a feel for the layout, the security, everything.¡± A clerk sat behind a wooden desk to their left, recording visitors in a thick ledger. To their right, a grand staircase swept upward, its brass railings polished to a mirror shine. Ropes of deep crimson velvet guided visitors through the exhibits, while uniformed attendants stood at strategic points throughout the space. Maps of the museum¡¯s three floors were displayed on brass stands, artistic renderings that somehow managed to be both detailed and completely useless for their true purpose. Still, Soren committed what he could to memory, noting how the exhibits flowed from one to the next. They moved deeper into the museum, past glass cases filled with artifacts from the Old Empire. Each step brought them closer to their target, and with each step, Soren felt the weight of his sketchbook grow heavier against his back. As they moved through the halls, Soren noted the positions of the guards, the flow of visitors through each room. ¡°Look.¡± Soren nodded towards a man studying a painting. ¡°Undercover guard. See how he¡¯s positioned to cover the entire room?¡± ¡°How can you tell?¡± ¡°His stance, the way his eyes move. He¡¯s not here for the art.¡± Soren continued moving through the museum, pausing at various displays to maintain their cover. ¡°As far as I can tell, we¡¯ve got two stationary guards near the most valuable pieces. Others patrolling every ten to fifteen minutes. And look there¡­¡± He nodded towards a door. ¡°Maintenance access. Could be useful if we need cover.¡± Alaric¡¯s eyes followed Soren¡¯s gaze. ¡°Good catch. How long do you reckon it takes for the patrols to circle back?¡± ¡°Let¡¯s find out.¡± He pretended to study a statue while keeping track of the guards¡¯ movements in his peripheral vision. After several minutes of observation, Soren led the way to the exhibition of ancient weapons. ¡°There.¡± He nodded towards a sleek, black dagger in a glass case. ¡°The dagger of Ragnar Wolfsbane.¡± Alaric leaned in, his eyes widening. ¡°It¡¯s darker than I expected. Like it¡¯s swallowing the light.¡± ¡°Pure ravenglass.¡± ¡°How in Creation¡¯s name are we supposed to get it out of here?¡± Soren didn¡¯t answer, his mind racing as he took in every detail of the security surrounding the dagger. Two guards stood at the entrance to the exhibition hall, their eyes constantly scanning the room. ¡°We need to watch the guard rotations.¡± Soren moved to study a nearby sword display. ¡°Look for any gaps in their coverage.¡± Over the next few hours, he and Alaric lingered in the weapons section, pretending to admire various artifacts while keeping a close eye on the guards¡¯ movements. Soren couldn¡¯t help grinning when the pattern emerged. ¡°What is it?¡± ¡°Every fifteen minutes, when they change positions, there¡¯s a gap, just for a minute or so.¡± Alaric nodded, his brow furrowed. ¡°Not much time, but it might be enough if we¡¯re fast. But what about the case? We can¡¯t just smash it and run.¡± Before Soren could respond, he noticed one of the guards eyeing them. The man began to approach, his hand resting on a baton. ¡°Can I help you gentlemen?¡± the guard asked. Soren turned, forcing a smile. ¡°We¡¯re just admiring the craftsmanship.¡± He gestured to the dagger. ¡°It¡¯s incredible, isn¡¯t it? Must be ancient.¡± The guard¡¯s eyes narrowed as he looked between them. ¡°It is quite remarkable. But I¡¯ll have to ask you to move along. We can¡¯t have people lingering too long near the more valuable pieces.¡± ¡°Of course, of course. We were just about to check out the next room.¡± As they walked away, Alaric let out a shaky breath. ¡°That was too close. We¡¯ve got to be more careful.¡± Soren nodded, his mind racing with the information they¡¯d gathered. ¡°We know enough now. The guard rotations, the layout, the security measures. We can work with this.¡± Soren led the way out of the museum, blending back into the crowd of departing visitors descending the steps. As they moved onto the bustling street outside, Soren pulled Alaric into the shadow of a nearby building. ¡°We¡¯ve seen the dagger. But getting to it is going to be tough. We need to figure out how to get into that case before the guards have time to realise what¡¯s happening.¡± ¡°We¡¯ll need more than stealth to pull this off. But at least we know where it is now.¡± ¡°We¡¯ve got a lot of planning to do. But we can do this. We¡¯ve got the skills, we¡¯ve got the information. Now we just need to put it all together.¡± The dim light of the tavern¡¯s private booth cast long shadows across the table, where Soren and Alaric sat huddled together. Soren¡¯s rough map of the museum lay spread before them, covered in scribbled notes. Soren leaned forward, his fingers tracing the outlines on the map. ¡°We need a plan¡ªdown to the second.¡± Alaric sat back in his chair. ¡°Yeah, but timing this right isn¡¯t going to be easy. One mistake, and we¡¯re done for.¡± Soren nodded, pulling a fresh sheet of parchment towards him. With deft strokes, he began sketching a more detailed map of the weapons exhibition. ¡°We know the guards rotate every fifteen minutes. That gives us a small window to act. If we can get into the exhibition hall unnoticed, we¡¯ll have a short amount of time to break into the case and get to the dagger.¡± Alaric leaned in, studying the sketch. ¡°And how exactly are we going to get into the case?¡± Soren tapped the end of his pencil against the map as he thought. ¡°I¡¯ll focus on the lock.¡± He glanced at Alaric. ¡°You¡¯ll need to handle the distraction. We¡¯ll need to pull the guards away from the dagger for a few extra minutes.¡± A slow grin spread across Alaric¡¯s face. ¡°I can cause a little commotion in one of the other galleries. Nothing big, but enough to draw their attention.¡± Soren nodded. ¡°Alright, here¡¯s what I¡¯m thinking. We enter tonight, after the last of the visitors have left. We wait for the guard rotation, then slip into the weapons room.¡± ¡°And that¡¯s when I create the distraction?¡± ¡°Exactly. You cause a scene in another part of the museum¡ªknock over a display, maybe. While the guards are distracted, I¡¯ll work on the display case.¡± ¡°Then what?¡± Soren¡¯s pencil moved to another part of the map. ¡°Then we grab the dagger and make our exit through that maintenance door we spotted.¡± Alaric puffed out a breath. ¡°It¡¯s not going to be easy. And Creation forbid we¡¯re caught.¡± ¡°This will work. If we stick to the plan, we¡¯ll be in and out before anyone notices the dagger is gone.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a good plan, but no plan survives contact with reality. There are too many things that could go wrong. What if the guards spot us? What if the lock is more complicated than you thought?¡± Soren focused on the map. ¡°There¡¯s always a risk. But we¡¯ve done the preparation. If anything does go wrong, we adjust.¡± Alaric sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. ¡°Fine. I trust you. But if things go south, we bail. No heroics, Soren. We get out of there alive, dagger or not.¡± ¡°Agreed.¡± Soren¡¯s fingers traced the cool metal of the lockpicks as he slipped them into a hidden pocket of his guild tunic. The shelves of the Vault loomed around him, sending a chill through his body. He glanced at Alaric, who was coiling a length of rope around his shoulder. Alaric inclined his head. ¡°You sure about this? Maybe we should rest for a few days. Let out stitches heal a bit.¡± Soren nodded, reaching for a grappling hook. ¡°We don¡¯t have a choice. Raz made that clear.¡± Alaric hefted his own dagger, testing its weight. ¡°And if we¡¯re caught?¡± ¡°Then we fight our way out.¡± ¡°Fight, yes. But we don¡¯t kill. Not if we can help it.¡± Soren paused, his hand hovering over a vial of some noxious substance. After a moment, he withdrew it. ¡°Agreed. Unless we have no other choice.¡± ¡°Let¡¯s hope it doesn¡¯t come to that.¡± Alaric tucked a set of lockpicks into his boot. ¡°We can do this,¡± Soren said, as much to convince himself as Alaric. ¡°We¡¯ve trained for this. We¡¯re ready.¡± Alaric nodded. ¡°It¡¯s just¡­ this feels different, doesn¡¯t it? It¡¯s not training anymore.¡± ¡°I know.¡± Soren placed a hand on Alaric¡¯s shoulder, feeling the tension in his muscles. ¡°But we¡¯ve faced worse.¡± ¡°How could I forget?¡± ¡°We survived that. We can survive this.¡± Alaric took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. ¡°You¡¯re right. We can do this ¡° Soren turned back to their gear, double-checking each item. Lockpicks, rope, grappling hooks, daggers. Everything. His hands stilled. ¡°That dagger¡­it¡¯s an ancient relic. A part of Wiete¡¯s history. Is this really right?¡± Alaric shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s just stuff.¡± ¡°I know, but¡­¡± ¡°Do you have any better ideas?¡± Soren held Alaric¡¯s gaze, but had no answer. ¡°Maybe when the assignment is over, we can find a way to give it back.¡± Soren let out a bitter laugh. ¡°The Guild won¡¯t just let us hand it back.¡± ¡°It was just a thought.¡± ¡°But we can¡¯t afford to think like that anymore. We¡¯re not those boys from Nebel Hafen. Not now.¡± Alaric sighed. ¡°You¡¯re right. Let¡¯s just¡­let¡¯s just finish this.¡± Soren did one last check of his gear, making sure everything was secure and easily accessible. ¡°Lockpicks?¡± ¡°Check,¡± Alaric patted his boot. ¡°Rope?¡± Alaric revealed the rope inside his tunic. ¡°Ready to go.¡± ¡°Grappling hook?¡± ¡°Secured.¡± Alaric tapped the hook at his belt. ¡°Dagger?¡± They both touched the weapons at their hips. ¡°Alright.¡± Soren blew out a breath, straightening up. ¡°I think we¡¯re as ready as we¡¯ll ever be.¡± Alaric grinned. ¡°Just like old times, eh? Sneaking out after dark, getting into trouble.¡± ¡°Except this time, if we¡¯re caught, it won¡¯t be your father or mine giving us a thrashing.¡± Soren moved towards the Vault¡¯s exit, Alaric falling into step beside him. As they reached the door, Soren paused, his hand on the handle. ¡°Whatever happens tonight, we stick together. No matter what. Agreed?¡± Alaric clasped Soren¡¯s forearm. ¡°Agreed. Together or not at all.¡± ¡°Remember, we¡¯re just two friends out for a late-night stroll. Nothing suspicious about us at all.¡± Alaric snorted. ¡°Right. Just two normal lads, out for a leisurely walk with enough gear to break into a fortress.¡± XI. Moonlight bathed the museum¡¯s grand fa?ade in an ethereal glow. Cool breeze whispered through the night, carrying with it the faint scent of the sea. Soren shivered, his breath misting in the night. He gave Alaric the nod. ¡°Now.¡± As one, they moved from their hiding spot, keeping low and hugging the shadows. Soren approached the side door they¡¯d identified during their reconnaissance. His eyes darted about, taking in every detail of their surroundings, the weight of his dagger pushing against his thigh. Alaric took up position at the corner, his back pressed against the building. Soren crouched before the door, his fingers already reaching for his tools. The lockpicks glinted in the moonlight as he selected the ones he needed. He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady his nerves. This was it. All their planning, all their preparation, came down to this moment. He set to work on the lock. The tumblers were stubborn, more complex than he¡¯d anticipated. Sweat beaded on his brow as he worked, his lips moving in a silent mantra. ¡°Steady. Focus. Patience.¡± ¡°Sor,¡± Alaric whispered. ¡°Guards.¡± Soren¡¯s hands stilled, his breath catching in his throat. He glanced up, catching Alaric¡¯s eye. Without a word, they both moved, immersing themselves into the deepest shadows they could find. Two guards rounded the corner, their lanterns casting bobbing shadows across the ground. Soren flattened himself against the wall, his body rigid, his breath held. The cool stone pressed against his back, unyielding, as he willed himself to disappear into its shadows. His heartbeat thundered in his chest, each pulse seeming to echo louder than the guards¡¯ approaching footsteps. Any moment, he was sure they would hear it, would turn toward him. A faint itch crept up his throat, sharp and insistent. The sensation clawed at his focus, growing stronger with every passing second. Soren clenched his jaw, forcing the urge to cough down, the tension coiling tighter with each shallow breath. He fought against the sensation with every ounce of willpower. Tears sprang to his eyes as he held his breath, his lungs burning. The guards stopped, their voices low, exchanging words Soren couldn¡¯t make out over the relentless pounding in his ears. His chest tightened, breath locked as black spots flickered at the edges of his vision. Each second stretched unbearably, the itch in his throat flaring, his body screaming for relief he couldn¡¯t afford. Finally, the guards moved on, their footsteps fading, their conversation swallowed by the night. Soren remained still, counting each agonising second before a soft rustle drew his attention. Alaric¡¯s hand emerged from the shadows, the signal clear. The path was safe¡ªat least for now. He stumbled out of his hiding place, doubling over as the cough tore its way free. He muffled the sound as best he could in the crook of his arm, every muscle tense as he waited for shouts of alarm, for the guards to come rushing back. But the night remained still and silent. A hand gripped Soren¡¯s shoulder, grounding him. ¡°You good?¡± Soren nodded, pulling himself upright and swiping at his stinging eyes. ¡°Too close.¡± His throat still burned from holding back the cough, but he pushed the discomfort aside. ¡°Are we clear?¡± Alaric moved away from Soren, looking around. ¡°We¡¯re clear.¡± Soren returned to the door. His hands seemed steadier now, his focus sharpened. He set to work on the lock once more, feeling each tumbler, each mechanism as if it were an extension of himself. Time seemed to stretch. Each sound slammed into his ears¡ªthe soft scrape of metal on metal, Alaric¡¯s controlled breathing, the distant call of a night bird. The tumbler clicked. Soren¡¯s breath caught as he tested the handle. It turned, the door swinging open on silent hinges. They were in. With a nod, they slipped inside, easing the door shut behind them. Soren stepped into the museum¡¯s grand foyer. Moonlight streamed through high windows, casting long fingers of silvery light across the marble floor. The air hung heavy with the scent of old stone and polish.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, shapes began to emerge¡ªa chalice here, a sceptre there. A suit of armour stood to his left, its empty visor seeming to track his every move. Soren fought the urge to shrink back, to seek the comfort of the shadows, forcing himself to press on. He glanced at Alaric. This was it. There was no turning back now. With a slight nod, Soren moved deeper into the museum. The soft pad of his footsteps resonated in the silence. He passed through a hall lined with statues, their marble faces impassive in the darkness. Soren couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that these stone eyes were watching him, judging his actions. He quickened his pace, eager to leave their silent scrutiny behind. As they neared the weapons exhibit, Soren felt his heart rate quicken. They were close now. He paused at the entrance to the exhibit, holding up a hand to stop Alaric. He peered into the room, straining his eyes and ears for any sign of guards. The dagger was in there. All they had to do was find it, take it, and get out. Soren¡¯s breath came in shallow, controlled bursts as he pressed his back against the wall. Beside him, Alaric¡¯s eyes darted back and forth, scanning the shadows. As Soren went to move, Alaric¡¯s hand shot out. ¡°Guards.¡± Soren nodded. Alaric tugged Soren¡¯s sleeve. ¡°We need to move.¡± But Soren held firm, his eyes narrowing as he assessed their surroundings. ¡°No. We stick to the plan.¡± judgment The ravenglass dagger lay close, its unseen pull gnawing at Soren¡¯s senses. As they neared the entrance, Soren halted. Two guards flanked the doorway, their postures relaxed but alert. He clenched his jaw, gesturing for Alaric to remain still, silent. Time pressed against him, but facing two armed guards head-on wasn¡¯t an option. Behind him, Alaric shifted, his boot scuffing a loose tile. The scrape echoed in the still corridor. Both guards turned, their eyes locking on the darkness where Soren and Alaric hid. Soren froze, his breath catching. He didn¡¯t dare move. The guards began advancing, boots tapping against the stone floor. His hand darted into his pocket, fingers fumbling for anything that might help. Cold metal brushed his skin¡ªa coin. Without hesitation, he flicked it into a side passage. The coin struck the floor with a sharp ping, skittering further down the corridor. The guards paused, their gazes snapping toward the sound. They exchanged a look before heading off to investigate, their footsteps receding into the distance. Soren exhaled, the tension in his chest easing as he motioned for Alaric to follow. The dagger waited, and the path was clear. ¡°Quick thinking.¡± Soren nodded. ¡°Come on, we don¡¯t have much time.¡± Soren slipped into the weapons exhibit, his steps light. The gloom pressed in around him, shadows stretching across walls lined with ancient relics. At the room¡¯s centre, the ravenglass dagger rested in a glass case, its blade swallowing the faint light, a void that seemed alive. Two guards lingered nearby, their movements unhurried as they paced the exhibit. Soren scanned the space, his mind racing through possibilities. Angles, timing, distractions¡ªall calculated in rapid succession. His gaze flicked to Alaric, then to an adjoining room filled with pottery. He gave a slight nod. Alaric returned the signal, slipping away without a sound. Soren crouched behind a plinth, his breath shallow as he counted the seconds. The guards maintained their slow patrol, their boots soft against the polished floor. A sudden crash shattered the silence. The sharp sound of pottery breaking rang through the museum. Both guards spun toward the noise, muttering before rushing to investigate the commotion. Their footsteps receded, leaving the weapons exhibit deserted. Soren moved, his body flowing through the shadows toward the dagger case. His fingers closed around his lockpicks, already working the mechanism as he knelt before the display. The world narrowed to the lock¡ªthe faint clicks of tumblers, the tension in the picks, the steady rhythm of his breath. Nothing else mattered. The lock fought him at every turn, its mechanism a maze of stubborn pins and hidden traps. Soren¡¯s hands moved with precision, his focus absolute. Each tumbler felt like a riddle, demanding careful attention, every motion deliberate. This wasn¡¯t an ordinary lock. Its aged, intricate design defied his usual techniques, forcing him to adapt on the fly. Sweat trickled down his temple as the seconds stretched by. ¡°Hurry,¡± Alaric whispered from the shadows, his voice low but urgent. The words jarred Soren, but he didn¡¯t look up. ¡°I¡¯m working. This isn¡¯t some door latch. One mistake, and we¡¯re starting over.¡± His fingers trembled, tension seeping into his muscles. He couldn¡¯t rush. Rushing meant failure. A shout broke through the stillness, sharp and commanding. Soren froze for a heartbeat. Then a shrill whistle cut through the museum, followed by the unmistakable thud of boots and the snarling bark of dogs. ¡°Soren!¡± Alaric¡¯s voice rose, panic creeping in. ¡°We need to go. Now!¡± Soren swore under his breath, his fingers still on the lock. He was so close. Another second. Another turn. But time was gone. With a growl, he slapped the case and rose to his feet. ¡°Run!¡± Alaric shouted, already retreating. Soren spun and bolted, the sound of pursuit growing louder behind him. The museum¡¯s halls flared to life as gas lamps ignited, flooding every corner in harsh light. The protective cloak of darkness vanished, leaving Soren and Alaric exposed. Soren¡¯s mind raced as they sprinted through the exhibits. He¡¯d memorised every corridor, every room, but now, with the sound of boots and snarling dogs closing in, every step felt precarious, each turn a gamble. Rounding a corner, Soren nearly crashed into a pedestal holding ancient pottery. Alaric didn¡¯t slow. He snatched a vase mid-stride and hurled it behind them. The crash echoed, shards scattering across the floor. ¡°Don¡¯t do that!¡± Soren snapped. ¡°That¡¯s history!¡± Alaric shot him a look. ¡°We¡¯ll be history if they catch us! This way.¡± Alaric veered down a side corridor, weaving through the exhibits as the pounding footsteps and growls grew louder. Display cases offered only brief cover, their glass surfaces reflecting the chaos. Ahead, Soren spotted the maintenance door. Freedom was close, but the dogs were gaining. He pushed harder, legs burning, lungs screaming for air. Reaching the door, he yanked it open and shoved Alaric through. A heartbeat later, he followed, slamming the door shut just as their pursuers came into view. ¡°We keep moving,¡± Soren said. The shouts and barks echoed behind them as they sprinted into the night, the city¡¯s streets offering their only hope. Welttor¡¯s alleys blurred around them as Soren led the way, darting through shadowed passages and slipping between buildings. Each twist and turn mirrored the lessons drilled into him by Raz. Still, the dogs persisted, their growls and claws scraping closer. ¡°No choice. Up.¡± Soren grabbed a low-hanging drainpipe and pulled himself up, scrambling onto the roof. Alaric followed. Soren ran, leaping from rooftop to rooftop. The tiles, damp with evening dew, threatened his footing, but he pressed on, the sounds of pursuit fading with each leap, the city falling quiet beneath them. At the end of a row of terraced houses, Soren slowed, his lungs burning, legs trembling. He dropped to one knee, gulping air. Alaric collapsed beside him, gasping. ¡°I think we lost them,¡± Alaric said. Soren nodded, his chest heaving too hard for words. His gaze fixed on the horizon, jaw tight. They¡¯d failed. The dagger was still locked away, untouchable behind glass. All their planning, all their preparation, had come to nothing. ¡°We were so close,¡± Soren said. ¡°A few more seconds, and¡ª¡± ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter,¡± Alaric cut in, pushing himself upright. ¡°We¡¯re alive. That¡¯s what counts. We can try again.¡± But Soren barely heard him. His thoughts churned, questioning every decision, every misstep. There had to be a way to make the plan work. Failure wasn¡¯t an option. ¡°We¡¯ll need to adjust the timing. A bigger distraction next time. And the dogs¡ªthere has to be a way to neutralise them.¡± Alaric frowned. ¡°Sor, we barely got out. If something had gone wrong¡ª¡± ¡°It didn¡¯t. And it won¡¯t.¡± Soren¡¯s voice hardened. ¡°We have to try again. We don¡¯t have a choice.¡± Alaric stared at him for a long moment, then shook his head. ¡°You¡¯re too damn stubborn, you know that?¡± Soren said nothing, his focus already fixed on the next attempt. There would be no room for error next time. XII. The mess hall hummed with the soft drone of voices and the rhythmic clatter of utensils against tin bowls. Soren sat motionless, staring into his porridge. His hand moved on instinct, lifting the spoon from bowl to mouth, the motions empty and automatic. Across the table, Alaric cradled a mug of tea, the steam curling lazily upward. Soren shifted in his seat, his body protesting with every movement. His muscles throbbed from the night¡¯s chase, and the stitches on his arm tugged with each flex. ¡°I hear you two caused quite a stir at the museum last night.¡± Soren¡¯s head snapped up to find Raz sitting beside them, his scarred face unreadable. Alaric choked on his tea, spluttering as he set the mug down. ¡°How did you¡ª¡± Soren began, but Raz held up a hand. ¡°The Guild has eyes and ears everywhere, initiate. Now, tell me what happened.¡± Soren leaned forward. ¡°We made it inside without a hitch. The lock was tricky, but nothing I couldn¡¯t handle.¡± Raz¡¯s eyebrow arched. ¡°And once you were in?¡± ¡°The museum was different at night,¡± Alaric said, his eyes distant. ¡°All those statues watching us. Gave me the creeps.¡± ¡°I see. And what happened next?¡± Soren took a sip of his apple juice. ¡°We found the weapons exhibit fine. The dagger was there.¡± ¡°But?¡± ¡°But there were guards. Two of them, stationed right by the entrance. We hadn¡¯t anticipated that.¡± Alaric nodded. ¡°We thought we¡¯d have more time between patrols. It threw off our whole plan.¡± ¡°So what did you do?¡± Raz asked. ¡°I created a distraction,¡± Alaric said. ¡°Knocked over some pottery in the next room. It worked¡ªboth guards went to investigate.¡± Soren¡¯s face tightened. ¡°But that¡¯s where it all went wrong. The lock on the case was unlike anything I¡¯d ever seen before. By the time I¡¯d figured it out¡ª¡± ¡°The guards came back,¡± Raz said. Alaric¡¯s hand clenched into a fist. ¡°Not just the guards. They had dogs with them. We barely made it out of there.¡± ¡°We had to run,¡± Soren said. ¡°Across the rooftops, just like you taught us. It was the only way to lose them.¡± Raz leaned back, his fingers steepled. ¡°And the dagger?¡± Soren¡¯s shoulders slumped. ¡°We failed.¡± A heavy silence fell over the table. Raz¡¯s gaze moved between them, his expression unreadable. ¡°Tell me, what do you think went wrong?¡± Soren and Alaric exchanged a glance. ¡°We underestimated the security,¡± Soren said. ¡°The night guards, the dogs especially. We should have been better prepared.¡± Alaric nodded. ¡°And that lock. We spent too much time on it. If we¡¯d been faster¡ª¡± ¡°If, if, if,¡± Raz cut in, his voice sharp. ¡°The world of ¡®if¡¯ is a dangerous place for a contractor. You deal in certainties, in absolutes. Anything less gets you killed.¡± He raised a finger. ¡°But you¡¯re not entirely wrong. You missed crucial details in your planning. Night security is always different from day. You should have known that.¡± Soren felt a flush of heat creep up his neck. ¡°We¡¯ll do better next time.¡± Alaric nodded. ¡°Yeah. Maybe if we neutralise the dogs first¡ª¡± Raz held up a hand, silencing him. ¡°There won¡¯t be a next time. Not at the museum, at least. After a breach like that, security will be tighter than ever. You¡¯d be walking into a trap.¡± Alaric¡¯s face fell. ¡°So what do we do now? We still need that ravenglass.¡± ¡°Indeed you do. But perhaps it¡¯s time to consider alternative sources.¡± Alaric frowned. ¡°Where else could we look?¡± Raz¡¯s gaze shifted between them. ¡°That¡¯s for you to figure out, initiates. Tell me, where else might one find such a rare material?¡± ¡°Well, there are noble houses with private collections,¡± Soren said. ¡°And auctions sometimes deal in rare artifacts.¡± Raz nodded. ¡°Good. The auction listings might be a promising lead. Remember, information is often your most valuable tool.¡± With that, Raz stood. As his footsteps faded, Alaric leaned in close. ¡°So, we¡¯re really not going back to the museum?¡± Soren shook his head. ¡°Raz is right. It would be suicide to try again so soon. We need to find another way.¡± He pushed his cold porridge aside, leaning in closer to Alaric. ¡°Alright, let¡¯s think this through. Where else might we find ravenglass in this city?¡± Alaric drummed his fingers on the table. ¡°What about temples? I¡¯ve heard some religious artifacts are made from rare materials.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not a bad idea. The Temple of the Nameless Four might have something. They¡¯re known for their ancient relics.¡± ¡°True, but breaking into a temple?¡± Alaric winced. ¡°That feels like asking for trouble.¡± Soren¡¯s brow furrowed. ¡°You¡¯re right. We need somewhere less¡­sacred. What about antique shops?¡± Alaric pushed out his bottom lip and began to nod. ¡°That could work. Less security, and they might have smaller pieces we could snag easily.¡± ¡°And even if they don¡¯t have any ravenglass, the shopkeepers might know something about where to find it.¡± ¡°Good thinking. We could ask about auctions too.¡± ¡°Auctions could be our best bet for finding a larger piece. But we¡¯d need to figure out how to get in.¡± Alaric leaned back, crossing his arms. ¡°So, where do we start? Antique shops, or try to track down an auction?¡± Soren stood up. ¡°Antique shops. We can gather information, maybe find out about upcoming auctions. Two birds, one stone.¡± The sea air clung to Soren¡¯s skin as he and Alaric moved through Welttor¡¯s antique district. The tang of salt mixed with the faint scent of aged wood and stone. Morning light softened the hard lines of the narrow streets, casting a golden hue over weathered storefronts and wrought-iron signs. The first shop¡¯s window display caught Soren¡¯s eye¡ªintricate clocks, faded maps, and relics that whispered of ages long past. He paused, pressing up against the glass. ¡°Look at that clock. The detail on those hands is incredible.¡± Alaric grunted, his gaze fixed ahead. ¡°We¡¯re not here to admire clocks, Sor. Focus.¡± Soren nodded, pushing down his curiosity as they entered the shop. The scent of old wood and paper enveloped him. Shelves crammed with curiosities lined the walls, each item meticulously arranged. An older man with sharp eyes and a warm smile greeted them from behind the counter. ¡°Welcome, gentlemen. Anything in particular you¡¯re looking for today?¡± Soren opened his mouth to speak, but Alaric beat him to it. ¡°We¡¯re interested in rare materials. Specifically, ravenglass. You wouldn¡¯t happen to have any for sale, would you?¡± The shopkeeper¡¯s eyebrows rose. ¡°Ravenglass? That¡¯s not something you hear about every day. What¡¯s your interest in it, if you don¡¯t mind me asking?¡±Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°Academic research,¡± Soren said. ¡°We¡¯re studying ancient weaponry and their materials.¡± ¡°I see. There is a marvellous example in the museum¡¯s collection.¡± ¡°We¡¯re aware. But we¡¯re trying to source some of our own, doesn¡¯t even have to be a weapon. Perhaps you can help us?¡± As Alaric continued to question the shopkeeper, Soren found his attention wandering. His fingers trailed over the surface of an ancient book, its leather binding cracked with age. Next to it stood a gilded frame housing a portrait of a stern-faced nobleman. Each object seemed to hold a story, and Soren felt a fascination he hadn¡¯t experienced since his days as a sculptor¡¯s apprentice. ¡°Where did this old compass come from?¡± The shopkeeper¡¯s face lit up. ¡°Ah, that¡¯s a fascinating piece. It belonged to a sea captain who claimed to have sailed to the edge of the world. Of course, we know that¡¯s impossible, but the stories he told¡­¡± Soren leaned in. ¡°What kind of stories?¡± ¡°Sor¡­¡± Soren waved Alaric off. ¡°Well, this captain, he spoke of waters blacker than the darkest night, where stars reflected so perfectly you couldn¡¯t tell sky from sea.¡± ¡°That¡¯s incredible. How did he navigate?¡± ¡°Ah, that¡¯s where this compass came in. You see, it¡¯s not just any compass. The needle, it¡¯s said to be forged from a fallen star.¡± Alaric cleared his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. ¡°Sor, we really should¡ª¡± Soren flashed him a glare before turning back to the shopkeeper. ¡°A fallen star? How is that possible?¡± ¡°The captain claimed he found it on an uncharted island, guarded by creatures with the heads of birds and bodies of lions.¡± ¡°Sor.¡± Alaric placed a hand on Soren¡¯s shoulder, trying to turn him away from the counter. Soren shrugged him off. ¡°What happened to the creatures? Did he fight them?¡± Alaric let out a sigh, crossing his arms and leaning against a nearby shelf. A small porcelain figurine wobbled, and he scrambled to steady it, muttering curses under his breath. ¡°Oh no, he didn¡¯t fight them. He sang to them! An old sea shanty his grandmother taught him, if you can believe it. The creatures were so moved, they¡ª¡± ¡°Alright, that¡¯s enough,¡± Alaric cut in, stepping between Soren and the shopkeeper. ¡°We appreciate the story, but we¡¯re on a bit of a tight schedule here, and this ravenglass isn¡¯t going to find itself.¡± Soren blinked. ¡°Right, yes. The ravenglass.¡± The shopkeeper¡¯s smile faded. ¡°Ah, yes. As I was telling your friend here, ravenglass is quite rare. I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t have any in stock. Grey¡¯s might have some, but between you and me I believe many of his items to be forgeries.¡± Soren found his eyes wandering to the compass once more. ¡°How did you come across this collection?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve travelled far and wide in my day, made connections with collectors from all corners of the world. Every item here has its own journey, its own story to tell.¡± ¡°I¡¯d love to do something like this one day. I¡¯m an artist by trade, but this is¡­this is fascinating.¡± ¡°You know, the auction circuit in this city is where the real treasures change hands. I¡¯ve seen items there that would make your head spin.¡± Soren nodded. ¡°That must be incredible. How does one get involved in something like that?¡± Alaric cleared his throat. ¡°Speaking of auctions, we heard there might be some ravenglass available through those channels. Any truth to that?¡± ¡°It¡¯s possible. There¡¯s an auction house on Blackwater Street, run by a fellow named Finch. If anyone in Welttor deals in ravenglass, it¡¯ll be him.¡± Alaric nodded. ¡°Finch, you say? And these auctions, how often do they happen?¡± ¡°Oh, every fortnight or so. Though they are by invitation only.¡± Soren opened his mouth to ask more, but Alaric cut in. ¡°And how might one go about getting such an invitation?¡± The shopkeeper chuckled. ¡°That, my young friend, is the tricky part. Finch is most particular about his clientele. But for the right price, anything¡¯s possible in this city.¡± ¡°I see.¡± Alaric rubbed his chin. ¡°And this Finch, what¡¯s he like? Any quirks or preferences we should know about?¡± ¡°Finch is a collector himself, you know. Has a weakness for rare coins. If you were to come across something interesting in that line¡­¡± He trailed off. Alaric¡¯s lips curved into a small smile. ¡°Thank you, sir. You¡¯ve been most helpful.¡± As Alaric turned away, Soren found himself torn. Part of him knew they should leave, focus on their mission. But the shopkeeper¡¯s stories had awakened a curiosity he couldn¡¯t shake. ¡°Before we go,¡± Soren said. ¡°I have to ask¡ªwhat¡¯s the most fascinating item you¡¯ve ever come across in your years of collecting?¡± Before the shopkeeper could speak, Alaric grabbed Soren¡¯s arm, steering him towards the door. ¡°Thank you for your time,¡± Alaric called over his shoulder. ¡°We¡¯ll be sure to check out that auction house.¡± The bell above the door jingled as they stepped back onto the street. After walking ten or so paces, Alaric rounded on him. ¡°What in the void was that about?¡± Soren flinched. ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°You completely forgot why we were there!¡± Soren ran a hand through his hair. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I just¡­I got carried away. Did you hear those stories? Every item in there had a history, a connection to the past. It¡¯s fascinating.¡± ¡°Fascinating isn¡¯t going to get us that ravenglass.¡± Alaric glowered at him. ¡°We have a job to do, remember?¡± Soren nodded. ¡°You¡¯re right. I¡¯m sorry. It won¡¯t happen again.¡± ¡°See that it doesn¡¯t. We¡¯re never going to find this stuff if every time you see a pretty watch you start asking stupid questions about sailors and sea monsters.¡± ¡°It was a compass.¡± ¡°Compass. Watch. It doesn¡¯t matter. It¡¯s a distraction.¡± ¡°But we got a useful lead with the auction.¡± ¡°No thanks to you though.¡± Soren breathed a long sigh. ¡°So, where to next?¡± ¡°Let¡¯s see what we can find out about this Grey bloke. If he deals in ravenglass, he might be a good place to start. We can always check out the auction stuff later if that doesn¡¯t pan out.¡± Soren frowned. ¡°Grey¡¯s?¡± ¡°Your new best friend mentioned he sometimes has some.¡± ¡°Did he?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± Alaric shook his head. ¡°What¡¯s got into you, Sor? It¡¯s like your mind¡¯s not with us.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I was just taken in by that place. I don¡¯t know what it was¡­I could see myself doing that you know. Dealing in antiques, source rare artifacts, finding out about their histories.¡± Alaric sniffed. ¡°Good luck with that. We¡¯re already committed to another path.¡± Soren glanced back at the shop and nodded. ¡°You¡¯re right¡­but it would make for a great cover, wouldn¡¯t it? Who would suspect an antiques dealer?¡± Alaric shrugged. ¡°Maybe you could do both. Dare to dream, Soren. Dare to dream. Maybe you could do flower arranging on the side.¡± Soren rolled his eyes. ¡°I¡¯m serious. I can see it now.¡± ¡°Come on. Let¡¯s keep moving. Let¡¯s find this Grey¡¯s place. But this time, try to stay focused on what we¡¯re doing.¡± ¡°I will.¡± Soren dipped his head. ¡°Sorry.¡± Soren and Alaric made their way deeper into the antiques district, the streets narrowed, the buildings pressing in on either side. Soren¡¯s gaze wandered from storefront to storefront. ¡°Look at that old telescope. Imagine the stars it must have seen.¡± ¡°Focus, Sor. We¡¯re looking for Grey¡¯s, remember?¡± ¡°I know, I know. But just imagine what our shop could look like. We could have a section for nautical instruments, another for ancient texts¡­¡± Alaric shot forward, clamping around a boy¡¯s wrist. "Not so fast." The boy let out a yelp, struggling as Alaric pried Soren¡¯s coin purse from his grasp and shoved it back into Soren¡¯s hands. ¡°This little rat nearly ran off with your coin while you were lost in your grand plans.¡± Before the boy could wrench free, Alaric¡¯s fist snapped forward, connecting with his jaw. The thief staggered, eyes watering, before spinning on his heel and bolting into a nearby alley. Soren shook his head. ¡°He was just a kid.¡± ¡°Yeah, a kid who would¡¯ve left you penniless,¡± Alaric snapped. ¡°This is exactly why you need to stay focused. This city isn¡¯t some quaint curiosity shop, Sor. It¡¯s dangerous.¡± As they continued their search for Grey¡¯s, Soren couldn¡¯t help but think about the boy. ¡°The Guild should consider recruiting kids like that. Take them off the street at a young age. They already have many of the skills we¡¯re learning¡ªsneaking, survival, quick hands...¡± Alaric snorted. ¡°Right, because a scruffy street kid would blend in perfectly at a noble¡¯s ball. Can you imagine?¡± Soren chuckled. ¡°Fair point. I suppose there¡¯s more to our training than just picking pockets.¡± ¡°Exactly. Now, can we please focus on finding¡ª wait, is that it?¡± Soren followed Alaric¡¯s gaze to a shop at the end of the street. A faded sign hung above the door, the words ¡°Grey¡¯s Curios and Antiquities¡± barely visible beneath years of grime. ¡°That¡¯s got to be it.¡± Alaric reached for the handle, then paused, fixing Soren with a stern look. ¡°Remember, we¡¯re here for information about ravenglass. Try not to get distracted by every shiny object you see, alright?¡± Soren nodded, steeling himself. ¡°I won¡¯t.¡± A bell chimed as they entered. Glass cases lined the walls, their contents glinting in the harsh light of gas lamps. The air was thick with the acrid smell of metal polish. A tall, thin man emerged from a back room, his eyes sharp behind wire-rimmed spectacles. ¡°Can I help you?¡± Soren stepped forward. ¡°We¡¯re looking for some ravenglass. We were told you might be able to help.¡± The man¡¯s eyebrows rose. ¡°Ravenglass? That¡¯s not a common request. What¡¯s your interest in it?¡± ¡°Academic,¡± Alaric said. ¡°We¡¯re researching ancient¡­erm, stuff.¡± The shopkeeper nodded, his gaze flicking between them. ¡°I see. Well, you¡¯ve come to the right place. I do have some experience with ravenglass, though I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t have any in stock at the moment.¡± ¡°Oh,¡± Alaric said. ¡°You sure? Nothing lying about in a back room, or anything?¡± ¡°We don¡¯t need much,¡± Soren said. ¡°Just enough to¡ª¡± ¡°Enough for our research,¡± Alaric cut in. The shopkeeper spread his hands. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± ¡°But you¡¯ve dealt with it before?¡± Soren asked. ¡°What can you tell us about it?¡± ¡°It¡¯s a fascinating material. Harder than steel, yet no heavier than glass. It has some unusual properties that make it highly sought after by certain collectors.¡± ¡°What kind of properties?¡± ¡°There are myths and rumours. All of it nonsense, I am sure.¡± ¡°What about the collectors?¡± Alaric asked. Where might we find them?¡± The shopkeeper¡¯s lips curled into a smile. ¡°That, I¡¯m afraid, is privileged information. Let¡¯s just say that there are some collectors willing to pay a high price for pure ravenglass.¡± ¡°Is there any way we could acquire a sample?¡± Soren asked. ¡°For our research, of course.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not that simple, I¡¯m afraid. Ravenglass is incredibly rare. When pieces do come on the market, they¡¯re usually snapped up quickly by private collectors.¡± ¡°But surely there must be some way,¡± Soren said. ¡°We¡¯d be willing to pay handsomely for even a small amount.¡± ¡°Well, there might be something. I¡¯ve heard rumours of a private auction taking place on the overmorrow. Very exclusive, very hush-hush. Word is that a significant piece of ravenglass will be up for sale.¡± ¡°This would be one of Finch¡¯s auctions?¡± Alaric asked. The shopkeeper nodded. ¡°Indeed. It seems you¡¯re already in the know.¡± ¡°In the know, yes. But¡ª¡± ¡°But you seek an invitation?¡± Alaric sighed. ¡°Yup.¡± ¡°That¡¯s the tricky part. Those invitations are not easy to come by. But¡­¡± he paused, his gaze fixing on Alaric. ¡°For the right price, I might be able to arrange something.¡± ¡°And what would the right price be?¡± The shopkeeper smiled. ¡°Oh, let¡¯s say five-hundred krones to arrange it and another five-hundred for the invitation.¡± Soren¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°A thousand krones? Just to get in?¡± ¡°That is the price.¡± ¡°And a fair price it is,¡± Alaric said. ¡°We¡¯ll need to discuss this and get back to you. Day after tomorrow you say?¡± ¡°Indeed.¡± The shopkeeper pulled a card from his pocket. ¡°You have until close of business tomorrow to decide. After that, I can¡¯t guarantee I¡¯ll be able to help you.¡± They left the shop, Soren¡¯s mind whirling with possibilities. ¡°What do you think? Can we trust him?¡± Alaric shrugged. ¡°Hard to say. But it¡¯s the best lead we¡¯ve got so far. We¡¯ll need to figure out how to get the money for those invitations, though.¡± Soren shook his head. ¡°Or, we pay a visit to the auction house ourselves.¡± XIII. Blackwater Street stood out among its neighbours, its cobblestones freshly swept and its buildings gleaming with polished brass and spotless windows. ¡°This has to be it.¡± Soren gestured towards a structure at the street¡¯s end, its fa?ade adorned with intricate carvings. He pointed to the sign. ¡°Finch & Associates: Fine Auctions and Acquisitions.¡± ¡°Aqua?¡± Alaric frowned. ¡°What does that have to do with auctions?¡± ¡°Focus. We¡¯re here to scout.¡± They moved around the building, noting the thick curtains drawn tight over the windows and the heavy locks securing the side entrances. Each step sharpened Soren¡¯s awareness, his eyes scanning for vulnerabilities. At the back, he stopped, his attention drawn to a narrow alley cutting behind the auction house. He studied its depth and the shadows it provided. ¡°That might work.¡± Alaric shrugged. ¡°Let¡¯s get a look inside first.¡± Plush carpets muffled Soren¡¯s footsteps when he entered, the air thick with the scent of polished wood and leather. A stern-faced woman sat behind a mahogany desk, eyeing Soren as he approached. ¡°Can I help you gentlemen?¡± Soren stepped forward. ¡°We¡¯re here to see Mr. Finch. It¡¯s regarding the upcoming auction.¡± The woman¡¯s eyebrow arched. ¡°Mr. Finch¡¯s auctions are private affairs.¡± ¡°Of course. We already have an invitation. I¡¯m simply interested in reviewing the listings.¡± The receptionist studied them for a long moment before rising. ¡°One moment, please.¡± As she disappeared into a back room, Alaric leaned close to Soren. ¡°What are you playing at? We don¡¯t have an invitation.¡± Soren shushed him as the woman returned, a leather-bound catalogue in her hands. ¡°Here you are, sir. The full listing begins on the third page.¡± Soren accepted the catalogue with a nod and began leafing through. His eyes darted across the lines of text and woodcut illustrations, his heart racing as he took in the array of rare and valuable items. ¡®Lot 12: Alabaster carving of a dog, believed to have belonged to Emperor Dietmar III of Ostreich. Intricate carvings depict scenes from the Unification Wars. Reserve price: 3,000 krones.¡¯ He turned the page, his fingers tracing the detailed sketches. ¡®Lot 23: Clockwork wyvern automaton, crafted by the legendary artificer Elias Grimm. Sings seven distinct melodies. Reserve price: 2,500 krones.¡¯ ¡®Lot 31: First edition of ¡®The Wanderer¡¯s Chronicle,¡¯ signed by the author. One of only three known copies to survive the Great Library Fire. Reserve price: 4,000 krones.¡¯ He turned the page and stopped. ¡®Lot 33: Ravenglass Orb, origin unknown. Believed to be of pre-Cataclysm manufacture. Perfectly spherical. Surface described as ¡®darker than the deepest night.¡¯ Reserve price: 5,000 krones.¡¯ Soren fought to keep his expression neutral as he looked up at the receptionist. ¡°I¡¯m particularly interested in Lot 33. Can you tell me more about its properties?¡± The woman¡¯s lips thinned. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t have any information beyond what¡¯s listed in the catalogue, sir.¡± Soren nodded, closing the book with a snap. ¡°I see. Well, thank you for your time.¡± As they exited the auction house, Soren¡¯s mind raced with possibilities. ¡°Did you see that? An entire orb of ravenglass. That¡¯s got to be more than enough for what we need.¡± Alaric¡¯s brow furrowed. ¡°And how exactly do you plan on getting it? In case you forgot, we don¡¯t actually have an invitation. Or 5,000 krones.¡± ¡°We¡¯re not allowed to purchase it anyway.¡± ¡°I suppose.¡± ¡°We come back tonight. Scout the place properly. I bet they keep the auction items on-site before a sale.¡± ¡°Maybe we should¡ª¡± ¡°Oi!¡± A group of men stepped out from the shadows of a nearby alley, their faces hard. At their centre stood the boy from earlier, his finger aimed straight at them. ¡°That¡¯s them! The ones who hit me!¡± The largest man rolled his shoulders, his knuckles cracking. ¡°You picked the wrong kid to mess with. This is our street.¡± Soren¡¯s hand slid to the dagger at his hip. He gripped the hilt, weighing their options. There were too many. A fight would end badly. Alaric stepped forward, his voice steady. ¡°You really don¡¯t want to be messing with us.¡± ¡°Is that so?¡± ¡°We¡¯re with the Guild.¡± The men froze. The leader¡¯s brow furrowed as his eyes swept over them. ¡°Which guild?¡± Alaric held his gaze, unflinching. ¡°You know which one.¡± The air thickened, the silence dragging between them. The leader shifted. He took a half-step back, his head dipping slightly. ¡°Didn¡¯t realise. No problem here, yeah? No harm done, lads.¡± A few muttered agreements passed through the group. One by one, they melted into the alley, their presence dissolving as quickly as it had emerged. Soren waited until the street cleared, then nodded toward Alaric.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. They moved quickly, putting Blackwater Street behind them. Alaric grinned as they rounded a corner. ¡°Did you see their faces? They were scared out of their skins.¡± Soren shook his head. ¡°We shouldn¡¯t mention the Guild to anyone. Ever. Do you have any idea how much trouble we could be in?¡± Alaric¡¯s smile faded. ¡°I wasn¡¯t thinking. It just came out.¡± ¡°This isn¡¯t a game.¡± Alaric sniffed. ¡°Whatever.¡± "We need to learn more about this place." Soren''s boots struck cobbles as they walked, his mind already planning. Soren¡¯s fingers traced the yellowed edges of a blueprint, his brow furrowed. Beside him, Alaric leaned over the table, his eyes darting across the faded lines and notations. ¡°This is useless.¡± Alaric pushed away from the table with a sigh. ¡°It¡¯s over a century old. Who knows what changes they¡¯ve made since then?¡± Soren nodded. ¡°It gives us a rough outline, at least. But you¡¯re right, we need more recent information.¡± They had been in the Vault for hours, poring over every scrap of information they could find about the auction house on Blackwater Street. ¡°We¡¯re at a disadvantage compared to the museum job.¡± Soren rolled up the blueprint and reached for another tome. ¡°At least there, we had a chance to scout the interior during the day.¡± Alaric snorted. ¡°Fat lot of good that did us. We still failed.¡± ¡°True, but we learned from it. This time, we need to be smarter. We need to go back tonight, do some real scouting.¡± Alaric raised an eyebrow. ¡°And how exactly do you propose we do that? The place will be locked up tight.¡± ¡°We¡¯ll find a way in. Maybe through that alley we saw. If we¡¯re lucky, we might even find the ravenglass orb.¡± ¡°And if we¡¯re not lucky? If we get caught?¡± Soren opened his mouth to respond, but the words died in his throat as a familiar figure appeared at the end of the aisle. Raz moved towards them with fluid grace. ¡°How goes the search?¡± Soren straightened. ¡°We¡¯ve made some progress. We went around the antiques district and found a lead on a ravenglass orb at an upcoming auction.¡± Raz pushed out his bottom lip. ¡°Interesting. And how do you plan to acquire this orb?¡± ¡°We¡¯re still working on the details. But we have some ideas.¡± Raz nodded, his gaze moving between the two initiates. His hand shot out, grabbing Alaric by the collar, and slamming him against the nearest bookshelf. ¡°What the¡ª¡± Alaric¡¯s protest was cut short as Raz leaned in close. ¡°If you ever speak of the Guild in public again, you die. Do you understand me?¡± Alaric¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°I¡­I didn¡¯t¡­¡± ¡°Don¡¯t lie to me. You mentioned the Guild to those street thugs. That kind of carelessness gets people killed.¡± Raz released his grip and Alaric slumped against the bookshelf, his face pale and shaken. ¡°Let this be your only warning. There are no second chances in our line of work.¡± He turned and stalked away, leaving Soren and Alaric alone in the Vault. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Alaric remained where Raz had left him, his breathing ragged and uneven. ¡°Alaric, I¡¯m so sorry. I should have¡ª¡± ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± Alaric cut him off, his voice hoarse. ¡°Just¡­don¡¯t.¡± He pushed himself away from the bookshelf, straightening his clothes with trembling hands. ¡°We should get back to work. We still need to figure out how we¡¯re going to get that orb.¡± Soren nodded, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. ¡°Right. Of course.¡± The night¡¯s chill wrapped around Soren as he moved through Welttor¡¯s shadowed streets, each step blending into the quiet hum of the city at rest. Finch¡¯s auction house rose ahead, its silhouette stark against the faint glow of distant lanterns. Soren slipped into the cover of a nearby wall, flattening himself against the rough stone as a city watchman passed. The lantern¡¯s glow swept over the cobblestones, chasing shadows before the street sank back into darkness. ¡°Now.¡± Soren darted across the open space to the auction house¡¯s side alley. Alaric followed close behind, his footsteps silent. Soren crouched in the narrow passage, the brick walls pressing in on either side as he surveyed the building. He moved towards the side door. ¡°Keep watch.¡± Soren fished his lockpicks from a hidden pocket in his tunic. Alaric nodded, his eyes scanning the street as Soren set to work on the lock. The mechanism was more complex than the one at the museum, each tumbler a puzzle unto itself. Sweat beaded on Soren¡¯s brow as he worked, acutely aware of how exposed they were. A soft click broke the silence. Soren¡¯s breath caught in his throat as he tested the handle. ¡°We¡¯re in.¡± He ushered Alaric inside before closing the door behind them. Soren blinked, willing his eyes to adjust as he took in their surroundings. ¡°Which way?¡± Alaric¡¯s voice was barely audible. Soren hesitated, recalling the layout they¡¯d studied. ¡°Upstairs. There¡¯s a vault in the basement, but the auction items might be stored off the bidding room.¡± Soren crept towards the staircase, every creak of the floorboards making him wince. His elbow brushed against a display stand, sending a tremor through the delicate tea set perched atop it. He led the way up the stairs, testing each step before committing his weight. Reaching the top step, Soren paused. ¡°You take the left wing, I¡¯ll go right. Meet back here in fifteen minutes.¡± Alaric nodded, melting into the shadows. Soren watched him go before turning to his own task. He slipped from door to door, his lockpicks making short work of the simple tumblers. But each room yielded nothing but stacks of paperwork and mundane items waiting to be catalogued. As he emerged from yet another fruitless search, a faint glimmer caught Soren¡¯s eye. He froze, his gaze fixed on a door at the end of the hall. Unlike the others, this one boasted a heavy padlock. Soren¡¯s pulse quickened as he approached. This had to be it. His fingers trembled as he set to work on the lock, more complex than any he¡¯d encountered so far. Minutes ticked by as Soren wrestled with the mechanism. A satisfying click echoed through the hallway. The padlock fell open in his hand. Holding his breath, Soren eased the door open. The room beyond stood pitch black, the air thick with the musty scent of age and disuse. Broken furniture, mouldering books, dust-covered paintings¡ªnothing but forgotten junk. No ravenglass orb. Just another dead end. Soren slumped against the doorframe. They¡¯d risked so much for this, and for what? A room full of worthless crap? A floorboard creaked behind him. Soren whirled, his hand flying to the dagger at his hip. But it was only Alaric. ¡°Anything?¡± Alaric shook his head. ¡°Not a trace. You?¡± ¡°Same.¡± Soren gestured to the cluttered room behind him. ¡°Just more junk.¡± From somewhere below, came the unmistakable sound of footsteps. Soren grabbed Alaric¡¯s arm, pulling him into the junk room and easing the door shut behind them. He crouched in the darkness, barely daring to breathe as the footsteps grew louder. A slice of light appeared under the door. Darkness. The footsteps continued on, fading into nothing. Soren let out a shaky breath. Alaric rose to his feet. ¡°We need to get out of here.¡± Soren nodded, though a part of him rebelled at the idea of leaving empty-handed. But Alaric was right¡ªthey¡¯d pushed their luck far enough for one night. Soren crept back through the auction house, every shadow now seeming to conceal a lurking guard. The stairs creaked underfoot as he and Alaric descended, each sound amplified in the stillness. At last, he reached the side door and eased it open, peering out into the alley. The street beyond lay deserted, shrouded in the faint glow of gas lamps. ¡°Coast is clear.¡± Alaric followed, pulling the door shut behind him. Soren melted into the shadows, moving swiftly and silently through Welttor¡¯s winding streets. Only when they were several streets away did Soren allow himself to relax. ¡°Well.¡± Alaric kicked a loose stone. ¡°That was a waste of time.¡± Soren shook his head. ¡°We can figure out another way, I¡¯m sure.¡± ¡°What about Grey¡¯s offer? It might be our best shot.¡± Soren¡¯s brow furrowed. ¡°It¡¯s too risky. Even if we could scrape together that kind of money, there¡¯s no guarantee it would get us what we need. He gave us no reason to trust him.¡± Alaric sighed, running a hand through his hair. ¡°So what, then? We just give up?¡± ¡°Of course not. We find another way in.¡± He turned onto a wider street, his mind racing. ¡°What if we don¡¯t need an invitation at all? What if we could talk our way in?¡± Alaric sniffed. ¡°Talk our way in? To a high-security auction full of Welttor¡¯s elite? Are you mad?¡± ¡°All we need to do is look the part, act confident, and have a believable story.¡± ¡°And you think you can pull that off, huh?¡± ¡°I know I can.¡± Alaric shook his head. ¡°It¡¯s too risky. If we get caught¡­¡± ¡°We were taking a bigger risk breaking in. At least this way, we have a chance of walking out with what we came for.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t like it, Sor. It¡¯s too dangerous. Too many things could go wrong.¡± Soren stopped, turning to face Alaric. ¡°Then I¡¯ll go alone.¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°You heard me. If you don¡¯t have the stones for it, I¡¯ll do it myself. I¡¯m not giving up on this. It¡¯s too important.¡± For a long moment, they stood there, staring each other down. Soren could see the conflict in Alaric¡¯s eyes. At last, Alaric¡¯s shoulders slumped. ¡°Fine. We stick together. But for the record, I think this is a terrible idea.¡± Soren clapped him on the shoulder. ¡°Noted. Now come on. We should get some rest. Tomorrow, we¡¯ve got work to do.¡± XIV. The cool air thickened as Soren led Alaric deeper into the Vault. The scent of old parchment and leather bindings gave way to the musty tang of mothballs and worn fabric. Rows of clothing racks stood ahead, garments arranged in a dizzying array of styles and fabrics from across Wiete. Shelves crowded with hats, gloves, and scarves filled the walls. ¡°This is perfect.¡± He made his way to a section filled with finely tailored garments, running his fingers over rich velvets and silks. Alaric trailed behind. ¡°So, what¡¯s the plan?¡± Soren held up a deep blue velvet coat, admiring the intricate silver embroidery along the cuffs. ¡°We blend in.¡± He slipped the coat on and It fit perfectly. ¡°I¡¯ll be a nobleman¡ªsomeone with enough status to attend the auction without question.¡± He turned to Alaric, holding out a plain outfit. ¡°And you¡¯ll be my servant.¡± Alaric¡¯s jaw tightened, his posture stiffening as he stared at the clothes in Soren¡¯s outstretched hand. ¡°A servant? Why can¡¯t I be the merchant or an associate?¡± Soren sighed. He set the servant¡¯s clothes aside, fixing Alaric with a steady gaze. ¡°You know I can pull off the noble look. I¡¯ve had dealings with nobles in Kurgan¡¯s workshop. I¡¯ve seen how they act, heard how they speak.¡± Alaric¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°So what? You think I can¡¯t do it? You think I don¡¯t have the right look or the right manners?¡± ¡°It¡¯s not about that. It¡¯s about what¡¯s believable. The auction house is filled with the upper class. They¡¯ll take one look at us and immediately buy into the idea of me as a noble. You¡­¡± He hesitated, ¡°Go on. Say it.¡± Soren exhaled. ¡°You¡¯re built for a different role. You¡¯re too rough around the edges. If we want to get inside without anyone asking questions, this is the best chance we have.¡± Alaric¡¯s expression hardened, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. ¡°Rough around the edges, huh? Is that what you think of me? I¡¯m just some scruffy thug who doesn¡¯t belong in those circles?¡± ¡°That¡¯s not what I meant, and you know it.¡± He stepped closer, lowering his voice. ¡°We need to play to our strengths. It¡¯s about the roles, not the reality.¡± Alaric snatched the servant¡¯s clothes. ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll play the part. Just like I always do¡­¡± He yanked the simple jacket over his head, his movements stiff. ¡°We can¡¯t afford to let pride get in the way of doing what we need to.¡± ¡°Yeah, well¡­let¡¯s just get this over with.¡± He grumbled under his breath, avoiding Soren¡¯s gaze as he adjusted his collar. Soren donned the rest of his attire. He checked his reflection in a nearby mirror, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt and ensuring every detail was immaculate. With each adjustment, he felt himself slipping into the role¡ªhis posture straightening, his chin lifting with aristocratic confidence. Alaric, meanwhile, struggled with the servant¡¯s garb. His discomfort was evident in every movement. Soren picked up a cloth cap¡ªthe final touch for Alaric¡¯s disguise. He held it out, forcing a smile. ¡°Don¡¯t worry. I won¡¯t actually treat you like a servant.¡± Alaric snatched the cap, jamming it onto his head. ¡°You better not.¡± Soren took a deep breath. ¡°Alright, let¡¯s go over the plan one more time. I¡¯ll handle the talking. You stay close, silent unless absolutely necessary. Once we¡¯re inside, we need to gather information, and see if there¡¯s a way to get the ravenglass.¡± ¡°And if things go sideways?¡± ¡°Then we get out fast. But if we play our parts well, no one will suspect a thing.¡± He took one last look in the mirror. ¡°Ready?¡± Alaric nodded. ¡°As I¡¯ll ever be.¡± Soren flashed him a grin. ¡°As I¡¯ll ever be, my lord.¡± ¡°Whatever.¡± Soren and Alaric approached the auction house, its windows glowing with warm light. ¡°This isn¡¯t going to work,¡± Alaric said. ¡°We should try something else.¡± Soren shot him a sharp look. ¡°It will work. I know what I¡¯m doing.¡± As they neared the entrance, Soren squared his shoulders, adopting the haughty demeanour he¡¯d observed in Wiete¡¯s upper class. He strode forward, Alaric trailing behind him. ¡°Good evening, gentlemen,¡± one of the guards said, his voice polite but firm. ¡°May I see your invitation?¡± Soren affected a look of mild annoyance, patting his pockets with growing urgency. ¡°Of course, I have it right¡­hmm.¡± He frowned, turning to Alaric. ¡°Did I give it to you to hold?¡± Alaric¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°No, my lord. I don¡¯t think so.¡± Soren turned back to the guard. ¡°I must have misplaced it. Surely you can make an exception? I¡¯m Soren Valden, of the Ostreich Valdens. My family has been doing business with Finch for decades.¡± The guard¡¯s expression remained impassive. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, sir, but I¡¯m afraid I can¡¯t let you in without proper verification.¡± ¡°This is ridiculous,¡± Soren snapped. ¡°Do you have any idea who I am? The amount of business my family brings to this establishment?¡± ¡°Sir, please lower your voice. If you don¡¯t have an invitation, I¡¯m going to have to ask you to leave.¡± Soren opened his mouth to argue further, but Alaric¡¯s hand on his arm stopped him. ¡°It¡¯s not worth it, Sor. Let¡¯s go.¡± With a final glare at the guard, he allowed Alaric to lead him away from the entrance. Once they were out of earshot, Soren¡¯s composure crumbled. He slammed his fist against a nearby wall. ¡°Damn it! We were so close!¡± Alaric sighed. ¡°I told you this wouldn¡¯t work. We should cut our losses and head back to the Guild.¡± Soren scanned the street, searching for any opportunity, any weakness they could exploit. They couldn¡¯t give up now, not when they were this close. As they lingered in the shadows near the auction house, a well-dressed man came into view, walking with purpose towards the entrance. Soren struck. His fist connected with the man¡¯s temple, a precise blow that sent him to the ground. Before the man¡¯s body hit the cobblestones, Soren dragged him into a nearby alley. Alaric stood frozen, his eyes wide. ¡°What in the void?¡± Ignoring him, Soren rifled through the unconscious man¡¯s pockets, pulling out the invitation. He stood, brushing dust from his jacket. ¡°Problem solved.¡± ¡°Problem solved?¡± He grabbed Soren¡¯s arm. ¡°You just assaulted an innocent man!¡± Soren shrugged off Alaric¡¯s grip. ¡°I did what needed to be done. This is our only chance. We can¡¯t afford to let it slip away.¡± Alaric shook his head. ¡°This isn¡¯t right. We¡¯re supposed to be better than this.¡± ¡°Better?¡± Soren laughed. ¡°We¡¯re training to be assassins. Or have you forgotten that?¡±Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. For a long moment, they stood in tense silence, the unconscious man lying fat their feet. Alaric seemed to deflate. ¡°What now?¡± ¡°Stay here. Keep an eye on him. Make sure he doesn¡¯t wake up and cause trouble.¡± Alaric nodded. ¡°And what about you?¡± Soren held up the invitation. ¡°I¡¯m going to get us that orb.¡± As he stepped back onto the street, adjusting his suit and composing his features, Soren pushed down the twinge of guilt that threatened to surface. He¡¯d done what was necessary, nothing more. And if Alaric couldn¡¯t understand that, well¡­maybe he wasn¡¯t cut out for this life after all. Soren approached the auction house entrance once more, the stolen invitation clutched in his hand. ¡°Good evening, gentlemen. I do apologise for the earlier confusion. It seems my invitation was tucked away in my coat pocket all along.¡± He produced the invitation with a chuckle. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I¡¯m not quite myself tonight.¡± The guards stepped aside, opening the door. ¡°Please, enjoy the auction.¡± As he moved to enter, one of the guards cleared his throat. ¡°Sir, wasn¡¯t there another gentleman with you? Your servant, perhaps?¡± Soren turned to him, his lip curled. ¡°I don¡¯t believe I need to explain what orders I give to my servants. Now, if you¡¯ll excuse me, I have an auction to attend.¡± Without waiting for a response, Soren strode into the auction house. As the doors closed behind him, he allowed himself a small sigh. He was in. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the gathered crowd, their light glinting off jewels and polished monocles. The air hummed with the low murmur of conversation, punctuated by the occasional laugh or exclamation as particularly interesting lots were brought forth. Soren moved through the throng, noting the locations of exits, the positioning of guards, the faces of key players in the room. Every detail could be crucial. The auction was already underway, a portly man with an impressive moustache calling out lots in a booming voice. Soren listened with half an ear as he circulated, picking up snippets of conversation. ¡°¡­heard the Asgar collection is up for sale¡­¡± ¡°¡­outbid that pompous fool¡­¡± ¡°¡­ravenglass on offer tonight¡­¡± Soren drifted closer to the conversation, feigning interest in a nearby display case. ¡°A small orb, I¡¯m told. It would be a wonderful addition to my collection.¡± ¡°Or mine.¡± As the auction progressed, Soren noted which buyers seemed most eager, which lots drew the most attention. A tall woman with a shock of white hair seemed particularly interested in ancient texts. A bearded man with a gold tooth bid aggressively on anything related to weaponry. ¡°Ladies and gentlemen,¡± the auctioneer called. ¡°We now move onto lot 37: a pure ravenglass orb of exceptional quality.¡± A hush fell over the crowd as an attendant brought forth a small, velvet-lined box. Inside, nestled against dark fabric, sat a sphere of deepest black. It seemed to absorb the light around it, creating a void in the shape of a perfect circle. Soren¡¯s breath caught. It was smaller than he¡¯d hoped¡ªfar too small to be made into a dagger. But perhaps it could form part of a larger piece. The bidding began, fierce and fast. Numbers were called out in rapid succession. Soren noted which buyers seemed most invested. A nobleman stood near the front, flanked by several burly bodyguards. His face remained impassive as he raised his paddle. This man wanted the orb, and he was prepared to pay dearly for it. ¡°Do I hear 5,200 krones?¡± the auctioneer called. ¡°5,200 to the gentleman in blue. Do I hear 5,500?¡± The bidding continued and the nobleman¡¯s competitors dropped out one by one, unable, or unwilling to match his bids. ¡°Sold! To Lord Aaron Fischer for 7,200 krones!¡± A ripple of applause went through the crowd. The auctioneer beamed down at Lord Fischer. ¡°Another fine addition to your collection, my lord.¡± Soren watched as Lord Fischer¡¯s bodyguards retrieved the orb. The nobleman wore a satisfied smile, accepting congratulations from those around him. With the ravenglass auction over, Soren made his way towards the exit. Lord Fischer¡¯s collection could be the key to their mission. The beginnings of a plan began to form in Soren¡¯s mind. He stepped out into the cool night air, the sounds of the auction fading behind him. His footsteps echoed off the cobblestones as he approached the alley where he¡¯d left Alaric. His mind buzzed with the information he¡¯d gleaned from the auction, plans already forming and reforming with each step. As he rounded the corner, he spotted Alaric crouched next to the still-unconscious form of the man they¡¯d ambushed. Alaric¡¯s head snapped up at Soren¡¯s approach. ¡°Well? Did you get what we needed?¡± Soren shook his head, but a smile played at his lips. ¡°Not exactly. But I found something better.¡± Alaric¡¯s brow furrowed. ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean? And what are we going to do about him?¡± He jerked his thumb towards the unconscious man. ¡°Is he still breathing.¡± Alaric nodded. ¡°Then leave him. He¡¯ll wake up with a headache, nothing more.¡± ¡°Leave him? You knocked him out without a second thought. That¡¯s not how we do things.¡± Soren¡¯s smile faded, his expression hardening. ¡°We needed that invite ¡° ¡°We could have found another way. One that didn¡¯t involve assaulting an innocent man.¡± Soren scoffed. ¡°Another way? Like what? Begging on the street corner for spare krones? Wake up. We can¡¯t afford to be soft.¡± Alaric took a step back. ¡°Soft? Is that what you think I am?¡± Soren sighed. ¡°That¡¯s not what I meant. Look, what¡¯s done is done. We got the information we needed, and that¡¯s what matters.¡± ¡°Information?¡± Alaric frowned. ¡°What did you find out?¡± ¡°There was a nobleman at the auction. Lord Ganrick Fischer. He won the bidding on the orb.¡± Alaric¡¯s eyebrows rose. ¡°Did you get a look at it? Was there enough for what we need?¡± Soren shook his head. ¡°No, it¡¯s too small. But that¡¯s not the important part. The auctioneer made a joke about Fischer¡¯s collection. I think he¡¯s got more ravenglass. ¡° ¡°You think?¡± ¡°It was strongly implied.¡± ¡°So this Fischer bloke is our new target?¡± ¡°Exactly. If we can get access to his collection, we¡¯ll have all the ravenglass we need.¡± Alaric¡¯s gaze drifted back to the unconscious man. ¡°And how exactly do you plan to get that access? More of this?¡± He gestured to their victim. Soren¡¯s jaw clenched. ¡°If necessary, yes. That¡¯s what being in the Guild means.¡± ¡°Is it? Because I thought we joined the Guild to find out who killed your father. To get justice. Not to become the very thing we¡¯re fighting against.¡± ¡°And how do you suggest we do that without getting our hands dirty? This isn¡¯t a game. It¡¯s not one of your sea shanties where the hero always wins and everyone lives happily ever after. This is real life.¡± ¡°I know that. But there has to be a line. Something that separates us from the people we¡¯re after. If we cross it, what¡¯s the point of any of this?¡± Soren took a deep breath. ¡°We crossed that line in the Threshing.¡± ¡°But we didn¡¯t choose that.¡± ¡°No. We didn¡¯t, but we succeeded. We won. And as far as I can tell, the point is succeeding where others have failed. And if that means bending a few rules along the way, then so be it.¡± Alaric shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t like what this is doing to you, Sor. You¡¯re changing, and I¡¯m not sure it¡¯s for the better.¡± ¡°We¡¯re both changing. That¡¯s what growing up means. We can¡¯t stay children forever.¡± A heavy silence fell between them. Finally, Alaric sighed. ¡°So what¡¯s the plan? How do we get to this Fischer bloke¡¯s collection?¡± ¡°We¡¯ll need to do some research. Find out where he lives, what kind of security he has. Then we can start planning our approach.¡± Alaric nodded. ¡°Alright. But Soren, promise me something.¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°Promise me we¡¯ll try to do this without hurting anyone else. At least¡­not unless we absolutely have to.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll do my best. That¡¯s all I can promise.¡± ¡°We should at least move him somewhere more comfortable.¡± Alaric gestured to the unconscious man. ¡°Maybe prop him up against that crate over there?¡± Soren sighed but nodded. ¡°Fine.¡± Together, they moved the man to a more sheltered spot in the alley. ¡°We should head back to the Guild. We¡¯ve got a lot of work ahead of us.¡± Soren sat cross-legged on his bed, sketchbook balanced on his knees. The scratch of charcoal against paper was the only sound, punctuated by Alaric¡¯s occasional snores from the adjacent bunk. His hand moved with practiced ease, bringing to life the scenes from the auction house. The opulent room, the eager bidders, the glittering array of artifacts. But it was the face taking shape beneath his fingers that held his focus now¡ªLord Fischer, the nobleman who had won the ravenglass orb. He paused, studying the portrait. Fischer¡¯s sharp eyes seemed to stare back at him from the page, challenging and calculating. Soren had captured the slight curl of his lip, the imperious tilt of his chin. As he added the final touches to the sketch, his gaze drifted to Alaric¡¯s sleeping form. Was Alaric holding him back? The thought rose unbidden, sharp, and uncomfortable. Soren tried to push it away, but it lingered, whispering doubts into his ear. Alaric¡¯s reluctance, his constant questioning¡ªwere these the actions of a true partner, or of someone who didn¡¯t have the stomach for what needed to be done? Soren¡¯s charcoal hovered over the page, his hand unsure. The memory of the man he¡¯d knocked out in the alley flashed through his mind. Had he done the wrong thing? No. It had been necessary. They needed that invitation. But the ease with which he¡¯d made that decision troubled him. He set the sketchbook aside. The Guild¡¯s training excited him in a way nothing else ever had. It challenged him, pushed him to his limits, and he found himself thriving under the pressure. He could be a contractor, an assassin¡ªand not just any assassin, but the best. The skills he was learning suited him, fit him like a second skin. But Alaric¡­Alaric had his doubts. About the Guild, about their methods, about the path they were walking. Soren had seen it in his eyes, heard it in his voice. Where Soren saw opportunity and purpose, Alaric saw danger and compromise. Soren¡¯s gaze drifted back to his sketchbook, to the face of Lord Fischer staring up at him. In another life, he mused, he might have been content as a sculptor. Shaping stone instead of shaping fate. But even as the thought formed, he knew it wasn¡¯t true. He was still an artist. The Guild had simply given him a new medium to work with. He picked up the charcoal again, adding depth to the shadows around Fischer¡¯s eyes. The nobleman¡¯s gaze seemed to follow him, judging, assessing. Soren met that gaze unflinchingly. He would not be found wanting. Soren shook his head, trying to dispel the negative thoughts. Alaric was his oldest friend, his partner. And yet¡­ He turned to a fresh page in his sketchbook, his hand moving almost of its own accord. This time, it was Alaric¡¯s face taking shape on the paper. Not the Alaric sleeping peacefully across the room, but the Alaric he remembered from their childhood in Nebel Hafen. Young, carefree, his eyes bright with mischief and adventure. As the portrait came to life, Soren felt a pang of loss. That boy was gone now, replaced by the man sleeping fitfully on the other bunk. Soren¡¯s charcoal paused, hovering over the page. Could he help Alaric find that place? Or were their paths destined to diverge? He closed the sketchbook with a soft snap. These questions had no easy answers, and the night was growing late. He snuffed out the candle, lying back on the pillow. But as weary as he was, his mind refused to rest. XV. Soren hunched over a massive tome, his fingers tracing the faded script of noble lineages. Around him, scrolls and documents lay scattered across the table. Across the table, Alaric lounged in his chair, twirling a dagger between his fingers. Soren¡¯s brow furrowed as he turned another page, his eyes scanning the densely packed text for any mention of the Fischer name. ¡°Anything yet?¡± Soren held up a hand, silencing Alaric as he focused on a particular passage. ¡°Here.¡± He tapped the page. ¡°The Fischer family. Their roots in Wiete stretch back to the days of the Heptarchy.¡± Alaric leaned forward. ¡°What¡¯s it say?¡± ¡°It says the Fischers have been influential landowners since the first restoration. Their primary holdings are north of Welttor, including a large manor on the Kusten Road.¡± He paused, skimming ahead. ¡°Interesting. While the family name has always carried weight, Aaron Fischer himself has kept a low profile in recent years.¡± ¡°So, he¡¯s rich and likes shiny things.¡± Alaric leaned back in his chair. ¡°What else?¡± Soren shot him a look. ¡°It¡¯s not that simple. Fischer¡¯s not involved in politics or public life. He¡¯s a recluse, content to sit on his wealth and collect rare artifacts. That doesn¡¯t fit with what we¡¯ve seen.¡± He reached for another stack of documents, these more recent. As he sifted through them, a pattern began to emerge. ¡°Look at this. Fischer¡¯s spending has increased significantly over the past year. Rare artifacts, expensive antiques, high salaries for a massive staff.¡± Alaric leaned in, his eyes narrowing as he studied the figures. ¡°Where¡¯s all this money coming from? Land holdings are profitable, but not this profitable.¡± ¡°Exactly.¡± Soren nodded. ¡°There¡¯s more going on here than we thought.¡± The candles burned low, their flickering light dancing across the Vault. Soren¡¯s eyes burned. His fingers, stained with ink, trembled slightly as he reached for yet another document. Across the table, Alaric sighed heavily, pushing aside a stack of ledgers. His chair scraped against the stone floor as he stood, stretching his arms over his head. He disappeared into the few stacks and returned with a scroll. As he unrolled it on the table, his eyes widened. ¡°Sor, you need to see this.¡± Soren looked up, blinking to refocus his vision. He moved to Alaric¡¯s side, leaning over the scroll. It was a plan of Fischer¡¯s manor. ¡°These markings.¡± Soren traced a series of symbols along the manor¡¯s perimeter. ¡°They¡¯re not just decorative. Look¡ªguard posts, security gates.¡± Alaric nodded, pointing to a section near the rear of the property. ¡°And here. This isn¡¯t just a kennel. It¡¯s positioned for maximum coverage of the grounds. Trained dogs, has to be.¡± Soren studied the layout, a frown deepening on his face. ¡°This isn¡¯t normal. No typical nobleman needs this level of security. It¡¯s more like a private fortress than a home.¡± ¡°He¡¯s protecting something. Something valuable.¡± Soren nodded. ¡°The question is, how do we inside?¡± ¡°We turn up, sneak in, grab what we need, and go.¡± ¡°No. We need to understand what we¡¯re dealing with before we make a move.¡± Alaric¡¯s jaw tightened. ¡°So what, more waiting? More planning? While Fischer sits there with the ravenglass?¡± Soren took a deep breath. ¡°We need to see this place for ourselves. Plans are one thing, but on the ground, it could be a different story. We scout first, then we plan.¡± ¡°Fine. But if we¡¯re going out there, we need to be ready for anything. IF the opportunity arrives, I¡¯m taking it.¡± ¡°We¡¯ll go during the day. Less suspicious than skulking around at night, and we¡¯ll be able to see more.¡± Soren rolled up the scroll and stood, stretching muscles stiff from hours of research. Across the table, Alaric was already rolling up scrolls and stacking books. As Soren returned the last book to its proper place, he turned to his gear. He shrugged on his Guild tunic, the familiar weight settling on his shoulders. He checked hidden pockets for lockpicks. Alaric buckled on his weapons belt, the soft clink of metal on metal breaking the silence. Without a word, they moved towards the Vault¡¯s exit. Crisp air nipped at Soren¡¯s face as he crouched behind a low hedge, his eyes fixed on Fischer Manor. Beside him, Alaric shifted, the rustle of leaves underfoot threatening to betray their position. Soren shot him a warning glance, and Alaric stilled. The manor loomed before them, a fortress of grey stone flanked by towering iron gates. A small guardhouse stood sentinel near the entrance, while a thick iron fence encircled the entire property. The Kusten Road stretched out behind them, a remnant of the old empire cutting a straight line from Welttor to Gottsisle. Two guards patrolled the perimeter, their movements precise and rhythmic. Every ten minutes, they changed positions. Near the entrance, more guards stood at attention, their hands never far from their weapons. In the distance, the low growl of security dogs added another layer to the manor¡¯s defences. ¡°This is far too much for a man who¡¯s supposedly just a collector.¡± Alaric nodded. ¡°So when do we move in?¡± Soren held up a hand. ¡°Not yet. We need to be careful.¡± He drew out his monocular and pressed it to his eye, scanning the manor¡¯s exterior. ¡°There.¡± He pointed to a small door half-hidden by shadows. ¡°East side. Servant¡¯s entrance, I¡¯d bet.¡± ¡°Bit obvious, isn¡¯t it? They¡¯ll have it guarded.¡± ¡°Maybe. What about that?¡± He indicated a section of wall where thick vines climbed the stonework. ¡°See how the growth is denser there? Could be hiding a door.¡± ¡°Now that¡¯s more like it. Hard to spot unless you know what to look for.¡± Soren continued his survey, pausing as he reached the upper floors. ¡°Those windows on the second storey. No bars, unlike the ones below.¡± ¡°Risky though. Long climb, exposed the whole way up.¡± ¡°But possible.¡± Soren lowered the monocular. ¡°With the right tools, the right timing.¡± ¡°We¡¯re wasting time. Let¡¯s just get in there and¡ª¡± ¡°And what?¡± Soren snapped. ¡°Get caught? Thrown in prison? Or worse?¡± He shook his head. ¡°We do this smart, or we don¡¯t do it at all.¡± Alaric¡¯s jaw clenched, but he nodded. Soren turned his attention back to the manor, his mind racing. ¡°Let¡¯s see if we can get a closer look. Find a way in.¡± Alaric gestured to the spikes mounting the fence. ¡°I¡¯m not climbing that thing.¡± ¡°Let¡¯s check the perimeter.¡± ¡°Fine.¡± Soren inched forward, scanning for any signs of movement, anything that might be useful. He paused at the corner, his hand raised in a silent signal. A guard passed by on the other side, his boots crunching on gravel. Once the footsteps faded, Soren nodded, and they continued their circuit.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. Halfway down the eastern side, Alaric¡¯s hand clamped on Soren¡¯s shoulder. He pointed to a section of fence where the iron bars had bent, creating a gap just wide enough to squeeze through. Thick bushes on either side provided cover. Soren studied the opening. He glanced at Alaric, who nodded. Soren¡¯s heart pounded as he wriggled through the narrow opening, cool iron scraping against his sides. Alaric followed. They were in. Soren darted across the lawn in short, controlled bursts, using the trees and hedges for cover. The manor grew closer. He crouched behind an ornate fountain, its tinkling water masking the sound of their movements. Alaric tapped his shoulder, pointing to a nearby topiary. They sprinted to it, pressing their backs against the greenery. A guard passed by mere feet away, his gaze sweeping the grounds. Once the guard rounded the corner, Soren signalled to move. They dashed from bush to statue, using every bit of cover the landscaping provided. As they neared the building, the shadows of its walls offered more protection. As they reached the base of the structure, Soren paused, his eyes tracing potential routes up the fa?ade. A loud clang shattered the silence. Soren whirled to see Alaric frozen in place, a fallen metal bucket at his feet. A shout rang out from the direction of the guardhouse. Footsteps pounded on gravel, growing closer by the second. Soren shot Alaric a glare. ¡°Move!¡± A shout rang out. Soren bolted across the manicured lawn. Boots pounded behind him. Angry voices rose. A whistle shrieked. Soren veered left, ducking behind a hedge. Alaric followed. They crouched, chests heaving. Guards thundered past. ¡°This way.¡± Soren pointed to a gap in the shrubbery. He crawled through, thorns tearing at his clothes. On the other side, an open expanse of grass stretched before them. ¡°We have to risk it,¡± Alaric said. Soren nodded. They sprinted. Halfway across, a shout. ¡°There!¡± Dogs barked. Soren¡¯s legs burned. He pushed harder. The main gate stood ahead, but guards blocked the exit, weapons drawn. Soren raced along the perimeter fence, footsteps closing in. A crossbow bolt whistled past Soren¡¯s ear. Alaric pointed to a tree. ¡°Up there!¡± Soren¡¯s eyes locked on the massive oak tree, its branches stretching over the iron fence. ¡°Go!¡± Alaric reached it first, leaping to grab the lowest branch. He swung himself up, reaching down for Soren. Soren¡¯s fingers grasped Alaric¡¯s wrist. He scrambled up, bark scraping his palms. A guard¡¯s hand clutched his ankle, but Soren kicked free. He climbed higher, branches swaying under their weight. Shouts echoed below as guards swarmed the base of the tree. ¡°Jump!¡± Soren launched themselves into the air. He hit the ground hard, rolling to absorb the impact. Pain shot through his shoulder, but there was no time to dwell on it. ¡°Run!¡± They sprinted down Kusten Road, the highway stretching before them. Behind, gates clanged open as guards poured out in pursuit. A rhythmic clop-clop-clop grew louder. ¡°It¡¯s a taxi. Flag it down!¡± Soren and Alaric waved frantically. The carriage slowed, its driver eyeing them from his seat. Soren yanked open the door, practically throwing himself inside. Alaric tumbled in after him. ¡°Go!¡± Soren shouted. ¡°Welttor! Full speed. We¡¯ll pay double!¡± The driver cracked his whip and the carriage lurched forward, picking up speed. Soren slumped against the seat, chest heaving. Through the rear window, he watched Fischer¡¯s guards grow smaller in the distance. He rounded on Alaric. ¡°What in the void were you thinking? You need to be more careful! That was reckless, and now we¡¯ve tipped our hand. They know someone¡¯s been snooping around. We¡¯ve blown it.¡± Alaric, still panting, looked down at his hands. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Sor. I didn¡¯t mean to¡ª¡± ¡°You didn¡¯t mean to? For the love of Creation, you need to be more careful. We can¡¯t afford mistakes like that. One wrong move, and it¡¯s over.¡± Alaric¡¯s face hardened. ¡°I said I was sorry. It was an accident. It could have happened to either of us.¡± ¡°But it didn¡¯t. It happened because you weren¡¯t paying attention to your surrounds. Because you got careless.¡± They lapsed into tense silence, the rhythmic clop of the horse¡¯s hooves filling the carriage. Soren dragged his hand down his face. ¡°We need to find out what we¡¯re dealing with, who we¡¯re dealing with. There¡¯s something bigger going on here.¡± Alaric stared out of the window, remaining silent. Soren leaned back. ¡°We need to regroup, move forward. Figure out a better approach.¡± Alaric sniffed. ¡°Right.¡± Soren marched away from the cab when they arrived in Welttor. ¡°Sor, wait! The Guild¡¯s that way. Where are you going?¡± Soren didn¡¯t slow his pace. He jerked his head towards a building ahead. ¡°Tax office.¡± ¡°Tax office? What for?¡± ¡°Information.¡± Soren rushed up the steps, pushing open the heavy wooden doors. Narrow corridors stretched out before him, lined with shelves that groaned under the weight of countless ledgers and documents. The air hung thick with the scent of old parchment and ink, punctuated by the constant scratching of quills, and shuffling of papers. Soren moved through the dim hallways, his eyes scanning the room numbers as they passed. ¡°What are we doing here?¡± Alaric asked. ¡°I¡¯m hungry.¡± Soren ignored him, focusing instead on the weary-looking man before them. ¡°Good afternoon. We¡¯re looking for some information on Lord Aaron Fischer¡¯s tax records. I¡¯m sure you can help us with that, yes?¡± The clerk rose from his seat. ¡°This way..¡± Soren followed the clerk in to a cramped room, filled with shelves. The clerk stopped and gestured to a row of ledgers. ¡°You should find all you need here. If you need any assistance, I¡¯ll be at my desk.¡± When the clerk left, Soren set to work, pulling down books and flipping through pages. ¡°Here. ¡°Here,¡± he said after several minutes of searching. ¡°Fischer¡¯s records.¡± Alaric leaned against a nearby shelf. ¡°What¡¯s it say?¡± Soren scanned the entries. ¡°At first glance, everything looks normal. Modest income from land rents, agricultural profits. Nothing out of the ordinary for a nobleman of his standing.¡± ¡°But?¡± ¡°But it doesn¡¯t match what we¡¯ve seen.¡± He dragged out another ledger. ¡°These expenses. Large sums spent on rare artifacts, fine art, antiques. The salaries for his household staff alone are astronomical.¡± Alaric whistled low. ¡°So he¡¯s hiding something. Shocking.¡± Soren shot him a look. ¡°This is serious. Fischer¡¯s spending habits are way beyond what he should be able to afford. Either he¡¯s got a hidden source of income, or he¡¯s up to something he shouldn¡¯t be.¡± ¡°Maybe he¡¯s just bad with money,¡± Soren shook his head. ¡°No, this is something more. He¡¯s either hiding wealth somewhere, or he¡¯s earning large sums on the side.¡± A slow grin spread across Alaric¡¯s face. ¡°So we squeeze him. Threaten to expose his little financial games unless he hands over the ravenglass. Simple.¡± Soren hesitated. ¡°It might work, but we need more information. We can¡¯t blackmail him if we don¡¯t know the full extent of what he¡¯s hiding.¡± ¡°Could be smuggling, illegal trade, something under the table.¡± Soren nodded. ¡°Whatever it is, it¡¯s not on the books. If we can find out where it¡¯s coming from, we¡¯ll have him. We just need to dig a little deeper.¡± ¡°So, we blackmail him.¡± ¡°Blackmail is risky. If we don¡¯t do it right, he¡¯ll just push back. He¡¯s got the money and the connections to fight us off.¡± Alaric shrugged. ¡°We¡¯ve got the Guild behind us.¡± ¡°Not yet. We¡¯d be on our own. If we¡¯re going to do this, we need to make sure we¡¯ve got something solid. Something that will hurt him if we expose it.¡± He gestured to the ledgers. ¡°We can¡¯t threaten him with just this. We need proof of what he¡¯s doing, and we need leverage strong enough that he won¡¯t fight back.¡± ¡°I¡¯m up for that.¡± ¡°We need to know who Fischer¡¯s working with and what exactly he¡¯s hiding. And once we know that, we can turn it against him.¡± Alaric nodded. ¡°Then let¡¯s get to work.¡± The familiar scent of dust, ink, and old parchment enveloped Soren as he strode into the Vault, Alaric close on his heels. Soren¡¯s mind raced with possibilities as he paced back and forth. Alaric leaned back, folding his arms across his chest. ¡°So what¡¯s the plan, then? If we¡¯re going to blackmail him, let¡¯s get moving.¡± Soren took a deep breath, forcing himself to slow down and think. ¡°If we expose him, we need to be certain we¡¯ve got something so solid that he has no choice but to cooperate. And we need to know exactly what he¡¯s hiding before we make our move.¡± The Vault door creaked open and Raz stepped into the room. ¡°How are things going?¡± Soren straightened, meeting Raz¡¯s gaze. ¡°We found a ravenglass orb for sale at auction. A noble called Aaron Fischer bought it outbid everyone there.¡± Raz¡¯s eyebrow arched. ¡°Go on.¡± ¡°We followed the lead to his manor. It¡¯s a fortress. Guards everywhere.¡± ¡°And?¡± ¡°We¡¯re sure he¡¯s collecting ravenglass,¡± Alaric said. ¡°We think there might be more at his estate.¡± Soren nodded. ¡°We were planning to use his finances as leverage. There are discrepancies, signs of hidden income. If we could prove he¡¯s involved in something illegal¡ª¡± ¡°Fischer won¡¯t be blackmailed,¡± Raz said. Soren blinked. ¡°But with what we¡¯ve found¡ª¡± ¡°No.¡± Raz¡¯s gaze hardened. ¡°You don¡¯t understand who you¡¯re dealing with. Fischer isn¡¯t just some noble with a hobby. He¡¯s dangerous.¡± ¡°Then what do you suggest?¡± Raz¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°Find another way. One that doesn¡¯t involve making an enemy of Fischer. Trust me, you don¡¯t want that.¡± Alaric frowned. ¡°How dangerous are we talking here?¡± Raz leaned against the table. ¡°He¡¯ll fight back, and it won¡¯t be pretty.¡± ¡°Then how do we deal with him?¡± Soren asked. ¡°You don¡¯t. Not like this, anyway. There are ways to get what you want without drawing too much attention to yourselves. But trying to blackmail someone with Fischer¡¯s connections? That¡¯s a dangerous game.¡± Soren dipped his head. ¡°Then we¡¯ll rethink.¡± ¡°Good.¡± He turned as if to leave, then stopped. ¡°I heard about a man getting knocked out near the auction house.¡± Soren¡¯s jaw tightened. ¡°That was necessary. It wasn¡¯t an impulse¡ªit was a quick decision.¡± ¡°Quick decisions like that can lead to mistakes. You need to be careful not to get reckless. I¡¯ve seen too many people lose everything because they acted without thinking about the consequences.¡± Soren shook his head. ¡°I disagree. We were out of time. I had to adapt. It was the best option at that moment.¡± Raz watched Soren for a moment longer, then a faint smile crossed his lips. ¡°I see.¡± With a final nod, Raz turned to leave the room. As the door closed behind Raz, Soren and Alaric remained silent for a moment. ¡°So, what now?¡± Alaric asked. ¡°No blackmail?¡± Soren sighed. ¡°Raz is right. Fischer won¡¯t be pushed around. But that doesn¡¯t mean we can¡¯t find another way to get what we need.¡± ¡°We should just go back to the manor and get what we need. No more waiting.¡± ¡°We rushed at the museum. We went in unprepared, and we were lucky to get out without getting caught. We can¡¯t make that mistake again.¡± ¡°We don¡¯t have time to sit here and come up with some grand plan, Sor. Fischer¡¯s got what we need. The longer we wait, the more chance he figures out someone¡¯s after him. We go in, we take it, and we¡¯re done.¡± ¡°We need more information.¡± Alaric sighed, rolling his eyes. ¡°More scouting, then? You sure that¡¯s the best idea?¡± ¡°And this time, we do it right. We go at night, we take our time, and we find out exactly what we¡¯re up against. Once we know, then we can plan the break-in properly.¡± Alaric hesitated. Finally, he nodded. ¡°Alright. Fine. We¡¯ll do it your way. But if we see an opportunity, we take it.¡± ¡°We won¡¯t act until we¡¯re sure. No unnecessary risks.¡± They began gathering their gear in silence. Soren moved methodically, double-checking each piece of equipment as he tucked it away¡ªlockpicks, weapons. Alaric checked his dagger. ¡°If we¡¯re doing this, let¡¯s make sure we¡¯re ready for anything.¡± Soren nodded, pulling on his gloves. ¡°We will be.¡± As they finished their preparations, Soren and Alaric exchanged a final glance. ¡°This time,¡± Soren said. ¡°We do it right.¡± Alaric smirked, giving a nod. ¡°Right. No more buckets.¡± XVI. The cold night air bit at Soren¡¯s face as he crouched at the edge of the tree line, his eyes fixed on the silhouette of Lord Fischer¡¯s manor. The guards moved in precise patterns, their routes intersecting at regular intervals. ¡°We should move now,¡± Alaric whispered. ¡°There¡¯s a gap in their patrol coming up.¡± Soren held up a hand. ¡°Not yet. We need to be sure of their full rotation.¡± Alaric huffed, but didn¡¯t argue. They watched in tense silence as the guards completed another circuit. Only when Soren was certain of the pattern did he give the signal to move. Soren crept across the lawn, using every shadow and contour of the land for cover. He led them from one patch of darkness to another, pausing behind a low stone wall as a guard passed nearby. Alaric grabbed Soren¡¯s arm and pointed. ¡°Look.¡± Soren followed his gaze to an open second-storey window. ¡°That¡¯s our way in.¡± ¡°We¡¯re here to scout, not break in tonight.¡± ¡°We¡¯ve got the opening now. Let¡¯s go for it.¡± Before Soren could protest further, Alaric was scaling the wall. His fingers found invisible holds in the stonework In seconds, he had reached the window and was slipping inside. Soren cursed under his breath. He couldn¡¯t leave Alaric alone in there. He probed the stonework, seeking purchase and found a small ledge, barely wide enough for his toes. Muscles tensed, he began to climb. Each movement was slow, deliberate. Sweat beaded on his brow despite the chill air. Halfway up, a guard¡¯s voice drifted from around the corner. Soren froze, clinging to the wall. Seconds stretched as footsteps approached, then faded. He resumed his ascent, arms burning with exertion. The window sill was just out of reach. He stretched, fingertips grazing the weathered wood. His hand closed on the sill. With a silent grunt, he hauled himself up and over, landing softly in a darkened room, heart pounding in his ears. Alaric¡¯s shadowy form materialized beside him. ¡°We¡¯re in.¡± Soren¡¯s eyes adjusted to the gloom, revealing a hallway lined with artwork and furnishings. ¡°We shouldn¡¯t be in here,¡± Soren whispered. ¡°We¡¯re not ready for this.¡± Alaric grinned. ¡°No one even knows we¡¯re here. Let¡¯s see what we can find.¡± Soren eased open the nearest door, wincing at the faint squeak of hinges. Moonlight spilled across fur rugs. Alaric slipped past him, fingers trailing over silk-upholstered chairs. ¡°Nothing.¡± They checked the next room. And the next. Soren¡¯s jaw clenched. Room after room, and still no sign of the ravenglass. He gestured towards the hallway, ready to move on. A floorboard groaned beneath Alaric¡¯s foot. Soren¡¯s breath caught and he pressed himself against the wall, willing the shadows to swallow him whole as Alaric stood rigid. Seconds crawled by. Soren strained his ears, certain any moment would bring the thunder of approaching guards. His hand inched towards the dagger at his hip. The silence stretched on. When no alarm was raised, Alaric let out a chuckle. ¡°See? Nothing to worry about.¡± ¡°Alaric, we need to leave. We¡¯re not prepared for this.¡± Alaric turned to face him with a scowl. ¡°We¡¯re already here. We can¡¯t just leave without finding anything. What was the point of coming if we¡¯re not going to take any risks?¡± ¡°The point was to scout.¡± Soren spoke between gritted teeth. ¡°To gather information so we could plan properly. This is reckless.¡± ¡°Reckless?¡± Soren winced at the volume. ¡°This is our chance, Soren. The ravenglass could be anywhere in this house. We just need to keep looking.¡± Soren opened his mouth to argue further, but a sound from down the hall made them both freeze. Footsteps, growing closer by the second. ¡°Hide.¡± Soren darted towards a nearby door. He slipped into what appeared to be a study, Alaric closing the door behind them. Soren¡¯s heart pounded in his skull as he pressed his ear to the wood, listening. The footsteps passed by, fading down the hall. Soren let out a shaky breath, turning to face Alaric in the darkness. ¡°Let¡¯s move.¡± He slipped out of the study and back into the hallway. He turned to Alaric. ¡°Let¡¯s take this slow.¡± But Alaric was moving again, his footsteps growing louder. Soren inched around the corner. Moonlight streamed through towering windows, illuminating rows upon rows of bookshelves. Between them, glass cases glinted. ¡°I think we might be in luck.¡± Alaric¡¯s elbow caught a small vase perched on a side table. Time seemed to slow as Soren watched it topple. The crash of shattering pottery echoed through the house. Shouting voices and heavy footfalls broke the silence. ¡°Damn it.¡± Soren grabbed Alaric¡¯s arm and yanking him towards the door. ¡°Run!¡± He burst out of the library, all pretence of stealth abandoned. His mind raced as he sprinted down unfamiliar corridors, trying to retrace their steps. But every turn looked the same. The shouts grew louder, closer. The metallic rasp of weapons being drawn. The pounding of boots. His lungs burned as he pushed himself harder, faster, desperate to find a way out. He barrelled down a flight of stairs, almost knocking over at statue at the bottom. Alaric veered to the left. ¡°This way!¡±Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. They burst through a set of double doors and found themselves in what appeared to be a ballroom. Moonlight streamed through towering windows, illuminating the vast, empty space. ¡°There!¡± Soren spotted a small side door on the far wall. ¡°That might lead outside.¡± He sprinted across the polished floor, footsteps echoing in the cavernous room. Just as they reached the door, it burst open, revealing two guards with swords drawn. Soren dropped low, sweeping the legs out from under the first guard. As the man crashed to the floor, Soren rolled, coming up behind the second guard. A swift strike to the back of the head with the hilt of his dagger, and the guard crumpled. ¡°Move!¡± Soren charged into a walled garden, the cool night air a shock after the stuffy interior of the manor. His lungs burned as he gulped in great breaths, the chill air searing his throat. Beside him, Alaric panted, his face slick with sweat. Shouts rang out behind them. Soren sprinted across manicured lawns, his boots tearing up chunks of grass. He ploughed through a bed of jasmine, the delicate scent rising up as he trampled the flowers. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig underfoot, sent Soren¡¯s heart racing. He rounded a corner at breakneck speed, colliding with a stone fountain. Soren¡¯s eyes darted left and right, seeking any sign of pursuit. ¡°Which way?¡± Alaric said. Soren¡¯s mind raced, recalling the plans they¡¯d studied. But in the darkness, everything looked different. ¡°This way.¡± He veered left down a narrow path lined with towering cypress trees. The shouts behind them grew louder. Soren caught snatches of shouted orders, the barking of dogs. His stomach clenched. He emerged from the cypress-lined path into a rose garden. Soren¡¯s foot caught on an exposed root, sending him stumbling forward. He threw out his hands to break his fall, crying out as thorns dug into his palms. Alaric hauled him back to his feet. They needed to find the exit, and fast. But every turn seemed to lead them deeper into the grounds. A flicker of torchlight to his right sent Soren diving behind a hedge. He pressed himself flat against the ground, not daring to breathe as heavy footsteps crunched nearby. ¡°They can¡¯t have gone far,¡± a gruff voice said. ¡°Spread out and search every inch.¡± Soren exchanged a glance with Alaric. It was only a matter of time before they were discovered. As the guards moved away, Soren tapped Alaric¡¯s shoulder and pointed to a gap in the hedge. He crawled through, emerging onto another winding path. He shot to his feet and ran, no longer caring about stealth. Speed was their only hope now. Soren¡¯s legs burned, his lungs heaving. He rounded another corner and skidded to a halt. A towering wall, easily fifteen feet high and topped with iron spikes blocked their path. They were trapped. ¡°Up and over.¡± Alaric darted towards the wall. ¡°I¡¯ll boost you, then you pull me up.¡± Soren nodded, backing up a few paces to get a running start. He sprinted towards Alaric, who had braced himself against the wall, hands cupped. Soren¡¯s foot found Alaric¡¯s hands, and with a heave, he was airborne. His fingers scrabbled at the top of the wall, seeking purchase on the smooth stone. Sharp pain lanced through his hand as one of the iron spikes grazed his palm. With a final burst of strength, he hauled himself up. Balancing, Soren reached down, extending his hand. ¡°Hurry!¡± But before Alaric could take it, a dark figure burst out of the shadows. The guard tackled Alaric with brutal force, driving him to the ground. Alaric¡¯s head struck the path with a sickening crack. Soren leapt from the wall, landing in a crouch beside the struggling pair. The guard had Alaric pinned, one hand on his throat, the other reaching for a weapon at his belt. Soren moved in silence, covering the short distance in two quick steps. The hilt of his dagger found the pressure point at the base of the guard¡¯s skull. The guard went rigid for a moment, then collapsed onto Alaric. ¡°Move!¡± Soren shoved the unconscious guard. Alaric groaned, his eyes unfocused as Soren dragged him to his feet. ¡°Can you climb?¡± Alaric nodded. ¡°I think so.¡± Soren went first, pulling himself up with trembling arms. He reached down to help Alaric, who struggled to find handholds. Alaric¡¯s fingers closed around Soren¡¯s wrist. ¡°There! By the wall!¡± Soren hauled upward as Alaric scrambled for purchase, his feet kicking at empty air as the guards closed in. With a final heave, Soren managed to pull Alaric up beside him. They balanced atop the wall, chests heaving. ¡°No time to climb down,¡± Soren said. ¡°We jump.¡± The ground on the other side was hidden in shadow. Soren gripped Alaric¡¯s shoulder. ¡°On three. One¡­two¡­three!¡± He leapt into the darkness. Soren tucked and rolled as he hit the ground, the impact jarring every bone in his body. Alaric landed with a muffled cry. As Soren hauled Alaric to his feet, the first drops of rain began to fall. ¡°This way!¡± Soren pulled Alaric towards a dense copse of trees. The rain lashed against their faces, obscuring their vision, and muffling the shouts of their pursuers. Soren stumbled through the underbrush, branches whipping at his face. His mind raced, trying to orient himself. He burst through a line of bushes and spotted the oak tree they¡¯d used to escape during their previous attempt. ¡°The tree! We can use it to get over the fence!¡± He sprinted towards the oak, its gnarled branches stretching over the fence. But as they approached, Soren¡¯s heart sank. The rain had turned the bark slick, its branches swaying in the wind. Behind him, the shouts of the guards grew closer. Flickering torchlight pierced the gloom. ¡°I¡¯ll go first.¡± Soren gripped a low-hanging branch and pulled himself up, muscles straining as he fought against the slippery bark. Each movement was a struggle, the rain-soaked wood threatening to send him crashing to the ground. He reached a branch that extended over the fence and inched along it, the wood creaking beneath his weight. With a final effort, he swung himself over the fence, landing hard on the other side. ¡°Come on!¡± Alaric made it halfway up before his foot slipped on a patch of wet moss. He lost his grip, sliding down the trunk and hitting the ground. For a moment, Soren hesitated. Every instinct screamed at him to go back, to help his friend. But the guards were so close now, their torchlight illuminating Alaric¡¯s fallen form. He cursed under his breath. They needed to get back to the Guild, to regroup and tend to their injuries. But more than that, they needed to figure out their next move. Fischer would be expecting them now, no thanks to Alaric, and their task had just become infinitely more complicated. With a groan, Alaric stood. He gripped the lowest branch, hauling himself up. As the first guard reached the base of the tree, Alaric swung himself over the fence. He landed hard, rolling to absorb the impact, and scrambled to his feet. They¡¯d taken an enormous risk, and for what? They were no closer to acquiring the ravenglass, and now they¡¯d lost the element of surprise. Soren¡¯s fists clenched at his sides. He should have insisted they stick to the original plan, should have been more careful. ¡°Come on.¡± Soren glared at Alaric. ¡°We need to keep moving.¡± Soren raced along the Kusten Road in the rain, putting as much distance between themselves and Fischer¡¯s manor as possible. Only when the sounds of pursuit had faded entirely did Soren allow them to slow. Soren rounded on Alaric. ¡°What in the void were you thinking?¡± He jabbed Alaric¡¯s chest. ¡°We were here to scout, not break in. Now we¡¯ve blown our chance.¡± ¡°We had the opportunity, Sor. I thought we could do it.¡± ¡°You weren¡¯t thinking. I told you we needed to plan. But you¡¯re a reckless fool. Now the whole thing is ruined.¡± He shook his head. ¡°I¡¯d be better off without you.¡± Alaric fell silent as tension thrummed between them. The rain fell in heavy sheets, lashing against Soren¡¯s face as he trudged down the muddy road leading back to Welttor. Each step was a battle, his boots squelching in the mire, threatening to pull him down. Beside him, Alaric walked in silence, his hood pulled low over his face. The city¡¯s lights flickered in the distance, barely visible through the storm. Soren¡¯s hands were clenched into fists at his sides. His jaw ached from the tension, teeth grinding together as he recalled the night¡¯s events. Each misstep, each error in judgement, gnawed at him. He glanced at Alaric, taking in his friend¡¯s rigid posture, the tense set of his shoulders. He opened his mouth to speak, to say something, anything, to bridge the chasm that had opened between them. But the words wouldn¡¯t come. What could he say that wouldn¡¯t just make things worse? As they neared the outskirts of Welttor, Soren felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him. He was tired, so tired. Tired of fighting, tired of failing, tired of feeling like every step forward came with two steps back. ¡°Alaric.¡± Alaric didn¡¯t turn, didn¡¯t slow his pace. ¡°Alaric, we need to talk about this.¡± Alaric stopped walking but didn¡¯t turn around. ¡°What¡¯s there to talk about, Soren? You¡¯ve made your feelings quite clear.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not fair¡ª¡± ¡°Fair?¡± He whirled around, his eyes blazing. ¡°You want to talk about fair? Was it fair when you said you¡¯d be better off without me? Was it fair when you called me a reckless fool?¡± Soren had no answer. They stood there, glaring at each other, the rain pouring down around them. The silence stretched between them and Alaric started walking again, leaving Soren standing in the rain. Soren and Alaric trudged through the Guild headquarters¡¯ entrance, their sodden clothes leaving trails of water along the floor. The warmth of the interior did little to thaw the chill that had settled into Soren bones. Soren trailed Alaric through the dim corridors. Neither Soren nor Alaric spoke, their gazes fixed straight ahead as they climbed the stairs to their shared quarters. Soren entered first, peeling off his drenched cloak and hanging it on a hook. Water dripped from the hem, forming a small puddle on the floor. Alaric followed, closing the door behind him with a soft click. He moved to his side of the room, his back to Soren as he began to strip off his wet clothes. Soren¡¯s fingers fumbled with the laces of his tunic, the wet leather stubbornly refusing to cooperate. He yanked harder, nearly tearing the fabric in his haste to be free of the clinging, cold garment. As he struggled, he caught sight of Alaric from the corner of his eye methodically removing his own clothes, his movements stiff and mechanical. A large bruise bloomed on Alaric¡¯s side. For a moment, Soren felt a pang of concern. He opened his mouth to speak. But the memory of Alaric¡¯s recklessness, of the disaster they¡¯d barely escaped, stopped him short. He clenched his jaw and turned away, focusing on unlacing his waterlogged boots. The rain continued to lash against the window, its steady rhythm a counterpoint to the silence in the room. Soren pried off his boots, grimacing as he set them near the fireplace, hoping they¡¯d dry by morning. Alaric, now dressed in dry sleep clothes, moved towards his bed. He paused for a moment, as if about to say something, but then seemed to think better of it. Without a word, he crawled under the covers, turning his back to Soren. Soren watched him for a moment. Part of him wanted to break the silence, to clear the air between them. But he couldn¡¯t bring himself to speak. Instead, he sighed and finished changing into his night clothes. As he slipped into his bed, Soren¡¯s mind began to race. The failed mission at Fischer¡¯s manor played out behind his closed eyelids, each mistake and misstep magnified in hindsight. They¡¯d been so close¡ªif only Alaric had listened, if only they¡¯d stuck to the plan, if only, if only¡­ But recriminations wouldn¡¯t change what had happened. He needed to move forward, to find another way to get the ravenglass. But how? Fischer would be on high alert now. And what would they tell Raz? How could they explain their failure? Soren turned onto his side, facing the wall. In the other bed, Alaric¡¯s breathing had already evened out into the steady rhythm of sleep. How could he rest so easily after everything that had happened? Soren shook his head, sighing once more. He closed his eyes, forcing his breath to slow, willing sleep to come. Tomorrow they''d begin again. XVII. Soren lay on his bed, his eyes tracing the familiar cracks in the ceiling. Sleep eluded him, failures looming large in the darkness¡ªthe botched museum heist, the disaster at Fischer¡¯s manor. He turned his head, glancing at Alaric¡¯s sleeping form, his snores punctuating the silence. Alaric¡¯s recklessness, his impulsiveness¡ªit had cost them. And Soren couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that it would happen again. If they were going to succeed, if he was going to find the answers he sought, he needed to take matters into his own hands. Soren sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, and dressed. He paused only once, glancing back at Alaric¡¯s sleeping form. For a moment, doubt crept in. Should he wake him? Include him in this plan? No. This was something he needed to do alone. The corridors of the Guild were quiet as Soren made his way to the Vault. The Vault¡¯s heavy door creaked open, the sound echoing in the cavernous space beyond. The familiar scent of old parchment and leather bindings filled his nostrils as he lit a single candle. The flame flickered to life, casting long shadows across the room. Soren moved through the shelves, his fingers trailing over spines until he found what he was looking for. The museum blueprints unrolled with a soft rustle, revealing a maze of lines and notations. Soren spread them out on the table, weighing down the corners with books. He scanned the familiar layout, memories of their failed attempt flooding back. He grabbed a piece of charcoal and marked their previous route. Each mistake, each misstep, was circled. Then, he began to sketch new paths. The charcoal danced across the floorplan, creating delicate lines that wove through the museum¡¯s layout. Soren¡¯s brow furrowed as he plotted alternative escape routes, marking potential hiding spots and areas of high risk. As he worked, the tension that had knotted his shoulders began to ease. Without Alaric¡¯s impatience pushing him to act before he was ready, Soren felt a sense of control returning. Soren¡¯s gaze swept the shelves, landing on a tome of alchemical recipes. He pulled it down, flipping through the pages until he found what he was looking for. The list of ingredients sent him to deeper into the Vault. He studied the jars and vials of herbs and minerals. He moved through the narrow aisles, plucking items from shelves. Back at the table, Soren set to work with a pestle and mortar as he ground the herbs into a fine powder.. As he worked, Soren¡¯s mind cleared. The doubts, the frustrations, the lingering tension with Alaric¡ªall of it faded away. This was what he had been missing. This sense of purpose, of being in complete control of his actions. With the concoction complete, Soren slipped out of the Vault, moving through the Guild¡¯s halls until he reached the mess hall. The kitchen was dark and silent. He grabbed scraps of meat left over from the evening meal, no doubt destined for the next day¡¯s stew. He returned to the Vault and rubbed the meat with the powder. He wrapped each piece in cloth, then tucked them away in his pack. After wrapping the last piece of treated meat, Soren¡¯s eyes fell on a familiar wooden chest tucked away in a corner of the Vault. Moving quietly across the room, Soren knelt before the chest and lifted the lid. Inside, dozens of locks gleamed in the candlelight, each one a different design, each with its own unique challenge. His fingers trailed over them, remembering the feel of each mechanism, the particular way the tumblers moved. The lock on the display case had been old, but well-maintained. Probably brass, with at least six pins. He began sorting through the practice locks, setting aside any that didn¡¯t match his memory of the target. A heavy brass lock caught his eye. Soren lifted it, testing its weight. The keyway looked similar to the one in the museum. He pulled out his lockpicks and got to work. The first pin gave easily, clicking into place. The second and third followed suit. The fourth was a security pin. The last two falling with ease. He worked the lock several times, his movements becoming more fluid with each attempt. The first try took nearly two minutes. By the fifth attempt, he had it open in under forty seconds. Still too slow. Soren¡¯s world narrowed to the lock in his hands. Everything else fell away. There was only the subtle resistance of the pins, the whisper of metal on metal, the moment of perfect alignment when everything clicked into place. An hour passed, then another. Soren¡¯s fingers moved with increasing surety, finding the sweet spot in each pin without conscious thought. Thirty seconds. Twenty-five. Finally, just under twenty seconds from first touch to open lock. Satisfied at last, Soren added the practice lock to his pack. Soren sought another book, this one detailing the creation of simple yet effective devices. The recipe for smoke bombs caught his attention. He gathered the necessary materials¡ªsmall metal containers, powders, and fuses. He worked with care, measuring, and mixing the ingredients. As he packed the mixture into the containers, Soren found himself appreciating the aesthetics of his creations. The perfect symmetry of the packed powder, the elegant coil of the fuse¡ªthere was a beauty to it, an artistry that satisfied something deep within him. The hours slipped by unnoticed. The single candle burned low, its flickering light casting dancing shadows across the Vault. But Soren barely noticed.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. As he tied off the last smoke bomb, he surveyed his work. Everything was in place. This was how it should be. No debates, no compromises, no recklessness to account for. Just him, his skills, and a well-crafted plan. He began to pack away his creations, each item nestled in his pack. As Soren made final adjustments to his plan, marking optimal times and routes on the blueprint, he paused. Was he really ready to do this alone? Without Alaric watching his back? He pushed the thought aside. Alaric¡¯s impulsiveness had cost them too many times. This was the right choice, the only choice. The morning sun shone as Soren slipped out of the Guild headquarters. Soren avoided puddles as he made his way through the winding streets. As he neared the museum, Soren¡¯s pace slowed as he forced himself to adopt a casual gait, trying to blend in with the few pedestrians on the street. A pair of city watchmen rounded the corner ahead, and Soren¡¯s breath caught in his throat. He resisted the urge to turn away, instead keeping his movements measured and calm. As he approached the museum¡¯s outer perimeter, Soren caught sight of a patrolling guard with a large dog at his side. The animal¡¯s head swivelled towards him, nostrils flaring. Did the dog recognise his scent? He forced himself to keep walking, his hand drifting to his pocket where the treated meat was hidden. If necessary, he¡¯d use it earlier than planned. The dog¡¯s ears perked up as Soren drew closer. It took a step in his direction, but the guard tugged on its leash, redirecting its attention. As he rounded the final corner, the museum stood before him. Soren paused in the shadow of a nearby building, adjusting the strap of his pack as he took in the scene before him. The museum¡¯s entrance was guarded. A small group of people queued outside. Should he abort the mission? Come back another day? But the thought of returning to the Guild empty-handed steeled his resolve. Taking a deep breath, Soren made his way towards the queue. As he took his place in line, he felt exposed, vulnerable. His hand tightened on the strap of his pack. If the guards demanded to see inside, it was all over. The smoke bombs, the treated meat, the tools¡ªthere would be no explaining them away. Discovery now would mean not just failure, but imprisonment or worse. As the line inched forward, Soren¡¯s mind raced through contingency plans. Could he create a distraction? Slip away unnoticed? Or would he have to fight his way out, abandoning any hope of completing his mission? The visitor in front of him stepped inside, and Soren found himself face to face with the guard. ¡°Next.¡± The guard waved him through. ¡°You can go in.¡± Soren dipped his head and entered the building. The atrium stretched out before him, a cavernous space filled with the low murmur of voices. Families huddled around display cases. His gaze swept the room, cataloguing the positions of the guards. He moved deeper into the museum, his pace slow and measured. He paused to admire exhibits as he went. The craftsmanship of the ancient pottery, the delicate brushstrokes of centuries-old paintings¡ªin another life, he might have spent hours here, lost in admiration. But that wasn¡¯t why he was here. As he entered the exhibition hall displaying artifacts from Sieshin, Soren¡¯s focus sharpened. Two guards stood near the entrance, their postures relaxed but alert. He noted the weight of their weapons, the slight bulge beneath their jackets that suggested light armour. One guard¡¯s eyes constantly scanned the room, while the other seemed more interested in chatting with his colleague. Soren moved on, weaving through the crowd. As he passed from one exhibit to the next, he built up a picture of the guards¡¯ routines. As far as he could tell, nothing had changed since his previous visit. He continued his circuit of the museum, each step bringing him closer to the weapons exhibit. A low, rumbling growl reached his ears. A massive black mastiff padded alongside its handler, its dark eyes alert and searching. Soren watched the dog and its handler make their rounds, noting how the animal¡¯s head swivelled at the slightest unusual movement. Its nose twitched constantly. His hand drifted to his pack, feeling the small lumps of treated meat nestled within. As he approached a quieter section of the museum, Soren pretended to study a tapestry hanging on the wall. Soren reached inside his pack and withdrew a small piece of meat, letting it fall to the floor. It landed in the shadow of a nearby bench, hidden from casual view.. Over the next hour, he repeated this process half a dozen times, each drop of meat calculated to intersect with the dogs¡¯ patrol routes. Finally, he allowed himself to approach the weapons exhibit. The ravenglass dagger sat in its case, just as it had during their previous visit. Its blade seemed to drink in the light. Soren felt a pull towards it, an almost physical longing to hold it, to feel its weight and balance. He forced himself to look away, to study the other items¡ªa Boeki hook knife, a Yao mace encrusted with diamonds, and a wooden dagger used during the Southern Isles slave revolts. Soren allowed himself a small smile as he headed for the exit. Tonight, he would return. And this time, he would not fail. The smell of roasted meat wafted from a nearby tavern, making Soren¡¯s stomach growl. He hadn¡¯t eaten since before setting out to Fischer¡¯s manor. Pushing open the door, Soren stepped into the relative quiet of the midday lull. A handful of patrons sat scattered across the room, most focused on their meals. Sunlight filtered through grimy windows, catching motes of dust that bobbed in the air. Soren¡¯s eyes swept the room, assessing potential threats and escape routes. Nothing seemed amiss.. He chose a table in the corner, positioning himself with his back to the wall and a clear view of both the main entrance and the back door. A barmaid approached. ¡°What¡¯ll it be, love?¡± ¡°Whatever¡¯s hot. And an ale.¡± She nodded and bustled away, leaving Soren alone. He let the noise of the tavern wash over him. The barmaid returned with a steaming bowl of stew and a mug of ale. Soren nodded his thanks, fishing out a few coins from his pocket. He ate mechanically, barely tasting the food as his mind raced ahead to the night¡¯s plans. Every detail of the museum¡¯s layout played out behind his eyes. He visualised the path he would take, marking the positions of guards and potential obstacles. The ravenglass dagger seemed to call to him, its shadowy form etched into his mind¡¯s eye. He could almost feel its weight in his hand, the cool smoothness of its hilt against his palm. He finished his meal, pushing the empty bowl aside. He ran through his plan again and again, examining it from every angle, searching for any weakness or oversight. As more patrons arrived for lunch, Soren felt a growing need for quiet, for a space to gather his thoughts without distraction. He moved to the bar and caught the innkeeper¡¯s eye. ¡°I need a room for the night.¡± ¡°Ten krones with breakfast.¡± Soren counted out the coins, sliding them across the bar. The innkeeper pocketed them with a nod, then fished out a key from beneath the counter. ¡°Up the stairs, third door on your left.¡± Soren took the key with a nod of thanks, then made his way through the tavern to the staircase in the back. The room was small, furnished with a narrow bed pushed against one wall and a battered desk beneath the single window. A stub of tallow candle stood on the night stand. Soren dropped his pack on the floor, then sank onto the edge of the bed. His muscles ached from the tension he¡¯d been carrying all day, and he allowed himself a moment to stretch, rolling his shoulders and flexing his fingers. He reached for his pack, emptying its contents onto the bed. Soren checked his smoke bombs, ensuring the fuses were secure and the casings intact. He hung his tunic from a hook on the wall, and went through each pocket and hidden compartment, each item inspected and returned to its place. After checking his equipment, Soren pulled out the practice lock from his pack. The brass felt cool and heavy in his palm. He settled at the small desk, positioning the lock in the weak afternoon light filtering through the window. His picks slid into the keyway with ease. First pin. Click. Second pin. Click. The third pin gave him trouble. He reset and started again. The familiar rhythm of lockpicking settled over him, each attempt a delicate balance of pressure and patience. Twenty seconds. Reset. Eighteen seconds. Reset. The scratching of metal on metal became a meditation, drowning out the distant sounds of the tavern below. Soren lost track of time as he worked. His fingers moved without thought, finding each pin¡¯s sweet spot by feel alone. Sixteen seconds. Fourteen. But fatigue was starting to creep in. A pick slipped, scraping against the lock¡¯s housing. He¡¯d been at it too long. Still, he forced himself through one more attempt. The lock opened smoothly, pins falling into place with satisfying clicks. Thirteen seconds. As he packed the lock away, Soren¡¯s fingers trembled. His eyes stung, lids heavy. The room seemed to swim at the edges of his vision. He needed rest if he was going to be sharp enough for tonight¡¯s work. Soren couldn¡¯t remember the last time he¡¯d truly slept. The days had begun to blur together, marked only by failures and setbacks. He extinguished the candle and lay back on the narrow bed, its thin mattress offering little comfort. His body felt heavy, weighted down by exhaustion, yet his mind refused to quiet. Images flashed behind his closed eyes¡ªthe museum¡¯s layout, guard positions, possible escape routes. The ravenglass dagger seemed to hover at the edge of his thoughts. He shifted, trying to find a comfortable position. The pillow was lumpy, stuffed with straw that crackled with each movement. His thoughts grew sluggish, the constant planning and calculating giving way to a blessed emptiness. His muscles relaxed one by one, tension draining. His head sank deeper into the pillow, and darkness claimed him at last. XVIII. The midnight bells jolted Soren awake, their distant tolling cutting through his sleep. For a moment, he lay frozen, heart pounding, unsure where he was. The unfamiliar shadows of the tavern room slowly took shape in the darkness. He fumbled for the tallow candle on the nightstand and struck the flint. The tiny flame sputtered to life, casting wavering shadows across the cramped room. Soren dressed with methodical precision. The familiar weight of his Guild tunic settled over his shoulders. He checked his tools, the smoke bombs, and the last of the treated meat. His pack came last, its contents a reassuring weight against his back. He¡¯d prepared everything, planned for every contingency. Now it was time to prove he could succeed alone. Taking a breath, he opened the door and made his way down stairs. The tavern¡¯s common room was thick with the remnants of the evening¡ªstale ale, wood smoke, and the musty smell of tired bodies. A handful of patrons slouched at their tables, lost in their cups or half-asleep. Soren moved through the room and placed his key on the bar. The innkeeper looked up at him. ¡°You done?¡± Soren nodded. ¡°I am. Thank you.¡± ¡°You want me to keep it for you until morning?¡± ¡°That won¡¯t be necessary.¡± Soren stepped away from the bar and headed to the exit. Outside, Welttor¡¯s streets stretched empty before him. His breath clouded in the night air as he pressed himself against the nearest wall, listening. The distant echo of boots on cobblestones told him where the night watch patrolled. He counted their rhythm¡ªthree sets of footsteps, moving in predictable patterns through the city. Wind whispered through the narrow alleys, carrying the salt-tang of the sea. Soren used the sound to mask his movements as he slipped from shadow to shadow. Each doorway became a temporary haven, each corner a potential threat. The museum¡¯s silhouette rose before him, its grand facade transformed by moonlight. Soren¡¯s stomach clenched as he circled to the side entrance, moving in a crouch that made his thighs burn. The door looked exactly as it had during their previous attempt. Soren pressed his back against the wall, counting heartbeats as he listened for any sign of movement. Nothing. Kneeling before the lock, Soren forced his breathing to slow. The picks slipped into the keyway with ease. A clatter of hooves on cobblestones made him freeze. A cart rolled past the far end of the street. The sound faded, leaving only the rasp of metal on metal as Soren worked the lock. Each pin required perfect pressure, perfect timing. Too much force and the delicate tools might break. Too little and the tumblers would never align. The lock surrendered with a soft click. Soren slipped his picks back into his tunic and eased the door open. The door swung silently inward, revealing absolute darkness. Soren slipped through the gap, pulling the door closed behind him. As the latch settled into place, he found himself enveloped in darkness. He stood motionless, letting his eyes adjust before moving forward through silent halls lit by the occasional gas lamp. His movements were fluid, each step placed with deliberate care. The night guards would be no doubt be on high alert since his last attempt. Moonlight filtered through high windows, casting shadows across displays of ancient artifacts. Soren moved between the exhibits. He stopped behind a massive statue of some long-dead emperor. He crouched and withdrew a smoke bomb. He set the device and withdrew his flint and steel. The first spark caught the fuse, a tiny point of light in the darkness. The fuse would give him the time he needed. He continued through the museum, setting in the smoke bombs at locations he calculated would create maximum confusion¡ªbehind a display case of ceremonial masks, beneath a table laden with geological specimens, in the shadowy corner where two corridors met. The final smoke bomb remained in his pack, just in case. A distant cough echoed through the halls. Soren froze, pressing himself into a deep shadow beside a suit of armour. The guard¡¯s footsteps grew closer, then faded. Everything was going according to plan. The bombs were placed, and ready to go off in quick succession. The guards were following their predictable patterns. Even the dogs were absent¡ªperhaps his treated meat had done its job. The first wisps of smoke curled through the air. Then more appeared, the tendrils growing thicker, merging together into a fog that began to fill the hallways. Distant voices raised in alarm. Footsteps, growing more urgent. ¡°Fire!¡± Soren shouted. ¡°Fire in the east wing!¡± Guards burst into action, their boots thundering on the marble floors. ¡°Get the buckets!¡± ¡°Alert the watch!¡± The smoke continued to build, filling the air with its acrid scent. Through the thickening haze, Soren watched as guards rushed past, some carrying buckets. One guard skidded to a halt near Soren¡¯s position, coughing as he peered through the smoke. ¡°Where¡¯s it coming from?¡± ¡°The restoration room!¡± another voice called from somewhere in the haze. ¡°No, wait¡ªit¡¯s¡­it¡¯s everywhere!¡± Guards ran in different directions. Some tried to protect valuable artifacts, while others searched for the source of the smoke. Soren remained still. The smoke had reached the perfect density - thick enough to provide cover, but not so thick as to completely obscure his vision. He could still make out the shapes of guards moving through the haze, their forms distorted and ghostly. A bell began to toll somewhere in the building. Soren began to move. His path to the weapons exhibit was clear now, the usual patrols abandoned. Smoke drifted around him as he moved. Behind him, the sounds of confusion continued to build. Everything was proceeding exactly as planned. The guards were scattered, their usual discipline shattered by the apparent crisis. The dogs were nowhere to be seen. He reached the corridor leading to the weapons exhibit. Through the swirling smoke, he could just make out the entrance to the room where the ravenglass dagger waited. Soren slipped into the weapons room. The ravenglass dagger sat in its display case, a void in the shape of a blade. Even in the dim light, it seemed to bend reality around itself, drinking in what little illumination reached it. Soren approached the case with measured steps. His breathing was controlled, but his hands betrayed him, trembling slightly as he reached for his lockpicks. Soren crouched before the case, positioning himself to work the lock while remaining hidden from the door. His fingers found the keyway, sliding the first pick into position. Metal scraped against metal, the sound loud in the quiet room. Sweat beaded on his brow. He could feel time slipping away, each second bringing the guards closer to discovering his presence. The first pin clicked into place. Then the second. The third pin began to yield. The pick jammed, caught between two pins. Soren¡¯s hands froze, his breath catching in his throat. He tried to ease the tool back, to reset and try again, but it wouldn¡¯t budge. No. Not now. Footsteps echoed in the distance, growing steadily louder. Soren¡¯s pulse quickened, blood rushing in his ears. The pick remained stuck. The footsteps drew closer. Each impact of boot on marble sent vibrations through the floor, through Soren¡¯s bones.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. His mind raced with visions of discovery, of guards flooding the room, of his mission ending in failure and imprisonment. He fumbled with the lock, his usual finesse deserting him. The mechanisms felt alien now, nothing like the practice lock he¡¯d mastered. Every attempt to free the pick only seemed to make things worse. A curse escaped his lips, barely more than a whisper. The footsteps were so close now, their rhythm steady and purposeful. Soren squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to take a deep breath. Focus. Control. Just like Raz had taught him. The footsteps stopped just outside the door. Soren didn¡¯t dare move, didn¡¯t dare breathe. The footsteps resumed, continuing down the corridor, growing fainter with each step. Soren let out a shaky breath His hands steadied as he refocused on the lock. This time, he felt every minute movement within the mechanism, every subtle resistance. His concentration narrowed to a point, the rest of the world falling away. The pick eased free, and Soren felt the difference in the lock¡¯s tension. He worked quickly. Each pin aligned, the tumblers falling into place one by one. With a soft click, the lock disengaged. He cast a quick glance around the room, confirming he was still alone, before opening the display case. The glass case swung open without a sound. Inside, the ravenglass dagger lay on its velvet cushion, dark as the void. Soren hesitated for a second before reaching for it. His fingers wrapped around the hilt and a chill shot up his arm. The dagger felt unnaturally cold¡ªtoo cold. Not like the cool touch of metal but something deeper, something that gnawed at the warmth of his skin. He tightened his grip, lifting the blade from its stand. The weight was perfect, balanced, but as he turned the dagger in his hand, the cold seeped deeper, spreading through his bones. He could almost hear a faint hum in the silence, a vibration that ran up the length of the blade and into his arm. This wasn¡¯t just a weapon. It was alive in some way, pulsing with centuries of bloodshed, betrayal, and death. The energy that radiated from it felt like a whisper, barely audible, yet unmistakable. Soren forced himself to breathe, shaking off the growing unease. The dagger was the key to everything¡ªto his place in the Guild, to understanding his father¡¯s fate. This was his moment, his test. He slid the dagger into his belt, the cold biting through the layers of his tunic. A quick glance toward the door confirmed the smoke still swirled in thick clouds outside the room. For a brief moment, Soren allowed himself to feel the triumph. He had done it. Alone. Without Alaric¡¯s recklessness to compromise the mission. Without anyone¡¯s help or interference. This victory was his alone. Voices cut through the silence, sharp and clear. Multiple guards, and close. He had to escape. Soren melted into the shadows. His senses bristled at every distant shout, every echo of boots on marble. Smoke churned through the halls He retraced his path to the side exit, the smoke thinning with each passing moment. The guards¡¯ shouts sharpened. Heavy boots thundered through distant corridors. Any moment now, they would discover the empty display case. Soren ducked behind a stone pedestal as voices approached. Two guards rushed past. ¡°Check the east wing again,¡± one called over his shoulder. ¡°The smoke¡¯s thickest there.¡± ¡°What about the artifacts? Should we¡ª¡± ¡°Leave them. Captain¡¯s orders. Finding the source comes first.¡± Their voices faded. Soren¡¯s fingers brushed the dagger through his tunic. Soon they¡¯d realise there was no fire to find. Soon they¡¯d discover a far greater emergency. He crept forward, hugging the walls where the shadows ran deepest. The smoke swirled around him, acrid and thick. His eyes watered. His throat burned. But the discomfort meant his diversion still worked. A crash echoed from somewhere ahead, followed by cursing. Soren pressed himself into an alcove as more guards rushed past. He counted to ten after their footsteps faded, then slipped from his hiding spot. Twenty paces to the next junction. Fifteen to the service corridor that would lead him to his exit. He could make it. The scuff of claws on stone froze him mid-step. A low growl rumbled through the smoke-filled hall. Soren turned. Through the haze, a massive shape emerged. One of the museum¡¯s dogs prowled toward him, hackles raised. The sleeping powder hadn¡¯t reached this one. The beast¡¯s lips peeled back, revealing yellowed fangs. Its muscles bunched, preparing to spring. Soren¡¯s hand found the last piece of treated meat in his pocket. He pulled it free, fingers trembling. The dog lunged. Soren hurled the meat and dove sideways. Jaws snapped. Soren rolled, came up running. The dog¡¯s barking echoed through the halls. ¡°This way!¡± a shout came. ¡°The dog¡¯s found something!¡± Soren ran. His boots skidded on the polished floor as he rounded a corner. The dog¡¯s claws clicked against stone, growing closer. Guards shouted directions to each other, coordinating to cut him off. He burst through a door into the Sieshin wing. Ancient statues loomed in the darkness. He weaved between display cases, knocking over a stand of informational plaques. They clattered to the floor behind him. The dog burst from behind a sarcophagus, cutting off his path. Soren changed direction mid-stride. His shoulder clipped a glass case. Pain flared down his arm. He spotted a narrow gap between two display platforms. Too small for the dog. He dove through it, rolling to his feet on the other side. The beast slammed against the platforms, snapping, and snarling as it tried to reach Soren. Guards converged from both ends of the hall. Torchlight painted the walls with wild shadows. The smoke grew thin, offering less cover. Soren sprinted for a side door, lungs burning. The ravenglass dagger bounced against his ribs with each step. He shouldered through the door into a narrow corridor. The passage ended in a heavy iron gate¡ªthis wasn¡¯t on the floorplan. He was trapped. Boots thundered behind him. The dog¡¯s barking grew louder. They had him cornered. Soren yanked open the nearest door. Cleaning supplies crammed the tiny space. He wedged himself inside, pulling the door shut just as the first guards reached the corridor. ¡°Spread out! Check every room!¡± ¡°The dog¡¯s going crazy¡ª he must be here somewhere!¡± Soren pressed deeper into the cramped space. A mop handle dug into his back. The smell of soap and polish filled his nose. Don¡¯t sneeze. Don¡¯t breathe. Don¡¯t move. The dog¡¯s claws clicked past his hiding spot. It snuffled at the base of the door. The dog whined. A dull thud hit the floor. ¡°Come on, you big lump,¡± a guard said. ¡°Not you too.¡± Soren strained to hear to shuffling sounds. ¡°He¡¯s not here!¡± a guard called. ¡°Check the next section!¡± The footsteps receded. Soren counted to fifty before easing the door open. He found the dog lying on his belly, asleep. Otherwise, the corridor stood empty. He crept out, every nerve screaming for him to run. But speed meant noise. Noise meant capture. He retraced his steps, taking a different route this time. The smoke grew thicker again as he neared the side exit. His throat constricted. His eyes burned. The door appeared ahead. As he drew close, he stopped. A heavy bar sealed the door from the inside, no doubt added during the chaos he¡¯d created. His lockpicks were useless against such an obstacle. Soren¡¯s gaze snapped to a window near the ceiling. Small, but maybe large enough. He dragged a plinth across the floor, wood scraping on stone. The noise would draw attention, but he had no choice. He scrambled up the makeshift ladder, muscles straining as he reached for the window. His fingers found the latch. It resisted, then yielded with a sharp crack. Cold air rushed in as Soren heaved himself up. The window frame bit into his ribs. He twisted, forcing his shoulders through the narrow gap. His feet scrabbled against the wall for purchase. ¡°The window!¡± Soren thrashed, pushing himself through the opening. Pain flared across his chest as stone scraped flesh. His legs kicked empty air. Something snagged his boot. A guard¡¯s hand. Soren kicked hard. His foot connected with something solid. The grip loosened. He squeezed through the gap. The ground rushed up. Soren hit the cobblestones hard. The impact drove the air from his lungs. He rolled, letting momentum carry him away from the wall. Shouts erupted from the window above. Blood trickled down his palms where they¡¯d scraped the ground. His chest heaved as he fought to breathe. He had to move. He patted his tunic down as he staggered to his feet. He touched the ravenglass dagger, reassuring himself it hadn¡¯t been lost. Torchlight spilled from the museum¡¯s windows. Guards shouted to each other. The night watch would be alerted soon. He melted into the darkness between buildings, letting the familiar cloak of shadow embrace him. His boots found dry patches between puddles, leaving no tracks to follow. Whistles blew in the distance, shrill and insistent. The night watch had joined the hunt. He slipped through a narrow passage between two buildings, his shoulders brushing the rough stone walls. The path was barely wide enough for him, but it was better than the open streets. Behind him, the clatter of footsteps grew louder. The guards were close, too close. Soren pushed himself harder, darting across an open courtyard and into another alley. He stayed low, letting the shadows swallow him. His breaths came in ragged gasps, his chest tight. The alley opened onto a broader street. Soren halted, pressing himself flat against the wall. Across the way, two watchmen stood at the far end of the street, their backs to him. One of them held a lantern, casting a pool of light at their feet. There was no way around without being seen. Soren scanned the nearby buildings, his gaze falling on a row of wooden crates stacked outside a merchant¡¯s shop. He bolted for the crates, the wood creaking beneath his weight as he climbed. His fingers found purchase on the roof¡¯s edge, and with a grunt, he hauled himself up. The crates clattered to the cobbles and a sharp whistle pierced the night. ¡°There! On the roof!¡± Soren didn¡¯t look back as he scrambled across the rooftop, his boots slipping on the damp tiles. Ahead, the roof sloped down towards another alley. A crossbow bolt whizzed past his head, striking the tiles with a loud crack. Soren ducked, his legs burning as he pushed himself faster. He leapt and sailed over the gap, arms flailing for balance. His boots hit the opposite rooftop with a bone-jarring thud. He stumbled, nearly losing his footing. Another bolt zipped over his shoulder. ¡°Get him!¡± Soren¡¯s mind raced as he skidded to a stop at the edge of the new roof. Below him, the alley stretched out, empty and dark. He had no choice. He dropped to the street, landing in a crouch. The Guild was close now. Just a few more streets. He darted through another alley, this one even narrower, his breath coming in sharp, shallow bursts. His vision blurred from the effort, but he couldn¡¯t stop. Not now. The guards closed in, their whistles growing louder, their shouts more desperate. Soren skidded to a halt at the mouth of the alley. The Guild¡¯s entrance lay just ahead, but half a dozen watchmen filled the street, their lanterns casting overlapping pools of light. No shadows to hide in. No way to slip past unseen. His chest heaved as he pressed against the wall, mind racing. The guards behind him were closing in, their footfalls growing louder. ¡°Check the alleys! He¡¯s here somewhere!¡± Soren¡¯s eyes darted around the narrow space. Crates. Barrels. A half-rotted door. Nothing useful. His gaze fixed on a storm drain set into the wall. Heavy iron bars blocked the opening, but one was loose, the mortar crumbling around it. Footsteps approached from both directions. Lantern light crept into the alley. Soren dropped to his knees, fingers scrabbling at the loose bar. The rusted metal bit into his hands as he pulled. Nothing. He braced his feet against the wall and heaved again. The bar gave way with a sharp crack. Soren squeezed through the gap headfirst, rough stone scraping his shoulders. The drain stank of rot and stagnant water. Soren crawled forward on his elbows, fighting the urge to gag. Behind him, boots thundered past the opening. Voices argued about which way he¡¯d gone. He kept moving until the voices faded, then waited in the darkness, counting his heartbeats. One hundred. Two hundred. When he was certain they¡¯d moved on, he backtracked to the opening. The street had cleared. Most of the guards had moved on. But three watchmen remained, positioned not too far from the Guild¡¯s entrance. Soren pulled a smoke bomb from his pack. The fuse caught at the first spark. He lobbed it high, over the buildings, aiming for the far end of the street. Thick smoke billowed up, drawing shouts from the watchmen. They rushed toward the smoke, weapons drawn. Soren sprinted for the Guild¡¯s entrance. He raced up the steps and slammed against the door, fingers finding the catch. Soren dove through the gap, pulling the door shut behind him. He sagged against the wall, heart pounding, chest heaving. Every muscle trembled from exhaustion. But he¡¯d done it. There was no way the watch would enter the Guild. He was safe, and the ravenglass dagger was his. His footsteps whispered across the stone floors as he made his way to his quarters. Each step brought fresh aches¡ªbruises, scrapes, strained muscles. He paused outside his door, listening. Alaric¡¯s soft snores drifted through the wood. Soren stepped inside, set his pack down, and kicked off his boots. Alaric stirred, rolling over with a grunt. His eyes shot open, squinting in the darkness. ¡°Sor? Where¡¯ve you been all day?¡± Soren said nothing as drew the dagger from his tunic. He crossed to the small table by the window and laid the dagger down. Alaric sat up. ¡°Is that?¡± Soren nodded. ¡°You did it. You actually got it.¡± Silence stretched between them. Alaric cross the room and gazed down at the dagger. He turned to Soren, a deep line etching his brow. ¡°When did you¡­why didn¡¯t you tell me?¡± ¡°Because I needed to do it right.¡± The words came out sharper than Soren intended. ¡°No rushing in. No improvising. No mistakes.¡± Alaric flinched. ¡°You don¡¯t trust me anymore. Is that it?¡± ¡°Trust isn¡¯t the issue. Recklessness cost us too many times. I couldn¡¯t risk failure. Not again.¡± ¡°So you went alone. After everything we¡¯ve been through together, you didn¡¯t even tell me what you were planning.¡± ¡°I used smoke bombs. Created a distraction. Studied the guard rotations. Planned every detail.¡± He met Alaric¡¯s gaze. ¡°It worked perfectly.¡± ¡°Of course it did.¡± Bitterness crept into Alaric¡¯s tone. ¡°Because you didn¡¯t have me there to ruin everything.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not what I meant.¡± ¡°Isn¡¯t it?¡± Alaric moved closer to examine the dagger. ¡°Look at it, Sor. It¡¯s incredible. And you got it yourself. Proved you don¡¯t need me slowing you down.¡± ¡°I never said that.¡± ¡°You didn¡¯t have to.¡± They stood on either side of the table, the ravenglass dagger between them. Its dark surface reflected nothing, gave nothing back. ¡°What happens now?¡± Alaric asked. Soren shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t know. We have what Raz asked for.¡± ¡°We?¡± Alaric¡¯s eyebrow rose. ¡°So now it¡¯s we again?¡± Soren¡¯s hands clenched at his sides. But he had no answer. XIX. The early morning light painted weak stripes across the Guild¡¯s stone floor as Soren and Alaric approached Raz¡¯s office. Soren¡¯s mind raced back to the heist¡ªthe perfect execution, the narrow escape, the ease with which he¡¯d succeeded alone, that partnership meant compromise, meant risk. Beside him, Alaric¡¯s presence felt different now. Less like support, more like a weight. Raz¡¯s office door stood before them. Alaric reached for the handle, but Soren moved first. The door swung open on silent hinges. Inside, morning light streamed through tall windows. The room could have belonged to any merchant or clerk¡ªneat stacks of papers, well-organised shelves, a sturdy desk of polished wood. Raz sat behind the desk, hands folded before him. Soren stepped forward and drew he dagger with careful movements. The blade seemed to drink in the morning light. He presented it to Raz, handle first. The office fell still. Even the dust motes seemed to freeze in place. Raz¡¯s fingers closed around the dagger¡¯s hilt. He turned the weapon slowly, examining every angle, every curve. His finger traced the edge, testing its sharpness. ¡°Impressive.¡± Raz¡¯s lips curved in the briefest of smiles as his gaze flicked between them, measuring, assessing. ¡°Pack your things. We leave immediately.¡± Soren nodded. ¡°Thank you, sir.¡± Raz rose to his feet and signalled for them to leave. ¡°Oh, and don¡¯t eat anything before you go.¡± Soren dipped his head and headed out, leading the way back through the halls. When they reached their room, they packed. Alaric glanced at Soren sidelong, hands pausing over his pack. ¡°Thanks for not telling Raz that you did it alone. I know you didn¡¯t have to cover for me.¡± Soren stilled, his fingers tightening around the shirt he was folding. ¡°I didn¡¯t need to tell him. They already know.¡± Alaric¡¯s shoulders tensed, then slumped. Soren returned to his packing. The morning sun had cleared the rooftops when they followed Raz out of the Guild. Welttor bustled around them, merchants setting up stalls, workers hurrying to their jobs. Raz led them through the city, Soren and Alaric a pace behind. The streets narrowed as they approached the balloon port. Were they returning to the fortress? The wyvern-towed balloons dominated the port, their massive forms casting shadows over the docking platforms. The creatures¡¯ wings beat slowly, their scales gleaming gold and copper in the morning light. Neither Soren nor Alaric spoke as they climbed into the balloon¡¯s cabin, the cramped space forcing them to sit knee to knee on opposing benches. As soon as Raz secured the door, the balloon lurched and it left the ground. Wind buffeted the cabin, making the wooden walls creak. Through the windows, Welttor shrank beneath them. The wyverns¡¯ wings beat faster as they gained altitude, their path carrying them north along the Kusten Road. Soren stared out at the vast landscape below, watching familiar landmarks fade into the distance. They were headed north, not west¡ªthey weren¡¯t returning to the fortress after all. Across from him, Alaric shifted on his bench. Their knees brushed, and both men tensed at the contact. The balloon climbed higher, carried on currents of wind. To their right, the Braun Sea reached to horizon. To their left farms and villages rolled into the distance. Across from him, Alaric¡¯s head nodded as he fought sleep. Once, they would have shared observations, joked about the view, Now silence hung between them like a physical barrier. The balloon rocked in another gust of wind. The wyverns¡¯ wings beat steadily. Their breath came in great plumes of steam, dissipating into the cold air. Exhaustion crept over Soren. His body reminded him of every scrape, every bruise from his desperate escape. The glass felt cool against his temple as his eyes grew heavy. The steady rhythm of the wyverns¡¯ wings became a lullaby. The cabin¡¯s gentle swaying no longer seemed threatening but soothing. His thoughts began to blur, fragments of memory mixing with half-formed dreams. A sharp prod pulled Soren from uneasy dreams. His eyes snapped open, body tensing before he remembered where he was. The balloon¡¯s cabin felt colder as the sun lingered on the horizon, painting the sky in pink and gold. Alaric pointed to the landscape below. Soren¡¯s breath caught in his throat. Nebel Hafen spread beneath them. The harbour curved around the town, fishing boats bobbing at their moorings. Smoke rose from chimneys as the lighthouse flickered to life. From this height, everything looked as he remembered. The market square where he¡¯d run errands for his father. The weathered stone of the harbour wall where he and Alaric had spent countless hours watching ships come and go, dreaming of adventures. The narrow streets where they¡¯d played as children, imagining themselves as heroes from ancient tales. An ache spread through Soren¡¯s chest. This place, these memories¡ªthey belonged to someone else.. His eyes found his old neighbourhood, and for a moment, he could almost see himself as he once was¡ªthe sculptor¡¯s apprentice, hands stained with clay, creating beauty rather than dealing death. That boy¡¯s dreams had been simpler.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. His hands had been cleaner. Had it really been less than a year? Alaric shifted in his seat, and Soren caught his friend studying him. Once, they would have shared this moment of recognition, this bittersweet return. They would have pointed out familiar landmarks, remembered shared adventures, perhaps even laughed about how far they¡¯d come. But that ease between them had fractured. The silence stretched, heavy with things unsaid. ¡°You should sleep,¡± Soren said, turning away from both the view and Alaric¡¯s questioning gaze. He pulled his cloak tighter, as if it could shield him from more than just the cold. After a moment, he heard Alaric settle back with a soft sigh. The balloon carried them onward, leaving Nebel Hafen to fade into memory. He¡¯d left this place as a boy seeking justice for his father¡¯s death. He passed over it now as something else entirely. The town grew smaller behind them, fading into the dusk. Soren wondered if he would ever see it again, wondered if it even mattered. He was no longer the fisherman¡¯s son. No longer the sculptor¡¯s apprentice. The Guild had reformed him, reshaped him as he¡¯d once shaped clay. There was no going back¡ªonly forward. Soren opened his eyes to find Alaric slumped against the cabin wall, sleeping. His muscles protested as he stretched. Rolling hills and jagged peaks caught the moonlight. Raz sat next to Alaric, his profile sharp against the night sky. ¡°You did well, Soren.¡± Raz¡¯s voice cut through the quiet. ¡°Taking the initiative, completing the heist alone¡ªthat showed promise.¡± ¡°Thank you, sir.¡± Soren kept his voice low, conscious of Alaric¡¯s sleeping form. ¡°Master Kurgan would be proud.¡± The words hit Soren like a physical blow. ¡°You didn¡¯t know him.¡± ¡°Didn¡¯t I?¡± Raz¡¯s lips curved in a slight smile. ¡°There¡¯s much you don¡¯t understand yet, Soren. Your biggest challenge still lies ahead.¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°Patience. All will become clear in time.¡± Soren nodded. ¡°Can I ask you something?¡± ¡°You can ask.¡± He drew a steadying breath. ¡°I saw Master Kurgan in Welttor. What was his relationship to the Guild?¡± Something flickered in Raz¡¯s eyes. ¡°Questions like that aren¡¯t for initiates, Soren.¡± ¡°When will they be? After I become a full member? After I prove myself?¡± Raz turned to face him fully now. Soren wanted to look away. But he held Raz¡¯s gaze, refusing to back down. ¡°You have potential. More than most. That¡¯s why I want you as my apprentice.¡± Soren¡¯s breath caught in his throat. ¡°Why me?¡± ¡°You show initiative. Intelligence. The drive to succeed, no matter the cost.¡± Raz¡¯s eyes flicked to Alaric¡¯s sleeping form. ¡°You understand that some bonds must be broken for true growth to occur.¡± ¡°I haven¡¯t broken anything.¡± ¡°Haven¡¯t you?¡± Raz¡¯s smile held no warmth. ¡°The heist proved what I¡¯ve suspected since you were first identified.¡± Soren frowned. ¡°Identified? Was that before, or after my father?¡± Raz¡¯s mouth twitched. ¡°Be careful, Soren.¡± ¡°I just find it odd that we caught up you in Hafendorf. A master of stealth and exfiltration tracked down by a pair of clueless lads.¡± Raz pushed out his bottom lip. ¡°Interesting.¡± ¡°What is?¡± ¡°The way you think. The way your mind works.¡± ¡°So, you don¡¯t deny it?¡± Raz shrugged. ¡°Perhaps you¡¯re right.¡± ¡°Am I?¡± ¡°Perhaps.¡± ¡°Please.¡± Soren fixed his gaze. ¡°A straight answer. Please.¡± Raz remained silent, his face a mask. ¡°Fine.¡± Soren glanced out of the window. ¡°You¡¯re capable of so much more when you¡¯re not encumbered.¡± Soren turned to him. ¡°What does that mean.¡± Raz nodded towards Alaric. ¡°He isn¡¯t a burden.¡± ¡°No? Then why did you succeed alone where you failed together?¡± Soren had no answer for that. He looked away, his gaze falling on the coastline below. ¡°Being my apprentice won¡¯t be easy. I¡¯ll push you harder than you¡¯ve ever been pushed. I¡¯ll expect more than you think you can give. But in return, I¡¯ll teach you everything I know.¡± ¡°Including the truth about my father?¡± ¡°If you prove worthy.¡± Soren¡¯s jaw clenched. But what choice did he have? ¡°When do we start?¡± ¡°All in good time, Soren. All in good time.¡± Raz gestured to the horizon, where a dark shape emerged against the darkness. An island. ¡°Is that where we¡¯re headed?¡± Raz nodded. ¡°Gottsisle.¡± ¡°What¡¯s waiting for us the?¡± ¡°The next stage of your journey.¡± Raz¡¯s eyes moved to Alaric again. ¡°Though only one of you will complete it.¡± ¡°What does that mean?¡± But Raz had already turned away, his attention seemingly fixed on their approaching destination. The conversation was clearly over. The island drew closer as the wyverns began their descent. Alaric stirred, blinking awake. As they drew closer, details emerged from the gloom. A fortress dominated the island¡¯s western shore¡ªan octagonal structure of weathered stone, its walls stained black by time and salt spray. A single torch flickered at the entrance, a lone point of warmth in the gathering dark. The wyverns¡¯ wings beat slower as they landed in a clearing outside the fortress. The balloon settled with a gentle bump. The wyverns folded their wings with soft screeches that echoed off the fortress walls. Soren clambered from the cabin, his legs stiff, his back aching. Wind whipped in from the Braun Sea, waves crashing against the shore. Alaric stumbled behind him. ¡°What is this place?¡± Neither Raz nor Soren answered. Hooded figures emerged from the shadows, their grey robes blending with the mist. They secured the wyverns with chains, the creatures submitting without protest. Raz gestured Soren and Alaric towards the fortress¡¯s main gate. Iron chains rattled overhead as a massive portcullis ground upward, the sound echoing off stone walls. The entrance gaped before them, torchlight flickering deep within. They passed through the tunnel and emerged into an expansive courtyard. The fortress rose around them in perfect octagonal symmetry, its walls stretching upwards. Hundreds of windows dotted the black stone face¡ªsome blazing with warm light, others dark and empty. Torches lined the courtyard¡¯s perimeter, flames dancing in the salt-laden wind. Above, the open sky formed a perfect octagon, framed by the fortress walls. Raz led them across the courtyard¡¯s worn flagstones toward a door set into the northern face. Inside, torches flickered at irregular intervals. The air grew colder as they climbed, carrying the musty scent of age and decay. The stairs wound upward in tight spirals, each turn revealing another identical stretch of worn stone steps. Soren¡¯s legs burned from the climb. ¡°Third floor,¡± Raz said. The stairway opened into a corridor barely wide enough for two people to walk abreast. Arrow slits pierced the outer wall at regular intervals, letting in thin shafts of moonlight. Raz moved with purpose, counting doors under his breath, before coming to a stop. ¡°Here.¡± He produced a key from within his cloak and drove it into the lock. The door swung open, revealing a small bed chamber. ¡°Soren, in here. Alaric, you¡¯re next door.¡± Soren stepped into his assigned room without hesitation. He took in the narrow bed, a simple desk, a window that looked out over the Braun Sea. ¡°Your first task begins now.¡± Raz¡¯s voice cut through the silence. He produced two small glass vials, handing one to each of them. ¡°By morning, these must be filled with your blood and tears.¡± ¡°Why couldn¡¯t we eat before leaving?¡± Alaric asked. ¡°We haven¡¯t had anything since¡ª¡± ¡°You should save your strength,¡± Raz said. ¡°The ritual demands you fast.¡± His tone left no room for debate. The door closed behind Soren as Raz led Alaric to his room. Alone, Soren studied the small vial in his palm. The blood would be easy enough¡ªa quick cut, a moment¡¯s pain. But tears? He pulled his dagger from its sheath, the steel catching what little light filtered through the window. The cut was quick, precise¡ªbarely more than a pin prick to his fingertip. He watched the blood well up, dark and thick, dripping into the vial. But as he set the blood-filled vial on the desk, the real challenge loomed before him. When had he last cried? Before joining the Guild certainly. Perhaps not since his father¡¯s death, and even that grief had calcified into something harder, colder. Soren sank to the floor, his back against the rough stone wall. He closed his eyes, trying to summon emotion, any emotion strong enough to break through his carefully constructed walls. He thought of his father, of finding him that night, of the questions that still haunted him. But the memories felt distant now, dulled by time and training. Hours crept by. The frustration mounted with each failed attempt. He paced the room, the empty vial mocking him from the desk. The more he tried to force the tears, the more they eluded him. His chest felt tight, constricted, as if his body fought against this display of weakness. Kurgan¡¯s face floated in his mind¡ªhis old master, seen briefly at the Guild. It was him. It was definitely him. What secrets did he hold? What part had he played in all of this? The questions burned, but produced no tears. Just more anger, more determination to uncover the truth. What if he couldn¡¯t do it? What if this simple task proved his undoing? After everything, to fail because he couldn¡¯t cry seemed absurd. Yet here he was, dry-eyed and desperate. His thoughts turned to Alaric. His best friend, his brother in all but blood, the one person he¡¯d trusted above all others¡­had become a burden. Every failure, every setback, every compromise could be traced back to their partnership. Alaric¡¯s recklessness, his impulsiveness, his need to be saved It had all weighed Soren down, held him back from what he could truly become. The tears came then, silent, and unstoppable. Not for his father, not for his lost innocence, but for the death of something he hadn¡¯t even realised was dying¡ªhis friendship with Alaric. Each tear that fell into the vial marked another crack in their bond, another step towards inevitable separation. He didn¡¯t sob or wail. The tears flowed quietly, a controlled release of grief for what was and what could never be again. The vial filled slowly, each drop a testament to the truth he¡¯d been avoiding: he and Alaric had outgrown each other. Or perhaps he had outgrown Alaric. When both vials were full, Soren placed them side-by-side on the desk. His body felt hollow, drained of more than just fluids. The emotional release had taken something from him, burned away another piece of who he used to be. And, perhaps, that was the point. He collapsed onto the bed, staring up at the darkness. Whatever waited for them in this fortress, whatever trials lay ahead, Soren knew one thing with certainty¡ªhe would face them alone. XX. A sharp rap at his door jolted Soren awake. Dawn¡¯s grey light seeped in through the window. ¡°It¡¯s time.¡± Raz stood in the doorway, a folded white robe draped over his arm. He held it out without speaking. Soren got up, the stone floor cold against his feet and took the robe from Raz. The linen felt rough against Soren¡¯s skin as he pulled it on, the fabric heavy and unshaped. He reached for his boots. ¡°No.¡± Raz shook his head. ¡°Barefoot.¡± Soren straightened and moved towards the door, but Raz¡¯s outstretched hand stopped him. ¡°The vials. Bring them.¡± In the corridor, Alaric stood waiting in an identical white robe, his face drawn. ¡°I¡¯m so hungry¡ª ¡°Silence.¡± Raz turned and walked away, clearly expecting them to follow. Soren¡¯s bare feet whispered against the stone as they wound through the corridors. When they stepped outside, the courtyard spread before them, torch flames still flickering against the lightening sky. The portcullis rose and Soren stepped through the gate, small stones stabbing into his feet. The tide had retreated, revealing expanses of dark sand and jagged rock that doubled Gottsisle¡¯s apparent size. Raz led them along a well-worn path that wound between buildings both ruined and intact. Some structures had collapsed into piles of weathered stone, while others stood firm. They passed what must have been a temple or library once, its columns still reaching skyward though its roof had long since fallen. Beyond it, a lighthouse rose from the island¡¯s eastern point, its beacon dark in the growing day. Soren glanced back toward the mainland. A causeway stretched across the waters between Gottsisle and Wiete, visible now that the tide had retreated, a line of massive bones marking its path¡ªribs the size of ship¡¯s timbers thrust up from the churning waters. ¡°What manner of creature¡­¡± Alaric¡¯s voice trailed off at Raz¡¯s glare. Raz gestured toward a squat stone building ahead, smoke rising from its chimney. The smith¡¯s workshop opened before them, its forge dominating the spacer. The heat hit Soren like a physical wall, stinging his eyes. The smith stood waiting. Age had weathered his face like leather, but his arms rippled with muscle. He said nothing as Raz presented the ravenglass dagger. He nodded and took it with reverent hands. Raz turned to Soren and Alaric. ¡°The vials.¡± They handed their vials Raz. The smith placed the dagger into the forge¡¯s heart. The ravenglass seemed to resist at first, then slowly began to yield. The blade¡¯s perfect darkness melted into something fluid, something alive. Slowly, the dagger melted to a formless mass, shimmering between deepest black and blinding white. The smith added their blood and tears and the mixture writhed. Hours bled together in the oppressive heat. Soren¡¯s legs trembled, his body drained from hunger, from producing the tears that now mixed with the molten ravenglass. Sweat soaked through his robe, ran into his eyes, but he didn¡¯t dare look away. The hammer fell again and again, each strike sending vibrations through the stone floor. The sound burrowed into Soren¡¯s skull, became his heartbeat. The smith worked with mechanical precision, folding, and refolding the ravenglass, working their essence deeper into its core. Beside him, Alaric swayed, his face pale beneath the sweat and grime, dark circles prominent under his eyes. What tears had he shed in the night¡¯s darkness? The ravenglass transformed beneath the smith¡¯s hands. Each fold, each strike seemed to draw something from the ravenglass. Soren felt it in his bones, a pulling sensation that went deeper than physical exhaustion. The dagger was taking something from them, consuming more than just blood and tears.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. This was more than craftsmanship¡ªit was alchemy, transformation, rebirth through fire and pain. Something other, something elsewhere, seemed to whisper beyond his thoughts. His vision blurred. The heat, the smoke, the endless rhythm of the hammer. He forced himself to focus, to watch as their sacrifices were worked into the blade¡¯s very essence. ¡°The dagger remembers,¡± Raz said. ¡°Every drop of blood, every tear shed. It becomes part of its nature.¡± Soren¡¯s legs nearly gave out as another hour crawled past. His body screamed for rest, for water, for any relief from the forge¡¯s relentless heat. Finally, the hammer¡¯s rhythm changed. The strikes came slower, more deliberate, as the smith brought his work to its conclusion. The smith plunged the blade into a basin of water. Steam exploded upward with a hiss. When the blade emerged, it hummed with barely contained energy. Soren felt it even from where he stood¡ªa pull, a hunger that spoke to something deep within him. The dagger was alive now in a way it hadn¡¯t been before. Their blood, their tears, their shared suffering had awakened something within. The smith presented the blade to Raz. ¡°It¡¯s done.¡± Raz examined the weapon with critical eyes, turning it this way and that in the forge¡¯s light. The blade seemed to bend reality around itself, creating shadows where none should exist. ¡°Well done. This is truly a masterwork.¡± Raz wrapped the blade carefully in black cloth and led them outside. Neither Soren nor Alaric spoke as they followed Raz back through the fortress halls. Raz halted by their rooms. ¡°Change. Meet me outside. We leave immediately.¡± Soren staggered into his room, the world tilting slightly as exhaustion and hunger crashed over him. His white robe clung to his skin, soaked through with sweat. The simple act of pulling it off felt like an immense effort, his muscles trembling from standing so long. His regular clothes felt rough and confining against his damp skin. He didn¡¯t wait for Alaric. Outside, grey-robed figures moved around the balloon, checking ropes, and securing harnesses. The wyverns shifted restlessly, their scales gleaming dully in the weak light. Alaric caught up as Soren caught sight of Raz waiting for them. Raz gestured them into the cabin. When they took their seats, a flame roared above them and the wyverns took the strain of the tow ropes. When they were airborne, Raz produced a simple meal¡ªbread, cheese, dried meat, and a water skin. The bread tasted like ash in Soren¡¯s mouth, the cheese like clay. But his body craved the sustenance. Across from him, Alaric ate mechanically, his movements sluggish. The wyverns¡¯ wings beat a steady rhythm as they turned south. Soren pressed his forehead against the window, watching the landscape crawl past below. The island¡¯s jagged shores gave way to open water, then to the familiar coastline of Wiete. Forests and mountains drifted by beneath them, eventually yielding to fields and roads. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words. Soren closed his eyes, allowing the exhaustion to take him. A crash tore Soren from his sleep. Lightning split the sky, illuminating the wyverns as they fought against the wind. Rain hammered against the balloon¡¯s cabin, water dripping onto Soren¡¯s shoulder. ¡°What do we do?¡± Raz shrugged. ¡°We trust the wyverns.¡± Alaric sat across from him, one hand pressing against the window, the other gripping the bench. The cabin lurched as another gust caught them. One of the wyverns screeched. Raz remained perfectly still, the wrapped dagger resting on his lap. ¡°We¡¯re coming in too fast,¡± Alaric said. Welttor¡¯s lights appeared below them, distorted by sheets of rain. The wyverns¡¯ wings beat frantically as they approached the port. A massive gust caught them broadside, sending the balloon careening sideways. The impact threw them all forward. The cabin tipped, wood groaning. Soren¡¯s shoulder slammed into the wall as they landed. Raz pushed the door open, letting in a blast of wind and water. ¡°Move.¡± They scrambled out into the driving rain as attendants scrambled to secure the balloon and tether the wyverns. Raz led the way at a brisk pace. Soren followed through Welttor¡¯s empty streets, his boots splashing through growing puddles. The Guild appeared ahead, a darker shadow in the gloom. Raz held the door open, ushering them inside. Without pausing, Raz guided them down into the Vault. Water dripped from their clothes, marking their passage with trailing puddles. ¡°You¡¯ve both shown remarkable endurance,¡± Raz said. ¡°The retrieval of the ravenglass, the forging ritual¡ªthese were no small feats.¡± He paused, his eyes moving between them. ¡°But initiation into the Guild requires more than mere survival.¡± Something in his tone made Soren¡¯s pulse quicken. Beside him, Alaric shifted. ¡°There is one final task. Before either of you can become an apprentice, you must complete your first contract.¡± He paused looking between them. ¡°The contract, is on each other.¡± Alaric let out a gasp. ¡°What?¡± Alaric¡¯s voice cracked. ¡°No, that¡¯s no¡­ we can¡¯t¡­¡± Soren drew his dagger and lunged¡ªa swift, upward thrust beneath the ribs, angled to pierce the heart. The blade slid home with ease, as if Alaric¡¯s flesh offered no more resistance than smoke. Alaric¡¯s mouth opened, but no sound emerged. His hands grasped at Soren¡¯s arm, fingers clutching at the fabric of his sleeve. Their eyes met, and Soren saw the moment understanding bloomed in Alaric¡¯s gaze¡ªnot just of death¡¯s approach, but of the deeper betrayal. ¡°Sor¡­¡± The word came out as barely a whisper, thick with blood and disbelief. Soren maintained eye contact as he withdrew the blade. He owed Alaric that much at least¡ªto witness the full weight of what he¡¯d done. To acknowledge the death of not just his friend, but of everything they¡¯d once meant to each other. Alaric crumpled, his body making a hollow sound as it hit the stone floor, his final breath escaping in a soft sigh. His eyes remained open, fixed on Soren. The Vault¡¯s silence pressed in, broken only by the soft patter of blood dripping from the dagger¡¯s edge. Soren stood perfectly still, his mind calm despite what he¡¯d just done. Raz stepped forward, placing a hand on Soren¡¯s shoulder. The gesture carried weight¡ªapproval, possession, finality. ¡°I¡¯m glad it was you.¡± Soren didn¡¯t respond. His eyes remained fixed on Alaric¡¯s body, on the growing pool of blood that spread across the stone floor. The sight should have horrified him, should have broken something inside him. Instead, he felt only a cold certainty that he¡¯d done what was necessary. ¡°This was the real test,¡± Raz said. ¡°Not just the willingness to kill, but the ability to sacrifice everything for the Guild.¡± The words settled over Soren, heavy but somehow fitting. He understood now what the Guild truly was, what it demanded of its members. Not just skill or loyalty, but the complete surrender of anything that might compete with that loyalty. Soren finally looked away from Alaric¡¯s body, meeting Raz¡¯s gaze. ¡°This¡­¡± Raz offered the ravenglass dagger to Soren, handle-first. ¡°Is yours. Bound by sacrifice.¡± Soren took the dagger in his hand, his finders wrapping around its icy hilt. He looked down at Alaric one last time, allowing himself a moment to remember their friendship, their shared dreams, their brotherhood. But those memories belonged to someone else¡ªto a version of himself that had died the moment he¡¯d joined the Guild. ¡°Come.¡± Raz moved towards the door. ¡°We have much to discuss.¡± Soren followed without looking back, leaving Alaric¡¯s body cooling on the Vault¡¯s stone floor.