《THE AETHERBORN》 CHAPTER 1 Nine Years Ago The hare was munching on some wild ederwheed, completely oblivious to the arrow aimed at it. Thorne¡¯s small arms trembled as he struggled to keep his bowstring taut, his fingers beginning to cramp from the tension. His breath was shallow, his heart pounding in his ears as he tried to steady himself. The hare¡¯s nose twitched, sensing something amiss in the stillness. Thorne let the arrow fly. Even before it left his fingers, he knew he had missed. His heart sank as he watched the arrow¡¯s path, sure it would veer off course. A soft breeze picked up, just enough to alter the arrow¡¯s trajectory, and Thorne¡¯s eyes widened as the arrow pierced the hare¡¯s neck. A high-pitched squeal escaped the creature as it collapsed. Thorne frowned. He shouldn''t have hit it. A heavy hand clapped down on his shoulder, startling him. His father¡¯s deep chuckle rumbled through the quiet clearing. ¡°That¡¯s my boy!¡± His father¡¯s pride radiated through his words, but Thorne didn¡¯t share in the satisfaction. ¡°Why the frown?¡± his father asked, puzzled by Thorne¡¯s reaction as he stood, eager to retrieve their prize before any predators could pick up the scent of blood. ¡°I thought I missed,¡± Thorne muttered, his frown deepening as he slung his small bow over his shoulder. His father gave him a puzzled glance. ¡°Miss? That was a perfect shot!¡± He gave Thorne¡¯s shoulder a firm squeeze before walking forward to retrieve their prize. ¡°Come on, let¡¯s grab it before something else does.¡± Thorne trudged after him, pushing through the bushes that had hidden them from their prey. His father knelt beside the hare, making quick, efficient work of skinning it, the practiced movements of a man who had done this countless times before. The fur went into one sack, the meat into another, destined for the stew pot that night. Thorne¡¯s mind wandered, imagining the pelt becoming part of one of his mother¡¯s sewing projects. She loved to craft little things from the animals they brought back¡ªmaybe this one would become a small pouch or lining for a winter coat. ¡°You ready?¡± his father¡¯s voice broke through his thoughts, an eyebrow raised in question. The tone was light, but there was an expectation behind the words that Thorne couldn¡¯t ignore. His lips pursed in frustration. "Please, Dad! Can¡¯t we just go play? Bea brought marbles from the market, and she promised to teach me how to play. They¡¯re so shiny, and one even has blue in it!" His voice was edged with desperation, the excitement of the marbles making his earlier exhaustion fade into the background. His father gave him a flat look, the kind that didn¡¯t leave room for argument. ¡°You can play later, once we¡¯re done. Besides, Bea¡¯s with your mother in the village. They won¡¯t be back until sundown.¡± Thorne groaned, kicking a small rock in frustration. The thought of spending the rest of the day running through the woods made his legs ache. He wanted to play with those marbles, to feel the cool glass in his hands and watch the colors swirl in the sunlight. But there was no changing his father¡¯s mind. They always did the same thing after hunting: run. A lot. They always ran the same path, heading toward the same clearing. His father called it training, but to Thorne, it felt more like punishment. With a resigned sigh, he started running, his feet crunching through the undergrowth. His legs were short, his stride uneven, but his father¡¯s deep voice was a constant presence behind him, encouraging him to push harder. ¡°Keep it up, Thorne! You¡¯re getting faster. One of these days, you¡¯ll get your running skill!¡± Thorne gritted his teeth, pushing through the burning in his legs as he navigated the rough terrain. His father made it look effortless, his long strides covering ground with ease, but Thorne struggled to keep pace. The undergrowth snagged at his feet, and he stumbled more than once, but he refused to stop. They passed familiar landmarks¡ªthe jagged rocks with a small opening at their base, where he¡¯d once found a shiny beetle, the towering oak with the hollow where an owl slept during the day. By the time they reached the clearing, Thorne was gasping for air, his legs shaking from the effort. He collapsed beside the creek, splashing cool water on his face, grateful for the brief respite. His father sat on a nearby rock, already sharpening his knife, looking as though they hadn¡¯t just run for miles. ¡°This path leads straight to Alvar City,¡± his father said, pointing with the blade of his knife toward the narrow trail ahead. His tone was serious, and Thorne could practically recite the next part by heart. ¡°I know, Dad!¡± Thorne groaned, splashing his feet in the creek. ¡°You tell me every time we come here!¡± ¡°Alvar City is the closest settlement to our village,¡± his father continued, ignoring Thorne¡¯s complaint. ¡°It¡¯s a port city in the Duskshore kingdom. Full of rowdy sailors and people looking to swindle you out of a copper.¡± ¡°I know, I know,¡± Thorne muttered, half-listening as something shiny in the creek caught his eye. His attention drifted away from his father¡¯s lecture, his focus entirely on the small, iridescent stone that glittered in the water. ¡°Ooh, shiny!¡± Thorne exclaimed, dropping to all fours to fish the stone out of the creek. He held it up, watching in awe as the sunlight hit it just right, casting tiny rainbows across the surface of the water. ¡°Thorne!¡± his father¡¯s amused voice cut through his excitement. ¡°Pay attention!¡± Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. Thorne clutched the stone protectively, wary that his father might toss it aside. ¡°What? You were just talking about Alvar City again.¡± His father shook his head, standing and untying a cloth from his belt. ¡°You need to remember this stuff,¡± he said, bending down to dry Thorne¡¯s hair, much to his irritation. ¡°South of Alvar City are the elven kingdoms. They don¡¯t take kindly to humans.¡± ¡°I can dry myself, Dad!¡± Thorne protested, pushing his father¡¯s hands away. He was almost eight, after all. He didn¡¯t need help with something as simple as drying his hair. ¡°I¡¯m not a baby!¡± His father offered him the cloth with an amused smile, one that only irritated Thorne further. His father smiled, handing him the cloth. ¡°You¡¯re not a baby, but you¡¯re not grown either. There are a lot of dangerous things out there, Thorne. People, places. You need to know how to stay safe.¡± Thorne bobbed his head absently, more interested in spinning his new shiny rock in the light. The way it refracted tiny rainbows fascinated him. I¡¯ll show Bea when I get home, he thought, already imagining her reaction. ¡°There are many kingdoms across the continent, Thorne¡ªhuman, elven, and dwarven. Some are powerful, some not so much.¡± His father paused in his explanation, looking up with a serious expression. ¡°People are just like kingdoms. Some are powerful, others not so much.¡± Thorne huffed, his frustration clear. ¡°I know, Dad. You¡¯ve told me a thousand times.¡± His father¡¯s expression softened, but his tone remained firm. ¡°If you ever see someone powerful, Thorne,¡± he said quietly, ¡°you run. Understand?¡± Thorne looked up, puzzled by the shift in his father¡¯s voice. ¡°How will I know if they¡¯re powerful?¡± ¡°You¡¯ll know,¡± his father said simply, his voice heavy with finality. ¡°Now, let¡¯s head back.¡± * The walk back to the village was uneventful, with Thorne completely absorbed by his new shiny rock. His feet moved on autopilot as his mind wandered, thinking about all the things he could show Bea when she returned. He barely noticed the familiar landmarks, the trees, or the soft crunch of his father¡¯s footsteps beside him. When they finally reached home, thin smoke curled lazily from the chimney. Thorne¡¯s father frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion. ¡°That¡¯s strange,¡± he muttered under his breath. But Thorne didn¡¯t care about that. His heart leapt in excitement. ¡°Bea¡¯s back!¡± he shouted, taking off toward the house at a sprint, leaving his father behind. He slammed open the gate to their small garden, ignoring his father¡¯s half-hearted call to slow down. Inside, the familiar smells of cooking filled the air, making Thorne¡¯s stomach rumble. His mother stood at the hearth, stirring a pot of stew, a soft smile on her face as she spotted him. ¡°Hey, sweetie,¡± she said warmly. ¡°Where¡¯s your father?¡± Thorne waved vaguely over his shoulder, already scanning the room for Bea. His excitement grew with every step, his eyes darting around, looking for any sign of her. ¡°Bea! You promised to teach me how to play marbles!¡± Thorne hollered, running toward her room. He threw the door open without knocking, practically bursting inside. Bea sat on her bed, nose buried in a book, and she glared at him. ¡°You can¡¯t just barge in like that, Thorne!¡± she snapped, tossing the book onto the bed in annoyance. ¡°Come on, Bea! You promised!¡± Thorne whined, bouncing on the balls of his feet, his excitement making it impossible to stay still. ¡°Didn¡¯t you bring any more shiny rocks?¡± Bea sighed, rolling her eyes as she reached into her dress pocket. ¡°Here,¡± she muttered, pulling out a bright marble. ¡°Happy now?¡± Thorne¡¯s eyes went wide, his breath catching in his throat. ¡°Ohhhhh,¡± he whispered in reverence, taking the marble from her with trembling hands. The colors inside swirled like tiny rivers, and Thorne held it up to the light, completely mesmerized. Bea laughed at his reaction. ¡°You¡¯re so weird,¡± she teased, her voice filled with fond amusement. ¡°MOM!¡± Thorne yelled, already running back to the kitchen, clutching the marble tightly in his hand. ¡°Look! Look at what Bea gave me!¡± His mother was talking quietly with his father when he burst into the room, but their conversation stopped as soon as he entered. His mother smiled patiently, patting his head. ¡°That¡¯s lovely, sweetie. Bea picked it just for you.¡± Thorne nodded, a little disappointed at the lack of enthusiasm from his parents. But his excitement quickly returned, and he ran back to Bea, begging her to teach him how to play. * They spent the afternoon playing marbles in Bea¡¯s room, the soft thud of the small orbs hitting the floor filling the space. Thorne¡¯s laughter echoed through the house, mixing with Bea¡¯s occasional sighs of resignation. They only stopped when their parents called them for dinner. After the meal, when Thorne asked to play some more, his father¡¯s blank stare sent him to bed instead. Thorne sulked for a moment but eventually climbed into his bed, wrapping himself in his rabbit fur blanket. He clutched his shiny stone, his excitement from earlier still lingering as he drifted off to sleep. Eventually, his eyelids grew heavy, and he drifted off to sleep. But the soft murmur of voices pulled him back to consciousness. Thorne yawned and rubbed his eyes, blinking sleepily as he realized his shiny stone had slipped from his hand. His heart pounded as he searched the covers, but then he saw it¡ªlying on the floor, bathed in a shaft of pale moonlight. He hopped out of bed and grabbed the stone, relief flooding through him as he clutched it tightly. That¡¯s when he heard his parents¡¯ voices. ¡°...so? Should we move?¡± His father¡¯s low rumble carried through the walls. Thorne¡¯s curiosity spiked, and he padded silently toward the door. He cracked it open just a smidge, careful not to make a sound. Through the small gap, he saw his parents sitting at the round table, a single candle flickering between them. ¡°I¡¯m not comfortable taking Bea to the village anymore, Kearan,¡± his mother¡¯s voice was hushed but firm. ¡°Her beauty is drawing too much attention. People are starting to talk. Rumors are already starting to spread that she is some kind of elf.¡± There was a long silence before his father¡¯s voice rattled the walls of the house. ¡°If anyone dares to lay a hand on my little girl, I¡¯ll crack their skull.¡± ¡°Shh! You¡¯ll wake the kids!¡± his mother hissed. He heard a mumbled apology and his mom continued. ¡°We have to keep a low profile!¡± his mother¡¯s voice was sharp, her eyes clouded as she stared blankly into space. ¡°You can¡¯t go about killing every man who wants to marry our daughter. Besides... that¡¯s not who I¡¯m worried about.¡± ¡°Thorne?¡± Dad inquired, perplexed. His mom nodded; a deep frown on her face. Thorne¡¯s heart skipped a beat. What does she mean? He squinted through the crack, his little heart racing. His mind spinning with confusion. Were they talking about him? What was wrong with him? His mother¡¯s next words sent a chill through him. ¡°All the signs are there, Kearan. Any day now...¡± her voice trailed off, heavy with meaning Thorne couldn¡¯t understand. His father let out a long sigh. ¡°Are you sure?¡± His voice was quiet, almost broken. His mother nodded. ¡°I¡¯m sure.¡± Thorne¡¯s chest tightened, his mind racing with questions. What were they talking about? What signs? His mother¡¯s voice was quieter now. ¡°Maybe we could go to Marian. If she¡¯s in a good mood, she might help.¡± ¡°Marian?¡± his father scoffed, his voice dripping with doubt. ¡°She won¡¯t help us.¡± His mother sighed deeply.¡°There¡¯s not much to do for now. Let¡¯s go to sleep.¡± She extended her hand, and his father grabbed it like a lifeline. Thorne backed away from the door, his hands shaking as he clutched his shiny stone, fear wrapping around his heart like a vice. What¡¯s wrong with me? His thoughts were a tangled mess of confusion and fear, and he didn¡¯t know what to do with the strange heaviness in his chest. They¡¯re talking about me. Something¡¯s wrong with me. He climbed back into bed, pulling the blanket over his head. He held the shiny stone close, its cool surface pressing into his palm, willing the strange feeling to go away. Sleep finally claimed him, but the unease lingered, wrapping around him like a second blanket. CHAPTER 2 "Thorne!" Thorne grimaced, quickly shoving his wooden soldiers under the bed. The valiant Ser Knight had been on the verge of defeating the evil wizard, and now¡ªof all times¡ªhis mother had to call him. Why now? He let out a huff of frustration. Ser Knight¡¯s sword was about to deal the final blow. Ugh. "Coming!" he hollered back, pulling on his boots. He cast one last glance at the half-finished battle, then sprinted outside. He found his mother in her garden behind their house. The familiar scent of moist earth and the fragrance of herbs greeted him, calming him a little. His mother was bent over a peculiar plant with blue leaves and bulbous flowers, her gloved hands working gently at its base. Today was one of the rare days his father had ventured deeper into the forest, leaving Thorne at home. Most of the time, days like this were filled with endless lectures about plants and potions. He didn''t mind his mother¡¯s lessons, but compared to the excitement of hunting with his father, they felt... boring. Thorne crossed his arms and stood there, his mood sour. "I''m here," he grumbled, scuffing the ground with his boot. His mother glanced up and gave him a soft smile before pointing toward a small bag near the garden bed. Thorne picked it up and wrinkled his nose as he looked inside. The coarse sand-like substance made his nose itch. "What''s this?" he asked, dumping the small bag next to her. His mother grabbed a handful of the dust and sprinkled it around the plant¡¯s roots. To his surprise, the blue leaves trembled, vibrating as if they were alive¡ªor itching, like his nose. Thorne''s eyes widened at the odd sight. "That¡¯s ground-up bitebeetle," his mother explained, wiping her brow with her leather glove. "If it touches your skin, it¡¯ll make you itch like crazy, but it has its uses." She pointed to the bulbous flowers on the plant, careful not to touch them. "These flowers defend the plant when you try to pluck its leaves. They release a weak toxin that causes paralysis if you¡¯re not careful." Thorne frowned, looking from the flowers to the dust in her hands. "So, what does the bitebeetle dust do?" "It neutralizes the flowers¡¯ toxin." She reached out and carefully placed her hand on one of the blue leaves. "See?" Her fingers twisted gently, and the leaf fell away without any reaction from the flowers. She smiled at him, a radiant, warm smile. "Want to give it a try?" Thorne hesitated, then shrugged. "Okay." He stepped closer, his heart beating faster as he reached out. His hand hovered over the plant for a second before he cautiously touched one of the leaves. A slight shiver ran through the plant, but it didn¡¯t react beyond that. He twisted his hand, and the leaf came off with ease. His mother¡¯s smile grew wider. "Good, very good!" Her enthusiasm was infectious, and soon Thorne found himself smiling, a small spark of pride flickering in his chest. "Once your core is formed," she said, standing up, "I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll develop the herbology skill!" Thorne¡¯s smile quickly faded into a grimace. Herbology? He would much rather have a skill related to swords or even bows. He wanted to be just like Ser Knight, battling evil wizards and defending the realm, not fiddling with plants. His mother laughed, clearly seeing the disappointment on his face. "Oh, don¡¯t be like that! Herbology is a useful skill. You can grow plants that heal wounds, make you smarter, or even make you better at fighting." She winked at him, a twinkle in her eye. Thorne¡¯s eyes widened. "I could be as strong as Dad?" he asked, excitement creeping into his voice. His mother chuckled, dropping the handful of dust and lunging at him playfully. "Of course! But you also have to eat all your food!" Her fingers found his sides, tickling him mercilessly. Thorne shrieked with laughter, trying to squirm away, but her hands were everywhere. "Mom! Stop!" he gasped between laughs, tears forming in his eyes. After what felt like an eternity of laughter, his mother finally relented, letting him go. She wiped a smudge of dirt from his cheek with her thumb and helped him to his feet. "You know," she began, dusting off her gloves, "people are always eager to buy plants for their potions. Lightbell is popular for healing, and Shoura can never get enough of them." Thorne nodded, thinking of the village alchemist. Shoura always seemed excited when they brought herbs to sell. Every time his mother went to the village, she returned with a pouch full of silver coins. His father, on the other hand, only managed to get a few coppers for even the biggest boars they hunted. How is that fair? His face must have betrayed his thoughts, because his mother frowned slightly. "What¡¯s wrong?" she asked, her voice gentle. Thorne hesitated, trying to choose his words carefully. "It¡¯s just... it¡¯s weird that people pay so much for plants." He glanced around the garden. Everything inside the fence was bursting with life, the vibrant greens and colorful flowers starkly different from the dull, lifeless trees outside. "How do you do it? With the bitebeetle dust and everything?" he asked, genuinely curious. His mother paused, a flicker of hesitation crossing her face. Thorne¡¯s curiosity piqued. Why is she hesitating? After a moment, she crouched down beside him, her fingers tracing the petal of a beautiful red flower. "You see," she began softly, "everything around us is made of aether." Thorne straightened up, sensing the seriousness in her tone. "Some people," she continued, her gaze distant, "are able to manipulate the aether. They can do incredible things." Thorne¡¯s attention sharpened. This wasn¡¯t like her usual talks about plants. Aether? He had heard the word before in the village, but always in vague, cryptic ways. His mind buzzed with excitement. "You mean... like wizards?" he asked, his mouth forming a small ''O.'' Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. His mother chuckled and nodded. "Yes, like wizards. But not necessarily." She paused for a moment, then added, "There are many ways to use aether. Someone with access to it could become a mage, a warrior, or even something else, depending on their affinity and inclinations." Her explanation was a bit too abstract for him, and Thorne¡¯s mind latched onto the part that excited him the most. "Wait... YOU''RE A MAGE?!" he shouted, hopping up and down in excitement. "Shh!" his mother shushed him, laughing as she tried to calm him down. "It¡¯s more complicated than that." Thorne¡¯s excitement dimmed, and he plopped down next to her again. His mother sighed and continued, her tone more somber. "I¡¯m not a mage, Thorne." The finality in her voice deflated his enthusiasm entirely. He sat quietly, waiting for her to explain. She shifted so that they were sitting face-to-face, the smell of damp earth surrounding them. She reached out and took his hands in hers, her palms warm and comforting. "I¡¯m a little different from most people. I can see the aether around me, inside people, plants, and even in the wind." Thorne frowned, his gaze following hers as she looked around the garden. What is she seeing? Her face had a dreamy, faraway expression, and no matter how long he looked, he couldn¡¯t spot anything unusual. "But if you can see aether, and we use it to make magic, why aren¡¯t you a mage?" he asked, completely confused. His mother smiled, and without a word, she let go of his hands and reached for a nearby plant. Its long, thin leaves drooped sadly, but when her fingers touched the smooth surface, the plant responded instantly. Its stalk straightened, the leaves rising as if they were alive again, growing stronger, taller, right before his eyes. Thorne watched in awe as the plant continued to grow, its leaves nearly brushing the top of his head. His mother¡¯s hands glowed faintly as she fed it aether, and the transformation left him speechless. "That... that¡¯s amazing!" he breathed, his eyes wide with wonder. The leaf his mother had touched grew larger than Thorne¡¯s head, radiating a soft, green glow that illuminated the space around it. Thorne¡¯s eyes widened, glued to the spectacle unfolding before him. His world seemed to condense into the life-giving hand, the steady hum of magic filling the air. Everything else faded away. The soft breeze, the rustling of the trees, even his own breathing¡ªthey became distant, mere echoes. A faint buzzing filled his ears, growing louder with each passing second. His heart raced, and a wave of dizziness swept over him, but his gaze never wavered from the glowing plant. His head swam as if the world was spinning beneath him. He blinked, once, twice, three times, his vision blurring as sweat trickled down his forehead, stinging his eyes. He blinked furiously, unwilling to lose sight of the magic before him, afraid that if he looked away for even a second, the magic would disappear. He blinked again¡ªand everything changed. The world exploded into color. His mother¡¯s hand, once simply glowing, now shone with a radiance so bright it was nearly blinding. He gasped, turning away, but what he saw next stole the breath from his lungs. Everything around him glowed. The garden, the plants, the sky¡ªit was as though someone had painted the world with every color imaginable. Yellows and pinks swirled together, clashing with fiery scarlets that seemed to war against the soft blues. Colors he didn¡¯t even know the names of shimmered and danced before his eyes, some moving gracefully, others darting away like startled creatures, as if trying to hide from his gaze. Without thinking, Thorne raised his hands, trying to catch the colorful motes of light floating around him. ¡°So pretty...¡± he murmured, his voice soft and far away. He barely realized that he had stood up. His heart filled with joy, and for the first time in his life, he laughed¡ªa pure, unrestrained sound as he spun in circles, his arms flapping as if to chase the lights. The motes seemed to play along, swirling around him, evading his touch and then darting back toward him. Each movement made the colors shift, creating waves of light that danced in harmony with his laughter. His attention was drawn to the garden. The plants, every single one of them, glowed with a brilliance unlike anything he¡¯d ever seen. It was as if each leaf, each petal, contained the light of a thousand stars, shining brighter than the night sky. The motes of light within the plants were so tightly packed, they formed radiant beacons, pulsing with life. His eyes traveled downward, and for the first time, he noticed something else. Beneath the soil, a sea of motes shifted and swirled, shapes forming from the earth itself. Creatures¡ªsmall, ethereal, like spirits¡ªdanced just below the surface. Something in the earth beckoned to him, pulling at the edges of his consciousness. His hands rose, almost of their own accord, as if some unseen force was guiding him. He reached out toward the earth, inviting the shapes and creatures to the surface. The world around him felt alive, connected to him in ways he couldn¡¯t comprehend. Suddenly, everything happened at once. "Thorne!" His mother¡¯s voice pierced through the haze, desperate and alarmed, but his focus remained locked on the earth beneath him. The brown soil churned as if stirred by an invisible hand, and small sprouts began bursting through the surface, glowing and growing with incredible speed. Thorne tried to move, tried to stop whatever was happening, but he couldn¡¯t. His legs felt rooted to the ground, his body frozen in place as the sprouts shot up around him. Euphoria surged through him, battling against an overwhelming sense of weakness. He could feel the motes of light gathering, swirling around him like a storm, their presence almost suffocating. They drifted toward him, responding to a command he hadn¡¯t realized he¡¯d given. The motes began to enter his body. He gasped as they poured into every pore of his skin, filling him with an energy so potent it felt like it would tear him apart. They converged inside him, all of them gathering at a single point in the center of his chest. A loud crack, like the sound of shattering glass, echoed through him, and his entire body trembled. The motes kept coming, flooding into him, overwhelming his senses. But then, just as quickly, some began to leave, exiting through his skin in waves. The plants that had sprouted from the earth continued to grow, shooting upward with unnatural speed until they rivaled the size and brightness of his mother¡¯s garden. He felt powerful. Stronger than he ever had before. But beneath that strength was something else¡ªsomething hollow and empty, gnawing at the edges of his consciousness. A void, a darkness that threatened to consume him from the inside. I have to stop. The thought echoed through his mind, but he had no idea how. He was a statue, frozen in place, forced to weather the storm raging around him. Another crack sounded from deep within him, and his body shuddered violently. The heaviness in his chest grew stronger, pulling at him, dragging him down like an anchor. Another crack, another shudder. His breath hitched as the colorful motes, once beautiful and inviting, now felt sinister and dangerous, burrowing into his body like invaders. Stop! Please stop! his mind screamed, but his body remained still, unresponsive. Another crack. His legs buckled under the weight of the energy flooding into him. Strong hands caught him, steadying him, but he couldn¡¯t see who was holding him. His vision was awash with colors, swirling and shifting, making it impossible to focus on anything else. The heaviness grew unbearable. It felt as though, if those hands let go, he would sink through the earth itself, pulled down into the deepest depths by the weight in his chest. Another crack. His body shuddered again, and something deep inside him shifted. The heaviness reached a peak, pressing down on him with such force that he thought he might be crushed beneath it. But with that weight came a strange sense of relief, like a great pressure had been lifted. The motes stopped moving. They hovered around him, suspended in midair. The world around him had come to a standstill, frozen in a moment of perfect stillness. For a brief, fleeting second, Thorne was at peace. A soft smile curled on his lips as he marveled at the beauty of the world around him, so full of color and life. But the moment didn¡¯t last. The motes began to move again. Their stillness shattered as they surged toward him, faster and more determined than before. They slammed into him with a force that knocked the breath from his lungs, filling him with a power so fierce, it burned. Pain exploded in his chest. The motes weren¡¯t beautiful anymore¡ªthey were sharp, relentless, tearing through him with wild abandon. He could feel his mind splintering under the weight of it, his body no longer his own. The final crack echoed through him like a thunderclap, and everything went dark. CHAPTER 3 Thorne heard murmurs all around him¡ªindistinct voices that swirled in the fog of his mind, too far away to understand. He thought he could hear his mother¡¯s voice, soft and soothing, but no matter how hard he tried, his eyes wouldn¡¯t open. He willed them to move, to lift, but it was as if his body no longer belonged to him. The murmurs faded, and he became more aware of the dull ache that permeated every inch of his body. It wasn¡¯t sharp pain, just a constant, throbbing weakness that drained him. His limbs felt heavy, like they were made of lead. When sleep crept up on him, he welcomed it, letting the fog pull him back under. He drifted in and out of consciousness, the sensation of floating somewhere between waking and dreaming. Three more times, he stirred, only to be dragged back into the depths of sleep before he could fully grasp the world around him. The fourth time, however, he stayed awake just long enough to hear voices¡ªcloser now, clear but muffled, like he was hearing them through a thick wall. He could hear Bea¡¯s voice, trembling with frustration and fear, though she sounded like she was sitting right next to him. ¡°How much longer? It¡¯s been two weeks!¡± Her words wavered, the fear barely hidden beneath her tone. Was she talking about me? His heart skipped a beat. Two weeks? I¡¯ve been asleep for two weeks? How was that even possible? His mind raced, questions swirling in a sea of confusion. Why have I been asleep so long? What happened? ¡°I told you, Bea,¡± his mother¡¯s calm voice came, reassuring and steady. ¡°Your brother¡¯s situation is a little different. He just needs more time to adjust.¡± Hearing his mother¡¯s voice slowed Thorne¡¯s racing heart. There was confidence in her words, a certainty that eased some of his anxiety. But the confusion still lingered, gnawing at the edges of his thoughts. What was so different about me? What had happened? As their conversation continued, his attention drifted. An unpleasant sensation crawled along his bare arms, the prickling discomfort pulling him from the conversation. He shifted slightly, trying to ease the feeling, and as he did, his eyelids fluttered open. Blinking against the sudden brightness, his vision swam, and the world around him seemed to blur. His breath caught as colorful motes danced in the air. They shimmered and swirled like fireflies, illuminating the room with a strange, ethereal light. The motes... Memories rushed back, flashing before his eyes. The garden, his mother, the plants growing impossibly fast¡ªthe raw magic that had poured into him, overwhelming his senses. The magic... it had done this to me. Before he could fully gather his thoughts, words appeared before his eyes. Floating, suspended in his vision. YOUR CORE HAS BEEN FORMED His eyes widened in shock, his mind struggling to process what was happening. My core? He barely had time to think before more words began to appear, flashing in rapid succession. YOU HAVE LEVELED UP! YOU HAVE LEVELED UP! YOU HAVE LEVELED UP! The notifications kept coming, faster and faster. YOU HAVE LEVELED UP! YOU HAVE LEVELED UP! It felt like his brain was being overloaded. Each word seemed to hit him like a hammer, loud and intrusive, as if the very sound of the notifications echoed inside his skull. ¡°Moooooom!¡± His own voice sounded unbearably loud to him, a shout that reverberated through his head. He instinctively wanted to cover his ears, but his hands refused to cooperate. Everything felt too much¡ªtoo loud, too bright, too overwhelming. He heard the sudden clatter of utensils from the other room, followed by the sound of chairs scraping against wood. His mother and sister rushed to his side, their faces filled with a mix of worry and relief. But Thorne barely noticed them, his focus drawn entirely to the words still flashing in front of him. YOU HAVE LEVELED UP! YOU HAVE LEVELED UP! YOU HAVE LEVELED UP! His mother¡¯s hands cupped his face, warm and familiar, but they startled him all the same. He jolted, trying to focus on her, but the constant stream of notifications made it nearly impossible. ¡°Mom...¡± he mumbled, his voice weak and hoarse. His breath was coming faster now, each inhale a struggle as panic crept into his chest. ¡°What... what¡¯s happening?¡± Through the flashing words, he caught a glimpse of his mother¡¯s calm expression. She was speaking, but the flood of notifications drowned out her words. He strained to hear her, to focus on her voice amidst the chaos. Name: Thorne Level: 10 Race: Human Age: 8 Special Trait: Elder Race Strength: 7 Agility: 9 Dexterity: 8 Endurance: 11 Vitality: 6 Spirit: 20 Wisdom: 9 Intelligence: 10 ¡°It¡¯s okay, sweetheart,¡± she said softly, brushing a hand through his damp hair. ¡°Your core has been formed, and the notifications have been awakened. Remember? We talked about this before.¡± Her voice was soothing, grounding him as he struggled to recall the many lectures she had given him. The notifications. The system that unlocked a person¡¯s potential, allowing them to grow stronger, faster¡ªto learn skills that would shape their future. It was what made people like his father into powerful warriors, hunters, or even mages. More words appeared in his vision, layering over the previous notifications. YOU HAVE UNLOCKED THE SKILL: Foraging! YOU HAVE UNLOCKED THE SKILL: Tracking! YOU HAVE UNLOCKED THE SKILL: Archery! The skills kept coming, one after another, a never-ending stream of information. Running! If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. Stealth! Reading! Arithmetic! Herbalism! His mind spun, overwhelmed by the flood of knowledge. ¡°Too much... this is too much,¡± he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut, hoping to escape the relentless barrage of notifications. But even with his eyes closed, the words burned into his mind, as if he were reading them from the inside. ¡°It will pass, baby,¡± his mother whispered, her voice still soft and steady. She continued to stroke his hair, offering comfort as the flood of words slowly began to taper off. When the notifications finally stopped, Thorne let out a shaky breath, relief washing over him. He opened his eyes cautiously, expecting more messages, but none came. He could finally breathe again. But before he could fully settle, something deep inside him stirred. A new message appeared, different from the others. The words were more formal, more ornate, and they carried with them a sense of power¡ªan ancient, primal force. PRIMAL AETHER MANIPULATION UNLOCKED His heart skipped a beat, and he immediately turned to his mother. ¡°What... what is primal aether manipulation?¡± His voice was hoarse, and he suddenly realized how dry his throat was. His mother¡¯s face froze for just a moment, her eyes betraying a flicker of fear. But then she smiled, as if nothing had changed, as if the fear had never been there. ¡°We have a lot to talk about, Thorne,¡± she said gently, her smile never wavering. ¡°But for now, I want you to rest.¡± Thorne opened his mouth to protest, but the look his mother gave him silenced any objections. Her eyes, though soft, held an authority that made him feel like a child again. He nodded reluctantly, his body too weak to argue. The adrenaline that had surged through him moments before was quickly fading, replaced by a bone-deep exhaustion. ¡°Bea, fetch me the potion,¡± his mother said, her voice steady but firm. Thorne heard the soft rustle of footsteps as Bea moved into the other room. To his surprise, he could tell exactly where she was, almost as if he could see her through the walls. He could hear the creak of the floorboards as she walked, followed by the slight whine of the cupboard door opening and the gentle clink of glass. His senses seemed unnaturally sharp, picking up even the smallest sounds. Then, he heard something slithering just outside the door¡ªlike the soft rustle of scales on wood. His heart skipped a beat. His ears picked up the buzzing of a nearby cricket, followed by another, further away. He heard the hoot of an owl perched on the willow tree outside their fence. His eyes widened in both wonder and distress. The world around him had become a cacophony of sound, each noise sharper and louder than the last, until it was all too much. The sounds collided in his head, swirling into a chaotic assault on his mind. His mother¡¯s soft voice broke through the chaos. ¡°Just a while longer, baby. Hold on.¡± Thorne clenched his fists, trying to fight off the onslaught of noise. The constant buzz made it hard to think. At some point, he felt his mother¡¯s gentle hands opening his mouth, pouring a cool liquid between his lips. Almost immediately, a wave of relief washed over him, as though cobwebs were gently weaving around his mind, muffling the overwhelming flood of sensations. Slowly, the noise faded, and sleep claimed him once more. * He didn¡¯t know how long he had slept, but when he awoke again, for the first time since the incident, he felt refreshed. The world around him came into focus, a myriad of sounds filtering into his awareness. But this time, they were muted, softer¡ªno longer an assault on his senses. Even without opening his eyes, he instinctively knew it was night. The soft hoots of owls and the light steps of creatures moving through the grass told him that the forest was alive under the cover of darkness. Despite the calm, he hesitated to open his eyes, afraid the kaleidoscope of motes would overwhelm him again. ¡°M-Mom?¡± he called, his voice a soft whisper in the quiet room. Almost instantly, he heard the rustle of covers being thrown back, his mother bolting upright in response. His ears picked up the deep rumble of his father¡¯s breathing beside her, and the slow, rhythmic breaths of Bea in the next room. ¡°Thorne, are you awake?¡± His mother¡¯s voice was hushed, but urgent. He nodded, his eyes still squeezed shut. He didn¡¯t want to face the overwhelming brightness again. ¡°Open your eyes, Thorne,¡± she said gently, but he shook his head, fear gripping his chest. ¡°I can see them too,¡± his mother whispered, her voice soothing. ¡°I can help you deal with them.¡± Thorne hesitated. She can see them too? Slowly, reluctantly, he opened his eyes. Immediately, his vision swam with color. The motes, vibrant and alive, swirled all around him, even in the darkness. He shut his eyes again, wincing as the brightness seemed to cling to him, overwhelming his senses once more. His mother¡¯s hand touched his face, her thumb stroking his cheek in reassurance. ¡°Everything is too bright... too loud...¡± he muttered, his voice trembling with the weight of the sensations. The colors, the sounds¡ªit was all too much. ¡°I know, sweetheart,¡± his mother said softly. ¡°At first, it feels like too much. But soon, you¡¯ll get used to it. Once you can control what you see, hear, and feel, you¡¯ll realize what a gift it is.¡± Thorne wasn¡¯t sure how any of this could be a gift. He could hear the croak of a frog outside, happily munching on one of his mother¡¯s plants. He could hear the faint scraping of a rat, scurrying around the outhouse. What good is that? The noise wasn¡¯t useful¡ªit was maddening. ¡°Open your eyes,¡± his mother instructed, her voice firmer this time. Thorne opened them again, more out of habit than anything else. ¡°Now,¡± she continued, ¡°focus on a single point, just out of the corner of your eye. Not something in front of you, but something you can barely see.¡± Thorne did as she said, turning his gaze to the left, searching for a point in the tapestry of swirling light. To his surprise, the colors seemed to settle, becoming static, like a cloth draped over his vision. He blinked, realizing that the motes had a boundary, a point where they stopped. In his surprise, he moved his head, and instantly, the motes burst back into life, swirling and flickering wildly. He gasped, but his mother¡¯s calm voice guided him back. ¡°The first step is to find a spot in your vision that is safe from the aether¡¯s brightness,¡± she said patiently. ¡°With time, it¡¯ll become second nature. The moment you open your eyes, you¡¯ll automatically find that safe spot. The aether will still be there, but it¡¯ll be your choice whether to see it or not.¡± Her words were confusing, but the analogy helped him make sense of it. He imagined the aether like a tablecloth covering a table¡ªthe table was still there underneath, but the cloth hid it from view. All he had to do was peel back the cloth to see the world beneath. Thorne nodded, determined. He tried again, focusing on the edge of his vision. The motes became static once more, forming an unmoving sheet of light. He blinked in surprise, then tried moving his eyes without disturbing them. But each time he moved, the motes sprang back into motion, swirling in agitation. Frustration built in his chest, but his mother¡¯s encouragement kept him going. ¡°You¡¯re doing great, Thorne,¡± she whispered every time he succeeded, urging him to keep trying. ¡°Don¡¯t give up.¡± They spent hours like that. Thorne tried again and again, and each time the motes seemed to taunt him, bursting back to life with even the smallest movement. His mother remained by his side, her voice a constant source of support. At some point, his father entered the room, but his mother waved him away. Thorne didn¡¯t even look up, his focus too deep to be distracted. By the time the sun had risen, he had made progress. He managed to keep the motes static, even when he moved his eyes. There was still a thin sheet of glowing light in the corner of his vision, but it didn¡¯t move anymore¡ªit felt like a solid object, one that could be pushed aside if he needed to. His stomach growled loudly, making his mother laugh. ¡°You must be starving,¡± she said with a chuckle. Thorne nodded eagerly, his body suddenly reminding him how hungry he was. He stood on wobbly legs, his mother helping to steady him as they made their way to the kitchen. Sitting at the table, Thorne realized with some surprise that the constant noise he had heard earlier had faded to a dull hum. He hadn¡¯t even noticed it while practicing with the aether. But the moment he thought about it, the buzzing returned in full force. It rushed back like a flood, crashing over him in a wave of overwhelming sound. He clapped his hands over his ears, trying to block out the noise. His mother rushed to his side, abandoning her vegetables. She gently pried his hands away from his ears, her voice calm and steady. ¡°Focus on my voice, sweetheart. If you could isolate your vision, then you can control your other senses too. It¡¯s easy with sound. Just focus on one thing, and the rest will quiet down. Soon, you¡¯ll only hear what you want to hear.¡± Her words were soothing, and Thorne tried to concentrate on her voice. Slowly, the cacophony around him dulled, fading into the background. He blinked up at her in wonder, amazed at how easily it had worked. His mother smiled brightly, patting his head. ¡°That¡¯s my smart boy,¡± she said proudly, before turning back to her cooking. ¡°Now, while I make lunch, why don¡¯t you practice listening? There¡¯s a rabbit outside, nibbling on my elderberries. See if you can track it.¡± Thorne frowned, confused. How am I supposed to¡ª? But then he heard it¡ªa soft munching sound just outside the house, followed by the faint rustle of leaves. His eyes widened in awe. He could hear the rabbit! He giggled, listening as it padded softly through the grass, nibbling on the plants. He didn¡¯t know how long he listened, tracking the rabbit as it moved further into the forest. But by the time the creature had disappeared into the woods, his mother had finished cooking a fragrant vegetable stew that made his mouth water. Just as they were about to eat, he heard two sets of footsteps coming down the dirt road. Without seeing them, he knew it was Bea and his father. He could tell by the weight and rhythm of their steps, and excitement bubbled up inside him. I can¡¯t wait to show them! He hopped off his chair and rushed outside, ignoring his mother¡¯s warning to be careful. The moment he saw them, walking side by side from the village, talking softly to each other, he waved his arms frantically to get their attention. ¡°Dad! Bea!¡± he shouted, jumping up and down in excitement. They both looked up, and as soon as they saw him, the smiles on their faces froze. Shock washed over them, their expressions turning from joy to something darker¡ªsomething that made Thorne feel like a bucket of cold water had been dumped over his head. Their faces were filled with fear. CHAPTER 4 The meal was strange. Thorne could feel the weight of his father¡¯s and Bea¡¯s gazes on him, as if they couldn¡¯t help but steal glances every few moments. They looked at him like he was something dangerous¡ªlike a wild animal that could lash out at any second. Every time Thorne looked up, their eyes quickly darted away, as if they were trying to hide their concern. His father, in particular, looked guilty, and every now and then Thorne would catch his mother nudging him under the table. Thorne¡¯s hunger, which had gnawed at him earlier, had long since disappeared. He played with his food, pushing it around the bowl. The strange tension in the room made him feel uneasy, and the odd behavior of his father and sister only made it worse. His mother pushed her bowl aside and stood up, breaking the heavy silence. "Thorne, why don¡¯t we take a walk?" she suggested, her voice light and casual. Thorne nodded eagerly, eager to escape the stifling atmosphere that clung to the small room like fog. "Yes, please!" he blurted out, pushing his chair back and standing quickly. As they made their way to the door, his mother glanced back at Bea, who had remained quiet throughout the meal. ¡°Bea, would you be a dear and clean up for us?¡± The request wasn¡¯t harsh, but there was a sharpness to her tone that made Bea look away, guilt written all over her face. She couldn¡¯t meet Thorne¡¯s eyes. His mother gently ushered him out the door, and they started walking. Instead of taking the usual path toward the village, she led him in a different direction¡ªtoward the familiar trail that wound through the woods toward Elver City. The air outside was crisp, and Thorne could hear the forest coming alive around them. Now that they were deeper in the woods, the sounds seemed to amplify in his mind¡ªthe rustle of leaves, the skittering of small creatures, the distant calls of birds. Every subtle movement, every whisper of wind brought with it new sounds, and Thorne had to focus hard to filter them out. He had visited these woods for as long as he could remember, but now it felt as if he was hearing them for the first time. His mother was quiet as they walked. Every so often, she would reach out to touch a plant or flower, infusing it with aether. Wherever her hand passed, the plants would bloom more vibrantly, their leaves brighter, their stems stronger. By the time they passed, the forest behind them was marked by a trail of life¡ªhealthy, glowing plants that seemed to have sprung to life in their wake. "How are you feeling?" his mother finally asked, her voice soft as she knelt beside a small reed that looked ready to die. Thorne sighed. "It¡¯s still hard to keep the noise away. The aether motes keep showing up when I lose focus. It¡¯s like I have to keep doing the same thing over and over." His frustration seeped into his voice, and he clenched his fists at his sides. His mother nodded, as if she had expected his response. She leaned down and breathed new life into the reed, watching as it transformed into a beautiful, radiant flower. She gently caressed the petals, her touch light and delicate. After a few moments, she looked up, her expression more serious than usual. "You¡¯ll have to forgive your father and Bea," she said with a sigh. "They knew that once your core formed, there would be changes. But knowing something and experiencing it are two very different things." Thorne frowned, not fully understanding. What changes? He looked down at his hands, trying to spot any differences, but they looked the same. His mother, seeing the confusion on his face, chuckled softly. "Silly me," she muttered under her breath as she stood up. ¡°After your core was formed, you changed a little... just a little,¡± she said, holding up her hand with her fingers close together, showing him just how small the difference was. "That¡¯s not much," Thorne said, his confusion deepening. If it¡¯s so small, why are they acting so strange? His mother laughed again, nodding in agreement. "It doesn¡¯t seem like much, does it?" she said. "But it¡¯s enough that your father and Bea were surprised. The problem is, they can¡¯t really figure out what¡¯s changed, and that¡¯s what¡¯s confusing them even more." Thorne raised his hands again, trying to see what she was talking about. His arms looked the same... and yet, they didn¡¯t. He squinted and gasped in surprise. Beneath his skin, something glowed¡ªa faint radiance, like a light shining from within. Panic rose in his chest as he looked up at his mother, but she only smiled, her eyes calm and gentle. Without a word, she reached inside her blouse and pulled out a pendant. The teardrop-shaped stone at its center shimmered a bright blue in the sunlight, almost glowing. But when she unclasped the necklace and held it in her hand, the stone dulled, its glow vanishing until it looked like an ordinary rock. Thorne was so focused on the pendant that he hadn¡¯t noticed the change happening in front of him. When he finally looked up at his mother, he froze, the words catching in his throat. He stumbled backward, his foot catching on a root, and he fell to the ground, staring at her in shock. "It¡¯s okay, child," his mother chuckled, clearly amused by his reaction. "It¡¯s still me." Thorne scrambled to his feet, his heart pounding in his chest. His eyes roamed over her, taking in the subtle¡ªbut unmistakable¡ªdifferences. She was still his mother... but not. Her appearance had shifted, changed in ways that were hard to explain. Her eyes were the first thing he noticed. They had always been blue, but now they shone with a brilliance that seemed otherworldly. The color wasn¡¯t just blue anymore¡ªit was a sea of shifting shades, from deep cerulean to the lightest sky blue, constantly moving and swirling as if alive. Her hair, which had always been a rich mahogany, now seemed to glow. It shimmered in the sunlight, almost as if each strand was alive, moving in an invisible breeze. Her face, too, had changed. The angles of her cheeks were sharper, more pronounced, like they had been carved from marble. She was beautiful¡ªmore beautiful than he had ever realized. Lastly, her skin... it radiated light, brighter than the motes of aether that always danced around his vision. It was as if her entire being was made of light, and for the first time, Thorne saw the connection between his mother and the strange glow beneath his own skin. We¡¯re the same. She stepped closer, her hand outstretched. Hesitantly, Thorne reached out and took her hand. It was warm, familiar¡ªjust like always¡ªbut he couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that he was touching something far more powerful than he had ever imagined. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. "Let¡¯s keep walking," she said softly. "It¡¯ll help clear your mind." Thorne nodded, trailing behind her, still awestruck by the transformation. Even the way she moved was different¡ªgraceful, almost floating. Every step seemed lighter than the one before, as if she was gliding through the air. It was mesmerizing to watch. "Mom, how...?" he started, but she cut him off with a gentle look. "Thorne," she said, her voice both patient and firm, "I know you have a lot of questions. But before we get into that, I want to tell you a story. After that, you can ask as many questions as you want." She smiled, though there was a hint of exasperation in her eyes. Thorne pinched his lips together to stop himself from blurting out the millions of questions racing through his mind. He nodded, trying to control his impatience. His mother chuckled at his expression and began walking again, the forest alive with light and life in their wake. ¡°When this world was created, it was wild. Beautiful but dangerous. Gods, so powerful that a mortal mind couldn¡¯t comprehend, walked this land and saw the beauty. But... those Gods were few, and quarrelsome. So, each of them walked their own path, trying to avoid the others, because if two Gods decided to go to war, this world would break asunder.¡± His mother¡¯s voice seemed to flow through the trees, weaving between the branches and flowers, pulling in everything around them. It was captivating, as if even the forest itself was listening, eager to hear her tale. Thorne was so absorbed by her words that he jolted when he stumbled over something soft. A squeak pierced the air as a startled squirrel dashed up a tree, its beady eyes glaring at him before flicking back to his mother. She chuckled at Thorne¡¯s clumsiness, but soon her voice returned to its dreamlike tone, continuing her story. ¡°Each God occupied a piece of this land,¡± she went on, her voice a melodic whisper. ¡°They shaped and nurtured the lands they claimed as their own, turning them into something miraculous¡ªplaces so pure, so extraordinary that nothing in the great expanse of the universe could compare. Yet, for all the beauty they created, they could not share it. Each God was bound to their own domain, with no one to walk beside them.¡± Her words hung in the air like a soft breeze. Thorne found himself sitting on a familiar rock, his feet splashing gently in the creek that wound through the woods. He hadn¡¯t even realized they had stopped walking. A squirrel now lounged contentedly on his mother¡¯s lap, her fingers absentmindedly scratching its belly as she continued. "Lonely and desperate for companionship, the Gods began to create children. These children were beings of incredible power, so tightly connected to the aether that it is said even one of their breaths could cause cataclysms on the other side of the world. These children were called the elder races." Her voice lowered, growing sadder as her tale continued. ¡°The Gods were happy once again. They had the Sylphs, the Titans, the Seraphim, and a myriad of other elder races to keep them company. The Gods had found new purpose in their children, dedicating themselves to nurturing and providing for them. And as the elder races grew, the Gods realized their children needed something more to continue progressing. They needed more aether, more challenges... more strife.¡± Her eyes flickered with sorrow, her gaze drifting over the creek¡¯s surface. When she looked at Thorne again, her expression was serious, and her words carried a weight that made his heart sink. ¡°You see, Thorne, this truth has remained throughout time, even eons after the first conflicts. In order to grow stronger, in order to advance... there must be strife, conflict, and death. That is the unfortunate reality.¡± Thorne froze, his mother¡¯s words echoing in his mind. Conflict... death? It felt so strange to hear her speak of such things. His mother had always been gentle, kind. Hearing her talk about war and suffering¡ªit felt foreign, as if the words didn¡¯t belong to her. He could see the weight of those words on her shoulders, dulling her usual brightness. ¡°The inevitable conflict began,¡± she continued, her voice tinged with regret. ¡°The elder races went to war, and bloodshed filled the very bedrock of the world. Everything the Gods had created, everything they had nurtured, was crumbling before their eyes. The beauty they sought to share turned to dust as war consumed the land.¡± Thorne¡¯s mind reeled, trying to make sense of the story. Why? Why would they destroy everything? He had always imagined gods as all-powerful, all-knowing. How could they not find a way to stop the destruction? Why couldn¡¯t they stop the war? ¡°The Gods, seeing the destruction, came to an agreement,¡± his mother said, her voice soft with sorrow. ¡°They called off their hostilities. But by then, it was too late. The first of the elder races had fallen in battle. The God who had fathered that race was driven mad by grief. In his delirium, he obliterated the race responsible and went to war with the God who had created them.¡± She looked up toward the sky, her gaze faraway, as if searching for something in the clouds. ¡°One by one, the elder races fell. The Gods themselves were dragged into the conflict, and soon, they too began to fall. Entire races were wiped out, their existence erased from this world... and with them, the Gods.¡± Thorne sighed, the story heavy on his heart. It sounded so senseless to him, all the death and destruction for the sake of power. If the Gods were so powerful, how could they not stop this? He felt a twinge of anger. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed... pointless. ¡°Only a handful of the elder races survived,¡± his mother said, her voice quiet. ¡°But those few survivors were enough to carry on the legacy of the Gods. Without the Gods to guide them, a new order was born. The remaining people were no longer bound to their own domains. They traveled, met their old enemies, and for the first time, they mixed. They lived together, laughed together... and loved together.¡± A soft smile tugged at her lips, as if recalling a distant memory. ¡°The world began to heal. A new peace fell over the land, and the aether¡ªwounded as it was¡ªstarted to recover.¡± Her smile, though gentle, didn¡¯t last long. ¡°But one day, a new race appeared. No one knows exactly how they came to be. Some believe they were descendants of the elder races. Others think that perhaps a few Gods had survived and, once again, sought companionship. Regardless of the how, new races began to emerge. The elves came first, then the dwarves, the beastkin, and eventually, dozens of other races appeared... and lastly, the humans.¡± Thorne¡¯s frown deepened. He could hear the bitterness in his mother¡¯s voice when she mentioned the humans. Why? Why does she hate humans? The thought gnawed at him. She¡¯s human, isn¡¯t she? And I¡¯m human too... ¡°The new races lived alongside the remnants of the elder races for many years,¡± she continued. ¡°Often, they revered the elder races as Gods. They didn¡¯t know the true might of the Gods, so to them, the elder races were divine. But that difference in power... it created something dangerous. Arrogance grew in the hearts of the elder races, while envy bloomed in the younger ones. It wasn¡¯t long before the younger races came to the same realization that the Gods had so long ago. Strife and conflict would help them grow stronger, and once again, war erupted.¡± With a sad voice she added. ¡°This time, however, the elder races were truly doomed, because the young races came upon a discovery. They found a way to steal the connection the elder races had with the aether... and the source of their power.¡± She paused, her voice trailing off. Thorne frowned, a thought stirring at the edges of his mind. Why couldn¡¯t humans see the aether? He could see it¡ªthe motes that danced in the air, the energy that flowed through the trees and plants. How could humans not see it? His eyes sought out his mother, searching her face for answers. She was watching him closely, her gaze patient, as if waiting for him to reach a realization. His breath caught in his throat. The humans... they couldn¡¯t see the aether. They were trying to steal it. He looked around at the motes, now understanding their significance. They swirled around him, creating a mesmerizing display of light and life. This is what they wanted to take. His hand flew to his chest, clutching at it as fear bloomed inside him. He could feel the aether inside him, deep within, at the core of his being. Was this what they had been fighting for? His mother nodded, her face filled with grief and sadness. Her simple gesture carried the weight of the truth. ¡°Yes, Thorne,¡± she whispered, her voice trembling. ¡°Your core...¡± CHAPTER 5 Thorne stood frozen, his hand clutching at his chest as if to protect the core inside him. Fear gripped his body, making it hard to breathe. His mother¡¯s serious expression only made the terror worse, and for a long moment, all he could do was stare at her, his heart racing. Eventually, his heartbeat began to slow, but the fear lingered, a heavy weight pressing down on him. ¡°But...¡± he murmured, his voice weak and desperate. ¡°But I¡¯m human, right? So, it¡¯s okay. I¡¯m not in danger.¡± He tried to reassure himself, forcing the words out, even though a sinking feeling in his gut told him the truth. His mother¡¯s sad smile was all the confirmation he needed. It felt like the ground was falling out from under him. ¡°I had hoped,¡± his mother began softly, ¡°that you would be just like your father. Just like Bea.¡± She sighed, her eyes full of sadness. ¡°But deep down, I knew. I saw the signs. How, without even realizing it, you used the aether around you. Do you remember how the fire would jump a little higher when you were cold in the winter? Or how, when a plant in the garden irritated you, it would seem to shrink back as if trying to avoid you? And that time you got angry with your sister... the sudden gust of wind that scattered her books? The floorboard that cracked, leaving her cursing?¡± Thorne¡¯s eyes widened. He remembered those moments clearly¡ªsmall, odd events that he had always thought were just coincidences. Like the time Bea had refused to take him with her to the village, and he had watched her leave, sulking by the window. The branch from the tree outside had broken suddenly, landing on her head. She¡¯d sported a large bump for a week, and Thorne had secretly enjoyed her misery. Had that been me? His thoughts were interrupted by his mother¡¯s next words. ¡°A formed core at the age of eight is unheard of.¡± Her voice sharpened, and her eyes narrowed with a seriousness that sent a chill through him. ¡°You must never tell anyone, Thorne. No one can know that you¡¯ve formed a core so young. Do you understand?¡± Thorne nodded quickly, the intensity of her gaze leaving no room for disobedience. When she looked at him like that, he knew better than to argue. ¡°But...¡± he began, his voice trailing off as confusion clouded his mind. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with forming a core? Everyone does it.¡± He frowned, trying to make sense of her warning. ¡°All the kids in the village talk about the skills they get once their cores form. It¡¯s normal, right?¡± He crossed his arms, still not understanding why it was such a big deal. ¡°Dad says I¡¯m almost a grown-up. So what if I formed it early?¡± His mother¡¯s stoic expression softened, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Her beauty seemed to shine even brighter as she laughed softly. ¡°Oh, honey, you¡¯re a long way from being a grown-up.¡± She shook her head. ¡°Most people don¡¯t form their cores until they¡¯re fourteen. That¡¯s the age of coming of age, when they¡¯re considered adults. To form a core at eight... it¡¯s unheard of. And if people knew, it would raise questions¡ªquestions we don¡¯t want to answer.¡± Thorne scowled, his frustration rising. He hated being treated like a child. I¡¯m not a kid anymore! He could already hunt in the forest with his father, something most people were too afraid to do. How could she still call him a kid? His thoughts turned back to his core and what his mother had said about others asking questions. ¡°Why did I form a core so young, then?¡± His question seemed to catch his mother off guard. She frowned, opening and closing her mouth several times as if struggling to find the right words. Finally, she sighed and met his eyes. ¡°I thought you had figured it out, Thorne,¡± she said gently. ¡°You¡¯re part of the elder races.¡± The world seemed to tilt. Thorne¡¯s mind went blank, and for a moment, he couldn¡¯t think, couldn¡¯t speak. Elder races? His mind screamed in protest. I¡¯m human! How can I be... ¡°But... but the notifications said I was human,¡± Thorne stammered, his voice barely a whisper. ¡°How can I be an elder race if my stats say I¡¯m human?¡± His mother nodded, as if she had anticipated his reaction. ¡°Yes, as far as I know, your true lineage doesn¡¯t appear in your stats. It¡¯s a trait that seems to have developed over time, perhaps to keep the elder races hidden. Or maybe our bloodlines have diluted so much over the centuries that we appear more human than we are.¡± She paused, her eyes thoughtful. ¡°But it doesn¡¯t matter. There are still two ways to know if someone is of the elder races. One is the early formation of a core. We are magical beings, so connected to the aether that it takes less time for us to absorb enough to form a core, much quicker than the other races.¡± Thorne¡¯s thoughts swirled as he remembered the overwhelming sensation of aether rushing into him. The feeling had been both terrifying and exhilarating, filling him with a power that made him feel invincible. And yet, it had also felt like a force that could destroy him if he wasn¡¯t careful. ¡°When did you form your core?¡± he asked, curious now. He had always thought his mother was... different. A wistful expression crossed her face, a mixture of happiness and sadness in her eyes. ¡°I was ten,¡± she said softly. ¡°Ten to twelve is the usual age for our people. So, for you to have formed your core this early... it¡¯s a miracle.¡± Thorne¡¯s frown deepened. But why does it matter so much? The question had been nagging at him ever since their conversation had started. ¡°But why is it important that I formed it so young?¡± His mother gave him an exasperated look. ¡°Thorne, I¡¯ve told you this before,¡± she said, her tone edged with impatience. ¡°When you form a core, you can finally start leveling up, learning new skills, and earning attribute points to make you stronger, faster, and healthier. Your peers won¡¯t form their cores for years, but you already have a head start. By the time they catch up, you¡¯ll have almost a decade of growth on them!¡± Thorne¡¯s mind reeled as he tried to wrap his head around the enormity of what she was saying. If he had nearly ten years of progress on everyone else... I¡¯ll be the strongest one! No one would be able to mock him, to push him around. He could be as powerful as his father, or even more. This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. A grin spread across his face, excitement bubbling up inside him. Spiro, you¡¯re going to regret every time you picked on me! He could already imagine how things would change, how he¡¯d be respected, maybe even feared. "Spiro, I¡¯m coming for you!" he thought gleefully. ¡°I know it¡¯s difficult to grasp the enormity of the advantage you have over your peers,¡± his mother said softly, watching him closely. ¡°But in time, you¡¯ll understand just how lucky you are.¡± She cocked her head slightly and asked, ¡°How many skills did you gain?¡± Thorne furrowed his brow, trying to recall. The day the arbitrator had appeared was still a blur in his mind, but as if summoned by his thoughts, the familiar list of skills appeared before his eyes, clear as day: His mother smiled when he read the list to her. ¡°Me and your father were hoping for those skills,¡± she said, clearly pleased, ¡°although stealth is a bit of a surprise. I suppose spending all that time hiding in the forest has paid off.¡± Thorne blinked in surprise at how calm she seemed, especially about something as mysterious as Primal Aether Manipulation. ¡°Most parents,¡± she continued, noticing his confusion, ¡°prepare their children for the day they form their core. They want them to have as many skills as possible because progressing in skills earns experience, which helps you level up. It¡¯s why some crafters take on apprentices at a young age¡ªso they¡¯re ready to use their skills once their core forms. Of course,¡± she added with a knowing look, ¡°not everyone can gain every skill. Sometimes, no matter how hard you try, a skill just won¡¯t come to you.¡± Thorne nodded thoughtfully. He knew a boy from the village who had already started working with the blacksmith, hoping to gain the blacksmithing skill one day. That made sense to him now¡ªpeople trying to prepare before their core formed so they could jump ahead. ¡°What about Primal Aether Manipulation?¡± Thorne asked, his voice hesitant. His mother had avoided the topic so far, but after experiencing the raw power of aether, he was eager to learn more. The sensation of wielding that force, even for a moment, was intoxicating. He wanted to feel it again, to understand it. His mother¡¯s expression shifted slightly, but she didn¡¯t shy away from his question. ¡°That¡¯s a skill all elder races share,¡± she explained. ¡°It¡¯s the second way we know we¡¯re not human. No other race can see the aether as we do. There are some mages who possess skills that allow them to catch brief glimpses of it, but for us, it¡¯s as natural as breathing.¡± She raised her hand, and Thorne watched as a couple of bright yellow motes danced excitedly toward her palm, shimmering like fireflies in the soft light. ¡°Each mote of aether has a different color,¡± she said. ¡°Each belongs to an element. In time, you¡¯ll learn to recognize them¡ªthe way they move, their specific energy. The applications of aether are endless, and even after eons of study, we¡¯ve only scratched the surface of what can be done with it. As your skill in Primal Aether Manipulation increases, you¡¯ll find it easier to wield. But... there are drawbacks.¡± Thorne¡¯s curiosity spiked, and he jumped to his feet. ¡°Drawbacks? What kind of drawbacks?¡± His mother sighed softly, her eyes clouding with concern. ¡°Most people can only use the aether stored in their core. Skills and spells require aether to activate, and once someone¡¯s core is drained, they have to wait for it to replenish. The speed of that recovery depends on stats like spirit, wisdom, and willpower.¡± She paused, her gaze meeting his. ¡°We¡¯re different. We can draw aether from our core too, but Primal Manipulation allows us to use the raw aether around us¡ªjust like you did when you turned my well-tended garden into a wild forest.¡± She shot him an accusing glare, and despite the serious tone, Thorne couldn¡¯t help but chuckle, offering a sheepish apology. ¡°But using raw aether is taxing,¡± his mother continued. ¡°Aether in its natural state is volatile, a force that resists control. That¡¯s why we develop cores¡ªto filter and manage it. Our cores are special in that they can both filter and amplify the effects of the aether. Your little display in the garden, for example... even a high-level mage would have difficulty pulling that off.¡± Thorne¡¯s eyes widened in awe. Even a high-level mage? He had no idea the power he had wielded was that extraordinary. ¡°That miraculous ability,¡± his mother went on, ¡°comes at a cost. The more aether you use, the more strain it puts on your body. That¡¯s why you were bedridden for weeks after your core formed. When using Primal Manipulation, you have to be careful to only use what¡¯s necessary, especially at your current level. As your skill grows, you¡¯ll be able to handle more aether safely.¡± Thorne was speechless. The weight of what his mother had told him was beginning to sink in. I can use aether like that... but it could hurt me if I¡¯m not careful. His mind raced with possibilities, a mixture of fear and excitement swirling inside him. ¡°How do you know so much?¡± he asked, his voice filled with awe. His mother smiled at his expression, though her smile faded slightly as she answered. ¡°My father told me once my core formed. Just like I¡¯m telling you now.¡± Her voice grew softer, more distant. That was the first time Thorne had ever heard her mention her father¡ªhis grandfather. He had asked about his grandparents many times before, but his mother had always deflected the questions, changing the subject. ¡°And later,¡± she continued, ¡°I met another woman from the elder races. She taught me most of what I know about using aether. She showed me ways to manipulate it that I could never have imagined on my own.¡± Thorne¡¯s eyes widened in surprise. ¡°You¡¯ve met others like us? There are more elder races?¡± His mother nodded, her eyes taking on a faraway look. ¡°Yes, though not many. Most have faded away or gone into hiding. But I met one¡ªMarian. She was a friend, the only one I¡¯ve had from our kind. She made this pendant for me.¡± She gestured to the teardrop pendant she always wore around her neck. It was a simple, dull gray stone now, far from the vibrant blue it had once been. Thorne¡¯s brow furrowed in confusion. ¡°It looks... different now.¡± His mother nodded, her fingers brushing the pendant fondly. ¡°It¡¯s a focus. It gathers aether and helps keep my true appearance hidden. In time, we¡¯ll need to visit Marian again so she can make one for you. As you grow, the changes will become more noticeable, and people will start to ask questions.¡± ¡°People will notice?¡± Thorne asked, his mind spinning. ¡°They will,¡± she said, her tone thoughtful. ¡°Most people, especially those living far from the cities, have forgotten about the elder races. To them, we¡¯re just characters from old stories, heroes or monsters from myth. But there are others¡ªnobles, powerful mages¡ªwho still know the truth. Some of them... they hunt us, Thorne. They hunt us for our cores.¡± Thorne¡¯s heart skipped a beat. People would hunt us? His mother¡¯s gaze softened, and she reached out to touch his arm, offering him a reassuring smile. ¡°Don¡¯t worry. We¡¯re safe here, for now. But we¡¯ll have to be careful.¡± Thorne nodded, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. As they started walking back toward their home, his mother asked him how many attribute points he had. Thorne focused for a moment, and the familiar character sheet appeared in his vision, displaying the number of points. ¡°150,¡± he said absentmindedly, still lost in his thoughts. The words had barely left his mouth when he felt himself bump into something soft. He looked up and realized he had walked straight into his mother, who had frozen in place, her eyes wide with shock. ¡°HOW MANY?¡± she screeched, her voice echoing through the trees. CHAPTER 6 ¡°HOW MANY?¡± his mother yelled, her voice filled with shock. Thorne froze, terrified he had said something wrong. His mother¡¯s eyes were wide, her disbelief so clear that he felt his heart leap into his throat. Seeing his reaction, she visibly forced herself to calm down, taking a deep breath. After a moment, she bent down so their eyes were level, giving him a reassuring smile. ¡°Honey, how many points did you say you had?¡± she asked, her voice softer now, trying to ease his nerves. Thorne hesitated, then checked the page in his mind again, just to be sure. ¡°150,¡± he repeated, his voice small. For a moment, his mother looked as though she was having an internal battle, her expression caught somewhere between amazement and disbelief. Finally, she exhaled, shaking her head in wonder. ¡°That¡¯s... that¡¯s amazing, honey,¡± she said, but her tone betrayed her shock. Thorne frowned, confused. ¡°It is?¡± he asked. His mother chuckled, her smile widening. ¡°Oh yes! Most people get between seven to ten points per level. The elder races, like us, usually get nine to twelve points. I get ten points per level. But your fifteen points... Thorne, that¡¯s incredible!¡± She practically beamed with pride, pulling him into a tight hug so suddenly that he could barely breathe. ¡°Mom, stop!¡± Thorne whined, struggling to get free. She finally let go, collapsing onto the grassy ground with him, laughing. ¡°My marvelous child,¡± she said affectionately, pushing a few unruly strands of hair behind his ears. Her smile was so full of warmth, it made him feel like he was glowing. ¡°Now,¡± she continued, more serious, ¡°let¡¯s talk about where to put your attribute points.¡± She took his hands in hers and looked him in the eyes. ¡°Each stat has a different effect on your body and your abilities. Strength makes you stronger, while agility makes you faster. Dexterity gives you better coordination and control, and vitality increases your health and resilience. You¡¯ll need to be careful about how you distribute your points, because it will shape your future.¡± Thorne listened intently, his mind racing with the possibilities. His mother¡¯s voice grew even more serious as she added, ¡°A lumberjack would want strength, a hunter would need dexterity, and a blacksmith would rely on both strength and endurance to excel in their craft.¡± He frowned, trying to absorb all the information. The weight of what she was saying started to sink in. This is important. This will affect the rest of my life. A knot of panic started to form in his stomach. ¡°But... I don¡¯t know what I want to be when I grow up!¡± he blurted, his face full of worry. His mother smiled gently, her expression softening. ¡°That¡¯s okay, honey. You don¡¯t need to decide right now. The advantage of being part of the elder races is that you have more than enough points to figure it out over time. You¡¯ll have room to experiment until you know what you want to be.¡± Thorne sighed dramatically in relief, his shoulders slumping. ¡°Phew,¡± he said with a smile. Then, a new question popped into his mind, and he frowned. ¡°What about spirit, wisdom, and willpower?¡± he asked, remembering the other stats he had seen on his character sheet. His mother¡¯s eyes twinkled as she raised her left hand, palm up. Before Thorne¡¯s eyes, a small bird, crafted from pure white energy, fluttered into existence, its wings shimmering with aether. Thorne¡¯s mouth fell open in awe as he reached out to touch it. His finger poked the bird gently, and the tiny creature wobbled slightly, but didn¡¯t fall apart. ¡°How did you do that?¡± Thorne asked, his eyes wide with excitement. He jumped to his feet, practically bouncing up and down. ¡°How? How? How?¡± His mother sighed, shaking her head. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have shown you that,¡± she muttered under her breath. Then, louder, she said, ¡°With the manipulation skill, of course. In time, I¡¯ll teach you how to do it too.¡± ¡°But I want to learn now!¡± Thorne interrupted, his voice filled with excitement and impatience. His mother¡¯s glare was enough to stop him in his tracks. ¡°Enough, Thorne. You¡¯re not ready yet,¡± she said, her voice firm. ¡°Unless you want to spend a few weeks in bed after each lesson, like last time.¡± Thorne¡¯s eyes widened in horror, and he quickly shook his head. No way am I going through that again. Satisfied with his response, his mother continued. ¡°As I mentioned, some skills use the aether in our cores¡ªnot the wild aether around us. Spirit, wisdom, and willpower help you manage that aether.¡± She gestured toward the air around them. ¡°Wisdom determines how much aether your core can hold, making it bigger and stronger.¡± Thorne nodded eagerly, his eyes wide with interest. His mother smiled at his enthusiasm and continued. ¡°Willpower affects how quickly your core replenishes aether. The more points you invest in it, the faster your core will recharge. For mages, willpower also makes their spells more powerful.¡± Thorne¡¯s ears perked up at the mention of spells. ¡°Do you know any spells?¡± he asked eagerly. His mother shook her head. ¡°No, it was too risky. Mages are closely watched. If you want to learn magic, you have to enroll in a school or become an apprentice to a mage. The attention that would¡¯ve brought would¡¯ve been too dangerous.¡± Thorne¡¯s excitement dimmed slightly, disappointed that she couldn¡¯t teach him any real spells. The small bird seemed like magic to him, but maybe aether manipulation was close enough. ¡°What about spirit?¡± he asked after a moment. ¡°Spirit is a stat that¡¯s often overlooked,¡± his mother said. ¡°For most races, spirit makes it easier to use aether. The more spirit you have, the less aether you need for skills or spells.¡± She looked directly into his eyes, her expression serious. ¡°But for us, spirit has an even greater effect. It allows us to harness the wild aether around us with fewer consequences.¡± Thorne¡¯s breath caught in his throat. ¡°You mean... if I put points in spirit, I¡¯ll be able to play with aether without getting so tired?¡± he asked, his voice filled with excitement. His mother rolled her eyes, clearly amused by his enthusiasm. ¡°Yes, Thorne, you¡¯ll be able to ¡®play¡¯ with aether,¡± she said, arching an eyebrow, ¡°without exhausting yourself to the point of sleeping for days.¡± Thorne ignored her teasing and clapped his hands together. ¡°Then I¡¯ll put all my points in spirit!¡± he announced, already focusing inwardly, summoning the character sheet to allocate his points. ¡°You¡¯ll do no such thing!¡± his mother¡¯s voice cut through his excitement, her tone sharp. Thorne snapped his attention back to her. ¡°You need a balanced build. It¡¯s dangerous to focus all your points in one attribute and neglect the others. If you put everything into agility, for example, you¡¯d be fast, but without dexterity, you¡¯d lose your coordination and trip over your own feet. And without vitality, even a small injury could become life-threatening. Do you understand?¡± Thorne pouted but nodded reluctantly. I guess she knows best. ¡°Now,¡± his mother said, her tone softening, ¡°let¡¯s distribute your points.¡± If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. It took much longer than Thorne had expected to decide where to allocate his points. He kept insisting on adding more to spirit, but his mother was adamant about prioritizing agility, vitality, and endurance. After a lot of back-and-forth, Thorne¡¯s character sheet finally looked balanced and complete. Name: Thorne Level: 10 Race: Human Age: 8 Special Trait: Elder Race Health Points: 360/360 Aether: 240/240 Stamina: 320/320 As soon as he invested the points, a numbing sensation swept through Thorne''s body, like a wave crashing over him. But then came the pain¡ªsharp and overwhelming, as if his bones were shifting beneath his skin and his muscles were being stretched to their limits. ¡°Shh, it¡¯s okay, baby,¡± his mother whispered, pulling him into her arms as his body shook with sobs. He could hear her muttering to herself, "Too many points... too soon." The pain surged, growing more intense, and Thorne gasped, his fingers digging into his mother¡¯s arms as if holding on for dear life. It felt like his muscles were being torn apart and reattached, his bones reshaping themselves from the inside out. But then, as suddenly as it had come, the pain vanished. Thorne blinked, confused. The lingering fear of the pain returning left him tense, but when his mother gently brushed his wet cheek, he finally allowed himself to relax. ¡°It¡¯s over now, sweetie,¡± his mother said with a soft, guilty smile. ¡°I should have warned you.¡± Thorne shakily stood up, feeling his legs tremble for a moment before he regained his balance. A strange feeling washed over him¡ªhis body felt different, lighter and more powerful. But he couldn¡¯t quite place what had changed. ¡°Hey, Thorne, catch!¡± His mother¡¯s voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and he looked up just in time to see a large branch hurtling toward him. Instinctively, his hands shot out, catching the massive branch mid-air with a grunt. For a moment, he stared in disbelief at the branch, holding it easily above his head. He turned to his mother, wide-eyed. His mother was giggling, covering her mouth with her hands like a child who had just pulled off a prank. ¡°Oh my! I only meant for you to jump back and avoid it, but I guess you¡¯re strong enough to catch it now! My big, strong man!¡± She laughed again, her voice light with amusement, while Thorne¡¯s face burned with embarrassment. His mother¡¯s eyes gleamed with mischief. ¡°Now,¡± she said, taking a playful step back, ¡°why don¡¯t we race back to the house and see who¡¯s faster?¡± Thorne narrowed his eyes, a newfound sense of competitiveness bubbling up inside him. ¡°Fine!¡± he said, determination building. ¡°One, two, three... go!¡± They bolted through the forest, the world around them blurring into streaks of green and brown. The wind rushed against Thorne¡¯s face as his legs carried him faster than ever before. He felt a sense of freedom that was entirely new¡ªa surge of exhilaration as his body responded to his every command with ease and power. More. I want more points to spend. The thought came unbidden, a sudden yearning for even more strength. * The following days saw a dramatic shift in Thorne¡¯s routine. His mother insisted on giving him lessons in aether manipulation, which meant staying home instead of joining his father in the forest to hunt. At first, Thorne was excited. He imagined conjuring birds or pulling off incredible feats like his mother had shown him. But he was quickly disappointed. His lessons were far from the exciting displays of power he had hoped for. Instead, they were long, drawn-out lectures about the nature of aether, its properties, and the dangers of manipulating it improperly. Thorne barely had the patience to sit through them, his mind wandering constantly. The only time he paid attention was when his mother guided him in the practical part of the lessons¡ªlearning to interact with the aether around him. She taught him how to isolate a single mote of aether, an exercise that proved to be far more difficult than he¡¯d expected. The motes acted like they were part of a larger organism, clinging together and resisting separation. After much concentration and frustration, Thorne finally managed to isolate a single mote. His mother then instructed him to bend it to his will, to make it move according to his commands. It was an exhausting task, and by the end of each lesson, Thorne found himself mentally and physically drained. The good news was that, after that first day, both his father and Bea stopped acting weird around him. His father treated him like before, and Bea¡ªwell, she went back to teasing him relentlessly. Thorne found some comfort in that normalcy, whining to his father about being stuck at home and grumbling to Bea about his mother¡¯s ¡°boring¡± lessons. * One morning, Thorne woke to the sound of raised voices. He slipped out of bed, rubbing his eyes as he padded quietly into the main room. He was surprised to find his mother and Bea arguing, their voices heated. Bea¡¯s face was flushed with frustration, her eyes red as though she was on the verge of tears. ¡°Please, Mom! Just this once!¡± she begged, but their mother¡¯s expression was unmoved, her arms folded firmly across her chest. ¡°No,¡± their mother said, her tone flat and final. ¡°But I want to see the new necklaces Ms. Titi has made!¡± Bea pleaded, her voice rising in desperation. ¡°Please, only this once!¡± Their mother¡¯s gaze remained steady, unyielding. She didn¡¯t even bother responding. Bea, sensing that she was losing the battle, quickly changed tactics. ¡°How are you going to carry both sacks to the village by yourself?¡± she demanded, a triumphant look crossing her face as she saw their mother¡¯s brow twitch in annoyance. But their mother¡¯s eyes suddenly shifted toward Thorne, who was lingering by the door. ¡°Your brother will help me,¡± she said with a sly smile. ¡°He¡¯s old enough.¡± Her gaze twinkled with amusement as she added, ¡°And strong enough too!¡± Bea¡¯s eyes darted between the two of them, her face twisting with anger and disbelief. ¡°That¡¯s not fair!¡± she wailed, stomping her foot before running off to her room, slamming the door behind her. Thorne grimaced, but with his mother¡¯s urging, he went to change. Before long, he found himself carrying a heavy sack of herbs over his shoulder as they made their way toward the village. * When they reached the village square, Thorne gratefully set the sack down, wiping the sweat from his forehead as he took a breather under the shade of a large oak tree. His mother handed him a few copper coins and smiled. ¡°Go see Ms. Titi and find a necklace for your sister. I¡¯ll meet you after I¡¯ve finished with the alchemist.¡± Thorne nodded, watching as his mother slung both sacks over her shoulders with ease and headed toward the alchemist¡¯s stall. He wandered over to the line of colorful tents where Ms. Titi¡¯s stall was set up, his eyes scanning the vibrant beads and stones that decorated the table. But something else caught his attention. Just a few stalls away, a group of boys stood huddled together, their eyes wide with excitement. Curiosity piqued, Thorne edged closer to the group. His breath caught in his throat when he saw what they were staring at¡ªa jar full of colorful, shiny marbles. Each one was more beautiful than the last, gleaming like tiny jewels in the sunlight. Thorne¡¯s eyes lit up with wonder, unable to tear his gaze away. But it was the marble in the other jar that truly captivated him. Unlike the rest, this one was twice the size, glowing faintly with a red light. Thorne¡¯s heart raced as he recognized the motes of orange aether escaping from the marble, swirling around it like tiny embers. Without thinking, he blurted, ¡°Magic!¡± His voice was filled with awe. A scoff came from the crowd. ¡°Yeah, right!¡± Thorne turned to see Spiro, the alchemist¡¯s mean son, glaring at him. ¡°Don¡¯t be stupid. There¡¯s no magic here!¡± Thorne frowned, narrowing his eyes at Spiro. ¡°Yeah, there is!¡± he shot back, pointing at the glowing marble. ¡°Can¡¯t you see the light?¡± Spiro¡¯s face twisted in anger as he shoved another boy out of the way. ¡°What do you know, wildling? Go back to your hut and play in the dirt like your mother!¡± Thorne¡¯s hands clenched into fists. His mind went blank the moment Spiro insulted his mother, the rage boiling up inside him. He barely noticed when Spiro tried to push him. Thorne didn¡¯t move, standing firm as the older boy¡¯s shove had no effect. But something else was happening. Thorne felt his grip on the aether slip, and the colorful tapestry returned to his vision. This time, the orange motes surrounding the marble shot toward him, sinking into his skin. A rush of power surged through his body, filling him with a familiar sense of invincibility. His anger melted away, replaced by a cold, focused clarity. Distantly, he heard the shouts of surprise from the boys around him, but he didn¡¯t care. The aether was coursing through him, wrapping him in its energy. Suddenly, a hand like iron clamped down on his shoulder, pulling him back to reality. ¡°Thorne!¡± His mother¡¯s furious whisper cut through the haze, and he looked up to see her glaring down at him, her face a mix of anger and fear. Thorne¡¯s eyes widened in guilt as he glanced around. The boys were staring at him in shock, their eyes wide with fear. Spiro had fallen to the ground, knocking over the stall and scattering marbles and stones everywhere. People in the market had turned to watch, their expressions ranging from curiosity to suspicion. Some looked at him with fear in their eyes, others with quiet wonder. ¡°We are leaving,¡± his mother hissed, pulling him roughly away from the scene. Her grip was firm, her pace hurried. ¡°What?¡± Thorne started to ask, but his mother silenced him with a sharp look. He stumbled after her, confusion turning to horror as he glanced down at his arm. It was glowing. ¡°Oh no,¡± he muttered in despair, trying to keep up with his mother as they left the village square behind. CHAPTER 7 Thorne jolted awake, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. The room was pitch black, the moonlight barely able to pierce the thick gloom that enveloped him. His breath came in short gasps, but he couldn¡¯t understand why he was so scared. Something had startled him awake, something loud, but his mind was too foggy to grasp what it was. As the haze in his mind slowly cleared, a deep, thundering sound reached his ears¡ªgrowing louder with each passing second. The noise was familiar, but his tired brain couldn¡¯t place it. Why does this make me feel so afraid? Then, beneath the booming sound, he caught the hurried mutters of a voice he recognized. His mother¡¯s voice. A moment later, he heard her frantically moving around the house, rummaging through their belongings with a sense of urgency that made his blood run cold. The door to his room burst open, and there she stood, her hair wild, her eyes wide with pure, unfiltered terror. Thorne stared at her, his mind sluggish, trying to make sense of what was happening. The thundering grew louder¡ªcloser¡ªand suddenly, everything clicked into place. Hoofbeats. Nobody in their small village could afford a horse. Horses belonged to royalty, knights, and the privileged. Thorne had heard about them in stories, had dreamed of seeing one in person. He remembered when he¡¯d mentioned his wish to one of the village children, only to be laughed at. ¡°Only knights and the king¡¯s people have horses,¡± they had said. Then came the day when the knights arrived, riding into the village square, their horses magnificent and their armor gleaming under the sun. The royal crest of the red sun was emblazoned on their shields, and Thorne had been awestruck. But that awe had quickly turned to horror. He could still hear the village elder¡¯s scream¡ªthe man who had always had a sweet in his pocket for Thorne. The knights had spoken a few flowery words, their faces impassive, before they cut him down. It hadn¡¯t been a clean kill. The elder¡¯s cries had echoed through the village, the sound dragging on for what felt like an eternity before Thorne¡¯s mother had pulled him away. Now, the sound of hooves filled the night again, and the memories of that day clawed their way back to the surface. His mother grabbed him, shaking him from his daze. ¡°Come, quickly!¡± she hissed, her voice sharp with urgency. Thorne stumbled out of bed, his body moving on instinct as his mind raced to make sense of what was happening. He could hear his father¡¯s low whispers to Bea in the next room, but his attention was fixed on the pounding of the horses, drawing closer and closer until they were nearly at their door. His mother dragged him down the narrow corridor lined with barrels and crates filled with herbs. With a grunt, she pried two wooden boards loose from the wall, revealing a small, hidden hollow. ¡°In here,¡± she whispered harshly, motioning for him to slip inside. Thorne, his mind swirling with fear and confusion, obeyed without question. The hollow was cramped, his shoulders pressed tightly against the stone walls. He could barely breathe, but the terror in his mother¡¯s eyes kept him rooted in place. His mother reached for the pendant around her neck. As soon as she removed it, her true form emerged¡ªher radiant beauty lighting up the dark corridor. She slipped the pendant over Thorne¡¯s neck, and he felt a rush of aether envelop him, making the air around him hum with energy. ¡°Listen to me, Thorne. Listen carefully,¡± she whispered, her voice low and fierce. Her luminous eyes, filled with grief and determination, locked onto his. ¡°You will stay here. Whatever you hear, whatever you feel, you are not to leave this place. Do you understand?¡± Thorne nodded, his throat too tight to speak. The sound of boots crunching against the dirt outside sent a shiver through him. ¡°You will not leave until you¡¯re absolutely sure no one is left,¡± his mother continued, her voice trembling as the soldiers¡¯ footsteps neared the door. ¡°Once it¡¯s safe, you will leave through the back door¡ªthe back door only.¡± Her hands gripped his shoulders tightly, and he saw the tears welling up in her eyes. ¡°Do not leave through the front, no matter what you see or hear. Once you leave you will follow the trail to Alvar! You must not dully! You must go as fast as you can, run as fast as you can! Do you hear me?¡± Thorne nodded when he realized his mother was waiting for an answer. ¡°Do you understand me?¡± she hissed, her eyes wide with desperation. Thorne nodded again, the weight of her words settling over him like a lead blanket. He could feel something wet on his cheeks¡ªtear. Am I crying? His mother choked back a sob, brushing the tears from his face before pressing a kiss to his forehead. ¡°Be strong, my son,¡± she whispered, tears pooling in her eyes, threatening to spill down her cheeks, her voice breaking. ¡°And never reveal to anyone what you truly are.¡± She hurriedly replaced the boards, sealing him inside the tiny hollow. Thorne¡¯s heart thundered in his chest as he crouched there, his body trembling with fear. What¡¯s happening? Why are they here? The loud banging on the door shattered the tense silence. ¡°In the name of His Grace, King Leopold the Third, and by order of Chancellor Artroudy, we command you to open this door at once!¡± a voice bellowed, filled with authority. The pounding grew more intense, and then, with a deafening crash, the door splintered apart. The king¡¯s men stormed into their home. ¡°She¡¯s an Oldbone! Get her!¡± the grating voice shouted, filled with cruel certainty. Thorne¡¯s blood turned to ice. He pressed his mother¡¯s pendant to his chest, holding it like a lifeline as the chaos unfolded around him. Metal clashed, wood creaked, and glass shattered. Thorne heard his father¡¯s pained moan, followed by a sickening crash that echoed through the house. But it was his mother¡¯s scream¡ªa raw, agonized wail¡ªthat pierced the night and sent icy fear flooding through his veins. He squeezed his eyes shut, his body trembling. He wished he could be anywhere else, far from this nightmare. Desperately, he tried to focus on anything else, reaching for something beyond the chaos. For a fleeting moment, he heard the distant croak of a frog and the hoot of an owl. But no matter how hard he tried to focus, the sounds from his home pulled him back¡ªhis mother¡¯s weeping cries, the grunts of the soldiers, and the frantic hum of the aether around him, swirling and agitated, refusing to let him escape. His mind drifted to happier times, desperate for comfort. He remembered hunting trips with his father, feeling safe even in the heart of the forest. He thought of afternoons spent with his mother in the garden, sipping lemonade while she taught him about herbs. And he remembered Bea, always taking the blame for their mischievous schemes, even though the ideas were always his. If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. But no matter how hard he clung to those memories, the present kept crashing back in¡ªdragging him back into the nightmare. A harsh voice cut through the chaos. ¡°Damn it, Lykos! We needed her alive!¡± Thorne¡¯s heart sank, and a dull buzzing filled his ears. They killed her. His chest tightened with grief and fear. She¡¯s dead. The thought echoed in his mind like a tolling bell, each repetition heavier than the last. His vision blurred with tears, his breath coming in ragged, quiet sobs. He cupped his hands over his mouth, desperate to stay silent. She¡¯s gone... His mother¡¯s voice, her radiant form, the warmth of her presence¡ªit was all slipping away. Tears poured down his face, and his body shook uncontrollably. He had to stay quiet. Don¡¯t make a sound. Don¡¯t let them hear you. ¡°Take out her core and load her up,¡± the voice commanded coldly. ¡°Maybe the alchemists can still find a use for her. Now, find the boy. He¡¯s here somewhere.¡± The floor creaked under the soldiers¡¯ heavy boots as they searched the house. Thorne held his breath, his heart racing so loudly that he was sure they could hear it. Every sound felt amplified in the suffocating darkness¡ªthe thud of footsteps, the scrape of metal, the crash of furniture being overturned. Then came a new sound¡ªBea¡¯s voice, filled with terror. ¡°I found her, Commander!¡± a soldier¡¯s voice rang out, triumphant. Bea¡¯s frightened sobs filled the air. Thorne¡¯s body jerked in response, the boards around him rattling. He froze, biting down on his lip to keep from making a sound. ¡°Are you an idiot, Lykos? We¡¯re looking for a boy, not a girl. Take her with the mother. The rest of you, keep searching. The little brat¡¯s got to be here somewhere.¡± Bea¡¯s cries echoed in his ears as she was dragged away. Thorne wanted to scream for her, to reach out with his senses and follow her, but the soldier was still searching nearby, his heavy boots stomping through the house. Thorne¡¯s tears ran dry, his fear so absolute that it numbed him. He heard the shuffle of boots, metal clanging against wood as the soldiers began tearing the house apart. The door to his room crashed open, slamming against the wall with a bang. Thorne¡¯s breath hitched as he heard the soldier stomping through his room, overturning furniture, rifling through belongings. The man left after a few moments, but Thorne¡¯s relief was short-lived. The soldier moved closer, now tearing through the crates and barrels in the corridor. Thorne¡¯s heart pounded so loudly he thought it would give him away. His body was rigid with fear, each heartbeat a deafening thud in his ears. He closed his eyes again, as if by shutting out the world he could make himself invisible, make the nightmare go away. Please, Mother... help me. What do I do? You always know what to do. He clutched his mother¡¯s pendant tightly, his knuckles white with desperation. I wish I could disappear. I wish I could melt into the shadows and never be found. The thought took hold, filling him with an overwhelming desire to vanish. Suddenly, a sharp sting rippled across his skin, and his eyes flew open. The familiar colors of aether, the swirling motes he had grown accustomed to seeing, were gone. In their place were dark, shadowy motes¡ªmotes that seemed to leech the very light from the air. They moved around him, blending seamlessly into the darkness, wrapping him in their protective embrace. The soldier crept closer, the light from his torch casting flickering shadows on the walls. The aether around Thorne settled, wrapping him tightly in its dark cocoon. The man¡¯s boots scraped against the floorboards, his heavy steps just inches away. Thorne¡¯s breath caught in his throat as the soldier lunged forward, ripping the boards in front of him with a resounding crack. The wooden planks splintered, exposing the hollow where Thorne crouched. Thorne¡¯s heart stopped. He held his breath, expecting the man¡¯s eyes to lock onto him in an instant. But instead, the soldier¡¯s gaze passed over him as though he weren¡¯t there. Thorne stared, wide-eyed, his mind racing in disbelief. He can¡¯t see me. For a moment, the aether around him flickered, growing agitated as his shock broke his concentration. But instinctively, Thorne reached out with his mind, willing the motes to settle again. Slowly, the darkness enveloped him once more, hiding him in its folds. The soldier frowned, scanning the dark opening as though he sensed something was amiss. Thorne didn¡¯t dare move. His lungs burned, his body trembling with the effort to remain still, but he forced himself to stay silent. After several heart-stopping moments, the soldier shook his head and stood, kicking over the crates in frustration. The sound of wood splintering filled the air, but the man¡¯s steps grew distant as he moved on. Thorne let out a shaky breath, his heart racing as he slumped against the wall of the hollow. Relief washed over him, but it was short-lived. A surge of aether pulsed around him, and suddenly, words filled his vision. Skill level up: Stealth! Skill level up: Stealth! Skill level up: Stealth! Your Stealth has reached level 4! Skill level up: Primal Aether Manipulation! Your Primal Aether Manipulation has reached level 2! Thorne forced himself to ignore the words floating before his eyes. His mind was too focused on the danger still lurking around him, his senses straining to track the guards¡¯ movements. He didn¡¯t dare let the aether protecting him slip away. But as the moments dragged on, a growing weakness began to creep through his body. The effort to maintain the shadowy veil sapped his strength, leaving his limbs heavy and his mind clouded with exhaustion. The soldier loitered in the hallway for what felt like an eternity, his boots scuffing against the floor as he searched for any sign of the hidden boy. But after finding nothing, the man turned on his heel and walked back outside. ¡°Nothing, Commander,¡± the guard reported, his voice placid, indifferent, as though it made no difference whether or not they found Thorne. "Where did that cursed child go? Could he have run while we were dealing with his parents?" the commander muttered, frustration lacing his words. He wasn¡¯t really expecting an answer, but another soldier chimed in. ¡°Impossible, Commander. I¡¯ve been circling the place before you even entered the house. If the boy had run, I would have seen him.¡± The commander grunted, clearly dissatisfied. ¡°Take Topher and scout the forest. Maybe his parents managed to help him get away before we got here. We¡¯ll wait for you in the village. You have until first light.¡± Thorne stayed motionless, his breath shallow as the men¡¯s voices grew fainter. He listened intently as the sound of hooves thudded against the earth, carrying the soldiers back toward the village. Still, he didn¡¯t dare move. He could hear two sets of footsteps lingering nearby¡ªTopher and the other guard tasked with searching the forest. But then, as suddenly as they¡¯d come, the footsteps faded into nothing. He bit his lip, indecision clawing at him. His mother had been so clear¡ªonce he was sure he was alone, he was to leave immediately. To run. But... what if his dad was hurt? The thought gnawed at him, the small ember of hope burning brighter. What if he could help? With trembling hands, Thorne poked his head out of the small hollow. The house was eerily silent, no sign of the soldiers or anyone else. His heart pounded as he slipped out of his hiding place, standing frozen in the hallway. His mother¡¯s instructions echoed in his mind: Leave through the back door. Run. But his gaze shifted toward the door leading to the kitchen. What if his dad was still alive? His mother and Bea were gone, taken. But maybe... maybe his father was still here. Maybe he could help him. His feet moved on their own, slow and hesitant, the broken remnants of his home crunching beneath his steps. His hands trembled at his sides, his eyes fixed on the floor, unwilling to look up. The remains of his mother¡¯s herbs littered the ground, mixed with shards of wood and glass. Before he knew it, he was standing in the middle of the kitchen. The sight stopped him cold. The room was unrecognizable. What had once been their cozy kitchen¡ªwhere they shared meals, stories, and laughter¡ªwas now a scene of utter devastation. The table, which had once been the heart of their home, lay in splinters, reduced to nothing but kindling. Bea¡¯s favorite book, the one she¡¯d been reading just the other day, was torn apart, its pages scattered like fallen leaves. Their small bench, where they huddled together on cold nights, had been upturned and shoved into a corner. His marbles¡ªthose beautiful, shiny marbles he¡¯d left on the table just hours before¡ªwere gone, crushed into dust. Thorne crouched, his hand trembling as he picked up a small shard of glass. A faint streak of red still clung to the edge of the fragment, the last remnant of his favorite marble, the one Bea had brought for him. ¡°Awe,¡± he whispered, the word slipping out as the sharp glass bit into his skin. A small bead of blood welled up on his finger, but he barely noticed. The sting of the wound was nothing compared to the pain in his chest. With a shaky breath, he tossed the broken shard aside, feeling tears welling up in his eyes. The sound of the glass hitting the ground never came. He looked up. And his world shattered. His body went cold, every muscle locking in place. His mind came to a grinding halt, unable to process the sight before him. His lips trembled, and the sob he had been holding back all night finally escaped, raw and broken. ¡°Dad?¡± CHAPTER 8 Thorne sat beside his father for what felt like hours. He wasn¡¯t sure how long he had cried, but at some point, the tears had stopped, leaving only an emptiness in their wake. His face was wet, and he wiped at his cheeks with the back of his hand, but something sticky clung to his skin, refusing to go away. He rubbed harder, his sleeve smearing the substance even further across his face. ¡°Go away,¡± he whispered brokenly, his voice barely more than a breath. But it didn¡¯t. He blinked, his gaze drifting back to his father¡¯s pale, still face. He didn¡¯t dare look lower, he couldn''t. There was so much blood. The floor was slick with it, the dark red liquid soaking into Thorne¡¯s trousers, cold and sticky. I should leave, he told himself, but he couldn¡¯t. His legs wouldn¡¯t move. He couldn¡¯t leave him. I can¡¯t leave him. Not yet. The room seemed brighter now. Thorne turned toward the window and saw the faint light of dawn creeping over the mountains. The sky was painted in shades of orange and red, fading into the soft blue of early morning. For a moment, his eyes were drawn to the beauty of it, but then they fell on the streaks of blood smeared across the wall, and the horror of the night came rushing back. First light. The men had said they would wait until first light. Then they¡¯d leave. They¡¯d taken Bea with them. I have to find her. The thought was a sudden rush of purpose, but it faltered almost as quickly as it came. What would I even do if I found her? The knights were so strong. They were warriors, trained and armored, carrying swords with them¡ªreal swords. He was just a boy. And worst of all, they were looking for him. He swallowed hard, his hands shaking. They were looking for me. This is all because of me. His chest tightened, and the guilt crashed over him, suffocating. This all happened because I got angry with Spiro. So stupid. Stupid! Stupid! His fist struck his head again and again, the dull pain offering no relief from the crushing weight of guilt. The ache didn¡¯t go away. It never would. He had to leave. His mother¡¯s voice echoed in his mind, sharp and clear despite everything else blurring around him. ¡°Follow the trail to Alvar. Run!¡± With a final, trembling look at his father, Thorne forced himself to his feet. His knees buckled, his body swaying unsteadily, weakened from the night of fear and grief, and from the toll of using aether. The hollow feeling that had settled in his bones when he first tapped into the aether still lingered, less intense but persistent. He felt fragile, like he might shatter at any moment. He turned toward the door but hesitated, his gaze lingering on his father¡¯s body. I have to go. I have to run. But leaving felt wrong. It felt final. With a deep breath, he forced his legs to move. His feet carried him through the house in a daze, his mind barely registering the destruction around him. When he stepped outside, the light of morning hit him like a slap. He blinked, his eyes stinging from the sudden brightness. His mother¡¯s garden¡ªher pride, her life¡¯s work¡ªwas destroyed. The once vibrant flowers and herbs were trampled, their colors lost beneath a layer of dirt and broken stems. He felt the grief rising again, threatening to drown him, but he bit down hard on his lip, tasting blood. No. Not now. Run. His legs carried him, though his body screamed for rest. He moved through the familiar path to the outskirts of the forest, the one he had walked countless times with his father. His feet seemed to know where to go, even when his mind could barely focus. Once he reached the edge of the trail, something inside him shifted. He felt his pulse quicken, and suddenly, he was running. ¡°Run! Run!¡± His mother¡¯s voice echoed in his mind, urging him forward. His legs burned with the effort, but he pushed on, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The wind whipped through his hair, but it brought no comfort. There was no escaping the weight pressing down on his chest. He ran until his lungs felt like they would burst, his legs heavy and leaden. His body screamed for rest, but he couldn¡¯t stop. He wouldn¡¯t stop. Not yet. Doubled over, he gasped for air, his vision swimming as he stumbled to a halt near a tree he recognized. The rocks. He and his father always stopped there during their runs, resting before continuing deeper into the woods. Just a little farther. His legs trembled, but he forced them to move. His vision blurred with exhaustion, he ignored the flashing words that appeared before his eyes. After what felt like hours, he reached the familiar outcropping of rocks. He crawled into the small hole they had once found a beetle, hugging his knees tightly to his chest. ¡°Just for a moment,¡± he mumbled, his eyelids drooping heavily. Sleep claimed him before he could fight it. * When Thorne awoke, the world was brighter, and for a moment, he forgot everything. But the peace lasted only a heartbeat before the memories of the night came crashing down on him, smothering the fleeting sense of calm. They¡¯re gone. Mom. Dad. Bea. He lay still, staring at the ceiling of the small hideout, unwilling to move. I should have stayed asleep. His stomach growled, a sharp reminder that time was passing, and he couldn¡¯t stay hidden forever. With a groan, he crawled out of the fort and blinked against the sunlight. The sun was high now, its light harsh and unforgiving. I must have slept for hours. He felt the hunger gnawing at him, but he pushed it aside. There was no time to eat. I have to get to Alvar. His legs were stiff as he started running again, though it was more of a slow jog now. The weakness from the aether had faded, but the exhaustion from the previous night clung to him like a heavy weight. Every step felt like a struggle, but he kept moving, forcing his body to obey. As he ran, the notifications that had been waiting for him finally broke through the fog in his mind. The words flashed before his eyes, clear and insistent. Skill level up: Running! You have reached level 2 in Running! Thorne waved the notification away without a second thought, his focus entirely on the uneven ground ahead of him. Rocks and roots jutted from the earth, ready to trip him at any moment, but he kept running, driven by the urgency in his chest. After nearly an hour, he stopped beside the tree with the hollow, the one he and his father always passed on their way through the forest. The owl that usually roosted inside was nowhere to be seen, and Thorne wasted no time climbing into the small, round opening. He sat there for what felt like long minutes, waiting for his breath to steady and his stamina to return. His stomach growled fiercely, a constant reminder that he hadn¡¯t eaten since... since before everything happened. The thought made his chest tighten, but he shoved it aside. I need to find food. Thorne peeked out of the hollow, scanning the forest for any sign of danger. When he was sure nothing was stalking him¡ªman or beast¡ªhe slipped out of the tree and into the open. This time, he ran slower, more measured, his eyes scanning the underbrush for anything edible. He was lucky to spot some berries, the kind his father had always told him were safe to eat. He hesitated, his father¡¯s voice echoing in his head, then plucked a few and ate them quickly. They weren¡¯t enough to fill him, but at least they dulled the ache in his stomach. He kept moving, aiming for the small creek he knew was nearby, when his ears picked up something that made his blood run cold. Voices. Thorne froze, his heart pounding in his ears. Without thinking, he darted into the nearest bush, crouching low as the faint sounds of conversation reached him through the trees. ¡°I¡¯m telling you, he¡¯s here somewhere! I found tracks!¡± one voice snapped, frustration clear in the tone. Another voice, calmer but edged with weariness, answered. ¡°Are you sure? We¡¯ve been at this for hours.¡± The first man growled. ¡°I¡¯m the scout. I know tracks when I see them. Besides, the commander ordered us not to return until we¡¯ve found the boy.¡± The second man sighed, sounding resigned. ¡°Are you even sure the tracks are fresh? The kid couldn¡¯t have come this far alone.¡± Thorne¡¯s heart raced as the realization hit him¡ªthey found his tracks. They were after him. The fear gripped him like a vise. I have to run. His father had taught him about scouts, about how they could track almost anything, just like hunters. His mind raced, searching for a way out, and then a memory surfaced. Water. If you want to lose someone who¡¯s tracking you, get to water. A river, a lake, anything. The creek! Without a second thought, Thorne bolted from the bush, sprinting as fast as his legs would carry him. His feet pounded against the earth, his heart thundering in his chest. He was so close¡ªso close to the creek! If he could just make it there, maybe he could lose them. The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. He ran until the voices faded behind him, the rush of his pulse in his ears drowning out everything else. When he finally reached the creek, a sigh of relief escaped him. But he couldn¡¯t stop. Not yet. He glanced left, then right, uncertain which way to go. Just go. With a deep breath, he stepped into the creek, the cold water splashing around his legs. The rocks beneath the surface were slippery, and every step felt precarious. He nearly lost his balance more than once but managed to keep himself upright. The voices of the men echoed faintly again, and panic clawed at him. Keep moving. Don¡¯t fall. He forced himself to slow down, taking careful, deliberate steps. One wrong move and he could slip, break something, and then they¡¯d catch him for sure. For what felt like an hour, Thorne crept along the creek, his feet cold and numb from the water. The voices grew more distant, but they never disappeared entirely, like shadows haunting the edges of his awareness. He kept going, forcing himself deeper into the forest, away from the men hunting him. As he went on, the forest around him began to change. The familiar greens and blues faded, replaced by strange hues of yellow, orange, and deep red. The plants looked alien¡ªtrees with twisting branches that curled unnaturally, and bushes with thick, snake-like stems that moved ever so slightly, as if reaching for him. Thorne frowned, his stomach tightening. Where am I? Everything looked so different, so strange, but he couldn¡¯t afford to leave the creek. It was his only protection. The water soaked his trousers, creeping higher until it reached past his knees. His teeth chattered as he hugged himself, trying to stay warm despite the chill seeping into his bones. He had no idea how long he had been walking, but eventually, the sky began to darken, and he realized night was falling. The voices had disappeared hours ago, and the forest was eerily quiet. Shivering, he decided to step out of the creek. He didn¡¯t recognize anything around him¡ªnot the trees, not the bushes, not even the weeds that grew along the water¡¯s edge. The plants were thick and unnatural, their yellow stems curling like snakes, moving of their own accord. Thorne backed away from them, his heart racing. His stomach growled again, but the strange forest offered no food. He had seen berries earlier, but they were unlike anything he¡¯d encountered before¡ªred, bulbous things hanging from long, willowy branches that brushed the ground. I can¡¯t eat those. I don¡¯t know what they are. Feeling defeated, Thorne sat down beside the stream, hugging his knees to his chest. The creek was the only familiar thing left in this strange, unsettling forest. He leaned against the trunk of a nearby tree, its bark bright orange as if painted by someone¡¯s hand. His mind drifted to thoughts of his family¡ªhis mother¡¯s laughter, his father¡¯s strong arms, Bea¡¯s teasing smile. Where are they now? What¡¯s happening to them? Before he knew it, he had drifted off to sleep again. * Thorne jolted awake, his heart pounding as he looked around in confusion. Did they find me? His breath came in short gasps as his eyes darted through the darkened forest. But no, it wasn¡¯t the men. He had fallen asleep again, and now the world had turned pitch black. The forest that had been unsettling by day was now terrifying by night. Thorne¡¯s senses strained, his heart pounding in his chest as he tried to figure out why he had woken up so suddenly. The night was still, the air thick with tension. He heard no footsteps, no voices¡ªnothing that could explain the creeping fear crawling up his spine. A faint rustling sound to his left made him snap his head up sharply. Two enormous, yellow eyes glowed in the darkness, staring back at him. A chill ran down Thorne¡¯s spine. His body froze, every hair on his neck standing on end. Danger. The low growl that followed was the only warning he had before a massive wolf lunged at him, teeth bared. Thorne¡¯s eyes widened in terror, his muscles locking for a split second. But instinct kicked in, and he rolled to the side just as the wolf¡¯s jaws snapped shut, inches from where he¡¯d been lying. The beast landed heavily, its claws scraping against the ground as it spun to face him again, baring its fangs with a vicious snarl. A fetid smell hit Thorne¡¯s nose, making him gag. The wolf¡¯s growl deepened, its muscles coiling as it readied itself for another strike. Thorne scrambled backward, his eyes darting around the dark forest, searching for something¡ªanything¡ªto defend himself. His heart raced, pounding so loudly in his ears that it drowned out the sounds of the forest. I need a weapon. If only I had my bow... The wolf crouched lower, its eyes locked on Thorne, and he knew it was about to pounce again. In his panic, he felt his control over the aether slip. Without meaning to, the tapestry of colorful motes bloomed into his vision, swirling and dancing before his eyes. For a moment, the world around him blurred, the wolf becoming nothing more than a shadow against the brilliant colors of the aether. The aether... I can use it. Desperation clawed at his mind as he tried to remember the sensation he had felt when he¡¯d helped the small seedlings grow in his mother¡¯s garden. Come on... But his thoughts betrayed him, drawing a frustrating blank. The wolf leapt toward him, its jaws wide, saliva dripping from its maw. Please, Thorne whispered, raising his hand instinctively toward the aether. Help me. The motes surrounding him seemed to shiver in response, as if they had been waiting for his command. They twirled and danced, surging toward him in a rush of energy. He felt the connection snap into place, the aether bending to his will as the weeds around him began to move. The wolf¡¯s eyes widened in midair, sensing something was wrong. It twisted in the air, trying to adjust, but it was too late. Thorne didn¡¯t know how it happened, but the yellow weeds near his feet thickened and shot up like massive vines, wrapping around the wolf¡¯s hind legs just before it landed. The creature let out a startled whine as it was yanked back with incredible force, its body jerking violently in midair. Thorne stumbled to his feet, his limbs heavy with exhaustion. He watched as the wolf thrashed and snapped, biting into the vines that held it, trying desperately to free itself. He knew he had only moments before it would break free. Do something. Green motes flowed from his hand, infusing the nearby weeds. They responded instantly, growing larger, more robust, their tendrils reaching toward the wolf. Thorne felt the aether surging through him, pushing him to act. With a single thought, he commanded the weeds to wrap around the wolf¡¯s neck. The thick tendrils lashed out, curling around the wolf¡¯s throat. The beast thrashed, clawing at the ground in a desperate attempt to break free, but the more it struggled, the tighter the vines squeezed. The wolf¡¯s eyes bulged, and it let out a gurgled whine as the vines constricted around its neck, cutting off its air. Its movements grew weaker, its struggles more frantic, until finally, with one last spasm, the wolf¡¯s body went limp. Thorne stood frozen, staring at the lifeless creature. The light faded from its eyes, its massive form collapsing onto the ground with a dull thud. He felt the connection to the aether snap, the power leaving him as quickly as it had come. A wave of weakness hit him like a hammer, making his knees buckle. His vision swam, and he toppled over, collapsing beside the creek. His body felt like lead, too heavy to move, too exhausted to even think. He lay there, barely breathing, caught in a strange limbo between sleep and consciousness. His mind floated, disconnected from the world around him. Minutes passed, or maybe hours. Time seemed to stretch and blur. It wasn¡¯t until the distant howls of wolves pierced the night that Thorne¡¯s senses began to stir again. His fingers twitched, and with great effort, he blinked his eyes open. The howls grew louder, more urgent. They¡¯re coming. Thorne¡¯s heart raced as the reality of the situation hit him. He forced his body to move, his muscles protesting with every twitch. A whole pack. I can¡¯t fight them. He groaned, pushing himself to his feet, his legs shaking under his weight. Every part of him screamed to rest, but the howls drew closer, and fear drove him forward. His eyes flicked toward the creek, and with a resigned sigh, he stepped back into the cold water. I have to go back. I have to get to Alvar. The water splashed around his legs as he waded upstream, moving as quickly as he could manage. The cold soaked into his bones, but it helped clear the fog from his mind. He couldn¡¯t afford to be slow. Not now. The forest seemed to come alive with the wolves¡¯ howls, each cry more frantic than the last. The trees and shadows carried their anger, and Thorne knew they were hunting him¡ªseeking revenge for the fallen wolf. His heart raced faster with every step, his breath coming in short gasps as the cold water numbed his legs. Keep moving. Don¡¯t stop. He had to survive. A new notification flashed before his eyes, forcing him to focus on the words despite the panic building inside him. Congratulations! You have leveled up! You have reached level 11! Skill level up: Primal Aether Manipulation! Your Primal Aether Manipulation has reached level 3! Thorne wanted to feel a sense of pride at the notifications flashing in his vision, at the fact that he had survived the wolf. But the angry howls that echoed through the forest kept his heart in his throat. There was no time to celebrate. No time to rest. He kept running, following the creek as it wound its way through the darkened woods, the water splashing around his legs. The night dragged on, endless and exhausting. His legs moved out of sheer desperation, his body threatening to give out at any moment. But finally, after what felt like an eternity, he saw it¡ªthe familiar trail to Alvar. Even in the pitch-black night, the road was like an old friend, its twists and turns etched into his memory from the countless trips he had taken with his parents. For a brief moment, he wondered if they had known this day might come. Had they been preparing him all along? But there wasn¡¯t time to dwell on those thoughts. His mind was fraying, his body on the verge of collapse. He stumbled forward, his feet dragging across the dirt. The sky above him began to lighten, the stars fading one by one as dawn approached. His eyes were glazed, barely registering the change in his surroundings as the dense forest slowly gave way to open fields. ¡°Just a little longer,¡± Thorne whispered to himself, his voice hoarse and barely audible. As he shuffled forward, a strange smell reached his nose, something foreign and out of place in the wild. The scent snapped his mind back to the present, and he blinked, trying to focus. His heart skipped a beat when he saw what lay ahead. A city. Nestled between cliffs and stretching toward a grey-sanded beach, the city of Alvar loomed before him. It was enormous¡ªdozens of times larger than his village¡ªand its sheer size filled him with a mix of awe and relief. I made it. I¡¯m almost there. Tears welled in Thorne¡¯s eyes, blurring his vision. He was so close. Food. Shelter. Safety. He was nearly there. With the last remnants of his strength, he stumbled forward, the trail turning into a dirt road as he neared the outskirts of the city. His body felt stiff, almost like it wasn¡¯t his own anymore. Every step was a battle against exhaustion, and his legs trembled with every movement. ¡°Just... a little... longer,¡± he murmured, barely able to keep his eyes open. But his battered body had reached its limit. With one final step, his legs gave out, and Thorne crumbled to the ground, his face pressed against the cold dirt. His limbs were like dead weight, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn¡¯t force them to move. Somewhere in the distance, he heard voices¡ªfaint at first, but growing louder as they approached. His vision blurred, the world around him fading in and out as exhaustion took its toll. A heavy hand settled on his shoulder, rolling him over. Thorne¡¯s half-lidded eyes met the face of a large man, his features rough and weathered. A thick, bushy beard covered the lower half of his face, and a long, angry red scar cut across his eye, giving him a menacing look. Fear shot through Thorne¡¯s exhausted body. No! Not more danger! He wanted to scream, to push the man away, but his dry, cracked lips couldn¡¯t form words. His throat felt like sandpaper, and all that escaped him was a hoarse gasp. Instinctively, he raised his hand, barely able to summon the energy to command the aether. Small pebbles near his feet trembled, lifting off the ground and flying toward the man¡¯s face in a weak, desperate attack. The man grunted in surprise, raising his arm to shield himself. He frowned down at Thorne, clearly confused by the display of aether. ¡°Easy there, kid,¡± the man said, his voice gruff but not unkind. ¡°I¡¯ve got you now.¡± Thorne¡¯s vision swam, the edges of his consciousness blurring. He wanted to respond, to demand answers, but the use of aether had drained the last of his energy. The man¡¯s face seemed to spin, his rough features fading into darkness. Before Thorne could even process what was happening, the world went black, and he passed out. CHAPTER 9 8 years ago Thorne dashed through the bustling fish market, weaving between pedestrians as he fought to hold his breath against the overpowering stench of old fish. The air was thick with the smell of salt and rot, making his stomach churn, but he pressed on, forcing himself through the crowded street. Sundown¡¯s coming, he thought bitterly, glancing up at the sky. The sun was already sinking below the horizon, casting long shadows across the city. I¡¯ve got to hurry. His sharp eyes caught sight of a bulging coin pouch swaying temptingly from a man¡¯s belt. The man was too engrossed in an argument with a flustered merchant to notice anything else. Perfect. With the ease of someone who had done it a hundred times, Thorne moved toward the man, his hand slipping into the folds of the pouch. His fingers closed around the coins, and with a swift motion, he relieved the man of his money without so much as a glance in his direction. He crouched low, blending into the mass of people before anyone could spot him. Satisfied that no one had seen him, Thorne straightened and began running again, his boots slapping against the cobblestones as he navigated the labyrinth of alleyways that crisscrossed Alvar. His heart pounded in his chest, more from urgency than fear. I wasted too much time. He cursed himself for getting greedy, knowing that the delay could cost him a bigger prize. Vaulting over a stack of crates, he picked up speed, his legs burning as he ran. He stopped only for a moment to duck his hands into a nearby barrel of coal outside a smithy, rubbing the black dust over his face and clothes to dirty his appearance. "Hey! Get out of here, you filthy brat!" the blacksmith shouted, but Thorne ignored him, already moving on. The grime would help complete the image of a pitiful, desperate orphan¡ªan image that worked to his advantage more times than he could count. Cutting through the merchant district, Thorne ducked into side alleys, his stamina plummeting with every step. His breaths came fast and shallow, but he pushed through, driven by the promise of a larger reward. I can¡¯t stop now. When he finally reached the noble district, crawling with guards, Thorne forced himself to slow down. He pressed his back against the cool stone of a building, letting the shadows swallow him as he waited. His eyes darted to the passing guards, and his pulse quickened. He had done this enough times to know when to act, but one mistake could cost him dearly. As soon as the guards moved past, Thorne darted across the street, his small figure a blur as he ducked into the shadows again. The disgusted looks from the noblemen and women he passed only added to his disguise. Good. Let them think I¡¯m worthless. He slipped into a familiar shop without slowing, calling over his shoulder, ¡°Hi, Aunty!¡± to the heavyset woman behind the counter. "Go away, you little rat!" she yelled, brandishing a broom at him. "You''re going to dirty my shop!" ¡°Love you too!¡± Thorne shouted, leaping through a window at the back, landing softly on the other side, closer to his target. From there, it was a well-practiced routine. He waited for the guards or an important noble to pass, then sprinted across the street and used every shortcut he knew to stay out of sight. His heart raced, but his steps were light, deliberate. He couldn¡¯t afford any mistakes now. At last, the grand building came into view¡ªa magnificent structure with a domed ceiling and four towers, one at each corner. It was the most breathtaking building in the city, its opulence and elegance unmatched by anything Thorne had ever seen. But he didn¡¯t care about the building itself. What drew him here were the people inside. The nobles. It was well-known that after their lavish parties, when the alcohol flowed freely and the laughter grew loud, the nobles would stumble out, drunk and in high spirits. That was when Thorne could work. A poor, pitiful orphan could beg for a few coins, and the nobles¡ªfeeling generous¡ªwould often oblige, tossing him enough silver to last him days. Thorne scanned the streets carefully, looking not only for guards but for any of his cousins. If Bulk had heard about this party, Thorne would have to flee. The last thing he needed was competition. But there was no sign of Bulk or any of his gang. For once, he¡¯s kept his mouth shut. A rare smile touched Thorne¡¯s lips. Maybe I¡¯ll share a copper or two if I¡¯m feeling generous. He positioned himself in the perfect spot¡ªa shadowy corner where he could avoid the wandering eyes of guards but still be visible enough to the passing nobles. His senses were on high alert, his body tense. His heart raced every time a guard came near, memories he tried to bury bubbling to the surface. Then, he heard it. Laughter¡ªmerry, high-pitched¡ªand the soft rustle of expensive clothing. The first guests were leaving. Thorne rushed to the corner he had scouted earlier, throwing himself to his knees. He hunched over, clutching his belly as if in pain. When he heard the giggles of a woman approaching, he lifted his head. Time to perform. His Acting and Deception skills kicked in as he widened his eyes, blinking dramatically. His voice trembled as he raised his hands, palms up. ¡°My good lady, please... a copper...¡± His voice cracked, broken and pitiful. If only I could cry on command. That would seal the deal. The woman recoiled at the sight of him, her face twisting in distaste. Her companion, a young man who clearly fancied himself a protector, raised his arm gallantly, as though Thorne were some dangerous threat. Thorne lowered his gaze, letting his lip tremble, playing the part of the humiliated, starving orphan. ¡°Sorry,¡± he muttered, his voice barely audible but loud enough to be heard. ¡°I haven¡¯t eaten in days...¡± The woman¡¯s face softened immediately. Her cold demeanor melted as she took in his dirty face, his wide, innocent eyes glistening with unshed tears. ¡°You poor thing!¡± she gasped, clutching her hand to her chest. ¡°Gertrude, give him a coin! This child must eat tonight, like a king!¡± Thorne fought the urge to roll his eyes. Like a king? A single coin doesn¡¯t make me royalty, lady. Still, he forced a grateful smile to his face, his eyes lighting up with what the woman mistook for genuine gratitude. Her maid, a stern-looking woman, produced a silver coin from her purse, holding it out for him. Finally. Thorne¡¯s fingers twitched in anticipation as he reached for the coin. But before he could grab it, the young escort interrupted. ¡°Beatrice, please!¡± he scoffed. ¡°Don¡¯t waste your kindness on street rats like this! For all we know, the boy is lying!¡± Thorne gritted his teeth in annoyance. So close. The coin was practically his, but he wasn¡¯t about to let it slip away. He felt his Acting skill activate again, giving him the push he needed to sell his story. "My lord... if only I was lying..." His voice quivered, the words dripping with desperation that even he wasn¡¯t sure was entirely fake. "I¡¯m all alone in this world. Both my ma and pa are long dead..." His voice wavered, his eyes distant and hollow as he clutched his stomach, feigning hunger. "I just want enough coins to eat something... it''s been so long..." At that moment, a notification appeared, almost breaking his concentration. This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. Skill Level Up: Acting! You Have Reached Level 6 in Acting! As his skill leveled up, Thorne felt real, fat tears track down his cheeks, his face contorting into a mask of sorrow. The woman gasped, horrified by the sight, and shot a furious glare at her companion. The once-arrogant man shrunk under her gaze, all his bravado fading as he realized he had made a poor child cry in the middle of the street. "Here, take this," the man muttered quickly, pulling out a silver coin¡ªthis one larger than the one the woman had offered. It bore the emblem of the royal sun, a coin far more valuable than the average silver. Thorne¡¯s eyes widened as he spotted the royal insignia. A royal coin! He had never seen one up close, but before he could grab it, the man grimaced, clearly unwilling to touch Thorne¡¯s dirty hands. With a sneer, the noble tossed the coin into the air. Thorne¡¯s Sleight of Hand skill kicked in. His fingers moved like lightning, snatching the coin midair before it could hit the ground. The nobles barely registered the motion, but the coin was already tucked away in Thorne¡¯s back pocket. The nobleman scowled, but the woman smiled warmly at him. She patted her companion¡¯s arm before turning to leave, her servant trailing behind. Just before she disappeared from view, the woman gave Thorne a wink and flicked the original coin his way. Grinning, Thorne scurried forward to scoop up the coin, flashing her a big smile as she vanished into the crowd. Two silvers¡ªone royal. Not a bad start to the night. He repeated the scam three more times, charming a few more coins from unsuspecting nobles before the guards started noticing. As soon as he saw them whispering and looking in his direction, Thorne knew it was time to disappear. He ducked into a nearby alley and slipped into the shadows, running as fast as his legs could carry him. By the time he reached the safety of the darker alleys, he had a small handful of coins¡ªenough to last him two, maybe three weeks if he was careful. The royal coin would stretch that even further, buying him more than just food. Maybe even a knife. Thorne let out a long breath, his heart still racing from the close calls. His uncle had given him a place to stay¡ªan attic above a raucous tavern. It wasn¡¯t much, but it was better than sleeping on the streets. The barmaids had taken a liking to him, always slipping him extra food when he asked. Still, he needed money for things like clothes, better food, and, most importantly... a weapon. Lately, the other gangs of orphans had grown more aggressive. Whenever they saw one of Uncle¡¯s "special" nephews or nieces, they attacked without hesitation. Thorne had managed to escape a few times, thanks to his Stealth skill, but it was only a matter of time before he got cornered. He needed a dagger, something to defend himself. But even a simple dagger cost dozens of silvers. If he wanted to save up for one, he¡¯d have to give up his beloved blueberry pies for a while. With a sigh, Thorne fished out the royal coin and inspected it under the faint moonlight. The gleam of the silver was mesmerizing, but the smell of the nearby fish market snapped him out of his daze. Wrinkling his nose, he turned down an alley, hoping to get away from the stench. The streets were quieting down. Most shops had already closed, and the last few shoppers had gone home, leaving the roads to sailors, fishermen, and women offering various forms of entertainment to the rowdy men. Thorne moved quickly, his mind still focused on the coin in his hand. He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn¡¯t hear the footsteps behind him until it was too late. A hard shove from behind sent Thorne sprawling to the ground, his face slamming into the dirt with a sickening thud. The impact jarred his teeth, and his jaw ached as his mouth filled with the coppery taste of blood. His tongue stung from where he¡¯d bitten it, but the pain barely registered. Laughter rang out around him, sharp and cruel. Thorne blinked away the dizziness and looked up, his heart sinking. Jonah and his crew. Relief washed over him for a split second¡ªIt¡¯s just Jonah, not one of the other gangs¡ªbut that relief quickly soured. Jonah was bad news on a good day, and Thorne knew he was in for a beating. ¡°Well, well, well,¡± Jonah sneered, bending down to snatch the royal coin from the dirt. ¡°What do we have here?¡± He turned the coin over in his hand, inspecting it with a mocking grin. ¡°Where¡¯d you get this, huh? Pickpocketing nobles now, are we?¡± Thorne spat out a mouthful of blood and bit back the urge to snap back. His mind raced, trying to gauge how bad the situation would get. If I stay quiet, maybe they¡¯ll just take the coin and leave. ¡°Tell us, your lordship,¡± Jonah continued, his voice dripping with mockery. ¡°Did you really steal from a noble? Or are you just lucky enough to have one toss you a royal coin out of pity?¡± Thorne forced himself to stay calm. ¡°No,¡± he muttered through gritted teeth, his voice tight. ¡°A noble gave it to me.¡± His head throbbed from the fall, and the taste of blood in his mouth made it hard to speak, but he knew if he showed weakness, Jonah would take it as an invitation. Jonah arched an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. ¡°A noble, huh? Just gave you a coin out of the kindness of his heart?¡± His voice was mocking, but there was a gleam in his eye. ¡°I guess you really are Uncle¡¯s special boy, aren¡¯t you?¡± And there it was. The reason Thorne had no friends among his uncle¡¯s "family." Everyone was jealous of his preferential treatment. For reasons Thorne didn¡¯t understand, his uncle had taken a liking to him, treating him more like real family than the other orphans. He visited Thorne almost every night, sharing meals, talking for hours, making sure he was fed and clothed. Meanwhile, the rest of Uncle¡¯s nieces and nephews scraped by, barely getting enough to survive. The resentment ran deep. Thorne¡¯s eyes darted to the side, searching for an escape route. I¡¯ve got to get out of here. But before he could move, Jonah¡¯s boot pressed down hard on his chest, pinning him to the ground. "Tell me, Thorne," Jonah whispered, leaning down close enough for Thorne to smell the stench of sweat and cheap ale on his breath. "What makes you so special, huh?" Jonah¡¯s words dripped with malice, the kind that only grew from jealousy and resentment. The moment the older boy spoke, Thorne knew this wasn¡¯t going to end with just a bruise or a black eye. Jonah intended to make sure Thorne remembered this night for a long time. With a smirk, Jonah slipped the royal coin into the pocket of his tattered pants and balled his fists, stepping closer. ¡°Uncle said not to hurt you, but Uncle¡¯s not here, is he? You¡¯ve got all those coins hidden away, and you don¡¯t share with the family. I reckon you need a good beating, don¡¯t you?¡± Thorne met Jonah¡¯s gaze without flinching, his expression unreadable. I¡¯m not afraid of you. Jonah could land as many punches and kicks as he wanted, but Thorne knew they couldn¡¯t do any real damage. His stats were already higher than most adults thanks to his core. If I wanted to, I could take all six of them. But his mother¡¯s warning rang in his ears, like a ghostly whisper every time he craved to show the world how powerful he really was. ¡°Be strong, my son, and never reveal to anyone what you truly are!¡± Her voice played in his mind again as Jonah¡¯s foul breath washed over his face, the boy¡¯s eyes gleaming with satisfaction. Thorne could feel the motes of aether swirling around him, begging to be used. The temptation to unleash his strength gnawed at him, but he clenched his fists, holding back. ¡°Don¡¯t you, little princeling?¡± Jonah sneered, leaning closer. ¡°Don¡¯t you deserve some punishment?¡± Thorne¡¯s resolve wavered for a fraction of a second, and the aether flickered in his vision. He swallowed hard and gave a small nod despite himself. Jonah¡¯s grin widened, a wolfish smile spreading across his face. ¡°Have at it, boys!¡± Jonah declared, stepping back with a flourish of his hand, like a conductor signaling the start of a performance. The kicks came first, sharp and brutal, landing in his sides and back. Thorne gritted his teeth, biting down on the pain. Punches followed, rough and savage, raining down on him like a storm. His arms flew up to protect his head, his body curling in on itself as he tried to minimize the damage. Every blow sent a jolt of agony through him, but he kept his mouth shut, refusing to give them the satisfaction of hearing him cry out. Through the chaos of fists and feet, Thorne stole a glance at Jonah, who stood watching like a king surveying his battlefield. The boy looked smug, relishing the sight of his rival being beaten into the dirt. Behind him stood Ben, smaller and more hesitant, his round face twisted with guilt. Ben¡¯s eyes darted between Thorne and Jonah, but he didn¡¯t dare step in or speak up. He was just another puppet in Jonah¡¯s cruel game. The minutes dragged on, each one filled with more pain than the last. Thorne¡¯s vision blurred as his health points plummeted into the red, his body screaming for the onslaught to stop. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the boys grew bored and left him there, bleeding and broken in the filthy alley. Thorne lay still, gasping for breath. His entire body throbbed with pain, and his mouth was filled with the taste of blood. I¡¯m alive, he thought numbly. Barely, but I¡¯m alive. With tremendous effort, he dragged himself toward the nearest wall, using it to pull himself upright. His arms shook with the strain, and every movement sent fresh waves of pain through his battered body. I¡¯ve had worse. He told himself that, but it did little to ease the ache. Once he was secure against the wall, Thorne let the aether flow through him. Dark motes clung to his skin, wrapping around him like a protective shield. The shadows deepened, and he knew anyone passing by wouldn¡¯t be able to see him. Hidden in the darkness, he finally allowed himself to check the notification that had been waiting for him. CONGRATULATIONS! YOU HAVE UNLOCKED THE SKILL: Resilience! CONGRATULATIONS! YOU HAVE UNLOCKED THE SKILL: Thick Skin! Thorne let out a humorless laugh, wincing as pain shot through his ribs. ¡°Well... at least there¡¯s that,¡± he muttered under his breath, gingerly touching the side of his mouth where he could feel a loose tooth. Looks like I¡¯m going to need to learn how to pull teeth next. CHAPTER 10 Thorne sat uncomfortably at the worn wooden chair, trying his best to suppress a grimace. His entire body ached from the beating Jonah and his gang had given him, and every shift sent jolts of pain through his muscles. But the pain wasn¡¯t the only reason for his discomfort¡ªsitting directly across from him was Uncle. The older man¡¯s sharp, intelligent eyes tracked Thorne¡¯s every movement like a hawk watching its prey. Uncle shoveled a mouthful of melted cheese and bits of meat into his mouth, letting out a grunt of satisfaction. Thorne¡¯s nose twitched as a glob of cheese clung to Uncle¡¯s thick mustache, threatening to fall onto the table. He had to force himself not to grimace, both from the sight and the throbbing pain radiating across his body. ¡°Are we gonna talk about it?¡± Uncle asked casually, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder. Thorne looked up, trying his best to appear innocent. He blinked his wide eyes, putting on his most convincing expression of ignorance. ¡°Talk about what, Uncle?¡± The man scoffed, giving him a withering look. ¡°Cut the crap, shortie. Save that wide-eyed routine for some naive noble. It doesn¡¯t work on me.¡± Thorne dropped the act instantly, his expression hardening as he focused back on his plate. ¡°I don¡¯t want to talk about it,¡± he mumbled, pushing a particularly dry piece of meat around with his fork. Uncle chuckled, but it wasn¡¯t a warm sound. ¡°Ah, so it was one of your cousins, wasn¡¯t it? Thought so.¡± Thorne could feel Uncle¡¯s eyes scanning his bruised face, reading the truth from every unspoken gesture. Uncle had a way of knowing things without being told¡ªa skill that always made Thorne uneasy. ¡°Want me to talk to ¡®em?¡± Uncle asked, his tone almost too casual. ¡°Those buggers could use a reminder about how we treat family.¡± Thorne¡¯s heart skipped a beat, and he quickly shook his head. The last thing he needed was Uncle stepping in on his behalf. It would only make things worse. Jonah and the others already resented him for the special treatment he received. If Uncle showed any more favoritism, he might as well paint a target on his back. ¡°Have it your way,¡± Uncle said with a shrug, shoveling another bite into his mouth. Cheese dripped from the corner of his lips, and Thorne looked away, focusing instead on the muffled voices and drunken shouts drifting up from the tavern below. The lively conversation and clinking of mugs provided a strange sense of comfort. Thorne knew better than to let his guard down, though. Sometimes Uncle let things drop, like now, but more often than not, he had a way of drawing out the truth without Thorne even realizing it. He suspected Uncle had some sort of skill that made people talk, pulling secrets from them before they knew they were even speaking. Thorne had learned to tread carefully in these conversations. ¡°So,¡± Uncle said after a long silence, his voice breaking through Thorne¡¯s thoughts, ¡°I heard you made your way to the noble quarter today. Find anything interesting?¡± Thorne¡¯s fork paused mid-air, momentarily surprised that Uncle already knew where he¡¯d been. But he quickly remembered that the man had eyes and ears all over the city, orphans who passed along gossip in exchange for a warm bed or a few coins. ¡°Nah, not much,¡± Thorne replied, keeping his voice light. ¡°All anyone was talking about was some noblewoman¡¯s party and how good a hostess she was.¡± Uncle¡¯s expression tightened with disappointment, but he nodded. ¡°Figured as much,¡± he muttered, more to himself than to Thorne. Thorne knew why Uncle favored him¡ªhe had a knack for overhearing conversations from a mile away, a skill that made him valuable. Thankfully, his keen hearing wasn¡¯t unique enough to raise suspicion. Elves were known for their sharp senses, and most of the other orphans assumed he was some kind of half-elf, a child of disgraced parents fleeing the crown. Thorne didn¡¯t correct them. In fact, he encouraged the rumors, dropping hints here and there to steer people away from his true lineage. Whether Uncle believed the lie or not, Thorne couldn¡¯t say. But the man hadn¡¯t pried too deeply into his past, seeming content to gather whatever bits of information Thorne picked up on his excursions through the city. And more than once, Thorne had provided tips that made Uncle sit up and take notice. Those days usually ended with Uncle grinning and presenting him with a gift¡ªa new pair of boots, a silver coin, or something more extravagant. ¡°How do you feel about learning a thing or two about weapons?¡± Uncle¡¯s question hung in the air, pulling Thorne from his thoughts. ¡°It¡¯d be good for ya. Once you form your core, you¡¯ll be ready for a skill or two, eh?¡± Uncle added, his tone casual, but Thorne sensed something off in the way he asked. Thorne froze for a split second, but his Acting skill kicked in, masking his surprise with a thoughtful expression. He chewed slowly, pretending to mull over the suggestion. Inwardly, his mind raced. How much does he know? Could he have figured out I¡¯ve already formed my core? After a moment, Thorne nodded emphatically, masking any suspicion. ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking about it myself. The Drowned Rats and Shadow Skulls have been getting more aggressive. Every time they see us, they try to knife someone in an alley or a crowded square.¡± Uncle frowned at the news, though Thorne had a feeling he wasn¡¯t all that surprised. ¡°That¡¯s partly my fault,¡± Uncle admitted with a heavy sigh. ¡°Had a falling out with their leaders. Now they¡¯re trying to get back at me by picking off my kin. But don¡¯t worry¡ªI¡¯ll have that sorted out soon enough.¡± Thorne nodded, grateful but still wary. Between his cousins and the other gangs, it felt like there was always someone gunning for him. Lately, it had been worse. There were more eyes on him, more whispers behind his back. It felt like a bigger target had been painted on him than ever before. ¡°So, what kind of weapon do you want to learn?¡± Uncle asked, leaning back in his chair, his eyes gleaming with interest. Thorne looked at him, sizing him up. Uncle had the build of a man who had once been a warrior¡ªbroad shoulders, thick neck, and a scar that ran across his face, adding a sense of menace to his already imposing figure. Despite his age, there was still something dangerous about him, like a blade that hadn¡¯t yet dulled. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. ¡°What kind of weapon do you use?¡± Thorne asked, his curiosity piqued. Uncle gave him a slow smile. ¡°What kind of weapon do you think I use, shortie?¡± Uncle¡¯s voice carried a note of amusement, like he was letting Thorne in on a game he¡¯d played before. It was one of Uncle¡¯s favorite pastimes, making Thorne guess at things, prodding him to think and observe. Thorne had always hated it, but he knew better than to show his frustration. Thorne knew better than to argue outright, but his mind whirred as he carefully observed Uncle. The man had a habit of turning even simple questions into riddles, designed to make Thorne think deeper, past the obvious answers. Thorne could still remember when Uncle asked him why the bullheaded trout wasn¡¯t in the market, even though it was in season. It had taken Thorne hours to piece together the fact that there had been storms up north, which had pushed the schools of trout farther south, beyond the local fishermen¡¯s reach. This was another one of those games. Thorne studied Uncle¡¯s large frame carefully. The man¡¯s broad shoulders and thick neck indicated raw strength, but there was precision in how he moved¡ªa deliberate control, like he never wasted a motion. "Well," Thorne began, choosing his words with care, "you¡¯ve definitely got the strength for a large weapon¡ªmaybe a sword or an axe. But swordsmen usually display their weapons openly, especially in this city. No one bats an eye when a guard walks by with one. Axes... well, they¡¯re not exactly subtle." Uncle¡¯s lips curled into a half-smile, his eyes gleaming with amusement, but he stayed silent, waiting for Thorne to continue. Thorne frowned, thinking harder. "Daggers and knives don¡¯t seem right either. You¡¯ve got the strength, but daggers rely more on agility and speed, and I can¡¯t see you using something so... small." He glanced at Uncle¡¯s large hands. More suited to crushing than slashing. Uncle''s smile remained unchanged, but the glint in his eyes told Thorne he was on the right track. "A polearm?" Thorne mused aloud. "A weapon with reach and leverage. But no, you wouldn¡¯t be able to conceal it easily." Uncle¡¯s smile widened ever so slightly, a small nod of approval in the way he shifted his shoulders. Thorne¡¯s brow furrowed in concentration. ¡°A hidden weapon,¡± he muttered to himself. ¡°Something you can carry without drawing attention... but still effective. Something that uses your strength, but also¡ª¡± Then it clicked. "A chain weapon." Thorne said suddenly, his voice filled with realization. "It combines strength and reach, and you can hide it easily. Coil it up, no one would suspect a thing until it¡¯s too late." Uncle¡¯s eyes sparkled with amusement. ¡°Very good, shortie,¡± he said, his voice carrying warmth beneath the rough exterior. ¡°A chain weapon, yes. A flail to be exact. Gives me range, power, and keeps people guessing.¡± He leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the table. ¡°Not many people expect a man like me to carry something like that, but that¡¯s exactly why it¡¯s effective.¡± Thorne felt a surge of pride swell in his chest. I solved it. Despite his dislike for Uncle¡¯s riddles, there was always satisfaction in getting them right. ¡°So,¡± Uncle said, his voice shifting back to its usual casual tone, ¡°what kind of weapon do you want to learn?¡± The question hit Thorne harder than he expected. A weapon. His mind immediately flashed to the royal guards, their shining swords glinting in the sunlight, the red sun emblem emblazoned on their hilts. For a brief moment, he imagined himself with one¡ªa sword at his side, powerful, untouchable. But then the image soured, an image from his past resurfacing. Besides, his hands weren¡¯t made for swinging heavy blades. His thoughts turned to archery. He already had a skill in archery, though it was at a meager level one. No, he thought, a familiar pang of sadness washing over him. He hadn¡¯t touched a bow since his father... and somehow, letting someone else train him in archery felt like a betrayal of that memory. Weapons of all kinds flickered through his mind¡ªshields, hammers, even exotic ones like hook swords and tridents. The sailors from distant kingdoms often brought strange and wondrous weapons with them, and Thorne had always marveled at their unfamiliar designs. But then his mind settled on one weapon in particular¡ªthe spear. His memory flashed back to three-legged Tod, Uncle¡¯s bodyguard, and how he had dispatched four of the Drowned Rats with nothing more than a spear. Tod had moved with such speed and precision, his spear a blur in the dim alleyway. The others had never stood a chance; each small flick of Tod¡¯s wrist left them bleeding, crumpled on the ground. That¡¯s what I need. Excitement flooded Thorne¡¯s chest. A spear would keep them at a distance. No one would be able to touch me. His eyes lit up, and before he could stop himself, he blurted, ¡°A spear!¡± Uncle¡¯s expression darkened instantly. His lips tightened, and the smile vanished. ¡°A fine choice, for sure,¡± he said slowly, his tone laced with disapproval. ¡°But what about daggers? I believe those would be more appropriate for someone like you.¡± He leaned back in his chair, regarding Thorne carefully. ¡°You¡¯re more slippery than a snake, skulking around in the shadows until the time¡¯s right to strike. Even the guards can¡¯t spot you, and you¡¯re just a child. Some sharp daggers would suit you perfectly.¡± Thorne deflated. He felt his shoulders slump as his excitement drained away. Daggers? But he wasn¡¯t ready to give up. Not yet. ¡°But why not a spear?¡± he argued, his voice growing louder than he intended. ¡°Tod could teach me himself! I¡¯ve seen him¡ªhe took down those Drowned Rats in seconds! No one could get close to him!¡± His passion had gotten the better of him, and Thorne instantly regretted it. Uncle pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, "Dead gods help me... this is why I never wanted kids." After a moment, Uncle fixed him with a fierce glare, the kind that silenced any further protests. ¡°You¡¯re too young for a spear. We¡¯d have to craft a special one just for you, and at your size, it¡¯d be nothing more than a toothpick.¡± Thorne¡¯s mouth dropped open in shock, his eyes wide with indignation. ¡°I can carry a big spear!¡± he shouted, his face burning with embarrassment and anger. ¡°Sure you can, shortie.¡± Uncle¡¯s chuckle only fueled Thorne¡¯s frustration, the older man clearly enjoying the moment. Thorne¡¯s cheeks flushed red, but before he could argue further, Uncle raised a hand, offering a compromise. ¡°Tell you what¡ªtomorrow, you¡¯ll start training with daggers. Learn the basics. Once you turn fourteen, we¡¯ll revisit the idea of a spear.¡± Thorne glared at him, his eyes narrowed with suspicion, but after a long moment, he sighed in defeat. ¡°Fine,¡± he muttered, crossing his arms in frustration. ¡°Wonderful!¡± Uncle clapped his hands together, his jovial demeanor returning. ¡°Tomorrow morning, Sid¡¯ll be waiting for you at the warehouse.¡± Thorne grimaced at the thought of Sid as his trainer. The man was a despicable drunkard, someone who always seemed to end up in the middle of a brawl¡ªor worse, a knife fight. Sid had a reputation in the Fish District, and not the good kind. Thorne had seen the man stumble out of taverns with blood on his hands, his face twisted into a sneer as he flicked his many knives into place, ready for the next fight. He was dangerous, unpredictable, and worst of all, Uncle¡¯s favorite when it came to dealing with "special" tasks. Thorne knew Sid¡¯s skill with daggers was unmatched¡ªrows upon rows of knives, each one sharper than the last. But the thought of suffering through hours of training with the mercurial man left a bitter taste in his mouth. ¡°Isn¡¯t there someone else?¡± Thorne asked, desperation creeping into his voice. But before he could finish the thought, Uncle cut him off, his tone firm. ¡°No. Sid has the highest skill level in daggers in all the Fish District. He¡¯s the best, shortie, and that¡¯s who you¡¯re training with. Now go to sleep.¡± The finality in Uncle¡¯s words made it clear there would be no further discussion. With a huff, Uncle rose from his chair, his large frame casting a long shadow over the small attic as he made his way to the door. "Tomorrow, you start your training," he added without looking back. CHAPTER 11 Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. CHAPTER 12 ¡°Attack!¡± Thorne hesitated, then lunged forward, his hand gripping the knife awkwardly. The blade felt foreign in his grasp, and his movements were slow, hesitant. Sid sidestepped effortlessly, a blur of motion, and Thorne¡¯s clumsy thrust met only empty air. ¡°What in the forgotten bastard son¡¯s pimple was that?¡± Sid barked, his voice laced with contempt. He glared at Thorne, his eyes flashing with irritation. Thorne looked at him, bewildered and breathless. He had held back, not wanting to reveal his true speed or strength. After all, most eight-year-olds couldn¡¯t even outrun a horse, let alone wield a knife like a seasoned fighter. Sid¡¯s lips curled into a sneer. ¡°You don¡¯t announce your moves like some amateur brawler!¡± he snapped. ¡°You¡¯re not a guard, waving around a sword, or some foolish knight charging into battle. You¡¯re wielding a knife! You need to be quick, sharp, and unpredictable. Aim to inflict the most damage in the least time, and vanish before they even realize they¡¯ve been cut. Here, watch!¡± With that, Sid blurred into motion, disappearing from Thorne¡¯s view only to reappear behind him in an instant. Thorne spun around, his heart racing, but not fast enough. A sharp, stinging pain flared in his arm as the knife fell from his grasp. Sid¡¯s breath was hot against his ear. ¡°And that¡¯s how it¡¯s done,¡± he whispered, his voice a mockery of gentleness, before slicing Thorne¡¯s ribs with a flick of his wrist. ¡°That¡¯s for the water stunt, brat.¡± Thorne gritted his teeth, a sharp intake of breath escaping his lips as he clutched his side. He glared at Sid, his eyes burning with frustration and pain. ¡°Again,¡± Sid ordered, stepping back, his eyes glinting with a sadistic glee that sent a shiver down Thorne¡¯s spine. What followed was hours of torment. Each time Thorne lunged or slashed, Sid countered with ruthless efficiency, each missed strike punished with a fresh cut or a barrage of cruel insults. Thorne¡¯s body ached from head to toe, his muscles trembling with fatigue, but the man showed no mercy. His voice was a relentless drill, tearing into Thorne¡¯s self-esteem as much as his blade tore into his flesh. ¡°You call that an attack?¡± Sid snarled, landing another blow that sent Thorne staggering. ¡°My grandmother swings harder than that, and she¡¯s been dead for years!¡± By the end of the session, Thorne was a wreck. His already bruised body was now covered in dozens of small, stinging cuts. Blood oozed from shallow wounds, staining his clothes and making every movement a fresh agony. He felt like a broken puppet, his strings cut, barely able to stand. ¡°That¡¯s enough,¡± Sid declared finally, sheathing his blade with a look of disgust. ¡°You¡¯re hopeless. I don¡¯t know what Uncle sees in you.¡± Thorne bit back a retort, his jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. After hours of ¡°training,¡± he hadn¡¯t landed a single hit on Sid, let alone unlocked the daggers skill. His frustration simmered beneath the surface, mingling with the dull, throbbing ache of his injuries. The taste of failure was bitter on his tongue. Sid grabbed a bottle from a nearby crate, the harsh scent of alcohol filling the air as he uncorked it and took a long swig. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked at Thorne with disdain. ¡°I¡¯m off for a drink.¡± He turned to leave but paused, glancing over his shoulder with a twisted grin. ¡°Tomorrow, same time. We¡¯re not done yet.¡± Thorne felt a chill run down his spine as he watched Sid swagger out of the warehouse. It was clear now¡ªthe man was enjoying this, relishing the chance to vent his anger and frustrations on someone weaker. Thorne was nothing more than a convenient target, a punching bag for Sid¡¯s cruelty. He sagged against a crate, every part of him aching, the sharp sting of each cut reminding him of his failure. He had to survive this ¡°training,¡± had to endure without giving Sid an excuse to do something worse. * ¡°So, how was your first day of training?¡± Uncle asked, his knife cutting into a hearty chicken pie, steam rising from the flaky crust. A heap of onions sat on the side, the sharp scent filling the small attic room. Thorne bit his lip, swallowing the urge to complain about being paired with a madman. The memory of Sid¡¯s ¡°training¡± was still fresh in his mind, each cut and bruise throbbing as a painful reminder. When he¡¯d returned home, Gilly had taken one look at him, cursed like one of the sailors below, and sat him down to dress his wounds with a foul-smelling poultice. The stench had been unbearable, but the relief it provided was immediate and undeniable. ¡°It was...¡± Thorne searched for the right word, something that wouldn¡¯t make Uncle question him too much. ¡°Interesting...¡± He let the word hang in the air, hoping it would suffice. Uncle¡¯s brow lifted in mild curiosity. ¡°Interesting, you say?¡± He cut a generous slice of the pie and placed it on Thorne¡¯s plate, adding a small mountain of chopped onions on the side. Thorne hesitated, poking at the pie with his fork. ¡°Maybe...¡± He glanced at Uncle¡¯s impassive face and took a deep breath. ¡°Maybe you could find me another trainer?¡± Uncle waved his hand dismissively, as if brushing away a trivial complaint. ¡°Nonsense. Sid is the best rogue in the lower districts. He¡¯s proved himself time and again. There¡¯s no one better suited to teach you.¡± Thorne sighed inwardly. He didn¡¯t doubt Sid¡¯s skill¡ªhe just didn¡¯t want to be the man¡¯s personal pincushion. Resigned, he dropped the matter, but couldn¡¯t stop the pout that formed on his lips. Uncle chuckled at the expression but didn¡¯t comment further. They ate in silence, the only sounds in the attic the occasional clink of utensils and the muffled roar of the tavern below. Gilly entered quietly, carrying a pitcher of iced lemonade. Thorne eagerly reached for a glass, his throat dry from the day''s ordeals. He drank deeply, savoring the cool sweetness as it washed away some of the lingering bitterness. Uncle watched him thoughtfully. ¡°I guess you didn¡¯t have time to make the rounds in the market today,¡± he said, his tone casual, but Thorne knew better than to be fooled. Thorne nodded absently, his mind more focused on the refreshing drink in his hands than the conversation. ¡°No, Uncle, not today.¡± ¡°Hmm.¡± Uncle¡¯s eyes narrowed slightly. ¡°I want you to be alert in the coming days. I¡¯ve heard whispers that a merchant from the capital will be docking any day now. We don¡¯t get many of those around here, so it¡¯s quite the surprise. Keep your ears open for any gossip about him. I¡¯m sure word will spread the moment he sets foot in Alvar.¡± Thorne nodded again, more focused now. Merchant, capital, gossip¡ªsimple enough. He could handle that. He took another gulp of lemonade, feeling the cool liquid calm his nerves. Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. Uncle¡¯s gaze sharpened, and he leaned forward, his tone firm. ¡°Are you listening, shortie?¡± Thorne reluctantly put down his glass, his eyes turning solemn as he met Uncle¡¯s gaze. ¡°Of course, Uncle! I¡¯ll find out everything there is to know the moment he arrives. Don¡¯t you worry, I have these,¡± he said, tapping his ears with a mischievous grin. Uncle¡¯s stern expression softened into a pleased smile. ¡°Good boy. Now, why do you think it¡¯s so unusual to have a merchant from the capital here?¡± Thorne¡¯s brow furrowed in thought. He knew this wasn¡¯t a simple question; Uncle never asked simple questions. He considered everything he knew about Alvar City and its peculiarities. ¡°Well, Uncle,¡± he began slowly, ¡°it¡¯s unusual because Alvar City is so far from the capital, and we¡¯re not really on the way to anywhere important for most merchants. We¡¯re more of a fishing town, and maybe a stop before the Emerald Sands Kingdom, but not a place where big merchants from the capital would usually visit.¡± Uncle nodded, encouraging him to continue. ¡°And,¡± Thorne added, tapping his fingers on the table as he gathered his thoughts, ¡°the aether is low here. We can¡¯t grow magical herbs or make magical items. Merchants from the capital are probably more interested in places where they can buy and sell magical goods. We don¡¯t have much of that here, so there¡¯s not much reason for them to come.¡± ¡°Very good,¡± Uncle said, his eyes gleaming with pride. ¡°And what might this merchant be interested in, then?¡± Thorne¡¯s mind raced, considering the possibilities. ¡°Maybe he¡¯s interested in our fish? But that doesn¡¯t make sense because they can get fish closer to the capital. Maybe he wants to trade with the Emerald Sands Kingdom and is stopping here first? That¡¯s possible, but why come here instead of going straight to the islands?¡± He bit his lip, his thoughts whirling. Then a new idea struck him, and his eyes widened. ¡°Uncle, do you think he might be interested in something or someone in the Elven Forest? We¡¯re close to the Elven Kingdom, and it¡¯s rare for people to travel through here unless they¡¯re looking for something special.¡± Uncle¡¯s smile widened, and he nodded approvingly. ¡°Now you¡¯re thinking, Thorne. There could be something¡ªor someone¡ªhe¡¯s after. And you¡¯ll help me keep an eye out for any unusual activity or gossip that might give us more clues.¡± Thorne¡¯s chest swelled with pride at the praise, and he nodded eagerly. ¡°I¡¯ll be on the lookout, Uncle. I¡¯ll find out everything I can.¡± They continued their meal in a companionable silence. Gilly returned with a small dish of honey cakes, and Thorne¡¯s eyes lit up at the sight. He dug into the sweet treat with relish, but his mind was already racing with thoughts of the mysterious merchant and the possible reasons for his visit to Alvar. ¡°Uncle,¡± he said between bites, his voice thoughtful, ¡°do you think the merchant might be looking for something magical, even though the aether is low?¡± Uncle raised an eyebrow. ¡°What makes you think that?¡± ¡°Well,¡± Thorne said, choosing his words carefully, ¡°just because the aether is low doesn¡¯t mean there aren¡¯t any magical things here. Maybe there¡¯s something hidden or rare that the merchant heard about. Something only someone from the capital would know to look for.¡± Uncle leaned back, his face thoughtful. ¡°You¡¯re getting sharper every day, shortie. Keep thinking like that, and you¡¯ll be ahead of everyone else.¡± Thorne beamed at the praise but continued to think, his mind churning with possibilities. ¡°Also, if he¡¯s from the capital, he might have special goods with him. Things we don¡¯t usually see here. People will be very curious and talk about it a lot. Maybe he has something to trade that¡¯s really valuable.¡± Uncle nodded slowly, his gaze calculating. ¡°That¡¯s very astute, Thorne. Keep your eyes and ears open, and remember, sometimes the most valuable information comes from the most unexpected places.¡± Thorne nodded eagerly, feeling a renewed sense of purpose. ¡°I¡¯ll keep that in mind, Uncle. I¡¯ll listen to everything and tell you what I find.¡± ¡°Good boy,¡± Uncle said, ruffling Thorne¡¯s hair affectionately. * Thorne woke to the first light of dawn streaming through the small window of the attic, casting a golden hue across the cramped space. He stretched gingerly, every muscle protesting from the relentless training session with Sid. With a weary sigh, he laced up his worn boots, the leather cracked and well past its prime, and made his way down the creaky stairs. The early morning air was crisp and salty as he stepped outside. The cries of seagulls echoed through the quiet streets, the city of Alvar still awakening from its slumber. The cool breeze carried the familiar scent of the sea, a mix of salt and fish that clung to the air like an old friend. Arriving at the warehouse, Thorne was taken aback to find it empty. There was sign of Sid¡¯s presence, a scattered deck of cards, an empty bottle rolling on the floor, or the man''s heavy snoring. Thorne looked around, a frown creasing his brow. Had there been a change in plans that he hadn¡¯t been told about? He waited for a while, his ears straining for any sign of Sid. After a few minutes, when it became clear that Sid wasn¡¯t coming, Thorne decided not to waste his time and made his way towards the fish market. The market was already bustling with activity, a chaotic symphony of shouts and haggling as fishermen proudly displayed their daily catches. The smell of fresh fish mingled with the more pungent odor of those that had been left out too long. Thorne navigated through the throng of people with practiced ease, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd for any opportunities to beg or pickpocket. His last few coins had been stolen by Jonah and his gang, and he desperately needed to replenish his funds. Finding a spot near a particularly busy stall, Thorne sat down, adopting the forlorn look of a despondent street urchin. His small, dirt-smudged face and ragged clothes helped him blend seamlessly with the other children who roamed the market. He watched the bustling activity with a keen eye, ready to act if an opportunity presented itself. As he sat, taking in the sights and sounds, a familiar, menacing voice cut through the din, sending a shiver down his spine. ¡°Well, well, if it isn¡¯t Thorne,¡± Jonah sneered, his gang of cronies snickering behind him. Thorne¡¯s stomach tightened as he turned to face Jonah, the ten-year-old bully who had made his life miserable. Flanked by his usual lackeys, Jonah¡¯s perpetual scowl was now twisted with a smug grin. Thorne forced himself to remain calm, his face a mask of indifference despite the turmoil inside. ¡°Hello, Jonah,¡± Thorne said quietly, rising to his feet. He kept his stance relaxed, though his muscles were coiled like a spring, ready to react if necessary. Jonah stepped closer, his eyes gleaming with malice. ¡°Begging for scraps again? Must be hard when your precious uncle isn¡¯t around to protect you.¡± Thorne felt his fists clench involuntarily, his nails digging into his palms. He opened his mouth to retort but stopped himself. He knew better than to rise to Jonah¡¯s bait. But then Jonah¡¯s next words struck like a knife to the gut. ¡°You know, Thorne, I heard your parents didn¡¯t just die¡ªthey ran away. They couldn¡¯t stand the sight of you and decided to leave you here to rot. Or maybe they got themselves killed because they were too stupid to survive. Either way, they¡¯re probably better off without a useless runt like you dragging them down.¡± A red haze clouded Thorne¡¯s vision, the world around him blurring as rage bubbled up inside him. For the first time, he let go of the restraint he had always clung to, his stats enhanced body was free to act. Without thinking, he lunged at Jonah, his speed surprising even himself. Jonah¡¯s eyes widened in shock as Thorne¡¯s fist connected with his stomach, the force of the blow knocking the wind out of him. The other boys reacted quickly, but Thorne was already moving, his enhanced reflexes guiding his movements. He ducked under a clumsy punch and delivered a swift kick to one boy¡¯s shin, sending him toppling to the ground. Another boy charged at him, but Thorne sidestepped, driving his elbow into the boy¡¯s ribs with a satisfying thud. It was over in seconds. Jonah¡¯s gang lay sprawled on the ground, groaning in pain. Only Ben remained standing, his eyes wide with shock. Thorne had always respected Ben for never joining in the bullying, and he felt no anger towards him now. Jonah, still gasping for air, looked up at Thorne with a mix of fear and fury. ¡°You¡¯ll pay for this, Thorne,¡± he spat, clutching his stomach as he tried to stand. Thorne stepped closer, his gaze icy. ¡°Don¡¯t ever talk about my parents again,¡± he said, his voice low and dangerous. Jonah flinched at the intensity in Thorne¡¯s eyes. He scrambled to his feet, his face pale, and motioned for his gang to follow. They limped away, casting fearful glances over their shoulders. Thorne watched them go, his heart pounding in his chest. The adrenaline slowly faded, leaving him trembling from head to toe. He had finally stood up to Jonah, and while it was terrifying, it also felt... liberating. Just as he was trying to calm his racing heart, a slow, mocking clap echoed behind him, followed by an oily voice that sent a shiver down his spine. ¡°Well, well, shortie. Maybe you¡¯re not a lost cause after all.¡± CHAPTER 13 "Well, well. Maybe you are not a lost cause after all." Thorne turned to see Sid standing there, his thin, weasel-like face twisted into a predatory grin. His yellowed, rotting teeth glinted in the dim morning light, even from a distance, Thorne could smell the stench of alcohol wafting from him. The man was bristling with daggers, each blade glinting menacingly like the eyes of a hungry wolf. ¡°Sid,¡± Thorne said, his voice steadier than he felt. His heart hammered in his chest, the events of the morning still fresh in his mind. He spotted patches of dried blood on Sid''s filthy clothes, wondering uneasily whose blood it might be and what the rogue had been up to earlier. Sid swaggered closer, his gaze never leaving Thorne. "You surprised me, boy," he drawled, his voice dripping with mockery. "I thought you were just a weakling, faking your way through training. But now I see you¡¯ve got some fight in you. Maybe you''re not such a waste of space after all." Thorne swallowed hard, recalling the brutal first training session. He had purposefully held back, terrified that revealing his true strength and speed would expose him for what he really was¡ªan elder race child hiding in plain sight. Sid had mocked him relentlessly that day, each cruel jibe cutting deeper than the blades he wielded. Thorne had felt smaller than ever under Sid¡¯s scrutiny, like a mouse trying to evade the claws of a particularly vicious cat. Sid¡¯s grin widened, his bloodshot eyes narrowing as he leaned in close, his breath hot and sour against Thorne¡¯s face. ¡°Meet me at the meat district at sundown,¡± he hissed, his voice low and menacing. ¡°This time, our training will be different.¡± Thorne nodded, his throat too tight to speak. Sid straightened up, his gaze still fixed on Thorne as if trying to peel back his skin and see the secrets hidden beneath. He gave Thorne one last, appraising look before turning sharply on his heel and striding away, his tattered cloak billowing behind him like a shadow. As Sid disappeared into the bustling crowd, Thorne felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Ben, his round face pale with worry. Ben¡¯s wide eyes darted between Sid¡¯s retreating figure and Thorne, his expression silently asking, Are you really going to meet him? Thorne forced a small, reassuring smile. ¡°I have to, Ben,¡± he said quietly, his voice trembling despite his best efforts. ¡°If I don¡¯t, he¡¯ll just keep tormenting me. I need to learn how to defend myself.¡± Ben nodded reluctantly, his gaze full of concern as he bit his lip. Thorne could see the fear in his eyes¡ªthe same fear that had kept Ben from ever joining in Jonah¡¯s cruel games. But even so, he remained by Jonah¡¯s side, too afraid to stand against him, and too afraid to leave. ¡°Thanks, Ben,¡± Thorne said softly, appreciating the unspoken support. Ben gave him a hesitant nod before turning and hurrying away, glancing back over his shoulder one last time before disappearing into the crowd. Thorne spent the rest of the day with a growing sense of dread gnawing at his insides like a hungry rat. What did Sid have planned for him? Why the change in training? He tried to shake off the fear, but it clung to him like a second skin. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the city, Thorne made his way to the meat district, his mind racing with a thousand dark thoughts. The meat district was a grim, squalid place, filled with the sounds of knives hacking through flesh and the constant buzz of flies hovering around the carcasses. The stench of blood and death hung thick in the air, mingling with the salty tang of the sea. Thorne navigated the narrow, winding alleys, his heart pounding in his ears. Small rivers of blood snaked between the cobblestones, staining his boots as he made his way through the grisly scene. He found Sid waiting near a row of hanging carcasses, his grin wider and more sinister than ever. ¡°Good, you¡¯re here,¡± he said, his eyes gleaming with something like excitement. Or maybe it was just madness. ¡°Tonight, we start real training. No more holding back. Show me what you¡¯ve got, Thorne.¡± Thorne took a deep breath and nodded, steeling himself for whatever was to come. He knew he had to be careful¡ªhad to find a way to balance showing enough of his abilities to satisfy Sid without revealing too much. If Sid suspected even for a moment that Thorne was more than just an unusually agile street rat, things could get very dangerous, very quickly. Sid tossed a crude dagger to Thorne, who caught it deftly, his fingers closing around the hilt. ¡°Let¡¯s see if you can use that thing properly,¡± Sid sneered, drawing a pair of his own wickedly sharp daggers. ¡°This is no game, boy. Fail to impress me, and you¡¯ll regret it.¡± Thorne tightened his grip on the dagger and faced Sid, his mind focused and ready. He knew this night could be a turning point¡ªif he managed to impress Sid, his life would become easier. If not... Sid¡¯s grin turned feral. ¡°Here¡¯s the game, boy,¡± he said, his voice dripping with malice. ¡°Your objective is to reach the warehouse at the docks. But it¡¯s not going to be a simple stroll. I¡¯ll be tracking you, hunting you. If I catch you, I attack, and you defend yourself. Use your speed, your stealth skills, everything you¡¯ve got.¡± Thorne¡¯s stomach churned with fear, but he forced himself to nod. He tightened his grip on the dagger, the cold metal biting into his palm, and took off into the maze of alleys, his heart pounding in his chest like a drum. Sid¡¯s voice echoed behind him, cruel and mocking. ¡°Run, boy! The hunt begins now!¡± Thorne''s heart pounded as he darted through the twisting alleys, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He had to stay ahead, had to outmaneuver Sid, whose footsteps echoed ominously behind him like the footsteps of Death itself. He slid into the shadows, his small frame allowing him to slip through gaps and crevices that Sid, with his larger build, would struggle to navigate. Every so often, he heard Sid¡¯s mocking voice echoing through the narrow streets or caught a glint of a dagger in the dim light. Thorne''s mind raced, his instincts sharpened by his life on the streets. He climbed onto low rooftops, his hands clutching the rough edges as he pulled himself up, using clotheslines to swing across alleys, and squeezing through tight spaces where Sid would be forced to detour. But no matter how fast he ran or how clever his escapes, Sid was relentless, closing the gap with terrifying speed and precision. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. After what felt like hours of frantic running, Thorne paused behind a stack of barrels, his chest heaving. His body ached, bruised and battered from the earlier encounters. He pressed his back against the damp wood, straining his ears for any sign of Sid. The alley was eerily silent, save for the distant murmurs of the city and the occasional drip of water from the rooftops. Thorne forced himself to breathe quietly, his eyes scanning the shadows for any movement. And then he saw it¡ªa flicker in the corner of his vision. His blood ran cold. Before he could react, Sid¡¯s hand shot out of the darkness, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him out of his hiding spot. Thorne¡¯s heart leapt into his throat as he found himself face-to-face with the sadistic grin of his trainer. "Found you, boy," Sid hissed, his eyes glinting with cruel delight. He swung a dagger at Thorne, who barely managed to twist out of the way. The blade grazed his arm, leaving a shallow cut that sent a sharp, burning pain shooting up his arm. Panic surged through Thorne, but he fought to keep his mind clear. He had to escape. Sid¡¯s attacks were brutal and swift, each one aimed to maim or kill. Thorne ducked and dodged, his small size and agility barely keeping him one step ahead of the deadly blades. His heart raced, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Sid¡¯s eyes sparkled with a sick pleasure as he slashed and stabbed, forcing Thorne further into a corner. ¡°Run, boy! Run while you still can!¡± he taunted, his voice dripping with mockery. Desperation fueled Thorne¡¯s movements. He snatched up a loose brick from the ground and hurled it at Sid with all his strength. The brick sailed past Sid¡¯s head, missing him by a hair, but the distraction bought Thorne a precious second to dash down another alley. His lungs burned, and his legs felt like lead, but he couldn¡¯t stop now. Sid¡¯s dark laughter echoed behind him. ¡°You¡¯re only making this more fun for me, boy!¡± he called out, his voice sending shivers down Thorne¡¯s spine. Thorne turned a corner sharply, only to find himself at a dead end. His heart plummeted as he realized he was trapped. Sid approached slowly, savoring the moment, his dagger glinting menacingly in the dim light. Thorne glanced around frantically, searching for anything he could use to escape. His eyes landed on a thick rope hanging above him, supporting a massive pig carcass suspended over the alley. An idea, born of sheer desperation, flashed through his mind. He scrambled up a nearby stack of crates, reaching for the rope with trembling hands. Sid lunged just as Thorne managed to cut the rope. The heavy carcass came crashing down, catching Sid off guard. The impact knocked Sid to the ground, the pig¡¯s weight pinning him for a brief moment. Thorne didn¡¯t waste a second. He bolted, his heart hammering in his chest, his breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps. He could hear Sid cursing and struggling behind him, but he didn¡¯t look back. He ran through the alleys with newfound urgency, the docks and the safety of the warehouse his only goal. The streets blurred around him as he pushed his body to its limits, every muscle screaming in protest. Sid, enraged by his blunder, howled behind him. No matter how fast Thorne ran, Sid found him several times. Each time, Thorne had to defend himself, blocking and parrying Sid''s attacks. Sid was relentless, his strikes filled with a sadistic glee. Thorne could see the pleasure Sid took in the hunt, the way his eyes lit up every time he found him. Thorne''s small size and agility were his greatest assets. He used his speed to dodge Sid''s attacks and his cunning to set small traps, like knocking over barrels to slow Sid down. Each encounter made Sid angrier, having long shed his mask of a trainer. Every stab, every slash was meant to kill, pushing Thorne to his limits. As the night wore on, Thorne grew tired but refused to give up. He could see the docks in the distance, the warehouse just a few streets away. He took a deep breath and sprinted the final stretch, using every ounce of strength he had left. Just as he reached the warehouse, Sid appeared in front of him, his dagger raised. Thorne''s heart sank, but he didn''t back down. He faced Sid, ready to defend himself one last time. Sid lunged, and Thorne dodged, using the momentum to spin and strike Sid''s arm, instead of the satisfying clutter of metal on the ground he felt stinging pain in his neck. A triumphant look on Sid¡¯s face told him that the game was over. For a moment, there was silence. Then Sid laughed, a low, rumbling sound that sent chills down Thorne''s spine. "Well done, boy. Well done. You''ve impressed me tonight." Thorne stepped back, getting away from Sid¡¯s dagger. He was breathing hard, his body aching, but he felt a surge of satisfaction. He had survived Sid''s sadistic training and earned a measure of respect from his ruthless trainer. Sid sheathed his dagger. "You''re not a lost cause after all, Thorne. We''ll continue this training. Be ready for more." Thorne nodded, exhausted. The man sauntered away, vanishing in the shadows instantly. Thorne strained his ears to find Sid¡¯s footsteps but was met only by silence. Thorne let his exhausted body relax and crumbled next to a crate. As soon as he sat down a big smile transformed his tired face. He finally pulled up the notifications that had being vying for his attention all night. Congratulations! You Have Unlocked the Skill: Daggers! Skill Level Up: Daggers! Skill Level Up: Daggers! Skill Level Up: Daggers! Congratulations! You Have Unlocked the Skill: Acrobatics! Skill Level Up: Acrobatics! Skill Level Up: Thick Skin! Skill Level Up: Thick Skin! Skill Level Up: Running! Despite the throbbing pain in his body, Thorne couldn¡¯t help but feel a sense of accomplishment. He had survived Sid''s brutal training and gained not just one, but two new skills. He flexed his fingers, still feeling the weight of the dagger and the sharpness of each precise movement. He¡¯d gone from fumbling with the weapon to being able to defend himself, albeit barely. Sid¡¯s cruel methods had forced him to adapt, to dig deep and push past his limits. Thorne leaned back against the crate, replaying the night¡¯s events in his mind. The brutal chase through the alleys, the desperate skirmishes with Sid, the way he had been forced to use every ounce of his strength, speed, and wit to survive. The night had been a whirlwind of fear and adrenaline, but it had also made him sharper, more aware of his capabilities. His fingers brushed the shallow cut on his neck, the sting reminding him of how close he had come to failure. He hated the sadistic man, but there was no denying that Sid¡¯s ruthless training had been effective. Thorne had never experienced such a drastic leap in his abilities before. It reminded him of that night in the elven forest when he had faced the wolf. The fear, the desperation, the feeling of being pushed to his absolute limits. A word floated to the forefront of his mind, a word he had heard his mother speak with a mix of disdain and sadness¡ªstrife. That word had been spoken with disdain and sadness by his mother. But as he sat there, his body battered but with new skills unlocked, Thorne began to understand something that had eluded him before. Growth came from overcoming challenges, from facing fear and pushing past it. Strife was painful, yes, but it was also a way to become stronger. If he wanted to survive in this harsh world, he would have to embrace strife, make it his own. He closed his eyes, letting the exhaustion wash over him, and whispered, ¡°Bring it on.¡± CHAPTER 14 Thorne perched on the thick branch, savoring the last morsel of his blueberry pie. He licked his fingers, searching for any forgotten crumbs, but finding none, he sighed in resignation and tried to get comfortable. A simple shift made him wince as pain shot through his body. His entire form was a tapestry of bruises and cuts, courtesy of his training with Sid. The past week had been a relentless cycle of dodging, running, and fighting through the labyrinthine streets of Alvar City, with Sid constantly on his heels, daggers ready to strike. Each night, Thorne had been jolted awake by nightmares of those gleaming blades, of Sid¡¯s mocking laughter echoing through the alleys. Yet, as grueling and terrifying as it was, he couldn¡¯t deny the results. His skills had been improving steadily, his body adapting to the brutal pace of training. Even so, he noticed that the rapid progression was slowing down, each new level requiring more effort and time. He raised his status page, the glowing numbers and letters offering a rare sense of satisfaction amidst the pain. Name: Thorne Level: 11 Race: Human Age: 9 Special Trait: Elder Race Health points: 360/360 Aether: 240/240 Stamina: 320/320 Strength: 25 Agility: 36 Dexterity: 28 Endurance: 32 Vitality: 36 Spirit: 40 Wisdom: 24 Intelligence: 25 Skills: PRIMAL AETHER MANIPULATION: 3 Thorne scanned the list with a sense of accomplishment. Each increase represented countless hours of pain and fear. His stealth skill was becoming almost instinctual, his feet unconsciously finding the quietest paths. His dagger proficiency had soared, every brutal encounter with Sid honing his strikes, forcing him to be more precise, more lethal. He knew that Uncle would be pleased with his progress, even if Sid''s methods were brutal. He let out a slow breath, feeling a mix of pride and exhaustion. The numbers didn¡¯t lie; he was becoming stronger. But at what cost? His body ached constantly, and his nights were haunted by vivid, terrifying dreams. He felt like prey even in his sleep, always hunted, always running. The branch swayed slightly under his weight, and Thorne glanced out over Alvar City. The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows over the rooftops and winding streets. The distant cries of merchants packing up for the day floated up to him, mingling with the occasional call of a seagull. As the evening deepened, his thoughts drifted to his parents. He could still remember their gentle voices, the warmth of their hugs, the safety of their presence. A pang of sorrow pierced his heart, but he quickly shoved it down. There was no time for weakness, no time for memories. He had to survive, had to keep growing stronger. Shifting his position slightly, he tried to blend further into the lush foliage of the tree he was perched in. He was hidden in the expansive garden of a noble lord¡¯s estate, perched high on a hill at the center of Alvar. The estate was a vision of luxury, with elegant fountains bubbling softly, marble statues poised gracefully among colorful flower beds, and gazebos nestled beneath towering trees. It was a world away from the grimy alleys he was used to. He had slipped into the estate by scaling the outer wall and hopping from tree to tree until he reached his current vantage point, a maneuver that would have been impossible before his recent training with Sid. Below him, guards patrolled the grounds, their armor gleaming in the fading light. They moved with practiced efficiency, their eyes scanning the shadows. But the well-pruned cypress trees lining the path to the main entrance provided perfect cover for Thorne. He could see everything from his perch¡ªevery move, every whisper. He was waiting for two men: a noble lord and the mysterious merchant from the capital who had been the talk of the city. A maid had already set a table on the veranda, the centerpiece a strange metallic sphere that emitted a faint, purplish glow. The object intrigued him. He couldn¡¯t feel any aether emanating from it, but he knew that the sphere was special. Out of habit, he scanned the estate again. The gardens were a masterpiece of design, each statue seemingly alive, each flower bed arranged with artistic precision. Thorne felt a pang of envy for the life of ease and comfort the residents here enjoyed. It was so different from his own world of struggle and danger. He wondered briefly what it would be like to live in such a place, to not have to worry about where his next meal would come from or whether he¡¯d survive the night. He shook his head, pushing the thought away. Suddenly, his sharp ears picked up the sound of voices as if coming out of nowhere. He tensed, focusing on the conversation. Two figures emerged from the large double doors of the balcony: a tall, regal-looking nobleman, his gait commanding and dignified, and a shorter, rotund man dressed in rich merchant garb, his every step betraying a slight nervousness. The noble lord, with his greying hair swept back in a calculated display of authority and distinguished features sharpened by age and experience, spoke in a deep, resonant voice that seemed to command the very air around him. ¡°Welcome to my estate, Master Holgar. I trust your journey from the capital was uneventful?¡± The merchant, Master Holgar, chuckled, though his laughter held an undertone of unease. His beady eyes darted around the estate, taking in the opulence with a mix of admiration and apprehension. ¡°Indeed, Lord Durnell. Your hospitality is most generous. I must say, your garden is truly magnificent.¡± His voice carried a practiced charm, but Thorne could hear the hint of tension underlying his words. Lord Durnell waved a hand dismissively, the gesture elegant yet authoritative. ¡°A mere trifle,¡± he said, his eyes narrowing as if already weighing the merchant¡¯s worth. ¡°Come, let us sit and discuss our business.¡± He led the merchant to an ornately set table under a canopy of flowering vines, the soft glow of lanterns casting dappled shadows across the veranda. Thorne watched intently as the two men settled themselves at the table. A maid appeared almost instantly, moving with practiced grace as she placed a tray of refreshments before them. Crystal glasses caught the light, sparkling like captured starlight as she poured deep red wine into them. Thorne¡¯s heart raced with anticipation, his senses heightened. This was his chance to gather valuable information for his uncle. As the men leaned back in their chairs, their postures deceptively relaxed, Thorne strained to hear their conversation over the gentle burbling of a nearby fountain and the distant chirping of night insects. Every detail mattered; every word could be crucial. ¡°Tell me, Master Holgar,¡± Lord Durnell began, his tone smooth and measured, ¡°what brings you to Alvar City? It is rare for merchants from the capital to venture this far.¡± His eyes bore into the merchant, the intensity of his gaze belying the casualness of his question. Holgar sighed dramatically, a performance worthy of a seasoned actor. ¡°An unexpected journey, I¡¯m afraid. I had to restock my supplies, much to my dismay.¡± He spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness, though his eyes flicked cautiously towards the noble, gauging his reaction. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. Sensing an opportunity, Lord Durnell leaned in slightly, his interest piqued. ¡°Alvar may be small, but it has much to offer. Especially my house¡¯s main export¡ªwool. It is the softest and most durable in the kingdom. I¡¯m certain the nobles in the capital would love it.¡± His voice held a subtle edge, the practiced tone of a man used to striking deals and gaining the upper hand. The merchant offered a placating smile, his plump fingers drumming lightly on the table. ¡°I¡¯m sure it is quite fine, Lord Durnell.¡± His tone was noncommittal, evasive. Thorne recognized the dance of words, the careful maneuvering that his uncle had often spoken of. It was a game of patience, a delicate balance of power and persuasion. Thorne soaked up every word, his mind piecing together the dynamics at play. He recalled one of his uncle¡¯s games, where he had to solve a riddle about the reigning nobles in Alvar City. Lord Durnell was one of the most powerful, having established his house as one of the most affluent families in the west. And all that thanks to the wool he produced and sold. It was clear that Lord Durnell was fishing for a way to establish a foothold in the capital, while the merchant enjoyed the attention and was in no hurry to make commitments. After relentless badgering from Lord Durnell, the merchant finally relented, his shoulders sagging slightly as if in defeat. ¡°Very well, my lord. I will inspect your wool, and if it meets my standards, I would be open to negotiating.¡± His words were spoken with the air of a man conceding a minor victory, though his eyes remained watchful, guarded. Upon hearing this, the noble¡¯s eyes lit up, a triumphant smile curving his lips. He gestured to the maid standing discreetly to the side. ¡°Bring the sapphire liquor,¡± he ordered, his voice barely concealing his eagerness. Thorne¡¯s eyes followed the maid as she bowed and hurried away, her movements fluid and practiced. She returned moments later with a bottle of deep blue liquid, its color as rich and mysterious as the night sky. Master Holgar¡¯s eyes widened with a greed he made little effort to hide, his tongue darting out to wet his lips in anticipation. The maid poured the liquor into their glasses, the liquid catching the light in mesmerizing swirls. Thorne watched as the merchant took a deep sip, his round cheeks flushing almost instantly. Lord Durnell saw his chance and began his second round of questioning, his voice smooth and coaxing. ¡°Master Holgar, you mentioned an unexpected journey. What exactly happened?¡± His eyes never left the merchant¡¯s face, his gaze sharp and calculating. Thorne noticed strange patterns of aether emanating from the noble, invisible threads reaching towards the merchant like the tendrils of a predatory plant. Holgar¡¯s earlier confidence seemed to waver as he spoke, his voice slurring slightly. ¡°I was at Whitepearl Harbor when the royal runner found me,¡± Holgar confessed, taking another sip of the potent liquor. ¡°I was shocked and ecstatic, as you can imagine. Between you and me, my lord, I got the short end of the deal. I was to sail to a no-name village in the Emerald Sands kingdom to deliver an artifact I had acquired recently. I sailed at once, as you can imagine. One cannot ignore the king¡¯s commands, and I didn¡¯t have time to collect enough supplies. Alvar was the closest city I could restock my diminished stock.¡± The merchant looked crestfallen, his earlier bravado slipping away like sand through fingers. But Lord Durnell¡¯s eyes gleamed like a cat sighting its prey. ¡°And what was this artifact?¡± he asked, new strings of aether snaking out toward the merchant, the air around them charged with a subtle, unseen force. Holgar looked almost helpless as he responded, his voice barely above a whisper. ¡°You are not asking the correct question, my lord.¡± Lord Durnell frowned, the lines of his face deepening with impatience. ¡°And what is the correct question?¡± ¡°For whom the artifact was for,¡± the merchant replied, his eyes suddenly clear and focused despite the alcohol clouding his mind. Lord Durnell almost breathed the question, his voice tinged with something close to reverence. ¡°Who?¡± The merchant took another deliberate sip, savoring the noble¡¯s frustration like a fine wine. He let the silence stretch, the tension building, before finally speaking the words that would send a shiver down Thorne¡¯s spine. ¡°For an oldbone.¡± Thorne''s world came to a standstill. The words hung in the air, heavy and ominous, echoing through the stillness of the garden like a death knell. He felt his breath hitch, his heart pounding in his ears as if trying to drown out the implications of what he had just heard. An oldbone. Thorne lost the next exchange as he tried to process the revelation. Someone like him¡ªthey had found someone like him. An elder race! His thoughts spiraled out of control, each one more frantic and disjointed than the last. He struggled to calm his racing mind, to focus back on the conversation. But before he could gather himself, he heard Lord Durnell¡¯s voice drop to a conspiratorial whisper, laced with apprehension. ¡°We¡¯d better continue this conversation inside.¡± There was a note of fear beneath his polished tone, as if even speaking of such matters in the open air was inviting danger. Thorne watched in dismay as the two men stood up. Master Holgar, clearly affected by the alcohol, stumbled slightly, his rotund form swaying as he struggled to maintain his balance. Lord Durnell, his face a mask of thinly veiled disgust, quickly hid his expression when the merchant glanced his way. The abrupt end to their conversation left Thorne reeling. He had been so close to learning more, to uncovering the full truth of what they knew. "No!" he wanted to scream, the frustration boiling inside him, but he dared not make a sound. His body trembled with the effort of staying still, of holding back the scream of rage and helplessness building in his throat. His mind raced as he watched their retreating forms, the door to the mansion looming like a gateway closing off the answers he so desperately needed. He needed to hear more. He needed to know everything. Abandoning any sense of caution, Thorne scanned the garden frantically for any sign of the guards. To his relief, they were patrolling far from his position, their attention turned toward the perimeter of the estate. A risky grin split his face, and without a second thought, he leapt from the branch, swinging through the air. He jumped from tree to tree like a ghost in the night, his acrobatics skill barely keeping him from slipping as the branches scratched at his skin and tore at his clothes. He ignored the pain, driven by the urgency of the situation. His heart pounded in his ears as he drew closer to the balcony, his eyes fixed on the open door through which the two men had vanished. But as he neared his goal, dread pooled in his stomach. The balcony was still a good distance away, too far for a simple jump. No, no, no, his mind screamed, panic bubbling up as he took in the gap. He couldn¡¯t let this opportunity slip away. Not now, not when he was so close. Tears of frustration pricked his eyes, but he blinked them away, his gaze hardening with determination. "I can do this," he whispered fiercely to himself, taking two steps back on the branch, as far as it would allow without sending him plummeting to the ground below. He took a deep breath, every muscle in his body tense with anticipation, and then he was running, the branch bending under his weight as he launched himself into the air. His hands reached desperately, straining for the balcony rails as he flew through the air. But even as he soared, he felt gravity¡¯s cruel grip pulling him down. No, not now, he thought, panic seizing his chest as he felt the ground rushing up to meet him. He let out a strangled sound, fear clawing at his mind, and in that split second, his control over the aether slipped. Ethereal motes flared to life around him, and as if responding to his unspoken plea, white motes of aether clustered beneath him, shimmering faintly. Thorne barely registered what was happening. His descent slowed, the sensation strange and dreamlike as his foot touched something solid yet invisible. It was enough. He pushed off the aetheric platform, the strange sensation of solid nothingness beneath him vanishing as he sprang forward. His fingers brushed the cold metal of the balcony rails, and then he was gripping them with both hands, his body swinging wildly as he struggled to pull himself up. Breathing heavily, Thorne hung there for a moment, his heart a hammering drum in his chest. He stared down at the garden below, his vision blurred with the adrenaline coursing through his veins. The realization of what he had just done slowly dawned on him, and his eyes widened. He had used the aether again, instinctively calling upon his heritage¡¯s power in a moment of desperation. A shiver of weakness coursed through his limbs, his body recoiling from the effort it had taken. He didn¡¯t have time to dwell on it now, though. He needed to focus. With a grunt of effort, he hauled himself over the railing and dropped silently onto the balcony. He crouched low, his eyes darting to the glass doors leading into the room where the two men were seated. He could see them talking animatedly, but curiously, no sound traveled outside. Carefully, he edged closer to the window, his senses straining to catch any trace of their conversation. The moment his head poked through the invisible barrier, the sounds rushed in, the merchant¡¯s slurred speech filling his ears. ¡°I¡¯m telling you, it was really an oldbone,¡± Master Holgar was saying, his voice thick with drink, his cheeks flushed from the sapphire liquor. ¡°I saw him being transferred to a royal galley. Truly a horrific sight!¡± Lord Durnell, perched on the edge of his seat, was as enraptured as Thorne, hanging on the merchant¡¯s every word. ¡°But why would the Emerald Sands surrender such a find? Surely the royal family would want his core!¡± The noble¡¯s voice was incredulous, his eyes wide with disbelief. ¡°Oh, they truly want his core. They had already sent a squad of their most powerful champions,¡± the merchant replied, shivering as if trying to dispel a dreadful memory. ¡°And their pets.¡± His voice dropped to a fearful whisper at the last word, his eyes haunted by whatever horrors he had witnessed. Lord Durnell¡¯s face twisted with confusion. ¡°Then how did they let an opportunity like that slip through their fingers?¡± he demanded, his voice edged with frustration. He leaned forward, his gaze intense, his whole body straining toward the merchant. ¡°Unfortunately for them, the informer was one of ours. He first tipped the royal family, and the Emerald Sands heard of it too late. The king didn¡¯t mind any expense; he used his mage to portal his entire king¡¯s guard! You should have seen the sight!¡± Master Holgar¡¯s voice was thick with awe, his hands shaking slightly as he reached for his glass. Thorne¡¯s heart was pounding in his chest, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. An oldbone, someone like him, was discovered. And now it was in the hands of the king. The implications were staggering. He had to know more. He strained to focus back on the conversation, but a faint whistling sound behind him grew louder, more insistent. He pushed it aside, his mind wholly absorbed by the information unfolding before him. ¡°The oldbone was a citizen of Caledris, who had only recently traveled to the Emerald Sands. So, as per the accord, he belongs to our king,¡± the merchant said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. Lord Durnell nodded, urging the drunk man to continue, his eyes gleaming with the prospect of newfound power. ¡°The oldbone is headed to the Academy as per law. Only then will the king be able to¡ª¡± The merchant¡¯s words were abruptly cut off as the whistling behind Thorne grew deafening, a high-pitched wail that sent a jolt of terror through his veins. The two men looked up, startled, their eyes widening in alarm. Thorne¡¯s head whipped around, his heart seizing in fear as he saw the source of the sound. The metallic sphere, the strange device he had seen earlier, was now hovering in the air, spinning rapidly as it emitted a piercing, bell-like ring. Its surface pulsed with a brilliant light, shining like a beacon in the darkness, pointing directly at him. ¡°Oh, shit!¡± Thorne breathed, his voice barely more than a whisper, as panic flooded through him. He was exposed, and there was nowhere to hide. CHAPTER 15 A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. CHAPTER 16 Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. CHAPTER 17 Thorne sat on his small bed, wincing as he gingerly probed the ugly bruise on his side. Uncle had been right: Sid was treating him worse than ever, as if he had a personal vendetta. Since that last meeting with his uncle, Sid had made it his personal mission to make Thorne''s life a living hell. The training sessions stretched longer each night, ending only when the first light of dawn crept into the sky. By then, Thorne was beaten to a pulp, barely able to stand. Sid no longer pulled his punches, forcing Thorne to abandon his efforts to appear weak. He had no choice but to use every stat point he had just to survive. The silver lining was that his skills had started leveling up again. After hitting a frustrating slump, he now gained levels after each brutal training session. Still, the progress brought little satisfaction. Thorne remained stuck at level 11¡ªjust as he had been for over a year. His mother had told him that leveling up required more than just skill improvement, but despite his efforts, it didn¡¯t seem to be enough. If he stayed at this pace, his edge over others would disappear once they formed their cores. He stared at his character sheet, a mix of frustration and pride simmering inside him. Name: Thorne Level: 11 Race: Human Age: 9 Special Trait: Elder Race Health Points: 360/360 Aether: 240/240 Stamina: 320/320 Strength: 25 Agility: 36 Dexterity: 28 Endurance: 32 Vitality: 36 Spirit: 40 Wisdom: 24 Intelligence: 25 Skills: He had come so far, yet he still felt trapped. His skills had grown, but the stagnation at level 11 gnawed at him. No matter how many skill levels he gained, it wouldn¡¯t matter if he couldn¡¯t push beyond his current level. The one time he had leveled up was after killing the wolf in the elven forest. It wasn¡¯t just training that would push him forward. Strife... The word whispered in the back of his mind, creeping in like a shadow, but Thorne ignored it, clenching his fists. He didn¡¯t want to believe it, but he knew what he had to do. He needed to fight¡ªno, kill. His hands trembled slightly at the thought. Was he really willing to go that far? A heavy sigh escaped him as he flopped back onto the mattress, staring up at the ceiling. His muscles ached from exhaustion, and his mind buzzed with the weight of his realization. The only way to level up was to return to the elven forest, the place where it had all begun. But it wasn¡¯t just about leveling anymore. If he was going to get stronger, if he was going to protect himself¡ªand find Bea¡ªhe had to embrace the fight. The plan started forming in his mind. He would need provisions. The journey was fuzzy in his memory, but he knew he had to be quick if he wanted to return before nightfall. Sid would expect him back for training, and missing a session was out of the question. Thorne''s hand slipped under his pillow, gripping the hilt of his dagger for reassurance. His pulse steadied slightly. But the journey wouldn¡¯t be easy. He would need food, water, and enough coins to buy what he needed. He reached under his mattress, rummaging around until his fingers closed on the few bronze coins he had stashed away. As they clinked softly together, his stomach sank. Not enough. Damn you, Sid! His lips curled into a scowl. The relentless training had drained him of the energy to pickpocket or run scams in the market. The few coins he had left were barely enough for a meal. With another heavy sigh, he let the coins slip through his fingers and onto the floorboards, feeling the familiar sting of helplessness. Thorne pushed himself upright, wincing at the sharp pain in his ribs. He needed more coins, and there was only one place to get them¡ªthe fish market. It wasn¡¯t ideal, but there was no other way. He had to get stronger, and he had to find Bea. * The bustling fish market was alive with chaos, a cacophony of shouts and haggling voices that rose above the clatter of carts and barrels. The air was thick with the smell of saltwater and fresh fish, mixed unpleasantly with the sour stench of rotting produce from the nearby stalls. The crowd surged around Thorne, creating the perfect cover for someone like him¡ªsmall, insignificant, and easy to overlook. But while it was a place to blend in, it was also a dangerous web of sharp-eyed merchants, aggressive guards, and desperate thieves. Keeping his head low, Thorne scanned the crowd with the practiced ease of someone who had done this countless times. His sharp eyes flicked between potential targets, always on the lookout for heavy purses or distracted merchants. The trick was to look insignificant, to be just another street urchin lost in the tide of buyers and sellers. His dirty clothes, thin frame, and downcast gaze helped him play the part perfectly, but even so, one wrong move could mean trouble. As he weaved through the crowd, Thorne spotted a woman dressed in fine clothes, her purse hanging loosely at her side while she haggled with a fishmonger. Her distracted state and the heavy clink of coins immediately caught his attention. His heart quickened, but he kept his movements calm, slipping through the throng like a shadow. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. With a well-practiced feigned stumble, he bumped into the woman, muttering an apology under his breath. His Sleight of Hand skill activated, and his fingers deftly loosened the strings of her purse. He caught the falling coins in a quick motion, tucking them into his pocket before she could even realize what had happened. The woman barely glanced at him, too absorbed in her argument over the price of cod. Thorne let out a slow breath, the tension in his chest easing. It was a small victory, but one he couldn¡¯t afford to take for granted. He moved away from the scene swiftly, merging back into the ebb and flow of the market, his sharp eyes already searching for his next mark. As he drifted through the market, Thorne couldn''t help but notice the other street urchins, each of them trying to survive in a world that cared little whether they lived or died. A boy, no older than eight, caught his attention as he was shoved aside by an angry merchant. The boy¡¯s small hands reached out, begging for scraps, but the merchant¡¯s response was a harsh kick to the ribs, sending him sprawling into the dirt. Thorne winced but kept moving. He had learned long ago that the market was unforgiving¡ªintervening meant drawing attention, and attention was dangerous. The boy would have to fend for himself, just like everyone else. Finding a corner near a bustling stall, Thorne knelt down, adopting the pitiful expression that always worked. Begging wasn¡¯t his preferred method¡ªit grated against his pride¡ªbut it was sometimes necessary. His small voice was barely audible above the din of the market as he began murmuring his well-rehearsed pleas. "Please, sir, just a coin... Ma''am, anything helps... I''m so hungry..." Most people walked past without even glancing at him, their eyes sliding over him as if he were invisible. A few muttered insults under their breath, calling him lazy or a street rat, their disdain evident. Thorne swallowed his pride, keeping his hand outstretched and his head low, hoping for a rare act of mercy. After what felt like an eternity, a kind-looking woman stopped in front of him. She wore a simple dress, her hands rough from work, but her face softened as she looked at Thorne. Without a word, she dropped a bronze coin into his hand and handed him a small, stale piece of bread. "Stay safe, child," she said softly, her voice full of quiet sympathy before she walked away. Thorne nodded, pocketing the coin and taking a small, careful bite of the bread. It was dry and hard, but he savored it as if it were a feast. He slipped into a narrow alley, his Escape Artist skill guiding him to a hidden corner where he could eat without being seen. The sounds of the market faded into the background as he leaned against the wall, chewing slowly, his mind racing with plans. The meager bread in his hands wasn''t enough, but it was a start. He¡¯d need more coins, more supplies¡ªenough to get him back to the elven forest. As Thorne chewed the last bite of bread, a sudden commotion caught his attention. His instincts kicked in, and he peeked around the corner to see a burly merchant gripping Jonah by the collar, his thick hands shaking the boy like a rag doll. "Think you can steal from me, you little rat?" the merchant snarled, spittle flying from his mouth. His face was twisted with rage, and the veins in his neck bulged. Jonah, usually so full of swagger, looked terrified. His eyes were wide with panic, his mouth slightly open as he stammered something incoherent. The merchant, however, wasn''t interested in hearing excuses. With a powerful backhand, he slapped Jonah hard across the face, the sound of the blow echoing through the crowded market. Jonah yelped, clutching his cheek as the merchant spat at his feet. "Thieves like you deserve worse!" The crowd around them barely reacted. This kind of thing wasn¡¯t unusual in the fish market. But when the merchant spotted a pair of guards approaching, he wasted no time. "Caught this one red-handed," he growled, shoving Jonah toward them like a piece of trash. The guards exchanged a knowing look before one grabbed Jonah by the hair, jerking his head back so forcefully that Thorne could hear the crack of the boy''s neck snapping upright. The guard sneered, his grip tightening as he lifted Jonah to his toes. "We¡¯ll see to it he gets the punishment fitting for a thief," the guard said coldly. "A hand for a hand." Jonah¡¯s face drained of color, his usual bravado completely shattered. Fear, raw and unfiltered, spread across his features as the guards began to drag him away. Thorne watched, feeling a twisted sense of satisfaction¡ªafter all, Jonah had tormented him for months, made his life miserable. It felt like justice in a way. He should have looked away, let Jonah face his fate. But then, from the corner of his eye, he saw Ben rushing toward him, wild-eyed and terrified. Ben, usually silent and timid, was practically shaking with panic. His mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air, and he made frantic gestures, pointing first at Jonah and then at Thorne. His eyes were pleading¡ªdesperation etched into his round face. It wasn¡¯t just terror; it was something deeper. Ben wasn¡¯t asking for Jonah''s sake; he was asking because he knew what was coming next. And then, in a flash of movement, Ben pointed to his throat. Thorne¡¯s gaze dropped to the small boy¡¯s neck, and for the first time, he noticed the way Ben opened his mouth, trying to speak, but no sound came out. Thorne¡¯s heart lurched, pity flooding through him. He had never asked why Ben was always silent, assuming it was by choice, but now the truth hit him like a punch to the gut. Ben wasn¡¯t silent by choice¡ªhe was mute. The realization struck Thorne hard, and it wasn''t difficult to imagine that whatever had stolen Ben''s voice had likely come at the hands of the guards. Ben met his eyes, and in that moment, something inside Thorne shifted. This wasn¡¯t about Jonah anymore; it was about Ben. Thorne knew the pain of loss, of helplessness. He couldn''t just stand by and watch Ben go through that again. Thorne hesitated for only a second before nodding to Ben. Then, he bolted into the crowd, his mind racing as he closed the distance between himself and the guards. He caught up just as they turned a corner with Jonah in tow. Without a second thought, Thorne stumbled forward, clutching his stomach dramatically. "Jonah!" he called out, his voice trembling with desperation. "Did you find anything to eat?" The guards and the merchant turned, surprise flashing across their faces. Thorne staggered closer, his knees almost buckling as he put on the best performance of his life. "Please, sir," he gasped, turning his wide, pleading eyes toward the guards. "We haven¡¯t eaten in days. He¡¯s my brother... Please don¡¯t hurt him." His Acting and Deception skills kicked in, and he wavered on his feet, eyes half-lidded as if exhaustion were about to take him. "We just wanted some food... Please..." With a final, dramatic flourish, Thorne collapsed onto the ground, feigning unconsciousness. The guards exchanged skeptical glances, but the merchant¡¯s hardened expression softened ever so slightly. "Brothers, you say?" the merchant muttered, scratching his unshaven chin. "If that¡¯s true..." One of the guards gave Thorne a rough nudge with the toe of his boot. "Get up, boy," he barked, irritation coloring his voice. But Thorne didn¡¯t move, keeping his breathing slow and shallow, just as his mother had taught him long ago during one of their lessons in the woods. The merchant sighed, exasperated. "Look, I don¡¯t want to deal with this all day. Just let the kid go. They¡¯re probably just starving." The guards, clearly not interested in making a bigger scene, exchanged another glance before shrugging. "Fine," one of them grumbled, shoving Jonah toward Thorne¡¯s limp form. "But if we catch either of you stealing again, it¡¯ll be the stocks for both of you." Thorne peeked through his lashes as the guards and the merchant turned away, their attention already shifting to the next problem in the busy market. He waited a beat, just long enough to be sure they were gone, before slowly sitting up, rubbing his eyes as though just waking from a fainting spell. Jonah, still reeling from the entire ordeal, stared at Thorne in bewilderment. "Why did you do that?" he asked, his voice quiet, almost unsure. Thorne shrugged, the act of indifference sliding back into place like a well-worn mask. "Ben asked me to," he said simply, casting a quick glance at Ben, who was still watching from a distance. The round-faced boy nodded vigorously, his eyes wide and grateful. Jonah seemed to struggle with his next words, his mouth opening and closing several times before he finally muttered, "Thanks." His voice was barely audible, his pride clearly fighting against the unfamiliar taste of gratitude. Thorne didn¡¯t respond, only nodding in return. He knew this didn¡¯t change anything between them. Jonah would still be a bully tomorrow, but for now, they were safe. And in the silence that followed, a soft chime in his mind alerted him to something else: both his Acting and Deception skills had leveled up from the performance. Without another word, Thorne stood, brushing off his clothes and motioning for Jonah and Ben to follow. They needed to get out of the market and back to their hideouts. As they weaved through the crowded streets, Thorne couldn¡¯t help but pat the pocket filled with coins he¡¯d lifted earlier. His mind was already racing ahead, planning for his trip to the elven forest. A shiver ran down his spine as the memory of the fearsome wolf resurfaced, but an excited smile tugged at his lips. He couldn¡¯t wait! CHAPTER 18 Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. CHAPTER 19 Thorne lay flat on the forest floor, his chest rising and falling slowly as he stared up at the patch of sky visible through the canopy. The high-pitched squeals of the dying boar gradually faded, leaving the forest unnervingly quiet. His body was screaming in pain, his muscles weak and trembling, but despite it all, a grin slowly spread across his dirt-streaked face. He¡¯d done it. He had gained a new skill and¡ªfinally¡ªleveled up. His limbs felt like dead weight, his stamina drained to its lowest point ever. Each breath felt like a struggle, the ache in his side reminding him just how close he¡¯d come to failing. Yet that stinging pain only solidified the satisfaction blooming in his chest. The cost of victory was high, but the reward? Worth every agonizing second. As he blinked up at the sky, familiar glowing letters appeared in his vision: Congratulations! You have leveled up! You have reached level 12! You have 15 points to distribute. Thorne couldn''t suppress the pride swelling in his chest. Level 12. It had taken him over a year to reach this point. The weight of that achievement pressed down on him even as his body throbbed with exhaustion. His ragged breaths were punctuated by short bursts of laughter¡ªpartly from relief, partly from disbelief. The numbers and symbols from his status page flashed through his mind like old friends, the 15 unassigned points a reminder that he was stronger than he¡¯d been just moments before. But the dull throb in his side dragged him back to the present. His elation was cut short by the sharp sting of his wound, blood still oozing through his fingers. His smile faded as reality settled in. Tend to the wound first, think later. Gritting his teeth, Thorne forced himself to sit up, groaning as the movement sent sharp pain rippling through his injured side. He looked down at the gash where the boar''s tusk had ripped into him, the sticky warmth of his blood seeping between his fingers. Damn it, he cursed under his breath. He couldn¡¯t afford to sit here bleeding out after all that. With shaky hands, he tore a strip of fabric from his already ruined shirt and pressed it firmly against the wound, gritting his teeth as pain shot through his body. His vision swam for a moment, but he forced himself to stay alert. He wasn¡¯t out of the woods yet¡ªliterally or figuratively. He needed herbs to treat the injury, but the forest around him was still and unhelpful. The vibrant energy that had hummed through the trees moments earlier now felt distant, indifferent. His eyes scanned the unfamiliar landscape, the golden-hued leaves and red vines painting an otherworldly scene, but nothing nearby would ease his pain. Focus, Thorne. He leaned back against the rough bark of a nearby tree, his head spinning. The boar. Its use of aether had been a game-changer, opening a door to a new level of power Thorne hadn''t realized he could reach. The way it had manipulated the aether, pulling the red and gray motes together to ignite embers, fascinated him. He had managed to mimic it, somehow. He had figured out how to force the aether into an attack. That thought alone was enough to reignite his curiosity, but the burning pain in his side refused to let him indulge in that excitement. He wanted to explore this new ability, but his body was screaming for rest. He let out a slow, measured breath, his muscles relaxing for the first time since the battle began. His eyelids fluttered, heavy with fatigue, but his mind kept replaying the fight. He had done more than just survive¡ªhe had won. And the fact that he had unlocked Aether Burst was proof that he was capable of more than he¡¯d ever imagined. But for now, that would have to wait. After what felt like an eternity of resting, Thorne forced himself to his feet, his legs trembling beneath him. Every movement was an uphill battle, but he needed to inspect the boar he had slain. Limping over to the carcass, he couldn¡¯t help but stare at the damage his new skill had wrought. Half of the boar¡¯s body looked as though it had been fed through a grinder¡ªflesh mangled, bones jutting out at strange angles, and blood pooling in the dirt around the beast. A frown tugged at Thorne¡¯s face as he noticed something odd about the bones. They weren¡¯t just broken or cracked¡ªthey gleamed with an unusual color, almost glowing under his aether sight. What is this? The bones were teeming with aether, more than anything he¡¯d encountered before. His tired curiosity got the better of him. Ignoring his exhaustion, he crouched down to cut into the beast''s remains for a closer look. It was harder than expected. The boar¡¯s hide, even in death, resisted his blade with stubborn toughness, and the muscles underneath were like iron. Thorne¡¯s arm shook from the effort, his already taxed muscles screaming in protest, but he pressed on. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he exposed more of the ribcage. The bones beneath were unlike anything he¡¯d seen before¡ªfaintly glowing, infused with magic. He wasn¡¯t sure what they were, but he knew they had value. Snapping two of the thinner ribs off, he fell back against a tree, clutching his prize. The magical bones felt warm in his hands, like they were pulsing with some kind of latent energy. These could be useful... later. For now, all he could do was focus on staying conscious as the bone-deep exhaustion dragged him down. * Thorne was jolted awake by the unmistakable sound of heavy hooves pounding the earth. His heart instantly leaped into his throat, and for a second, he was transported back to a nightmare. The clamor of armored men, the screams of his family, the crimson dawn. His breath quickened. But when his eyes fluttered open, the forest greeted him instead of the horrors of his past. Relief flooded through him for a brief moment, only to be replaced by creeping dread. The heavy hoofbeats weren¡¯t just in his dreams¡ªthey were real. His blood ran cold as he realized what had woken him. Four massive boars stood in the clearing, their snouts buried in the remains of the one he had killed. Their grotesque feast filled the air with wet, sloshing sounds that turned his stomach. But that wasn¡¯t the worst part. The boar he had killed was just a youngling. Before him now stood a monstrous matriarch¡ªthree times his size¡ªwith three towering piglets beside her. The size alone was enough to make Thorne¡¯s breath hitch, but what made his skin crawl was the thick black smoke curling out of the mother¡¯s nostrils. More aether beasts. For a moment, Thorne was paralyzed by indecision. His instincts screamed to fight, but one look at the matriarch¡¯s hulking form, and the burning pain in his side told him that he¡¯d be lucky to survive this encounter. His Escape Artist skill flared to life, giving him glimpses of possible escape routes. Yet, each one seemed more dangerous than the last, and the boars blocked the easiest way out of the clearing. Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. The matriarch¡¯s dark, beady eyes locked onto him with deadly intent. She snorted, pawing at the ground with enough force to send dirt flying into the air. Her piglets mirrored her aggression, their squeals a high-pitched echo of the danger closing in. Think, Thorne. Move or die. Fighting wasn¡¯t an option, not this time. Not with his body barely holding together after the last battle. Thorne¡¯s heart raced as the mother boar snorted again, clearly getting ready to charge. He needed to move now. With a quick breath, Thorne grabbed the magical rib bones, shoving them inside his shirt. His knife was already in his hand, though he knew it would be useless against such massive beasts. His muscles screamed in protest as he took off toward the nearest tree, every ounce of his remaining strength focused on escape. Behind him, the matriarch bellowed in fury. The sound was deafening, and her piglets squealed in unison, charging after him. Thorne¡¯s heart thundered in his chest as he sprinted through the forest, weaving between trees and leaping over roots with everything he had left. His vision narrowed into a tunnel of focus¡ªhis only goal was survival. The first piglet charged at Thorne, its tusks gleaming in the fading light. Without thinking, he swung his knife, the blade connecting with the boar¡¯s snout in a vicious arc. The piglet let out a shrill squeal, recoiling in pain. Thorne didn¡¯t pause to see if it would recover¡ªhis body was already in motion, pushing forward through the underbrush as the world around him became a blur of leaves and shadows. Behind him, the ground rumbled with the furious advance of the matriarch, her snorts vibrating through the air like a war drum. Thorne¡¯s heart pounded in rhythm with her approach. He knew he couldn¡¯t outrun her forever. His Escape Artist skill kicked in, flashing a desperate route into his mind: a dense thicket, thick enough to slow the monstrous boar. It wasn¡¯t much, but it was his only option. Without a second thought, Thorne veered off the faint path and hurled himself into the brambles. Branches lashed at his face and arms, thorns tearing at his skin, but he forced himself deeper, ignoring the sting. The sounds of the boars behind him grew muffled, fainter. He pushed through, emerging on the other side of the thicket, gasping for breath, clutching at his wounded side. Every breath was agony. His lungs burned, his vision swam. I can¡¯t keep going like this. He scanned his surroundings with frantic eyes, and there it was¡ªa hollowed-out tree trunk, half-buried in the earth. Not a perfect hiding spot, but it was all he had. Thorne didn¡¯t hesitate. He scrambled toward the tree and slipped inside, curling his body into the cramped space. The rough wood pressed against his back, the dark interior filled with the scent of rot. He wrapped his arms around his knees, pulling them tight to his chest, and focused on slowing his ragged breathing. Each gasp of air sent a wave of pain through his body, but he forced himself to remain still. The forest fell silent. Too quiet. Then the snuffling began¡ªlow, guttural sounds as the boars searched for him. His muscles tensed. Thorne barely dared to breathe as the matriarch¡¯s grunting grew louder, more determined. He could hear the crunch of leaves and the snapping of twigs under her weight. The sound of her breath, thick and menacing, drew closer. Thorne¡¯s heart raced, each beat loud in his ears. The minutes dragged on, stretched taut with fear. The boars continued to search, their movements deliberate, as if they could sense he was near but couldn¡¯t quite pinpoint his location. Maybe they¡¯ll give up. For a moment, hope flickered in his chest. Then, with a sharp snort, the matriarch stopped directly in front of the hollow trunk. Thorne¡¯s stomach dropped. She had found him. He could hear the massive beast sniffing the air, her tusks scraping the bark. Damn it! The tree trunk exploded as the boar rammed her tusks into the wood, sending shards flying. Splinters rained down on Thorne, piercing his skin as he tried to shield himself. The trunk groaned under the force of the attack, cracking, splintering. Another hit, and she¡¯d tear the whole thing apart. Thorne had no choice. Now or never. With his last reserves of strength, Thorne reached out with his mind, focusing on the swirling motes of aether around him. He felt the familiar pull of exhaustion in his bones, but there was no time for hesitation. The matriarch lunged again, her tusks aimed to finish him off. Thorne willed the motes to converge, forcing them into the same collision he had managed before. The aether burst erupted in a flash of color. Motes collided violently, exploding into a phantom force that slammed into the boar just as it charged. The matriarch let out a deafening squeal of surprise as the invisible force struck her broadside, lifting her off her feet and sending her crashing into the underbrush with a bone-jarring thud. Thorne¡¯s chest heaved, his vision blurring from the effort. As the dust settled, glowing words blinked across his field of vision: Skill Level Up: Primal Aether Manipulation! Skill Level Up: Aether Burst! The victory felt hollow, though. Every muscle in his body screamed with fatigue, his limbs heavy as if weighted down by stone. The exhilaration of unlocking new abilities was dimmed by the crushing exhaustion that had taken over. His body felt like lead, and his breath came in shallow, ragged gasps. He crawled out of the shattered remains of the tree, his side burning with each movement. The world spun around him, the forest blurring as his strength waned. He knew he couldn¡¯t stay here¡ªmore predators could be drawn by the scent of blood, or the other boars could return. He had to move. Thorne dragged himself forward, each inch gained a monumental effort. The trees seemed to close in around him, their shadows stretching long in the dim light. The ground beneath him felt soft, and he struggled to keep his eyes open, his mind clouding with fatigue. But he forced himself onward, putting as much distance as he could between himself and the clearing where the boars had hunted him. Survive. Just survive. With every step, Thorne felt his strength slipping away, but he refused to stop. He staggered through the darkening forest, each step a battle against the exhaustion gnawing at him from the inside out. His limbs felt leaden, muscles trembling violently from the overuse of aether. Every breath seemed heavier than the last, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and decay. He knew in his bones that he couldn¡¯t survive another encounter. The forest, with its shifting colors of red, gold, and brown, had become a nightmarish blur around him. His mind teetered on the edge of collapse, replaying the last moments of his battle with the boar. The rush of adrenaline had long since faded, leaving only pain and weakness in its wake. His side throbbed from the wound, every pulse of blood a sharp reminder of how close he had come to death. Each sound¡ªbranches creaking, leaves rustling¡ªmade him flinch, his body reacting in terror, his senses hyperaware and on edge. But it was his Escape Artist skill that kept him upright, leveling up twice as he forced his battered body through the uneven terrain. The skill¡¯s whispers guided him through the trees, steering him away from hidden roots and rocky outcrops that might send him sprawling to the ground. Yet, no matter how hard he tried, his feet faltered. He stumbled frequently, catching himself on tree trunks or collapsing to his knees in the dirt. More than once, he had to claw his way back up, his vision blurring as the world spun violently. Every time he forced himself back to his feet, the forest around him seemed darker, more oppressive, as if it were actively trying to swallow him whole. Time had become meaningless. Thorne had no idea how long he had been walking or how far he had traveled. The forest stretched out endlessly before him, a maze of shadows and towering trees. The once-vibrant hues of autumn leaves had bled together into a dizzying swirl of indistinct color. His world had shrunk to a single, desperate goal: get back to the city. And then, through the murk of the fading light, he saw them. The city walls loomed in the distance, towering over the horizon, silhouetted against the twilight. Relief surged through him, brief and fleeting, replaced by the desperation to reach safety. His legs carried him toward the gates, but each step was more agonizing than the last. The pain in his side flared, and his vision tunneled, narrowing to the distant walls. He stumbled through the city gates, barely conscious of the few people still lingering in the streets. The world around him was a blur, familiar faces and places swirling together in an indistinct haze. Voices drifted in and out of focus, but none registered. He didn¡¯t have the strength to care. His body moved on instinct, navigating the twisting alleys and winding streets that led to his attic. But it was too much. Thorne''s legs finally gave out beneath him, his body crumpling to the cold stone of the street. He barely registered the impact, his cheek pressed against the rough ground, the chill seeping into his bones. This is it, he thought, his mind sinking into the darkness that threatened to overtake him. His vision dimmed, and he let the cold, numbing blackness pull him under. When Thorne finally opened his eyes, the world swam back into focus, blurry at the edges. The stone beneath him was cold and unforgiving, but now there were faces hovering above him. The first was familiar, concerned, relief softening their features. The second face, though, was hard, their eyes sharp and filled with disapproval. Thorne tried to speak, but his throat was dry and cracked, and only a hoarse croak came out. His mind fought to make sense of where he was and how much time had passed, but the effort only deepened the fog in his head. The faces stayed where they were, one kind and patient, the other stern and unyielding, watching him as he struggled to comprehend what had happened. CHAPTER 20 Thorne woke to the unfamiliar creaks and groans of a room that felt as broken as he did. He blinked groggily, trying to take in his surroundings. The small, dilapidated space had walls with cracks wide enough for beams of sunlight to slice through, and a salty breeze from the sea gently ruffled his hair. The floor beneath him was uneven, the wooden planks groaning with each subtle movement. In one corner sat an old, rickety table, cluttered with scraps of fabric, discarded objects, and a faint stench of decay that clung to the air. His thoughts snapped back to reality as an annoyed huff cut through the silence. "Of course! His highness doesn''t even offer us a thank you!" Jonah sneered, lounging on the fragile table, which looked like it might collapse under his weight at any moment. Thorne''s voice cracked as he asked, "Where am I?" Jonah rolled his eyes, his lips twisting into a smirk. "Well, we couldn¡¯t exactly take you back to your palace, your majesty. So, you''ll just have to deal with our humble abode." Thorne scanned the room again, this time with a clearer perspective. It was small and rundown, but there were signs of life: a neatly folded blanket in the corner, a few chipped mugs on a makeshift shelf, and a small fire smoldering weakly in an improvised hearth. For all its decay, this derelict shack was Jonah and Ben¡¯s home. A pang of guilt hit Thorne¡ªhis attic suddenly seemed luxurious in comparison. He understood Jonah¡¯s bitterness now. This wasn¡¯t just about teasing; it was envy born from hardship. Jonah¡¯s voice snapped him back to the present. "How''d you end up looking like a corpse? Fight a dragon or something?" Thorne hesitated, not wanting to give too much away. "I... went into the forest to fight a beast. Wanted to test myself." The words hung in the air as Jonah stared at him, his jaw slack. "You''re insane!" he finally blurted, half-laughing, half-disbelieving. "Who in their right mind goes into the elven forest alone to fight beasts?" Thorne winced but didn¡¯t respond. It had seemed like a necessary challenge at the time. With a scoff, Jonah reached into his pocket and pulled out the magical bones Thorne had collected from the boar. He dangled them in front of Thorne¡¯s face. "Found these on you. Thought they might be worth something." Outraged, Thorne instinctively tried to grab them back, but his body betrayed him. Pain flared through his limbs, and he slumped back onto the bed, groaning. Ben, always quiet but watching closely, grunted in Jonah¡¯s direction. Jonah rolled his eyes and tossed the bones to the side with a smirk. "Alright, alright. Keep your precious bones. But don''t forget, we had to swipe some regenerative salve from an alchemist to patch you up. Ben almost got caught!" Jonah said nonchalantly, as if Ben risking his freedom was just another day''s work. Thorne glanced down at his side, where the sticky salve covered what had been a gaping wound. The cream was already working its magic, knitting his flesh back together. He mumbled a soft, "Thanks." Jonah scoffed, but Ben, sitting nearby, offered a small, warm smile. Jonah began gnawing on a drumstick, casting occasional glances at Thorne. "So, what¡¯d you face in that forest? Was it big? Sharp teeth? Horns?" Thorne¡¯s stomach growled loudly as he eyed the food in Jonah¡¯s hands. Jonah noticed and sneered, "Hope you¡¯re not expecting a free meal after we saved your royal ass." But before Thorne could respond, Ben silently slid a small parcel wrapped in cloth into his lap. Thorne opened it to find a slice of blueberry pie. His heart skipped a beat. How did Ben know it was his favorite? He glanced at Ben, who merely smiled and gestured for him to eat. Thorne devoured the pie, savoring each bite, trying not to show just how starved he was. In the back of his mind, he realized something: Ben wasn¡¯t just quiet¡ªhe was observant, far more than Thorne had ever given him credit for. He¡¯d have to be careful not to underestimate the round-faced boy from now on. Jonah continued between bites of his drumstick, peppering Thorne with more questions. "So, what kind of beast was it? Tell me it had claws or wings or something cool." Thorne wiped his mouth and sat up straighter, feeling slightly more energized from the food. "It was a boar. A big one. And it used aether, like magic, to attack." Jonah nearly choked on his food. "A boar with aether powers? You¡¯re not making this up just to sound tough, are you?" Thorne shook his head, the memory of the fight still vivid. "I¡¯m serious. Almost didn¡¯t make it." Ben, sitting quietly beside them, gestured with his hands. Jonah sighed before translating, "Ben wants to know why you didn¡¯t just run away, if it was so dangerous." Thorne hesitated before answering. "I wanted to test myself. See if I could handle it." Jonah gave him a long look, then shook his head. "You¡¯ve got a death wish, Thorne. But I gotta admit, that¡¯s kind of brave. Stupid, but brave." Thorne smirked, grateful for the backhanded compliment. "Thanks. I guess." Jonah continued to chew on his drumstick, his eyes flicking toward the magical bones on the floor. "So, what¡¯s with those bones? Are they worth anything?" Thorne nodded. "Yeah, I think so. Maybe I can sell them for a few coppers. Or... use them." Jonah raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Well, good luck with that." Ben, ever the quiet caretaker, passed Thorne a small flask of water. He accepted it gratefully, taking a long drink. His mind felt clearer, and the exhaustion that had weighed him down was beginning to lift. Jonah watched him closely, his sharp gaze softening just a bit. "Look, you¡¯re tougher than you look. But you¡¯re also reckless. Don¡¯t be an idiot. You need to take care of yourself if you want to survive." Thorne nodded, appreciating the concern buried beneath Jonah''s gruff words. "I¡¯ll try. But sometimes you¡¯ve gotta take risks to get stronger." Jonah snorted. "Just don¡¯t expect us to come running next time you decide to play hero. We might not be able to save your sorry ass again." Thorne chuckled. "Noted." Ben made a series of hand gestures, and Jonah sighed in exasperation. "Ben wants to know if you need anything else. He¡¯s got a soft spot for you, apparently." Thorne smiled at Ben, genuinely touched. "No, I¡¯m good. Thanks, Ben. And you too, Jonah. I owe you both." Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. Jonah shrugged, already losing interest. "Just remember that when we need a favor." As Thorne lay back down, exhaustion finally taking over, he felt a strange sense of camaraderie. Despite the harsh words and the rough treatment, they had saved his life and given him a place to recover. He vowed to repay them in any way he could. * Thorne didn¡¯t sleep long. The soft shuffle of feet across the floor stirred him from his slumber. He could hear Jonah and Ben moving around, their footsteps light but constant. At some point, they must have left, because the room fell into an eerie silence, and that was enough to bring Thorne fully awake. He stretched, expecting to feel the familiar protest of sore muscles and aching wounds, but to his surprise, his body felt refreshed. Only a dull twinge from his side reminded him of his recent battle. His eyes fell on the thin, ragged blanket he had been sleeping under, full of holes and stains, a pitiful piece of fabric barely worth being called a cover. Jonah and Ben lived like this every day¡ªin a shack barely held together, with none of the basic comforts he had in his attic. For the past year he had been fending for himself, learning that kindness was rare and often came with a price, but still¡­ something gnawed at him. Ben''s quiet care, the pie, Jonah¡¯s gruff but genuine help. They didn¡¯t have to save him. And yet they had. Something unexpected stirred within him¡ªan odd desire to help them. Where had that come from? He had always lived by the rule that it was every person for themselves. Kindness, he had learned early on, only led to betrayal. But then Ben¡¯s quiet, kind face surfaced in his mind, followed by the irritating yet loyal Jonah. Shrugging off the thoughts, Thorne decided to get moving. He stepped outside, his feet carrying him down to the docks. The wooden boards groaned under his weight as he walked, the salty sea breeze whipping against his face. Around him, the docks were alive with the familiar sights of Alvar''s early morning bustle. Fishermen hauled buckets of fish onto the shore, their faces weathered from years of battling the sea. Nets hung over poles, dripping with saltwater as tired men prepared to sell their daily catch for a few coppers. As Thorne meandered through the crowds, his mind drifted back to the fight in the forest. He had come out victorious, but the fatigue he felt afterward still gnawed at him. Sid¡¯s brutal training never pushed him to the point where stamina mattered much¡ªtheir bouts were short and vicious, usually ending with him battered in minutes. But that fight with the boar? That had drained him. His body, his aether¡ªeverything had been tested to its limit. He needed more stamina. Resolute, Thorne decided it was time to distribute the points he¡¯d earned from leveling up. He pulled up his character sheet, feeling a flicker of excitement as he considered where to allocate them. Stamina was a must, but so was spirit. The aftereffects of using aether still hit him hard, leaving him drained for far too long. If he wanted to improve his control and make full use of his new skill, he needed to bolster his spirit as well. Without hesitation, Thorne dumped five points each into vitality, endurance, and spirit. When he finished, he felt a rush of satisfaction as he pulled up his updated status. Name: Thorne Level: 12 Race: Human Age: 9 Special Trait: Elder Race Health points: 392/410 Aether: 240/240 Stamina: 311/370 Strength: 25 Agility: 36 Dexterity: 28 Endurance: 32 ¡ú 37 Vitality: 36 ¡ú 41 Spirit: 40 ¡ú 45 Wisdom: 24 Intelligence: 25 He closed his character sheet with a small sense of satisfaction, feeling the quiet surge of strength coursing through his body. His mind, still buzzing with thoughts of his next move, sharpened as he passed the bustling fish market. Familiar faces blurred past him, but one, in particular, stood out. Ben. The boy was being far too obvious as he slunk through the crowd, his eyes locked on a plump purse dangling from a distracted woman¡¯s belt. Thorne¡¯s instincts kicked in immediately¡ªBen¡¯s attempt at thievery was clumsy, laughably so. His movements were predictable, and anyone paying even the slightest attention would have caught on. The only thing working in his favor was the crowd that hid him from the woman¡¯s view. Thorne shook his head. Ben had no stealth, no subtlety. If he kept this up, it wouldn¡¯t be long before he ended up in serious trouble¡ªagain. And then what? Another close call like when Thorne had saved Jonah? And getting caught in Alvar wasn¡¯t just a slap on the wrist. Thorne had seen boys lose hands for less. He sighed, knowing there was no point in trying to intervene right now. Ben would figure it out the hard way soon enough. He always did. Turning away, Thorne headed back toward the small tavern where his attic waited. The tavern itself was quieter than usual, with only a few early patrons grabbing a meal, the clink of mugs and soft murmurs filling the air. Thorne took the stairs two at a time, his mind still focused on his next trip to the forest, how he could test his new skill further. But as he reached the top of the stairs, something made him stop. He froze, straining his ears. Noises. Someone was inside his attic. His mind immediately flashed to Sid, or worse¡ªguards. But as he neared the attic, he froze. Thorne inhaled sharply, drawing his dagger and gripping the handle tightly. Who could it be? With a determined breath, he twisted the handle and pushed the door open, ready for whatever¡ªor whoever¡ªwas inside. Inside, Thorne found Uncle seated at his small, worn table, scribbling in a ledger. The sight of the man, so calmly occupying his space, sent a jolt through Thorne. Without glancing up, his uncle muttered, "So, you¡¯ve returned." Thorne¡¯s heart skipped a beat. What was he doing here? He couldn¡¯t help but ask aloud, "Uncle, what are you doing here?" Uncle finally looked up, eyes sharp and calculating. There was a weight behind his gaze that made Thorne feel exposed, as if every thought he had ever harbored was laid bare. "I could ask you the same thing. Where have you been?" Thorne hesitated, scrambling for an excuse. His mind buzzed with half-formed lies, none of which seemed good enough. How much does he know? "I... I went for a walk. Needed some fresh air," he muttered, trying to keep his voice steady. His uncle raised a single eyebrow, a gesture loaded with skepticism. "A walk, you say? Through the forest, perhaps?" How did he know? Thorne¡¯s breath caught in his throat. Panic clawed at him. Had someone been following him? Did they see him using magic? His pulse raced, but he forced himself to keep his expression neutral. "How did you¡­?" His uncle leaned back in the chair, a faint, knowing smile creeping onto his lips. "I have eyes and ears everywhere, Thorne. You should know that by now. I knew you went into the forest." Thorne¡¯s chest tightened, but his uncle didn¡¯t show any signs of knowing the real secret¡ªthat he¡¯d used aether. At least there was that. Relief trickled into his veins, but he tread carefully. "I just wanted to test myself... thought I could handle it." The smile faded from his uncle''s face, replaced by a cold sternness. "Testing yourself is one thing, but the forest is no place to tempt fate. Especially for someone like you." There was that phrase again. Someone like you. His uncle often used it, and Thorne still didn¡¯t know what that phrase meant. He felt a mix of guilt and frustration bubbling beneath the surface. "I know. I just¡­ I need to get stronger." His uncle sighed, closing the ledger with a firm snap. "I understand that drive, believe me. But recklessness? That will get you killed." His voice hardened. "You have to be smarter, Thorne. You won¡¯t survive on raw skill alone." Thorne lowered his eyes. He hated feeling like a child. "I¡¯ll be more careful, Uncle. I promise." His uncle studied him for a long moment, like he was weighing the truth in Thorne¡¯s words. Finally, he gave a short nod. "Good. Now, tell me what really happened in the forest." Thorne¡¯s stomach knotted. Careful now. No mention of the aether. He took a breath and recounted the fight. He carefully left out any mention of aether¡ªthere was no way he was sharing that part of his story. He focused on the boar instead, on its size, the eerie smoke from its nostrils, the sheer brutality of the fight. His uncle listened intently, his face unreadable, nodding occasionally or asking a pointed question. When he finished, his uncle¡¯s expression remained stern. "Sid has been looking for you. He¡¯s¡­ let¡¯s say, rather eager to remind you what happens when you skip training." Thorne felt a cold pit form in his stomach at the mention of Sid. Of course, Sid would take missing a session personally. The rogue was already relentless, but now? He¡¯d be hellbent on making Thorne pay. "I¡¯ll find Sid and apologize." His uncle¡¯s gaze softened slightly, though there was a steely edge to his voice. "Be careful, Thorne. You have potential, but potential without discipline is wasted. Recklessness will not be tolerated." Thorne nodded, feeling the warning beneath his uncle¡¯s words. But deep down, he knew the truth. The first chance he got, he¡¯d be back in that forest, pushing his limits, leveling up, discovering more of what he was truly capable of. The excitement and satisfaction of his new skill still thrummed beneath his skin. No way was he going to stop now. His uncle¡¯s lips curved slightly, breaking the tension. "Now," he said, with a glint of amusement in his eyes, "let¡¯s play a game." Thorne blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone. His uncle had always been a man of many layers, but this was one of his favorite games: drawing Thorne in, catching him off guard¡ªalways one step ahead. CHAPTER 21 This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. CHAPTER 22 Stolen story; please report. CHAPTER 23 Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. CHAPTER 24 Thorne hopped from rooftop to rooftop, feeling the wind sting his face with each leap. His body was screaming for rest, but he had to keep moving. He needed to put as much distance between himself and the Thornfield estate as possible. The noble quarter was mostly silent now, with only a few stragglers walking the streets. The tall, ornate buildings stretched like shadows beneath the moonlight, offering him a perfect escape route. Beneath him, the cobblestone streets were quiet except for the occasional clatter of hooves or the murmur of late-night conversations. He saw warm light flickering behind the windows of luxurious homes. Some were dimly lit by the soft glow of candles, while others had the eerie light of enchanted crystals¡ªsomething only the wealthiest could afford. As he leaped across the rooftops, he caught glimpses of the lives inside. One house revealed a family, gathered around a long dining table, their faces illuminated by candlelight as they shared a meal. Another window showed a man slouched in an armchair by a crackling fire, reading a thick leather-bound book. For a brief moment, Thorne felt a tug of longing, but he shoved it down, refocusing on his goal. He didn¡¯t have time to daydream about lives he¡¯d never have. His chest heaved with each breath, his lungs burning from the effort, but his mind raced even faster. Satisfaction and exhaustion clashed inside him. He¡¯d done it¡ªhe¡¯d found the letter. He was alive. But now, he needed to get to his uncle. His body begged for rest, every muscle aching from the strain of the night¡¯s work, but the fear of disappointing his uncle kept him going. That fear was stronger than the pain. Just a little longer, he told himself. His uncle had said the letter was important, and failure wasn''t an option. The consequences of that would be far worse than a few hours without sleep. As much as he wanted to collapse onto his bed, he had to make this delivery first. He landed on another rooftop, his feet slipping slightly on the tiles. The shock of it sent a jolt of pain through his legs, and he collapsed onto the roof for a moment, breathing hard. Below, a drunk man stumbled out of a tavern, clutching a bottle of something that reeked even from this height. Except for him, the streets were mostly empty. Thorne rubbed his face, trying to think. It was late. His uncle could be anywhere. He often made rounds at his various establishments¡ªplaces Thorne wasn¡¯t allowed to visit. They were off-limits. Only for grown-ups, his uncle had said. But Thorne wasn¡¯t stupid. He knew the real reason. Those places were dangerous, and he had no business being around them. Still, there was a chance his uncle might be at one of them. Or he could be at home. That was safer. His uncle''s house was his best bet¡ªat least he knew where it was. With a groan, Thorne pushed himself to his feet and continued moving. His body felt heavier with each step, exhaustion pressing down on him like a weight. He leapt to another rooftop, then another, cutting a direct path toward the merchant district. His legs screamed in protest, but he ignored the pain. Within minutes, he reached his uncle''s house, at the edge of the noble quarter. The building was three stories tall, looming over the other structures. Even though it didn¡¯t have the grand gardens or glowing crystals of the noble houses, it was still far nicer than the shacks near the fish market where Thorne lived. It looked imposing, with its stone walls and iron-trimmed windows. Two guards stood outside the front doors, their expressions blank but their posture alert. They were dressed in heavy armor, the kind that was meant to intimidate as much as protect. When they saw Thorne approaching, their eyes narrowed. The taller of the two guards, a man with a face like stone, sneered down at him. "What do you want, street rat?" he spat, his voice dripping with disdain. Thorne straightened up, trying to mask the exhaustion in his body. ¡°I need to see my uncle. It¡¯s important,¡± he said, his voice firm despite the exhaustion creeping into it. The shorter guard, stockier but just as unpleasant, crossed his arms and smirked. ¡°Street rats aren¡¯t welcome here. Go back to the gutter you crawled out of,¡± he said, his eyes gleaming with amusement at Thorne¡¯s desperation. Thorne¡¯s patience was wearing thin. His chest burned from running, his legs shook with fatigue, and now these two idiots were standing in his way. "Please!" he said, his voice rising with frustration. "I have something important to give him!" The tall guard stepped forward, shoving Thorne hard in the chest. He stumbled backward, landing painfully on the cobblestones. A fresh wave of anger surged through him as he pushed himself back to his feet. His hands balled into fists, and his face twisted in frustration. ¡°I need to give something to my uncle!¡± he yelled, his voice cracking from the effort. He didn¡¯t care about keeping calm anymore. He was done playing nice. The guards just laughed. "Your uncle, huh? Who might that be?" the short one jeered, his eyes glinting with malice. "The king of beggars?" Thorne opened his mouth to shout back when, out of nowhere, an older woman with a stern, no-nonsense look appeared from the side of the house. She was dressed in a crisp black dress, her hair pulled back in a tight bun. Her sharp gaze snapped to the guards, making them stand to attention as if someone had lit a fire under them. ¡°What¡¯s going on here?¡± she demanded, her voice cold enough to cut through steel. The tall guard cleared his throat, looking suddenly less sure of himself. ¡°This boy claims he has business with the master, ma¡¯am.¡± The woman turned her piercing gaze on Thorne. Her eyes scanned him up and down, taking in his dirt-streaked face and ragged clothes. ¡°And who is your uncle, boy?¡± she asked, her tone just as icy as before. Thorne brushed off his clothes and stood up straighter, trying to look like he belonged there. "My name is Thorne, ma¡¯am. My uncle... he¡¯s the master of this house.¡± Her eyes lingered on him for a moment longer, her expression unreadable. Finally, she gave a curt nod and turned on her heel. ¡°Follow me,¡± she said, not bothering to check if he was behind her. Thorne let out a breath he hadn¡¯t realized he was holding and hurried after her, his legs still shaking from the effort of running through the city. The guards exchanged confused glances, their suspicion clear, but neither said a word as Thorne followed the woman through a weathered side door into the house. Inside, the air shifted instantly, cooler and scented with something faintly sweet. They moved through narrow, dimly lit halls, and Thorne''s eyes darted around, taking in every detail he could. As they passed through the kitchen, Thorne couldn¡¯t help but slow down to watch. Despite the late hour, the kitchen buzzed with energy. A heavyset, older woman stood like a commander, barking orders at several younger girls who scrambled to carry out her instructions. Serving girls, dressed in matching uniforms, loaded and unloaded silver platters overflowing with food that Thorne had never seen before¡ªroast meats, exotic fruits, and delicate pastries that looked more like works of art than food. His stomach growled at the sight, reminding him of how little he''d eaten all day. Thorne swallowed hard, hurrying his pace to keep up with the older woman, who strode ahead with an elegant but brusque step, her back straight as a sword. She never once glanced back to check if he was following. As they moved deeper into the house, Thorne began to notice something strange. The house felt... off. His brow furrowed as he tried to pinpoint what was nagging at him. He hadn¡¯t seen any expensive artifacts on display¡ªno fine paintings, no grand statues, none of the rich trinkets that noble homes usually boasted. The rooms they passed through were sparsely furnished, almost bare, and the pieces that were there seemed more functional than luxurious. It lacked the warmth or grandeur he¡¯d seen earlier in the night at other estates. No portraits of ancestors with somber faces hanging on the walls, no thick, plush carpets muffling his footsteps. Did his uncle just move here? Or maybe... he just doesn¡¯t have the coin to keep up appearances, Thorne thought to himself, puzzled by the stark difference. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. They walked through several more rooms before the woman stopped in front of a large, ornately carved door. She glanced back at him for the first time since they entered, her face expressionless. ¡°Wait here,¡± she instructed curtly, before disappearing inside and closing the door behind her. Thorne stood alone, the faintest gap in the door allowing the sounds from within to leak out. Laughter. Women giggling. Men speaking loudly, their words slurring together as if they¡¯d had too much to drink. A flute played somewhere in the background, accompanied by a man singing off-key. The confusion he felt only grew as he tried to piece together what was happening inside. What is going on in there? he thought, feeling uneasy as the moments ticked by. When the door finally opened again, Thorne''s eyes widened. He wasn''t prepared for what he saw. Inside, the room was filled with mostly naked women, draped in fine silks and lounging across well-dressed men. They danced provocatively, their bodies moving in time to the soft music playing from somewhere in the corner. Serving girls wove between them, offering drinks and strange, smoking concoctions that gave off colorful fumes. The men laughed, raising glasses of rich wine as they partook in whatever pleasure the night offered. The scene was so far removed from anything Thorne had ever witnessed, his face flushed, and he quickly averted his eyes. A sharp cough from the older woman snapped him back to reality, and Thorne¡¯s gaze darted around the room until it landed on his uncle. His uncle¡¯s presence seemed darker than the scene itself. He stood just outside the doors, his body slouched as though it barely supported him. His clothes reeked of smoke, and his skin had an unnatural red tint, as though he''d been standing out in the cold too long. His glassy eyes had trouble focusing on Thorne, but the intensity of his stare still made Thorne¡¯s skin crawl. ¡°Why are you here?¡± his uncle demanded, his voice a harsh rasp. ¡°Who gave you the right to enter my house uninvited?¡± Thorne¡¯s heart skipped a beat. ¡°Uncle, I thought... I thought you would be happy to see me,¡± he said, his voice small, trying to hide the hurt creeping into his chest. His uncle¡¯s gaze darkened, eyes narrowing. ¡°Happy?¡± He let out a short, cold laugh. ¡°Boy, I¡¯m running a business here, not a charity.¡± The words hit harder than any slap. Thorne always believed¡ªhoped¡ªthat Uncle cared for him in some way. But now, staring into Uncle¡¯s cold, glassy eyes, he felt a pang of betrayal deep inside his gut. ¡°Now go,¡± his uncle said sharply, turning back toward the room¡¯s debauchery. ¡°I¡¯m busy.¡± Thorne''s stomach twisted at the dismissal. Busy? He hadn¡¯t thought he needed some sort of special invitation to come here. This was Uncle, wasn¡¯t it? Family didn¡¯t need permission. Desperate to explain himself, to prove he wasn¡¯t wasting his uncle¡¯s time, he stammered, ¡°I-I managed to get it.¡± His uncle froze, his entire demeanor shifting in an instant. He turned back toward Thorne, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. ¡°What are you talking about?¡± he snapped. ¡°Speak clearly, boy! Do you have any idea what kind of business I am conducting here? You think you can just barge in as you please?¡± Thorne¡¯s heart pounded in his chest. He could see the anger brewing in his uncle¡¯s eyes, and he knew he had to say something fast before things got worse. ¡°The letter,¡± he blurted, his voice shaky. ¡°I got the letter from the Thornfield estate.¡± His uncle''s face shifted from anger to surprise in an instant. "You got the letter?" he exclaimed, eyes flicking to the door, then to the room full of guests, clearly trying to process the news. Without another word, he grabbed Thorne roughly by the neck, dragging him out of the chaotic scene and down a dimly lit corridor. Thorne stumbled, barely keeping up as his uncle shoved him into a small room. The door slammed shut behind them, leaving only the two of them in the enclosed space. His uncle turned, face a mix of disbelief and curiosity. "You actually did it," he muttered, almost to himself, shaking his head like he couldn¡¯t believe what was unfolding. "I didn¡¯t think you could pull it off." Thorne nodded, still catching his breath from the sudden rush. "Yes, Uncle. I did as you asked." He reached into his pocket, pulling out the letter with the wax seal bearing the emblem of House Thornfield. His uncle''s eyes flicked to the bulge in Thorne¡¯s pocket, lingering for a split second, but quickly zeroed in on the letter itself, his expression hardening into a mix of hunger and excitement. With a swift, almost violent motion, his uncle snatched the letter from Thorne''s hand, the force of it nearly tearing the delicate parchment. His eyes darted over the wax seal before he broke it, unfolding the paper with frantic energy. The room was deathly silent as he read, his eyes scanning the contents rapidly. After what felt like an eternity, a grin spread across his face¡ªa grin that didn¡¯t reach his eyes. "You did well, Thorne," he said, his voice low, almost purring with satisfaction. "Very well indeed." A wave of relief washed over Thorne, but it was quickly tainted by a lingering unease. His uncle''s approval was something he had long sought, but something about the way he said it... it didn¡¯t sit right with him. "Thank you, Uncle," Thorne replied quietly, unsure of what else to say. His uncle''s demeanor softened slightly, but there was a glint of something darker in his eyes, a sharpness that never left. "I apologize for my harsh words earlier. The situation is... delicate. I wasn¡¯t expecting you to show up unannounced." Thorne nodded, trying to understand. "I just wanted to get the letter to you as soon as possible." "You did the right thing." His uncle placed a firm hand on Thorne¡¯s shoulder, the grip hard enough to make him wince. "This letter... it¡¯s more important than you know. You¡¯ve done a great service tonight." Thorne¡¯s chest swelled with pride, but the feeling was quickly tempered by the weight of his uncle¡¯s hand. It felt more possessive than affectionate, like his uncle was marking him as a piece in a game Thorne wasn¡¯t fully aware of. "What happens now?" he asked, his voice quieter, the unease creeping back into his thoughts. His uncle¡¯s expression turned serious, his eyes gleaming with calculation. "Now, we use this letter to our advantage. With this... everything changes." Thorne blinked, unsure of what his uncle meant. "I didn¡¯t think I could actually manage to get the letter," his uncle continued, his tone somewhere between approval and disbelief. "I had already set plans in motion, but this..." He trailed off, staring at the letter in his hands as if it held the key to something much larger. Then Uncle proceeded to ask Thorne questions on how he was able to get the letter. He recounted the events of the night, how close he came to failing, how others had also been after the letter. He left out any mention of aether or magic, keeping those details to himself. His uncle listened intently, his eyes sharp, absorbing every word, especially when Thorne mentioned the hooded figures who had also been searching for the letter. "They had bandages on their hands, all of them," Thorne said, searching for anything useful to offer. "That¡¯s all I noticed." His uncle¡¯s face darkened, his grip tightening painfully on Thorne¡¯s shoulder. "Gravediggers," he spat, the word filled with venom. Thorne had heard of the gang before, though their activities were mostly on the other side of the city. The disdain in his uncle¡¯s voice made Thorne shiver. Whoever the Gravediggers were, they weren¡¯t just some common criminals. His uncle stared at the letter again, then smiled, a twisted grin that sent a chill through Thorne. The tension in his face eased as though the Gravediggers were already forgotten. "Our only obstacle now is Lady Thornfield," he mused, more to himself than to Thorne. "And she¡¯ll be an easy solution." Thorne swallowed hard. He wasn¡¯t sure what his uncle meant, but the gleam in his eyes told him it wasn¡¯t anything good. The older woman who had brought Thorne inside remained by the door, her face unreadable as she stood statue-still. "Have my carriage ready immediately," his uncle ordered, turning to the woman with an air of finality. The woman hesitated, her eyes flicking toward the rowdy gathering in the other room. "What about your guests, sir?" she asked cautiously. Uncle grimaced, his annoyance clear. "Fine, it can wait until morning, but I want the carriage ready by first light." He turned back to Thorne and continued, his voice softer but still commanding, "I will leave the city for a couple of days." Seeing the confused look on Thorne¡¯s face, his uncle waved the letter in front of him like it was a key to unlock a future only he could see. "Now that I know where House Thornfield¡¯s true allegiance lies," he said, his voice brimming with self-satisfaction, "I can ensure that House Durnell succeeds. And when they succeed, I¡¯ll make sure I rise with them." Thorne¡¯s curiosity was gnawing at him, and despite the tension hanging in the air, he couldn¡¯t help but ask in a small voice, "How?" His uncle hesitated for a brief moment, as if debating whether to share his plan. But then, with a smug grin, he decided to indulge Thorne. "Lord Durnell¡¯s made a mess of things. Desperate to secure connections with the capital, he struck a deal he can''t fulfill. That¡¯s where I come in¡ªI''ll offer him a way out, a lifeline, but on my terms. Once I secure his trust, he''ll owe me everything." His uncle paused, savoring the thought before adding, "All that¡¯s left is a little negotiation with some shepherds. Simple work, but I¡¯ll need backup." He turned to the maid who had been silently observing. "Have my entire guard accompany me tomorrow," he ordered, his tone firm and cold. "We may need them." The maid gave a sharp nod of acknowledgment, already moving toward the door. Then, with a glance back at Thorne, his uncle¡¯s tone shifted. "Arletta, take the boy to the kitchen. Feed him as much as he can handle. He¡¯s earned it." Thorne blinked in surprise, still processing the sudden change in his uncle¡¯s attitude. Just moments ago, the man had been furious, dismissive. Now, he was offering praise and a reward. It didn¡¯t sit right with him, but the mention of food momentarily pushed the questions from his mind. He was starving, the events of the night catching up with him, and the thought of a warm meal made his stomach growl. He opened his mouth to ask more, to press his uncle on the details of this deal, but the older man had already turned away, his attention fully absorbed by the ledger on the desk. The dismissal was clear. There would be no more explanations tonight. Arletta, with a sharp nod, motioned for Thorne to follow her. He trailed after her, feeling a strange mix of pride, confusion, and a growing sense of unease. His uncle¡¯s moods had swung wildly¡ªfrom anger, to praise, to now cold indifference. Thorne couldn¡¯t help but feel like a piece in a much larger game, one he wasn¡¯t entirely sure he understood. CHAPTER 25 A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. CHAPTER 26 Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. CHAPTER 27 Escape Artist If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Stealth CHAPTER 28 Thorne dashed through the chaos-stricken city, heart hammering as his eyes scanned for any path out of the carnage. Every corner of the city seemed engulfed in destruction, bodies scattered across the cobblestones like discarded toys, their vacant eyes staring up at a sky tainted by the glow of burning homes and shops. The acrid stench of smoke mixed with the coppery tang of blood assaulted his senses, making it hard to focus. He had to keep moving, had to find his uncle. His Escape Artist skill guided his feet, instincts kicking in as he weaved through narrow alleys and side streets, evading danger like a shadow slipping through the cracks. He barely registered the new notification flashing in his vision. Skill Level Up: Escape Artist! Thorne¡¯s mind was too focused on survival to process the small victory. Everywhere he looked, violence erupted¡ªguards fighting as if possessed, their sashes the only indicator of which noble house they belonged to. Civilians were caught in the crossfire, screaming and fleeing, only to be cut down in the chaos by those who were supposed to protect them. His breaths came in ragged gasps as he sprinted, his chest tight with both exhaustion and fear. He had to find his uncle. Had to understand why this madness was tearing through the city. Was it because of him? Had the letter he delivered sparked this war? Turning a corner, Thorne¡¯s boot caught on something, and he stumbled over a body lying cold in his path. The man¡¯s face was frozen in a silent scream, eyes wide with terror. Thorne¡¯s stomach twisted, bile rising in his throat, but he forced himself forward. There was no time to stop, no time for fear. The city center was a war zone. Buildings, once grand, had crumbled into flaming wreckage, reduced to smoldering ruins. The square, usually alive with merchants and their bustling stalls, was now a battlefield, littered with bodies. Guards clashed with an intensity born of desperation, the sharp clang of steel ringing out like a death knell amidst the cries of the dying. Thorne¡¯s Escape Artist skill guided him through the madness, helping him avoid the worst of it. He ducked under a fallen beam, barely skirting around a group of guards locked in a deadly brawl. He could hear the whistle of blades cutting through the air, feel the dangerous hum of steel passing too close to his skin, but he kept moving, his heart threatening to burst from his chest. Another notification blinked. Skill Level Up: Escape Artist! The brief satisfaction he felt from his progress was smothered by the chaos around him. There was no time to celebrate. His uncle was somewhere in this hellish nightmare, and Thorne had to find him. Had to figure out what had triggered this bloodshed. As Thorne pushed deeper into the heart of the city, the violence seemed to intensify. The streets were clogged with corpses, the once vibrant avenues choked with blood and debris. The air was thick with the screams of those still fighting for their lives, the clash of swords, the crackle of flames devouring the city. His eyes darted to the sashes worn by the guards¡ªsome were black for House Ravencourt, others green for House Thornfield. No sign of the city guards anywhere, likely hiding, waiting for the chaos to burn itself out. Buildings blazed around him, their flames casting an eerie orange glow over the slaughter. Thorne¡¯s Escape Artist skill faltered, his sense of direction failing him. Every street seemed blocked by skirmishes or debris, every alleyway a dead end. Desperate, he ducked into what appeared to be an abandoned alley. The darkness wrapped around him like a cold embrace, offering a brief respite from the carnage. But halfway through, his blood turned cold. He was ambushed. Five men emerged from the shadows, their sudden appearance almost ghostly. Thorne hadn¡¯t heard a sound, no hint of their approach. His eyes darted to the ground, and he saw why. A woman¡¯s body lay in a pool of blood at their feet, her clothes torn, her body mangled. Bruises and cuts marred her skin¡ªevidence of the horrific assault she had endured. Thorne¡¯s stomach flipped, his heart hammering in his chest as he locked eyes with the men. The savagery in their expressions made the elemental cat he had fought seem almost merciful by comparison. Their taunts started immediately, their voices laced with malice. "Look at this little rat," one sneered, his voice thick with cruelty. "Think you can run through our city like you own it?" Another laughed, the high-pitched sound chilling Thorne to the bone. " Maybe we should show him what happens to rats in this city, teach him a lesson." Panic seized Thorne¡¯s mind as the men closed in, circling him like predators. His mind raced. He had to escape. But the guards had him cornered, slowly herding him back against the wall. His escape artist skill, which had served him so well, offered no solutions. No hidden passage, no secret escape. He was trapped. A burly guard with a deep scar running down his cheek grumbled, "I want to find more traitors, not waste time with this runt." The lead guard, grinning hungrily, shook his head. "But our job is to clean out the trash, isn''t it? And he''s just as much a part of the filth as anyone." "Whatever," the impatient voice of another chimed in. "Let¡¯s just finish this." Two of the guards left, disinterested in the outcome, leaving three behind. Thorne¡¯s fear spiked as the remaining men advanced, their twisted smiles making it clear they intended to enjoy this. They loomed over him, their shadows dark and imposing against the alley walls, like nightmares brought to life. Thorne¡¯s back hit the cold stone of the wall, and he knew he was out of time. His breath came in short, desperate gasps, his mind scrambling for a plan, any plan. He had to act fast, or he wouldn¡¯t survive the night. "What''s the matter, boy?" one of the guards sneered, his voice oozing mockery, eyes glinting with cruel amusement. "Scared? You should be." Another guard, taller than the rest with a vicious grin stretching across his face, took a step forward. "Maybe we''ll let you go if you entertain us first," he said, reaching out, his hand almost lazily extending toward Thorne¡¯s arm. Thorne jerked back, pressing himself as far as he could against the cold wall behind him. His heart thundered in his chest, and he could barely manage to get the words out. "Leave me alone." This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. Their laughter echoed through the alley, bouncing off the walls like cruel spirits. The tall guard¡¯s grin widened, twisting into something sinister. "Oh, we¡¯ll leave you alone... after we¡¯re done with you." Panic surged through Thorne like a tidal wave. His pulse quickened as his thoughts scrambled. He couldn¡¯t let them touch him. He wouldn¡¯t survive. Every instinct in his body screamed to run, but there was nowhere to go. He had to fight, had to do something¡ªanything to keep them at bay. Desperation sparked within him, a flash of anger mixed with terror. His fingers tightened around Sid¡¯s dagger, and before he even realized it, he lashed out. The blade gleamed in the dim light, slicing through the air, aimed directly at the tall guard¡¯s hand. The guard jerked back just in time, barely avoiding the strike. He let out a surprised yelp before his face contorted with rage. "You little bastard," he snarled, his eyes narrowing into hateful slits. "You¡¯re dead for that." The other two guards immediately closed in, their faces twisted with fury, their bodies tense like wolves about to pounce. Thorne¡¯s mind raced, adrenaline fueling his thoughts. He couldn¡¯t fight them head-on, not with three of them. He had to escape. His eyes darted around the alley, desperate for anything¡ªany opportunity, any advantage. Then he saw it: a stack of crates leaning against the wall just within reach. If he could get to them, climb up and over the rooftops, he might stand a chance. Without hesitation, Thorne lunged toward the crates, swinging his dagger wildly to keep the guards at bay. His breath came in sharp, panicked bursts as he clawed his way up the wooden boxes. His fingers stretched toward the rooftop¡¯s edge, freedom within his grasp. But he wasn¡¯t fast enough. One of the guards grabbed his ankle, yanking him back down with brutal force. Thorne hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the air from his lungs. Pain radiated through his side, and for a second, everything went white. But even through the haze of agony, he refused to let go of his dagger. He clung to it like a lifeline. "Get off me!" Thorne shouted, his voice raw with desperation. He kicked out with his free leg, connecting solidly with the guard¡¯s face. The satisfying crunch of bone breaking filled the alley, and the man stumbled back, clutching his bleeding nose and swearing viciously. The other two guards paused, momentarily startled by the ferocity of the boy¡¯s attack. That moment was all Thorne needed. Gritting his teeth through the pain, he scrambled back to his feet, his back against the wall as his wide, frantic eyes flicked between the three men. "You little rat," the tall guard hissed, wiping the blood from his nose with the back of his hand. His lips curled into a snarl. "You¡¯re going to regret that." Thorne¡¯s body was trembling, but not from fear this time. The sharp edge of his panic had dulled, replaced by something colder, more primal. He couldn¡¯t hold back any longer. The risk of revealing what he was¡ªof exposing the power hidden inside him¡ªwas nothing compared to the certainty of death that loomed in their eyes. His fingers twitched, and he could feel the aether stirring within him, wild and eager. He didn¡¯t want to use it, didn¡¯t want to reveal the truth of his elder race heritage, but he knew he was out of options. His heart raced, but his mind steadied. Deep in the alley, with only the pale light of the moon illuminating the scene, the shadows stretched long and thick, offering Thorne the sliver of hope he desperately needed. His mind raced as he decided to use every skill at his disposal. The alley was cluttered with debris¡ªdiscarded crates, broken barrels, and the detritus of a city at war. Perfect for hiding. Without a second thought, he activated Shadow Meld, and in an instant, he disappeared into the darkness. The guards, now shouting in surprise, fumbled as Thorne slipped out of sight. Crouched behind a pile of crates, he could feel the aether drain rapidly as his Shadow Meld consumed his reserves. He let go of the skill just as his aether points dipped dangerously low, transitioning into his Stealth skill, which wasn''t as reliable but far less taxing. He became one with the darkness, the shadows clinging to him like a cloak. His heart pounded in his chest as he strained to remain perfectly still. The slightest sound could give him away, and he wasn¡¯t willing to gamble with that risk. The guards were smart enough to block both ends of the alley, effectively trapping him in the middle. There was no clear route for escape. Thorne¡¯s eyes darted between them, assessing the situation. He needed to wound one of them, create enough confusion to make his move. But with three of them, he had little chance in a direct fight. He wished he were faster, able to dash, stab, and retreat before they even realized what happened... That¡¯s when the memory of the elemental cat hit him. The aether surge, the way the cat had drawn in raw energy and turned it into unmatched speed and power, replayed in his mind. Thorne clenched his teeth, his fingers trembling with adrenaline. What if he could mimic it? But doubt gnawed at him. He¡¯d tried before and almost blown himself up. Yet, he had no choice now. Desperation filled him as he recalled how the aether had moved through the cat¡ªfast, wild, but controlled. The voices of the guards taunted him, their footsteps edging closer as they baited him, trying to smoke him out. Thorne closed his eyes and forced himself to focus. He called to the aether motes around him, drawing them in, each one swirling toward him with purpose. Fear and doubt clashed inside him¡ªwhat if he failed? What if he lost control? What if he exploded? What if he was discovered? What if? What if? The memory of the cat''s attack solidified in his mind as if he wasn''t hidden in a dark, dirty alley, surrounded by enemies, but he was fighting the elemental cat again. The cat, with a surge of aether, attacked! His eyes snapped open with realization. He knew what to do. He took a deep breath. With a primal roar inside him, Thorne drew in the aether like a man starved for breath. But this time, he didn¡¯t just shove it into his muscles. No, he channeled it through his core, letting it flow and disperse naturally, letting his body adjust to the influx. His senses sharpened. His muscles thrummed with power. Every nerve was alive with raw energy. A notification flashed before his eyes: CONGRATULATIONS! YOU HAVE UNLOCKED THE SKILL: AETHER SURGE! The world around him seemed to explode into clarity. Everything became brighter, sharper, as if the moonlight itself had intensified. Thorne¡¯s grip on the dagger tightened, the leather hilt creaking under his fingers. He made the faintest sound, and the guards turned, alerted. But they were too slow. Thorne vaulted over the crates with effortless ease, his body surging forward like a whip. His dagger lashed out, cutting cleanly into the gap between the nearest guard¡¯s gauntlet and arm. He didn¡¯t stop. Before the guard even registered the pain, Thorne had dashed forward, disappearing once more into the shadows as he activated Shadow Meld. The guards cried out in confusion. ¡°Where the hell is he?!¡± one shouted, panic creeping into his voice. Thorne didn¡¯t answer. He crouched behind a pile of trash, watching as they fumbled, searching the darkness. The second the lead guard turned his back, Thorne struck again, darting from the shadows like a phantom. His dagger found its mark in the man¡¯s back, slipping between the armor plates. He vanished into the shadows once more before the others could even react. With Aether Surge activated, power coursed through his veins like wildfire. But it came at a cost. Every movement burned his muscles, as if they were being torn apart from the inside. His limbs screamed in protest, the edges of his vision blurring as his stamina drained faster than he anticipated. It was intoxicating¡ªthis newfound strength¡ªbut he could feel it consuming him. "He¡¯s a changeling! A spirit sent by the dead gods!" one of the guards screamed, his voice laced with pure terror. Thorne remained silent, feeding off their panic. An inexplicable sense of power and vengefulness made him bold. He lashed out again and again, striking with quick, shallow cuts, never staying in one place long enough for them to retaliate. The guards, disoriented and terrified, began retreating. Thorne was in a strange state, half-drunk on power but also feeling light-headed as if he was slowly being drained. Just when they were about to flee the alley, the lead guard turned one last time, his wide eyes scanning the darkness for Thorne. Their gazes locked, and for a moment, the guard froze, fear etched into his face. His expression twisted in horror, but before he could scream, an arrow sliced through the air, embedding itself in the guard¡¯s eye. His body crumpled to the ground, lifeless. The two remaining guards screamed, their terror silenced in seconds as daggers found their throats. Thorne blinked, dazed and confused. He hadn¡¯t fired an arrow. His limbs felt heavy, his head light from the aether overuse. Thorne didn''t know what was happening until a familiar voice cut through the haze. "You can get out now, boy." CHAPTER 29 Thorne spun around, heart thudding in his chest, and saw Sid emerging from the shadows like a ghost. Clad in black leather armor, his cloak''s hood was drawn up, and a mask covered most of his face. Sid pushed the mask down to his chin, revealing a stern, unreadable expression. Just as Thorne opened his mouth to speak, two figures landed silently behind Sid, moving with the grace of predators. They appeared so suddenly that Thorne instinctively took a step back, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. "Why are you here?" Sid demanded, his voice sharp, his eyes narrowing as they bore into Thorne. There was something different in the way he was looking at him, like he was seeing him for the first time. Thorne swallowed hard, his heart pounding again, but this time not from fear of the guards. Had Sid seen him use his aether skills? Did he know? The thought sent a chill down Thorne¡¯s spine. His body was running on fumes, his mind sluggish, barely able to keep up. "I... I wanted to see Uncle," Thorne managed, his voice hoarse from fatigue. "Are you stupid?" Sid snapped, the harshness in his tone cutting deep. "Do you have no sense? Didn¡¯t you see what¡¯s happening out there?" Thorne flinched at the words but couldn¡¯t muster the energy to respond. Sid¡¯s gaze softened slightly as he took in Thorne¡¯s ragged state, the exhaustion etched on his young face. He sighed, a flicker of something like pity passing over his face. "Fine. Head to Uncle''s house. It¡¯s only a few blocks away. Stick to the side streets and avoid the main road," Sid instructed, his voice firm but less harsh now. Thorne nodded, too tired to argue, and started walking away. He felt Sid¡¯s gaze on his back, burning into him, until he rounded a corner. His legs moved on autopilot, his mind foggy, barely registering the darkened streets as he walked. Every so often, his Escape Artist skill kicked in, nudging him toward the quieter alleys, keeping him out of harm''s way as he trudged through the city. Before long, Thorne found himself standing in front of an old wooden door. He knocked softly, wincing at the sudden sound in the stillness of the night. A muffled voice from inside demanded to know who was there. "It¡¯s Thorne," he said, but when there was no immediate response, he gritted his teeth and added, "It¡¯s the street rat." The door creaked open, revealing the face of a girl he vaguely remembered. She ushered him inside quickly, barring the door behind him with nervous hands. The air inside was thick with tension, and the house was dimly lit by a few flickering candles. The girl, looking at him with a mix of curiosity and concern, whispered, "What are you doing here?" Thorne¡¯s eyes scanned the room, trying to shake off the exhaustion weighing him down. "I need to see Uncle," he said, his voice rough, every word a struggle. Without waiting for her to answer, Thorne stumbled into the kitchen. His limbs felt like lead, and the fog in his mind only thickened. The girl tried to guide him to a chair, but Thorne barely registered her presence. "I need to find Uncle," he muttered again, almost to himself. Before the girl could respond, Matilda, the cook, bustled over, her brow furrowed with concern. "In the state you¡¯re in?" she huffed, her voice both stern and gentle. "You can barely walk, let alone talk to the master." She guided him to a sturdier chair, her grip surprisingly strong for someone her size. Thorne sank into it, feeling like he might collapse at any second. Matilda disappeared for a moment and returned with a steaming cup of milk and a bowl of broth. She placed them in front of him, her hands quick but careful. "Eat, boy," she said, her voice softening. "You look like death warmed over." Thorne ate without tasting the food, his movements mechanical. He felt like a puppet whose strings had been cut, barely hanging on. Matilda hovered over him, wiping his face with a damp cloth, asking him questions, but he couldn¡¯t focus on her words. His vision blurred, his head drooping lower and lower until he finally gave in to the exhaustion and drifted into a deep sleep. The clang of metal startled him awake. For a split second, he thought he was still in the streets, surrounded by fighting and fire. He jerked upright, nearly tumbling out of the chair. Matilda, noticing his startled movement, turned with an apologetic smile. "Sorry, dear, but I¡¯ve got breakfast to prepare. The pots are already boiling, and the other women are hard at work." Thorne rubbed his eyes, the fog of sleep still heavy. "Can I see my uncle now?" he asked, his voice rough and groggy. Matilda¡¯s expression softened, but there was a flicker of pity in her eyes. "The master is busy, lad. With what happened last night... well, he¡¯ll be busy for a long while yet." Seeing the disappointment flicker across Thorne¡¯s face, she added with a small smile, "Why don¡¯t you help us in the kitchen? Keep your hands busy and your mind off things." The other kitchen women exchanged skeptical glances, shaking their heads at the idea of a street boy helping, but Thorne, still numb from everything, shrugged and agreed. Soon, he found himself tasked with chopping a mountain of vegetables. His Daggers skill made the work quick and precise, and Matilda and the others couldn¡¯t help but watch in awe as he sliced through the produce with effortless speed. Every so often, the sounds of battle reached their ears¡ªclashes of steel, shouts of men, and the distant roar of flames. Each time, the kitchen would fall into a tense silence. Matilda, the cooks, even Thorne would freeze, their eyes glued to the barred door and tightly shut window, listening, waiting. The fear in the air was thick, hanging over them like a storm. But eventually, as the sounds of violence faded into the distance, they would all release a collective sigh of relief, returning to their tasks with a forced calm. Matilda glanced at Thorne, who worked diligently trying his hardest to pretend everything was alright. "You did well last night, boy," she said softly, her voice low enough that the others couldn''t hear. "It''s not easy surviving out there." Thorne nodded in acknowledgment, not trusting himself to speak. He focused on chopping vegetables, the rhythmic sound of the knife against the board giving him something to anchor himself to. The warmth of the stove, the chatter of the women, the smell of freshly baked bread¡ªit all created a strange sense of normalcy. For a moment, he could almost pretend the chaos outside was just a bad dream. As the knife chopped through a thick carrot, Thorne''s mind kept circling back to the same haunting thought: Was this my fault? He had delivered the letter to his uncle. That letter had felt heavy, filled with secrets, and now Lady Elara was dead. The city was burning. Had he sparked all of this? The question gnawed at him, tugging at his insides. He couldn''t bear the thought of being left in the dark any longer. He needed answers¡ªhe needed to ask his uncle what the letter contained, what it all meant. A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. But escaping the kitchen was no easy task. Matilda watched him like a hawk, her sharp eyes catching every small movement he made. Every time he tried to edge closer to the door, she''d ask, "Everything alright, dear?" He couldn¡¯t just walk out. He had to be careful, had to plan. Then, fate seemed to offer him a way out. One of the younger cooks excused herself, darting out of the kitchen and returning a few moments later, looking visibly relieved. That¡¯s when an idea struck Thorne like a bolt of lightning. He stifled a grin, instead turning toward Matilda with wide, innocent eyes and a sheepish smile. "Matilda," he stammered, trying to sound as embarrassed as possible, "is there... um, a place I could go... to relieve myself?" Her stern face softened, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Of course, dear. You''ve had quite the night. Mary," she called to one of the cooks, "show him to the bathroom." Mary, a kind-faced girl not much older than Thorne, nodded and gestured for him to follow. She led him through a narrow corridor and down a set of stairs into a cool, damp hallway. The stone walls were lined with old wooden beams, and the air smelled faintly of mildew and earth. Somewhere in the distance, water dripped steadily, echoing through the quiet corridor. "Right down there," Mary said, pointing to a small door at the end of the hallway. "I''ll wait here and take you back once you''re done." Thorne nodded and slipped inside. The small room was dimly lit, a single flickering candle casting shadows that danced across the stone walls. The stench from the hole in the floor hit him immediately, and he wrinkled his nose in disgust. He quickly did his business, but instead of leaving, he sat on the edge of the wooden bench, waiting, thinking. He needed to buy more time. After a few minutes, there was a soft knock on the door. "Are you alright in there?" Mary''s voice called out. Thorne cleared his throat, trying to sound strained. "Just... need a little more time," he replied. There was a pause, followed by the sound of Mary tapping her foot impatiently. "What''s taking so long?" "Sorry," Thorne said, forcing some embarrassment into his voice. "Stomachache." Mary sighed heavily. "Alright, but hurry up. I need to get back to the kitchen." I will, I promise," Thorne replied. A moment later, she asked, "Do you remember how to get back?" "Yes, I do," Thorne assured her, smothering a grin. "Fine. Come straight back when you¡¯re done," she said, and Thorne heard her walking away. Thorne listened intently as her footsteps receded down the hallway. He waited a moment longer, just to be sure, before cautiously opening the door and peeking out. The hallway was empty, the shadows still flickering along the walls. Quietly, he slipped out and began moving through the house, keeping to the edges of the corridors, his steps as light as he could manage. His Stealth skill took over, guiding his movements as he snuck through the maze of corridors. His mind raced, his heart thudding in his chest. He had to find his uncle¡¯s study, had to know the truth behind that letter. Was he responsible for all the death and destruction? Had he unknowingly lit the fuse on this powder keg? After what felt like an eternity, Thorne finally found himself in front of his uncle¡¯s study. He pressed his ear against the heavy wooden door, straining to hear any movement. Silence. Slowly, he twisted the handle and slipped inside. The study was dim, the thick curtains drawn tightly to block out the morning light. Bookshelves towered against the walls, filled with old, dusty tomes and rolled-up scrolls. The large desk in the center of the room was cluttered with papers, quills, and inkpots. Thorne¡¯s eyes darted around, searching for any sign of his uncle. The room was empty, save for the suffocating silence. "Thorne," a voice growled from the shadows, making him flinch. His uncle stepped into the dim light, face flushed red with fury. "What are you doing here?" Thorne''s throat tightened, the words he¡¯d prepared shriveling in the heat of his uncle''s anger. "I... I need to talk to you," he stammered, his voice barely audible. His uncle''s expression darkened further, and his fist slammed onto the desk. "You dare invade my office and waste my time with childish nonsense?" The veins on his neck bulged, the jagged scar running across his face appearing even sharper. "I have a thousand problems to deal with, and you think I have time for you?" His fists clenched, knuckles white, as if the very act of restraint was painful. Thorne¡¯s gaze dropped to the polished floor, fear prickling at the back of his neck. His body screamed for him to leave, to run, but he had to know. He forced the question out in a shaky whisper, "Did... did all those bad things happen because of the letter? Did you... did you kill Lady Elara?" The room fell into a suffocating silence. Then came the crash. His uncle had slammed his fist into the desk with enough force to rattle the entire room. Papers fluttered to the floor, and a heavy inkpot tumbled off the edge. Before Thorne could react, his uncle grabbed it and hurled it straight at him. Thorne froze, the inkpot sailing past his head and smashing against the wall behind him. Dark ink splattered everywhere, staining the room in sharp, violent strokes. "You dare question me, boy?" his uncle roared, spittle flying from his lips. "You, a worthless child, think you can ask me¡ªME¡ªsuch things?" His face was an unnatural shade of crimson, eyes wild with fury. "Not even nobles dare oppose me!¡± He roared, ¡°who gave you the courage to speak to me like this? WHO?" Thorne trembled, hands clenched into tiny fists, knuckles white as he fought to control the shaking. His uncle took a menacing step forward, looming over him. Thorne instinctively flinched, his body retreating. His uncle¡¯s hand hovered near a small gem on his destroyed desk, and with a flicker of aether, the air around them shifted. Footsteps echoed in the hall, growing louder, and then a hesitant knock sounded at the door. "Enter!" his uncle barked, not taking his furious gaze off Thorne. The door creaked open, and the head maid, Arletta, stepped in. Her eyes barely flickered in surprise, though her eyebrow twitched at the sight of the chaos. "He wormed his way into my office," his uncle said, voice sharp with contempt. "Take him away." Arletta nodded curtly, her face cold as iron. Without hesitation, she grabbed Thorne by the back of his neck, her fingers digging into his skin, and dragged him from the room. He didn¡¯t resist, his legs moving numbly as though the will to fight had drained from him completely. His mind felt blank, the words of his uncle echoing over and over. The hallway felt endless, the oppressive atmosphere of his uncle¡¯s wrath still clinging to him like a shroud. Arletta¡¯s grip was unrelenting, her disapproval radiating off her in waves. She didn¡¯t say a word, her boots clicking harshly against the floor as she led him back to the warmth of the kitchen. The sharp contrast between the two places hit him like a physical blow. The kitchen was alive with the sounds of clattering pots, the bustle of workers moving about, the rich aroma of simmering stew and baking bread filling the air. But to Thorne, it felt distant, like another world entirely. As Arletta spoke in hushed, angry tones to Matilda, Thorne stood in the center of the room, his mind spinning. Around him, the workers moved about, cooking, cleaning, doing their daily tasks as though the world outside hadn¡¯t descended into chaos. But in Thorne¡¯s chest, a storm raged. His uncle¡¯s anger, the accusations, the unanswered questions gnawed at him like an itch he couldn¡¯t scratch. He couldn¡¯t stay here. Not anymore. Before he realized what he was doing, Thorne found himself moving toward the door. He barely registered Matilda¡¯s voice calling after him. "Where are you going, deary?" she asked, concern lacing her words. "Wait¡ªtake some lunch with you." Thorne shook his head, his hand already gripping the doorknob. He paused, something tugging at his thoughts, and turned to ask, "When did Uncle return from his trip?" Matilda¡¯s brow furrowed, and she exchanged a glance with Arletta. "It¡¯s been days, love. He was only gone for a day." Thorne''s heart skipped a beat. A cold sensation washed over him, the pieces slowly falling into place, though he still didn¡¯t know what picture they formed. He nodded once, more out of habit than understanding, and then slipped out the door. CHAPTER 30 Thorne trudged through the wreckage of Alvar City, his thoughts as broken as the shattered buildings around him. The streets were lined with destruction¡ªshops reduced to smoldering ruins, homes reduced to ash, and bodies being carted away in grim silence. The air was thick with the acrid stench of smoke, blood, and decay, turning his stomach with each breath. Several times, he had to stop, retching by the side of the road as tears stung his eyes. People had died because of him. People had lost their homes, their families, their lives¡ªall because he had wanted to impress his uncle, to prove his worth. Each step through the smoking ruins only deepened his guilt. He could see their faces in his mind¡ªthe men, women, and children who had been caught in the crossfire of a war he had helped set in motion. The destruction around him mirrored the devastation inside him. His hands shook with each realization. He had been so desperate to earn his uncle¡¯s admiration, to gain his approval, that he hadn¡¯t questioned the cost. And now, people had paid that price with their lives. As Thorne wandered through the wreckage, the truth struck him like a dagger to the heart: His uncle wasn¡¯t the man he had believed him to be. He wasn¡¯t a savior. He wasn¡¯t the caring figure who had taken him in when he had lost everything. No, he was something else entirely¡ªa manipulator, a user. His uncle hadn¡¯t saved him out of love or kindness. He had seen an opportunity¡ªa desperate boy with nowhere to turn, someone who could be molded, controlled, and used for his own ends. Thorne felt sick, the weight of the revelation pressing down on his chest like a boulder. The man he had once clung to, the man he had idolized, was nothing more than a puppet master, pulling strings while Thorne danced to his tune. Every kind word, every smile, every pat on the back¡ªlies. All of it had been a calculated performance, designed to keep Thorne obedient and useful. How had he not seen it before? How had he been so blind? His uncle¡¯s praises, the pats on his back, the words of encouragement¡ªthey all replayed in his mind like a cruel joke. Thorne had basked in those moments, feeling pride swell in his chest when his uncle had smiled at him, told him he¡¯d done well. But now, that pride felt like poison, curdling in his stomach. He had been nothing more than a tool, a pawn in his uncle¡¯s schemes. The truth hollowed him out, leaving behind a cold, aching void where hope and trust had once been. He thought back to the night he delivered the letter, the night everything changed. He had felt so proud, so eager for his uncle¡¯s approval. But now he realized it had all been a lie. His uncle hadn¡¯t cared about him. He had cared about what Thorne could do for him, about how he could use him to further his own plans. Thorne¡¯s hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms as the weight of that betrayal settled over him. He had been so desperate for someone to care about him, so hungry for affection, that he had ignored all the signs. He had blinded himself to the truth because he didn¡¯t want to see it. But now, there was no denying it. He saw the bitter truth. That man was not his father. That man was not his family. He wasn¡¯t someone who cared about Thorne¡¯s well-being. He was a man who used him, who saw him as nothing more than a means to an end. Thorne¡¯s chest ached with the weight of that realization, the bitter sting of betrayal cutting deeper than any blade. He had wanted to believe that his uncle was different, that he was someone Thorne could rely on. But he had been wrong. And that mistake had cost innocent lives. By the time he reached his attic, he was barely aware of his surroundings, lost in the storm of his thoughts. When he opened the door, the sight that greeted him yanked him back to the present. Jonah was sprawled across his bed, snoring loudly, his long legs hanging awkwardly over the edge. Ben was huddled in a corner, deeply engrossed in a small book, his face a picture of concentration. Thorne blinked in surprise, momentarily thrown by the sight of the two boys. He hadn¡¯t expected guests, let alone Jonah and Ben. They looked like they had been dragged through hell. Jonah¡¯s clothes were torn and stained with dried blood, a nasty cut running down the side of his face. Ben, usually round-faced and clean, was caked in grime, his blond hair matted with dirt and grease, making it a revolting shade of brown. Thorne frowned, a flicker of confusion cutting through the emotional haze that had been clouding his mind. He hadn¡¯t known Ben could read, but there he was, turning the pages of the book with careful attention. The room felt different, as if the boys¡¯ presence had pushed away the suffocating weight of his guilt and regret, if only for a moment. "What are you two doing here?" Thorne demanded, his voice harsher than intended. After everything he had just endured, the last thing he wanted was company. Ben''s head shot up in surprise, his mouth forming an ''O,'' while Jonah jolted upright, his frantic eyes scanning the room for enemies. Thorne realized his Stealth skill must have been working without him even noticing. His movements had been completely silent, sneaking up on them unintentionally. "We didn''t know where else to go," Jonah muttered, rubbing his eyes wearily. "The city''s gone mad, and we... we got caught in the middle of it." Ben nodded vigorously, his wide eyes filled with worry. He pointed to the gash on Jonah''s face and then to himself, making quick, frantic gestures that Thorne struggled to interpret. "You''re hurt," Thorne said, his tone softening as he took in their ragged appearance. His anger faded when he noticed the dirt and blood on Jonah''s face, and Ben''s filthy clothes. "What happened?" Jonah leaned back against the wall with a heavy sigh, exhaustion written all over his face. "Our house¡­ it''s gone, Thorne. Burned down. We barely made it out alive." Thorne¡¯s stomach twisted in guilt. Their home had been a hovel, sure, but it had been shelter. Now they had nothing, and he couldn''t help but feel partly responsible for the chaos gripping the city. "I thought the fighting was mostly in the rich districts," Thorne said, frowning. "The poor parts were supposed to stay out of it." Jonah shook his head. "That¡¯s what we thought too. But it wasn¡¯t just the rich neighborhoods. It spread everywhere. Some nobles tried to flee through the docks, but the guards followed and¡­ they torched everything. Killed anyone in the way." Thorne''s heart sank further. The guilt weighed heavier on his chest. All this destruction, all these lives lost¡­ it was his fault. The letter he had delivered, the role he played¡ªit had all led to this madness. "I¡­ I didn¡¯t know," he whispered, his voice barely audible. Jonah met his eyes, a mixture of sadness and frustration clouding his features. "None of us did, Thorne. It''s like the city¡¯s tearing itself apart." Thorne knelt beside Jonah, inspecting the cut on his face. "You need to clean this wound before it gets infected." Jonah shrugged, forcing a weak grin. "I¡¯ve had worse." This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. Meanwhile, Ben clutched the small book he had been reading, his gaze pleading as he gestured toward the door and then back to himself and Jonah. It was a silent request, a desperate plea for permission to stay. Thorne sighed, running a hand through his hair, the weight of everything pulling him down. "Alright, you can stay here for now. We¡¯ll figure something out later." Jonah nodded gratefully, his expression a mix of relief and exhaustion. "Thanks, Thorne. We didn¡¯t know where else to go." Thorne sat down, leaning back against the wall as he stared out the small window. The city outside was still shrouded in chaos, the distant sound of shouting and clashing steel carried on the wind. He couldn¡¯t shake the guilt gnawing at his insides. This destruction¡­ it was because of him. The burning buildings, the lost lives¡ªhe had played a part in it all. His thoughts drifted back to his uncle¡ªthe coldness in the man¡¯s eyes, the way he had dismissed Thorne¡¯s concerns without a second thought. How could he have ever believed that his uncle cared for him? The man didn¡¯t care about the lives lost, the destruction unfolding in the streets. He only cared about power. And Thorne had been nothing but a tool, used and discarded. Thorne sighed, the weight of it all pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket. He had been so foolish, so desperate for approval, that he had ignored the signs. Now, the truth was impossible to deny. His uncle didn¡¯t care about him, and he never had. The room was silent except for the distant sounds of the city tearing itself apart. Thorne stared blankly out the window, feeling the heavy burden of betrayal, guilt, and loss settle deeper into his bones. * The three boys sat in the dimly lit attic, the silence between them thick with tension and the weight of the day''s chaos. The air was heavy, a mixture of exhaustion, hunger, and the unspoken fear that clung to them like a shadow. Thorne was still lost in thought when the door creaked open, and Gilly appeared, her face etched with worry. She spotted Thorne and let out a relieved sigh. "Thank the dead gods you¡¯re safe," she muttered, placing a bowl of steaming stew in front of him. Thorne gave her a nod, appreciating the concern but too drained to express it fully. His stomach churned, but not from hunger. Hesitating, he glanced at Jonah and Ben, their eyes following the bowl like wolves on the hunt. "Could you bring some for my friends too?" he asked quietly. Gilly looked them over, her brow furrowing. She seemed to weigh something in her mind before finally nodding. A few moments later, she returned with two more bowls, the stew still steaming. Jonah and Ben didn¡¯t wait for an invitation. They fell on the food, shoveling it into their mouths as if they hadn¡¯t eaten in days. It dawned on Thorne that might actually be the case. Jonah''s cheeks bulged as he devoured his portion, while Ben ate quickly but more quietly, his small hands gripping the bowl as if it might be taken away at any moment. Thorne, on the other hand, picked at his food, barely able to eat more than a few bites. The events of the past night weighed heavily on him, killing any appetite he might¡¯ve had. He watched as the other boys scraped their bowls clean, their hunger evident in every bite. When Jonah and Ben glanced at his half-full bowl with longing, Thorne let out a quiet sigh, pushing it toward them. "Here, you can have it." They didn''t need to be told twice. Jonah grabbed the bowl first, and they quickly polished off the last of the stew, the tension in the room briefly replaced by the simple joy of eating. Jonah let out a loud burp, patting his now-full stomach. He turned to Thorne with a smirk, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "You know," Jonah began, his tone mocking, "I was right all along. You really are a princeling. Got your own servant and everything." Thorne bristled at the comment, his fists clenching in irritation. "It''s Uncle¡¯s servant, not mine," he snapped, his voice tight. He hated the implication. Hated how it stung. Jonah scoffed, shaking his head. "Same thing." Thorne felt a knot tighten in his chest. Jonah¡¯s envy was painfully clear, and even Ben seemed to view the cramped attic as some kind of palace compared to the streets they were used to. They didn¡¯t understand¡ªhow could they? They thought his uncle¡¯s attention was a blessing. They were so, so wrong. Not wanting to dwell on the thoughts, Thorne changed the subject. "Jonah, did you find a buyer for the boar horns?" Jonah''s face brightened immediately, excitement replacing the bitterness. "Yeah, I did! Found a shopkeeper, an alchemist who¡¯s interested. I hope his shop¡¯s still standing after last night¡¯s chaos," he added with a frown, but his expression quickly shifted back to one of pride. "At first, he offered ten coppers, but I saw the way his eyes lit up when he saw the horns. Got him to offer two silvers." "Two silvers?" Thorne echoed, a spark of hope lighting up his otherwise weary mind. Jonah nodded, more serious now. "Yep. He said the horns were magical, just like you thought. But I kinda screwed up¡­ told him you were planning to go back to the Elven Forest to hunt for more ingredients." Thorne frowned. "And?" Jonah scratched his head. "And the alchemist said if we bring him more ingredients, he¡¯ll buy everything we bring him¡ªand even raise the price for the horns." Thorne mulled over the information. It wasn¡¯t a bad deal, all things considered. "Did you bring anything back from the forest?" Jonah asked, hope flickering in his eyes. Thorne reached into his pocket and pulled out the green rock, tossing it to Jonah. He caught it, inspecting the rough surface with a puzzled expression. "This is it?" Thorne smirked, leaning back. "Trust me, Jonah. That rock is worth more than the horns. The aether inside¡­ it¡¯s valuable." He thought about the sheer amount of aether the rock contained, more than enough to fetch a high price if they found the right buyer. Ben''s eyes widened in awe, and he scooted closer to get a better look. His small hands fidgeted, itching to touch the rock but too shy to ask. They talked for a while longer, the tension in the room easing as they discussed plans and possibilities. Thorne found some solace in the conversation, though a part of him remained detached, his thoughts still spiraling around the events of the night before. Jonah¡¯s hands moved wildly as he recounted his bargaining with the alchemist, while Ben nodded along silently, his expressive eyes saying more than words could. The usual banter between them returned, a small reprieve from the chaos outside. Eventually, Thorne stood up, his mind made up. "I have to go," he said, brushing the dust from his pants. Jonah looked up, raising an eyebrow. "Where are you off to?" Thorne shrugged, trying to keep it vague. "Just¡­ some things I need to take care of." Jonah eyed him suspiciously but didn¡¯t press. "Alright, just be careful out there." Thorne nodded, patting Ben on the shoulder. Ben gave him a worried look, his hands moving in a gesture that Thorne had come to understand meant "be careful." "I¡¯ll be fine," Thorne reassured him, forcing a smile he didn¡¯t feel. "Stay safe, both of you." As Thorne slipped out of the attic, his thoughts spiraled into a whirlwind of confusion and fear. Sid''s intense gaze lingered in his mind, unsettling him in ways he couldn¡¯t fully understand. The man¡¯s eyes had bored into him, sharp and probing, as though he was searching for something hidden deep within. Thorne could still feel the weight of that stare, the way it had sent a chill crawling down his spine. Had Sid seen him use his skills? Had he figured out that Thorne was using aether? The thought filled him with dread. If Sid¡ªor anyone else¡ªdiscovered the truth about him, it would mean disaster. Thorne¡¯s heart raced at the mere possibility. The blood of the elder races ran through his veins, a secret he had guarded for as long as he could remember. His mother had always warned him: "Never let anyone know. Never show them what you truly are." She had died because of that secret, hunted down by those who craved the power she possessed. That memory, the sight of her final, desperate moments, haunted him still. It was the reason he hid, the reason he ran. His core pulsed with energy, a beacon of aether that would draw enemies like moths to a flame if they knew. If anyone ever found out, they¡¯d come for him too, just like they had come for her. Thorne couldn¡¯t let that happen. He couldn¡¯t risk exposure¡ªnot now, not ever. But Sid¡¯s piercing gaze had made him feel exposed, vulnerable in a way he hadn¡¯t felt in a long time. There was something in the way the man had looked at him¡ªlike he had seen through Thorne''s defenses, like he knew something Thorne wasn¡¯t ready to reveal. Had Sid figured it out? Was that why his eyes had been so intense? Did he know Thorne was different? His heart pounded in his chest as he moved through the twisting alleyways, the narrow streets closing in on him like the walls of a cage. The question gnawed at him¡ªdid Sid suspect something? If he did, it could change everything. Thorne couldn¡¯t risk it. He had to find Sid, confront him, and figure out what he knew. He needed answers, and fast. But the city, still reeling from the chaos, offered him no clues. Sid never showed up that night. Or the night after. Or the one after that. CHAPTER 31 Thorne returned from the fish market grinning from ear to ear, savoring the crispy fried fish in his hands, his fingers and mouth drenched in oil. His pockets clinked with the weight of freshly earned coins. Jonah had finally managed to sell the magical ingredients to the alchemist, who, according to Jonah, had gone as mute as Ben when he laid eyes on the green stone. Twenty-five silvers¡ªan absolute fortune! Even though Thorne had a nagging suspicion that they were played for fools and the stone was worth far more, the heavy jingle of his full pockets made it hard to care too much. For now, at least. He''d given Jonah and Ben seven silvers, their eyes widening in disbelief as he handed them the money. The shock froze them for a moment, but then, predictably, Jonah''s instincts kicked in, and he began haggling for more. Reluctantly, Thorne gave in, offering an extra silver just to shut him up. That minor concession had at least leveled up his Haggling skill to six, but since then, Jonah had been pestering him nonstop, nagging him to go back to the Elven Forest to fetch more ingredients. Thorne ground his teeth every time, as if finding and killing a magical cat capable of making the entire forest come alive was a simple errand. Jonah had no clue what he was asking. Stepping into his attic, Thorne''s smile faltered the instant he saw his uncle seated at the small table. The man looked absurd, his bulky frame nearly overwhelming the delicate chair, which seemed moments away from splintering under his weight. Uncle''s head lifted from a ledger, and a wide smile spread across his face when his eyes landed on Thorne. ¡°Shortie! You¡¯re finally home! I¡¯ve been waiting for you!¡± Uncle¡¯s voice was warm, almost cheerful, as if nothing had happened between them. As if he hadn¡¯t yelled at Thorne, threatened him, or hurled objects at him just days ago. Thorne froze in the doorway. His uncle¡¯s smile dimmed slightly, the jagged scar on his face contorting as a frown began to form. ¡°Shortie, what¡¯s wrong?¡± Uncle asked, his voice genuinely puzzled, as though he had no idea why Thorne might be hesitant to approach. For a moment, Thorne hesitated. Had he imagined everything? The anger, the violence, the ink bottle crashing against the wall? Maybe it was just the exhaustion, the aether strain clouding his memory. But no. He hadn¡¯t imagined it. The rage had been real, as real as the fear that had gripped him when Uncle¡¯s eyes had turned cold and unforgiving. Thorne forced down the instinct to soothe his uncle, to rush forward and make things right, to see that warm smile directed at him again. Instead, he nodded stiffly and muttered, ¡°Uncle,¡± as he moved to sit on the edge of his bed. His uncle¡¯s frown deepened, and he pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing in frustration. ¡°I hope you¡¯re not still upset about the other day,¡± he said, his voice softening but edged with impatience. ¡°I know things got¡­ heated, but you have to understand, there¡¯s a lot going on. The city¡¯s in chaos, and I¡¯ve got to manage everything. It¡¯s not easy.¡± Thorne stared at his uncle, a swirl of emotions churning inside him. Part of him wanted to believe, to think that the man¡¯s outburst was just the result of stress, that the weight of his responsibilities had pushed him to the edge. But the other part¡ªthe part that remembered the cold, calculated gleam in Uncle¡¯s eyes¡ªcouldn¡¯t shake the nagging feeling that he was nothing more than a pawn in a much larger game. ¡°I know, Uncle,¡± Thorne said, his voice low. ¡°But you scared me. You threw an ink bottle at me.¡± His uncle¡¯s expression softened, but there was a flicker of impatience beneath it. ¡°I know, and I shouldn¡¯t have done that. I was angry, and I took it out on you. But you have to understand, Shortie, this is a dangerous game we¡¯re playing. One wrong move, and everything falls apart.¡± Thorne nodded slowly, his fingers tracing absent patterns on the blanket beneath him. ¡°I just wanted to help,¡± he whispered, more to himself than to his uncle. ¡°And you have,¡± Uncle replied, his voice growing warmer as he leaned forward. ¡°You¡¯ve done more than I ever expected. But you have to be careful. This isn¡¯t a game. People are dying out there.¡± Thorne¡¯s stomach twisted at the reminder, the images of the burning city flashing through his mind¡ªthe bodies, the screams, the destruction. How many of those deaths were his fault? He hadn¡¯t meant for any of this to happen. All he had wanted was to prove himself to Uncle, to earn his admiration. But at what cost? ¡°I know,¡± Thorne said, barely able to keep the guilt from his voice. ¡°I just¡­ I want to make sure I¡¯m doing the right thing.¡± Uncle¡¯s gaze softened even further, and for a brief moment, Thorne saw something close to genuine warmth in his eyes. ¡°You are, Thorne,¡± he assured him. ¡°But you have to trust me. I know what I¡¯m doing. We¡¯re going to make things better, but we¡¯ve got to be smart about it. Stick with me, and everything will be fine.¡± Thorne nodded again, but the doubt still lingered like a shadow he couldn¡¯t shake. He wanted to believe Uncle. He wanted to trust that there was a plan, that they were working toward something good. But deep down, a part of him¡ªhowever small¡ªcouldn¡¯t help but feel cheated. "Now," Uncle said, his tone shifting to its usual briskness, ¡°I hope you understand the gravity of the situation. Everything that''s happened¡­ it''s not just the result of one thing, but your involvement¡ªdelivering that letter¡ªset off a chain of events that couldn¡¯t be stopped." Thorne¡¯s heart plummeted, and he felt a cold weight settle in his stomach. ¡°So¡­ it¡¯s my fault?¡± he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. ¡°Not entirely,¡± Uncle replied, his voice dripping with a calculated edge that sent a chill down Thorne¡¯s spine. ¡°But your actions had consequences. That¡¯s something you need to learn, boy. Every decision you make ripples out, affecting things you can¡¯t even begin to imagine. If you hadn''t given me that letter, maybe things would have been different.¡± Guilt crashed over Thorne like a tidal wave. His earlier confidence crumbled, and the weight of his uncle''s words pressed down on him. He looked at the floor, his voice small and defeated. ¡°I just wanted to help.¡± ¡°And you did,¡± Uncle said, standing up and placing a hand on Thorne¡¯s shoulder. His grip was firm, almost too firm, but there was a warmth to his words. ¡°But remember, Shortie, this world is dangerous. You need to be smarter, more careful. We can''t afford mistakes." Then, in a movement so fast it left Thorne reeling, Uncle drew a knife from his jacket, the metallic scrape of the blade making Thorne¡¯s blood freeze. The knife gleamed menacingly in the dim light as Uncle pointed it directly at him, his eyes cold and sharp as steel, boring into Thorne as if he were weighing his life in his hands. For a split second, fear paralyzed him. Was Uncle going to kill him? The thought flashed through Thorne¡¯s mind like lightning, and his heart thudded in his chest. But just as quickly as the fear struck, Uncle¡¯s face transformed. A deep, booming laugh erupted from him, filling the room with a twisted mirth that echoed off the walls. He tossed the knife casually onto the table in front of Thorne, the blade skidding across the wood. "Take it. It''s yours," Uncle said, his voice still light with laughter. "I never got the chance to give you your present. You deserve it." Thorne¡¯s hands shook as he reached for the blade, his fingers brushing the cold steel. For that brief moment, he had been certain Uncle would kill him¡ªjust like that, without a second thought. He lifted the knife, feeling its weight. It was unlike any weapon he had ever held before. Bigger. Heavier. The double-edged blade gleamed, and one side was serrated, designed to tear through flesh and bone. The handle was wrapped in black leather, smooth and expensive, and the sheath bore intricate silver patterns that made it clear this was no ordinary blade. ¡°Thank you, Uncle,¡± Thorne said, his voice uneven as he tried to steady his nerves. Uncle chuckled, clearly amused by Thorne¡¯s reaction. ¡°You¡¯ll need it,¡± he said, leaning back in his chair. ¡°Sid approached me, told me he wants to train you properly. Like he does with his other apprentices.¡± Thorne¡¯s heart skipped a beat. His stomach tightened in dread. ¡°What¡­ what did he say?¡± he stammered, trying to mask the fear creeping into his voice. Uncle¡¯s eyes narrowed, that familiar calculating gleam in them. ¡°He said you showed potential. Enough to catch his eye. You must have done something extraordinary that night to impress him.¡± The blood drained from Thorne¡¯s face. Had Sid seen him use his aether manipulation? Did he know? "Did he¡­ did he mention anything specific?" Thorne asked, struggling to keep his voice steady. Uncle shook his head. ¡°Just that you¡¯ve got promise. He didn¡¯t go into details, but the fact that Sid is interested should make you proud, Shortie.¡± This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. Thorne forced a smile, feeling the flicker of his acting skill take over, smoothing his features and masking the whirlwind of fear inside. ¡°I am, Uncle. Thank you.¡± His voice came out steady, but inside, his thoughts were in chaos. Uncle leaned back further, his eyes never leaving Thorne. He closed the small ledger in front of him with a sharp snap, the sound slicing through the air like the knife had earlier. Thorne sat up straighter, his muscles tensing unconsciously. Uncle¡¯s gaze was unreadable, as if he were analyzing Thorne, picking him apart piece by piece. ¡°Sid will be waiting for you at your usual spot after we¡¯re done here,¡± Uncle said casually, as if sending Thorne off to be trained by the man wasn¡¯t the most terrifying thought in the world. Thorne nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. "I¡¯ll be there," he said, though his mind was already racing, trying to figure out how he was going to handle this. What if Sid knew? What if this was all a trap? Uncle¡¯s eyes gleamed with something darker, more dangerous. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his face closer now, the jagged scar on his cheek casting shadows across his expression. ¡°Now,¡± he said, his voice softer but no less commanding, ¡°it¡¯s time to play our game. Tell me what you think happened that night.¡± Thorne hesitated, his gaze darting around the room, avoiding his uncle''s eyes. He didn¡¯t dare speak, fearing that even the wrong word would reignite the temper he''d seen before. Uncle¡¯s anger was a force of nature¡ªunpredictable and explosive. But his uncle picked up on his unease. "You are free to say whatever you please," he said in a tone almost too calm. "In fact, I want you to speak your mind." Thorne¡¯s eyes flicked upward, searching his uncle¡¯s face. He saw only encouragement, and beneath that, something more. Curiosity? It didn¡¯t make sense. Why would his uncle care what he thought? Still, the memory of that night weighed heavy on him, like chains wrapped around his thoughts. He needed to untangle this web his uncle had woven. Taking a deep breath, he began, his voice trembling. "In the letter I found in Lady Elara''s chamber," Thorne started, choosing his words carefully, "it said that the Thornfields were planning to ally with the Ravencourts to prevent House Durnell from rising to power." He kept his eyes on Uncle, hoping for any kind of reaction. The man¡¯s eyes narrowed, but he remained silent. "You didn¡¯t want that," Thorne continued, his voice growing steadier as he pieced it together. "You wanted Lord Durnell''s deal with the capital to go through. So you had Lady Elara killed." His uncle''s expression remained eerily calm, but there was a flicker in his eyes¡ªapproval, perhaps? Encouragement? It unsettled Thorne, but he pressed on. "Without her," Thorne added, "her younger brother would take over the Thornfields, and he¡¯s more likely to ally with the Durnells. That¡¯s why the Ravencourts attacked the Thornfields¡ªto stop the alliance. And that¡¯s how it escalated into a full-out war between the houses." Uncle nodded, his face betraying nothing, though his eyes held that same calculating gleam. "Your conclusion is good, Shortie," he said slowly. "But you''re missing something. And it¡¯s not your fault¡ªyou don¡¯t yet have all the facts." Thorne swallowed, his curiosity outweighing his fear. "What am I missing?" Uncle leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful look crossing his face. ¡°First of all, I wasn¡¯t the one who killed Lady Elara.¡± Thorne blinked in confusion. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean you did it personally, but you sent one of your people¡ªdidn¡¯t you?¡± His uncle shook his head, a sly smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You should never leave a trail that leads back to you. If I had sent one of my people, it would have been a matter of time before someone figured it out." Thorne frowned, feeling more confused than ever. "Then how did you do it?" "The letter," Uncle said simply, his smile widening. Thorne''s brow furrowed. "The letter?" "Lord Thornfield found his sister¡¯s letter after all," Uncle explained. "It just wasn¡¯t the one she wrote. He found my letter¡ªa letter that detailed how Lady Elara had supposedly contracted a local gang to have her brother killed, fearing he was gaining too much power within their house." Thorne¡¯s eyes widened, a cold shiver running down his spine. "You¡­ you forged it?" Uncle¡¯s grin was one of pure satisfaction. "Exactly. The letter was enough to push her brother over the edge, to make him believe his own sister was plotting against him." Thorne sat back, stunned. "But why involve the Gravediggers? Why frame them?" Uncle¡¯s eyes gleamed with a sharp cunning. "The Gravediggers are pests¡ªa nuisance I¡¯ve been wanting to deal with for a long time. By implicating them, I not only removed Lady Elara, a stabilizing force in the city, but I also weakened another enemy. Two birds, one stone. It was a calculated move." Thorne''s head spun. The sheer complexity of his uncle¡¯s plan, the manipulation, the coldness with which he executed it¡ªit was staggering. "And the fighting?" Thorne asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "The chaos in the streets... was that part of your plan too?" Uncle waved his hand dismissively. "Collateral damage. A necessary evil. The chaos ensured that the Ravencourts and Thornfields would be too focused on each other to interfere with Durnell¡¯s dealings. It also provided cover for our own operations." Thorne''s stomach churned. He thought of the families he had seen torn apart, the bodies in the streets, the homes reduced to ashes. "But... innocent people died." Uncle¡¯s expression darkened, his voice growing colder. "Innocence is a luxury we cannot afford, Thorne. This world is unforgiving. Those who survive do so by being stronger, smarter, and willing to make sacrifices. You need to understand that, or you won¡¯t last long." Thorne¡¯s throat tightened. The weight of guilt pressed down on him, heavy and suffocating. "But... Uncle, the destruction, the deaths... was it all really necessary?" Uncle leaned forward, his fingers steepled together, his gaze piercing. "Necessary? Maybe not. But effective? Absolutely. In this world, boy, the ends often justify the means. Those who understand that rise to power. Those who don¡¯t? Well, they¡¯re swept away in the tide, like the dead you¡¯ve seen in the streets." Thorne stared at his uncle, struggling to process everything. This man, the one who had taken him in, who had given him a home when he had nothing¡ªthis man was a monster. And yet, a part of Thorne still longed for his approval, still craved his affection. Thorne¡¯s gaze drifted down to the knife his uncle had given him, the blade gleaming in the dim light. It was finely crafted, a clear symbol of his uncle¡¯s power and the influence he wielded with such ease. As he turned the weapon over in his hands, a storm of emotions churned inside him¡ªadmiration for his uncle¡¯s ruthless brilliance, but also a deep, unsettling unease. What kind of man was capable of such cold manipulation? The thought sent a shiver down his spine. ¡°The letter...¡± Thorne muttered, his fingers tightening around the knife''s handle as he wrung his hands. Uncle leaned forward, his voice dripping with satisfaction. ¡°You see, Thorne, Lord Thornfield loathes one person above all others, even more than his rivals, the Ravencourts,¡± he said, a cruel smirk tugging at his lips. ¡°His own sister. He¡¯s always hated her. He just needed a small nudge, a little pretense to finally act on what he¡¯d always dreamed of¡ªkilling her and taking her place.¡± Thorne¡¯s mind raced. A forged letter. A man manipulated into killing his own sister, triggering a war between noble houses, all while implicating the Gravediggers, his uncle''s greatest enemies. It was a dark, twisted game his uncle was playing, and the more Thorne understood, the more he felt a wave of revulsion rise in him. Yet there was no denying the brilliance behind it. It was a stroke of genius¡ªvile, but genius. His uncle watched him intently, waiting for Thorne to process the magnitude of his manipulation. When Thorne remained silent, Uncle urged him, his voice calm, "Go on, Shortie. Speak your mind." Wetting his lips, Thorne hesitated before asking, "But then why did the two houses fight? If Lord Thornfield was the one who killed his sister, why did he attack the Ravencourts?" A low chuckle escaped Uncle''s throat, his eyes glinting with amusement. ¡°He couldn¡¯t very well admit to murdering his own sister, could he? No, he needed a scapegoat, someone to pin the crime on. The Ravencourts were perfect¡ªconvenient and threatening enough to serve as the ideal enemy. Blaming them allowed him to consolidate his power within House Thornfield while eliminating a rival." Thorne¡¯s head spun as the pieces fell into place. His uncle had orchestrated everything, using each move like a master chess player. It was terrifying in its precision, the way he had manipulated so many people and events to serve his own ends. The weight of it all pressed down on Thorne¡¯s chest, and his head began to ache from the effort of trying to keep up with the complex web of schemes. "But why pit them against each other?" Thorne asked, his voice barely above a whisper. The scope of his uncle''s plan was still too vast for him to fully comprehend. His uncle shrugged, as though the answer were obvious. "It¡¯s simple. Both houses posed a threat to Lord Durnell¡¯s rise. I needed them weakened, both politically and militarily. The fighting drained their resources, decimated their forces. And when they were sufficiently crippled, Lord Durnell, following my advice, wiped out what remained of their armies.¡± He paused, his smirk widening. ¡°Now both houses are in shambles, their power broken. House Durnell will reign over the city unopposed. That is, assuming the Duke remains occupied with more... pressing matters. But I¡¯ve already taken steps to ensure that he will be.¡± Thorne''s head throbbed as he struggled to keep up. The level of manipulation, the sheer scope of his uncle¡¯s machinations¡ªit was staggering. The city had been plunged into chaos, its people slaughtered in the streets, and for what? So two noble houses could tear each other apart, leaving Durnell to claim victory in the aftermath. And his uncle had orchestrated it all from the shadows. Uncle leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with a kind of dark satisfaction that made Thorne''s skin crawl. ¡°This is the reality of our world, Thorne,¡± he said, his voice low and intense. ¡°Power isn¡¯t something that¡¯s given. It¡¯s taken. Those who hesitate, those who wait for opportunities to come to them¡ªthey''re the ones who fall. Remember that.¡± Thorne nodded slowly, letting the weight of his uncle¡¯s words sink in. He realized then that he could never truly trust the man sitting across from him. His uncle was a master manipulator, a man who would stop at nothing to achieve his goals, even if it meant sacrificing innocent lives. Thorne would have to tread carefully from now on, keeping his own secrets close while navigating the dangerous world his uncle had drawn him into. Rubbing his aching temples, Thorne found himself speaking out loud without realizing it. ¡°That... that was brilliant.¡± Inside his head, though, another word echoed¡ªdiabolical. His uncle¡¯s eyes gleamed with pride, clearly relishing Thorne¡¯s recognition. The man looked as though he had been waiting for this conversation, desperate to boast about his accomplishments, even if his audience was a boy. Thorne could almost see the satisfaction swelling within him as he leaned back, enjoying the moment. Uncle smiled widely, his scarred face twisting into something unsettlingly close to warmth. ¡°I knew you¡¯d understand, Shortie. You¡¯re sharper than most, and I knew you¡¯d see the brilliance in it. One day, you¡¯ll be ready to play your part in this game too.¡± Thorne forced a smile, hiding the revulsion rising within him. CHAPTER 32 Thorne sat inside the dimly lit warehouse, his right foot tapping nervously on the cold concrete floor. The weight of his uncle''s revelations pressed heavily on his mind, transforming a lingering headache into a full-blown migraine. His vision blurred at the edges, and his thoughts felt like they were slipping through his fingers, hard to catch, harder to hold onto. Sid was due any moment, and Thorne knew he couldn¡¯t afford to be off his game. Failing to show up, or worse, showing fear, would raise suspicion, and that was the last thing he needed. The more he replayed that night in his mind, the more he convinced himself Sid hadn''t noticed anything unusual. If Sid had seen his aether manipulation, he would''ve reported it to Uncle, and Uncle... Thorne shuddered, his imagination running wild. Being sold off to a high noble for experimentation, or worse, having his body harvested for parts¡ªhis skin, his blood, his power. The coldness of the thought crept up his spine, chilling him to the core. A flicker of movement in the corner of his eye snapped him back to the present. Thorne looked up, forcing himself to stay calm. His heart, however, betrayed him, thundering in his chest. A shadow slithered through the warehouse, too fast for his liking. A second later, a firm tap on his shoulder sent him spiraling into a panic. He screamed, spinning around so quickly he lost his balance and tumbled onto the cold floor, face-first. Pain shot up his nose, but fear drowned out the sting. Laughter echoed around him, sharp and mocking. Sid stood over him, his malicious grin almost feral. "Nervous, boy?" Sid¡¯s voice dripped with amusement as he stepped closer, looming over Thorne like a predator over its prey. Scrambling to his feet, Thorne tried to shake off the terror, brushing his clothes with shaky hands. "No, just¡­ startled," he mumbled, unable to meet Sid¡¯s piercing gaze. Sid narrowed his eyes, his grin widening like a wolf baring its teeth. "Startled, huh? You should be on edge, given everything that''s been going on. It''s a dangerous world out there, as I''m sure you''ve noticed." His tone was casual, but the undercurrent of menace was unmistakable. Thorne nodded, trying his best to appear unfazed. "Yeah, I''ve noticed." The shift in Sid¡¯s posture was subtle, but the atmosphere grew heavier. His eyes sharpened, pinning Thorne in place. "So, tell me, Thorne¡­ what exactly happened that night with the guards? You did something¡­ extraordinary, didn''t you?" Thorne¡¯s heart lurched in his chest. His acting skill flared to life, smoothing his features into a mask of curiosity rather than the sheer terror boiling underneath. "I just did what I had to do to survive," he said, forcing his voice to stay steady. "I used every trick and skill you¡¯ve taught me." Sid¡¯s gaze remained locked on him, unblinking. "Every trick and skill, huh?" His voice turned silky, his words cutting deeper. "Funny, because I''ve never seen anyone move the way you did. It was like you were there one moment and gone the next. If I didn¡¯t know better, I¡¯d say you have¡­ special talents." He leaned in closer. "Maybe even a few that you¡¯ve kept hidden." Thorne¡¯s pulse quickened, the air thickening with tension. "I got lucky," he muttered, hoping the lie would stick. Sid laughed, but it was a hollow sound, devoid of humor. "Lucky?" he repeated, the word dripping with skepticism. "Maybe. Or maybe there¡¯s more to you than you¡¯re letting on." He stepped back, giving Thorne some space, but his eyes never left the boy¡¯s face, studying him like a puzzle. Then Sid¡¯s voice took on a strange cadence, smooth as silk, yet sharp as glass. "You know," he said, his words slithering into Thorne¡¯s ears, "I used my identification skill on you. Guess what? Came up empty. Not even a name." His gaze darkened. "Unless¡­ you have a special trait." Panic gripped Thorne, and he fought the overwhelming urge to grab his mother¡¯s pendant. His fingers twitched, yearning for the comfort of the worn stone, but he forced them to stay at his sides. Sid¡¯s voice grew softer, laced with an unnatural charm. "Maybe you¡¯re an exiled elven princeling?" he mused, his eyes gleaming with intrigue. "Your features are too refined for a street rat. Maybe some noble blood flows through your veins. The rich are always after beauty and power, after all." Thorne felt a disturbance in the aether, and Sid''s next words sounded different, as if his tongue was dipped in honey. Each word was intriguing and compelling, making Thorne stare at the man''s lips, not wanting to miss a single syllable. His voice was deep and melodious, like an ancient song gifted to the world after millennia. Thorne felt honored to listen to such a voice and wanted to please the man, to answer whatever he asked, just to keep hearing that godly sound. The words barely registered in his mind, but he knew Sid wanted to know who Thorne truly was. The aether swirled around him in a maelstrom, encasing Thorne in shimmering energy that tried to burrow into his core, to pry open his deepest secrets. Thorne¡¯s body reacted instinctively, his core resisting the foreign aether, pushing it away with a force he hadn¡¯t known he possessed. A sudden jolt ran through him, and a notification flashed in his vision: Congratulations! You have Unlocked a New Skill: Mindguard. Thorne''s eyes widened as the surge of information flooded his mind. Sid had been using a skill on him. His new ability, a defensive mechanism, had kicked in, shielding him from the mental probing, but it wasn¡¯t enough. Sid¡¯s voice still carried that eerie, magical cadence, and Thorne felt the pull of truth tugging at his lips. His heart pounded, and panic gripped him. He fought to keep control, but the urge to spill everything was overwhelming. His mouth twisted into a grimace, his eyes bulging as he physically fought to stay silent, every muscle in his body tense with the effort. Sid¡¯s eyes narrowed, and Thorne saw the recognition dawning in the man¡¯s gaze. He was seconds away from being discovered. Desperation took over. Thorne activated his Acting skill, forcing his body to relax, his face going slack. He let his eyes glaze over, unfocused, drawing Sid¡¯s attention away from the truth bubbling up inside him. His mind raced, grasping for something, anything, that would sound convincing. He felt the aether inside him hum, not wild like before, but steady, pulsing from his core. He infused it into his voice, mimicking Sid¡¯s manipulation, and prayed that it would be enough. "I... I¡¯m no princeling," Thorne¡¯s voice trembled, hollow, yet strangely convincing, even to his own ears. "I¡¯m just a boy spurned by his father." He paused, letting his voice crack for effect, blinking rapidly as if holding back tears. ¡°A man from a foreign land fell in love with a human woman. When he found out she was pregnant, he drove her away, fearing ridicule and scorn from his peers. My mother, distraught, sought help, but no one offered a hand. She decided to return to her homeland. Our journey was dangerous, but she always protected me." Sid remained silent, his eyes locked onto Thorne, watching every twitch, every subtle movement. You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. Thorne continued, his voice cracking for effect, and he furiously blinked back imaginary tears. "We were alone. Always alone. Until¡­ she couldn¡¯t protect me anymore." The pause stretched out between them, the silence so heavy it pressed on Thorne¡¯s chest. His fingers trembled as he finished the story, every second feeling like a lifetime. Keep your head down. Look vulnerable. Don¡¯t push it too far. Thorne forced his gaze downward, pretending to choke on the emotion. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears, his heart hammering in his chest, but he kept his face passive. "You see... I¡¯m no princeling, just a kid without parents," he finished, letting the words hang in the air. Silence. Thorne¡¯s heart raced as he waited, unsure if Sid would buy the lie. The seconds stretched painfully long. He didn''t know where all this nonsense had come from, but he was thankful. Then, finally, a grunt. Sid stepped back, and the tension in the room shifted, his steps retreating. "Uncle thinks highly of you, you know," Sid said with casual indifference, as if the intense exchange had never happened. "He believes you have great potential." Thorne dared to glance up, blinking in surprise. The dangerous glint in Sid¡¯s eyes had dimmed¡ªjust a little¡ªbut it was enough. His body swayed, exhaustion crashing into him as a flood of notifications filled his vision. Congratulations! You have gained a new skill: Echoes of Truth! Skill Level Up: Deception! Skill Level Up: Deception! Skill Level Up: Deception! Skill Level Up: Deception! Skill Level Up: Deception! Skill Level Up: Acting! Skill Level Up: Acting! Skill Level Up: Acting! Skill Level Up: Echoes of Truth! Skill Level Up: Echoes of Truth! The notifications kept coming, his skills jumping levels rapidly as if the entire ordeal had supercharged him. Relief washed over him¡ªhe had managed to fool Sid, at least for now. He couldn¡¯t believe he¡¯d pulled it off. It was clear, however, one wrong move, and everything would come crashing down. He focused on his new skill, Echoes of Truth, realizing just how powerful it was. He could lie through his teeth, and no one would know the difference. Thorne forced a smile, his acting skill smoothing the tension from his face. "I¡¯m glad he thinks so," he said, his voice steady despite the fear still clawing at him. Sid¡¯s grin returned, but there was a dark edge to it. "Let¡¯s hope you live up to his expectations. For your sake." The words hung in the air like a warning. Thorne¡¯s headache throbbed, pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat. He needed to shift the conversation before Sid pressed further into dangerous territory. "What did you want to talk to me about?" he asked, trying to sound casual. Sid¡¯s eyes glinted with a mix of amusement and calculation, as though he enjoyed watching Thorne squirm. "I wanted to see if you were ready for more advanced training," he said, stepping back and crossing his arms. "Your uncle thinks it¡¯s time for you to be under my wing. Properly." Thorne felt a shiver run down his spine. There was no mistaking the finality in Sid¡¯s voice. "Alright, boy. It¡¯s time we change things up," Sid said, his expression hardening. "From now on, there will be no more games." Thorne¡¯s eyes widened in surprise. Games? Was that what Sid thought they¡¯d been doing all this time? The hours of grueling training, the endless bruises, the aching muscles that never seemed to heal¡ªthat was play to him? Thorne clenched his fists, forcing himself to keep calm, but inside, he couldn¡¯t help but feel a surge of disbelief. If this was Sid¡¯s idea of games, what would serious training look like? Sid¡¯s eyes narrowed, as if sensing Thorne¡¯s internal struggle, and continued in a low, commanding tone. ¡°We¡¯ll move on to more advanced training. You¡¯ll be focusing on different weapons and skills. By the time you reach fourteen, I want you to have acquired as many skills as possible when you form your core.¡± Relief and fear hit Thorne at once. Sid still hadn¡¯t figured out the truth¡ªthat Thorne had already formed his core and was learning new skills far ahead of schedule. His secret was safe, for now. But the idea of this new training unsettled him. He needed to get stronger, that much was clear, but the path Sid and his uncle had laid out was full of danger. The memory of his sister, Bea, flashed in his mind¡ªher face, her laughter. He had to find her. He had to be strong enough to free her, wherever she was. But this training came with a cost. Thorne knew his uncle¡¯s hand was behind all of this. The man wasn¡¯t offering these opportunities out of kindness. He was being groomed. His uncle was molding him into a weapon, another Sid¡ªa cold, loyal tool to carry out dirty work in the shadows. The very thought made Thorne sick. He wanted to grimace, to scream at the injustice, but he kept his face neutral. His uncle''s intentions didn''t matter right now. What mattered was getting stronger, surviving long enough to find Bea, and learning how to navigate the treacherous game that was being forced on him. He couldn¡¯t afford to be weak. "Understood," Thorne said, his voice steady, masking the storm raging inside him. Sid¡¯s grin was sharp and cold, a predator¡¯s smile. "Good. We¡¯ll start tomorrow. Be ready." As Sid turned to leave, Thorne felt a mixture of dread and determination settle over him. He would have to tread carefully. The stakes were higher now than ever. He had to get stronger, not just for himself, but for Bea. The thought of her trapped somewhere, held captive, spurred him on. He couldn¡¯t fail her. He wouldn¡¯t. If that meant playing along with his uncle¡¯s schemes, so be it. He would play the game, and when the time came, he would be ready. Sid paused at the door, his eyes narrowing with warning. "Don¡¯t disappoint me, boy." Thorne met his gaze, his resolve hardening like steel. "I won¡¯t." When Sid finally left, Thorne sank back down onto the cold warehouse floor, his legs feeling weak. His mind raced, replaying every word, every moment of the conversation. The weight of Sid¡¯s expectations, the new training regimen, the constant fear of discovery¡ªit all pressed down on him like a physical burden. His muscles still throbbed from his last fight, and now he was expected to push even further, to break past his limits again. It was overwhelming. Exhausting. And yet... exhilarating. He needed this. He needed to push himself harder, to become more skilled, more powerful. His survival depended on it. Bea¡¯s survival depended on it. Every ounce of strength he gained was one step closer to freeing her, to ensuring they both survived in this twisted, dangerous world. Thorne¡¯s fingers tightened around the hilt of the knife his uncle had given him, the cold steel a reminder of the path he was on. He would become stronger, not for Sid, not for his uncle¡ªbut for himself. For Bea. He couldn¡¯t fail. He wouldn¡¯t. Thorne thought of Bea¡ªhis sister, his anchor in a world that had spiraled into chaos. She had always been there for him, her laughter brightening even the darkest days. And now she was gone, taken from him when their lives were torn apart. The image of her face, her voice, haunted him, yet it was the fuel that kept him going. He had to find her. He had to be strong enough to rescue her, to protect her. But could he do that without embracing the path laid before him? His uncle''s cold words rang in his ears: "We can''t afford mistakes." The man was ruthless, cunning¡ªa master manipulator who saw Thorne not as family, but as a tool, a weapon to be sharpened and wielded. It stung, knowing that the man who had taken him in, who had shown him kindness, was only doing so for his own gain. But dwelling on that bitterness wouldn''t help him now. He had no time for resentment; there were bigger things at play. The training Sid offered was a lifeline, a chance to gain power. Real power. Thorne knew that if he wanted to stand a chance, if he wanted to protect himself and find Bea, he had to embrace the opportunity. He had to become someone formidable¡ªsomeone who could dig into the truth of his past, uncover the mystery of his mother¡¯s death, and, most importantly, track down his sister. But fear was never far away, gnawing at him with every decision he made. What if Sid found out about his core? What if his uncle discovered his secret, that he wasn¡¯t just a street kid, but part of the elder races? The consequences of that revelation would be catastrophic. They would hunt him down, or worse, sell him to the highest bidder. His very existence was a danger. He inhaled sharply, forcing himself to calm down. He couldn''t afford to show weakness, not in front of Sid. Sid was always watching. Every look, every word would be weighed and analyzed, searching for cracks in Thorne''s mask. If he gave away even the smallest hint of his true abilities, of the power lurking beneath the surface, it would be over. He had to stay sharp, to control his emotions, to wear the mask of the eager student while hiding the truth of what he really was. His path was clear now. Thorne would go along with Sid¡¯s training, taking everything he could from the man. He would become stronger, honing his skills and mastering every lesson. But all the while, he would be careful. He would guard his secrets fiercely, always aware of the danger that loomed over him. He had to outthink them, to stay ahead of their plans while quietly preparing for his own. Tomorrow, the real training would begin. And Thorne was ready. CHAPTER 33 Thorne stood in the dimly lit warehouse, his pulse quickening in time with the storm outside. The rain hammered relentlessly on the roof, each thunderclap making the cold, damp air feel even heavier. But none of that registered. His entire focus was on the man standing a few feet away, cloaked in shadows and menace. Sid''s silhouette flickered in the dim light of the torches lining the walls, his black leather armor blending into the darkness. His hood obscured most of his face, but Thorne could feel his gaze, sharp as a blade, watching him. Scrutinizing him. The weight of those eyes made Thorne¡¯s heart thud harder against his chest. ¡°Ready, boy?¡± Sid¡¯s voice cut through the storm like the cold edge of a knife, devoid of warmth or concern. Thorne nodded, his throat tight. Fear and determination warred within him. This was no ordinary session, and he knew it. Sid had promised that tonight would push him beyond anything he had faced before. And he wasn¡¯t wrong. Sid didn¡¯t wait. He moved like lightning. One moment, he was standing still, and the next, his fist slammed into Thorne¡¯s stomach. The air was knocked from Thorne¡¯s lungs as he stumbled back, doubling over in pain. It felt like a hammer had struck his insides, his breath a ragged gasp. ¡°Too slow,¡± Sid snarled, circling him like a predator toying with its prey. ¡°Move your feet.¡± Thorne blinked back the pain, forcing his body to respond. The lessons Sid had drilled into him echoed in his mind, but his body wasn¡¯t fast enough. Not fast enough to keep up with Sid¡¯s blinding speed. Another punch landed, this time on his jaw, snapping his head back. A sharp metallic taste filled his mouth. Blood. But there was no time to react before Sid followed up with a brutal kick to his side, sending him sprawling across the cold floor. Agony shot through him, his ribs screaming in protest. ¡°Get up.¡± Sid¡¯s voice was a low growl. There was no sympathy in it, only a demand. Thorne¡¯s limbs shook as he pushed himself off the floor, every part of his body screaming at him to stay down. But he couldn¡¯t. Showing weakness here would only make things worse. He raised his trembling arms, adopting the defensive stance Sid had taught him, trying to steady himself for the next onslaught. Sid came at him again, each strike more punishing than the last. Thorne managed to block a few, but Sid¡¯s strength was overwhelming. Every hit felt like it was tearing him apart, his muscles growing sluggish, his movements slower with each passing second. ¡°Pathetic,¡± Sid hissed, delivering a kick that caught Thorne in the ribs once more. The pain was blinding. "Do you think anyone will go easy on you because you¡¯re just a boy? They¡¯ll kill you without hesitation." Rage flared inside Thorne. He gritted his teeth, his vision blurred from the pain, but still, he stood. He had to survive this. He had to get stronger. He couldn¡¯t afford to fall here, not when so much was at stake. Sid circled him like a hawk. ¡°Watch your opponent. They always tell you where they¡¯re going to strike. The eyes, the shoulders, the hips¡­ they all tell a story. Learn to read it.¡± Thorne focused through the haze of pain, trying to see the subtle cues in Sid¡¯s movements. His chest heaved with effort, his limbs heavy, but he watched, forcing his mind to clear. He saw it¡ªjust the tiniest flicker in Sid¡¯s gaze. He ducked, and Sid¡¯s punch whistled past his head. Thorne had dodged. But before he could savor the small victory, Sid¡¯s knee slammed into his gut. The impact knocked the wind out of him, sending him crashing to the ground, doubled over and gasping. ¡°Better,¡± Sid said, his tone grudging. ¡°But not good enough.¡± The words stung. Thorne''s mind raced, replaying the movements, the strikes. He had survived so far by thinking ahead, outsmarting his opponents, but this was different. Sid¡¯s cold voice echoed in his ears as he landed another blow. ¡°Stop thinking. Use your instincts. React.¡± Thorne¡¯s body screamed in protest as he forced himself to stand again. He couldn¡¯t give up. He couldn¡¯t afford to be weak. He had to clear his mind and let his body take over. He had to become something more. Thorne''s mind raced as he tried to absorb Sid''s advice. He remembered their previous training sessions, the games of cat and mouse where Sid would chase him, forcing him to evade and outsmart his pursuer. It had been like a game of catch, with Sid teaching him how to escape capture. But this was different. This was real combat, and Thorne was out of his depth. Sid moved again, faster than before, and Thorne could barely keep up. But he saw the shift¡ªthe way Sid¡¯s muscles tensed. He ducked just in time, avoiding the hook aimed at his head. Thorne lashed out with his own punch, but it was weak, unfocused. Sid caught his fist easily, twisting his arm until a jolt of pain shot through his shoulder. The agony made him bite down on a cry. ¡°Pathetic.¡± Sid shoved him away, disgust clear in his voice. ¡°If you hesitate in a real fight, you die.¡± Thorne staggered back, anger and frustration boiling inside him. His body throbbed with pain, but the worst of it came from his own weakness, his own failure. He couldn¡¯t afford to be like this. Not when Bea was still out there. Not when he was the only one who could protect her. Sid¡¯s words cut deeper than any of his strikes. ¡°Commit to your attacks. Hesitation is death.¡± Thorne¡¯s breathing was ragged, his heart pounding. But as he stood there, battered and bruised, something inside him hardened. He couldn¡¯t fail. Not now. He had to push through the pain, through the fear. He had to survive this¡ªhe had no choice. "Again," Sid commanded, his voice sharp and cold as steel. Thorne barely had time to steady his breath before Sid lunged at him once more, fists flying in a whirlwind of blows. Focus, focus, focus, Thorne told himself, forcing his exhausted body to obey. His eyes locked on Sid¡¯s, scanning for the slightest flicker of movement. There¡ªit was subtle, but he saw the shift, the tightening in Sid¡¯s muscles. Thorne ducked, weaving out of the way, barely avoiding the strikes. In a rare moment of opportunity, he swung his fist toward Sid¡¯s ribs, putting everything he had into the punch. His knuckles connected, but it was like hitting solid stone. Sid barely flinched, his expression unchanged. It was as if Thorne had hit a wall, and before he could recover, Sid retaliated. A rapid succession of strikes hammered into Thorne, each blow more brutal than the last. Pain exploded across his body, the air knocked from his lungs as he staggered back, gasping for breath. "Good," Sid¡¯s voice cut through the haze of pain, a faint hint of approval in it. "But you need to hit harder. Put your weight behind it, or it¡¯s meaningless." Thorne nodded, wiping the blood from his split lip, trying to ignore the throbbing in his side. His entire body screamed in protest, every muscle aching, every bruise throbbing with fresh pain. He was close to his limit¡ªhe could feel it¡ªbut quitting wasn¡¯t an option. Not here. Not with Sid watching. Not when failure meant showing weakness, and showing weakness meant¡­ Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. He couldn¡¯t even let himself finish the thought. Sid didn¡¯t give him a moment to rest. He lunged again, and Thorne barely had time to react. His body moved on instinct, remembering the relentless drills Sid had put him through. He saw the subtle shift in Sid¡¯s stance again¡ªthe slight dip in his shoulder¡ªand Thorne reacted. He ducked under the punch, twisting his body, and drove his fist into Sid¡¯s ribs with everything he had. This time, Sid grunted, but before Thorne could take advantage, Sid¡¯s knee slammed into his chest with bone-crushing force. Agony shot through him, his breath leaving him in a sharp wheeze as he was sent sprawling to the ground. "Better," Sid said, standing over him, his voice cold and unforgiving. "But not good enough. You have to be relentless, boy. No mercy. No hesitation." Thorne struggled to his feet, every part of him aching, his vision blurring at the edges from exhaustion. His legs felt like they were made of lead, his arms shaking as he raised them again. He couldn¡¯t stop. He couldn¡¯t afford to stop. Every fiber of his being screamed to quit, but something deeper¡ªsomething more primal¡ªkept him going. He had to prove himself, not just to Sid, but to himself. To be better. Sid''s tone shifted, growing serious, his words carrying a weight that made Thorne pause. "Listen, boy," he began, his eyes narrowing. "I''ve faced all kinds of opponents. Magic users, warriors, assassins. Each one had tells. The way their fingers twitched when they were about to cast a spell, or the way their weight shifted when they were going to strike. You need to learn to see these things if you want to survive." For a moment, Sid¡¯s gaze drifted, as if recalling a distant memory. His voice softened, almost nostalgic. "There was a mage once, years ago, who could control the very earth beneath our feet. Every time he was about to cast, his eyes would narrow, and his fingers would curl, just so." Sid demonstrated, his fingers making a subtle movement that Thorne tried to burn into his memory. This wasn¡¯t just training now¡ªit was a lesson in survival. "Then there was a swordsman," Sid continued, his voice taking on a darker edge. "Fastest man I¡¯ve ever seen. But he had a tell, too. Just before he struck, his left shoulder would dip. Barely noticeable, but enough if you knew what to look for." Thorne nodded, though the fog of exhaustion clouded his thoughts. The lessons made sense. But knowing them and applying them were two very different things. He tried to push the pain aside, to focus. But it wasn¡¯t enough. Sid¡¯s attacks came like a storm, each one sharper, faster, more punishing than the last. Every strike was a lesson in brutality. Thorne¡¯s body felt like it was being pulled apart, piece by piece. He dodged when he could, blocked when he had to, but Sid was relentless. There was no mercy, no respite. Every time Thorne thought he had an opening, Sid would counter with devastating precision, hammering the lesson home with his fists. "Commit to your attacks," Sid growled, landing a punch to Thorne¡¯s ribs that nearly knocked him off his feet. "Hesitation will get you killed. No mercy. No hesitation." Thorne forced himself to concentrate, trying to see the tells Sid had mentioned. It was all a blur¡ªthe pain, the exhaustion¡ªbut he had to push through it. He had to keep going. He saw the slight shift in Sid¡¯s weight, the tightening in his shoulders, and he managed to dodge the next punch. Thorne lashed out with a counterattack, but it was weak¡ªhalf-hearted. Sid barely felt it. Sid¡¯s retaliation came swift and brutal, a knee driving into Thorne¡¯s gut with such force that the air left his lungs in a ragged gasp. He doubled over, clutching his stomach, fighting to stay on his feet. "Better," Sid said, though the praise was laced with condescension. "But not good enough. Keep pushing yourself. One day, maybe, you¡¯ll be able to take me on." Thorne wanted to say something, anything, but he couldn¡¯t breathe. His mind raced as he processed everything Sid had said, every brutal lesson carved into his body. Sid had given him the keys to survival, but using them would take more than just knowing what to look for. It would take strength¡ªreal strength. Thorne nodded, his entire body trembling with exhaustion. He could feel the bruises blooming under his skin, the sting of cuts and scrapes biting into him with each gust of cold air. But despite the agony, there was a fire inside him¡ªa determination that refused to be extinguished. He would endure this pain. He would survive it. He had to. Sid stepped back, granting him a brief moment to catch his breath. Thorne was barely upright when a notification flashed in his vision: Congratulations! New Skill Unlocked: Unarmed Combat. For a heartbeat, pride and relief surged through Thorne, giving him a flicker of hope. He had done it¡ªhe had endured the brutal training, and it had made him stronger. But there was no time to revel in his success. No time to celebrate. Sid attacked again. Thorne¡¯s stamina points were in the red, warning him that his reserves were almost gone. Desperation clawed at him as he fought to block and dodge Sid¡¯s relentless strikes. His movements were sluggish, his limbs heavy as lead, and every inch of his body screamed in protest. "Sid, my stamina... it''s gone!" Thorne managed to gasp between ragged breaths, hoping for mercy, even just a few moments to recover. Sid¡¯s scoff cut through the storm. The cruel smirk on his lips was almost worse than the pain. "Your stamina is low, boy? You think your enemies will care about that?" His fists flew at Thorne like a hammer, punctuating his disdain. "Do you think they¡¯ll stop because you need a break?" Each punch and kick was a brutal reminder that the world outside had no mercy for weakness. Neither did Sid. "Once," Sid began, his tone casual, almost conversational as if they weren¡¯t locked in a savage, one-sided fight. "I infiltrated a fortress to steal a valuable map. Got caught. Fought wave after wave of guards, and do you think I had the luxury of asking for a rest? You think I told them to stop because I was running low on stamina, boy?" Thorne¡¯s vision blurred. Pain pounded through his body like a drumbeat, and his mind was foggy, but through the haze, he clung to Sid¡¯s words. Desperation gave him clarity. He had to adapt, had to learn from Sid¡¯s lessons. He began focusing on Sid''s eyes, looking for the tells Sid had spoken about earlier. Thorne needed to read him, to predict his movements before they came. But Sid was a master. Every time Thorne thought he had figured out the next attack, Sid would shift his stance, change his angle, strike from a direction Thorne hadn¡¯t anticipated. Always one step ahead. "You need to read your opponent," Sid growled, his fist slamming into Thorne¡¯s ribs again. The pain made Thorne gasp, his breath stolen from his lungs. "But remember this, boy¡ªthey¡¯ll be reading you, too. You can¡¯t rely on just one thing. You have to be unpredictable." Thorne barely deflected a punch, only to catch a right hook to his face that sent him crashing to the ground. His lip split open, blood mixing with the dirt as he collapsed into a heap. "You¡¯re stupid. Stupid and soft," Sid spat, punctuating each word with a vicious kick to Thorne''s ribs. Each blow made Thorne curl tighter into himself, his arms wrapped protectively around his battered body as he trembled. His breath came in ragged, shallow gasps, the pain overwhelming every other sensation. Sid stood over him, looking down with cold disdain. "Get up," he commanded, but Thorne couldn¡¯t. His body had reached its limit. He lay there, broken, unable to move as blood dripped from his wounds and tears mingled with the sweat and dirt on his face. With a final kick to Thorne¡¯s side, Sid turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing ominously in the cavernous, empty warehouse. "I¡¯ll be waiting for you at the same time tomorrow," he said coldly before disappearing into the shadows. Thorne lay there, tears of frustration mixing with the blood on his cheeks. The pain was unbearable, but worse than that was the crushing weight of his own inadequacy. How far he still had to go. The thought of facing Sid again made his stomach churn, but he knew there was no other way. He couldn¡¯t afford to be weak. Not in a world this dangerous. Not with so much at stake. With a groan that sounded more like a wounded animal, Thorne forced himself to sit up, leaning against the damp, cold wall. His body was shattered¡ªribs aching, face swollen, limbs trembling¡ªbut his spirit, though bruised, refused to break. He couldn¡¯t afford to break. Suddenly, a series of notifications appeared in his vision: Skill Level Up: Thick Skin! Skill Level Up: Thick Skin! Skill Level Up: Unarmed Combat! Skill Level Up: Resilience! Despite the pain, a flicker of hope ignited inside him. He had leveled up¡ªgained strength. It wasn¡¯t much, but it was a start. A sign that all the suffering wasn¡¯t for nothing. He would keep pushing, keep fighting. For his sister, for himself. He had to. Slowly, painfully, Thorne pushed himself to his feet, every step sending a fresh wave of agony through his battered body. The warehouse was silent now, the storm still raging outside, thunder rumbling in the distance. He stumbled toward the exit, each step a struggle. But he was still moving. He was still standing. And no matter what came next, Thorne vowed to himself that he would survive. He would get stronger. CHAPTER 34 Thorne¡¯s eyes blinked open to the sight of Jonah crouching over him, his face twisted in horror. ¡°What happened to you?¡± Jonah¡¯s voice was an odd mix of shock and genuine concern, thick with disbelief as he took in Thorne¡¯s battered state. A faint grunt was all Thorne managed in response. He tried to sit up, but his body screamed in protest, a thousand bruises flaring up in painful unison. He collapsed back onto the unforgiving floor, every rough wooden board digging into his bruised skin like shards of glass. There was muttering somewhere nearby, Jonah¡¯s voice a low hum, but the constant throbbing pain clouded Thorne¡¯s mind, making everything sound distant and dull. He focused on holding back tears, feeling the sting of salt as they tried to slip from his swollen eyes. Every inch of him hurt. Breathing hurt. Blinking hurt. His muscles felt as if they¡¯d been twisted and wrung out, every joint raw and swollen. He barely held on to the shreds of his consciousness, his thoughts hazy and fractured, like the broken pieces of a shattered mirror. A hand shook him gently, and he cracked open an eye to find Jonah staring down at him, worry stark in his gaze. ¡°Do you need help getting to the bed?¡± Thorne didn¡¯t respond. It took all his effort just to keep his eyes open, and he let them fall shut, hoping Jonah would understand and just leave him be. But the next thing he felt was a sharp explosion of pain as Jonah began to lift him. Thorne¡¯s scream tore through the silence, ripping up from his throat before he even registered it. ¡°Sorry,¡± Jonah grunted, struggling to support Thorne¡¯s weight as he practically dragged him across the room, each step jarring every injury anew. Finally, Thorne was lowered onto the mattress, gasping for air as he sank into its scratchy warmth. ¡°Thank you,¡± he managed to croak, his voice weak and frayed. Jonah¡¯s cheeks flushed as he rubbed the back of his neck, looking anywhere but Thorne. ¡°Yeah, well¡­you¡¯re an idiot for getting your ass kicked this bad,¡± he muttered, trying to cover his worry with a casual jab. ¡°How¡¯re you supposed to get up and hunt in the forest? We¡¯re kind of used to full bellies now. I¡¯m not going back to rat stew.¡± Jonah¡¯s words were light, but his eyes were serious, a thread of genuine concern pulling his face into an uncharacteristic frown. Thorne felt a strange warmth at the sight. Was Jonah actually worried about him? He¡¯d have laughed if it didn¡¯t hurt so much just to breathe. Thorne noticed Ben hovering in the background, moving frantically as if looking for something. After a moment, he pointed at Thorne and gestured wildly at Jonah, who shrugged. In frustration, Ben stomped his foot before rushing out the door, a mix of irritation and worry flickering across his face. Thorne wanted to ask what was wrong with Ben, but the words wouldn''t come. His mind was a foggy mess, and he let his gaze drift to the cobwebs on the ceiling, letting his thoughts wander in and out of the pain. A moment later, Jonah dragged a chair close to the bed and plopped into it, fixing Thorne with a hard look. He didn''t waste a second before peppering him with questions, each one louder than the last. "Was it the Rats?" he demanded, his eyes flashing with anger. "If it was, the rest of us need to know. We¡¯ll beat the crap out of any Rat that tries this again!" Thorne could only muster a weak smile at Jonah¡¯s intensity. Part of him appreciated the loyalty in his friend¡¯s voice, but mostly, he just wanted Jonah to be quiet so he could sleep. But Jonah wouldn¡¯t let up, his voice cutting into the silence, each question like a hammer to Thorne¡¯s pounding head. "Who did this to you, Thorne?" Jonah asked, his voice filled with growing frustration. ¡°Was it a guard? Was it another gang?¡± Thorne sighed inwardly, realizing Jonah wasn¡¯t going to let it go. He needed to say something. With his strength ebbing away, he decided to test his new skill, Echoes of Truth. Drawing in a shaky breath, he forced his voice to steady and infused it with aether, hoping it would be enough to sound convincing. ¡°It was my fault, Jonah,¡± he murmured, his voice slipping into an eerie resonance. ¡°I got cocky and tried to steal some food. The shopkeeper caught me and beat me up pretty bad, but at least he didn¡¯t call the guards.¡± Jonah¡¯s tense expression softened as he exhaled a sigh of relief, his shoulders slumping. ¡°Thank the dead gods for that. You¡¯re an idiot, Thorne, you know that?¡± He shook his head, muttering under his breath. ¡°One of these days, you¡¯re gonna get yourself thrown in a dungeon or worse. At least you¡¯re not dead.¡± Thorne¡¯s lips twitched in a weak smile, more relieved than anything that his new skill had worked. His voice had changed slightly while using it, taking on a tone that even convinced him, sounding deeper, stronger, even in his weakened state. A notification flashed in his vision: Skill Level Up: Echoes of Truth! Jonah sighed, patting Thorne¡¯s shoulder awkwardly. "Rest up, alright? And maybe don¡¯t try to steal from shopkeepers twice your size next time." Thorne nodded, his eyelids growing heavy as the last shreds of his strength faded away. Jonah¡¯s voice became a distant murmur as he settled back into the mattress, the pain a constant hum, but his mind drifting towards sleep. His last conscious thought was a small, surprising satisfaction that, despite the day¡¯s brutal training, something had actually gone right. And with that, the darkness took him. * Thorne jolted awake, feeling hands pressing something cool onto his aching skin. He blinked, disoriented, his first thought racing to the dreaded idea that he had missed his training. He tried to sit up, but the effort sent a wave of pain crashing over him, and he slumped back onto the mattress with a low groan. ¡°What''s going on?¡± he muttered, noticing two familiar faces leaning over him. Ben stood beside the bed, clutching a small wooden bowl filled with a thick, gritty paste, his face creased in concentration. Beside him, Jonah crossed his arms and huffed, feigning annoyance. ¡°Ben thinks he''s some sort of alchemist now,¡± Jonah said, rolling his eyes. ¡°Ever since he got his hands on that book of potions, he¡¯s been itching to try out the recipes¡ªand you, lucky for you, happen to be his first test subject.¡± Ben flushed under Jonah¡¯s teasing, his face turning a shade darker as he averted his gaze. Thorne¡¯s suspicion flickered to the mystery book¡¯s origins, especially given Ben¡¯s habit of procuring items that weren''t exactly his. Jonah¡¯s sigh confirmed it. ¡°Yeah, he probably swiped it from the same alchemist we sold your haul to. Seems he thought the guy underpaid us, so he just ¡®recovered¡¯ what was rightfully ours.¡± Thorne chuckled, though the movement sent a pang through his ribs. ¡°I guess I should be grateful I¡¯m benefiting from Ben¡¯s moral stand.¡± Ben grinned, undeterred by the ribbing. With a serious expression and a focus so intense his tongue poked out between his lips, Ben began to dab the paste over Thorne¡¯s bruises and cuts, careful but thorough. The paste was cool, its smell earthy and sharp. Almost immediately, a calming numbness spread across his skin, soothing the bruises, the pain dulled to a tolerable throb. Thorne¡¯s eyes widened in surprise. ¡°Hey, this actually works!¡± Ben¡¯s eyes sparked with pride, though he tried to hide it with a mock glare, his cheeks flushing as he resumed applying the paste. You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. ¡°Told ya,¡± Jonah said with a smirk. ¡°Ben¡¯s a natural-born healer. First time he tried it on himself, though, he was convinced it¡¯d turn him into a toad or something. It was... impressive.¡± Ben rolled his eyes, flashing Jonah a quick, exasperated look, then made a series of quick, expressive hand gestures. Jonah snorted and shook his head, glancing at Thorne. ¡°He says if you didn¡¯t have him around, you¡¯d probably just lie here and whine like a baby.¡± ¡°Yeah, well,¡± Thorne shot back, his voice still a little weak, ¡°he¡¯s probably right. Thanks, Ben. I mean it.¡± Ben¡¯s expression softened, and he gave a mock salute, his grin widening, pride written all over his dirty face. Jonah grinned, ruffling Ben¡¯s unruly hair. ¡°Who knew our little pickpocket would turn into such a good alchemist?¡± Ben swatted his hand away and gestured again, this time more seriously. Jonah watched, nodding, and turned back to Thorne with a raised eyebrow. ¡°He says you might want to keep some of this stuff handy. If you keep getting into trouble, you¡¯re going to need a lot more of it.¡± Thorne let out a long sigh, his head lolling back against the pillow. ¡°Believe me, I know. Feels like the whole city¡¯s got it out for me.¡± Jonah shrugged, ever the pragmatist. ¡°Maybe it does. But look at it this way¡ªif you make it through, you¡¯ll be the toughest street rat in the whole city.¡± Thorne raised an eyebrow. ¡°That¡¯s supposed to be comforting?¡± Jonah¡¯s grin grew wider. ¡°Hey, it beats being a dead street rat, right?¡± Despite the pain, despite the throbbing ache of every muscle and bone, Thorne couldn¡¯t help the rough, ragged laugh that escaped him. It hurt, but it was real, and it made him feel more human, more grounded. Here he was, broken and bruised, yet somehow... not alone. Ben finished applying the last of the paste and stepped back, giving Thorne a thumbs-up. The cooling numbness spread over his injuries, lulling him into a state of almost-forgotten pain. ¡°Thanks, Ben,¡± Thorne murmured, his voice soft. ¡°You¡¯re a lifesaver.¡± Ben shrugged, his modesty a poor disguise for the pleased look on his face. Jonah clapped Thorne on the shoulder, careful to avoid any bruises. ¡°Get some rest, princeling. You look like you¡¯ve been chewed up and spat out.¡± Thorne let his head fall back against the pillow, feeling exhaustion tugging at him once more. As he drifted back to sleep, he couldn''t help but feel grateful for his friends, even in the midst of all the chaos and pain. As Thorne began to drift back to sleep, he was jolted awake by Jonah''s voice, rough and urgent. ¡°We¡¯re heading out,¡± Jonah announced, rising from his makeshift bed and stretching. Ben was already stuffing their few belongings into his threadbare bag, moving with practiced efficiency. Thorne blinked, forcing his eyes open, the remnants of sleep clinging to him. ¡°Where are you going?¡± he asked, still groggy. Jonah shrugged, though there was a seriousness to his tone. ¡°To work. We¡¯ve been cooped up here too long. Can¡¯t afford to stay hidden forever if we want to eat.¡± A frown pulled at Thorne¡¯s brow. ¡°What exactly do you do for work?¡± For a moment, Jonah¡¯s face hardened, but then his expression softened, his eyes showing a flicker of something Thorne hadn¡¯t seen before¡ªresignation. ¡°Not all of us get favors from Uncle,¡± he muttered, though this time there was no venom in his words, only a tired acceptance. The remark cut Thorne, even though Jonah¡¯s voice was devoid of malice. It was a simple statement of fact, one that forced Thorne to look at the lines of fatigue around Jonah¡¯s eyes, the faint bruise on his cheekbone, the ragged edges of his clothes. ¡°What do you mean?¡± Thorne pressed. ¡°What kind of work do you do?¡± Jonah¡¯s gaze slipped away, his face tense. After a long moment, he let out a sigh. ¡°During the day, we scavenge for whatever we can find¡ªscraps, trinkets, stuff to sell,¡± he said, his voice flat. ¡°Sometimes, if we¡¯re lucky, we get our hands on something worth a few coins. And when the opportunity¡¯s there, we pickpocket easy marks.¡± Ben nodded quietly, shooting Jonah a resigned look. Jonah continued, his voice hollow. ¡°At night, we work as lookouts for one of Uncle¡¯s men. Sometimes they pay us. Sometimes they don¡¯t. Depends on how generous they feel.¡± Thorne felt a cold weight settle in his stomach. ¡°Why do you do it?¡± he asked softly, his voice thick with worry. Jonah gave him a look, a mix of pity and frustration, as if Thorne¡¯s naivety was almost painful to witness. ¡°Because, Thorne,¡± he replied, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper, ¡°if we don¡¯t, we disappear. No questions. No trace.¡± A chill ran down Thorne¡¯s spine. He wanted to protest, to argue that Uncle wouldn¡¯t do such a thing, that he wouldn¡¯t turn his back on his own family. But the memory of Uncle¡¯s cold eyes, his ruthless calculations, the hundreds of lives he had sacrificed so easily, all to get richer... Thorne knew the words would only make him sound foolish. Jonah gave him a small, awkward pat on the shoulder. ¡°We¡¯ll be back later. Just¡­ try not to do anything stupid while we¡¯re gone, alright?¡± Ben waved with a quick, tight-lipped smile, his hand moving in a little salute before he slipped out of the attic, following Jonah into the twilight. Thorne watched them go, the heavy weight of helplessness pressing down on him. Alone once again, Thorne leaned back, staring up at the dim, cracked ceiling, thoughts swirling in his mind. He didn¡¯t want Jonah and Ben risking their lives for a few copper coins, trapped in the web of his uncle¡¯s empire. But what could he do? The hours passed in a blur, his exhaustion dragging him in and out of sleep. Ben¡¯s paste, though crude, was surprisingly effective. It had dulled the worst of his pain and helped his health points recover faster than he¡¯d expected, but he was still below the halfway mark. Every bruise, every ache and throb of his battered body reminded him of Sid, of the ruthless training and Sid¡¯s promise that things would only grow harder. When dusk deepened into night, despite the pain and the multiple bruises that had turned his skin into a purple nightmare, he crawled out of bed and headed to the warehouse. Each step felt like a battle, his body screaming in protest, but he pushed through, driven by a mix of fear and determination. The storm had eased, leaving the night air cold and damp. Despite his slow pace, he was there before Sid. The cavernous space felt even more oppressive without the sound of rain to mask his nervous breaths. Sid appeared out of nowhere, emerging from the shadows like a specter, and attacked Thorne without warning. His battered body and surprise didn''t give him enough time to evade, and a right hook slammed straight into his face. Pain exploded in his cheek, and he stumbled back, clutching his face. ¡°Pathetic!¡± Sid mocked him and then ordered him to stand up. When Thorne managed with a pained grimace, Sid told him that tonight he wanted him to simply evade his attacks. From then on, Sid didn''t talk; he just punched, kicked, and even headbutted. Tears ran down Thorne''s face from the pain, but he didn''t give Sid the satisfaction of quitting. He tried again and again to evade the vicious attacks, but as time passed, his body didn''t want to respond to his wishes. Sid sneered, delivering a sharp kick to Thorne''s side. "You call this evading? You''re moving like a slug!" Thorne struggled to stay on his feet, every muscle in his body screaming in protest. Sid''s blows were relentless, each one finding its mark with brutal precision. Thorne''s attempts to dodge were met with swift and punishing counterattacks, leaving him gasping for breath and reeling from the pain. Thorne''s vision blurred as he tried to focus. He saw Sid''s fist coming towards him, but his reflexes were too slow, and the punch connected with his jaw, sending him sprawling to the ground. Blood trickled from his split lip, and he tasted copper. Sid circled him, his eyes cold and merciless. "You''re not cut out for this. Maybe I was wrong about you." Thorne forced himself to stand, his legs trembling from exhaustion. He couldn''t afford to show weakness. He had to push through the pain. He tried to anticipate Sid''s next move, but the man was always a step ahead, his attacks swift and unyielding. Sid''s mocking laughter filled the warehouse. "You''re hopeless! Just a pathetic little boy trying to play at being a fighter." The training ended when Thorne''s stamina ran out, and he got an especially brutal kick to the head. The world went black. When Thorne woke up, he was completely disoriented, not even recalling where he was or why he was there. Sid''s mocking voice brought him back to reality. "Pitiful," Sid sneered. "I regret taking you on as an apprentice." After a few more moments of verbal abuse, Thorne stood up, swaying on his feet. His eyes had trouble focusing, and he barely understood what Sid was telling him. Some semblance of cognition returned when he saw notifications on the corner of his vision. Skill Level Up: Resilience! Skill Level Up: Resilience! Skill Level Up: Thick Skin! Skill Level Up: Thick Skin! Skill Level Up: Thick Skin! Skill Level Up: Thick Skin! Skill Level Up: Thick Skin! Skill Level Up: Unarmed Combat Congratulations! New Skill Unlocked: Combat Reflexes! Thorne was too absorbed in his new gains to fully understand what happened next. The notifications brought a small spark of hope in his otherwise bleak reality. They had just stepped out of the warehouse, Sid still talking down to him, when Thorne heard a whistling sound. Before he could register what was happening, Sid pushed him to the ground, Thorne skittering on the rough cobblestones as an arrow pierced Sid''s lower side. Sid grunted in pain but remained standing, his eyes scanning the shadows for their assailants. Thorne looked up with wide eyes, full of fear, as three figures appeared in a puff of smoke at the mouth of the alley. They moved with a predatory grace, their faces obscured by dark hoods. Thorne''s heart raced as he realized who these men were. Sid''s usual air of invincibility seemed shaken, and that terrified Thorne more than anything. Sid, clutching his wound, still managed to stand protectively in front of Thorne. "Stay behind me," he growled, his voice lacking its usual mocking tone. "This is going to get ugly." Thorne nodded, too scared to do anything else, as the three figures advanced, weapons glinting menacingly in the dim light. CHAPTER 35 Thorne lay sprawled on the cobblestones, his body aching from the brutal training he''d endured. He was filled with dread, the whistling echo of the arrow that had struck Sid still ringing in his ears. His vision swam as he tried to process the scene. Sid, despite the arrow embedded in his side, had already sprung into action, his stance low and poised, blood seeping through his tunic but his gaze fixed and lethal. Three figures emerged from the shadows at the mouth of the alley, their forms cloaked and faces obscured. They moved with a deadly grace that sent a chill through Thorne¡¯s bones. He scrambled back, pressing himself against the cold wall, activating his Shadow Meld and Stealth skills as he melded into the darkened corner, hoping to remain unseen. Heart pounding, he watched as Sid squared off against the intruders. Sid¡¯s opponents were seasoned, high leveled rogues, he could see that in their demeanor, confident and full of swagger, like they were hunting their prey, savoring the moment. Each step they took was silent, their presence nearly undetectable. "Come on then," Sid snarled, his voice a low growl. "Let''s see what you''ve got." The first rogue lunged forward, his blade aimed straight for Sid''s heart. Sid twisted his body, dodging the attack with a move so swift that Thorne could barely follow. Sid countered with a quick slash of his own, the blade slicing through the air with a hiss. "Too slow!" Sid taunted, but his voice was strained with pain. The arrow in his side hindered his movements, and Thorne could see blood flowing freely. The second rogue moved in, his dagger glowing with aetheric energy. He activated a skill, Shadow Strike, and disappeared momentarily, reappearing behind Sid with a deadly thrust. Sid barely managed to parry the blow, grunting from the strain. the force of the impact sending him staggering back. Thorne¡¯s fists clenched. Damn it, Sid, they¡¯re faster than you. Thorne watched from his hiding spot, his breath shallow. He tried to analyze the aether as the men fought, but everything happened too quickly. If only he could just¡­ slow it down. The aether swirled around them in chaotic patterns, each rogue manipulating it to enhance their speed and strength. Skill level up: Shadow Meld! Sid used a skill of his own, Vanish, blending into the shadows and reappearing behind one of the rogues. His blade struck true, but the rogue activated Evasion, narrowly escaping the fatal blow. They danced around each other, a deadly ballet of strikes and counters. The third rogue, a woman with a hood pulled low over her eyes, used her skill, Poisoned Blade. Her dagger glowed a sickly green as she lunged at Sid, aiming for his neck. Sid deflected the attack, but the blade nicked his arm, and Thorne saw him wince as the poison began to take effect. But Sid kept fighting, his strikes coming fast, more desperate with each passing second. Thorne could see the aether signatures from Sid and the rogues¡ªslashes of shadow, bursts of speed, tiny shifts in the air that signaled skills he barely recognized but knew were way beyond his level. Every exchange left Sid breathing harder, his movements slowed just slightly by the blood loss and the poison working through his veins. Come on, Sid, Thorne willed silently. Just once, hit them with everything. But the three rogues were relentless, their attacks coordinated and precise. Thorne''s eyes darted back and forth, trying to understand the flow of the battle. The aether around the combatants was a maelstrom of energy, each skill they used sending a ripple through the aether like a crack in glass. But it was all too fast, too chaotic for him to glean any useful information. Skill Level up: Stealth! One of the rogues used a skill, Smoke Bomb, filling the alley with thick, choking smoke. Thorne stifled a cough, his lungs straining against the acrid smoke. Struggling to see through the haze, he activated his aether vision, but the swirling aether only added to his confusion. He could barely make out the figures as they moved within the smoke, their outlines ghostly and indistinct. Sid burst forward from the smoke, his eyes fierce and focused, his discarded cloak lying trampled in the grime. Without its weight, his movements were sharper, more agile without the encumbrance. Thorne watched in awe as Sid¡¯s gaze cut between each rogue, his stance balanced and lethal. But the three rogues circled him like wolves around wounded prey, their eyes gleaming, confident. The alley was a cacophony of clashing blades and grunts of effort. Thorne''s heart pounded in his chest as he watched, feeling utterly powerless. He wanted to help, but he knew he was no match for these skilled assassins. All he could do was stay hidden and hope that Sid would survive. Did he want him to survive? Sid''s breath came in ragged gasps, the toll of his injuries evident in his labored movements. He fought with a grim determination, his blade flashing in the dim light. The three rogues pressed their advantage, their attacks coming faster and more ferocious. "Give it up, Sid," one of the rogues sneered, his voice dripping with malice. "You''re outnumbered and outmatched." "Not by the likes of you," Sid spat back, deflecting another blow. Thorne''s eyes darted to the aether surrounding the combatants. He could see the way it responded to their skills, the intricate dance of energy that powered their every move. But it was all too complex, too rapid for him to fully comprehend. The fight raged on, neither side gaining a clear advantage. Sid''s movements grew more desperate, his attacks more wild. The rogues, sensing his weakening state, pressed harder, their strikes more aggressive. In the chaos, Thorne''s heart sank as he realized that the battle might not end in Sid''s favor. He felt a pang of guilt for his helplessness, but he knew that revealing himself would only make things worse. Sid, despite his injuries, stood tall, his eyes flicking between his opponents, assessing their next moves. The three rogues moved in unison, their blades glinting under the faint light as they advanced. Thorne watched from his hidden spot, barely daring to breathe. Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. The first rogue attacked with a skill, Shadow Lunge. His form blurred, his silhouette dissolving into a misty outline as he lunged forward, aiming straight for Sid¡¯s heart. Sid parried the blow, but the force sent him stumbling back. The second rogue followed up with a skill, Phantom Strike, his dagger leaving a trail of aetheric afterimages as it sliced through the air. Sid twisted to avoid the brunt of the attack, but the blade still nicked his shoulder, drawing a thin line of blood. "You''re getting slow, Sid," the female rogue taunted, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction as she stalked him. Sid gritted his teeth, ignoring the pain. "Let''s see you handle this," he growled, activating a skill of his own, Blade Dance. His movements became a frenzied blur, his blade sweeping through the alley in a whirlwind of strikes. The rogues were forced to retreat, barely managing to deflect the flurry of blows. Thorne''s eyes widened as he tried to keep track of the fight. The alley was filled with the sound of clashing steel, punctuated by grunts of effort and cries of pain. The aether around them crackled with energy, each skill leaving ripples in its wake. he first rogue, regaining his footing from Sid¡¯s fierce onslaught, activated a defensive skill, Aether Shield. A shimmering, translucent barrier of energy enveloped him, absorbing Sid''s blows with an unnatural hum. Meanwhile, the second rogue seized the opportunity to vanish completely with Cloak of Shadows, blending seamlessly into the shadows. Sid¡¯s gaze sharpened, darting as he tried to pinpoint the rogue¡¯s location. Thorne activated his Aether Vision, hoping to spot even a hint of the rogue¡¯s movement, but the churning energies around them were too chaotic to cut through. Then, in a blur, the rogue materialized behind Sid, blade poised for a lethal strike. Sid whipped around, anticipating the ambush, and unleashed Whirlwind Slash. His blade arced through the air in a brutal sweep, catching the rogue off guard. The steel bit into his chest, carving a bloody gash. The rogue stumbled back, clutching his wound but staying upright, defiance still blazing in his eyes. The female rogue, seeing her comrade injured, snarled and activated Poison Dart. With a flick of her wrist, venom-laced projectiles sailed through the air. Sid dodged most of them, but one dart sank into his arm. His face contorted as the poison seeped into his bloodstream, a hiss of pain slipping from his lips. Skill Level Up: Stealth! Despite the mounting toll on his body, Sid pressed forward. He activated Mirage Step, and suddenly there were multiple copies of him moving in unison, weaving through the dim alley. The rogues hesitated, uncertain of which Sid to attack, and he used their confusion to strike. His blade flashed, slicing across the thigh of the first rogue, who dropped to one knee, blood pouring from the wound. The female rogue barely fended off the assault, desperation flashing in her eyes. Thorne crouched low, watching in awe as the alley filled with the metallic tang of blood. The slick cobblestones gleamed wetly under the waning moonlight, and each clash of steel echoed off the narrow walls, amplifying the brutality of the fight. Sid¡¯s face was set with a grim determination that Thorne had never seen before. Even with his skill and experience, Sid was outnumbered, and the strain was beginning to show. The first rogue, grimacing from the earlier wound, activated his own powerful skill¡ªDeath Mark. A dark aura surrounded his blade, casting a sickly glow as he charged Sid, his intent unmistakably lethal. Sid managed to block the attack, but the impact threw him to the ground, and the rogue loomed over him, his eyes gleaming with triumph as he prepared to strike the final blow. Thorne¡¯s heart thundered as he saw Sid laid out on the ground, bloodied and vulnerable. With a guttural shout, Sid summoned every last reserve of his aether, his eyes blazing as he activated two skills at once. The first skill, Crimson Veil, bathed the alley in an eerie red glow. Above each rogue¡¯s head, ominous red crosses flickered to life, disabling their active skills and preventing them from using any stealth abilities. The rogues, now exposed and wary, exchanged uncertain glances as their cloaks of invisibility dissolved around them. The second skill, Phantasmal Strike, caused Sid¡¯s form to waver like a ghost¡¯s, his movements flickering between solid and incorporeal. Thorne squinted in confusion, barely able to follow Sid¡¯s blurred figure as he vanished and reappeared, moving like a phantom through the thickened air. Sid¡¯s figure solidified just long enough for him to strike the first rogue with a devastating blow. The slash was so swift and brutal that, for a second, Thorne didn¡¯t even register it¡ªuntil the rogue staggered back, blood pouring from a deep wound that slashed diagonally across his torso. His eyes widened in shock before he collapsed to the cobblestones, motionless. The female rogue, desperation overtaking her anger, let out a scream and charged Sid, her dagger flashing. But Sid was already moving, his form blurring and reappearing behind her. Another slice, another gush of blood. He drove his blade into her side, and she crumpled, clutching the wound, her eyes widening in terror as blood seeped through her fingers. Thorne stayed hidden, his heart hammering as he watched the final rogue¡¯s terror-stricken eyes dart between Sid and his fallen comrades. The alley fell eerily silent, the only sounds now the shallow breaths of the dying and the quiet drip of blood on stone. The last rogue, eyes wide with desperation, tried to mount a final defense, but Sid was unstoppable. His movements were as fluid as they were lethal, his blade carving through the air with deadly precision. Each strike left the rogue further battered, leaving another deep gash. his attempts to parry futile as Sid¡¯s onslaught only grew more ruthless. Thorne, crouched in the shadows, could barely keep track of Sid¡¯s movements; it was like watching a storm contained within a single figure, each slash another arc of lightning, every step a rumble of thunder. The blood-red crosses above each rogue¡¯s head pulsed one last time, flickering like dying embers, a final marker of their inevitable doom. With a final, brutal twist, Sid moved behind the last rogue in a blur, driving his blade deep into the man¡¯s back. The rogue choked, blood bubbling at his lips, and then crumpled to the ground, his body hitting the cobblestones with a dull, lifeless thud. The alley fell silent, the chaos of battle dissipating into an almost eerie calm. Thunder rumbled faintly in the distance, and only Sid¡¯s labored breathing broke the quiet. He stood over the fallen rogues, his blade dripping with blood, his eyes still alight with an unsettling, residual glow from the aether. Thorne¡¯s heart pounded as he tried to process what he¡¯d just witnessed. Three assassins, all highly skilled, had been obliterated by Sid alone, left scattered like remnants of a storm. Sid turned his gaze to where Thorne was hidden, a predatory glint still in his eyes. For a fleeting moment, Thorne felt a chill snake down his spine, an instinctive urge to run from the man who had just left a trail of bodies in his wake. He dropped his Shadow Meld, and Sid¡¯s piercing gaze immediately zeroed in on him. ¡°Get up, boy,¡± Sid commanded, his voice edged with fatigue. ¡°We¡¯re not done yet.¡± Thorne scrambled to his feet, adrenaline surging through him as he stood, unsure of what Sid had planned next. Sid remained rooted among the fallen, his shoulders rising and falling as he regained his breath. A strange look crossed his face, his eyes briefly lost focus, a look of intense concentration crossing his face, and then he met Thorne¡¯s gaze with a chillingly calm expression. ¡°In about twenty-four seconds, I¡¯m going to faint,¡± Sid said, as if stating the weather. ¡°You¡¯ll have fifteen minutes to reach Uncle and get him back here. After that, I¡¯ll bleed out.¡± Thorne¡¯s eyes went wide, his heart lurching as panic clawed its way up his throat. ¡°But¡ªhow am I supposed to¡ª¡± ¡°No time for panic, boy,¡± Sid cut him off, his tone sharp and unyielding. ¡°You need to move. Now.¡± Sid bent down to search the fallen rogues with steady hands, as though he hadn¡¯t just told Thorne he was about to collapse. Thorne stayed rooted in place, his mind racing, disbelief and fear warring inside him. He¡¯d just watched Sid do the impossible, and now it was up to him to save his life. ¡°What the hell are you standing there for?¡± Sid snapped, his eyes never leaving the bodies as he rifled through their belongings. ¡°Run!¡± Thorne managed a frantic nod, stammering a quick, ¡°Yes!¡± before turning to sprint out of the alley. His footsteps pounded on the slick cobblestones, his pulse thundering in his ears as he pushed himself to run faster, Sid¡¯s life hanging in the balance. He barely registered the string of notifications popping up in his vision, each one blinking as if mocking his sense of urgency, as if saying there was no time to waste. Skill Level up: Running! Skill Level up: Running! CHAPTER 36 Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. CHAPTER 37 Thorne decided to take it easy the next day, staying in his attic for most of the morning. The small room was silent save for the distant hum of the city below, and he let himself drift in and out of thought, savoring the rare quiet. As the sun climbed higher, casting a pale glow through the single attic window, he ventured outside, stretching his legs with a stroll to the nearby fish market. The air was thick with the briny scent of the sea and the sharp tang of fish, and for a moment, he let the bustling energy around him ease his mind. That evening, Jonah and Ben returned, and the three of them ate fried fish and blueberry pie Thorne had bought earlier. The warm, flaky fish and the sweetness of the pie should have lifted their spirits, but the two boys were sullen, barely picking at their food. One of their friends had vanished the night before, and despite combing through the usual haunts, they hadn¡¯t found a trace of him. Recalling a conversation from earlier, Thorne asked quietly, "You think Uncle had anything to do with Tom''s disappearance?" Jonah chewed his lip, his gaze fixed on the candle flickering between them. ¡°I don¡¯t think so. Tom hadn¡¯t done anything wrong. He was just supposed to keep an eye on the docks, watch the merchants, and report anything interesting. That¡¯s all.¡± They all knew the truth, though, unspoken and undeniable: the streets, especially at night, swallowed boys like Tom whole. Every few weeks, another cousin or friend would disappear, some without a trace. The lucky ones, they liked to imagine, had escaped, carving out a better life somewhere far from the city¡¯s grip. But the unlucky ones¡ªthey were found in alleys or floating by the docks, unrecognizable. Thorne shuddered, an unbidden memory flashing through his mind of a body they¡¯d pulled from the river months back, bloated and nameless. A heavy silence settled over them, thick as the darkness outside. Each lost in thoughts of Tom and the countless others who had vanished before him. Despite their best efforts, they all knew deep down that Tom was never coming back. The next morning, Thorne woke early to Jonah¡¯s loud snores, the boy sprawled across the floor, tangled in a grimy blanket. Even with the sunlight slipping through the attic window, a bleakness clung to him, a reminder of the dangers that lurked beyond the safety of four walls. Thorne stretched and yawned, careful not to disturb the boys, who¡¯d only just returned from the docks a few hours earlier. Moving quietly, he tiptoed downstairs to the tavern, hoping to find some breakfast. The main room was nearly deserted, the air stale and heavy. A couple of patrons lingered, staring blankly into half-empty mugs, remnants of a long night. Behind the bar, the dour barkeeper was struggling to keep his eyes open, his face propped on his hand as it slipped from his cheek every few seconds. Thorne approached and cleared his throat, the small sound echoing in the silence. ¡°Excuse me, sir, can I have some breakfast?¡± The barkeeper didn¡¯t bother opening his eyes, muttering a gruff, ¡°No.¡± Thorne clenched his jaw, fighting a flicker of irritation. He coughed again and rattled his few remaining coins. ¡°I¡¯ve got money.¡± The barkeeper finally cracked open one eye, catching sight of the meager offering. With a begrudging grunt, he extended his hand, and Thorne deposited five coppers, which the man inspected with disdain. ¡°Fine. Wait here,¡± he said, voice dripping with reluctance. ¡°Just so you know, it¡¯s only stale bread and some fruits that¡¯ve gone soft.¡± Thorne bit back a protest, knowing he had little choice at this hour. He waited in silence, and eventually, the barkeeper returned with a plate that looked as sorry as promised. Taking it to a small table by the door, Thorne ate in silence, each bite of the dry bread catching in his throat. He kept his gaze on the floor, unwilling to meet the hollow stares of the patrons who hadn¡¯t yet managed to pull themselves away from last night¡¯s ale. Once he¡¯d finished, he slipped outside, relieved to be free of the stifling tavern. The morning light was soft and golden, casting a warm glow over the slums that, for a brief moment, made even the rundown buildings look peaceful. Dew glistened on the rooftops, and a chill lingered in the air, fresh and bracing. He took a deep breath, letting the coolness clear his head. As he wandered, Thorne observed the street coming to life around him. Women swept the dust from doorsteps, children laughed as they chased each other through narrow alleys, and shopkeepers busily set up their stalls, calling out greetings to early passersby. He let the familiar sights distract him, allowing himself a brief moment of respite. Passing the western gate, he noted it was, as usual, unguarded. Without a glance from anyone, he slipped through, stepping out of Alvar. The trail to the forest had become familiar to Thorne, each step carrying him further from the city¡¯s din and closer to the untouched wilds. As he crossed the boundary into the elven forest, the change was immediate and striking. The bustle of Alvar city faded, replaced by the whispering hush of trees and the thick, earthy scent of damp leaves. Here, the foliage felt alive in a way the city never did¡ªevery leaf, vine, and branch steeped in colors that pulsed with the season. Though it was only early autumn, the forest felt much deeper into the cycle, with rich yellows, fiery oranges, and deep reds blanketing the ground in a vibrant tapestry. As he ventured deeper, the air grew cooler, laced with the scent of moss and decaying wood, mingling with the crispness of autumn. The dense canopy above allowed only thin beams of sunlight to break through, casting patches of light across the forest floor. Dappled shadows danced and shifted, creating a serene yet haunting atmosphere, as though the forest itself watched him from every leaf and branch. All around him, sounds filled the air¡ªthe gentle rustling of leaves, the trills of distant birds, and the occasional scurrying of unseen creatures in the underbrush. He felt a calm settle over him, the troubles of the city fading into the background. Out here, surrounded by the wild beauty of the forest, he found a rare peace. But he knew better than to let his guard down. The forest may have been his place of solace, but it also held dangers lurking in its shadows, creatures attuned to the aetheric energies pulsing beneath the surface. Moving silently, his footsteps barely disturbed the forest floor, and his senses sharpened, each sound and flicker of movement catching his eye. After a while, Thorne came upon a small clearing, where a fallen log lay nestled among the colorful carpet of leaves. He took a seat, feeling the cool wood against his skin as a soft breeze rustled the leaves around him. Thorne knew that if he wanted to find some decent prey, he would have to delve deeper into the forest. The intensity of the aether around him was rising, but it was still too low for any magical beast to linger. A prickle of unease suddenly settled over him. The usual hum of the forest had faded¡ªthe birds had gone silent, and even the rustling of small creatures had stopped. Every muscle tensed, his senses heightened. Each slight sound¡ªa leaf brushing against another, a faint crack of a twig¡ªmade his pulse quicken. He gripped his knives, his fingers tightening around the worn handles as he scanned his surroundings, each shadow seeming to shift with hidden intent. Despite his heightened senses and readiness, he was taken by surprise. Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. Without warning, a blur of motion sprang from the left. Thorne barely had time to raise his knives as a winged snake, its body about three feet long, shot toward him. Its pinkish scales shimmered faintly, while feathered wings beat rapidly, propelling it through the air with a terrifying agility. Thorne swung his blade, but the creature twisted in mid-flight, dodging with ease. The snake¡¯s fangs snapped close to his face, and he stumbled back, his heart hammering. Sid¡¯s harsh voice echoed in his mind: Anticipate. Read its movements. Don¡¯t react¡ªpredict. The snake circled him, hissing as its wings created a low, rhythmic hum. Thorne steadied his breathing, forcing his focus on the snake¡¯s eyes, watching for the slightest hint of its next move. When it lunged again, he sidestepped and slashed with his knife. This time, his blade caught its side, drawing a thin line of blood as the creature let out a piercing screech. Encouraged, he pressed forward, knives flashing as he swung in swift, practiced arcs. But the snake darted away, weaving through the air, its movements a dizzying blur of feathers and scales. Before he could gather himself, two more winged snakes burst from the underbrush, their pinkish bodies blending seamlessly with the hues of the forest. Thorne¡¯s heart sank. One snake was a challenge; three would be deadly. The new arrivals flanked him from either side, their eyes locked onto him with a hungry gleam. His mind raced as he calculated his options. He couldn¡¯t let himself be surrounded. With a quick inhale, he called on his Acrobatics skill, flipping backward to put some distance between himself and the snakes. He landed lightly on his feet, heart pounding, every nerve on edge. The snakes hovered in the air, their bodies swaying in tandem as they tracked his every movement, their wings stirring the leaves into tiny eddies around them. One of the snakes lunged, and Thorne ducked, feeling the rush of air as its wings sliced past his face, feathered tips grazing his cheek. He rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding a second strike from behind, heart hammering as he hit the ground and sprang back up. His combat reflexes snapped into action, and he spun, slashing with both knives. One blade found its mark, slicing clean through the delicate membrane of a wing. The snake screeched, its flight breaking as it tumbled to the ground, writhing in pain. But the other two snakes were relentless, moving in sync, their strikes coordinated from different angles as if they shared a single mind. Thorne felt the sting of glancing blows, but his thick skin skill absorbed some of the impact, though not enough to hold out much longer. His stamina waned with each defensive move, his limbs growing heavy, his breath coming in short, labored bursts. He hesitated, knowing his aether skills could be draining. But he was away from prying eyes¡ªfree to use them here. He decided to try his Primal Aether Manipulation, focusing on the swirling motes around one of the snakes, compressing them, willing them to disrupt its flight. The creature¡¯s wings faltered, struggling to stay aloft. Hope surged within him, but keeping his focus divided was taxing, and his concentration slipped. The other two snakes seized the moment, lunging in tandem. Realizing he needed an escape, Thorne shifted his focus to his Escape Artist skill, eyes scanning for any potential cover or route. His gaze fell on a low-hanging branch just within reach. Without a second thought, he dashed for it, the snakes close on his heels, their wings buzzing furiously. Thorne leaped, grabbing the branch and swinging himself up in a single fluid motion. Leaves and twigs whipped his face as he scrambled higher, while the snakes tangled themselves in the foliage, struggling to keep their flight steady. Seizing the chance, Thorne dropped silently to the ground behind them. He didn¡¯t waste a second; he lunged at the snake he¡¯d injured earlier, plunging his knife into the back of its head. The creature let out a final, piercing screech before falling limp in his grip. One down, two to go. A surge of determination flared within him. Thorne drew on his aether reserves, channeling his energy into an Aether Burst. He aimed, feeling the aether gather and swell, then released it in a powerful wave. One snake darted away just in time, but the other took the full force of the blast. Its wings shattered, feathers and scales scattering like leaves in a storm as it crashed to the ground, thrashing in agony. Without hesitation, Thorne closed in, stabbing his knife deep into its head, silencing it instantly. For a moment, the forest fell into an eerie stillness, broken only by the sound of his own ragged breathing. The final snake hovered at a distance, its eyes fixed on him with a new wariness. It circled, studying him, and Thorne could sense its intelligence, the cautious gleam in its gaze as it re-evaluated its chances. It knew he was dangerous. The snake darted forward, and Thorne feinted to the side. Anticipating its next move, he slashed upward, his knife cutting through the thin, fragile structure of its wing. The creature plummeted to the ground, wings flapping weakly as it struggled. Thorne didn¡¯t hesitate. He drove his knife down, delivering a swift, final blow to the snake¡¯s head. The last echo of its death cry faded, leaving the forest silent once more. He stood there, panting, every muscle in his body aching from the fight, his hands trembling as the adrenaline began to wear off. Finally, he let himself drop to his knees, the rush of battle fading into an overwhelming wave of exhaustion. He took a shaky breath and pulled up his character sheet, watching as a series of notifications appeared, each one a result of his victory. Skill Level Up: Daggers! Skill Level Up: Acrobatics! Skill Level Up: Escape Artist! Skill Level Up: Thick Skin! Skill Level Up: Combat Reflexes! Character Level Up: Level 15! Despite the pain pulsing through his limbs, a sense of accomplishment settled over him. He¡¯d fought, alone, against not one but three enemies¡ªand he¡¯d won. Though he knew the snakes weren¡¯t as powerful as the elemental cat he¡¯d once faced, they had posed a new kind of challenge. They were cunning, coordinated, and frighteningly fast. The realization brought a flicker of pride; he¡¯d managed to hold his own. As he sat there, chest heaving, catching his breath in the stillness of the forest, Thorne¡¯s thoughts turned to Sid¡¯s relentless teachings. He could practically hear Sid¡¯s voice in his head, sharp and unforgiving: "Smarter, faster, more cautious. This world doesn¡¯t forgive the weak, Thorne." Each word a reminder that the world he lived in was one where even a moment¡¯s hesitation could end in death. Thorne began replaying the fight in his mind, analyzing every movement, every split-second decision. His heart was still pounding, but the fading adrenaline left him with a sharp clarity. The brutality of Sid¡¯s training sessions¡ªdays that felt more like punishments than lessons¡ªflashed through his mind. At times, he¡¯d been convinced that Sid only wanted to break him down. And yet, here he was, alive, the hard-won skills from those grueling sessions pulsing through his muscles like instinct. No, as harsh as Sid¡¯s methods were, those lessons had kept him alive. His mind lingered on the way he¡¯d read the snakes¡¯ movements. The constant drills, Sid¡¯s barked commands to watch an opponent¡¯s tells, to anticipate rather than react¡ªthey¡¯d been drilled into him to the point of exhaustion. But it had worked. The snakes had been faster than him, but he¡¯d still managed to read them just enough to avoid their deadliest strikes. He could almost hear Sid¡¯s gruff voice echoing in his thoughts, ¡°Watch the eyes, read the body, anticipate before they move.¡± Thorne¡¯s focus had latched onto those cues¡ªthe way the snakes¡¯ wings angled before they darted, the sudden tension in their bodies right before a strike. In those moments, Sid¡¯s harsh words had been the edge he needed. It hadn¡¯t been perfect, but it had been enough. As he sat there, Thorne also realized something else. Sid''s training wasn''t just about physical prowess or skill. It was about resilience, about pushing through pain and fear, about not giving up even when everything seemed impossible. Sid had taught him to fight not just with his body, but with his mind and spirit. Then, a strange thought crept in, making him shift uncomfortably. Had he¡­ had he actually started to appreciate Sid? It seemed impossible. Sid was mercurial, brutal, and never softened a single edge. And yet, a part of him recognized the twisted loyalty in Sid¡¯s lessons¡ªthe survival skills he¡¯d be grateful for the rest of his life. Thorne shook his head, disturbed by the idea. Fondness for Sid? No, that couldn¡¯t be right. He glanced at the bodies of the snakes sprawled in the underbrush, their pinkish scales still glistening faintly in the dappled sunlight. Sitting up a bit straighter, curiosity tugged at him. The fight had proven their strength and value; these creatures weren¡¯t ordinary, and it was possible that every part of them held potential. He activated his aether vision, watching his sight adjust until the motes of aether that laced the air around him became visible. The snakes glowed faintly, even in death, each part of them suffused with lingering aether energy. His mind raced as he examined the snakes¡¯ glimmering scales and fragile, feathered wings. These weren¡¯t just trophies; Jonah would be thrilled at the potential for trade or study. The value of these aether-infused creatures could be enormous, even game-changing. If they could be harvested right, he thought, excitement stirring within him. Just as he was deep in thought, a notification appeared in his vision, snapping him back to the present. Congratulations! New Skill Unlocked: Hunter¡¯s Insight! CHAPTER 38 Thorne felt a rush of excitement as the new skill settled into him. This was a tool he¡¯d only dreamed of¡ªan instinctive knowledge guiding him toward valuable materials in a kill. Focusing on the snakes, it was as if invisible hands were leading him, making clear which parts would be most prized. The wings, laced with aether, would serve well in alchemical concoctions, enhancing potions or strengthening charms. The fangs and venom sacs¡ªpotent ingredients for poisons, antidotes, or perhaps something altogether new in the right hands. Even the snakes¡¯ scales, surprisingly tough and durable, would fetch a good price from any merchant. With renewed energy, Thorne set to work. His daggers flashed with precision as he carefully harvested the most valuable parts, his hands moving deftly as if guided by instinct. The wings came away easily, feathers soft but resilient, woven with the faint shimmer of captured aether. He worked with meticulous care, prying out the fangs and venom sacs with delicate precision, making sure not a drop of the precious venom was wasted. Finally, he skinned the snakes, rolling up the shimmering scales into neat bundles. It was a messy process, and his hands were soon slick with blood, but he felt the satisfaction of a job well done. As he worked, a flicker of pride crept in. Despite the dangers, despite the pain, he¡¯d not only survived but thrived. He had fought off three winged snakes, unlocked a skill, and harvested valuable materials. Sid¡¯s harsh lessons hadn¡¯t just saved his life¡ªthey had transformed him into something sharper, stronger. He could hear Sid¡¯s rough voice in his head, quietly pleased, ¡°You¡¯re learning, boy.¡± When he finally sat back, surveying his haul, his hands were trembling from both exertion and the thrill of his victory. Each part he¡¯d taken was infused with aether, a faint glow still lingering in the harvested materials. He fashioned a makeshift bag out of his torn shirt and carefully packed the parts, tying it securely. Only then did he realize how little time had actually passed; the fight, though intense, had lasted only minutes. Curious, he checked his stats. His stamina was flagged, dipping low from the energy he¡¯d spent, but his aether and health points were still in prime condition. The temptation to continue hunting lingered, but he knew better than to push too far without resting. Deciding to rest for a while to replenish some of his stamina, he settled onto a fallen log. he let the cool breeze ease his aching muscles, its gentle rustle through the leaves a soothing contrast to the fierce clash he¡¯d just endured. Closing his eyes for a moment, he let himself sink into the tranquil rhythm of the forest, breathing in its earthy scent, each inhale bringing a sense of calm. Once sufficiently rested, he rose, ready to hunt. He moved through the forest with a heightened awareness, his Tracking skill active as he scanned for potential prey. This time, every step was calculated, his senses sharp, attuned to even the faintest whisper of movement. He wouldn¡¯t let himself be ambushed again. The subtle rise of aether in the air tingled against his skin, a sensation he was coming to savor. Out here, in the heart of the wilds, he felt connected, alive in a way the city had never given him. His attention was drawn to a fresh set of tracks pressed into the soft earth. Boar tracks. His heart picked up pace, adrenaline mixing with anticipation. He followed the trail, moving silently through the underbrush until he spotted his quarry: four boars grazing in a small clearing. The mother boar, a massive creature with sharp tusks and a wary gaze, kept watch over her three smaller piglets as they foraged nearby. Immediately, Thorne went into stealth mode, crouching low and blending into the shadows. His eyes scanned his prey, mind racing as he analyzed his options. Taking on all four at once would be reckless, especially with the mother ready to defend her young. He needed to separate them, take them down one by one. As his gaze shifted to the piglets, he formulated a plan: use his Stealth and Shadow Meld skills to create a distraction. He picked up a small rock and tossed it into the bushes on the opposite side of the clearing. The faint rustling drew the boars¡¯ attention, and one of the piglets¡ªan impressive size, nearly twice that of a typical boar¡ªwandered off to investigate. Thorne¡¯s heart pounded as he watched it drift away from the others. This was his chance. Moving silently, he crept after the piglet, staying hidden among the shadows until he was within striking distance. Timing his move, Thorne sprang from his hiding spot, daggers poised. The piglet squealed in alarm, its bulky form spinning to face him just as he unleashed an Aether Burst aimed at its side. The burst struck true, a flash of energy slamming into the boar¡¯s ribs with a powerful impact that sent it stumbling. It let out a pained squeal, shaking off the shock as it turned, fury blazing in its eyes. Thorne¡¯s muscles tensed, his mind already preparing for the next move. Thorne pressed his advantage, his knives flashing in quick succession. But the piglet was tougher than he¡¯d expected, its thick hide absorbing much of each blow. His strikes left shallow cuts rather than the deep wounds he¡¯d intended, and he gritted his teeth, frustration mounting. The creature retaliated with a fierce charge, its tusks gleaming as it barreled toward him. He barely managed to twist aside, feeling the rush of air as the tusks brushed past his torso. Too close, he thought, his pulse hammering as he retreated. In a swift move, he activated his Stealth skill, slipping into the cover of the underbrush. Hidden among the shadows, he steadied his breathing, watching as the piglet snorted and pawed the ground, small, beady eyes searching for any trace of him. It grunted, its head swiveling, confused and angered. Stay calm. Wear it down, he reminded himself, forcing himself to be patient, to think like Sid had taught him. After a slow, measured breath, he circled behind the piglet, positioning himself in its blind spot. Thorne tensed, then sprang from the shadows, landing a solid strike to its flank. The creature bellowed in pain, but before it could retaliate, he was already melting back into the cover of the trees. He repeated the tactic, darting out from the shadows to strike, then slipping back into hiding. Each attack left it weaker, more blood dripping to the ground with every wound. Just keep this up. You¡¯re almost there. The piglet¡¯s breathing was ragged now, each snort a labored gasp, and its movements had slowed as it staggered on weakened legs. Seeing his chance to end it, Thorne summoned another Aether Burst, channeling his focus into a single, lethal shot aimed at the creature¡¯s head. The blast landed with brutal accuracy, stunning the piglet and tearing deep gouges across its face. Without hesitation, Thorne lunged forward, driving both daggers into its skull. The piglet let out a final, pitiful squeal before collapsing, its body still at last. He had only a moment to catch his breath before a furious roar shook the clearing. Thorne¡¯s head snapped up just in time to see the mother boar charging toward him, her eyes blazing with fury, nostrils flaring as thick plumes of smoke billowed from her snout. His stomach clenched at the sight. Oh, no¡­ Not this again. Quickly, he activated his shadow meld skill, disappearing into the darkness just as she thundered past, missing him by inches. From his hidden vantage point, he watched in horror as embers flew from her snout, igniting patches of underbrush and setting the dry leaves ablaze. The air filled with the sharp, acrid scent of smoke. Thorne¡¯s mind raced. If she sets this place alight, I¡¯ll have no cover left. He¡¯d need to act fast, and if he wanted any chance of surviving this, he¡¯d have to thin her defenses. He moved silently through the shadows, circling the clearing as he searched for an opportunity to isolate another piglet. His gaze fell on one that had strayed a bit too far from its sibling, snuffling around in the leaves. He picked up another rock and lobbed it into the bushes, drawing the young boar¡¯s attention. As it wandered away from the others, Thorne crouched low, readying himself. With a swift, controlled breath, he sprang from the shadows, an aether burst already charged and aimed at the piglet¡¯s side. The explosion struck, sending it stumbling. Thorne pressed forward, slashing with his knives as the young boar squealed in rage and fear, thrashing in desperate defense. It fought back with surprising ferocity, but Thorne¡¯s relentless attacks wore it down. He struck, retreated, and struck again, slipping in and out of the shadows to keep it off-balance. At last, after a final, powerful blow, the piglet collapsed, defeated. Now only the mother boar and one remaining piglet stood between him and victory. But as he turned his attention to them, he could see the fury blazing in the mother boar¡¯s eyes, her massive form bristling with rage. She knows, he thought, feeling a chill down his spine. If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. He could see the unwavering intent to protect her last young at any cost. She was stronger, faster, and now, after seeing her young fall, even more dangerous. Thorne¡¯s instincts screamed at him to be cautious. He activated his shadow meld skill once more, blending into the shadows just as the mother boar charged. Her tusks tore through the underbrush, ripping plants from their roots as she thrashed around, her blood-red eyes searching for him. Every swing of her head sent embers scattering, small fires flickering to life in the dry foliage around her. Stay calm. Think. He moved silently through the shadows, watching her from afar, studying the way she moved, her blind spots, her moments of vulnerability. That was when the last piglet drifted to his position. This was his chance¡ªone final chance to end the fight before the flames overtook the clearing entirely. Thorne knew he needed a different tactic to deal with the last piglet. His mind flashed to his Escape Artist skill¡ªa skill for slipping out of tight spots could also help lead his prey into one. Scanning the trees, he spotted a narrow passage between two large trunks, just wide enough for him but likely too tight for the piglet. With a plan forming, he picked up a rock but held onto it, making a deliberate noise instead. The sound was enough to draw the piglet¡¯s attention, its small, beady eyes locking onto him. As the creature approached, Thorne darted into the narrow passage, making sure it could see him clearly. The piglet took the bait, charging forward with a loud snort. Thorne slipped through the gap with ease, his escape artist skill guiding each movement as he maneuvered through the tight space. The piglet, however, was not as fortunate. With a dull thud, its bulky form wedged between the trees, its squeals rising in panicked fury as it struggled to free itself. Perfect, he thought, seizing the opportunity. Using his Acrobatics skill, he leaped onto the creature¡¯s back, landing on its shoulders in one swift movement. Thorne knew he had only seconds before the mother boar might be drawn by its cries. He gripped tightly to its rough hide and unleashed a rapid succession of strikes, each knife stroke precise and lethal. The piglet writhed, trapped and helpless, and after a final squeal of pain, it slumped beneath him, still at last. Panting, Thorne climbed off, wiping his bloodied hands on his torn shirt. Now, only the mother boar remained. She stood at the edge of the clearing, her gaze fixed on him, her eyes blazing with anger that was almost human. Thorne crouched behind the nearest tree, forcing his breathing to steady as his mind raced. The piglets had been manageable, but this mother boar was a different beast altogether. Larger, faster, and more intelligent¡ªshe was practically vibrating with rage, her entire body coiled and ready to strike. The boar snorted, thick smoke puffing from her nostrils as embers crackled and hissed in the cool air. Each exhale set small patches of dry leaves alight, filling the air with the sharp, bitter scent of burning wood. Thorne felt a chill run down his spine. She knows I¡¯m close, he realized, watching her scan the clearing, every movement as deliberate as his own. She wouldn¡¯t fall for the same tricks he¡¯d used on her young. Brute force wouldn¡¯t be enough here. He¡¯d have to outsmart her. Activating his shadow meld skill, he slipped into the shadows just as the boar let out another furious snort, her bloodshot eyes sweeping the clearing. Moving silently, he positioned himself behind a large rock, watching as she prowled through the underbrush, her body tense, muscles rippling beneath her coarse hide. When she finally turned her back to him, Thorne darted out from behind the rock, knives raised, aiming for the back of her leg. His blades flashed in a scissoring motion, striking deep and drawing blood. The boar let out an enraged roar, stumbling slightly, but the injury was far from enough to bring her down. She wheeled around, her gaze locking onto him with murderous intent. Keep moving, he thought, instincts kicking in as he dived out of the way just in time. The boar charged with a bone-rattling force, and he rolled to his feet, watching as she crashed into the rock he¡¯d just vacated, shattering it into fine dust. His heart pounded as he bolted through the dense underbrush, his Escape Artist skill helping him navigate the twists and tangles that would have otherwise trapped him. His stamina was draining rapidly, but he pushed forward, knowing that slowing down would be fatal. The boar¡¯s attacks were relentless, each one fiercer than the last. Thorne felt the sweat beading on his forehead, his limbs growing heavier with each step. I need to end this, he thought, casting a glance around the clearing for anything that could help. His eyes landed on a fallen log nearby. It was risky, but it might be his best chance. He led her toward it, ducking and dodging as her tusks narrowly missed his torso, feeling the heat of her smoky breath close behind. As she charged again, he leapt onto the log, vaulting over her with all the agility he could muster. In mid-air, he twisted, slashing down with both knives, the blades sinking into her back and drawing a fresh gush of blood. She roared, stumbling briefly, but the injury only seemed to fuel her rage. Come on, he urged himself, already planning his next move. He had to stay one step ahead, keep her unbalanced, and wait for just the right moment to strike. Thorne''s mind raced, his thoughts a chaotic flurry of Sid''s lessons and instinctive survival. He had to use everything he¡¯d learned. Taking a steadying breath, he activated his Primal Aether Manipulation skill, focusing intensely on the swirling motes around the massive boar. He compressed them, forcing their energy to slow her movements. It wasn¡¯t much, but the boar¡¯s movements became visibly sluggish, as if she were wading through thick water. It¡¯s a small edge, but it¡¯ll have to be enough, he told himself, his pulse pounding as he prepared for another strike. He pressed forward, trying to take advantage of the momentary weakness. Darting in with precision, he aimed his blades at her exposed side. She barely registered his approach, and he managed to sink his knives in deep, leaving twin gashes that seeped thick, dark blood. But in his determination, he¡¯d overextended, his footing off-balance as he pulled back. The realization hit too late¡ªhe was vulnerable. The boar snorted in fury, and Thorne felt a searing heat as glowing embers from her nostrils struck his shirt, tiny flames licking hungrily at the fabric. He dropped to the ground, rolling frantically to extinguish the fire, the scent of charred cloth filling his nose. But the boar saw her opening and charged with a vicious speed. Her tusks struck him in the side, and a sharp, blinding pain tore through his ribs as she lifted him and tossed him like a rag doll. Thorne hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the air from his lungs. He gasped, gritting his teeth against the pain, clutching his side as warm blood seeped between his fingers. He felt the tremor of her approaching steps and knew he couldn¡¯t stop now. Get up. Move. Forcing himself to his feet, he staggered and broke into a sprint, weaving through the trees as the boar crashed after him, her rage driving her forward. An idea sparked in his mind, desperation sharpening it to a razor¡¯s edge. He made a sharp turn, veering off the path and disappearing from the boar¡¯s line of sight for a brief moment. Without hesitating, he scrambled up a sturdy tree, his Acrobatics skill pushing him past the pain as he climbed, his heart hammering. The boar barreled past, oblivious to his sudden disappearance, her momentum carrying her forward. High above her, Thorne clung to a thick branch, catching his breath as he steadied himself for one last shot. He channeled his Aether Burst, summoning every remaining ounce of energy, feeling the raw power collect and pulse in his hands. As the boar circled below, confused, he released the burst, channeling it into a concentrated, lethal strike. The blast struck her upper body with a brutal force, tearing into her flesh and sending her crashing to the ground with a pained bellow. Seizing the moment, Thorne leaped from the branch, pain radiating from his side but determination stronger. With a final, fierce drive, he plunged his serrated knife deep into her spine, feeling the resistance give way as the blade sank in. Congratulations! New Skill Unlocked: Stealth Strike! The boar bellowed in pain, thrashing with a force that shook the ground beneath Thorne. She twisted, bucking wildly, and with a violent heave, she managed to throw him from her back. Thorne was hurled through the air, his vision blurring as he crashed to the ground, pain jolting through him like lightning. Dazed and disoriented, he blinked rapidly, trying to focus, but a new danger loomed: a thick cloud of smoke and flickering embers barreled toward him, heat prickling against his skin. Get up, he thought, panic sharpening his senses. He scrambled to his feet, frantically batting at the smoldering embers clinging to his clothes, the scent of burnt fabric filling his nose. But he had no time to dwell on it. The boar, her eyes blazing with fury, was already charging at him once more. Thorne felt a surge of clarity¡ªhe couldn¡¯t drag this out any longer. She was too strong, and he was nearing his limit. Despite the punishing aftereffects he knew it would bring, he activated his Aether Surge, the energy flooding his body like a roaring river. Every fiber of his being crackled with newfound power, and suddenly, the world around him seemed to slow. Details sharpened, each movement in the clearing becoming clear and vivid. He could see the angry glint in the boar¡¯s eye, the way her muscles bunched as she charged, the embers still falling in slow arcs from her snout. With a fierce roar, Thorne dashed forward, his own movements a blur of speed and strength. He sidestepped the boar¡¯s charge, feeling the ground shake as she missed him by inches, and in a single, fluid motion, he lashed out, his knife slicing through her thick hide with precision. She tried to retaliate, snapping and twisting, but he was already gone, too fast and too powerful, moving with a grace that was almost inhuman. Again and again, he struck, each attack landing with deadly accuracy, each blow fueled by the aether raging in his veins. Her attempts to fight back grew weaker, the power in his attacks overwhelming her, and he could feel her strength waning with every passing second. He knew the surge wouldn¡¯t last, but he was determined to end this now. Finally, with a deep breath and one last burst of power, Thorne drove his knife straight into her heart, his blade sinking in to the hilt. The boar let out a final, mournful bellow, the sound echoing through the clearing, before her body gave a final shudder and collapsed, still at last. Thorne staggered back, panting, his body aching and his wounds pulsing with pain. He could feel the aftereffects of the aether surge creeping in, his muscles heavy, his vision starting to blur, but a small, exhausted smile tugged at his lips as notification after notification flooded his vision. Victory glowed in each one, but the real reason for his joy was... Character Level Up: Level 16! Character Level Up: Level 17! And then he collapsed. CHAPTER 39 Thorne came to hours later, blinking against the groggy haze that clung to him. Darkness had settled thickly over the forest, and the nocturnal symphony of rustling leaves and distant animal calls filled the cool night air. For a moment, a pang of panic flared¡ªSid would scold him for being late! But as the memories filtered back, he remembered that the rogue was still bedridden, recovering from his own brutal battle. The thought calmed him, but a wave of soreness quickly replaced any comfort. With a groan, Thorne sat up, a piercing ache radiating from the side where the boar¡¯s tusks had gored him. Worse than the wound, however, was the weakness that lingered like a weight in his bones, thanks to the aetheric storm he¡¯d unleashed. He¡¯d slept for hours, yet the exhaustion felt bone-deep, beyond what rest alone could mend. Glancing around, he stiffened as a new realization hit him: he¡¯d been foolish to fall asleep here, out in the open with the scent of blood heavy in the air. He was lucky he hadn¡¯t been picked off by one of the forest¡¯s predators while he lay vulnerable. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, and he scanned his surroundings, noting the shadows shifting in the dark, just beyond the edges of his vision. Several notifications crowded his peripheral view, but Thorne forced himself to ignore them for now, focusing instead on his new skill, Hunter¡¯s Insight. He activated it, honing in on the mother boar¡¯s body lying nearby. His vision sharpened, and he wasn¡¯t disappointed. Her tusks, each one longer than his arm, pulsed with faint aetheric light, practically brimming with power. Only once he¡¯d examined the bodies did he let his attention drift back to the notifications waiting in his view. Skill Level Up: Daggers! Skill Level Up: Daggers! Skill Level Up: Running! Skill Level Up: Acrobatics! Skill Level Up: Escape Artist! Skill Level Up: Thick Skin! Skill Level Up: Combat Reflexes! Skill Level Up: Stealth! Skill Level Up: Shadow Meld! Skill Level Up: Primal Aether Manipulation! Skill Level Up: Aether Burst! Each notification sent a small spark of satisfaction through him, but he quickly focused on the most significant gain: three levels¡¯ worth of points to distribute. He didn¡¯t hesitate, knowing exactly where he needed the most reinforcement. Without question, he funneled fifteen points into Endurance, frustrated with his ongoing limitations. Lately, every fight, every intense training session with Sid had left him gasping for breath, each lost stamina point dragging him closer to the edge of failure. Boosting his endurance felt like an anchor¡ªa promise that he¡¯d last longer next time. Ten points went straight into Agility and Dexterity. His training and fighting style had made one thing clear: speed and quick reflexes were essential to his survival, and these points were just as critical to building his advantage as any weapon. Finally, he spared the last ten points, distributing them between Vitality and Spirit, bolstering both his health and his aether reserves¡ªa prudent choice, given his recent experience with how quickly aether could run dry at the worst possible moment. Satisfied, he opened his character sheet, inspecting the day¡¯s gains, feeling a sense of readiness despite the ache in his body. Today had tested him, worn him down, but he could feel his growth. And that felt... Amazing! Name: Thorne Level: 17 Race: Human Age: 9 Special Trait: Elder Race Health Points: 342/510 Aether: 156/290 Stamina: 110/520 Attributes: Strength: 30 Agility: 36 ¡ú 46 Dexterity: 33 ¡ú 43 Endurance: 37 ¡ú 52 Vitality: 46 ¡ú 51 Spirit: 50 ¡ú 55 Wisdom: 29 Intelligence: 30 Skills: Tracking: 11 Foraging: 3 Archery: 1 Running: 17 ¡ú 18 Stealth: 13 ¡ú 14 Reading: 7 Arithmetic: 6 Herbalism: 2 Acting: 13 Haggling: 6 Deception: 4 ¡ú 9 Sleight of Hand: 5 Pickpocketing: 3 Lockpicking: 2 Resilience: 6 Thick Skin: 18 ¡ú 20 Acrobatics: 10 ¡ú 12 Daggers: 11 ¡ú 14 Escape Artist: 10 ¡ú 12 Shadow Meld: 2 ¡ú 3 Mindguard: 1 Echoes of Truth: 3 Unarmed Combat: 3 Combat Reflexes: 1 ¡ú 3 Stealth Strike: 1 Aether Skills: Primal Aether Manipulation: 7 ¡ú 8 Aether Burst: 2 ¡ú 3 Aether Surge: 1 Thorne marveled at his progress, his eyes lingering on the new skills he¡¯d unlocked. Hunter''s Insight and Stealth Strike sparked a thrill in his chest, opening up exciting possibilities for his future hunts and battles. Despite his exhaustion, he felt a surge of pride; this battle had forged him in ways he hadn¡¯t imagined. The forest night had settled in, bringing an eerie quiet that only the occasional distant howl or rustle disrupted. Thorne¡¯s new skill, Hunter¡¯s Insight, was guiding him, highlighting the pockets of aether-rich parts within the boars¡¯ bodies, each glowing faintly in his vision. He took a steadying breath and refocused, his hands moving with calculated precision as he started the harvesting process. Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. But the effort proved far from easy. Every movement was a struggle, his limbs heavy and aching from the battle, and each shift sent fresh waves of pain through his side where the boar had gutted him. Yet he pushed through, knowing the importance of the task. He began with the piglets, their smaller size making them more manageable. The insight skill highlighted specific organs, the tusks, and a few bones that still pulsed with faint aetheric energy. Extracting them was another matter. He struggled with their tough hide, his knives barely cutting through at first. He reminded himself to focus only on the most valuable parts. The hides, durable as they were, didn¡¯t carry any particular magic or aetheric properties; they¡¯d only waste his precious time and dwindling energy. Instead, he turned his attention to their tusks and bones¡ªeach rich with concentrated aether. Working carefully, he began sawing off the tusks, each one gleaming with faint aetheric light. The mother boar¡¯s tusks were particularly impressive, massive and curved like scimitars, far larger than his own forearm, and he knew they¡¯d fetch a handsome price in any market. The piglets¡¯ tusks, though smaller, were still valuable, each holding faint pulses of energy. As he worked, his hands trembled from fatigue, yet he moved with care, keeping his grip steady to avoid wasting a single part of these precious resources. Next, he turned to the bones. Accessing the larger ones was a challenge, especially in his weakened state, and he managed to extract only a single thigh bone from the most damaged piglet. The process was slow, labor-intensive, and every tug of the knife felt like a weight pressing against his muscles. The smell of blood clung to him, and the wet squelching sounds turned his stomach, but he pushed through. The bones, he knew, were infused with aether and could be powerful components for crafting or trade. A distant howl echoed through the trees, drawing his attention momentarily to the deeper forest. He quickened his pace. Each second spent here increased the chance of attracting a predator, drawn by the scent of fresh blood. Finally, he turned his attention to the mother boar. Her hide was almost impenetrable, and each attempt he made with his knives barely scratched the surface. After a few futile efforts, he abandoned the hide, instead focusing on the areas that Hunter¡¯s Insight had marked as valuable. His attention was drawn to a particular organ in her neck, pulsing faintly in his vision. With painstaking precision, he managed to reach it, extracting a dark, hardened organ that seemed to pulse with its own aetheric energy. The organ looked like a lump of coal, dark and dense, yet it was the source of her ability to breathe smoke and embers. As he held it, he felt the power within, an aetheric potency that was almost palpable. The piglets¡¯ versions of this organ, smaller and underdeveloped, lacked the strength of their mother¡¯s but would still fetch value. He wrapped them all carefully in his makeshift shirt-bag, ensuring they were secure. When he finally stood back, Thorne sighed in relief, wiping a thin layer of sweat from his brow. His muscles ached, and his body felt as if it had been drained entirely. The mother boar¡¯s remains lay before him, still impressive even in death, and he felt a faint pang of defeat at leaving so much behind. But his body was nearing its limit, and the cries of creatures prowling through the forest were growing louder, closer. Satisfied with his haul, Thorne pushed himself upright, though his body protested every movement. His side throbbed from the boar¡¯s wound, and a lingering heaviness clung to him, the price of his reckless use of Aether Surge. But resting here, deep in the forest, was out of the question. He needed to keep moving. As he made his way out of the elven forest, Thorne¡¯s senses remained on high alert. Every rustle in the shadows felt too close, and the wild calls of unseen creatures followed his every step, echoing off the trees like ghostly warnings. An unsettling feeling of being watched prickled at his skin, reminding him that, weakened and slowed by his loot, he¡¯d be an easy target. His grip tightened around the tusks and bones, prepared to use them as crude weapons if necessary. But mercifully, the treeline broke open, and at last, the familiar, flickering lights of the city came into view, twinkling like distant stars through the trees. As he trudged through the city streets, he drew curious and sometimes horrified glances. His clothes were torn, dirty, and spattered with blood, and the odd array of boar tusks and strange, fleshy organs in his arms made him a sight to behold. Even the working women on the corners fell silent, their calls to prospective clients forgotten as they stared, wide-eyed, at the bloodied figure cutting through the night. But Thorne paid them no mind. All he wanted was a hot meal and his bed. With his hands full, he had to bash the door open, startling Jonah and Ben, who jumped with a pair of high-pitched yelps and huddled together as if they¡¯d seen a ghost. Thorne frowned, rolling his eyes at their overreaction. "It¡¯s just me,¡± he muttered, setting his haul down on the small table with a heavy thud. The boys let out audible sighs of relief, though Jonah¡¯s face held a lingering mix of confusion and awe as he eyed the bloody collection. Thorne allowed himself a sigh of satisfaction as he noticed a bowl of soup waiting for him on the table, the fragrant aroma rising with hints of carrot and savory herbs. Jonah¡¯s gaze never left the haul, his eyes wide with calculation. He leaned in hesitantly, almost as if he didn¡¯t trust himself to get too close to the strange organs and jagged tusks. Thorne ignored him and sank into a chair, sighing with relief as he dug eagerly into the soup, savoring each mouthful as warmth spread through his exhausted body. ¡°How did you manage all this?¡± Jonah demanded, his voice somewhere between astonishment and suspicion. "What the hell, Thorne? How many beasts did you kill? How? How?" His mouth hung open, at a rare loss for words. "Not even hunters dare enter the elven forest, afraid of the aether beasts, and you just casually stroll in and kill a bunch of them?" Thorne, taking another bite of soup to buy himself a moment, feigned indifference, shrugging as if it were no big deal. He wasn¡¯t about to reveal the truth about his core or skills, so he activated Echoes of Truth, infusing his lie with a hint of aether to make it sound natural and convincing. ¡°What can I say? I was lucky,¡± he replied with a carefully melancholic tone. ¡°My father taught me everything he knew about hunting back when I was little.¡± Jonah looked skeptical but said nothing, studying him with an almost admiring frown. Thorne took the opportunity to tilt his bowl back for a long, satisfying sip, then gestured at his torn side. ¡°Not like I came back unscathed, as you can see.¡± From behind, he heard Ben¡¯s signature grunt, and Thorne glanced over to see the blond boy crushing herbs into a small bowl, his expression grim. Jonah, now leaning eagerly over the pile, seemed to be calculating the profit of each piece, though his hands hovered with a certain wariness, as though he half-expected one of the fleshy organs to come alive. ¡°Sell everything but the weird, fleshy balls,¡± Thorne told him between bites. Jonah¡¯s curiosity got the better of him, and he immediately reached for the glistening, mysterious organs, his finger hovering in fascination. Thorne smirked, shaking his head. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t do that if I were you,¡± he warned, barely looking up. Jonah¡¯s hand froze. ¡°Why not?¡± he asked, his tone half-defiant. ¡°They¡¯re full of poison,¡± Thorne replied casually, relishing the way Jonah¡¯s face shifted from curiosity to horror as he quickly withdrew his hand. Jonah nodded solemnly. ¡°Right,¡± he muttered, clearing his throat. ¡°Guess I won¡¯t be having those for dinner, then.¡± Thorne barely hid a grin as he finished the last of his soup, feeling the warmth dull his aches. But just as he set down his bowl, Ben approached, holding a bowl of medicinal paste and sporting a pointedly disapproving expression. Without a word, he began to rub the ointment onto Thorne¡¯s wounds with deliberate, brusque movements. Jonah snickered, folding his arms with an exaggeratedly satisfied expression. ¡°Looks like you¡¯ve made Ben angry,¡± he remarked with a grin. Thorne winced under the sting of the paste, looking up at Ben with a guilty smile. ¡°Sorry, Ben. Didn¡¯t mean to make you worry.¡± Ben narrowed his eyes, holding the gaze for a long moment before finally stopping his angry grunting. ¡°You know, Thorne,¡± Jonah said, gingerly poking at the fleshy organs with a stick, ¡°we might actually make a decent haul from this. Just¡­ try not to die next time, okay? Hard to make sales when the supplier¡¯s dead.¡± Thorne chuckled, though the laughter sent a painful pang through his side. ¡°I¡¯ll keep that in mind.¡± Jonah settled beside him, casting another greedy, calculating look at the haul. ¡°Seriously, Thorne, you ever think about making this a regular thing? Forget the small-time pickpocketing. We could make a real fortune.¡± His eyes gleamed, as if already counting out the coins in his head. Finishing the last of his soup, Thorne shook his head. ¡°It¡¯s not that simple, Jonah. The forest is dangerous.¡± But Jonah only shrugged, too caught up in the possibilities of profit to worry about the risks. Thorne leaned back, his gaze shifting to Ben, who was still watching him with a quiet, unspoken worry. ¡°Thanks, Ben,¡± he said, genuinely grateful. Ben nodded again, his eyes bright with both determination and a lingering concern, the sort that didn¡¯t go away just because Thorne was back. They sat in companionable silence for a while, the warmth of the room a welcome balm after the chill of the forest night. But gradually, the mood shifted, turning heavy and somber. Thorne noticed it in the way Jonah¡¯s shoulders drooped and in the distant, haunted look in Ben¡¯s eyes. It dawned on him that on most nights, the two boys would be out at the docks by now, working as lookouts. Their absence now felt like a silent admission that something was wrong. ¡°Why aren¡¯t you guys at the docks?¡± Thorne asked, breaking the thickening silence. Jonah¡¯s face darkened, and Ben¡¯s lower lip began to tremble, his eyes shining with unshed tears. Thorne¡¯s heart sank. He had no idea what could¡¯ve happened, but he knew enough to brace himself. It took Jonah several moments to respond, and when he did, the words chilled Thorne to the bone. ¡°Two more cousins went missing today,¡± Jonah murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper. Thorne¡¯s stomach twisted. ¡°Who?¡± he asked, a sick feeling spreading through him. ¡°Timur was one of them,¡± Jonah replied, his expression softening with a flicker of sadness. ¡°He was¡­ different from the rest of us. Too kind. Always the first to help anyone, always had a smile for Ben.¡± Jonah glanced over at Ben, who nodded, tears welling up as he clamped his trembling lips shut. Thorne took a steadying breath, trying to think. Sure, it wasn¡¯t unheard of for an orphan to go missing now and then, but three cousins disappearing in just two days was disturbing. That kind of thing usually only happened during turf wars, when gangs fought openly in the streets. But they hadn¡¯t heard any rumors of conflict, no warnings of a brewing storm between factions. So who would target the cousins¡ªand why? ¡°Are you certain they disappeared?¡± Thorne asked, trying to sound rational. ¡°Maybe they just¡­ went somewhere together.¡± But Jonah shook his head grimly. ¡°They barely knew each other, Thorne. Timur and the other kid hardly even talked.¡± He paused, casting a hesitant glance toward Ben, then leaned closer, his voice dropping to a barely audible whisper. ¡°Jenny said she saw something¡­ She swore she saw a man in black grab Timur off the street and slit his throat. Right there. Didn¡¯t even hide it.¡± Thorne felt a chill shoot through him, icy and sharp. It wasn¡¯t just a disappearance, then¡ªit was cold-blooded murder, bold and public, as if meant to send a message. The thought was terrifying, and as he looked over, he noticed Ben had gone pale, his eyes wide and horrified. Ben made a small, choked sound, and before either of them could react, he bolted, darting down the narrow stairs and out into the night. ¡°Ben!¡± Thorne called, his voice tight with alarm, but the boy was already gone. Jonah cursed, tugging his hair in frustration. ¡°Dammit, Ben!¡± he muttered under his breath before rushing after him. Thorne sat frozen, his mind reeling. Two cousins gone. Three in two days, if the rumors were true. His thoughts raced through every possible explanation, every terrifying possibility. Was someone targeting them? Was this a rival gang¡¯s attempt at a takeover, a brutal power play to push the cousins out? Or was this something more sinister, a trap aimed at Uncle or at someone higher up? And if so, why target orphans? A dark realization settled over him: whoever was behind this wasn¡¯t stopping. The cousins were easy prey, scattered across the streets and bound by little more than loyalty and survival. He couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that they were being hunted, picked off like animals. It was open season, and every cousin could be the next target. CHAPTER 40 For the next few days, Thorne stayed away from the Elven forest. He needed time to recover, plain and simple. His body still felt like it was dragging through fog, heavy and reluctant to move. Every muscle protested, each bruise and half-healed cut reminding him of just how much he¡¯d pushed himself. Even breathing felt like it tugged at something sore, a raw reminder of the boars¡¯ fight and the punishment he¡¯d put himself through with Aether Surge. The pull to get back to the forest was still there, an itch he couldn¡¯t quite shake. There was progress to be made, levels to gain, and each day he stayed put felt like a missed opportunity. But another, darker reason kept him in the slums¡ªthe disappearances. Fear was everywhere now, coating the air thick as soot. Thorne had never seen the cousins like this: wary, glancing over their shoulders, each face pale and eyes darting to the shadows as though expecting something to lunge out at them. Normally, the streets rang out with their shouting, laughter, and the occasional scuffle, filling the slums with a chaotic kind of life. Now, that was gone, replaced by a tense, watchful silence. The cousins moved only in tight groups, skirting the alleys and sticking close to walls, quick to vanish at the slightest hint of movement. Thorne wandered through the fish market a few times, observing the change. Every cousin he saw had that same look¡ªnervous, twitchy, like they were coiled to spring. He watched as one kid tried to swipe an apple, but his hands were shaky, and he barely escaped when the vendor caught on. Another kid, barely older than him, snatched a loaf of bread and bolted, not looking back. The fear was eating away at everyone, twisting them into something jumpy and desperate. Jonah and Ben were no exceptions. Ben had holed up in the attic, burying himself in his small alchemy book like it held some secret that could make everything go back to normal. Thorne would catch him sitting there, squinting at the faded pages, his brow furrowed like he was working out some difficult puzzle. Jonah, on the other hand, had thrown himself into his usual business dealings with a new intensity. Thorne knew he was trying to distract himself, working to gather a few extra coins to buy herbs for Ben in an effort to lift his spirits. He¡¯d gotten into negotiations with the alchemist, trying to sell off the aether-infused bones and whatever else they¡¯d salvaged from the boars. The way Jonah talked, he was convinced they¡¯d been undersold and was determined to get them a better deal. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it, Thorne,¡± Jonah had assured him, his eyes gleaming with confidence. ¡°I¡¯ll find us a better buyer in the inner city. We¡¯re worth more than these bottom feeders want to pay.¡± Thorne had shrugged, content to let Jonah handle it. He knew Jonah could talk his way into a better deal than he ever could, and it kept the boy busy, out of the attic and out of his hair. Besides, if Jonah wanted to handle the haggle, Thorne wasn¡¯t about to argue. For himself, he slipped back into his usual habits, not so much out of need but because it was a way to escape the tense, stifling air hanging over everyone. He kept to the quieter parts of town, sticking to shadows, slipping through narrow alleys, and moving just out of sight, relying on muscle memory to find the best marks. It was routine, a comforting rhythm that kept his mind off the cousins¡¯ fear and his own frustrations. And then, when the notifications flickered in his vision, they felt like small victories, each one a brief reminder that he was still moving forward, despite everything. Skill Level Up: Stealth! Skill Level Up: Pickpocketing! Skill Level Up: Pickpocketing! Skill Level Up: Running! Skill Level Up: Sleight of Hand! Skill Level Up: Deception! Skill Level Up: Escape Artist! It wasn¡¯t much, but he¡¯d take it. Each gain was progress, even if it was just a small, steady beat against the gnawing dread simmering in the slums. * Thorne moved through the crowded market with practiced ease, his keen eyes scanning for potential targets. The hum of conversation and the calls of vendors filled the air, creating a symphony of distractions. He slipped his hand into the pocket of a well-dressed merchant, deftly extracting a small pouch of coins. The merchant continued haggling over the price of spices, completely unaware of the theft. Thorne pocketed the coins and moved on, his face a mask of innocent curiosity. As he weaved through the throng, Thorne noticed a group of cousins huddled together in a small side alley. Their faces were drawn and anxious, a stark contrast to the bustling activity around them. Intrigued, Thorne approached, slipping into the shadows to listen in on their conversation. One of the older boys, a lanky youth named Darius, was speaking in a low, urgent tone. "We can''t just keep waiting for something to happen. We need to do something. Another cousin disappeared this morning." A murmur of fear and despair rippled through the group. Thorne edged closer, catching snippets of their conversation. "Who was it?" a younger girl with dirt-smudged cheeks asked, her voice trembling. Darius sighed heavily, running a hand through his unkempt hair. "It was Carl. He worked at one of Uncle''s taverns. He was so strong! He had just formed his core. Now he''s gone." Thorne felt a cold knot form in his stomach. Carl was one of the older cousins he vaguely remembered, a boy who always worked hard and was sturdier than a mule. The news of his disappearance hit hard. "We can''t keep going on like this," another boy said, his voice tight with frustration. "We''re just sitting ducks, waiting for the next one to vanish. We need to stick together." "Stick together?" a girl with a tear-streaked face scoffed. "And do what? We can barely find enough to eat. How are we supposed to fight back?" Thorne cleared his throat, drawing their attention. "We need to be smart about this," he said, stepping into the light. "Panicking won''t help anyone." One of the boys, a tall and surly youth named Rafe, sneered. "Oh, look who it is. The prince of the streets. What do you know about anything, Thorne? Just because Uncle likes you doesn''t mean you know everything." The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. Thorne raised an eyebrow, his mind working quickly. "Well, Rafe, if you have a better idea, I''m all ears. Maybe you can enlighten us with your vast wisdom?" The other cousins chuckled, and Rafe''s sneer faltered. "Shut up, Thorne. Just because you''re Uncle''s favorite doesn''t mean we have to listen to you." "Maybe not," Thorne replied smoothly, "but at least I''m trying to come up with a plan instead of just complaining. We need to stick together and find somewhere safe to hide." "Why don''t you just run back to Uncle and let him protect you?" Rafe sneered. "You can hide under his desk while the rest of us fend for ourselves." "Great idea, Rafe," Thorne said with a grin. "But I think I''ll stick around and help out instead. Maybe you''ll learn something." "From you?" Rafe scoffed. "I''d rather take my chances." Thorne''s smile widened. "You sure about that? Because I distinctly remember you crying like a baby last week when you lost your bread to a rat." The group erupted in laughter, and Rafe''s face turned red. "Shut up, Thorne. At least I don''t kiss up to Uncle." "Yeah, yeah," Thorne said, waving a hand dismissively. "Listen, we need to lay low for a while, and find somewhere safe to hide." "Where?" the girl with the tear-streaked face asked again, more seriously this time. "And do what? We can barely find enough to eat." Thorne thought furiously. They didn''t have many options, but there was one place that came to mind. "The sewers," he said suddenly. "I''ve used them before when I was being chased by the guards. It''s not pleasant, but it''s safe. We can hide there until things calm down." Rafe rolled his eyes again. "The sewers? Really, Thorne? That''s your big plan?" "Unless you have a better one, yes," Thorne shot back. "It''s disgusting, but it''s better than getting picked off one by one." The cousins exchanged uncertain glances, debating among themselves. "The sewers?" Darius said, wrinkling his nose. "That sounds disgusting." "It is," Thorne admitted, "but it''s better than nothing. We need to stay together and stay hidden. It''s the best option we''ve got." The group fell silent, each cousin¡¯s face shadowed as they considered Thorne¡¯s suggestion. Tension hung thick in the air. Finally, Darius nodded, his jaw clenched tight. ¡°Alright, Thorne. We¡¯ll try the sewers. Better than getting picked off one by one.¡± Thorne felt a flicker of relief. They had a plan now, rough as it was. His gaze swept over each of them, catching the mix of fear and determination set into every face. Their eyes met his in small, unspoken acknowledgments. ¡°We meet tonight at the entrance near the old bakery. Bring whatever you can carry, and don¡¯t go anywhere alone,¡± he said, voice low but firm. They nodded, silent but resolute, and dispersed into the crowded streets, vanishing among the market stalls and faded buildings. Left alone, Thorne felt a rare sense of purpose settle over him, filling a void he hadn¡¯t realized was there. He¡¯d never had strong ties with the cousins, not with the way Uncle had kept them all at a distance from him. But he couldn¡¯t just stand by, not with the disappearances creeping ever closer. At the very least, he could help them stay hidden and keep them moving. As he headed back to the attic, his mind raced with ideas, piecing together anything that might give them an edge. When he reached the attic, he felt a surge of relief to find it empty, the rare quiet filling the room like a breath of fresh air. He let himself exhale. But the peace shattered the moment he noticed a figure waiting for him at the small table in the corner. His uncle. The sight of him brought that old, tangled mix of gratitude and resentment to the surface. Uncle was the one who¡¯d taken him in, kept him fed, taught him the hard lessons that kept him alive on these streets. But recently, the man had changed. He was bigger, thicker around the middle, his shirts stretched tight across his shoulders like they could rip open any second. His eyes, always red-rimmed and swollen lately, held that quick spark of anger¡ªbarely contained, as if a wrong word might ignite it. ¡°Uncle,¡± Thorne greeted, masking his surprise as he stepped inside. His uncle looked up from his ledger, his gaze sharp, calculating. ¡°Thorne. Sit down.¡± Thorne complied, his guard up as he took the chair across from him. ¡°Uncle, there¡¯ve been more disappearances. Another cousin went missing today. Do you know anything about it?¡± Uncle waved a dismissive hand, barely glancing up from his notes. ¡°Orphans disappear all the time, Thorne. It¡¯s hardly a new phenomenon. I can¡¯t be bothered with every street urchin who wanders off.¡± Frustration simmered beneath Thorne¡¯s skin. His hands clenched at his sides, and he leaned forward. ¡°But Uncle, it¡¯s not just random. It¡¯s been happening too often. People are scared.¡± Uncle¡¯s face darkened, his expression sharp as a knife. ¡°I told you, it¡¯s none of my concern. You should focus on more important matters.¡± ¡°But¡ª¡± Thorne began, but the glare his uncle gave him stopped the words in his throat. ¡°Enough,¡± his uncle snapped, his tone ice-cold. ¡°We have more pressing matters to discuss.¡± Thorne swallowed down the frustration, forcing himself to nod. He knew better than to push when his uncle¡¯s temper was this close to boiling over. ¡°Alright. What did you want to talk about?¡± A smirk tugged at the corner of his uncle¡¯s mouth, sharp and humorless. ¡°It¡¯s time for our little game. Tell me, Thorne¡ªwhat have you noticed in the city lately?¡± Thorne thought hard, sifting through every recent memory for details he might have overlooked. ¡°Well, they¡¯re still working to rebuild the ruins after the noble houses clashed. But other than that, and the disappearances, nothing unusual,¡± he said carefully. Uncle¡¯s eyes narrowed in a way that made Thorne¡¯s skin prickle. ¡°You need to be more observant, Thorne.¡± His voice was cold, biting. ¡°The city guard has been disbanded. House Durnell now controls patrols, with the baron¡¯s blessing, no less. Baron Elmond was only too happy to recall his troops to the capital. And do you know whose maneuvering made that possible?¡± Thorne felt the familiar pang of irritation at Uncle¡¯s smugness, but he pushed it down, meeting his gaze with a forced, agreeable smile. Using Echoes of Truth, he replied, ¡°You have a sharp mind, Uncle. Your maneuvering is truly impressive.¡± Uncle¡¯s expression softened, pleased. Thorne could see a spark of satisfaction in his eyes as he leaned forward, that ambition flashing through. ¡°In just a few months, Thorne, all of Alvar City will be in my grasp,¡± he continued, a gleam of excitement in his voice. ¡°One, no, two issues left to handle, and then¡­ I¡¯ll be the most powerful man here.¡± Thorne¡¯s curiosity was piqued, though he kept his face neutral. This was Uncle at his most dangerous¡ªdriven, hungry, and already planning ten moves ahead. Thorne knew better than to ask directly; instead, he watched, noting the calculation in his uncle¡¯s voice, the way he held himself like a king ready to ascend. To Uncle, this city was a board of pawns to be maneuvered however he pleased, each piece a step toward ultimate power. Careful not to press, Thorne shifted topics, hoping to learn something about Sid¡¯s condition. ¡°And Sid?¡± he asked. ¡°How¡¯s he doing?¡± Uncle¡¯s gaze turned dismissive again, flicking over him like the question barely registered. ¡°Sid will recover. He¡¯s a tough man.¡± He paused, his face hardening. ¡°You¡¯d do better to focus on your own training rather than worrying about others.¡± Thorne nodded, though he couldn¡¯t shake the concern. Sid was more than just his mentor; he was a key part of Thorne¡¯s survival and growth. But Uncle¡¯s tone left no room for argument. Pushing him would only make things worse. Just as Uncle opened his mouth to speak, the attic door burst open. Ben skidded inside, his face flushed and breath coming fast. He froze, eyes going wide as they landed on Uncle, then flicked to Thorne, looking for guidance. Uncle¡¯s eyes narrowed, flicking from Ben to Thorne with that same, icy scrutiny. ¡°And who is this?¡± he asked, his tone hard and unimpressed. ¡°He¡¯s a friend,¡± Thorne replied, standing a little straighter. ¡°He¡¯s been staying with me for a while.¡± Thorne shot Uncle a look, surprised he wasn¡¯t already informed. Usually, Uncle knew everything. Uncle¡¯s frown deepened, and a look of distaste flashed over his face. ¡°You should be careful about the company you keep,¡± he said, voice dripping with contempt. Thorne felt a surge of irritation and didn¡¯t bother to hide it. ¡°Ben¡¯s home was burned during the battle,¡± he snapped, his tone edged with anger. ¡°He¡¯s got nowhere else to go.¡± Uncle¡¯s expression remained as flat as stone. He rose from his chair, tucking his ledger into his arm. ¡°Be careful on your hunts,¡± he said coolly, brushing off the conversation as if Ben was already forgotten. Thorne¡¯s jaw tightened. His uncle was already halfway to the door, but he couldn¡¯t resist. ¡°The Gravediggers won¡¯t stop killing cousins until you do something about it,¡± he called out, voice tinged with both defiance and anger. His uncle stopped mid-step, slowly turning to face him. For a long moment, he stared at Thorne, eyes hard and calculating. Then, without a word, he turned and left, the door closing with a soft click. Thorne watched him go, a fierce satisfaction rising despite the tension that hung in the room. He had stood up to Uncle, and for once, made the man pause. CHAPTER 41 This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. CHAPTER 42 This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. CHAPTER 43 The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. CHAPTER 44 Thorne slipped further into the belly of the Gravedigger hideout. Each step was calculated, each breath measured as he tried to blend into the shadows. The cold stone underfoot was uneven, every creak and groan of the ancient structure amplified in the silence. His eyes darted around, taking in every detail. The corridors stretched like veins through the ancient stonework, twisting and winding into shadowed corners, each turn revealing some new layer of decay. His eyes scanned every flicker and shift in the low torchlight; the dancing shadows played tricks, making it hard to separate the real from the imagined threats lurking around him. Doors lined the hallway, each one hinting at hidden stories. Some swung open onto empty, hollow spaces that smelled of rot and stale air, places long abandoned even by the Gravediggers. Behind others, he caught the faintest sounds of life¡ªthe occasional murmur of conversation, the shifting of bodies in restless sleep. He pressed his ear to some, quickly pulling back when he sensed the faint glow of aether slipping through the cracks, like thin tendrils of energy seeking escape. One or two doors, sleek and black, stood out with a polished sheen even in the dim light. Their surfaces were too clean, too deliberate, and the chill they radiated as he passed made him shudder; these were clearly meant to protect something far more valuable¡ªand dangerous. Moving carefully, Thorne relied on his Stealth skill, keeping to the shadows and placing each step with precision. His movements felt instinctual, his skill guiding him like a quiet voice, helping him skirt around loose stones and avoid the debris scattered across the ground. His feet glided over the floor, soundless, each placement deliberate and silent, and as he passed through another shadow, a notification blinked in his vision. Skill Level Up: Stealth! The satisfaction was fleeting, replaced by renewed focus. The further he ventured, the more he attuned to the faint signs of danger, his eyes now finely honed to spot even the slightest anomalies. He noted thin wires stretched across the floor, dust-covered pressure plates, and strange symbols etched into the walls that his Cunning Trapper skill warned against. Sounds guided him, too; he let his hearing expand until it was sharpened to a razor¡¯s edge, filtering each scurry of rats, every faint drip of water, and the muffled conversations from behind doors. Together, these whispers painted a map in his mind of the hideout¡¯s layout. Oddly, he encountered no more guards, which felt both like a blessing and a warning. He couldn¡¯t shake the unease crawling up his spine¡ªif there were so few guards here, where had they gone? Was something larger at play, a mission or gathering that left this part of the hideout unguarded? The low hum of distant voices pulled him from his thoughts. Conversations, faint but persistent, filtered through the corridor. His curiosity won out over caution, and he followed the sounds. The voices were a low murmur, like the hum of distant bees, drawing him closer. He passed through an archway and found himself on a small, crumbling balcony overlooking a large round chamber full of decaying bookshelves. The shelves, once grand and imposing, now sagged under the weight of time, their contents spilling out in chaotic disarray. Dust motes floated in the air, illuminated by the dim light of lanterns hanging from the ceiling. The scent of old paper and mildew hit him immediately, tinged with the bitterness of stale alcohol. Down below, dozens of figures crowded around rickety tables, talking in hushed tones or laughing too loudly, their voices mingling in a steady buzz that filled the space. The shadows stretched across their faces, giving them a harsh, almost sinister appearance in the flickering light. Against one wall, a makeshift bar had been set up, where newcomers gathered to fill their mugs before joining their comrades. A bartender, a towering brute with a jagged scar on his cheek, poured drinks with a grim efficiency. His movements were brisk, automatic, as if he¡¯d been pouring mugs for hours on end. Pressing himself back against a crumbling column, Thorne activated his Shadow Meld skill, feeling himself sink further into the darkness, becoming just another shadow among many. The cold stone chilled him, but he remained still, every muscle tense as he listened. Another notification flickered in his vision: Skill Level Up: Shadow Meld! He stood there, unsure of what to do next. The low buzz of conversation grew and quieted every few moments, a symphony of whispers and laughter that seemed almost surreal in this hidden lair. Several conversations reached his ears, and he had trouble separating each one. Fragments of sentences, disjointed and overlapping, painted a picture of the unrest among the gravediggers. Thorne¡¯s heart hammered as he crouched low, his gaze flitting around the chamber. He felt the oppressive weight of time pressing down on him; every second here was another risk, another chance he¡¯d be spotted before he could find Ben. He had to move fast, had to keep his mind sharp, but the noise and tension among the gravediggers was like static in his ears, pulling him in and clouding his thoughts. He had to hurry! He took a quick look at his aether reserve and grimaced. Aether: 172/290 His Shadow Meld skill had been effective, but it was draining too much. He needed to conserve what was left if he was going to get out of here with Ben. Releasing the shadows, he let his Stealth skill take over, trusting it to keep him silent and hidden as he moved. Each step was measured, and he could almost feel his skill pulsing, guiding his body through the narrow slivers of light and shadow in the room. Peering over the ancient banister, Thorne¡¯s eyes scanned the chamber with growing urgency. The room was a chaotic sprawl, decaying bookshelves and rickety tables forming haphazard rows and nooks. It looked more like a derelict library than a hideout, with only the low murmur of conversation and clinking mugs to remind him that it was filled with cutthroats, not scholars. Several doors branched off the chamber, each one a potential route for escape or, more importantly, a path to Ben.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. A man, newly arrived, caught his eye, moving through the crowd toward the barkeeper. Thorne¡¯s attention sharpened, his instincts pricking at the low murmurs that rippled among a group of gravediggers watching the newcomer with keen interest. The hushed words ¡°He¡¯ll have the update¡± and ¡°finally, some real information¡± passed between them, and Thorne focused on the man''s every step, his senses tuned to the faintest sound. He felt the tension in the room shift, the idle chatter ebbing as more eyes turned toward the stranger. Thorne crouched lower, blending into the shadows behind a crumbling column, his breath shallow and controlled. The newcomer reached a table and sat down with two gravediggers who had been waiting impatiently. As he settled in, they leaned forward, practically vibrating with anticipation. Thorne shifted for a better view, muscles taut, forcing himself to stay calm, to absorb every word. His heart lurched at the first mention of Ben. ¡°I¡¯ve been guarding the boy ever since they brought him here,¡± the newcomer said in a low, weary voice. "But the news isn¡¯t good.¡± He took a deep breath, his face grim. ¡°The Uncle doesn¡¯t want to negotiate.¡± A murmur of discontent rippled through the room, quickly followed by a tense silence. It seemed Thorne wasn¡¯t the only one listening in¡ªevery gravedigger within earshot had fallen quiet, their attention zeroed in on the stranger¡¯s words. One of the two men at the table leaned forward, his voice low, each word edged with tension. ¡°So, are we... are we going to disband?¡± The newcomer scoffed and shook his head, looking at his companion as though he¡¯d asked something absurd. ¡°Don¡¯t be stupid. The cousins? They¡¯re a bunch of weaklings. The boss won¡¯t let this slide. He¡¯s planning to attack¡ªand kill the Uncle himself. Won''t tolerate this slight! That snake has used us, framed us, taken everything he could grab. He¡¯s a greedy bastard.¡± Thorne''s breath caught as he listened, his pulse quickening, pounding against his ribcage. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stay hidden and silent, even as a chill snaked down his spine. One of the men, his voice hesitant, asked, ¡°What about the boy?¡± The newcomer shrugged indifferently, taking a long swig from his ale. ¡°Garret¡¯s watching him. But it doesn¡¯t matter. The kid¡¯s good as dead now. Since the Uncle refused to negotiate, he¡¯ll be killed. Besides, he¡¯s stashed away in the tower. No one¡¯s sneaking in there.¡± Thorne felt the cold, sinking realization settle in his chest. Uncle hadn¡¯t just refused to negotiate; he¡¯d dismissed any notion that Thorne¡ªor Ben, as they thought¡ªwas worth the trouble. He had never truly expected a change of heart from the man, but the cold, hard confirmation twisted in him all the same. They¡¯d snatched Ben, believing him to be valuable leverage, when all the while, Uncle had dismissed his supposed ¡°favorite¡± as expendable. Thorne¡¯s hands curled into fists at the thought, the feeling of helplessness and fury twisting together. He stayed rooted to the spot, ignoring the insistent urge to charge in recklessly. If he was going to save Ben, he needed to think¡ªevery move had to be precise. He forced himself to breathe deeply, shifting his focus back to his mission. His mind raced. If he wanted to get Ben out alive, he had to move, but he couldn¡¯t afford recklessness. This place was crawling with gravediggers, each armed and alert, and he was already dangerously outnumbered. He¡¯d have to be smart, faster than them all, and keep every single move as quiet as a whisper. He scanned the chamber again, noting the positions of the gravediggers and the layout of the room. He could see two main doors flanking the chamber, probably leading to the corridors he¡¯d noticed earlier, and at the back, a worn staircase led upward. The bar, stationed near the far wall, was still busy with other gravediggers grabbing drinks, their laughter and conversation trickling back into the room as the news settled. Thorne breathed in, steadying himself, and slipped along the edges of the balcony, his Stealth skill shrouding him as he navigated each shadow. His gaze traced the staircase leading down from the balcony, and he padded silently to the base, slipping closer to the ground floor. He had to reach the tower before the gravediggers were any the wiser, and he¡¯d have to move faster than he¡¯d ever dared. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, Thorne spotted a small side door, half-obscured by a haphazard stack of old crates. Slipping behind them, he eased the door open, slipping into a cramped, dimly lit corridor lined with decaying bookshelves. The damp, musty air was heavy with rot, and the flickering torches cast eerie shadows that twisted and shifted on the walls like dark specters, reminding him of just how deep he was in enemy territory. Moving with deliberate caution, he kept his senses on high alert, each creak of the wood and distant murmur of gravediggers in the main chamber making his pulse quicken. If anyone so much as sneezed, it felt like he¡¯d hear it. This wasn¡¯t the time for mistakes. Thorne¡¯s mind was racing. He needed a plan to reach the tower, but barging through the front entrance wasn¡¯t an option. Each step had to be calculated; one slip could blow his cover and put Ben in even more danger. When he reached an intersection, he paused, his ears straining for the faintest sound of footsteps or voices. Nothing. With a silent exhale, he continued, scanning the corridor for anything that might give him a clue to the tower¡¯s location. Turning a corner, he finally spotted a narrow staircase winding upward, its steps worn and uneven. Thorne grimaced. The wood looked as if it hadn¡¯t been touched in years, and even the smallest shift of weight made it creak in protest. He placed each step carefully, controlling his movements to keep the noise to a minimum. Faint light leaked from above, his only guide. At the top of the stairs, he found a small landing with a single door made of that same slick black metal, faintly pulsing with aetheric energy. Thorne¡¯s pulse quickened. The door¡¯s aetheric shimmer was a clear warning: it was probably warded or alarmed. There was no way he could risk opening it without triggering some kind of alert. He surveyed the landing, his eyes narrowing as they landed on a small vent near the ceiling. It was barely large enough for him to crawl through, but it looked promising. He climbed onto a nearby shelf and carefully pried the vent cover loose. The air inside was stale and thick with dust, making him wrinkle his nose as he crawled in. The cold metal pressed against his arms and legs, and he had to stifle a sneeze as he inched forward, biting back irritation at every shift and scrape in the tight space. Finally, he reached the end of the vent and peered through the grate below. He could see a semi-circular room with a single man slouched against the wall, absentmindedly twirling a dagger in his hands. His posture was relaxed, almost bored, but a massive padlock on the door behind him made it clear this was a serious guard, stationed there for a reason. Thorne swore under his breath, his mind racing. The guard was between him and Ben, and there was no sneaking past this time. He needed a way to take him out quickly and silently. Then he remembered the snake venom sacs. As carefully and silently as he could, he pulled out the fleshy sacks. For a moment, the man paused, and Thorne''s breath caught in his throat. After a tense moment, the man resumed playing with his dagger, twisting it artfully between his fingers. Thorne continued with his task. When he had told Ben what those sacks were, the boy had turned excited and showed him his small book. After leafing through pages, Ben had shown him a particular page that detailed how to extract poison from various sources. Ben had been so excited and later had asked him to experiment with one of the sacks. Holding them both now, Thorne could feel the difference, one being lighter than the other. Thorne made a small cut on the full one and carefully squeezed the small gland. A drop of purple liquid fell on the serrated blade of his dagger. He repeated the process two more times until the blade was fully coated by the purple poison and then did the same with his second dagger. A sigh of relief escaped his lips as he placed the sacks back in his pocket. That small slip-up was enough to alert the man beneath him. He looked down, only to see the guard staring up, his eyes locking onto Thorne¡¯s. Thorne froze, but his cover was blown. ¡°Oh, shit!¡± CHAPTER 45 The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. CHAPTER 46 Thorne awoke to the sight of Ben¡¯s frantic gestures, the boy¡¯s hands moving urgently, silently pleading for him to wake up. His eyes cracked open, and notifications blinked insistently in his vision, a reminder that he¡¯d leveled up, though he barely registered them over the pounding in his head. He felt sore, hollow, and yet somehow heavier than before. But what truly seized his attention was the lifeless face of the gravedigger staring blankly at the ceiling. Character Level Up: Level 18! Skill Level Up: Aether Surge! Skill Level Up: Resilience! Ben shook him harder, his wide eyes brimming with fear as he tried to pull Thorne back to the present. Thorne caught the haunted look in Ben¡¯s gaze, a look that held relief, worry, and¡ªunsettlingly¡ªa flicker of something else: apprehension. Ben¡¯s expression had changed, as if he was seeing Thorne for the first time, and not entirely sure what he was looking at. But Thorne could barely hold Ben¡¯s gaze. His attention kept drifting back to the corpse on the floor, to the gravedigger¡¯s vacant eyes staring up into nothingness. His heart pounded heavily as he tried to process what he had done. Killing a beast to survive was one thing; he¡¯d come to terms with that long ago. But this? Killing a man was different, painfully so. He felt the weight of it pressing down on him, a realization that sent a sick feeling curling in his stomach. The blinking notification for his level-up seemed to mock him, a grim reminder that his newfound strength had been earned at the cost of another¡¯s life. He¡¯d become stronger¡ªbut the man¡¯s dead eyes seemed to ask: at what cost? He could still feel the chilling sensation of his spectral hands gripping the gravedigger¡¯s body, could almost hear the terrible grinding of bone, the bone-deep crack that had echoed through the room. The image replayed in his mind, vivid and raw, the sensation of power surging through him, of his own hands closing around the man¡¯s life and snuffing it out. His hand shook slightly, as though the energy of that terrible moment still lingered in his fingertips. And for what? The cold efficiency of the skill, that inhuman detachment, had felt as alien as it had powerful. The rush he¡¯d felt at that moment twisted now, leaving only guilt and a hollow sense of dread. Somewhere in the haze of thoughts, he remembered his mother¡¯s words, her voice grave as she¡¯d warned him about the elder races, those who had embraced conflict and strife to become stronger, to gain power at any cost. They abandoned peace for strength, she¡¯d said. They saw strength as worth the price of endless violence. He¡¯d brushed her words off then, thinking he was different, but now... he understood her grief more deeply than he ever had. Was he walking that path now, too? ¡°Thorne!¡± Ben¡¯s hands gripped his shoulders tighter, shaking him just slightly, trying to ground him, to draw him back. Thorne blinked, his gaze meeting Ben¡¯s, and felt a pang of shame at the worry etched across his friend¡¯s face. He had done this to protect Ben, to keep him safe. But the price of it weighed down on him like a stone. And now he¡¯d seen the fear in his friend¡¯s eyes¡ªthe same eyes that had once looked at him with complete trust. The hollow feeling gnawing at him had to wait. For now, Ben needed him. A low groan sounded in the room, a noise that jolted him fully awake. Thorne¡¯s gaze darted over to the first gravedigger, the one he had wounded. The man was stirring, his face twisted in pain but alive, his fingers twitching as he fought off the effects of the poison. The sight snapped Thorne into action. If they didn¡¯t move now, the chance of escape would slip through their fingers. ¡°Ben,¡± he whispered urgently, gathering his strength. He rose shakily to his feet, adrenaline overriding the numbness in his limbs. There would be time to confront what he¡¯d done, to face the weight of his actions¡ªbut only if they made it out alive. Thorne sat there for a moment longer, his heart pounding in his chest. The gravedigger''s lifeless eyes seemed to bore into him, a silent accusation that he couldn''t escape. He had done this. He had taken a life. The revulsion in his mother''s voice echoed in his mind, and he felt a deep sense of shame. He had become what she had warned him about¡ªa pawn in the cycle of strife and conflict. A tug at his sleeve brought him back. Ben¡¯s eyes were wide, pleading with urgency, snapping Thorne out of the spiral that threatened to consume him. He swallowed, trying to shove down the gnawing guilt. Focus, he reminded himself. He had to focus. He had to get Ben out of here, keep them both alive. But the darkness of what he¡¯d done would linger, a shadow clinging to him with every step he took. He stood, but his vision swam, a harsh reminder of his own weakened state. Exhaustion, blood loss, the raw, aching weight of too much aether¡ªall of it pressed down on him like lead. He steadied himself, forcing his focus back to the present. Falling apart could wait; survival couldn¡¯t. Ben staggered when Thorne helped him up, clearly still reeling from his own ordeal. They moved slowly toward the door, but Thorne couldn¡¯t stop his gaze from slipping back one last time to the gravedigger¡¯s body. The finality of it hit him, and he knew it would haunt him¡ªa reminder of what this power had cost him, a debt that couldn¡¯t be repaid. He felt sick, but there was no time to dwell on it. Their footsteps echoed faintly as Thorne retraced the path he had taken earlier, his body protesting with every step. Each jolt of pain was a fresh reminder of how close he¡¯d come to the edge, but he gritted his teeth and pushed on. They had to escape. But as they shuffled forward, Thorne began to notice the way Ben glanced at him, cautious and wary. Every time Thorne moved too quickly, Ben flinched, shrinking back as though he feared Thorne might turn on him next. Thorne felt a pang¡ªa raw, unspoken ache. Ben was afraid of him. He could see it in the way Ben never got too close, in the way his gaze darted nervously from Thorne to the shadows, expecting danger from every side. The bitterness settled in Thorne¡¯s chest, cutting deeper than any wound. He wanted to reassure Ben, but right now, all that mattered was keeping them both alive. They hurried along, the once-silent base now alive with sounds¡ªvoices and hurried footsteps echoing through the dark corridors. Thorne¡¯s anxiety spiked, his ears straining as he picked up a familiar sound: the ebony door they had just left creaked open. The gravedigger they had left behind was back on their trail. Desperation clawed at Thorne. They couldn¡¯t fight again; his body was spent, his reserves of aether drained. Another battle would end them both. He looked around wildly, searching for any way to stall their pursuer. His eyes landed on a flickering lantern nearby, resting on a stack of crates. A shaky plan formed in his mind. ¡°Go,¡± he whispered urgently to Ben, urging him forward. Ben hesitated for a moment, then nodded and shuffled ahead. Thorne grabbed the lantern, lifting it with trembling hands, and hurled it onto the crates. The flames sparked and licked at the wood, faint embers flickering as he held his breath, hoping they would be enough to ignite. Gritting his teeth, Thorne felt a surge of dread¡ªusing aether manipulation again was a gamble he couldn''t afford. His reserves were all but gone, leaving his body barely able to sustain itself. The idea of tapping further into that well sent a deep ache through him, a warning that he was at the edge of what he could endure. But he had no choice. This was the only chance they had. With trembling hands and a mind fogged by exhaustion, he focused, reaching out to catch the few remaining motes of red and orange aether dancing faintly in the air. Each mote felt like a grain of sand slipping through his fingers, elusive and stubborn. Gritting his teeth, he forced his will into them, channeling the dregs of his energy into the flickering flames. The corridor erupted in a fiery blaze, the sudden surge of heat and light momentarily blinding him. The explosion seared the walls, licking up the wooden crates and igniting anything flammable within reach. The intense heat rippled through the air, making it feel like the whole space was warping, bending under the force of the fire. Acrid smoke filled the air, stinging Thorne¡¯s eyes and making it hard to breathe.The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. A muffled sound of retreat¡ªhalf a gasp, half a curse¡ªdrifted from behind the wall of fire. Thorne glanced back to find Ben staring at him, eyes wide and face ashen. He looked at Thorne like he was a ghost, something half-formed and monstrous. ¡°Move!¡± Thorne barked, barely able to keep the urgency from his voice. There was no time to explain. They staggered forward, Thorne¡¯s legs a mess of burning aches, every step rattling his battered body. Each time they came upon a lantern, he grabbed it, tossing it onto the closest pile of flammable debris. The fires trailed behind them, merging into a growing blaze that hungrily devoured everything in its path, turning the corridors into a fiery maze. The flickering flames cast frantic shadows across the walls, filling the air with a hellish glow as they fled. Thorne¡¯s breaths came in ragged gasps, his lungs struggling against the heavy smoke, but he pushed on, spurred by sheer survival instinct. Ben trailed him, half stumbling, half running, and Thorne could see the terror etched into the boy¡¯s face. The flames, the collapsing stone, and the impossible intensity in Thorne¡¯s eyes kept Ben in motion, overriding his exhaustion with raw fear. Ben kept looking back, his gaze flicking from the spreading flames consuming the base behind them. But as they ventured deeper into the hideout, the sounds around them changed. The distant murmurs turned to hurried, panicked shouts, and Thorne''s chest tightened. Shouts, hurried commands, the clang of weapons¡ªall of it reverberated down the corridors, a brutal symphony that chilled him more than the flames could warm him. They hadn¡¯t encountered anyone directly, but the sounds told a story of their own. Finally, they reached the archway leading to the common area, the one Thorne had glimpsed earlier¡ªthe chamber filled with decaying bookshelves and splintered tables. But now, that quiet space had transformed into a chaotic battlefield. The cousins were there, faces set in grim determination as they clashed with the gravediggers, who had rallied against the unexpected invasion. The dusty shelves had become makeshift cover, tables flipped to form barricades, and the flickering lanterns threw erratic shadows over the scene, creating a hellish backdrop of struggle and desperation. Thorne and Ben crouched at the edge of the archway, watching as the cousins, armed with whatever weapons they could find, fought against the gravediggers with raw, fierce intensity. There were flashes of familiar faces, kids they knew, brothers and sisters from the streets. They fought with a ferocity born of desperation, knowing that if they failed, they would have no escape. Thorne huddled behind the column, pulling Ben in close as he took in the scene before them. The room was a battlefield, every corner filled with the clash of blades and bodies. The overturned tables and shattered glass glistened in the firelight, adding a sinister gleam to the debris strewn across the floor. Near the far wall, the bar was fully engulfed in flames, the fire casting wild shadows over the fighters and creating an oppressive heat that only added to the frenzy. As he watched, Thorne felt a surge of pride¡ªand a pang of guilt¡ªseeing the cousins fight with a unity and ferocity he hadn¡¯t expected. They moved together like a pack, covering each other¡¯s blind spots, using every dirty trick and evasive maneuver they knew. Despite their ragged appearance and lack of formal training, they attacked with a fierce desperation that even the gravediggers seemed unprepared for. These kids, most of them hardly more than street urchins, were holding their ground against trained killers. The gravediggers, thrown off by the onslaught, staggered under the unexpected resistance, their moves lacking the usual precision as they fought to regain control. Thorne¡¯s gaze swept over the familiar faces, catching sight of some of the older cousins he had grown up with. Their expressions were hardened, eyes steely with determination and a glint of something darker¡ªvengeance, perhaps, or the grim knowledge that they were fighting not just for victory, but for survival. Each cousin fought like they had nothing left to lose, a brutal reflection of the life they''d all led. He scanned the chamber, his mind racing through possible escape routes. Amid the chaos, he spotted a narrow, partially hidden passageway on the far side of the room. It led away from the raging fire, and it looked like it might open out onto the alleyway beyond the base. Thorne nudged Ben, pointing urgently. ¡°We need to make for that exit. Stay close, and keep your head down. Move when I do.¡± Ben¡¯s wide, frightened eyes met Thorne¡¯s, but he nodded, his lips pressed together in a line of fierce determination. Despite his exhaustion and fear, Ben seemed resolved to stick close, trusting Thorne to lead the way. Thorne shifted his attention back to the fray, studying the erratic pattern of the fight, waiting for an opening. Amidst the chaos, he spotted flashes of rogue skills¡ªskills he had only seen bits of during training. One cousin vanished in a swirl of smoke, only to reappear behind a gravedigger, driving a blade into the man¡¯s side with deadly precision. Another cousin fought with a flurry of swift jabs, darting in and out, just barely avoiding the blindingly fast slashes of a gravedigger¡¯s twin blades. It was a brutal, intricate dance, one that could end fatally for either side with a single misstep. The spreading fire intensified, the thick smoke curling up to the rafters and stinging Thorne¡¯s eyes. He stifled a cough, feeling the acrid burn claw at his throat. His body screamed for rest, for air, for anything but this relentless drive forward. He knew he was at his limit, but there was no turning back now. The fire was closing in, and the chaotic battle in the center of the room was only going to get worse. They moved carefully, staying as low as possible to avoid drawing attention. The sounds of the battle grew louder with every step, a cacophony of metal against metal, shouted curses, and the sickening thud of bodies hitting the ground. The fire had spread viciously, licking at the stone walls, throwing long, distorted shadows across the room, and filling the air with thick, acrid smoke that burned Thorne¡¯s eyes and clogged his throat. Thorne¡¯s Stealth skill was pushed to its very limit as they navigated through the melee, dodging combatants and slipping from shadow to shadow. His aether reserves were nearly drained, a hollow ache pulsing through him, but he ignored it, knowing that stopping meant death. They were so close to the exit, to freedom, he could almost taste the fresh air waiting beyond the flames and chaos. Just as they neared the edge of the room, a gravedigger¡¯s gaze snapped to them, his eyes narrowing with deadly intent. The man¡¯s dagger gleamed in the firelight as he lunged toward Thorne and Ben, his movements quick and brutal. Thorne¡¯s heart dropped¡ªhe was beyond exhausted, his body at its breaking point, and he knew he had no strength left to fight. But in the flash of a moment, just before the gravedigger reached them, a blur sliced through the air, intercepting the attack. Sid appeared from the shadows, a look of cold, calculated fury on his face. His blade moved with swift, lethal precision, parrying the gravedigger¡¯s strike and countering with a blow so fast Thorne barely saw it. The gravedigger stumbled back, his hands flying to his throat as blood poured between his fingers, and collapsed, his eyes already empty. Sid shot a glare at Thorne and Ben. ¡°Hide!¡± he barked, his gaze hard. ¡°Now.¡± Without hesitation, Thorne grabbed Ben¡¯s arm and pulled him behind a stack of overturned tables and broken chairs, forming a rough barricade between them and the chaos. They huddled together, breaths shallow, muscles tense, as they watched Sid wade back into the fray. Sid moved like a predator unleashed, his attacks a brutal dance of speed and deadly intent. A young gravedigger tried to counter, but Sid was always one step ahead, his rogue abilities giving him the upper hand. Thorne had seen him fight before, but never like this. Every step, every swing of his blade was ruthless and flawless, a testament to his years of training and experience. Thorne felt a mixture of awe and fear watching him, realizing just how far he still had to go. This wasn¡¯t just skill¡ªthis was survival, honed to a deadly edge. The fire Thorne had started earlier had reached the common area, joining the pockets of flames already there and consuming everything in their path. Smoke billowed thick and black, swallowing the air and driving combatants on both sides to retreat from the inferno, their focus shifting from the battle to simply staying alive. The heat was unbearable now, pressing in from all sides, and the air had become a choking haze. Thorne¡¯s own vision began to blur, his lungs desperate for clean air. Sid¡¯s blade flashed one final time, and the last gravedigger in his path fell, slumping to the ground without a sound. Sid didn¡¯t hesitate, spinning toward Thorne and Ben, his voice ringing with authority even through the roar of the flames. ¡°Stay hidden until it¡¯s safe,¡± he ordered, before plunging back into the mayhem, a storm of deadly precision. Thorne held his breath, clutching Ben as they crouched together in silence, the sounds of battle mixing with the crackle of burning wood and stone. Each second stretched into an eternity. Sweat poured down his face, stinging his eyes, and he could feel Ben trembling beside him. The heat was reaching intolerable levels, and he knew they couldn¡¯t afford to wait much longer. The entire chamber was turning into an inferno, the fire consuming even the grand elven architecture with merciless abandon, reducing ancient wood and stone to smoke and ash. He risked a quick glance over the edge of their hiding spot, scanning the room for any potential escape route. The fire had created small pockets of emptiness, forcing combatants to withdraw from certain areas. His mind raced as his Escape Artist skill nudged him forward, and he tried to piece together a path that might get them out of this hell. ¡°We need to move,¡± he whispered to Ben, barely able to hear his own voice over the roaring flames. ¡°Stay close to me and follow my lead.¡± Ben¡¯s face was ashen, but he nodded, swallowing hard as he looked at the blazing destruction around them. Despite the fear in his eyes, there was a determined set to his jaw. With one last glance at the chaos unfolding around them, Thorne took a deep breath, bracing himself against the searing heat. Then, clutching Ben¡¯s arm, he led them out of their hiding spot, weaving through the obstacles in their path, the flickering flames lighting their way as they made a desperate run for the exit. CHAPTER 47 He watched the raging battle unfold before him, an indistinguishable whirlwind of cloaked figures, each locked in a vicious dance of life and death. It was nearly impossible to tell allies from enemies as gravediggers and cousins clashed amidst the roaring flames and swirling smoke. Thorne, however, had little room for sympathy or worry over the bodies that fell. All he could think of was getting Ben out of this nightmare. Grabbing Ben''s arm, he pulled him forward, guiding him toward the exit he¡¯d come through. But as they approached, his stomach dropped¡ªthe doorway was blocked, a massive, toppled column sealing off their only familiar way out. Panic clawed at him, threatening to tear away what little control he had left, but he gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stay focused. Just then, a glimmer of hope caught his eye¡ªa narrow opening on the far side of the room, hidden in the shadows beyond the arched stone columns. It was a slim chance, but a chance all the same. He turned to Ben, who was shaking visibly but met Thorne¡¯s gaze with trust, holding back the terror in his eyes. "This way," Thorne whispered, leading him toward the archway. The path to their escape was a war zone. Gravediggers and cousins clashed in a brutal struggle, blades flashing and fists flying. Flames cast monstrous shadows on the walls, warping every face, every movement into something otherworldly and terrifying. But his escape artist skill buzzed to life, guiding his steps, alerting him to the safest route through the chaos. He spotted a narrow gap between two collapsing bookshelves, a slim path that led to relative shelter on the other side. "Stay low," Thorne muttered, pulling Ben along as they maneuvered through the maze of destruction. They ducked and squeezed through the narrow opening, feeling the searing heat from nearby fires licking at their skin, the acrid smoke stinging their eyes. His Escape Artist skill guided him, heightening his awareness to even the slightest dangers¡ªshifting debris, hidden gaps, falling beams. A notification blinked in his vision: Skill Level Up: Escape Artist! They crawled through the haze, moving with desperate speed. Thorne kept Ben close, guiding him around smoldering beams and past brutal skirmishes, his pulse thundering as they passed both friends and foes lying lifeless on the ground. The sight chilled him to the core. There was no stopping to check if they were truly gone or only injured. Survival left no room for hesitation. The fire intensified, filling the air with blistering heat and suffocating smoke, making it nearly impossible to breathe. Thorne felt his body weakening, his vision darkening at the edges from sheer exhaustion. Every step he took seemed to drain more of his energy, but he refused to slow down. They had come too far. Navigating through the debris, Thorne led Ben past obstacles that loomed like shadows in the smoky fog. Dodging falling beams and sidestepping burning remnants, they pressed on, with Thorne¡¯s skill guiding them through the danger. His instincts were sharp, but even they were no guarantee against the constant threats that flared around them. Just as they neared the archway, a gasp escaped Ben¡¯s lips¡ªa sound so strangled and raw that Thorne whipped around instantly. A gravedigger appeared out of nowhere, his mouth twisted into a smirk, eyes gleaming with cold malice as he twirled his shortsword with lethal precision. Thorne¡¯s heart plummeted. He could feel his own strength waning, knowing he didn¡¯t have enough left in him to face another fight. Then, out of nowhere, an arrow whistled through the thick, smoky air, striking the gravedigger square in the chest. The man staggered, shock and pain flashing across his face before he collapsed, his weapon clattering to the floor beside him. Thorne stared, bewildered, then quickly scanned the room, hoping to spot the archer. But amidst the chaotic battle, it was impossible to identify the source. The cousins and gravediggers continued their deadly clash, oblivious to Thorne and Ben. He took it as a sign of fortune, and with no time to spare, he tightened his grip on Ben¡¯s arm. ¡°Come on, don¡¯t look back!¡± he urged, steering Ben around the fallen gravedigger and towards the escape they so desperately needed. Another notification flashed in his vision: Skill Level Up: Escape Artist! Ignoring the ache in his limbs and the stabbing pain of his wounds, Thorne guided Ben through the chaos, slipping through the shadows and avoiding the burning wreckage. The flames were spreading faster, consuming everything they touched, and he knew they had only minutes left before the entire chamber would be engulfed. Their steps quickened, lungs burning as they pushed forward, driven by nothing more than survival and a slim hope. The path to the archway was a chaotic maze of flames, fallen bodies, and smoldering debris. Thorne¡¯s Escape Artist skill pulsed in his mind, guiding his steps with an almost instinctual precision, steering him through gaps and around obstacles that others might have stumbled over or missed. But the toll was beginning to show¡ªhis vision swam, his breaths came in painful, smoke-filled gasps, and every step felt like he was dragging the weight of a mountain. As they stumbled forward, Thorne spotted a narrow, half-obscured path leading towards the archway. The doorway was blocked by fallen beams and rocks, but it was their only hope. He glanced at Ben, whose face was streaked with soot and wide-eyed with fear but who met his gaze with a steady nod. They had no choice but to push on. "Hold on, Ben," he managed, his voice cracking through the haze of smoke in his lungs. "We¡¯re almost there." Thorne knelt and began clearing a passage through the debris, his hands raw and bleeding as he moved chunks of rock aside, his fingers gripping the rough edges despite the sharp pain. Each movement was agony, but he forced himself to keep going, his focus narrowed to this single task of survival. Ben crouched beside him, darting nervous glances around, ready to react to any sudden threat. Finally, he cleared a narrow passage wide enough for them to squeeze through. The flames cast an eerie, flickering glow on the stone walls, making the entire room feel like some nightmarish realm of shadows. For a moment, Thorne allowed himself a sigh of relief as he dislodged the last chunk of rock that freed enough space for them. "Go, Ben," he urged, his voice barely a whisper. He gave Ben a small, encouraging push through the opening, watching as the boy wriggled through the narrow gap. When Ben was safely on the other side, Thorne took a deep breath, ignoring the searing pain in his chest, and pushed himself through after him. On the other side, the sounds of the raging battle and the glow of the flames faded, replaced by the unsettling quiet of the dim corridor beyond. Thorne took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to clear the acrid smoke from his lungs. He looked at Ben, who stood trembling but unscathed beside him, eyes wide and haunted. "We¡¯re not safe yet," Thorne croaked, his throat raw. He took Ben¡¯s arm, helping him to his feet. "We need to keep moving. Find somewhere safe." Ben gave a small nod, his face etched with exhaustion and a glimmer of relief. They stumbled together through the dimly lit corridor, the remnants of battle sounds fading further behind with each step. Doors lined the elven walls, remnants of some forgotten age, but Thorne ignored them all, his focus set on finding a way out. His steps were shaky, his knees buckling every few paces, but he refused to let himself collapse. Not yet. As they shuffled through the corridor, the silence was broken only by their echoing footsteps, contrasting sharply with the chaos they¡¯d just left. They passed more pockets of conflict¡ªgravediggers and cousins locked in desperate struggles, fallen bodies strewn across the ground like grim markers. Thorne forced himself to look away, his thoughts fixated solely on getting Ben to safety. But his strength was nearly gone. Every step sent fresh waves of pain through his exhausted muscles, and his vision blurred at the edges, darkening ominously as his energy waned. Yet he pressed on, clinging to sheer willpower, ignoring his own injuries as he guided Ben forward. Finally, they spotted a half-collapsed doorway up ahead. Through the gap, Thorne glimpsed the cool night air and the shadowed, empty street beyond. Summoning the last of his strength, he guided Ben towards it, pushing through with a final burst of energy. They emerged from the hideout, the night air like a balm against their scorched skin. Thorne¡¯s knees buckled the moment they stepped outside, his body drained of every last ounce of strength. He staggered, nearly collapsing, but Ben was there, steadying him, his small hands gripping Thorne¡¯s arm with surprising strength. They had made it out. As soon as Thorne felt a wave of relief wash over him, he heard the unmistakable twang of a bowstring. Every instinct screamed at him, and he shouted, diving at Ben and pulling him to the ground just as an arrow whizzed past his head. Heart pounding, Thorne¡¯s wide eyes darted around, taking in the moonlit street with its eerie, deadly silence. Bodies lay strewn across the cobblestones, all pierced with arrows. The metallic scent of blood mingled with the smoke and the crisp night air, turning his stomach. Panic tightened its grip as his ears picked up the sound of another bowstring being drawn, this time closer.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. Thorne tried to move, but his battered body felt like lead. His limbs, aching and weak, refused to obey. Is this it? he thought, a wave of despair crashing over him as he braced for the worst. Just then, a figure stepped out from the shadows, frantically waving their arms. "It''s Thorne! It''s Thorne and Ben! Lower your bows!" The voice cut through the tension, loud and urgent. Thorne squinted, struggling to focus. It was Darius. Relief hit him like a flood, loosening the tight knot of fear in his chest. ¡°Thank the gods,¡± he muttered, his voice barely a whisper. Darius jogged over, signaling to the hidden archers to stand down. "Are you two alright?" he asked, his face etched with concern. In the dim light, his usually broad and sturdy shoulders seemed to carry an even heavier weight. Thorne nodded, though his head felt heavy and his breaths were shallow. "Barely," he managed. "We have to get out of here." He winced as he forced himself to stand, his legs trembling under the strain. Ben, still trembling from the close call, clung to Thorne¡¯s arm, supporting him as best he could. Darius stepped in, draping one of Thorne''s arms over his shoulders and bearing most of his weight. Together, they moved down the darkened street, away from the hideout, leaving the smoldering ruin behind them. Darius guided them to a side alley where Eliza and Rafe were waiting anxiously. As Thorne took in the scene, he noticed two older cousins stationed at the mouth of the alley, bows drawn and eyes locked onto the hideout¡¯s entrance. Another pair mirrored them at the opposite end, their concentration sharp, expressions steely as they watched for any sign of pursuit. In the shadows, the small group huddled close, breaths visible in the cool air, a mixture of exhaustion and tension weighing on them. Darius eased Thorne down against the wall, where Ben quickly settled beside him. Thorne closed his eyes for a moment, letting himself simply breathe as relief mingled with the ache of fatigue. Darius crouched down beside him. ¡°We need to stay here for a while. The others are keeping watch,¡± he murmured, nodding toward the archers who stood guard at each end of the alley. Thorne nodded, still piecing together the events that had led them here. He looked up at Darius, a frown pulling at his brow. ¡°What¡¯s going on, Darius? Why are so many cousins here?¡± He hesitated, the memory of Uncle¡¯s harsh words filling his mind. ¡°Last I heard, Uncle wanted nothing to do with the gravediggers¡¯ business.¡± Darius shrugged, glancing around the alley to ensure no one was within earshot before meeting Thorne¡¯s gaze. ¡°I don¡¯t know all the details myself. We were out here, keeping an eye on things like we promised, and then the older cousins showed up.¡± He paused, expression conflicted. ¡°They didn¡¯t say much, just that they¡¯d been sent to wipe out the gravediggers. Seems like Uncle had a sudden change of heart.¡± Eliza, her wide, fearful eyes still darting between the hideout and Thorne, chimed in. ¡°I overheard a bit. They mentioned something about Uncle finally having enough of the gravediggers¡¯ troublemaking. Maybe they crossed some line, and he finally snapped.¡± Rafe, leaning casually against the wall with his arms crossed, gave a slight nod. ¡°We don¡¯t know much more than that, Thorne. They just told us they had orders to clean out the base. We figured it was best to stick together and help where we could.¡± He shrugged, though Thorne didn¡¯t miss the flash of unease in his eyes. A low murmur of agreement rippled through the group, a grim acceptance of their situation. One of the archers at the mouth of the alley turned his head just enough to acknowledge them, his gaze still trained on the hideout''s entrance. "Yeah, word is Uncle decided it was time to put an end to their games. They¡¯ve caused too many problems, and we¡¯ve lost too many cousins already.¡± Thorne frowned, trying to piece together the reasons behind his uncle¡¯s sudden change in attitude. ¡°But why now? What changed?¡± His tone held a faint edge of bitterness; he knew better than to think his uncle had done this for him. He had shed that illusion a long time ago. Darius shook his head, his face unreadable. ¡°I don¡¯t know. Maybe something finally pushed him over the edge. All I know is we were given orders, and we¡¯re following them.¡± Eliza¡¯s voice was a quivering thread in the tense silence. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter why. What matters is we¡¯re taking them down. They¡¯ve terrorized us long enough.¡± Her voice held a hint of defiance, though her trembling hands betrayed her nerves. Thorne let out a sigh, leaning his head back against the cold, rough wall behind him. His body felt like it had been wrung dry, every muscle at its breaking point, the adrenaline finally fading to reveal just how battered he was. Sharp, unrelenting pain shot through his chest with every breath, and his limbs felt leaden. Every inch of him was a mess of bruises, cuts, and exhaustion. Blood trickled down his side, warm and sticky, a painful reminder of how close he had come to not making it out at all. He closed his eyes, letting the sounds of the ongoing battle fade into the background, a distant cacophony of shouts, cries, and the occasional twang of a bowstring. His mind was a blur, a chaotic swirl of exhaustion and relief. He heard the faint rustle of movement as Darius and Rafe crept towards the edge of the alley to get a better view of the fight. Eliza huddled close to Ben, who had been unsettlingly silent ever since they¡¯d joined the others. Thorne could feel Ben¡¯s eyes flicker toward him now and then, but each glance was quick, as if Ben was afraid to really look at him. Thorne knew that expression too well: it was the look of someone who had seen something they couldn¡¯t unsee. In that silence, Thorne felt the weight of Ben¡¯s unspoken questions pressing down on him. He knew that eventually, he¡¯d have to explain¡ªto try, at least, to make sense of what had happened, of the things he¡¯d done. But now was not the time. Survival came first, and the guilt¡­ he¡¯d push it aside, for now. He couldn¡¯t afford to let it consume him here. Instead, he decided to take stock of himself. Despite the exhaustion clouding his mind, he needed to see what he¡¯d gained from tonight¡¯s ordeal. After everything he had endured¡ªthe countless skills, the brutal fight, and the strain of channeling aether¡ªhe needed to know it had meant something. He summoned his character sheet, his vision filling with rows of blinking notifications. As the text blurred before him, a flash of the dead gravedigger¡¯s face crossed his mind, the empty stare burned into his memory. A cold dread surged up, gripping his chest. No, he told himself, forcibly tearing his thoughts away. Not now. Not here. He forced himself to focus on the present. He needed to see the fruits of his struggle, to know that it had all been for something. The words blurred together, his mind struggling to process the information through the haze of pain and exhaustion. Thorne¡¯s eyes scanned over his character sheet, the notifications blinking insistently in his vision. But what should have felt like progress, like proof of survival and growth, felt hollow. Name: Thorne Level: 18 Race: Human Age: 9 Special Trait: Elder Race Health points: 194/510 Aether: 180/290 Stamina: 123/520 Strength: 30 Agility: 46 Dexterity: 43 Endurance: 52 Vitality: 51 Spirit: 55 Wisdom: 29 Intelligence: 30 Skills: Aether Skills: The words blurred together as the hollow feeling in his chest grew, twisting his insides as he stared blankly at the sheet. His skills and stats had risen¡ªproof of his survival, of what he¡¯d fought through. He could almost see Sid¡¯s smirk, hear him saying this was all just part of the journey. But the lifeless eyes of the gravedigger were still seared into his mind, and he felt anything but victorious. One more level¡­ for taking a life. Instead of pride, an ugly weight settled in his chest, like a stone pressing down on his lungs. He couldn¡¯t shake the image of the gravedigger¡¯s lifeless eyes, staring through him as if accusing him of something he couldn¡¯t explain. The memory sat heavily in his mind, refusing to fade, and he could almost feel the man¡¯s gaze boring into him. A pang of nausea rose in his stomach. His breaths came in short, shallow bursts, and a cold sweat beaded on his forehead as the weight of his actions finally hit him. Blood was on his hands, and it was more than he could bear. Eliza whispered his name softly. Her voice broke through the fog in his mind, and a hand shook his shoulder. He bolted upright, stumbling over to a shadowed corner of the alley, where he doubled over, retching until nothing was left. The sharp sting of bile burned his throat, the only thing breaking the oppressive silence that had surrounded him. A hand rested gently on his back, rubbing in slow, calming circles. Thorne blinked, his vision swimming, and found himself staring into Ben¡¯s steady gaze. He hadn¡¯t even noticed the boy approach. Kindness and understanding reflected in Ben¡¯s eyes, a depth of empathy that caught Thorne off-guard. Thorne''s heart clenched, his pulse racing in his ears. In that moment, he couldn¡¯t hold back the sting of tears. He gasped for air, the grief, the guilt, and the exhaustion washing over him like a wave, each emotion crashing harder than the last. His vision blurred, and he felt his stomach lurch again, wracked by another wave of nausea. Ben¡¯s hand remained on his back, anchoring him. Even after Thorne finished retching, his friend''s hand stayed, a grounding presence amidst the whirlwind of shame and confusion. The simple, reassuring weight was like a lifeline, reminding him that he wasn¡¯t entirely alone in this mess, no matter how alone he felt inside. Finally, after several long, silent moments, the nausea passed, leaving Thorne hollow and spent. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, swallowing the bitter taste that lingered. His body shook with the last remnants of adrenaline and shock, his mind still grappling with the enormity of what he¡¯d done. Ben, without a word, handed him a small, worn cloth. Thorne accepted it with a trembling hand, using it to clean himself up, grateful for the quiet understanding that needed no words. ¡°Thank you,¡± Thorne whispered, his voice hoarse and raw. Ben nodded, his gaze steady, his silence offering Thorne more comfort than words ever could. There, in Ben''s unwavering gaze, was something new¡ªa promise that Thorne wasn¡¯t as alone as he thought, a promise of support. The promise was wordless, but to Thorne, it was everything. CHAPTER 48 Thorne slumped against the attic wall, the ache in his bones finally settling in as he let himself relax, the tension he¡¯d been carrying seeping away with each breath. The soft morning light crept over the room, highlighting the dust motes swirling gently in the air, making everything seem oddly peaceful¡ªalmost as if the events of the night had been some feverish dream. But the lingering smell of smoke clinging to their clothes and the dull throb of his injuries reminded him that it had been all too real. Jonah¡¯s soft, rhythmic snores filled the space, grounding him further in the quiet of the moment. Thorne took a moment to study his friend¡¯s sleeping face, the cuts and bruises on Jonah¡¯s skin standing out sharply against his pallor. Ben was seated beside Jonah, carefully examining his friend¡¯s injuries, his fingers barely grazing the cloth bandages. Thorne noticed the gentleness in Ben''s touch, as if he was handling something precious. When Ben finally settled down beside him, Thorne caught a glimpse of something heavy in the boy¡¯s eyes¡ªa quiet sorrow, mixed with exhaustion that seemed to go beyond the physical. Ben had been unusually quiet the entire journey back, his gaze distant as they¡¯d walked. Now, leaning back against the attic wall, his eyes looked unfocused, almost haunted. Thorne wondered if the silence was Ben¡¯s way of processing what he¡¯d witnessed, but he couldn¡¯t find the words to ask, not yet. They had all seen and endured too much, and now the silence was the only balm they had. Thorne¡¯s mind drifted to Sid. He¡¯d scanned every soot-covered face on their way out of the Old District, searching for that familiar, scowling expression, that confident stride. But Sid hadn¡¯t been there. His heart twisted at the thought of his mentor lost in the inferno, but he forced it down, telling himself that Sid was too resilient to fall so easily. He had to be. The alternative was a void he didn¡¯t want to confront. After a while, Thorne and his friends left at the urging of an older cousin, who looked ready to keel over from exhaustion. The older cousin''s face was etched with lines of worry and fatigue, his clothes tattered and stained. Eliza and Rafe separated from them to go to the sewers and inform the rest of the cousins who had sought refuge there about what had happened. Thorne let his head fall back against the wall, the rough wood pressing uncomfortably into his bruised skin, but it was grounding in a way he hadn¡¯t expected. Darius¡¯s heavy, steady footsteps still echoed in his mind. Thorne had been grateful for his presence, even though he¡¯d told Darius repeatedly they¡¯d be fine on their own. The older boy hadn¡¯t taken no for an answer, though, and Thorne suspected he¡¯d known that the reassurance of his strength was exactly what they¡¯d needed. Darius had walked them back to the attic with silent determination, his broad shoulders shielding them from whatever might still be lurking in the shadows. When they¡¯d reached the attic, Darius had offered a quick nod before retreating into the streets, his weary figure disappearing into the morning mist. Thorne couldn¡¯t help but think of the grief in his eyes, the exhaustion etched deeply into his face. The cousins had lost so many. The surviving cousins were few, too few. Thorne had seen dozens fighting the gravediggers, but only a handful managed to escape the inferno. It was a loss that left a hollow ache in his chest, one that he couldn¡¯t yet comprehend. Beside him, Ben¡¯s breathing had slowed, and Thorne felt their rhythms sync as they both let the weight of the night settle over them. The sound of Jonah¡¯s snores was a balm, a reminder that they were safe, even if only for now. Thorne closed his eyes, allowing himself to relax just a little more. The attic¡¯s musty scent, the familiar creak of the floorboards, and the gentle warmth of the first light wrapped around him, pulling him into a fragile peace. His mind drifted, lingering on fleeting memories¡ªthe distant cries of the battle, the feel of Ben¡¯s trembling hand in his as they¡¯d moved through the burning wreckage, the bodies of cousins and enemies alike strewn across the blood-soaked ground. But here, in the attic, all of it felt far away, as if the night had been swallowed by the dawn. He could still feel Ben¡¯s gaze on him every now and then, cautious yet steadfast, as though he was trying to understand something he couldn¡¯t quite put into words. Thorne didn¡¯t have the strength to face that gaze fully, not yet. But he felt a small comfort in knowing that Ben was there, that despite everything they¡¯d seen and done, they were here together, for however long this calm would last. Thorne took a steadying breath, feeling his chest tighten as he prepared to speak. "Ben, there''s something I need to tell you," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. He kept his eyes shut, unable to face his friend. "I¡­ I¡¯ve already formed my core. I have skills¡ªmagical skills.¡± The words spilled out in a rush, each one peeling away a layer of the carefully guarded secret he''d held close. This was the first time he¡¯d ever voiced it aloud, a truth he hadn¡¯t even dared to speak to himself. He wasn¡¯t sure if he was doing the right thing, but after everything Ben had witnessed tonight, there was no hiding it anymore. The fear of Ben¡¯s reaction twisted inside him, yet he felt a strange relief too, like a prisoner seeing light after years in the dark. ¡°I¡¯ve been hiding this for so long,¡± he continued, his fingers unconsciously twisting around the pendant his mother had left him, a comforting weight against his chest. ¡°When I was younger, I realized I could do¡­ things, things other people couldn¡¯t. So I started training in secret, hoping to get stronger.¡± A small sound told him Ben was moving around the room, the soft scrape of his feet barely audible in the quiet attic. Thorne¡¯s heart raced, torn between relief and the sharp fear of rejection. But the floodgates were open now, and he couldn¡¯t stop the words from spilling out. "My past¡­ it¡¯s complicated. My mother was like me. She had powers, too." His voice grew faint, choked with emotion as he continued, "But she was killed, along with everyone else in my family. I had to run, leave everything I¡¯d known behind. I ended up here, where Uncle eventually found me." Ben remained silent, but the gentle rustling sound of dried flowers being crushed filled the room. Thorne took a shaky breath, pressing forward. "Since then, I¡¯ve kept who I am hidden, trying to act like I¡¯m¡­ normal. But I¡¯ve always known I¡¯m different. And now¡­¡± He paused, swallowing hard, his gaze fixed on his hands. "Now, I don¡¯t even know if I¡¯m doing the right thing anymore." A quick glance revealed Ben calmly mixing ingredients into a small jar of water, his face unreadable, his movements careful and precise. Thorne frowned, feeling the silence stretch, but he pressed on, his voice barely steady. ¡°I¡¯ve used my skills to survive¡ªto fight. But tonight, I killed someone, Ben. A person, not just an animal. It¡­ it changes things. It changes me.¡± The weight of his own admission pressed down on him like lead. Ben didn¡¯t say a word, just continued mixing the contents of the jar. Thorne forced himself to keep going, feeling as though he had to get it all out. ¡°My family¡­ their deaths, it was my fault. I showed my powers to the wrong person. I was just a kid, but it didn¡¯t matter. They found out, and they came for us. I wasn¡¯t strong enough to protect them.¡± The tears he¡¯d held back stung his eyes, but he blinked them away. "That¡¯s why I have to hide it all now. If people find out¡­ it could happen again. And I can¡¯t lose anyone else." Ben didn¡¯t respond right away, but then he knelt down in front of Thorne and held out the small jar he¡¯d been working on. He mimed drinking, his face calm but kind, urging Thorne without a word. Hesitantly, Thorne took the jar, peering at the bits floating within. With a half-hearted shrug, he lifted it to his lips and drank. Warmth bloomed down his throat, spreading through his chest and easing the tightness that had settled there. A soft sense of peace settled over him, soothing the jagged edges of his thoughts. When he finally looked up, he found Ben¡¯s steady gaze fixed on him, his eyes clear and understanding. Something unspoken passed between them, a quiet reassurance that Ben was here, that he understood in ways words could never fully express.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! ¡°Thank you,¡± Thorne whispered, his voice rough, not only for the calming potion but for the silent acceptance. Ben nodded, a faint smile curving his lips. The silence between them felt lighter now, filled not with unspoken fears but with quiet solidarity, a bond strengthened by secrets shared and burdens lessened. For a long moment, they sat together in the quiet stillness of dawn, the soft glow of morning light filling the room and casting warm, golden hues across the dusty floorboards. The air was thick with unspoken words, but neither boy broke the silence. It was a rare moment of peace after the chaos of the night. Then, without a word, Ben reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, folded piece of paper. He handed it to Thorne, who took it with trembling fingers, uncertain of what he was about to see. As he carefully unfolded it, he found a simple drawing¡ªa child''s sketch, rough but deeply meaningful. Two small figures stood side by side, holding hands. The lines were uneven, the figures a little smudged, but to Thorne, it was perfect. Ben gestured to himself and then to Thorne, his gaze steady. The message was unmistakable. We¡¯re in this together. Thorne swallowed hard, his vision blurring with unshed tears as Ben pointed to his heart, then mimed turning a key in a lock. The promise in that gesture was unmistakable. Whatever secrets Thorne had to bear, they were safe with Ben. The boy¡¯s loyalty was unshakeable, his compassion unclouded by fear or doubt. Thorne felt a surge of emotion so powerful it left him breathless. It was more than gratitude; it was a deep, unbreakable bond forged not just in friendship, but in trust and understanding. Ben knew everything now¡ªthe darkness, the power, the mistakes¡ªand still, he was here, offering his silent vow of solidarity. Thorne''s hands clenched the drawing, holding it as if it were the most precious thing in the world. His voice shook as he managed to whisper, ¡°Thank you, Ben. I¡­ I don¡¯t know what I¡¯d do without you.¡± This time, the words were laden with a fierce conviction, a certainty he hadn¡¯t felt in a long time. Ben''s hand moved to Thorne''s shoulder, squeezing it gently, a wordless reassurance that he was here, no matter what. Thorne blinked, letting the tears slip silently down his cheeks, unashamed. The quiet understanding between them was deeper than any words could convey. In that moment, as the dawn broke around them, Thorne realized he wasn¡¯t alone in this burden. Whatever the future held, they would face it together. And for the first time since he had fled his old life, he felt a sliver of hope, fragile yet steadfast, warming him from within. * Thorne sat on a rooftop near the harbor, watching the sun dip below the horizon. Red, gold, and yellow hues painted the sea in beautiful colors. It was his favorite and most painful time of day. Every time he saw these colors, the scene of that fateful morning replayed in his mind, replaying his parents'' deaths. Screams and the terrifying sound of metal echoed in his mind. He absently played with his pendant, feeling its worn edges press into his palm, as though it alone could anchor him to the present. The distant caw of seagulls and the murmur of the crowd below had faded long ago from his mind. All his thoughts focused on his parents and Bea. Telling the truth to Ben, while liberating, had opened up a wound he had thought had scabbed over. Somewhere in the background, seagulls cried, but their sounds were as distant as the crowd below; Thorne was far away, lost in his memories. In his distraction, he didn¡¯t hear the soft approach behind him, and he nearly jumped out of his skin when a voice broke the silence. ¡°I¡¯ve been looking for you all over the city.¡± Thorne twisted around, his heart racing, and found Sid perched next to him, his gaunt face partially hidden in shadow. A new scar traced a jagged line from his ear to his throat, angry and red against his pale skin. ¡°You¡¯re alive,¡± Thorne murmured, exhaling a breath he hadn¡¯t realized he¡¯d been holding. Sid¡¯s mouth twisted into a small, familiar smirk. ¡°I¡¯m not so easy to kill.¡± Thorne¡¯s chest tightened unexpectedly. Relief washed over him, mixed with something close to gratitude, though he couldn¡¯t quite understand why he felt that way. When did this rough, often cruel man become a steady presence in his life? The feeling was unsettling, but he pushed it aside, returning his gaze to the last glimmers of sunlight on the water. Sid broke the silence first, his voice unusually gentle. ¡°You¡¯re a stubborn little shit.¡± Thorne couldn¡¯t help but let out a short, surprised laugh, and it sounded strange in the heavy air, almost foreign after everything that had happened. They both turned their attention back to the horizon, a quiet understanding settling between them. After a pause, Thorne ventured, ¡°I thought¡­ I thought you weren¡¯t going to come to the gravedigger¡¯s base.¡± Sid shrugged, his fingers tracing the edge of his new scar absentmindedly. ¡°I didn¡¯t think you¡¯d actually go through with it.¡± He paused, pulling a bottle from his cloak and taking a long, deliberate swig. ¡°But I kept an eye on you, just in case. When I saw you really going in¡­ well, I knew I had a small window of time.¡± Thorne¡¯s brow furrowed. Sid¡­ had followed him? He struggled to reconcile that with the callous indifference Sid usually displayed. Sid continued, ¡°I wasn¡¯t about to face the entire gravedigger gang alone. So, I ran to Uncle. Told him we¡¯d located the hideout and convinced him we could hit them hard with a surprise attack. He wasn¡¯t thrilled,¡± Sid added with a dry laugh, ¡°Too wrapped up in his precious schemes to consider it. But when I reminded him how much of a threat they posed, he finally gave the go ahead. I gathered every cousin I could find, and we launched the attack.¡± He took another swig, his eyes distant. ¡°We weren¡¯t ready,¡± Sid admitted, his voice hollow in a way that Thorne had never heard. ¡°If we¡¯d been better prepared¡­ maybe fewer cousins would¡¯ve died. You helped, unknowingly, with the fire. Added to the chaos. But we¡¯re weakened, Thorne. The gravediggers may be gone, but we¡¯re still left scrambling, licking our wounds.¡± Thorne absorbed Sid¡¯s words, his stomach knotting as he thought of the cousins who hadn¡¯t made it out. The faces he¡¯d seen in battle, resolute and determined, flickered through his mind, now replaced by the memory of bodies scattered in the embers. ¡°We lost most of the senior cousins in the battle, and we will have to quickly regroup before a new gang rises to power. Uncle¡¯s new influence will surely help." Sid paused, and his eyes flicked back to Thorne, his gaze sharp and searching. ¡°But the old man¡¯s furious,¡± he said, his voice steady. Thorne shifted, uncomfortable under Sid¡¯s stare. ¡°Is he mad at me?¡± The question slipped out, soft and small, and he cursed himself for how weak it sounded. No matter how much he tried to shake it, a part of him still craved his uncle¡¯s approval, even feared his wrath. Sid shook his head, his gaze unwavering. But there was something unreadable in Sid¡¯s eyes that made Thorne¡¯s heart sink. ¡°Then why?¡± Thorne pressed, his voice barely more than a whisper. Sid hesitated, his eyes drifting to the horizon, where the last sliver of the sun vanished, leaving only darkness. ¡°Last night was a win, but a costly one. Uncle¡¯s grand plans, what he¡¯s spent years building, took a hit that he wasn¡¯t prepared for. In a single night, they¡¯ve come crumbling down, and he¡­¡± Sid¡¯s voice trailed off, but Thorne already knew the answer. He dropped his gaze to his hands, clasped tightly around his pendant. ¡°And he... blames me.¡± Thorne supplied for him, feeling his shoulders hunch over. Sid pinched the bridge of his nose, looking almost weary. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t say that¡­¡± he muttered, sighing. ¡°But I¡¯d avoid him for the time being.¡± Thorne nodded slowly, trying to gauge his own reaction. To his surprise, the news barely registered; he¡¯d expected nothing less from his uncle. Sid hesitated, the usual sharp edge of his gaze softened slightly. ¡°I told him about your part in the raid¡­¡± Sid¡¯s voice wavered, and for a fleeting moment, Thorne could have sworn he caught a glimpse of regret there. ¡°I told him you were the one who found the base. That you went in alone, rescued your friend, and¡­ well, set fire to the whole damn place, which¡ªironically¡ªhelped us win.¡± He let out a mirthless laugh that held more bitterness than humor. ¡°I thought it¡¯d calm him down,¡± Sid went on, rubbing a hand over his scar. ¡°You know how he gets when he¡¯s angry¡­¡± His words trailed off, and Thorne shuddered at the reminder of his uncle¡¯s volatile fury. ¡°My words had¡­ an unintentional effect,¡± Sid added, his expression darkening. He glanced at Thorne, then quickly looked away, his mouth opening as if he were about to say more, only to close again in silence. There was something on his face¡ªa flicker of uncertainty, maybe guilt¡ªthat made Thorne¡¯s stomach twist. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Thorne asked, the worry creeping into his voice. Sid¡¯s gaze drifted to the distant horizon before he stood up, and his expression hardened into something resolute and cold. His usual air of indifference was gone, replaced with a quiet intensity that set Thorne on edge. ¡°From tomorrow, we resume your training,¡± he said, his tone carrying a weight Thorne had never heard before. ¡°No more playing around. No more games. None.¡± Thorne frowned, unease pooling in his stomach. He didn¡¯t understand the sudden change in Sid¡¯s demeanor, but there was a raw edge to the man¡¯s voice that made his skin prickle with apprehension. ¡°I¡­ understand,¡± he murmured, even though the words didn¡¯t seem to lessen the chill creeping down his spine. He wasn¡¯t sure what had changed, but something had, and he could feel it like a shadow creeping over his shoulder, bringing with it an unshakable sense of foreboding. CHAPTER 49 5 years later Thorne perched on a sturdy branch of a massive oak, his eyes locked on the elk beneath him. The beast pawed at the ground in agitation, huffing as its wide eyes scanned the surroundings for the unseen predator. The elk''s iridescent scales shimmered in the dappled sunlight filtering through the dense forest canopy. This wasn¡¯t just any hunt. Thorne had tracked this particular elk for over a week. Its horns alone would fetch a hefty price, but it was its scales¡ªglittering and kaleidoscopic¡ªthat truly made it valuable. Alchemists paid a premium for aether beast hides, and elk scales of this quality were rare. He¡¯d never forget Jonah¡¯s expression when they¡¯d first brought a hide like this one back to the alchemist¡¯s shop. The man had been beside himself, practically frothing at the mouth with excitement. Unfortunately, the alchemist hadn''t been able to cover the cost of the purchase. But Jonah, with his newly formed core and the slew of merchant skills he had unlocked after years of managing Thorne''s transactions, managed to make a deal with a new alchemist that opened the door to more lucrative opportunities. The excitement in Jonah''s eyes when he had first seen the iridescent scales, the way he had immediately seen their potential value. Jonah¡­ A wry smile tugged at Thorne¡¯s lips. In the years since their early dealings, Jonah had grown just as skilled in his own way, mastering the art of negotiation and trade, turning Thorne''s hunting skills into a profitable venture for them both. Thorne¡¯s gaze returned to the elk, the thrill of the hunt stirring his blood. His senses were keener than ever, sharpened by years of training and hard lessons. He had grown taller, his frame lean and sinewy, every muscle trained to precision. His once-boyish face had given way to sharper features, a jaw hardened by experience, and eyes that missed nothing. Perched in the oak, he moved with the quiet ease of a shadow, balancing on the balls of his feet. His Stealth skill was active, rendering him nearly invisible to the elk¡¯s heightened senses. Each step was precise, each breath controlled, as he crept closer to his target. A misstep would cost him everything, but Thorne had learned the value of patience. He could see the tension in the elk¡¯s frame¡ªthe twitch of its ears, the shift of its weight. This was no ordinary animal; as an aether beast, it sensed him even now, its muscles coiling in readiness. He had tracked it meticulously, learning its patterns and habits, understanding its territory. The thrill of the hunt coursed through him, a familiar yet exhilarating sensation. The past five years of rigorous training had honed his skills and sharpened his instincts. His movements were fluid and controlled, thanks to the countless hours spent with his mercurial trainer. Even now, he could feel Sid¡¯s voice in the back of his mind: Take your time. Breathe. Let the prey fall into your rhythm. He could have used one of his aether-based skills to end the fight in seconds, but that wasn''t what this hunt was about. He wanted to train his new skills, and the lumbering elk was the perfect target. His skill, Critical Eye, allowed him to see the beast''s weak points¡ªits eyes, neck, and joints. Unfortunately, the skill was still low-leveled, and the red-highlighted areas were a bit too large to be of any real help. Still, he needed to level up the skill, so he kept it activated even though it consumed aether like Darius ate meat pies after each training session with the guards. With quiet, calculated steps, Thorne shifted his weight on the thick branch, crouching low for balance as he raised his left arm. With a flick of his index finger, he pushed the small lever of the tiny crossbow tied to his wrist. The short bolt flew with a hissing sound, causing the elk to freeze. The beast had no time to react as the bolt found its mark. Thorne swore under his breath when he saw the bolt clatter harmlessly to the forest floor, even though it had hit the red area highlighted by his Critical Eye skill. He took a steadying breath and raised his other hand, loosing another bolt. The elk let out an earth-shattering roar that shook the tree he was perched on. The second bolt had struck true, and blood and fluids flew from the beast''s eye. The elk staggered but didn¡¯t fall. Wild aether pulsed around it, shimmering like a dark aura. The ground shook as jagged stone spikes erupted, encircling the elk protectively. Thorne allowed himself a slight smirk, watching from his safe perch above. The panicked creature tried to bolt, only to catch itself on the vicious spikes, which tore gashes along its gleaming scales. Thorne winced, knowing the damage would reduce the hide¡¯s value. Unfazed, he drew two small throwing knives from his belt, releasing them in quick succession. The first knife bounced off the thick hide, but the second sank into the beast¡¯s knee joint with a sickening thud. The elk let out a pained snarl, its weight shifting precariously as its leg faltered beneath it. Pleased with his attack, Thorne decided to take the fight to the ground. From past experience, he knew the elk couldn''t use its aether skill for the next ten minutes or so. His body contorted as he jumped end over end and landed lightly on his feet, absorbing the impact of the fall with his bent knees. He ran, circling the beast before it could even register his presence, and threw another knife. This one hit the joint of the hind leg but didn¡¯t deal serious damage. A notification appeared in his vision. Skill Level Up: Throwing Daggers! With every throw, his stamina took a hit, but he had more than enough to keep going like this. He wasn''t going to, though. Picking up speed, he weaved through the rocky spikes with a graceful maneuver. He unstrapped his long dagger from its sheath on his thigh, ideal for close combat, and used his Backstab skill. He struck with precision, driving the dagger deep into the creature''s leg. The impact was devastating¡ªthe elk¡¯s leg buckled, and it fell to the ground in a crash of dust and scattered stones. Thorne darted back, narrowly avoiding the creature¡¯s massive antlers as it tried to retaliate. He threw another knife aimed for its throat, but like before, the blade merely glanced off its scales. ¡°So this is how it¡¯s gonna be, huh?¡± he muttered, gripping his long dagger with a renewed resolve as the elk turned its fierce gaze on him, blood dripping from its injured eye. ¡°Don¡¯t look at me like that,¡± Thorne murmured, keeping his voice low and steady. The elk reared its head, swinging its antlers in a wide arc, the wickedly sharp tips slicing through the air toward him. In one fluid motion, Thorne dropped low, rolling beneath the creature¡¯s attack, and sprang back to his feet, mere inches from its vulnerable, extended neck. He activated his Lethal Flurry skill, feeling a surge of energy course through him as the skill took hold. His arm became a blur, the blade in his hand a glinting arc of steel slicing through the air. Each strike landed with ruthless precision, carving deep gashes into the elk¡¯s flesh, scattering iridescent scales across the ground like broken glass. Blood spattered his face and arms as he relentlessly carved up the creature, his blade moving faster than thought, driven by his new skill. Each strike drained his stamina at an alarming rate, his reserves dwindling with each heartbeat. By the time he staggered back, his breathing was ragged, his limbs heavy from the lack of stamina points. The elk wheezed, its chest heaving as it drew in a final, shuddering breath. Its body sagged, its ruined face and torn hide the results of his new skill. Thorne took a step back, waiting for the familiar notification that would signify a level-up. But as the seconds ticked by and the only sound was his own labored breathing, a hollow sense of frustration settled over him. No notification flashed before his eyes, no sign that he¡¯d grown stronger from the kill. He swallowed down his disappointment, letting out a weary sigh. Ever since reaching level 30, every advancement had felt like an endless climb up a mountain, every step demanding more effort than the last. The infrequent hunts, and the relentless schedule of grueling training sessions with Sid, had made it even harder to level up. Wiping the blood from his face with the back of his hand, Thorne pulled up his character sheet. Name: Thorne Level: 31 Race: Human Age: 14 Special Trait: Elder Race Health points: 830/830 Aether: 540/540 Stamina: 850/850 Attributes: Skills: Aether Skills:Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. He couldn¡¯t deny that Sid¡¯s demanding training yielded incredible results. He couldn¡¯t remember the last time his body didn¡¯t hurt somewhere or sporting a healing bruise shooting agonizing pain every time he moved. His progress, however, was undeniable, he was no longer the scared kid that trembled at the first sight of an aether beast. Hours of training, and long days of hunting had turned him into a deadly threat. Thorne crouched beside the beast, his breath still heavy from the exertion. He had grown a lot over the past five years, not just in skills but also in understanding the complexities of hunting these aether beasts. Each hunt had taught him something new, adding layers to his experience and making him more adept at anticipating the behaviors and capabilities of his prey. His muscles, once scrawny and underdeveloped, were now well-defined and strong, the rigorous training with Sid and the countless battles he had endured made sure of that. The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm golden glow through the forest canopy. The air was thick with the scent of pine and earth, mixed with the metallic tang of the elk''s blood. Thorne glanced around, ensuring no other predators were drawn by the noise and scent of the kill. His senses, sharpened by years of training, were on high alert. Even in moments of triumph, there was no room for complacency. He wiped the sweat from his brow, leaving a streak of blood across his forehead. The forest was silent now, the sounds of the elk''s struggle and his own grunts of exertion fading into the background. Thorne felt a pang of guilt as he looked at the lifeless eyes of the elk. It was a magnificent creature, and taking its life was never an easy task. But he knew it was necessary for survival and growth. With a final sigh, Thorne began the task of skinning the beast, his movements slow and meticulous as he removed the iridescent scales one by one. Each scale gleamed with an otherworldly light, as though it held a sliver of the forest''s magic within it. He worked carefully, handling each piece as though it were made of glass¡ªeach scale was worth a small fortune, and they shimmered with colors that would captivate any merchant or alchemist. As he worked, Thorne''s thoughts wandered to Jonah and their growing partnership. Jonah had become an invaluable ally, his sharp mind for business perfectly complementing Thorne''s own skills. They had built a reputation as a reliable team: the hunter and the merchant. Each successful trade and contract brought them a step closer to realizing their goals, and he could almost picture Jonah''s wide-eyed excitement when he saw the scales from this hunt. A faint smile touched his lips at the thought. His hands continued moving with practiced ease, fingers working to expertly separate the scales from the creature''s flesh. Years of experience showed in his deft, quick movements; there was no hesitation, no wasted motion. The scales made a satisfying clink as they fell into his pouch, each one reminding him of the coins he soon would collect. After he finished, Thorne paused, looking down at the elk''s remains¡ªits once-powerful form now reduced to little more than bones and remnants of flesh. For a moment, he lowered his head in silent respect. He had developed this habit over time¡ªa quiet ritual of gratitude to the beasts that sustained him. The whispered thank you was his way of coping with the reality of his actions. Standing, he secured the pouch full of scales, feeling the weight of his haul against his side. He wiped his hands on his pants, streaking them with blood and dirt, then scanned the darkening forest around him. With the scent of blood in the air, he knew he had a chance to lay an ambush for any creature drawn to the carcass. He had a few hours to spare and could always use more ingredients and hides to trade. Thorne climbed into the branches of a massive oak, perching comfortably on a wide, sturdy bough. As he lounged, he pulled out a small slice of blueberry pie from his pack, taking a bite as he watched the forest with keen, alert eyes. He crossed one boot over the other, settling in and whistling a tune he''d heard in the tavern the night before. His senses were attuned to the forest sounds, and he only heard the soft footsteps because he was actively looking for any sign of a predator. At first, he thought it was just the rustle of leaves. His keen hearing didn''t disappoint him, and before too long, four figures emerged from the dense undergrowth. Thorne froze, immediately activating his Shadow Meld skill. The identity of the four figures was unmistakable¡ªthey were elves. Each one wore the same leather armor, intricate and beautifully crafted, a blend of metal and natural materials that flowed around their forms like water, as though the metal had been woven rather than forged, adorned with intricate silver leaf motifs. A green cloak blending seamlessly into the forest around them, was tied at the neck with a pin shaped like an oak tree. They held longbows made of pale white wood, with arrows at the ready and they moved with the quiet precision of hunters born to the wild. The elves moved gracefully, their features strikingly beautiful and their stature tall and lean. Their eyes, like gems of different hues¡ªemerald green, sapphire blue, golden yellow, and onyx black¡ªseemed to pierce through the foliage, scanning for any disturbance. Their pointed ears twitched slightly, picking up sounds imperceptible to human ears. Thorne''s heart pounded in his chest. He knew he had to stay completely still. The elves'' senses were sharp, and even the slightest movement could give away his position. He watched as the elves continued to inspect the area, their movements precise and deliberate. One of them, a younger elf who looked jittery, let his arrow fly at the sound of a rustle, but it was only a rabbit. The arrow struck the ground with a soft thud, startling the small creature, which darted away. "Luinan!" The leader whipped around, his voice carrying a soft yet unmistakable reprimand. "Control yourself. We are not here to hunt rabbits." The young elf looked abashed, lowering his bow as a faint blush colored his high cheekbones "Sorry, Captain Elendil. I thought¡­ I thought it was something larger." Elendil''s silver-gray eyes narrowed, irritation evident in his expression. "We can''t afford mistakes like that. Stay focused." The other elves exchanged looks¡ªone arching an amused brow, the other rolling his eyes. Thorne guessed they¡¯d seen Luinan make mistakes like this before. Yet even in their silent jest, their alertness never wavered. They were utterly in sync, their discipline like that of a pack of wolves. Their every movement seemed rehearsed, their senses continuously attuned to their surroundings. ¡°Elion.¡± The leader said pointing at the dead aether beast. The tall elf with glistening emerald eyes and hair that shimmered like spun silver, approached the elk¡¯s body with careful steps. He crouched down, his fingers lightly tracing the wounds. Thorne¡¯s stomach twisted as Elion¡¯s gaze sharpened, the elf¡¯s nostrils flaring as he examined the kill. ¡°Thalas, could this have been the work of one of our own?¡± Elion¡¯s voice was quiet but filled with curiosity, his gaze fixed on the carcass. Thalas, whose piercing blue eyes seemed to miss nothing, shook his head, his features solemn. ¡°If it were one of ours, the kill would have been cleaner. They would have taken the meat, maybe even the bones. This¡­ this is not our way. And whoever did this was sloppy with their strike,¡± he added, his voice tinged with faint disapproval. ¡°This was no elven kill.¡± Captain Elendil turned to Thalas, his sharp gaze softening with trust. ¡°What do you sense?¡± Thalas leaned closer to the ground, inhaling the air in a deep breath. His eyes narrowed, his face grim as he looked up. ¡°A human,¡± he murmured, the word carrying a quiet disdain. At his pronouncement, the elves stiffened, their expressions darkening. Luinan¡¯s face twisted with anger. ¡°A human dared to enter our forest? They¡¯ve broken the treaty.¡± Elendil¡¯s hand clenched at his side, his gaze scanning the trees with renewed intensity. ¡°Their audacity is boundless,¡± he said, his voice as cold as a blade. ¡°But if there is a human here, they will answer for this trespass.¡± Thorne, still hidden among the thick branches, tried to make sense of what he¡¯d overheard. A treaty? He¡¯d never heard of any treaty between elves and humans, and he certainly hadn¡¯t known he was crossing into forbidden lands. As far as he knew, the forest was simply a dangerous place filled with aether beasts and ancient ruins, a place only the foolhardy dared to enter alone. But hearing the elves speak, it was clear they viewed any human in their woods as a trespasser¡ªand not just any trespasser, but an invader. How long have I been crossing this invisible line without knowing it? he wondered, his mind racing as his eyes scanned his surroundings. The realization that he¡¯d unwittingly trespassed on sacred elven land made him feel exposed, vulnerable in a way he hadn¡¯t felt in years. He shifted his gaze to his aether reserves, his heart sinking as he watched the numbers drop faster than he¡¯d anticipated. Shadow Meld was draining him dry, and he only had a few precious minutes left before his concealment would falter entirely. Below him, Elendil¡¯s voice held a cold authority that sent a shiver down Thorne¡¯s spine. ¡°Our orders are clear. Any human found within our borders is to be dealt with swiftly. We cannot allow them to think they can intrude upon our lands without consequence.¡± Thorne watched as the younger elf, Thalas, clenched his jaw, his sapphire-blue eyes flashing with barely restrained anger. ¡°The humans have forgotten that this forest was part of our kingdom¡ªof Thal¡¯Dorei. They seized Alvar from us and drove us out of our own lands, and now those filthy intruders have the gall to desecrate our sacred groves?¡± Luinan, still visibly shaken from his earlier mistake, darted glances into the shadows. ¡°What if there are more of them? What if they think they can come and go as they please?¡± Elion, the green-eyed elf, placed a steadying hand on Luinan¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Remain calm, Luinan. We¡¯ll handle any intruders. But you¡¯re right. We must report back to Commander Thalion. Patrols have been lax. We¡¯ve been... forgiving,¡± he said, his tone laced with contempt. Luinan sighed but straightened his posture, standing tall under Elion¡¯s scrutinizing gaze. ¡°Yes, Elion. I understand.¡± Elendil gave a curt nod, his sharp eyes scanning the forest one last time. ¡°We¡¯ll split up and search the area. Keep alert and report any sign of intrusion.¡± Thorne held his breath as the elves moved away, each one dissolving into the shadows with an eerie, almost supernatural grace. Their hatred for humans was unmistakable; their resentment hung in the air like an unspoken curse, their words echoing in his mind long after they¡¯d vanished. He¡¯d always known this land once belonged to the elves, but hearing them speak of Thal¡¯Dorei¡ªtheir lost kingdom¡ªfilled him with a new understanding. To them, the forest wasn¡¯t just land; it was a piece of their shattered past, and humans were the ones who had taken it from them. As the last rustle of leaves settled into silence, Thorne let out a shaky breath. He¡¯d kept himself hidden, but his body trembled from the strain, his muscles taut from remaining still so long. Even now, he was afraid to let his guard down, afraid one of the elves might still be nearby, waiting. He could still see Elendil¡¯s sharp gaze, the way it seemed to pierce through the forest. It had been a narrow escape. When he felt sure they were gone, he finally released the draining Shadow Meld, a weary sigh escaping his lips as his aether reserves steadied. He waited a few moments longer, reactivating his Stealth skill just in case, watching the forest for any sign of movement, his heart still racing. Minutes passed, then hours until he finally found the courage to move. CHAPTER 50 Thorne walked through the unattended western gate, his thoughts still consumed by his encounter with the elves. He had been incredibly lucky all these years not to run into any scouting party. The new threat posed a significant problem for him. Hunting aether beasts was his main source of income. Without it, neither he nor Jonah would be able to get any coins. Would he risk it and continue his hunting or abandon it altogether? The dilemma gnawed at him as he made his way through the bustling streets of Alvar. The familiar sights and sounds of the city were a comforting backdrop to his racing thoughts. He weaved through the crowded marketplace, the vendors shouting about their wares, the scent of freshly baked bread mingling with the less pleasant smells of the city. He nodded absentmindedly at a few acquaintances, his mind elsewhere. Eventually, he reached the tavern where his friends were waiting. He pushed open the door to the tavern and stepped inside, his eyes adjusting to the warm, flickering light. The familiar smell of ale and roasted meat filled the air, and the sound of laughter and clinking mugs created a lively atmosphere. Darius was the first to spot him, his towering frame making him hard to miss. The young man, now a recruit in the city guard, was hard to miss with his broad shoulders and muscular build. He waved Thorne over with a boisterous grin. "Thorne! Took you long enough!" Thorne smirked and sauntered to their table. Darius, ever the loud and kind-hearted protector, clapped him on the back with enough force to nearly knock the wind out of him. "You look like you¡¯ve been through hell, mate. What happened?" He glanced at Ben, who was sitting quietly, a book on alchemy open in front of him. Ben¡¯s round face lit up with a smile when he saw Thorne, but there was a hint of worry in his eyes. Ben was the first to notice something was off. His Silent Communication skill allowed him to convey his concern without words. Thorne responded with a small, reassuring nod. "I¡¯ll explain later," he mouthed. All three of his friends had successfully formed their cores, each unlocking unique skills that reflected their personal experiences and innate inclinations. These skills were not just random abilities but manifestations of who they were¡ªtheir struggles, their growth, and the paths they had walked to get here. Darius, with his years of training as a city guard, had unlocked skills that made him a force to be reckoned with in combat. His abilities enhanced his reflexes and endurance, and he had also developed a skill that allowed him to assess an opponent¡¯s fighting style almost instantly. Jonah, on the other hand, had unlocked a range of practical skills tied to his work as a shopkeeper. His core granted him an uncanny knack for negotiation, inventory management, and even a skill that let him gauge a customer''s intent with a single glance. Ben, however, was an enigma. As far as Thorne knew, Ben had unlocked only a handful of skills. Silent communication was one, an ability that allowed him to convey his thoughts without speaking¡ªa trait he often used to great effect. His other skills were modest but useful, focused on identifying and understanding herbs, their properties, and their uses. Turning back to the conversation, Thorne gave Darius a smug look and shrugged. ¡°Nothing I couldn¡¯t handle.¡± He casually dropped into a chair, propping his boots up on the table and threw the bag full of scales with satisfaction. ¡°What you got there shortie?¡± Darius asked about to open the bag. Thorne slapped his hands away and shook his head looking around meaningfully. Thorne smirked, leaning back in his chair. "I''m taller than Jonah now," he said, nodding towards Jonah, who was engrossed in a parchment. "And it''s not my fault if you have the blood of giants in you." Darius laughed again, curling his arm to show off his muscles. The black tunic and pants of the city guard strained against his bulging biceps. "No one dares bad-talk me with these," he said, flexing for effect. Jonah barely glanced up from his parchment, his hawk-like nose almost touching the paper as he studied the tiny script. Darius rolled his eyes and slapped the back of Jonah''s head lightly. "Pay attention, man. Thorne''s here." Jonah blinked and looked up, adjusting the mugs he had placed on either side of his parchment to keep it from curling. "Oh, hey, Thorne. Got caught up in this. You know how it is." Thorne chuckled, shaking his head. "Always working, Jonah. Take a break once in a while." Ben, who had been sitting quietly, suddenly perked up. He rummaged through the bag strapped to his waist and pulled out a small vial. He handed it to Thorne with a hopeful look in his eyes. Thorne gulped, knowing that Ben''s potions often had unexpected side effects. "What''s this one supposed to do?" he asked, taking the vial. Ben gestured excitedly, indicating that it was something new he had been working on. Thorne sighed and uncorked the vial, downing the contents in one gulp. Almost immediately, pimples sprouted on his hands, changing colors from blue to green to yellow. "Great," Thorne muttered, watching the colorful display on his hands. Ben quickly flipped through his alchemy book, his fingers moving frantically over the pages. He found the right entry and rummaged through his bag again, pulling out some herbs. He handed them to Thorne, gesturing for him to chew. Thorne obliged, grimacing at the bitter taste. After a few moments, the pimples began to fade. "Thanks, Ben. Maybe next time, test these things on something else first?" Ben grinned sheepishly and nodded, making a note in his book. As Thorne settled in, Gilly, the barmaid, approached with a steaming bowl of stew. She set it down in front of him with a smile. "For our resident hunter. Eat up, Thorne." "Thanks, Gilly," Thorne said, digging into the stew. He savored the rich, hearty flavors, letting the warmth spread through him.The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. "So, how''s training going?" Thorne asked Darius between bites. "The senior officers still giving you a hard time?" Darius shrugged, a confident grin on his face. "Not anymore. They know better than to mess with me now." He flexed his muscles again for emphasis, causing the others to laugh. They chatted about this and that, talking about their daily lives. Ben was frustrated with Jonah because he refused to buy him some expensive alchemy ingredients. Darius was grumbling because he had to beat up some merchant for having scammed Jonah and Jonah... was reading his long list full of items, jotting down words. Thorne couldn¡¯t help but ask, ¡°what are you doing?¡± Jonah didn¡¯t seem to hear him, too absorbed in his task and Darius slapped his head again. Jonah, finally noticing the attention, grumbled as he rubbed his head. "Can you guys stop slapping my head? I¡¯m trying to work here." Darius smirked and gave Jonah a light punch on the shoulder. "Lighten up, Jonah. There¡¯s more to life than coins." Jonah gave a pained squawk and glared at the larger boy. ¡°Not if I want to open a shop!¡± His eyes rounded in greed when he spotted the large bag that clinked when he took it. He opened the string and then tied it quickly and with a large smile he turned to Thorne. ¡°Do you have anything else for me?¡± Thorne arched an eyebrow and considered playing with him but then his mood sobered and unslung the pair of antlers from his belt. Jonah quickly scooped the antlers with his hands throwing a worried glance around and hid them in a bag at the feet of his chair. Thorne''s thoughts drifted back to the elves. He leaned forward, his expression turning serious. "I ran into something today. Elves." The table fell silent, the jovial atmosphere dissipating in an instant. Jonah looked up from his parchment, his eyes wide with surprise. "Elves? Here?" Thorne nodded. "They found one of my kills and they were immediately on alert. I was able to remain hidden, but my presence tipped them off. It''s a miracle I''ve been able to hunt there for so long without running into them." Darius frowned, his hand unconsciously gripping the handle of his mug. "That''s going to make things difficult for you, isn''t it?" "More than difficult," Thorne replied. "Hunting is my main source of income. Without it, we''re going to be in trouble." Jonah sighed, leaning back in his chair. "We''ll figure something out. We always do. Besides if things go according to plan, we won¡¯t have to rely only on your kills." Ben tapped the table to get their attention, then pointed to a passage in his book. Thorne leaned over to read it, realizing Ben was suggesting they look into alternative ways to make money, possibly through alchemy. Thorne smiled. "Thanks, Ben. That might be a good idea. But we''ll need to think it through." Darius leaned back, stretching his arms. "Well, whatever happens, you know we''ve got your back, Thorne.¡± Jonah nodded, already scribbling notes on his parchment. "And I''m working on expanding our operations. If we can get a shop, it''ll help us stabilize our income." Thorne felt a surge of gratitude for his friends. They were all growing, finding their paths, but they still had each other''s backs. He glanced at Ben, who was watching him with a thoughtful expression. He was sure that the boy was already thinking of recipes to test so that he could sell them for some profit. He sighed, the weight of the day''s events settling on his shoulders. "Thanks, guys. I appreciate it. We''ll figure it out, one way or another." Thorne shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "There''s something else. The elves mentioned they had orders to kill any humans trespassing their borders. They were pretty adamant about it." Jonah''s brow furrowed, and he muttered a curse under his breath. "The dead gods really have it in for us, don¡¯t they? We¡¯re so close to getting enough coins for the shop, and now this." Darius scratched his chin, his expression thoughtful. "Maybe I should inform my watch captain about this. If there are elves actively patrolling, it could be a problem for more than just you, Thorne." Thorne quickly shook his head. "No, Darius. If you tell the guard, they''ll start patrolling the forest too, making it even harder for me to hunt. We can''t afford to lose that income just yet." Darius nodded slowly. "I see your point. But we need to be careful. Elves don¡¯t mess around. If they catch you, they won''t hesitate to kill. I have heard horror stories from the guards. They say that just last year they had captured one of the recruits and when they returned him, he had a beak for a nose and a tail that he kept stepping on and falling on his face!" His horrified expression turned into a frown when he saw the others giggling. ¡°Oh Darius!¡± Jonah exclaimed, ¡°you are so gullible!¡± Jonah¡¯s snickers died with a pained yelp when the larger boy put him in a head lock. ¡°Will you stop hitting me!¡± Jonah wheezed out making both Ben and Thorne double over in laughter. Gilly returned, refilling their mugs with ale. She gave the boys an admonishing look. "Boys stop playing around and eat your food.¡± She gave Thorne an encouraging smile, ¡°if you need anything else dear, just call.¡± Thorne smiled back, grateful for her kindness. "Thanks, Gilly. I''ll keep that in mind." As the night wore on, the conversation shifted to lighter topics. Ben showed Thorne another one of his potions, and Thorne gulped, having had enough of being Ben¡¯s test subject, and yet he couldn¡¯t turn him down. This time, it was a potion to enhance strength temporarily. Thorne downed it and felt a surge of power, but his hands turned bright blue. "Seriously, Ben?" Thorne laughed, showing his hands to the group. Ben quickly flipped through his book, his face red with embarrassment, and handed Thorne another vial to counteract the effect. Thorne was just finishing his stew when the door to the tavern swung open, drawing everyone''s attention. Rafe walked in, his usual arrogant swagger evident in his every step. He scanned the room briefly before heading to a table in the back, where a group of older cousins sat. Darius leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "Look who decided to grace us with his presence." Jonah glanced over, his eyes narrowing. "Rafe. Haven''t seen him around much lately." Ben tapped Thorne''s shoulder and pointed subtly towards Rafe, then made a series of quick gestures with his hands. Thorne nodded, understanding Ben''s silent communication. "Yeah, he''s been hanging out with that older crowd more and more," Thorne said, watching Rafe carefully. "I wonder what he''s up to." Darius shrugged, taking a long drink from his mug. "Probably trying to impress them. He always did have a thing for being the center of attention." Jonah nodded, his expression thoughtful. "He''s ambitious, I''ll give him that. But I don¡¯t trust him. He''s too eager to climb the ranks, and with the wrong crowd, that can be dangerous." Thorne frowned, glancing back at Rafe. "You think he¡¯s getting involved in something shady?" "Wouldn''t surprise me," Darius said, his voice low. "He¡¯s always had a chip on his shoulder. Wants to prove he¡¯s better than everyone else." Ben made another series of gestures, his eyes full of concern. Thorne translated for the group. "Ben thinks Rafe might be getting in over his head. And he''s right. We should keep an eye on him." Jonah sighed, rubbing his temples. "Great. Just what we need¡ªanother problem to deal with. As if the elves and our financial troubles weren''t enough." The group fell silent for a moment. Thorne glanced around the room, his eyes scanning the faces of the older cousins as they held a whispered conversation. Everyone seemed to be carrying their own secrets. "Speaking of problems," Thorne said, breaking the silence, "has anyone seen Eliza lately? I haven''t seen her in a while." Darius shook his head. "No, not for a few days. She¡¯s been avoiding everyone, I think. Seems like she¡¯s dealing with something, but she won¡¯t talk about it." Jonah looked up from his parchment, his expression serious. "She¡¯s been acting strange for a while now. Always looks like she''s in pain, and she''s paler than usual. I¡¯m worried about her." Ben nodded, his eyes filled with concern. He gestured to Thorne, indicating he had noticed the same thing. Thorne sighed and turned to Ben, ¡°I¡¯ll look for her once I have the time.¡± He looked around the table and his half empty ale with a longing look and said standing up. ¡°And on that note, I have to go. Sid is waiting for me.¡± Darius and Jonah both groaned while Ben took out of his bag a potion that he showed to him as if to say, it''s waiting for you. Thorne grimaced, ¡°let¡¯s hope I won¡¯t need it.¡± All three boys laughed. CHAPTER 51 Thorne stood alone in the dim, cavernous warehouse, the familiar training ground where he had spilled more sweat and blood than he cared to count. The air held the stale, thick scent of old wood and faint traces of metallic tang¡ªa testament to countless sessions spent sharpening his skills under Sid¡¯s grueling instruction. Thin streams of moonlight spilled in from high windows, casting long, distorted shadows that stretched across the empty space, pooling into pockets of darkness. Thorne took a deep, steadying breath, trying to center himself. Ever since his encounter with the elves, a coiled tension had taken root inside him, a nervous energy he couldn¡¯t shake. Tonight, he hoped, would offer some release. He began his usual preparations, methodically checking his weapons as he always did before training. His fingers moved quickly over his daggers, ensuring each one was securely fastened to his belt, then adjusted the straps on his wrist crossbow with practiced ease, loading it with a bolt. His mind strayed as he worked¡ªfirst to the unsettling encounter in the forest, then to Eliza and his friends, and finally to the brewing tension that seemed to pulse through the city itself. He clenched his jaw, forcing his focus back to the present, to the familiar task of preparing for combat. Just as he finished, a sound reached him, faint but unmistakable¡ªthe soft tread of footsteps, multiple sets, approaching. Thorne¡¯s muscles went taut, and his hand moved instinctively to the hilt of his daggers. He strained his ears, counting three distinct pairs of feet, each moving with a predatory precision that set his instincts on high alert. His pulse quickened as he scanned the shadows. From the darkness, three figures emerged, led by a tall, imposing man Thorne had never seen before. The stranger exuded a quiet but dangerous authority, his movements smooth and controlled, like a coiled snake. Behind him, two others lurked, their faces obscured beneath black cowls, merging with the shadows as if they were born from them. Thorne¡¯s eyes narrowed, his grip tightening on his daggers. "Who are you?" he demanded, voice low but unwavering, hiding the tension that rippled through him. This wasn¡¯t an ordinary training session, and these weren¡¯t people Sid would have introduced lightly. Every fiber of his being told him to be ready. The lead man stopped a few paces away, an amused smirk curving his lips. "I¡¯ll be handling your training tonight," he replied in a smooth, detached tone that felt chillingly casual, as though he were discussing an insignificant task rather than a direct confrontation. Thorne¡¯s jaw clenched. "Where¡¯s Sid? What have you done with him?" The man¡¯s eyes gleamed with thinly veiled impatience, his smirk growing colder. "Sid is... otherwise occupied. But don¡¯t worry," he continued with a hint of mockery, "his absence is temporary. Your focus," he added, letting the weight of his words settle, "is here. With me." He gestured to the empty floor. "Show me what you¡¯ve learned." The demand hung in the air, leaving Thorne feeling a mixture of anger and unease. This stranger¡¯s confidence was unnerving, as if he already knew what Thorne was capable of and felt assured he could handle it with ease. Before Thorne could even gather his thoughts, the man unsheathed a short sword, the gleaming blade cutting through the dim light like a silent threat. Thorne barely registered the shift before the man lunged at him, moving with a deadly grace that took Thorne by surprise. Instinct kicked in, years of Sid''s brutal training coursing through his body as he dodged the initial strike, his daggers rising defensively. The clash of steel rang out, echoing through the warehouse as they engaged in a fast, brutal rhythm. The man pressed forward, his attacks relentless, each strike flowing into the next with practiced ease, forcing Thorne on the defensive. Thorne''s thoughts raced, each move calculated, yet he couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that he was being toyed with. The man¡¯s strikes were controlled, measured, as if he were testing him, prodding him to reveal weaknesses. Thorne tried to focus, analyzing the man¡¯s style, searching for patterns in his movements. But his opponent¡¯s technique was flawless, seamless¡ªa disturbing blend of grace and power. Every time Thorne spotted what seemed like an opening, the man deflected his strikes with effortless precision. Frustration bubbled beneath Thorne¡¯s surface. He could sense the man¡¯s confidence, almost feel the mocking satisfaction radiating from him, as if he already knew the outcome and was simply prolonging the inevitable. When the man feinted left, then struck from the right, his blade sliced toward Thorne¡¯s shoulder. Thorne twisted his body, narrowly evading the strike and responding with a quick slash aimed at the man¡¯s midsection. The man sidestepped, his eyes never wavering, locked onto Thorne with a calculating intensity that sent a chill down his spine. ¡°Is this all you have?¡± The man¡¯s voice was calm, almost bored, yet it carried a mocking edge that made Thorne¡¯s blood boil. Thorne¡¯s anger flared, but he fought to keep his focus. He wanted to unleash the full extent of his skills, the ones he had honed in secret, the ones that could turn this fight in his favor. But he couldn¡¯t afford to reveal them now, not with the man watching his every move so closely. He couldn¡¯t risk exposing his true capabilities¡ªwhatever reason Sid had for sending this man, he was certain it was a test. He feinted with his right dagger, aiming a genuine attack with his left, but the man parried both blows effortlessly. Thorne gritted his teeth, frustration gnawing at him. This man wasn¡¯t just fighting; he was dissecting Thorne¡¯s every move, gauging him. He could see it in the man¡¯s eyes, a glint of amusement that only deepened Thorne¡¯s irritation. He lunged again, using the speed and agility he¡¯d spent years developing. But his strikes were met with a calm, almost lazy defense, each movement of the man¡¯s blade precise and effective, draining Thorne¡¯s stamina with every failed attempt. The truth was undeniable: this man wasn¡¯t here just to spar. There was a contained power in him, a restrained violence, as though he could end this fight in a heartbeat if he wanted to. Each clash of their blades sent a jolt through Thorne¡¯s arms, his muscles straining against the mounting fatigue. His breath grew ragged, the strain of holding his ground against the man¡¯s ceaseless attacks taking its toll. He knew he couldn¡¯t keep this up much longer. Sweat dripped down his face, mingling with the dust and grime of the warehouse floor. The man lunged again, his blade a blur. Thorne¡¯s instincts kicked in, and he blocked the strike just in time, though the impact sent him stumbling backward. Desperation clawed at his mind as he fought to recover, but the man was already moving, his sword flashing as he delivered another series of quick, brutal strikes. Thorne barely held his ground, his defense wavering, the realization creeping in that he couldn¡¯t win this fight by brute force alone. His thoughts scrambled for a strategy, anything that would turn the tide. He¡¯d learned to endure Sid¡¯s grueling, merciless training; he¡¯d survived encounters with aether beasts and outwitted foes. But this was different. This man was a different level of danger, an opponent who wasn¡¯t here to play games. Thorne''s mind raced, searching for a way out. He knew he had to end the fight soon, before his strength gave out. He took a deep breath, centering himself, and waited for the right moment. When the man struck again, Thorne feinted left, then spun right, pouring every ounce of his speed into the movement and driving his dagger toward the man¡¯s side. The blade found its mark, grazing the man¡¯s ribs just enough to draw a thin line of blood. It wasn¡¯t much, but it was something. The man hissed, his eyes narrowing to slits, a glint of irritation flickering in them. ¡°Not bad,¡± he muttered, his voice holding an edge of disdain. ¡°But I expected more from you.¡± Thorne didn¡¯t respond, his breath steady, his heart pounding in rhythm with the fight. He¡¯d drawn blood, but his small victory seemed to unlock something in the stranger¡ªa cold, merciless intensity. In an instant, the man¡¯s entire demeanor shifted, his strikes becoming sharper, faster, like a blade honed to deadly precision. Thorne found himself barely able to keep up, his senses straining as each movement forced him further back. The reality hit him hard: this man was beyond anything he¡¯d ever faced. Stronger, faster, and somehow even more dangerous than Sid. The revelation sent a ripple of dread through him.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. The man¡¯s technique was nothing like Sid¡¯s raw, street-forged ferocity. His movements were measured and elegant, his strikes swift and exact, as if each one had been planned moments before Thorne could even see it coming. Thorne was locked in a losing game of speed and skill, struggling to anticipate a single move in time to respond. It was as if the man could see the intentions in Thorne¡¯s eyes before he even committed to an action, like he was reading his mind. A flash of frustration surged within Thorne. He fought to recall every lesson Sid had drilled into him, every counter and tactic he had practiced until his muscles ached. He tried feints, parries, even quick slashes intended to break his opponent¡¯s focus, but each attempt was absorbed, deflected, or sidestepped with the ease of swatting away an insect. Thorne¡¯s daggers felt slow, clumsy, against the man¡¯s blade, which moved with a fluidity that was as awe-inspiring as it was terrifying. It was like fighting a storm¡ªa precise, calculated force of nature. The stranger transitioned from one stance to another with an otherworldly grace, each attack seamlessly flowing into the next. Thorne felt a disorienting sense of being swept up, as though he were no longer a participant but a spectator watching himself lose. His opponent was relentless, exploiting the smallest lapse in Thorne¡¯s guard, punishing him for even the slightest hesitation. It was dizzying, each attack timed to perfection, each blow designed to wear down his strength and break his defenses. Desperation clawed at him, and in a final, reckless attempt to tip the balance, Thorne launched into an advanced combination Sid had forced him to master. He dropped low, aiming for the man¡¯s legs, then spun upward in a high thrust targeting his chest. It was one of his best moves¡ªa sequence that had turned the tide in his favor more than once. But the man evaded the low slash with a step that seemed almost too easy, then deflected the high thrust with a flick of his wrist, sending Thorne stumbling back. The stranger didn¡¯t even look rattled. He cocked his head slightly, a trace of boredom slipping into his gaze. ¡°You¡¯ve got spirit,¡± he remarked, his voice calm and unbothered, almost as if he were addressing a child. ¡°But spirit alone won¡¯t save you.¡± Thorne¡¯s heart twisted with frustration. How many opponents had he faced before this? He had survived Sid¡¯s brutal training, outmaneuvered Sid¡¯s informants, fought wild aether beasts, even taken down gravediggers. And yet here he was, feeling like a novice all over again, his hard-earned skills reduced to futile swings and clumsy dodges. This man wasn¡¯t even tapping into any visible skills or aether manipulation¡ªhe was relying solely on raw talent and experience, as if he knew that would be more than enough. The stranger¡¯s swordsmanship was flawless, each strike a perfectly executed lesson in discipline and control. He seemed to glide around Thorne, his movements sharp and mesmerizing, a symphony of speed and precision. Thorne barely had a moment to react as a barrage of strikes rained down, each blow forcing him to give ground, each parry leaving his arms vibrating from the impact. And then it hit him, the crushing realization: this man wasn¡¯t just testing him. He was teaching him a brutal lesson¡ªshowing Thorne how much further he still had to go, how outmatched he was against a true master of combat. Thorne felt the sting of the man¡¯s blade slice shallow lines across his arm, then his leg, each one marking a point of weakness the man exploited with an effortless precision that left Thorne gasping for breath. The wounds were minor, yet they felt like insults etched into his skin, reminders of his opponent¡¯s total dominance. With each pass of the man¡¯s blade, the truth of Thorne¡¯s limitations crashed down on him, fueling a deep, mounting frustration. "You¡¯re good, but not good enough," the man taunted, his tone dismissive, his gaze never wavering. Thorne¡¯s teeth clenched as he absorbed the words. He could feel the sting of them as sharply as any blow. He had trained relentlessly, suffered through Sid¡¯s brutal lessons, and yet here he was, feeling as if he were fighting his very first fight all over again. His mind raced, strategizing, scrambling for a way to keep pace with this opponent without resorting to his aether skills. The risk was too high. Aether manipulation would reveal too much, and he couldn¡¯t afford that¡ªnot here, not now. But without it, he was fighting a battle he couldn¡¯t win. Every move he made, every feint, every counter was parried with almost negligent ease. He was left with the unmistakable sense of being toyed with, like a child shadowing a master. The man¡¯s strikes grew fiercer, each one driving Thorne back, his strength and precision ramping up as though he wanted to test Thorne¡¯s limits. Thorne¡¯s arms were trembling now, his muscles on fire from the strain, his breath coming in shallow, desperate gasps. The stranger was relentless, pushing him onto the defensive, until Thorne could barely manage to deflect even the most basic blows. His heart pounded wildly in his chest, each beat hammering home the realization of just how outmatched he was. Another slash came close, grazing his side and drawing a thin line of blood. Despite the intensity of the attack, Thorne began to sense something strange. The man was perfectly capable of landing a killing blow, yet each strike was deliberately softened, each cut superficial. He wasn¡¯t trying to kill him. The man was watching him, assessing him. Testing him. "You¡¯re holding back," the man said, his eyes glinting with a sharp, curious light. ¡°Why?¡± Thorne clenched his jaw, refusing to respond. The truth was a dangerous secret, one he couldn¡¯t afford to reveal to this stranger who could turn his abilities against him or¡ªworse¡ªdiscover his origins. Yet the more he fought, the more difficult it was becoming to hide his natural strength, speed, and endurance, all of which hinted at something beyond ordinary human abilities. Each second under the man¡¯s unyielding scrutiny felt like another step toward exposure, and the tension wound around Thorne¡¯s chest like a vice. The man¡¯s sword slashed through the air, forcing Thorne to block, deflect, twist, dodge. Sweat trickled down his brow, stinging his eyes as he kept his movements sharp, desperate to conceal his growing exhaustion. But the man was studying him, and the intensity in his gaze suggested he was slowly piecing together a puzzle. Thorne could feel it in the way the man¡¯s attacks shifted, in the way his eyes lit up with that disconcerting mixture of interest and calculation. Another flurry of blows drove Thorne backward, the relentless strikes leaving him cornered, his breaths turning to desperate gasps. He could feel his grip slipping. He could feel his secret inching closer to exposure with every move he made. The man arched an eyebrow, a faint smile pulling at his lips. ¡°Impressive,¡± he remarked, almost conversationally, his tone unnervingly calm. "You¡¯ve lasted longer than I expected. Quite the endurance¡ªand a surprising tolerance for pain." Thorne¡¯s frustration mounted. Even holding back his aether abilities, his enhanced attributes were still too obvious. His core was a secret he had buried deep, but his training and the strength it gave him were harder to conceal, and he could see the man beginning to connect the dots. Every second felt like a countdown to discovery. The man pressed the attack, his blade a blinding streak in the dim light, each stroke a calculated test, each maneuver another piece to a puzzle Thorne didn¡¯t want him to solve. Every parry, every retreat chipped away at Thorne¡¯s defenses, and he knew he couldn¡¯t keep this up much longer. His body ached with the effort, his muscles screaming for relief. But then a chilling realization struck him. The man was too close. He was too close to the truth, and Thorne wasn¡¯t ready for that confrontation, not yet. He couldn¡¯t risk it. With reluctance gnawing at him, Thorne made a decision. He would end the fight himself. He would lose, feign defeat, and keep his secret hidden for another day. Thorne staggered, letting his movements become visibly sluggish, his attacks growing sloppy and uncoordinated. He leaned into the act of fatigue, allowing his hands to slip as if from pure exhaustion. The mysterious man took the bait, his attacks coming with even greater intensity, his eyes fixed on Thorne with calculating precision. Thorne let his guard drop, taking hit after hit as shallow cuts laced his arms and shoulders. Each sting grounded him, a reminder that he was in control of this deception, that this apparent weakness was his choice. The man moved forward, his expression sharpened with intent. Thorne made one last feeble swing, an obvious, half-hearted attempt that the man parried with insulting ease. With a swift motion, the man disarmed him, Thorne¡¯s dagger clattering to the floor as he was shoved backward, landing hard on the ground. He lay there, his chest heaving, each breath laced with the throbbing ache of bruised ribs and scraped skin. His limbs felt like lead, a mixture of genuine fatigue and strategic surrender. He¡¯d protected his secret, for now. But at what cost? The man towered over him, sword at the ready but making no move to strike. Instead, he studied Thorne, his gaze cool and assessing, as though he were weighing every detail of the fight, every falter and slip. After a long pause, he inclined his head, his tone tinged with a begrudging respect. "You¡¯re not bad," he murmured. "But don¡¯t fool yourself¡ªyou¡¯ve got a long way to go." Thorne met his eyes but didn¡¯t reply, his breaths still coming in ragged gasps. He forced himself to stay silent, biting back questions that threatened to surface. Who was this man? What did he want? And where in the world was Sid? The man looked over his shoulder, giving a quick nod to the two hooded figures lurking in the shadows. Before Thorne could react, he felt a rough hand clamp down over his mouth, pressing a cloth saturated with a pungent, acrid scent against his face. The sharp, chemical odor filled his lungs, burning as he gasped, the scent thick and dizzying. He flailed, instinctively reaching up to tear the cloth away, but his arms felt leaden, weighed down by fatigue and a rising sense of dread. Thorne¡¯s vision began to swim, dark edges creeping into his sight as his strength ebbed, his limbs growing heavy and sluggish. He struggled, fighting against the creeping darkness, but the world around him blurred, his body betraying him. A wave of helplessness crashed over him, prickling his skin as he tried to keep his mind sharp. Yet, with every second, the acrid scent clouded his thoughts, dragging him under, layer by layer. His resistance faded to weak, futile attempts, his vision slipping in and out of focus. Panic clawed at him, but it was quickly drowned by the relentless, overpowering pull of drowsiness. As the final vestiges of consciousness began to slip, one thought burned in his mind: Where the hell was Sid? CHAPTER 52 Thorne awoke in a void of complete darkness, the oppressive silence pressing against him like a physical weight. His head throbbed, a dull, relentless ache radiating from his temples. Something made his thoughts sluggish, like trying to wade through a thick, viscous fog. Instinctively, he tried to move, but the harsh bite of cold metal against his wrists stopped him. His arms were bound tightly to a chair, the cuffs unforgiving, and his ankles were secured with coarse rope that scraped painfully against his skin. The air was damp and heavy, carrying the clinging scent of mildew and the metallic tang of rust. It filled his lungs with every shallow breath, adding to the discomfort of the cold stone floor beneath his bare feet. The room felt suffocating, its chill seeping into his skin and setting his teeth on edge. Where am I? The thought pierced through the fog, sparking a surge of panic. He struggled against his restraints, his breaths coming in rapid, uneven bursts. The metal cuffs bit deeper into his wrists as he thrashed, the pain only fueling his growing dread. His heart thundered in his chest, each frantic beat echoing in the oppressive stillness. Calm down. Focus. Thorne forced himself to close his eyes, even though the darkness rendered the act meaningless. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly, willing his body to relax. The raw edge of panic began to dull, retreating to a manageable hum in the back of his mind. Gradually, his breathing steadied, and he began to assess his surroundings. The air was thick and clammy, the scent of damp stone mingling with the faint mustiness of decaying wood. Somewhere in the distance, a steady drip of water echoed, a rhythmic reminder of the passage of time. He flexed his fingers, feeling the cold metal cuffs dig into his skin. His ankles were bound with a rough rope, its fibers coarse against his flesh. Thorne tilted his head slightly, ignoring the sharp twinge in his neck, and strained his ears. Beyond his own measured breathing, he caught something faint¡ªuneven breaths, shallow and strained. I¡¯m not alone. The thought sent a jolt through him, a mix of relief and apprehension. Whoever else was here was as trapped as he was. A soft shuffle broke the silence, followed by a low, fearful whimper. The sound tugged at Thorne¡¯s awareness, grounding him in the reality of his situation. Someone else is awake. Memories started trickling back. The fight in the warehouse. The stranger¡¯s taunts. The cloth pressed over his face, filling his lungs with that acrid stench. The pieces fell into place: he had been drugged and brought here. But why? And who had orchestrated this? The ache in his head pulsed in time with the distant dripping water as he focused on his other senses. He could feel the uneven texture of the stone beneath his feet, the way the chill of the air clung to his exposed skin. The darkness was absolute, yet his heightened instincts mapped the room in his mind. The faint echo of the water suggested a cavernous space, the stillness punctuated only by the occasional sound of movement. Stay calm. Assess. Adapt. Sid¡¯s voice echoed in his mind, a mantra drilled into him over years of training. Thorne gritted his teeth and shifted subtly in the chair, testing the tension in his bonds. The cuffs were tight, unyielding, but the rope around his ankles had a slight give. He filed the observation away, a small kernel of hope amidst the bleakness. The soft shuffle of feet and another faint whimper reminded him of the others. If there are others, maybe we can help each other. The thought steadied him, reigniting a spark of determination. He focused on the breathing nearby, trying to discern its rhythm and locate its source. Thorne flexed his fingers again, this time focusing on the sensation rather than the restraint. Pain radiated from his wrists where the cuffs had bitten deep, but he welcomed it¡ªit gave him a purpose. His mind sharpened as the fog began to lift. Whoever brought me here, they made a mistake. Thorne¡¯s lips pressed into a thin line, his thoughts steeling. They think I¡¯m helpless, but they¡¯re wrong. I¡¯ll find a way out. I always do. For now, though, he listened. Every sound, every breath, every subtle shift in the room could be the key to understanding his captors¡ªor his escape. "Ugh, where am I?" a groggy voice groaned in the darkness, followed by the metallic rattle of chains clinking against stone. The sound echoed ominously, amplifying the bleakness of their situation. "Jax? Is that you?" another voice asked, calmer but carrying an edge of frustration. "Eren? What the hell is going on?" Jax¡¯s voice boomed, loud and abrasive, laced with aggression that seemed more like hollow bravado than actual confidence. "I don¡¯t know," Eren snapped, his tone sharp. "But shouting isn¡¯t going to help. We need to figure out where we are and how to get out of here." A soft whimper broke through their exchange, the fragile voice trembling with fear. "I¡¯m scared. We¡¯re all going to die here, aren¡¯t we?" The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Jax groaned loudly, muttering under his breath with audible annoyance. "Great. A scared little girl to take care of. Just what we needed." The girl¡¯s voice wavered as she introduced herself timidly, "I-I¡¯m Leona. Please, just... just get us out of here." "This is all your fault, Eren!" Jax barked, his voice rising again, brimming with misplaced rage. "If you hadn¡¯t¡ª" "Shut up!" Leona cried, her voice cracking under the weight of her panic. "Just shut up!" She broke into muffled sobs, the sound grating in the oppressive silence. "Will you calm the fuck down, Leona?" Jax snapped, his voice rough and irritated. "We¡¯re all in the same mess. Crying isn¡¯t gonna help." "Leave her alone, Jax," Eren interjected, his tone sharp and biting. "You¡¯re not helping either." Jax scoffed loudly, his derision cutting through the tension. "Oh, and you are? Big surprise, Eren. Always acting like you¡¯re smarter than everyone else. Why don¡¯t you figure out how to get us out of here then?" Eren¡¯s voice turned icy with sarcasm. "Right, because your brawny brilliance is going to save us. Maybe if you used that thick skull of yours for something other than headbutting people, we wouldn¡¯t be in this mess." Jax growled in frustration, the sound guttural and animalistic. "You¡¯re just jealous because you know I¡¯m stronger than you. Always have been, always will be." Eren laughed dryly, the sound dripping with disdain. "Strength isn¡¯t everything, Jax. Brains beat brawn every time. But of course, you wouldn¡¯t understand that, would you?" Thorne listened intently, taking in the bickering trio. He could already discern the group¡¯s fragile dynamic, and it was a volatile mix, teetering on the edge of implosion. "Stop fighting," Leona pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper, her desperation bleeding through. "Please... I¡¯m scared." Jax muttered something under his breath, but Thorne couldn¡¯t make it out. He could almost hear Eren rolling his eyes. "Alright," Eren said, his tone shifting to something more commanding. "Everyone just calm down. We need to figure out where we are and how to get out of here." Thorne smirked faintly in the dark, intrigued by Eren¡¯s attempt to take charge. Bold move, he thought. But let¡¯s see if you can back it up. He decided to stay silent for now, content to observe and let the group¡¯s dynamic play out. Information was power, and he intended to gather as much as possible. "I can¡¯t see anything," Leona whimpered, her voice quivering. "It¡¯s so dark..." "Use your head, Leona," Jax sneered, his frustration spilling over. "We¡¯re in a cellar or something. Like they¡¯d leave the lights on for us."Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. Eren let out a long, exaggerated sigh. "Brilliant deduction, Jax. Truly. Now, if you¡¯re done stating the obvious, maybe we can focus on getting these chains off. Anyone have any actual ideas?" Silence fell, heavy and oppressive. Thorne could almost feel the tension crackling in the air. He stretched his legs slightly, his toes searching the cold stone floor for anything useful. His fingers moved methodically, testing the cold steel of his cuffs and the chains that restrained him. Every clink and scrape of metal against metal was like a countdown in his head. There has to be a way out of this, he thought, his mind racing. He didn¡¯t trust any of them¡ªnot yet. But their chatter might just provide the opening he needed. Let them argue, Thorne decided, leaning back slightly as his sharp senses cataloged every sound and detail in the oppressive darkness. They might tell me exactly what I need without even realizing it. Thorne stretched his legs carefully, his toes brushing the cold floor until they connected with the faint metallic piece he''d sensed earlier. The small sound of metal scraping against stone echoed in his mind like a beacon. He flexed his foot, maneuvering the object closer with painstaking precision until he managed to grip it between his toes. The faint pressure of the object against his skin sent a flicker of hope through his mind. As the others continued their bickering, Thorne¡¯s focus remained locked on the task at hand. The sharp tug of his lockpicking skill in his mind was almost comforting¡ªa reminder of the countless hours he¡¯d spent training it. ¡°Let¡¯s all just take a deep breath,¡± Eren broke the tense silence, his voice quivering slightly. ¡°We¡¯ll get out of this.¡± ¡°Oh, fantastic,¡± Jax shot back, his tone dripping with sarcasm. ¡°Got any actual suggestions, genius, or are you just here to play motivational speaker?¡± Thorne suppressed a smile as he managed to maneuver the piece of metal into his hand. The banter between Jax and Eren was almost entertaining in its predictability. "I¡¯m working on it," Eren replied tersely, exasperation creeping into his voice. "Just keep your eyes open for anything useful." The group fell into a charged silence, the weight of the situation pressing down on them. Leona¡¯s quiet sobs and Jax¡¯s low grumbles became the only sounds, but Thorne blocked them out. His mind focused solely on the lock in front of him. Eren spoke again, the tension in his voice almost palpable. ¡°We can¡¯t just sit here. We need to act.¡± ¡°And do what exactly, Mr. Genius?¡± Jax retorted, his irritation bubbling to the surface. ¡°Actually,¡± Thorne interjected, his voice calm and steady, ¡°I might have found something.¡± The suddenness of his contribution startled the others. ¡°Who the hell are you?¡± Jax demanded, suspicion thick in his voice. ¡°Someone who doesn¡¯t want to rot here,¡± Thorne replied coolly, keeping his tone neutral but firm. He could feel their eyes on him, a mix of surprise, confusion, and wariness in the silence that followed. ¡°You¡¯re chained like us?¡± Eren¡¯s voice carried a note of uncertainty, as though he wasn¡¯t entirely convinced. ¡°Yep,¡± Thorne answered simply, not elaborating further. He didn¡¯t need their approval to act. With the piece of metal now in his hand, Thorne carefully began working it into the lock on his cuffs. As soon as the tip slid inside, his lockpicking skill surged to life. It was as if the intricate mechanisms of the lock materialized in his mind¡¯s eye, each pin and tumbler glowing faintly in the darkness. His hands moved with a practiced ease, every motion slow and precise. The others fell silent, their breaths held as they listened to the faint clicks of the lock. Thorne could almost feel their anticipation radiating through the room. Each scrape and twist of the makeshift pick brought him closer, the lock yielding little by little to his skill. With a soft click, the first cuff sprang open. A small smile tugged at Thorne¡¯s lips as he massaged his sore wrist, the cold air biting at the reddened skin. He ignored the sharp gazes he could feel from the others and turned his attention to his second wrist. ¡°I can¡¯t believe this is happening,¡± Jax muttered under his breath, his voice a mix of disbelief and anger. ¡°What kind of sick joke is this?¡± ¡°We need to stay calm,¡± Eren said, his tone slipping into forced control. ¡°Panicking isn¡¯t going to solve anything.¡± ¡°Easy for you to say,¡± Jax snapped, his frustration mounting. ¡°You¡¯re not the one tied up here like a damn animal.¡± Eren barked an incredulous laugh. ¡°Why do you think I am here? So that I could enjoy your company you big headed idiot?¡± Thorne let their argument fade into the background as he focused on the second cuff. Another series of deft movements, another satisfying click. He flexed his now-freed hands, ignoring the ache in his muscles and the faint stinging of raw skin. He remained silent, standing up slowly to ease the stiffness from his body and untied his feet. His movements were deliberate, careful not to draw unnecessary attention as he surveyed the dark space around them. Something about the situation felt off. The meticulous way they had been restrained, the precision of their abduction¡ªit reeked of a plan, a setup. This wasn¡¯t random. It was deliberate. Thorne rubbed his wrists absentmindedly, his sharp eyes narrowing in thought. His instincts screamed that this was a test. And if that was true, then someone was watching. Waiting. The question was: why? For now, he decided to play along, gathering as much information as possible while the others argued and bickered. He needed answers¡ªand he wasn¡¯t going to let anything, or anyone, stop him from getting them. Leona''s voice trembled as she broke the silence, ¡°Do you think they¡¯ll come back for us? What if they leave us here to die?¡± Jax let out an irritated growl, his voice cutting through the darkness like a whip. ¡°Would you shut up, Leona? You¡¯re not helping.¡± ¡°Leave her alone,¡± Eren snapped, his tone sharp and impatient. ¡°We¡¯re all scared. We just need to think.¡± The tension between them was palpable, each word charged with the weight of their shared predicament. Eren, visibly frustrated with Jax¡¯s incessant complaints, began searching the floor with his feet. ¡°There has to be something we can use,¡± he muttered, his voice laced with determination. His foot brushed against something metallic, and he crouched down, fumbling in the dark until his fingers closed around it. ¡°Got it,¡± he said triumphantly, "It¡¯s a piece of wire.¡± ¡°Great, now get me out of here,¡± Jax demanded, his voice dripping with impatience. ¡°Not so fast,¡± Eren replied coolly, his words carrying an edge of defiance. ¡°Maybe I¡¯ll start with Leona. At least she¡¯s not yelling in my ear every two seconds.¡± As Eren worked on his own restraints with the wire, Thorne remained silent, observing the unfolding drama. His mind worked furiously, weighing his options. Should he leave these strangers behind and go alone? Or stick with them, knowing they could potentially be useful allies¡ªor liabilities? A soft click broke the silence, and Eren freed himself. Without hesitation, he moved to Leona¡¯s restraints, his movements efficient but not unkind. With another audible click, Leona¡¯s cuffs sprang open. Her relieved sob filled the air as she whispered a trembling, ¡°Thank you.¡± ¡°All right, you¡¯re next,¡± Eren sighed, turning toward Jax. His voice carried an edge of reluctance. Meanwhile, Thorne felt a subtle tug from his Escape Artist skill. It was as if an invisible thread was guiding him, pulling him toward a specific direction. Behind him, in the shadows, he sensed something¡ªa way out. ¡°I think there¡¯s an exit this way,¡± he said calmly, his voice cutting through the tension and surprising the group. The sharp intake of breath and the startled movements that followed told him he¡¯d caught them off guard. ¡°Who the hell are you?¡± Jax barked, his heavy footsteps stomping closer in the dark. Thorne rose from his chair with a deliberate yawn, stretching as if he had all the time in the world. His tone was casual, almost bored. ¡°Thorne,¡± he replied simply. ¡°And if you want to get out of here, you¡¯d better follow me.¡± Without waiting for a response, he turned and began walking in the direction his skill led him. Behind him, he could hear Jax and Eren arguing in hushed but heated tones. They clearly thought they were being discreet, but Thorne caught every word. ¡°Can we trust him?¡± Jax hissed, his skepticism plain. ¡°For all we know, he¡¯s one of them.¡± ¡°Does he look like he¡¯s in control of this situation?¡± Eren shot back. ¡°If he can get us out, we follow. End of discussion.¡± Leona, however, wasted no time debating. Her light footsteps and soft sniffling followed Thorne closely, her nervous breaths making her position easy to track in the dark. She was clearly too desperate to leave to argue. As they stumbled through the oppressive darkness, their footsteps echoed in the cavernous space. Thorne moved with a quiet confidence, his senses attuned to the pull of his skill. Jax muttered curses under his breath, his frustration barely contained, while Eren moved cautiously, his steps deliberate. Thorne raised his hands, feeling along the cold, rough walls until his fingers brushed against something solid. Wood. His touch confirmed what his skill had been leading him to: a door. His fingertips traced the edges of the lock, and he turned slightly toward where he sensed Eren. ¡°Care to do the honors?¡± he asked. Eren stepped forward, his silhouette moving closer in the dimness. ¡°Finally,¡± he muttered, crouching down to examine the lock. His fingers worked deftly, the faint metallic clicks of the wire meeting the mechanism the only sound in the silence. Jax, predictably, was less patient. ¡°Hurry up,¡± he barked. ¡°We don¡¯t have all night.¡± ¡°Keep talking, Jax,¡± Eren retorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. ¡°Maybe the sound of your whining will unlock it faster.¡± Leona shuffled closer to Thorne, her small frame trembling despite her best efforts to appear brave. Her presence was a quiet contrast to the noise behind them, and Thorne found himself vaguely appreciative of her silence. Thorne leaned back slightly, arms crossed, as he watched Eren work. The clicks grew more frequent, each one promising progress. Thorne could have easily unlocked the door himself, but he chose to stay in the background. Better to let the others think they were in control¡ªfor now. ¡°Almost there,¡± Eren murmured, his tone focused. The final click echoed louder than the rest, and the door creaked open, revealing a warm glow spilling into the darkened room. The sudden light forced them to squint, but its warmth was inviting, a sharp contrast to the cold, oppressive air they had been trapped in. Jax let out a grunt, clearly unimpressed despite their progress. ¡°About time,¡± he muttered, but instead of walking through the door, he hesitated. Thorne lingered for a moment, his sharp eyes scanning the illuminated space beyond the door. His instincts told him that something bad was waiting for them. ¡°Stay close,¡± he said, stepping through the doorway with measured confidence. He didn¡¯t look back to see if they followed. They would. They didn¡¯t have a choice. CHAPTER 53 The flood of light was disorienting, piercing the darkness they had been trapped in. Thorne squinted, his hand instinctively rising to shield his eyes as they adjusted to the new brightness. The corridor that stretched before them was dimly lit by torches mounted on the walls, their flames casting flickering shadows that made the aged stone appear alive. His attention shifted to the other three kids, now fully illuminated. They stood awkwardly, each clearly trying to process their sudden shift in surroundings. Thorne¡¯s gaze settled on Jax first. The boy stood tall, his shaggy brown hair framing his piercing blue eyes. His broad shoulders and muscular build gave him an air of strength and intimidation, and his expression was perpetually set in a challenging scowl, a look that dared anyone to question his strength. For a moment, Thorne and Jax locked eyes. Thorne couldn¡¯t help but measure Jax, noting the other boy''s broad shoulders and imposing stance. He nearly smirked at the tough act Jax was putting on, knowing full well he could break the boy in seconds with his superior attributes and skills. Eren was the opposite. Slighter in frame, his dark, curly hair fell into his intelligent brown eyes as he scanned the area with a calculating gaze. Where Jax exuded brute force, Eren¡¯s strength was in his composure and wit. There was something methodical about him, like every action he took was premeditated. Leona stood apart from the two boys, her large green eyes darting nervously between them and the corridor. She was the smallest of the group, her slight frame making her appear even younger and more vulnerable. Her limp, dirty blonde hair framed her delicate features, and she clung to herself as if trying to shrink into the shadows. Fear radiated off her, but there was a spark of curiosity in her eyes, a flicker of determination that hadn¡¯t been entirely snuffed out by their predicament. The corridor itself fanned out in a semicircle, its walls lined with five massive doors, each one unique. The aged wood was adorned with intricate carvings¡ªglyphs and symbols etched deeply into the surface in an unknown language. The air was heavy, thick with dust and the cloying scent of mildew, mingling with a faint metallic tang that Thorne recognized immediately as the scent of old blood. The torches¡¯ flickering flames created wavering shadows, giving the impression of movement where there was none. Thorne moved toward one of the doors, his fingers tracing the rough carvings. The symbols felt ancient, their meaning lost to time. He tilted his head, trying to make sense of the strange script. "What do these mean?" he asked, his voice low but curious. Eren stepped forward, his sharp eyes scanning the glyphs. "It¡¯s the ancient tongue of Eldari," he said, his voice quiet, almost reverent. Jax let out a scoff, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "And how exactly do you know that, genius?" His voice carried a mocking edge, the sound echoing off the stone walls. Eren shot him a withering look. "Because I pay attention to our trainer''s instructions and do more than swing a sword. While you were too busy smashing things, I was learning." His voice was steady, but the irritation in his tone was impossible to miss. Thorne raised an eyebrow, curious about the mention of a trainer, but before he could ask, the tension between Jax and Eren reached a boiling point. Jax stepped forward, his chest puffed out in challenge. "You think you¡¯re better than me? All that book-learning isn¡¯t going to save you in a real fight." Eren didn¡¯t back down, his fists clenched at his sides. "And you think brute force is the answer to everything. There¡¯s more to surviving than just swinging your fists around like an idiot." Jax growled, his frustration bubbling over. He shoved Eren roughly, sending him stumbling back. "Say that again," Jax snarled, his voice low and dangerous. Eren caught his balance quickly, his jaw tightening as he glared at Jax. "You don¡¯t scare me," he said, his tone defiant. Leona, tears shimmering in her wide eyes, stepped between them, her small frame dwarfed by the two boys. "Stop it!" she cried, her voice cracking with fear and desperation. "Fighting isn¡¯t going to help us! Please, just stop!" Her plea hung in the air, the weight of her emotion cutting through the tension. Thorne watched the scene unfold, his expression unreadable. The mention of a trainer piqued his interest, but their bickering was a distraction he couldn¡¯t afford. ¡°Enough,¡± Thorne said, his voice calm but commanding. The others turned to him, their surprise evident. ¡°If you two want to punch each other out, fine. But do it after we figure out where we are and how we¡¯re getting out.¡± The silence that followed was heavy, the flickering torchlight casting their shadows on the walls like restless spirits. Thorne turned back to the glyphs, his fingers brushing over them thoughtfully. The faint glow pulsed under his touch, almost as if reacting to his presence. "Now," he said, glancing back at the others, "let¡¯s focus on something useful. Eren, you said you can read this. What does it say?" Eren hesitated, casting a wary glance at Jax before stepping forward. "Give me a moment," he said, his voice calmer now. As Eren began deciphering the symbols, Thorne leaned against the wall, his eyes narrowing as he considered the group he was now a part of. This wasn¡¯t a random situation. It couldn¡¯t be. Someone had chosen them, thrown them together for a reason. And whoever had brought them here was watching. Thorne was sure of it. Eren inhaled deeply, steadying himself before reading the riddle etched onto the first door. His voice echoed slightly in the cold corridor as he recited: "In darkness and light, we forge our might. The way is hidden in plain sight. Find the path that leads to dawn, and through the trials, carry on." The group fell silent, each one trying to decipher the meaning behind the mysterious words. Thorne met Eren¡¯s gaze, whose eyes were unfocused as he thought. Leona stood close, her wide green eyes filled with a mixture of fear and curiosity, while Jax lingered at the edge of the group, muttering under his breath, his impatience barely contained. ¡°It¡¯s definitely a riddle,¡± Thorne said, pacing the length of the corridor. His bare feet scraped against the stone, the noise grating against the oppressive silence. ¡°Darkness and light... maybe it¡¯s talking about something that exists in both states? Or maybe it¡¯s more metaphorical.¡± Leona spoke hesitantly, her soft voice cutting through the tension. ¡°Could it have to do with how the doors are arranged? The way they fan out¡ªit almost feels deliberate, like there¡¯s meaning behind it.¡± Eren nodded, his brow furrowed in thought. ¡°The riddle mentions ¡®the path that leads to dawn.¡¯ Dawn is a transition from darkness to light, so maybe the order we choose has to reflect that progression.¡± Jax rolled his eyes, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall. ¡°We¡¯re wasting time,¡± he grumbled. ¡°All this thinking won¡¯t get us anywhere. We should just pick a door and get on with it.¡± Thorne shot him a sharp look. ¡°One wrong move could get us killed. We¡¯re not rushing into this.¡± Jax¡¯s scoff was audible, but he stayed quiet, his frustration simmering beneath the surface. The group continued debating, tossing out ideas and analyzing the riddle from every angle. Tension buzzed in the air, thickened by Jax¡¯s barely restrained hostility and Leona¡¯s nervous fidgeting. Thorne could feel a sense of urgency pressing down on him, like an invisible clock ticking faster with each passing second. He stopped pacing abruptly, snapping his fingers as a thought struck him. ¡°It¡¯s about the sequence,¡± he said, his tone confident. ¡°The riddle is guiding us to open the doors in a specific order. If we get it wrong, there¡¯s no telling what could happen.¡± Leona perked up at his words, nodding quickly. ¡°That makes sense. Maybe the symbols on the doors are the key¡ªthey must represent something important.¡±The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. Eren stepped closer to the door, his gaze sharpening as he studied the inscriptions. The ancient glyphs seemed to pulse faintly under the flickering torchlight. ¡°The symbols might align with times of day or stages of light,¡± he murmured, half to himself. ¡°If we can match them to the idea of dawn, we might figure this out.¡± Jax, pacing in the background, scratched his head and spoke begrudgingly. ¡°Maybe it¡¯s, uh... like how the sun moves? Morning to night or something?¡± Thorne barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. ¡°Not the worst idea,¡± he admitted, though his focus remained on Eren¡¯s careful analysis. Together, they studied the symbols, tracing patterns and discussing possible interpretations. Finally, they decided on the first door. Thorne and Eren approached it cautiously, their movements deliberate. The air seemed to grow heavier as Thorne pushed it open, the hinges groaning softly in protest. Inside was a small, dimly lit chamber. At its center stood a pedestal, and atop it rested a gleaming sword. The blade caught the torchlight, its polished surface reflecting a cold brilliance. Before anyone could react, Jax strode forward, his posture full of swagger. ¡°I¡¯ll take this,¡± he said, reaching for the weapon with little regard for the others. Eren opened his mouth, ready to protest, but Thorne held up a hand to stop him. ¡°Let him have it,¡± Thorne said evenly. His eyes lingered on Jax for a moment before returning to the rest of the room. ¡°If there¡¯s a trap, he¡¯ll spring it first.¡± Jax shot Thorne a glare but said nothing as he took the sword. Thorne exhaled slowly, relieved when nothing happened. The fact that they had chosen correctly meant they were on the right track. With the first door solved, their attention turned to the remaining four. Each choice felt more dangerous than the last, the pressure of getting it right mounting. Voices dropped to hushed whispers, their deliberations urgent but subdued as they worked to decipher the next clue. After much debate, they cautiously approached the second door, their collective tension palpable. Convinced they had unraveled the next part of the riddle, Thorne reached out and pushed the door open. The creak of the hinges echoed ominously in the corridor. A split second later, a hiss of arrows tore through the air, narrowly missing their heads. The deadly shafts embedded themselves into the wall behind them with a sharp thunk, their polished tips glinting menacingly in the torchlight. The sheer suddenness of the attack left the group frozen in place, their breaths caught in their throats. Eren let out a strangled cry as one arrow struck him just below the shoulder. The impact knocked him off balance, and he staggered back, his face contorted in pain. Blood quickly bloomed around the wound, running down his bare torso. ¡°Eren!¡± Leona screamed, rushing to his side. Her trembling hands hovered uselessly over him as panic overtook her. ¡°Oh gods, Eren! Are you¡ªare you okay?¡± Eren gritted his teeth, his jaw tight as sweat dotted his brow. ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± he managed through clenched teeth, though his voice wavered under the strain of the injury. ¡°It¡¯s not... too deep.¡± His breathing was ragged, his skin pale as he cradled his wounded arm. Thorne¡¯s heart thundered in his chest as he scanned the room, his eyes darting to every shadow hoping his Cunning Trapper skill would give him a clue. "Everyone, freeze!" he barked, his voice sharp and commanding. "There might be more traps." Leona whimpered but obeyed, her wide, tear-filled eyes darting around in fear. Jax¡¯s knuckles whitened around the hilt of his sword, his bravado cracking under the realization of how close they had come to being skewered. Thorne stepped forward cautiously, his movements measured. He crouched by the embedded arrows, inspecting the mechanisms that had launched them. His voice was calm, but a hard edge of frustration crept into his tone. ¡°This place is rigged to kill us. If we keep making careless decisions, it¡¯ll succeed.¡± Leona knelt beside Eren, her earlier fear replaced with trembling determination. Her hands shook as she gripped the arrow lodged in his shoulder. ¡°I-I have to pull it out,¡± she stammered, her green eyes darting to his face for confirmation. Eren nodded, though his lips were pressed into a tight line. ¡°Do it,¡± he said hoarsely. ¡°Just... make it quick.¡± Thorne observed in silent surprise as Leona gripped the arrow with both hands and yanked it free in one swift motion. Eren gasped, his body jerking with the sharp burst of pain, but he quickly steadied himself, clutching his shoulder as blood seeped from the wound. Leona tore a strip from her tunic and pressed it against the injury, her earlier terror momentarily forgotten in her focus. Jax glanced at Eren, then at the doors, his frustration bubbling to the surface. ¡°This is bullshit,¡± he snapped, his voice echoing in the corridor. ¡°How the hell are we supposed to know which door is safe?¡± ¡°We have to figure out the riddle,¡± Thorne replied curtly, his mind already working through the problem. ¡°There¡¯s a pattern here¡ªwe just haven¡¯t figured it out yet.¡± Eren, his voice tight with pain, added, ¡°The riddle¡¯s the key. We missed something in the wording. We have to look at it again.¡± Despite his impatience, Jax finally relented, joining the group as they returned to the inscription. Now that they knew the risks they were all focused and serious as they scrutinized every word, their voices low and urgent. Thorne paced as he mulled over the possibilities, his fingers brushing against the rough grooves of the carvings. Leona kept glancing at the walls, her shoulders hunched as if she were bracing for another barrage of arrows. Jax stood rigid, his sword clutched in both hands like a lifeline. After what felt like an eternity of debate, they arrived at a decision. The third door seemed to fit the riddle¡¯s clues. They approached it cautiously, each step laden with hesitation. ¡°This better be it,¡± Jax muttered, his voice low but tense. Leona swallowed hard, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. ¡°What if we¡¯re wrong?¡± she whispered, her eyes darting nervously to the walls as if expecting them to sprout arrows again. Thorne inhaled deeply, his focus unshaken. ¡°We won¡¯t know unless we try,¡± he said firmly. His hand rested on the door, the cool wood rough beneath his palm. He glanced at the others, their faces illuminated by the flickering torchlight. Jax¡¯s scowl was edged with determination, Eren¡¯s jaw was set despite his injury, and Leona¡¯s fear mingled with fragile hope. ¡°Here goes nothing,¡± Thorne murmured, and pushed the door open. When Thorne pushed the door open, his breath hitched, and he realized he¡¯d been holding it. No trap. Just a simple bow resting atop a pedestal. The sight of it brought a fleeting sense of relief but also stirred questions. Why was this weapon here? Why were any of these doors equipped with tools for battle? He picked up the bow, the polished wood smooth and cool under his fingers. Turning to Leona, he extended it toward her. "This suits you best," he said, his tone calm but firm, as if leaving no room for doubt. Leona hesitated, her trembling hands hovering over the weapon before she finally took it. Her green eyes glimmered with gratitude and uncertainty. "Thank you, Thorne," she murmured, clutching the bow tightly. She looked down at it, her voice trembling. "But... I don¡¯t know how to use it." Thorne suppressed a groan, forcing himself to keep his frustration in check. "It¡¯s fine, Leona," he said, his voice softer this time. "You don¡¯t need to be perfect right away. Just follow our lead and stay calm. And everything will be alright." As Leona nodded hesitantly, her grip tightening on the bow, Thorne¡¯s curiosity got the better of him. He studied her, the question forming almost instinctively. ¡°Do you have a trainer, too? Like Jax and Eren?¡± His tone was casual, but his mind raced. Her eyes widened in alarm, and she hesitated before giving a slow nod, the movement stiff and uncertain. The pieces clicked into place. She has a trainer. They all do. Thorne¡¯s thoughts spiraled as a realization dawned. "Are you a cousin?" he asked, his voice dropping, probing. Leona¡¯s eyes grew even larger, filled with a mix of fear and confusion, before she gave a small nod. Thorne felt a flicker of recognition. His uncle¡¯s network of cousins was vast, far beyond those he knew personally. Most were like him¡ªorphans plucked from the streets and molded into tools for Uncle¡¯s schemes. But not all of them crossed paths. Although he knew many cousins, mostly those associated with Jonah, Ben, and Darius, he didn''t know them all. Leona¡¯s lips parted slightly, and she whispered, almost to herself, ¡°Thorne... Thorne, where have I heard that name?¡± Then, like a bolt of lightning, realization struck her, and she turned to him sharply, her whisper urgent. ¡°You¡¯re that Thorne? Uncle¡¯s favorite nephew? The one who saved all those cousins and set fire to that gang¡¯s base?¡± Thorne blinked in surprise, then smirked. So, my reputation precedes me. "You¡¯ve heard of me?" he said with a cocky tilt of his head, a faint grin tugging at his lips. He gave her a playful wink. Leona stared at him, her fear momentarily replaced with awe. ¡°You¡¯re so lucky! You¡¯ve met Uncle in person! Is he really as kind as they say?¡± Thorne¡¯s smirk faded into a bitter smile, his gaze hardening. "Kind? He¡¯s... something, alright," he said cryptically, letting the statement hang in the air. He didn¡¯t have time to dwell on her starry-eyed admiration. The riddle was still their priority. Their exchange was cut short by the rising tension behind them. Jax and Eren were already arguing, their voices ricocheting off the stone walls as they debated over the weapons. Thorne sighed and turned away, effectively ending the conversation. The fourth door revealed a sturdy shield, its surface gleaming with faint engravings. After a brief, heated debate, they unanimously decided it should go to Eren, given his wounded state and need for extra protection. Eren accepted the shield with a quiet nod, his jaw tight. ¡°I¡¯ll make sure this isn¡¯t for nothing,¡± he promised, his voice steady despite the pain etched on his face. Finally, they approached the fifth and final door. When Thorne pushed it open, he found a finely crafted dagger, its blade shimmering faintly in the dim light. He picked it up, testing its weight in his hand. The balance was perfect, the blade honed to a razor¡¯s edge. A small smile played on his lips as he spun it experimentally. Now armed, the group turned toward the main door at the end of the corridor. Without warning, it creaked open on its own, the sound grating and ominous. Beyond the threshold, four sentinels marched in unison, their dark armor glinting in the flickering torchlight. Their movements were mechanical, precise, and their mere presence exuded menace. Thorne¡¯s pulse quickened, but a sly grin tugged at his lips. The sentinels reminded him of hunting aether beasts¡ªstrong, deadly, but predictable in their patterns. "Looks like we¡¯ve got company," he said, twirling the dagger in his hand. His tone was light, almost mocking. "I hope they like our new accessories." Jax stepped forward, brandishing his sword with an exaggerated flourish. His chest puffed out with bravado. "Let them come. I¡¯ll take them all down myself. This¡¯ll be a piece of cake." Leona, in stark contrast, clutched her bow tightly, her knuckles white. Her eyes darted nervously between the sentinels, and she whimpered, "I don¡¯t think I can do this." Thorne¡¯s grin faded as he took command, his tone firm but steady. "Leona, stay in the back. Eren, keep her safe." He didn¡¯t look back as he issued the orders, his gaze locked on the approaching sentinels. He twirled the dagger once more and murmured to himself, ¡°Finally, some action.¡± CHAPTER 54 The sentinels moved with an eerie precision, their glowing red eyes unwavering as they advanced. Thorne¡¯s pulse quickened, but he forced himself to remain calm. The cold, mechanical menace of these constructs only sharpened his focus. "Terrifying? Sure," Thorne quipped, his voice steady despite the tension. "But I¡¯ve faced worse. I think." Leona clutched her bow tightly, her hands trembling as her knuckles whitened. ¡°They¡¯re not stopping¡­¡± she muttered, her voice barely audible. Eren adjusted his grip on his shield, glancing over his shoulder at Leona. ¡°Stay behind me. We¡¯ve got this.¡± Thorne stepped forward, dagger in hand, as his Critical Eye skill activated. The weak points of the sentinels'' armor glimmered faintly in his vision, like cracks in an otherwise impenetrable wall. He smirked. Alright, let¡¯s see what you¡¯re made of. The first sentinel lunged, its movement swift and unnervingly precise. Thorne sidestepped with practiced ease, his dagger flashing as it struck the glowing weak point on the sentinel¡¯s shoulder joint. Sparks flew as the blade found its mark, but the construct didn¡¯t so much as flinch. Jax let out a frustrated grunt as he swung his sword in a wide arc, the weapon bouncing harmlessly off his opponent¡¯s chest plate. ¡°What the hell are these things made of?¡± he bellowed, his voice tinged with panic. ¡°Not paper, apparently,¡± Thorne shot back, ducking under another strike and driving his dagger into the knee of his second foe. The sentinel staggered but didn¡¯t fall, its red eyes locking onto him with chilling detachment. Through the gaps in the sentinels'' armor, Thorne could see nothing but darkness, confirming that these were not flesh-and-blood beings, but magical constructs. This knowledge only added to their eerie presence. Jax, for all his bravado, was quickly losing ground. His powerful strikes lacked finesse, leaving him open to counterattacks. The sentinels pressed him relentlessly, their movements cold and calculated. ¡°Jax, tighten up your swings!¡± Thorne barked, dodging a heavy blow aimed at his head. ¡°You¡¯re leaving yourself wide open!¡± ¡°Easy for you to say!¡± Jax snarled, his blade clanging against a sentinel¡¯s shield. He gritted his teeth, sweat dripping down his brow as he tried to adjust his technique. Leona trembled behind Eren, her bow shaking as she tried to pull an arrow from her quiver. Her breath came in shallow gasps, fear gripping her like a vice. ¡°I can¡¯t¡­ I can¡¯t do this,¡± she whimpered. ¡°You can,¡± Eren said firmly, his voice cutting through her panic. ¡°Just aim for the gaps in their armor. We¡¯ll cover you.¡± Thorne danced around his opponents, his movements a masterful combination of speed and precision. His dagger struck again and again, targeting the joints and exposed areas illuminated by his Critical Eye. One sentinel slowed noticeably, its left arm hanging limply at its side. ¡°Not so tough now, are you?¡± Thorne muttered under his breath, satisfaction flickering across his face. But his brief moment of triumph was interrupted by a metallic clang as Jax¡¯s sword was wrenched from his hands, clattering to the ground. ¡°Shit!¡± Jax growled, retreating as his two opponents closed in. Thorne¡¯s gaze flicked to Jax, irritation flaring in his chest. ¡°Hold them off! Don¡¯t let them corner you!¡± ¡°I¡¯m trying!¡± Jax snapped, his voice strained. Thorne redirected his attention, ducking under a sentinel¡¯s swinging blade and plunging his dagger into its side. The construct shuddered, a grinding noise emanating from within as it faltered. Eren, using his shield with surprising agility, stepped forward to intercept one of Jax¡¯s attackers. The sentinel¡¯s sword glanced off Eren¡¯s shield, sending sparks flying. ¡°I¡¯ll take this one!¡± Eren shouted, his voice calm but commanding. Leona, encouraged by Eren¡¯s steadiness, finally nocked an arrow. She drew the bowstring back, her green eyes narrowing as she aimed for a sentinel¡¯s weak point. The arrow flew, striking true and embedding itself deep into a gap of its armor. The construct jerked, its movements faltering. ¡°I did it!¡± Leona exclaimed, a mix of relief and disbelief in her voice. ¡°Keep it up!¡± Thorne called, a genuine smile flashing across his face. The shot was more luck than skill, but he would take it anyway. He spun away from another attack, his dagger flashing as he struck the weak point on his remaining opponent¡¯s knee. The sentinel crumpled, its movements grinding to a halt. Thorne didn¡¯t pause, turning his focus to the others. ¡°Jax, pick up your damn sword!¡± Thorne barked, his tone sharp. Jax growled in frustration but complied, retrieving his weapon and rejoining the fight. The air was thick with the sounds of clashing metal and labored breaths. The sentinels, though formidable, were beginning to falter under the relentless assault. ¡°Eren, cover Leona! Jax, stop swinging like a drunkard and aim for the joints!¡± Thorne commanded, his voice cutting through the chaos. Thorne twisted and parried, his movements a blur of deadly precision. He felt a rush of satisfaction each time his blade found its mark, exploiting the weak points his Critical Eye skill revealed. The sentinels, though relentless, could not match his speed and agility. Jax, meanwhile, was struggling to keep up. His opponents pressed him hard, their strikes coming fast and furious. Despite his strength, he was slowly being overwhelmed. He managed to land a few solid hits, but his lack of experience showed. His opponents adapted quickly, their mechanical precision wearing him down. Thorne darted in and out, his blade slicing through the air. He drove his dagger into the armpit of one sentinel, exploiting a gap in the armor. The sentinel shuddered, its movements faltering. Thorne spun away, avoiding a retaliatory strike from the other sentinel. "Just like I said, Jax. Precision over power," Thorne called out, his voice carrying a sharp edge of confidence. A cocky grin spread across his face as he landed another precise blow against a sentinel. "Watch and learn." Jax shot him a venomous glare but kept his mouth shut, his attention split between his frustration and the relentless attacks of his opponents. Despite his brute strength, it was clear Jax was struggling from lack of experience. His swings were powerful but lacked the refinement necessary to overcome the sentinels'' relentless precision. Thorne, meanwhile, felt his confidence growing with each successful strike. His Critical Eye skill illuminated weak points like a guiding star, turning the once-daunting constructs into manageable opponents. He darted forward, evading a horizontal slash aimed at his midsection, and drove his dagger into the exposed joint between a sentinel''s breastplate and arm. The satisfying crunch of metal giving way was accompanied by the collapse of the construct, its armor clattering to the ground as the dark magic animating it dissipated into the air. Skill Level Up: Critical Eye! The notification flashed in his vision, but there was no time to revel in his progress. The moment the sentinel fell, the eyes of the remaining constructs flared a blinding crimson, casting the corridor in a sinister red glow. The atmosphere shifted abruptly, the oppressive energy filling the air like a suffocating shroud. Thorne froze, his bravado evaporating as a sudden wave of fear gripped him. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced. His confidence crumbled under the weight of a surge of doubts and insecurities. Memories of every failure, every moment of helplessness, clawed at his mind like a thousand invisible hands dragging him into a pit. His breathing turned shallow, each gasp scraping against his throat like jagged glass. His dagger felt heavy in his hand, the once-familiar weapon now a useless weight. He tried to force his legs to move, to regain his composure, but the fear was paralyzing. For long, harrowing moments, Thorne could do nothing but watch as the sentinels advanced, his heart pounded in his chest. The corridor around him seemed to warp, the flickering torchlight twisting into shadowy shapes that mocked his weakness. Thorne clenched his jaw, willing himself to fight through the haze, but his mind was drowning in a storm of doubt and despair. Then, a piercing scream shattered the oppressive fog like a thunderclap. The sound was raw, primal, and filled with terror, cutting through the darkness that gripped his mind. Thorne¡¯s vision snapped back into focus, and what he saw nearly broke him. Jax stood frozen in place, his broad shoulders hunched, his sword clutched against his chest like a child holding a stuffed toy. His wide, vacant eyes stared past the sentinels as though he had already accepted defeat. Blood dripped from the countless cuts marring his skin, painting his once-defiant stance with exhaustion.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. Eren was sprawled on the ground, his shield resting over his torso like a makeshift blanket. A deep gash ran along his side, his body soaked with blood. His face was pale, his breaths shallow and labored, each one a struggle against the encroaching darkness. But it was Leona who stole the breath from Thorne''s lungs. A sentinel loomed over her, its blade piercing straight through her chest. Her green eyes, so wide with terror, locked onto Thorne''s, silently pleading for help that came too late. She tried to speak, but no words came, only a soft, choked sound. Her body sagged as the sentinel withdrew its blade, and she crumpled to the floor, the bow slipping from her fingers with a lifeless clatter. "No!" Thorne¡¯s breath caught in his throat as Leona crumpled to the ground, her bow slipping from her fingers with a hollow clatter. The rage that followed wasn¡¯t a fiery outburst but a cold, focused fury that gripped him like iron. The crimson glow of the sentinels¡¯ eyes no longer held power over him. Fear was burned away, replaced by a cold resolve so intense it threatened to freeze the room. His grip tightened around his dagger as he rose, his eyes blazing with fire. "Not one more," he growled under his breath, his voice low and dangerous. Activating Aether Surge, Thorne felt raw power course through him, electrifying every fiber of his being. The world around him slowed to a crawl, the flickering torchlight elongating into surreal streaks of gold as his heightened senses captured every detail. The creak of armor, the grinding of gears within the sentinels, even the uneven breaths of his companions¡ªeverything sharpened into a symphony of urgency. He launched himself forward, a blur of lethal precision, his movements almost too fast for the human eye to follow. His dagger struck with unerring accuracy, guided by his Critical Eye skill. Gaps in the sentinels'' armor glowed like beacons, and Thorne exploited them with ruthless efficiency. His blade slipped between plates, severing the dark magic threads animating the constructs. One sentinel crumbled beneath his onslaught, its armor falling apart as if surrendering to the inevitable. Thorne whirled around, his focus narrowing on Jax, who was being driven back by another sentinel. The boy¡¯s wild swings lacked resolve, as if he had already surrendered. ¡°Jax!¡± Thorne barked, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade "Jax, snap out of it!¡± Jax barely registered the command, his strength flagging. Thorne sprang into action, darting between them with predatory grace. His dagger found its mark in the sentinel¡¯s shoulder joint, the construct shuddering as its movements slowed. A quick follow-up strike to the knee joint sent it toppling, and Jax, emboldened by the reprieve, followed through with a powerful swing that shattered the sentinel¡¯s helmet. The glow of its eyes dimmed as the magic animating it dissipated. ¡°See? Not so hard when you use your head,¡± Thorne quipped, though his tone was laced with urgency. Jax nodded, his breaths labored but more focused. ¡°Thanks... but we¡¯re not done yet.¡± Across the corridor, Eren stood his ground despite his injury, his shield raised against the relentless assault of the remaining sentinel. Each strike rang out like a thunderclap, reverberating through the hallway as Eren gritted his teeth in pain. His injured arm trembled under the strain, but he refused to yield. ¡°Thorne, I can¡¯t hold this much longer!¡± Eren shouted, desperation creeping into his voice. ¡°I¡¯m coming!¡± Thorne called back, his tone steel-edged. He sprinted toward Eren, dodging around debris and sentinels¡¯ remains. With Jax following close behind, the two boys moved in concert, their strikes perfectly timed. Thorne ducked under a horizontal swing from the sentinel, landing a precise blow to its exposed side. Jax capitalized on the opening, bringing his sword down in a crushing arc that dented the sentinel¡¯s chest plate. ¡°Keep at it!¡± Thorne yelled, his dagger slicing through a vulnerable joint in the construct¡¯s leg. The sentinel faltered, its movements becoming sluggish. Jax roared as he swung again, his sword connecting with the sentinel¡¯s helmet and sending shards of metal flying. The construct collapsed in a heap, its glowing red eyes fading to black as the dark magic dissipated. The battle was over. Thorne stood amidst the wreckage, his chest heaving as he tried to steady his breath. His dagger dripped with the oily remnants of the constructs¡¯ magic. The adrenaline coursing through his veins ebbed, leaving behind a bone-deep weariness. Jax collapsed to his knees, clutching his injured arm as his sword clattered to the ground. His earlier bravado was gone, replaced by a haunted exhaustion. ¡°We made it,¡± he muttered, though his voice was devoid of triumph. Eren slumped against the wall, his shield slipping from his grasp. Blood seeped from the gash in his side, staining the stone floor beneath him. He pressed a hand to the wound, his face pale and slick with sweat. But Thorne¡¯s attention was fixed on Leona. He knelt beside her still form, his hands surprisingly steady as he gently closed her wide, lifeless eyes. The bow she had so reluctantly accepted lay discarded beside her, its string slack and useless. The words he wanted to say caught in his throat. What was the point? She was gone, and nothing he said would bring her back. He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to his feet. ¡°We keep moving,¡± he muttered, his voice low and strained. Her pale face was etched into his memory, her final moments replaying in a loop that he couldn¡¯t escape. The silence that followed was deafening, the absence of her timid voice a stark reminder of their loss. The weight of their loss settled over them like a shroud, the reality of their situation pressing down on them. Thorne''s mind raced, trying to process everything that had happened. His thoughts were a chaotic mix of detachment and a burning determination to survive. Jax, the once brash and boastful loudmouth, now looked like a broken puppet with its strings cut. His gaze was fixed on Leona¡¯s lifeless body, his expression a haunted mask of fear and disbelief. He muttered under his breath, his words barely audible, but the gravity of them was unmistakable. ¡°We could actually die down here...¡± The realization weighed on him like a millstone, dragging his confidence into the void. Eren, leaning heavily against the wall, caught Thorne¡¯s eye. His face was pale, etched with pain, but his brown eyes burned with a mix of fear and determination. ¡°This isn¡¯t just a test,¡± he said, his voice cracking slightly. ¡°This is a death trap.¡± Thorne nodded, his jaw tightening. The rawness of their situation was undeniable now. ¡°We need to keep moving,¡± he said firmly, his voice carrying an edge of command. ¡°We can¡¯t stay here. Standing still means dying.¡± Jax and Eren gave shaky nods, the grim reality forcing them forward. They gathered their weapons¡ªJax with trembling hands and Eren clutching his shield like a lifeline¡ªand began their slow march down the corridor. As they trudged forward, the battle replayed in Thorne¡¯s mind, each moment etched with precision. He remembered the glow of the sentinels¡¯ red eyes, the brutal clang of steel, and the heart-wrenching scream that had shattered the air. His stomach twisted as he stole a glance at Jax. The boy¡¯s bravado had been stripped bare, leaving a hollow shell of what had once been arrogant overconfidence. If he doesn¡¯t pull himself together, Thorne thought grimly, he¡¯ll be the next one to fall. He shifted his gaze to Eren. Despite his injury, Eren had shown a quiet strength that Thorne hadn¡¯t expected. The image of him shielding Leona¡¯s body, even after she was gone, struck a chord in Thorne that he wasn¡¯t ready to admit. There was a depth to Eren, a resilience that demanded respect. Still, Thorne kept his face neutral, his guard up. Respect didn¡¯t mean trust¡ªnot here, not now. ¡°We¡¯re not in some harmless training exercise,¡± Thorne said, breaking the oppressive silence. His voice carried a sharp edge, cutting through their heavy breaths. ¡°This is real. We could die here. And if we¡¯re not ready to face that, we¡¯re already dead.¡± Jax¡¯s head snapped toward Thorne, anger flickering behind his hollowed-out eyes. But the anger quickly gave way to despair. ¡°I thought I was ready,¡± he whispered, his voice barely carrying over the sound of their footsteps. ¡°I thought I was strong enough.¡± His shoulders slumped, and his pace faltered. ¡°I was always so strong,¡± he muttered, the words more for himself than anyone else. ¡°I beat everyone who challenged me. Every single one. My trainer, Aric, he picked me because of my strength. He said I was the best he¡¯d seen in years.¡± Eren, limping beside him, shot Jax a look filled with resentment and exasperation. Even through his pain, Eren¡¯s voice carried a sharp bite. ¡°Strength isn¡¯t everything,¡± he said, his tone like a blade slicing through Jax¡¯s delusion. He leaned heavily on his shield, using it as a makeshift crutch, his frustration boiling to the surface. ¡°You can be the strongest in the room, but if you don¡¯t think, you¡¯ll still lose. Maybe that¡¯s something your precious trainer forgot to tell you.¡± Thorne remained silent, letting Eren¡¯s words sink in. He¡¯d seen too many like Jax on the streets of Alvar¡ªkids who thought muscle and bravado would save them, only to crumble when reality struck. This wasn¡¯t any different. Death wasn¡¯t just a possibility here; it was a promise, lingering in every shadow and waiting for the smallest misstep. Their journey through the corridor was heavy with unspoken thoughts and stifling tension. The air grew colder, the silence broken only by their labored breaths and the rhythmic echo of their footsteps. Finally, they passed through a foreboding doorway and entered a room that seemed pulled from another world. The air was thick and cloying, carrying an unidentifiable scent that pricked at their senses. The walls were alive with strange, faintly glowing symbols that pulsed like a heartbeat, casting an unsettling light throughout the room. It wasn¡¯t bright, but the soft, otherworldly glow was enough to illuminate their path¡ªand their unease. Thorne¡¯s hand tightened instinctively around his dagger. His sharp eyes scanned the room, cataloging every detail. The strange markings, the shifting light, the eerie stillness¡ªit all screamed danger. His instincts, honed from years of hunting and surviving, prickled at the base of his skull. Eren staggered, his steps faltering as he leaned heavily on the shield for support. His face twisted in pain, the gash on his side visibly draining what little energy he had left. ¡°We need to rest,¡± he said through clenched teeth, each word forced out with effort. ¡°We can¡¯t stay here long,¡± Thorne replied sharply, his voice cold and pragmatic. ¡°But we¡¯ll take a moment to regroup and tend to our wounds.¡± Jax slumped to the floor, his back pressed against the cold, pulsing wall. His eyes were vacant, staring ahead at nothing. Thorne observed him out of the corner of his eye but made no move to offer comfort. There was no room for weakness here, no time for coddling. Survival demanded focus and strength. Eren, still leaning against the wall, tried to steady his labored breathing. His brown eyes burned with determination, a fierce resolve shining through the pain that had drained the color from his face. Thorne found himself grudgingly impressed by the boy¡¯s grit, but he forced the thought away. Attachment was a weakness he couldn¡¯t afford. They were allies in a desperate situation, nothing more. ¡°We need to find a way out of here,¡± Thorne said, his voice slicing through the oppressive silence. ¡°Take a moment. Catch your breath. But stay sharp. We don¡¯t know what else is waiting for us.¡± Jax gave no response, his head resting against the wall, his chest rising and falling unevenly. Eren managed a small nod, though his exhaustion was palpable. Meanwhile, Thorne¡¯s mind worked furiously, scanning the room, dissecting their options, and trying to decipher what was yet to come. He couldn¡¯t let his guard down. Leona¡¯s lifeless form was still fresh in his memory, a brutal reminder of what failure looked like. Thorne paced along the walls, running his hands over the strange symbols etched into the stone. The faint glow of the markings offered no answers, only deepening his unease. His Cunning Trapper skill scanned for hidden mechanisms or signs, but nothing immediately stood out. There has to be something, he thought, his frustration mounting. The silence of the room was broken only by the faint sounds of labored breathing. Then, faintly, Thorne heard it: soft footsteps, measured and impossibly graceful. His body tensed, every instinct screaming at him to stay alert. The sound wasn¡¯t like anything he¡¯d heard from his companions¡ªor from the sentinels. No, this was different. This was deliberate, fluid. Familiar. He instantly recognized the graceful, elegant gait he hadn¡¯t heard in years. He froze, his breath hitching as an ache he hadn¡¯t felt in years surged through him, raw and desperate. His heart pounded in his chest as his mind raced, disbelief colliding with fragile hope. He turned slowly, the world around him falling away as a single word tore from his lips, filled with longing. ¡°Mom!¡± CHAPTER 55 Thorne barely caught a glimpse of her before the room began to shift. The pulsating glow of the walls grew brighter, its intensity becoming almost blinding as the air around him vibrated with an unearthly hum. It wasn¡¯t just light; it was a presence, seeping into his very core, overwhelming his senses. His instincts screamed, a primal alarm he couldn¡¯t ignore, but the shift came too quickly. His surroundings dissolved into darkness, then reformed into something entirely different. Thorne found himself standing in a place he hadn¡¯t seen in years: the small garden behind his childhood home. The scent hit him first¡ªa heady mix of roses and lavender, mingling with the fresh, earthy aroma of damp soil. It was intoxicating, too perfect, like a memory made sharper by longing. The garden was exactly as he remembered it, yet somehow more vivid. Flowers bloomed in a riot of color, their petals gleaming as if kissed by morning dew. Sunlight filtered gently through the leafy canopy above, casting dappled patterns on the soft, verdant grass beneath his feet. A warm breeze brushed against his skin, tender and familiar, but it did little to quell the cold dread knotting in his stomach. He turned slowly, his heart racing, and saw her. His mother. She stood among the flowers, just as he remembered her, yet not. Her form was achingly familiar¡ªpetite, with soft, curly hair that framed her face in gentle waves. She wore her favorite simple dress, the fabric flowing around her as if the breeze itself adored her presence. Her hands were stained with soil, a testament to her love for her garden. But her eyes¡ªthose warm, nurturing brown eyes that had once been his refuge¡ªnow burned with an anger so fierce that Thorne flinched. His breath hitched, and he felt like a child again, yearning for her embrace, her voice, her reassurance. Years had passed since her death, but the sight of her now, impossibly real, struck him like a thunderclap. Grief and longing surged in his chest, battling the cold reality of her piercing gaze. ¡°Thorne,¡± she said, her voice sharp and laden with disdain. The sound of his name on her lips, so familiar and yet so cutting, sent a chill through him. ¡°Why did you choose this path of strife? Why did you abandon us? We needed you, and you turned your back on us.¡± Her words cut deeper than any blade ever had. Thorne felt his throat tighten, his chest constricting under the weight of her accusation. ¡°Mother, I¡­¡± His voice broke, and he struggled to find the words. ¡°I had no choice. They came for us¡ªI had to¡ª¡± ¡°No choice?¡± she interrupted, her voice rising, each word a lash. ¡°You always had a choice! You chose violence and conflict over your family. Your father believed in you, and look at what you¡¯ve become! A harbinger of pain, bringing sorrow wherever you go.¡± Her words struck him like hammer blows. Thorne¡¯s knees threatened to buckle as tears welled in his eyes. He tried to speak, but his voice failed him, his mind churning with guilt and regret. The mother who had once been his sanctuary now stood as his accuser, and her disappointment was a weight he couldn¡¯t bear. ¡°Mother, please,¡± he whispered, his voice trembling. ¡°I didn¡¯t want any of this. I never wanted to hurt you.¡± Her expression softened, but only slightly. Her anger gave way to sorrow, and her voice became quieter, though no less piercing. ¡°But you did, Thorne. You hurt us all when you left. Do you know what your father sacrificed for you? What your sister endured?¡± She paused, the silence crushing. ¡°You¡¯ve lost your way, my son. You¡¯re no savior. You¡¯re a harbinger of pain.¡± Thorne''s vision blurred with tears. He reached out, but his mother turned away, her image dissolving into the garden''s shadows. His heart ached with a deep, unrelenting pain, the weight of her words crushing his spirit. He remembered the nights he cried himself to sleep, missing her presence, yearning for the safety of her embrace. "Do you remember, Thorne?" she asked again, her voice softer but laden with sorrow. She appeared beside him, her presence both a comfort and a torment. Her gaze bore into him, her expression a mixture of longing and despair. "Do you remember how we used to sit here, in this garden? You¡¯d pick me flowers, weaving them into crowns while you told me about your dreams of becoming a hero. You were so full of hope back then, so full of love. What happened to that boy?" Thorne''s legs gave out beneath him, and he collapsed to his knees. The flowers brushed against his legs, their delicate touch a cruel contrast to the pain twisting in his chest. "I wanted to protect you," he sobbed, his voice breaking with the weight of his regret. "I wanted to make you proud." "But you left us," she said, her voice trembling as though the words themselves pained her. "You left me and your sister to face the horrors alone. You chose a path of violence, believing it was the only way. But you forgot something far more important¡ªthe love and strength we shared here, in this garden." Thorne met her gaze, his own eyes swimming with tears. Her face was etched with anguish, the kind that came from deep, irreparable wounds. He could see the tears brimming in her eyes, though she refused to let them fall. Her pain was a reflection of his own, magnified and thrown back at him. "I thought I was doing the right thing," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his heart. "I thought... I thought I was keeping you safe." "Safe?" she repeated bitterly, the word laced with venom. "We were never safe, Thorne. Not with you in our family. You¡ª" Her voice broke, but she forced herself to continue, her words slamming into him like hammer blows. "You are the reason we are all dead!" Thorne''s stomach churned violently. The memory of that night came flooding back, sharp and merciless. He saw it all again¡ªtheir destroyed kitchen, the shadows of armed men moving through their home, and the terrified screams of his family. He remembered cowering in the dark, too paralyzed by fear to act. He remembered the sound of his father''s dying cries, the desperate struggle as his mother and sister were dragged away. He remembered doing nothing. "I should have fought them," he croaked, the words catching in his throat. His voice cracked under the weight of his anguish. "I should have done something. Anything." His mother''s face twisted, her features contorting into an expression of deep bitterness. "You were a coward, Thorne," she spat, her words slicing into him like a blade. "You hid in the shadows while they took us. Your father gave his life to protect us, and you did nothing." Each accusation hit like a physical blow, cutting deeper than any wound he had ever suffered. Thorne clutched at his chest as if he could tear the pain out by force. Guilt suffused every fiber of his being, a suffocating weight he couldn¡¯t escape. "I¡¯m sorry," he whispered, tears streaming freely down his face. His voice was raw, pleading. "I¡¯m so, so sorry. I didn¡¯t mean to... I didn¡¯t want to lose you. I was scared¡ªI didn¡¯t know what to do." "Sorry?" she repeated, her voice rising, her fury igniting again. Her figure loomed over him, her anger suffocating. "Sorry doesn¡¯t bring us back! Sorry doesn¡¯t erase the horror we endured because of you. You left us to die, Thorne. You¡¯re a coward, a selfish, pathetic coward!" The chains he hadn¡¯t noticed before rattled in the distance, the sound growing louder and louder until it drowned out her words. Thorne clapped his hands over his ears, his sobs choking in his throat. Her image blurred, dissolving into the shadows of the garden as the clanging of the chains grew deafening. His mother¡¯s voice echoed one last time, her words lingering like a curse: ¡°A harbinger of pain.¡± Skill Level Up: Mindguard! The illusion shifted again, and the vibrant, painful memories of the garden dissolved into an oppressive darkness. Thorne found himself in a cold, damp cell, the air thick with the stench of mildew and despair. The stone walls glistened with moisture, their slick surface reflecting faint, phantom-like light. Beneath him, the uneven floor pressed its icy chill into his bare feet, each step sending shivers coursing through his body. He braced himself against the rough stone wall, its jagged texture biting into his palms as if punishing him for seeking support. The darkness felt alive, a suffocating presence that pressed in on him from all sides. Somewhere in the shadows, chains rattled ominously. Thorne¡¯s breath caught as his eyes adjusted to the dimness, revealing a figure bound to the wall. His sister. She was gaunt and hollow-eyed, her face a pale ghost of the lively, mischievous girl he remembered. Her tangled hair framed her sunken cheeks, and her wrists, raw and bloodied, strained against the heavy shackles that bound her to the cold stone. The dim light cast cruel shadows over her figure, exaggerating every sign of her suffering.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. "Thorne," she hissed, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade. It echoed off the cell walls, jagged and sharp with venom. "You abandoned me. You lived your life while I rotted here." Her accusation hit him like a physical blow, knocking the air from his lungs. He staggered forward, his hands trembling. "Sister, no," he pleaded, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. "I didn¡¯t know where they took you. I¡ªI was too weak to face them." Her bitter laughter filled the cell, a sound devoid of joy. It twisted and warped, bouncing off the walls and reverberating in his skull. "Too weak?" she spat, her lips curling into a cruel smile. "Did you even try to find me? Or did you decide your little adventures with your friends were more important? While you played at being a hero, I was left to this hell." Her words cut deeper than any blade ever could, tearing through the fragile armor he had built around his guilt. He had told himself that he was protecting her by staying away, by becoming stronger. But now the lie lay bare before him. He had abandoned her. He had failed her when she needed him most. "I¡¯m sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking as tears streamed down his face. "I¡¯m so, so sorry." "Sorry?" she mocked, her voice rising with fury. The raw pain in her tone made his chest ache. "Sorry doesn¡¯t undo what you did. Sorry doesn¡¯t change anything. You left me to this, Thorne. You are the reason I¡¯m here. You¡¯re a coward. A selfish, spineless coward!" Each word was a hammer blow to his soul, shattering the fragile pieces of himself he had tried so desperately to hold together. The rattling of chains grew louder, echoing her anger. The weight of her rage was suffocating, pressing him to his knees. He clutched his head, trying to block out her words, but they burrowed deep into his mind, refusing to let go. That night. That cursed night. It replayed in his mind with ruthless clarity. His mother¡¯s desperate screams, his father¡¯s furious yet futile fight, and his sister¡¯s terrified cries reverberated through his memories. He had done nothing. Frozen in fear, he had hidden like a coward while his family was torn apart. "I should have been there for you," he choked out, his voice raw and broken. "I should have protected you. I should have fought." His sister¡¯s face contorted with rage, her eyes blazing with the fury of years of suffering. "You think your regrets mean anything to me now?" she shouted, her voice a crescendo of pain and fury. "Do you know how many days I prayed for you to come back? To save me? And every single day, you didn¡¯t come. You left me to rot, to die in this place. You left me, Thorne." Her image began to blur, her face dissolving into the shadows as his tears fell faster. The chains rattled again, louder and louder, a cacophony that drowned out her voice but not her accusations. The darkness closed in, the cold biting deeper into his skin, into his bones. Thorne felt himself crumbling under the weight of her words, her pain, her anger. Every ounce of strength drained from him as guilt and failure suffocated him. Skill Level Up: Mindguard! The cell dissolved into nothingness, its damp cold replaced by the oppressive grandeur of a sprawling hall. The air was heavy with the scent of smoke and polish, a twisted echo of opulence that seemed designed to suffocate rather than inspire awe. Thorne recognized the place immediately¡ªa warped reflection of his uncle¡¯s estate, exaggerated and menacing. At the far end of the hall stood his Uncle, an imposing figure cloaked in menace. His sharp, angular features were illuminated by a cruel smile that twisted his mouth into something grotesque. His piercing eyes, hard as polished stone, bore into Thorne, stripping away every shred of composure. The smirk was not one of greeting but of derision, a predator savoring its prey. "Ah, Thorne," Uncle sneered, the name laced with mockery. "The orphan boy who thought he could be a hero." Thorne¡¯s blood ran cold. "Uncle, please, I¡ª" "Silence!" his uncle roared, his face twisting in rage. "You are nothing but a pathetic orphan! You thought you could escape your fate? You thought you could be more than the street rat you are?" Thorne staggered back as if physically struck, the words cutting through him like blades. His uncle''s voice carried the weight of every insecurity he had buried deep inside, dredging them up and laying them bare. "I tried to make something of myself," Thorne whispered, his voice trembling, barely audible over the pounding of his heart. "Tried?" His uncle¡¯s laughter was sharp and bitter, devoid of any warmth. The sound grated on Thorne¡¯s ears, each note a reminder of his perceived failures. "Oh, you tried. And look at what your pathetic efforts have wrought. Failure after failure, destruction in your wake. Shall I remind you?" Thorne¡¯s throat tightened as his uncle¡¯s eyes gleamed with malice. The man¡¯s voice lowered, dripping with venom. "Do you recall the letter, boy? The one you brought to me, thinking you were so clever? You set noble houses against each other in a bloody battle that tore half the city apart. Fire consumed the city, screams filled the air, and chaos reigned. All thanks to your brilliant handiwork." The memories crashed over Thorne like a tidal wave. He remembered the nights illuminated by the inferno, the acrid stench of smoke mingling with the cries of the dying. He had believed he was doing the right thing, helping his uncle and securing the gang¡¯s strength. But instead, he had unleashed a catastrophe, leaving death and ruin in his wake. "And then," his uncle continued, his voice rising, "there was the Gravedigger¡¯s base. You set it aflame, didn¡¯t you? Thought you were striking a heroic blow for the family. But do you hear their screams, Thorne? The screams of your cousins as they burned alive? Because of you." Thorne¡¯s knees buckled under the weight of his uncle¡¯s scorn. He felt his spirit breaking, his resolve crumbling. Every word his uncle spoke was a reminder of his deepest fears and insecurities. He remembered the early days with the gang, the constant struggle to prove himself, the gnawing feeling of inadequacy. "I wanted to belong," he choked out, his voice barely audible. "I wanted to be someone." "You?" Uncle spat, his face contorted with disgust. "You are no one. Just a frightened little boy playing at being a hero. Look at you, trembling like a leaf. Pathetic." The words hit their mark, each one piercing deeper than the last. Thorne¡¯s chest felt hollow, his mind reeling. His uncle¡¯s face loomed closer, twisted with glee as he fed on Thorne¡¯s despair. The grandeur of the hall felt like a cruel mockery, the walls closing in, the air thick with judgment. "Why do you think they call me ''Uncle,'' Thorne?" the man sneered, his voice a venomous whisper that seemed to fill every corner of the darkened hall. "Because I own you. You are mine¡ªbound by your own weakness, your own fear. You will never escape that." Thorne¡¯s chest heaved, each breath a laborious effort under the crushing weight of his uncle¡¯s words. "I just want to be strong," he choked out, his voice trembling but filled with a fragile determination. "To stop being afraid all the time." "Afraid?" his uncle spat, his mocking laugh a knife twisting in Thorne¡¯s gut. "You¡¯ve always been afraid. Afraid of being nothing. Afraid of being alone. And look at you now, clinging to the scraps of your pathetic life, begging for strength you¡¯ll never have." The room grew darker, the shadows thickening like a living entity. The oppressive air pressed against Thorne, suffocating him. It felt as though the walls themselves were closing in, his uncle¡¯s words sinking into his mind like poison. "You think you can defy me?" Uncle¡¯s voice dropped to a menacing growl, dripping with rage. "You think you can walk away from what you owe? You are nothing without me." Before Thorne could react, Uncle surged forward, his hand latching onto Thorne¡¯s collar with a vice-like grip. The sudden force lifted Thorne off his feet, his legs dangling as his uncle¡¯s fiery gaze bore into him. "I¡¯ll show you what happens to cowards," Uncle snarled. Thorne¡¯s body jolted as a fist slammed into his stomach with brutal force, knocking the air from his lungs. He gasped, his vision blurring with tears as pain erupted through his core. He could barely draw a breath before another blow struck his side, the sharp agony radiating through him and making his knees buckle. "Please," he whimpered, his voice a faint, desperate plea. "Stop..." Uncle sneered, his face twisted with cruelty. "Stop? Why should I stop? You deserve this, Thorne. Every blow is a reminder of your place. You¡¯re mine, and you¡¯ll always be mine." The punches kept coming, each one more vicious than the last, each one a hammer driving nails into the coffin of Thorne¡¯s resolve. His body was a canvas of pain, his limbs trembling and weak. Uncle¡¯s voice reverberated in his ears, louder than the pounding of his heart. "You will never be free of me," his uncle hissed, leaning closer, his breath hot and rancid against Thorne¡¯s face. "You are mine, and I will break you." Thorne¡¯s vision swam, the world around him twisting and fading as unconsciousness threatened to claim him. The pain, the humiliation, the crushing despair¡ªit was all too much. But somewhere, deep within the churning sea of agony and hopelessness, a spark ignited. A small, stubborn ember of defiance burned in Thorne¡¯s chest, refusing to be extinguished. He had survived this long, endured this much. He wouldn¡¯t give in. Not now. Not to him. The darkness began to peel back, and with it, the crushing weight of Uncle¡¯s presence. The echoes of mocking laughter grew distant, replaced by a growing clarity in Thorne¡¯s mind. Skill Level Up: Mindguard! The oppressive darkness lifted as abruptly as it had descended, leaving Thorne sprawled on the cold, unforgiving floor of the strange room. The eerie glow of the walls remained, casting long shadows that seemed to pulse in time with his ragged breaths. His chest heaved as he gasped for air, his heart hammering in his chest. His Mindguard skill had saved him, anchoring him to reality, but it hadn''t spared him from the raw, searing pain of what he had endured. Thorne¡¯s body gave out, and he crumpled to the floor, trembling uncontrollably. A sob tore from his throat, and then another, until they came in waves that he couldn¡¯t contain. His forehead pressed against the icy stone, his hands tangled in his hair as if trying to physically pull himself back together. Each tear that fell seemed to carry the weight of his guilt, his grief, his failures. The visions haunted him. His mother¡¯s piercing words, his sister¡¯s agonized cries, his uncle¡¯s unrelenting scorn¡ªthey reverberated in his mind, growing louder and more unbearable with each echo. He felt like a shattered mirror, every broken shard reflecting his worst fears and deepest regrets. "I¡¯m sorry," he whispered hoarsely, the words barely audible over the sound of his own sobbing. He wasn¡¯t even sure who he was apologizing to¡ªhis family, himself, or the ghosts of his past that now felt more alive than ever. The cold seeped into his very bones, amplifying the emptiness inside him. He curled into a ball, his body a trembling knot of pain and anguish, as his sobs echoed in the eerie silence of the room. He had survived so many trials before, but this¡ªthis was different. The weight of his memories, his failures, and his fears bore down on him like an unrelenting tide, threatening to drown him. Every battle he had fought, every scar he bore, felt insignificant in the face of this torment. For what felt like hours, he lay there, his tears soaking into the stone. The cold floor was a cruel comfort, grounding him in the present even as the echoes of the past tormented him. He felt small, insignificant¡ªa boy pretending to be strong in a world that demanded so much more. As he lay on the cold floor, the weight of his past crushing him, Thorne realized that all those emotions he had hidden away for so long were enough to crush him in an instant. And at that moment, he wasn''t sure if he could ever find the strength to stand again. CHAPTER 56 The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. CHAPTER 57 Thorne was herded toward the other recruits, his mind still spinning from everything that had just happened. The narrow path between the cage and the stands felt endless, and the weight of countless stares pressed down on him. It wasn¡¯t just the recruits watching¡ªit was the spectators, too, their silent judgment like a brand searing into his skin. He felt exposed, and not just because of his lack of clothes. It was as if they could see every flaw, every crack in the mask he was trying so hard to keep in place. Each step felt like a performance, one he wished he could refuse. He forced himself to maintain a stoic expression, his shoulders squared and his gaze steady, but he couldn¡¯t stop his eyes from drifting to the stands. He wasn¡¯t sure what he was looking for, maybe just some kind of answer, some sign of what was coming next. But then he froze. A face. A face he thought he recognized in the shadows of the spectators. His gut twisted, and he almost stopped in his tracks. No. It couldn¡¯t be. His mind was too messed up right now, too raw. He forced himself to look away, but the thought nagged at him, clawing at the edges of his mind. An older man entered the cage, dragging Eren¡¯s lifeless body away without ceremony. The sight twisted Thorne¡¯s stomach, a cold knot forming deep inside him. He clenched his fists, but his face remained emotionless. This was no place for grief. Weakness wouldn¡¯t just get him killed¡ªit would be an invitation. Ahead of him, two figures in black leathers waited, their faces blank under their tattered hoods. Without a word, they shoved him toward the section where the other recruits sat. He lowered himself onto the hard dirt floor, staring straight ahead at the cage. Around him, the other kids shifted uncomfortably. Some were completely still, their faces blank, while others clutched their weapons tightly, their knuckles white. A few murmured to each other in low voices, but no one really seemed to know what to say. Thorne tried to ignore them, but his ears caught snippets of conversation¡ªhalf-finished sentences, shaky whispers. It was the kind of fear that sat just under the surface, bubbling up in every word, every movement. He stared at the cage, trying to drown it all out. Soon enough, the fights started again. Two kids stumbled into the arena, both looking like they¡¯d been through hell. Their faces were pale, and their hands shook as they gripped their weapons. The fight that followed wasn¡¯t much of a fight at all. It was messy, clumsy, more desperation than skill. Blades clanged awkwardly, and neither of them seemed to know what they were doing. Eventually, one of them got lucky, his sword catching the other kid in the throat. Blood sprayed across the dirt, and the loser collapsed in a heap. The winner didn¡¯t look much better¡ªhe dropped to his knees, trembling, his weapon slipping from his fingers. And that was just the first. The fights kept coming, a brutal rhythm that didn¡¯t let up. Every thirty minutes or so, a new pair¡ªor sometimes more¡ªstumbled into the cage. Some looked ready to kill. Most looked ready to die. Thorne sat through it all, his face a mask of indifference, but his stomach churned. It was all the same¡ªblood, fear, and bodies hitting the ground. After a while, he stopped keeping track of who won and who lost. The fights blurred together, a haze of violence that dulled his senses. Every now and then, though, someone stood out. One girl stepped into the cage with a bow slung over her shoulder, her face eerily blank. When the signal came, she didn¡¯t hesitate. Her opponent barely had time to blink before an arrow buried itself between her eyes. The girl didn¡¯t even flinch, lowering her bow with the same cold detachment as if she¡¯d been taking target practice. Then there was a boy around his age. At first, Thorne thought the kid didn¡¯t stand a chance¡ªhe was small, scrawny, practically shaking. But then the boy started moving. His body twisted and turned in ways that didn¡¯t make sense, his movements so unpredictable that his opponent didn¡¯t know how to react. The fight was over in seconds, the boy¡¯s blade slipping between his opponent¡¯s ribs with precision that shouldn¡¯t have been possible for someone like him. Even Thorne couldn¡¯t help but feel a flicker of admiration. But not all the faces were strangers. Thorne recognized a few among the recruits, cousins he had crossed paths with during his years under his uncle¡¯s shadow. The first time a familiar face appeared, his heart quickened. He leaned forward, ready to intervene if it meant saving someone he knew. Yet as the fight played out, he stayed rooted to his seat, forced to watch as the girl¡ªa cousin he¡¯d once shared a meal with¡ªfell. Her lifeless body hit the dirt, and Thorne¡¯s hands trembled with suppressed rage. By the third death of someone he recognized, his reaction was muted. Numbness crept in, dulling the sharp edges of his emotions. He barely spared the cage a glance as new pairs entered, the cycle of death and survival becoming a monotonous rhythm that beat against his mind like a war drum. His mind wandered, slipping away from the carnage in front of him. That face in the stands earlier¡ªwas it real? Could it really have been him? The fights dragged on, a monotonous parade of violence and survival. The air grew thick with the scent of blood and sweat, and the murmurs of the spectators became a constant drone in Thorne¡¯s ears. He felt detached, as if he were watching everything through a fog. As he sat there, his mind started piecing together the reality of his situation. The fact that both Leona, Jax, and Eren had trainers just like him meant that the Cousins had been training them all along for something. This brutal test was no mere coincidence. He was almost certain he was among the Cousins now. The mysterious man, the structure of the tests, the familiar faces¡ªthey all pointed to one conclusion: this was a recruitment process, a deadly initiation into the ranks of the Cousins. Thorne''s gaze sought any more familiar faces among the spectators. They all wore the same tattered cloak, but the hidden faces were difficult to pierce through. Occasionally, he thought he caught a glimpse of recognition, but it was fleeting, and the shadows concealed too much. As the hours passed, their group of recruits grew. More and more kids emerged from the room of illusions, some victorious, others barely standing. Thorne started getting tired, the weight of the events and the oppressive atmosphere pressing down on him. He had no sense of time in this place; it could have been a couple of hours or days since he had entered this nightmare. Then, finally, something shifted. A woman walked in, dressed in sharp black clothing that set her apart from the cloaked spectators. Her face wasn¡¯t hidden like the others. Her features were sharp and angular, her piercing green eyes scanning the group like she was sizing up cattle. Her dark hair was pulled back into a bun so tight it made her look severe, and she moved like someone who knew exactly how much power they held. ¡°Follow me,¡± she said, her voice cutting through the low murmurs like a blade. No hesitation, no explanation. Just an order. Everyone scrambled to their feet, some pushing and shoving to get closer to her like it might earn them some favor. Thorne hung back, watching the others. No way he was getting caught up in whatever that was. They followed her down a long tunnel, the air cold and damp. Water dripped steadily from the walls, forming shallow puddles that their bare feet splashed through. The floor was uneven, the stone slick with slime. Thorne hated the way the cold bit into his skin, but he kept moving, one foot in front of the other, his eyes scanning for anything¡ªmarkings, symbols, anything that might give him a clue about where they were. The tunnel twisted and turned like it was trying to confuse them, and Thorne felt any sense of direction slipping away. After what felt like forever, they emerged into a massive, circular room. The place was a maze. Dozens of tunnels branched off from the one they¡¯d just walked through, crisscrossed by bridges high above them. The sheer scale of it made Thorne¡¯s stomach twist, like he¡¯d just walked into the center of a spider¡¯s web. People moved around in small groups, most of them wearing the same dark clothes as the spectators from before. But some stood out, dressed in regular clothes like they¡¯d just come off the streets or out of the fish market. They walked with purpose, their faces set with a focus that made Thorne uneasy. The torches lining the walls flickered with an unnatural green light, bathing the room in an eerie glow that made shadows dance unpredictably. The murmur of voices, occasional laughter, and distant shouts created a background noise that buzzed in Thorne''s ears like an ever-present reminder that he was surrounded by people he couldn¡¯t trust. Thorne¡¯s eyes scanned the recruits around him. Some of the older kids had grim, focused expressions, their eyes shadowed by things they¡¯d seen¡ªor done. Others, disturbingly, seemed relaxed, even casual, as though they had already made peace with the horrors of this place. The newer recruits, who had been blank-eyed and numb after their fights, were starting to stir, curiosity flickering across their faces as they took in their surroundings. Thorne resisted the urge to look too interested. Instead, he tried to build a mental map of the twisting paths they had taken to get here. It was futile. The sharp turns, branching tunnels, and the sheer scale of the place left him completely disoriented. The base was a labyrinth, and he couldn¡¯t shake the sense of being trapped in a web, surrounded by unseen predators.This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. At last, the woman led them down a side tunnel and towards a large wooden door, its surface scarred and weathered with age. She pushed it open with a creak, revealing a spacious room with a high vaulted ceiling. The air was stale, carrying the faint smell of dust and mildew. Thorne could tell it had once been a storage area, but now it had been repurposed into a dormitory of sorts. Three rows of simple wooden beds lined the walls. They were mismatched and uneven, with thin, lumpy mattresses and coarse, threadbare blankets. Dust hung in the air, illuminated by the torches mounted high up on the wall. Thorne¡¯s first thought was how little the Cousins cared about comfort. His second was how easy it would be to get sick here. The woman gestured for the group to file into the room. They formed a loose circle around her, their exhaustion palpable. She stood tall, her sharp gaze sweeping over them as she began to speak. ¡°These are the rules,¡± she said, her voice cold and commanding, amplified by the acoustics of the room. ¡°You are free to roam the base, but do so at your own risk. Some of the Cousins enjoy playing with the new recruits.¡± Her lips curved into a cruel smile that sent a shiver down Thorne¡¯s spine. Her eyes flicked across the room, lingering on some of the recruits who looked the most nervous. "You are not to leave the base for the next three months. If you do, you will be killed for failing the training. For anything you need¡ªclothes, weapons, food, armor¡ªyou can steal, kill, or extort. But if you¡¯re stupid enough to try it from an older cousin and get caught, you will be killed.¡± Her words hung heavy in the air, and Thorne could feel the unease ripple through the group. A few of his fellow recruits shuffled uncomfortably, their fear beginning to show. "Every day, there will be training. If you don''t meet the standards of your trainers, you will be..." The boy next to Thorne, the one with the unpredictable fighting style, chuckled mirthlessly. "...you will be killed." The woman¡¯s eyes snapped to him, but her expression didn¡¯t change. She just gave a faint, chilling smile before pressing on. ¡°On occasion, you¡¯ll be sent on missions. If you fail¡­¡± She didn¡¯t bother finishing the thought. The implication was clear. Finally, her gaze swept across the group one last time. ¡°Welcome to the family,¡± she said, her tone mocking. She turned to leave but paused at the door, raising one finger as if remembering something trivial. Her eyes sparkled with feigned playfulness as she scanned the recruits. ¡°Oh, one more thing,¡± she said lightly. ¡°We don¡¯t have enough beds for all of you, so some of you will be sleeping on the ground.¡± A small chuckle escaped her lips. ¡°Careful of the rats.¡± With that, she stepped out, the door creaking shut behind her. As soon as the door slammed shut, chaos erupted. The room transformed into a battlefield in an instant. Kids surged forward in a frenzy, shoving and clawing at one another in a desperate bid to claim one of the coveted beds. The air filled with shouts, curses, and the unmistakable sound of fists meeting flesh. Thorne didn¡¯t move. Instead, he hung back, his sharp eyes scanning the room, counting. Forty-seven kids, twenty beds. He could already see where this was going, and it made his stomach churn. His gaze locked on a towering boy who had muscled his way to a bed, shoving a smaller kid aside with brutal force. The smaller boy, clutching a knife, didn¡¯t hesitate. He lunged, driving the blade into the larger boy¡¯s back once, twice, three times. The big kid collapsed to the ground with a wet gasp, blood pooling beneath him. The smaller boy stood over the body, his chest heaving, his wide, crazed eyes daring anyone to challenge him. Thorne¡¯s gut twisted at the sight. Death wasn¡¯t new to him, but this wasn¡¯t a street fight or a battle against an enemy. This was cold, senseless slaughter over something as trivial as a place to sleep. He clenched his fists, forcing himself to remain still. The room spiraled further into madness. The first kill broke whatever fragile barrier of restraint had existed, and the others followed suit. Fights erupted across the room, wild and vicious. Thorne spotted a girl shrieking as she clawed at another kid¡¯s face, her nails leaving bloody gouges. A boy stumbled backward, his nose gushing blood, before someone clubbed him over the head with a piece of wood. Near the edge of the chaos, Thorne noticed a kid even smaller than the knife-wielding killer. The boy crouched low, clutching a jagged rock he must¡¯ve found on the floor. He waited for an opening, then darted forward like a viper, smashing the rock into the temple of a wounded boy who had already been fighting. The injured kid crumpled instantly, and the smaller boy calmly took his place by the bed. The sheer savagery of it all sickened Thorne, but he kept his expression neutral. He knew what this was. Another test. Another way for the Cousins to weed out the weak. The trainers didn¡¯t have to lift a finger. The recruits were doing their job for them. ¡°They¡¯re idiots,¡± came a low mutter. Thorne turned his head slightly to see the short, wiry boy from earlier standing nearby, watching the chaos with cold, calculating eyes. ¡°They¡¯re playing right into their hands.¡± Thorne studied him for a moment. The boy wasn¡¯t moving to fight, wasn¡¯t rushing for a bed. His sharp gaze flicked from fight to fight, assessing the scene with a predator¡¯s focus. Thorne didn¡¯t respond, but something about the boy struck a chord with him. He wasn¡¯t like the others. He was thinking. The boy caught Thorne¡¯s look and gave a faint, humorless smile. ¡°We¡¯ll see who¡¯s still standing,¡± he murmured, his tone more amused than afraid. Thorne nodded subtly, filing the boy away in his mind as someone to watch¡ªmaybe even someone to keep close, if alliances could be trusted in a place like this. As the fights dragged on, the chaos began to burn itself out. Blood stained the wooden floor, pooling around the lifeless bodies of those who had lost. The sharp metallic tang of it mixed with the acrid stench of sweat, fear, and desperation, filling the air until it was almost suffocating. The victors¡ªsome bloodied, some eerily calm¡ªclaimed their prizes, sprawling on the beds with the territorial pride of wild animals. The others, too beaten or too terrified to have even tried, settled on the floor, their eyes darting nervously at the ones who had fought. Thorne let out a slow breath, his thoughts racing. If this was how they acted over beds, what would happen when food became scarce? Or water? He scanned the room again, cataloging faces, marking who looked weak, who looked dangerous, and who might be worth allying with. His gaze landed on the wiry boy again, standing next to him, watching everything with that same cold calculation. The frenzy had subsided, leaving behind a room filled with the heavy sounds of labored breathing, muffled sobs, and the occasional whimper of pain. Thorne leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, his mind churning. The short boy who had lingered near Thorne during the chaos jutted his chin toward the huddled mass of kids who had been too weak or scared to fight for a bed. ¡°You coming?¡± he asked, his tone casual but watchful. Thorne didn¡¯t respond immediately. His eyes roved over the room, assessing. He noted the kids who had fought with ferocity and the ones who¡¯d merely gotten lucky, clutching their hard-won beds with white-knuckled desperation. Others had claimed their spaces through sheer brutality, their faces set in grim masks that dared anyone to challenge them. Finally, Thorne turned back to the short boy and shook his head. ¡°Nah,¡± he said, his voice steady. ¡°I prefer to sleep in a bed.¡± Without waiting for a reply, Thorne stepped forward. His movements were deliberate, his posture relaxed but purposeful. The room seemed to shift as eyes turned toward him, whispers rippling among the kids. He could feel the weight of their stares, a mix of curiosity, unease, and outright fear. Thorne hadn¡¯t just been sitting idle while the chaos unfolded. He¡¯d been watching, studying. The fights had told him everything he needed to know¡ªwho was strong, who was weak, and who was barely holding on. He knew that in a place like this, survival wasn¡¯t just about staying alive. It was about sending a message. If he wanted to avoid constant challenges, he needed to make a statement¡ªand to do that, he had to take down the strongest. One boy in particular had caught his attention. He wasn¡¯t just strong; he was cruel. Thorne had watched as he toyed with another recruit before finishing him off, his strikes precise but unnecessarily brutal. The boy now lounged arrogantly on his bed, his muscular frame relaxed, his dark red hair slick with sweat and blood. A twisted grin spread across his face as he caught Thorne¡¯s approach. Thorne stopped a few paces away, his voice cutting through the tense silence. ¡°Stand up.¡± The boy chuckled, his grin widening. ¡°You¡¯ve got a death wish, don¡¯t you?¡± he sneered, rising slowly to his feet. His voice was low, mocking, filled with a confidence born of too many easy victories. ¡°Maybe,¡± Thorne replied coolly, his gaze unflinching. He didn¡¯t rush, didn¡¯t fidget. His calm unnerved the other kids, and even the boy he¡¯d chosen seemed momentarily taken aback. The boy¡¯s grin faltered for a split second before he lunged, a knife flashing in his hand. But Thorne was ready. He sidestepped with effortless precision, his hand snapping out to seize the boy¡¯s wrist. With a quick twist, the knife clattered to the floor. Before the boy could react, Thorne drove his knee into his stomach, doubling him over, then followed with a sharp elbow to the back of the head. The boy crumpled, gasping, to the ground. The room went utterly silent. Even the short boy, who had been watching with sharp eyes, seemed momentarily stunned. Thorne didn¡¯t pause to relish the moment. He stepped forward and hauled the boy to his feet, his grip unyielding. With a brutal right hook, he sent the boy crashing into a nearby bed. The boy struggled to rise, blood streaming from his nose, but Thorne didn¡¯t let up. He yanked him up again by his hair and slammed him back down with enough force to rattle the bedframe. Each strike Thorne delivered was cold, calculated. He wasn¡¯t just fighting; he was making a point. The boy¡¯s defiance began to crumble, his movements slower, his gaze filled with a growing panic. Thorne could see it¡ªthe moment the boy realized he¡¯d lost. He could see the pain and fear in the boy¡¯s eyes, but he didn¡¯t stop.He wanted the other kids to see his power and leave him alone. And, in part, he enjoyed seeing the pain in the other boy¡¯s face after what he had done to the other recruit. He drew out the fight, his blows deliberate, measured to inflict pain without permanent damage. His strikes landed with surgical precision, each one breaking the boy¡¯s spirit a little more. Thorne¡¯s face remained emotionless, but inside, a cold satisfaction simmered. This wasn¡¯t just about survival. It was about showing the others that challenging him was a mistake. A notification blinked at the edge of his vision. Skill Level Up: Unarmed Combat! ¡°Enough!¡± someone shouted, but Thorne ignored it, delivering one last punch that left the boy unconscious on the floor. Thorne straightened, breathing heavily but still in control. He looked around the room, meeting the eyes of the other kids. None of them dared to challenge him now. He had made his point. He was not to be trifled with. He walked over to the bed the boy had claimed and sat down, his gaze still sweeping the room. The short boy who had stayed by his side earlier gave him a small nod of approval from where he sat on the floor. Thorne returned the nod, then lay back on the bed, finally allowing himself to relax. CHAPTER 58 Thorne woke to shouting, a groan escaping his lips. He had barely gotten any sleep all night, always having one eye open, afraid that someone would sneak attack him while he slept. The hard mattress did nothing to soothe his aching muscles, and the cold air seemed to seep into his bones. During the night, he had heard muffled screams when some saw an opportunity to get a bed. The occasional thud or cry had kept him on edge, and the adrenaline of survival was the only thing that had kept him from succumbing to exhaustion. Sitting up, Thorne scanned the room. His stomach twisted at the sight of two more bodies sprawled lifelessly on the floor. No one had bothered to move them; they lay discarded like broken tools. Several kids sported fresh bruises, swollen eyes, and hastily bandaged cuts¡ªclear signs of skirmishes in the night. Thorne¡¯s gaze darted over the group, doing a quick headcount. Thirty-seven kids remained. Four had vanished entirely, their fates a mystery but easy enough to guess. He stretched his stiff limbs, his joints popping as he tried to work out the soreness. His eyes flickered to some of the other recruits, many of whom sat huddled together, their faces pale and blank. The fear in their eyes was unmistakable. Thorne was contemplating looking for food when the door slammed open. A girl burst into the room, panting as though she had run for her life. ¡°The scary woman is coming!¡± she shouted, her voice high-pitched with panic. She quickly darted into the group, blending into the mass of recruits like a spooked animal seeking safety in a herd. A ripple of movement spread through the room as everyone scrambled to their feet. Some winced visibly as they stood, still nursing the injuries from the night before. Thorne¡¯s eyes landed on the boy he had beaten into submission the previous evening. The boy¡¯s face was a mess of bruises, his eyes swollen to narrow slits, and he leaned heavily on another recruit for support. When he caught Thorne watching, he tried to glare, but the effort fell flat, drawing only a smirk from Thorne. Thorne crossed his arms, leaning against the bedpost, his smirk widening. The boy¡¯s glare faltered into something more akin to frustration than intimidation. ¡°You should have finished him off,¡± came a low voice beside him. Thorne glanced over to see the short boy from the night before. His tone was light, almost conversational, but his words carried weight. ¡°Now you¡¯ve made an enemy. He¡¯ll come for you again.¡± Thorne raised an eyebrow. ¡°I¡¯m not worried. I can handle him.¡± The boy chuckled softly, slapping Thorne lightly on the back in a gesture that felt almost friendly. ¡°Oh, no doubt about that. You¡¯ve got guts; I¡¯ll give you that.¡± He offered his hand, the faintest hint of a grin tugging at his lips. ¡°Name¡¯s Vance.¡± Thorne hesitated for a moment before clasping it. ¡°Thorne.¡± Vance¡¯s sharp eyes swept over him, appraising. ¡°So, the rumors are true. You¡¯re the favorite cousin.¡± Thorne opened his mouth to respond, but the sharp clack of boots against stone cut him off. The air shifted as the woman from before entered the room, followed by the mysterious man. The murmurs died instantly, the tension in the room thick enough to choke on. The woman¡¯s gaze swept over them, her piercing green eyes scanning each recruit with clinical precision. She barely paused at the dead bodies on the floor, her lips curling in what might have been mild amusement¡ªor disdain. She seemed to see through every layer of pretense or bravado, dissecting each of them without saying a word. The man, Lock, lingered by the door, his cold, predatory presence amplifying the unease. The woman stepped forward, her voice sharp and commanding. ¡°Stand to attention,¡± she barked, her tone cutting through the room like a blade. The recruits shuffled into position, some straightening instinctively while others hesitated, unsure of what was expected of them. Thorne stood tall, his face blank but his mind racing. ¡°I am Talon,¡± the woman announced, her voice carrying easily through the room. ¡°And this is Lock. We are the leaders of this group. You will follow our commands without question. Fail to do so, and you¡¯ll wish for death long before it comes.¡± Lock stepped forward with a slow, deliberate gait, his scowl deepening as he surveyed the room. He was tall and lean, his dark eyes sharp as obsidian, radiating cold menace with every movement. His voice, when he spoke, was a low growl that seemed to vibrate through the air. "Listen up," he commanded. "You will follow orders. No questions, no hesitation." Thorne¡¯s gaze flicked between Lock and Talon, studying the way they moved, how they commanded the room without a shred of doubt or hesitation. They were in charge, and they expected absolute obedience. His mind churned with questions. If these were the ¡°Cousins¡±, what exactly was their structure? How many more were out there? Unable to resist, he broke the heavy silence. ¡°Is this the only group?¡± he asked, his voice steady but carrying a faint edge. ¡°Are there others like us?¡± The question hung in the air like a stone tossed into a still pond. Talon¡¯s gaze snapped to him, her eyes narrowing with the precision of a hawk locking onto prey. Her lips curled into a smile that didn¡¯t reach her piercing green eyes. ¡°That,¡± she said in a voice laced with mock sweetness, ¡°is none of your concern.¡± Lock turned his scornful glare on Thorne, his lip curling. ¡°You¡¯re animals,¡± he sneered, his tone dripping with disdain. ¡°Sleeping among the dead, like scavengers. It¡¯s pathetic.¡± He pointed sharply at two boys near the back of the group, his gesture as much an accusation as it was an order. ¡°You two, clean up this mess. Take the bodies and follow me.¡± The two boys hesitated, their faces pale and sickly. One visibly gagged as he glanced at the lifeless forms on the floor, but neither dared to disobey. They scrambled to their feet, avoiding Lock¡¯s gaze as they began dragging the bodies out of the room, their movements jerky and panicked. Talon resumed speaking, her gaze sweeping over the room. ¡°Today, your training begins,¡± she declared, her eyes scanning the room. ¡°Your schedule will be divided into four sections: physical conditioning, weapon training, stealth techniques, and survival skills. Each will push you to your absolute limits. Failure is not an option.¡± She began pacing, her boots clicking against the stone floor, her gaze sweeping across the room with an almost predatory intensity. ¡°Physical conditioning starts at dawn. You¡¯ll run until your legs give out. Climb until your arms are numb. Fight until you¡¯re barely standing. This will build the endurance you¡¯ll need to survive.¡± Talon¡¯s voice was cold, clinical, as if she were reciting the specifications for a weapon being forged. ¡°Next comes weapon training. You¡¯ll learn to wield anything we give you¡ªknives, swords, bows, and whatever else we see fit. If you can¡¯t master a weapon, you¡¯re dead weight.¡± A girl near the front raised a trembling hand, her voice tentative as she asked, ¡°When do we eat?¡± Talon¡¯s laughter was sharp and cruel, reverberating through the chamber. ¡°Eat?¡± she mocked, her tone dripping with derision. ¡°You¡¯ll eat when you¡¯ve earned it. Food is part of your training. Find it. Steal it. Take it from someone else if you have to.¡± Her eyes glittered with sadistic amusement. ¡°Let¡¯s see how resourceful you can be.¡± The murmurs grew louder, fear and disbelief rippling through the group. Thorne stayed silent, his mind racing to absorb every word. This wasn¡¯t just about physical strength; they were breaking them down, remolding them into something ruthless, something inhuman. ¡°In the afternoon,¡± Talon continued, her voice slicing through the rising unrest, ¡°you¡¯ll learn stealth techniques. How to vanish, how to watch without being seen, how to take what you need without leaving a trace. Your survival depends on being invisible when it matters.¡± Her pacing slowed, and she fixed the group with a hard, unyielding stare. ¡°Survival skills come last. You¡¯ll learn to adapt, to read your surroundings, and to exploit them. Every decision you make in the field will determine whether you live or die. Make the wrong call, and you won¡¯t get a second chance.¡± The weight of her words settled heavily over the recruits, suffocating any flicker of hope they might have clung to. Talon¡¯s gaze lingered on Thorne for a moment, her expression unreadable, before she turned toward the door. ¡°Follow me,¡± she commanded, her voice brooking no argument. The recruits formed a hesitant line, shuffling after her like lambs to the slaughter. Thorne kept to the middle, his eyes darting around, cataloging every detail of the space. As they exited the room, they heard shouting, and Thorne''s heart skipped a beat. He heard the familiar voice, and his heart started racing. Years of pain and fear from this man made him instinctively shiver, but also rejoice from familiarity. Sid was arguing loudly with Lock. The two men were clashing, oblivious to their audience. The two boys who had followed Lock were huddling in the shadows, trying to be as inconspicuous as they could. "I have every right to see him," Sid growled. "You know damn well he''s my responsibility." Lock''s face twisted with contempt. "He''s not your responsibility anymore. You had your chance. If you wanted to see him, you should have volunteered as his trainer."If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. Sid''s eyes narrowed. "I have instructions from Uncle to see him." At that, Lock froze, and the other recruits around him turned to Thorne, watching him with surprised eyes, some with envy, some with calculation. Thorne felt uncomfortable by the attention and struggled to maintain an air of indifference. Lock protested, "I was given no such orders." Sid scoffed, his voice dripping with challenge. "Then maybe you should take it up with Uncle. I¡¯m sure he¡¯d love to hear about your complaints." The tension between the two men was palpable, and the recruits could sense it. Lock''s face grew redder by the second, his fury barely contained. He stepped closer to Sid, his voice a low growl. "You always were a thorn in my side, Sid. You think you can waltz in here and pull rank because of Uncle? You''re delusional." Sid''s lips curled into a mocking smile. "And you''re just as petty as ever, Lock. Some things never change." Lock clenched his fists, but before he could respond, Talon intervened. "Enough," she commanded, her voice sharp. She turned to Sid, her expression cold. "You have five minutes with the boy. If he is not in time for his training, you will be kicked out." Sid laughed and raised an eyebrow. "Sure," he responded with a smirk. Talon''s face remained expressionless, but Lock''s face grew even redder. "Careful, old man," he seethed. "It''s not like the old days anymore. It''s a new age." Lock''s eyes gleamed with something that sent shivers down Thorne''s spine, but Sid remained unaffected. He yawned dramatically, as if bored by the whole exchange. Sid''s eyes spotted Thorne in the crowd of new recruits. "Follow me," he said, tilting his head. Thorne hesitated for a moment, feeling the eyes of the other recruits on him. The murmurs grew louder as he stepped out of the line, following Sid through the corridors. He could feel the weight of their gazes, the envy, curiosity, and resentment. He kept his head high, trying to project confidence despite the turmoil inside. As they walked, Thorne¡¯s mind raced. Sid had always been a complex figure in his life, a mix of mentor and tormentor. The familiarity of Sid¡¯s presence brought a strange comfort, even as it dredged up painful memories. They entered a small, dimly lit room. Sid closed the door behind them and turned to face Thorne. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence was thick with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. Sid broke the silence first. "You look like hell." Thorne snorted. "Thanks." Sid¡¯s expression softened slightly. "I heard what happened." He looked Thorne up and down, his voice steady but tinged with something like pride. "I had no doubt you¡¯d do fine in the trial." "I survived," Thorne replied flatly, keeping his tone even. He crossed his arms and locked eyes with Sid. "Why are you here?" Sid¡¯s expression darkened, the faint warmth disappearing as quickly as it had come. "To see you. To make sure you''re okay." "Well, I¡¯m still breathing," Thorne shot back, bitterness lacing his words. "Why are you really here, Sid?" Sid held his gaze, unflinching. "I¡¯m here to make sure you keep breathing." Thorne¡¯s anger flared, and he took a step closer, his voice trembling with frustration. "You knew, didn¡¯t you? You knew I¡¯d end up here." Sid didn¡¯t deny it. He nodded slowly, regret flickering in his eyes. "Yeah. I knew." "You could¡¯ve warned me!" Thorne¡¯s voice rose, each word sharp with betrayal. His fists clenched at his sides as if he were ready to throw a punch. Sid sighed, deeply and heavily, like the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small, slightly crumpled slice of blueberry pie. "Here," he said, holding it out with a crooked smile. "Your favorite." Thorne hesitated for only a moment before snatching the pie from Sid¡¯s hand. Hunger overwhelmed his indignation as he tore into the slice, not caring about appearances. As the sweet, familiar taste hit his tongue, something inside him softened just a little. Even so, he couldn¡¯t ignore the gnawing resentment in his chest. While Thorne ate, he studied Sid¡¯s face. The man¡¯s once-sharp features were now worn and tired, his eyes shadowed by years of worry and whiskey. The streaks of gray creeping into his dark hair made him look older than Thorne remembered. For the first time, Thorne noticed how heavy Sid¡¯s shoulders seemed, like a man carrying an invisible burden he couldn¡¯t put down. Sid sank into a nearby chair with a groan, rubbing the back of his neck. "Food¡¯s gonna be an issue for you in the first few weeks," he commented, his tone casual. "But things will smooth out. Eventually." Thorne glared at him through another mouthful of pie. "So, what¡ªwas that why you made me train every damn day for years? To prepare for this?" Sid¡¯s eyes went blank, his gaze distant as he stared at the wall. "Yes and no." He leaned back, exhaling heavily. "Uncle always knew you weren¡¯t like the other kids." Thorne froze mid-bite, his eyes narrowing. "What¡¯s that supposed to mean?" Sid smirked faintly, though it didn¡¯t reach his eyes. "You know exactly what I mean. Remember when you snuck into the elven forest? You couldn¡¯t have been older than six. Came back looking like hell¡ªcuts, bruises, clothes torn to shreds¡ªbut you acted like it was nothing. Like you¡¯d just wandered off to haggle for fish at the market." Thorne''s eyes flickered with a mixture of pride and bitterness at the memory. "Yeah," he muttered, his tone clipped. "I remember." Sid leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. His eyes, though tired, burned with intensity. "Uncle put you through all those tests¡ªspying on merchants, stealing letters, overhearing conversations that no child had any business being able to accomplish ¡ªand yet you did. You surprised and delighted him at every turn. But you also sealed your fate with those actions." Thorne froze, his hands suspended in mid-air, the half-eaten pie forgotten. "What do you mean?" he demanded, his voice a mix of curiosity and anger. Sid sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping. "In the beginning, Uncle recruited adventurers and rogues with specific skill sets, like me. He needed people with stealth abilities to do his dirty work, and for a time, that was enough. Until you brought him that letter..." His voice trailed off, and his eyes grew distant, clouded with something that looked a lot like regret. Thorne¡¯s chest tightened, the memory of that letter flashing in his mind. He remembered how proud he¡¯d been, thinking he¡¯d done something important. "What happened with the letter?" he asked, his voice barely audible, though the question burned in his chest. Sid¡¯s gaze snapped back to him, his expression grim. "That letter changed everything. It gave Uncle the leverage he needed to escalate his plans. His ambitions grew beyond anything I could¡¯ve imagined. And with that, he needed more people like me. More... tools." Thorne felt his grip on the pie tighten unconsciously, the fragile crust crumbling in his hand. He didn¡¯t care. Every fiber of his being was focused on Sid¡¯s words. Sid exhaled heavily, rubbing a hand over his face. "Uncle already had his network of orphans¡ªthe cousins. But even the older ones weren¡¯t enough. They grew up scrapping in the slums, sure, but their skills only went so far. A knife fight in a dark alley is nothing compared to what Uncle had in mind." Thorne¡¯s jaw clenched as the implications began to sink in. "The few of us he¡¯d recruited from nearby cities, from guilds¡ª" Sid gestured vaguely, his voice weary. "¡ªwe were too few. Too limited. And Uncle wasn¡¯t interested in fighting the way nobles do, with big armies marching on castles. He wanted something different. An army of ghosts. Shadows capable of bringing a city to its knees overnight." The words hung in the air like a curse, and Thorne could feel the walls of the room closing in. "So, he decided to make one," Thorne said, his voice hollow. "A whole army of assassins and spies." Sid nodded slowly, his eyes heavy with a mixture of pride and shame. "Yes. And you were the first. The prototype. You proved it could be done." Thorne¡¯s world tilted, the realization slamming into him like a physical blow. He stared at Sid, his breath caught somewhere between disbelief and fury. "That¡¯s why you trained me so hard," he said, his voice trembling with barely-contained anger. "To turn me into one of his weapons." Sid¡¯s gaze softened, regret flickering in his tired eyes. "It was more than that, Thorne," he said quietly. "You had potential. More than anyone we¡¯d ever seen. Uncle saw it immediately, and so did I. We didn¡¯t just want to use it. We wanted to hone it. To make you the best." Thorne¡¯s fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. "So you used me," he spat, his voice sharp enough to cut. Sid¡¯s jaw tightened, his own frustration rising to meet Thorne¡¯s anger. "It wasn¡¯t like that," he said, his tone clipped. "I wanted to help you survive, Thorne. To give you the skills to make it in this world, no matter what was thrown at you. But yes," he admitted, his voice growing quieter, "in the end, we used you. I won¡¯t lie about that." Thorne turned away, his emotions swirling like a storm inside him¡ªanger, betrayal, grief, and something he couldn¡¯t quite name, something that felt like pride. He¡¯d been chosen, singled out, but for what? To be a tool in someone else¡¯s plans? He¡¯d proven himself, hadn¡¯t he? But the cost... Sid sighed again. "He put me in charge of your training because he saw your potential, but as he watched your progress, something clicked for him. He realized he could replicate what he was doing with you. That he could take other children with promise and mold them the same way¡ªbuild the army he¡¯s always dreamed of, right from the orphans he¡¯s been fostering." Thorne¡¯s fists clenched, the remnants of the pie crumbling to the floor. His voice was tight, bitter. "So I¡¯m just the first of many." Sid met his gaze, his eyes clouded with a mix of regret and pride. "That night at the Gravediggers¡¯ base," Sid began, his voice soft but heavy, "that¡¯s what really sealed your fate." The memory hit Thorne like a blow. He saw it all again¡ªthe chaos, the fire licking at the sky, the screams echoing in the dark. And those eyes. The lifeless stare of the man he had killed. They haunted him still, creeping into his dreams, lurking in the quiet moments. "And you used that," Thorne said, his voice trembling with anger. "You used it to impress Uncle." Sid didn¡¯t flinch. He nodded slowly, his gaze steady. "I did. I was beyond impressed by what you did. Your resourcefulness, your determination. You rallied the cousins, found the base, freed your friend... even burned the place to the ground. That wasn¡¯t something a kid should¡¯ve been able to pull off. I wanted Uncle to see what you were capable of. Maybe even brag a little about how far you¡¯d come under my training." Thorne''s eyes burned with betrayal, his voice cracking with accusation. "And what did Uncle think of that, huh? He must¡¯ve been thrilled to see a kid turned into his perfect little killer." Sid let out a bitter laugh, though there was no humor in it. "You should¡¯ve seen his face. He was ecstatic. He didn¡¯t just see what you¡¯d done¡ªhe saw what could be done with hundreds of others like you." The weight of Sid¡¯s words settled over Thorne like a shroud. His stomach churned with anger and guilt. "So, what you¡¯re saying is, because of me, Uncle decided to expand his operations. To turn more orphans into killers." Sid¡¯s face grew grim, the lines on his face deepening. His voice was low, burdened. "Yes. From that moment, everything changed. Plans for the new recruits moved faster than I ever thought possible. The whole organization was restructured. New people were brought in, new roles created, and since then, we have only expanded further. New recruits are being brought in every few months, to be assessed and trained. Scouts were assigned their job to watch the cousins, evaluate them, and pick out the ones with the most promise. Trainers were chosen for each candidate to mold them, just like I molded you. And then they¡¯re sent through the initiation trial. The ones who survive become recruits. From there, they¡¯re honed, sharpened into the tools Uncle uses to tighten his grip on the city and beyond." Thorne¡¯s chest felt tight, his breath shallow. A storm of emotions roared inside him¡ªanger, guilt, helplessness. "So all of this," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "was because of me?" Sid shook his head firmly. "Not just you. Uncle always had his plans. You didn¡¯t create his ambition, Thorne. You were just the spark. The proof he needed that his vision could work. But make no mistake, he would¡¯ve found another way eventually." Thorne¡¯s fists unclenched, though the tension in his body didn¡¯t ease. His voice turned hard. "And now what? I¡¯m just another piece in his game? Another weapon for him to wield however he wants?" Sid leaned forward, his gaze boring into Thorne¡¯s. There was something raw, something desperate in his tone. "You¡¯re a weapon, Thorne. That¡¯s true. But even weapons can turn against their masters." ANNOUNCEMENT Hey everyone! I''m thrilled to announce that I now have a Patreon page! ?? This is a space where you can dive deeper into my creative process, get exclusive content, and even enjoy sneak peeks of my upcoming project (yes, that means another book I am writing).The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. By becoming a patron, you''ll not only get access to behind-the-scenes updates and special rewards but also directly support me in bringing these stories to life. Whether it''s early chapters, exclusive world-building details, or interactive Q&A sessions, there''s something special for everyone. Check it out and join the journey: https://www.patreon.com/c/AETHERBORN Thank you for your support¡ªit means the world to me! CHAPTER 59 An uncomfortable silence descended on the small room. Thorne stared at Sid, his eyes wide with apprehension, trying to read the older man¡¯s expression. Sid, in typical fashion, leaned back in his chair, plucking at an invisible speck of lint on his stained pants, breaking the moment. His casual demeanor contrasted sharply with the tension hanging in the air. "Most of the cousins know your connection to Uncle and won''t dare to harm you," Sid said, his voice casual but his eyes serious. Thorne scoffed, shaking his head. "I doubt Uncle''s attachment to me will keep me safe." Sid''s eyes narrowed, his gaze piercing. "You underestimate Uncle''s attachment to you. He may not have conventional feelings¡ªhe''s not the kind, cuddly type, remember¡ªbut he sees you as his prot¨¦g¨¦. Between you and me, I think he sees you as his successor." Thorne''s lips curled into a mocking smile. "I''m honored," he said sarcastically. Sid''s expression hardened, a flicker of frustration in his eyes. "Don''t be ungrateful, Thorne. Every other recruit here would kill to be in your place. And they may well try. While the older cousins won''t dare to harm you, your fellow recruits might not be so reluctant. Be careful." Thorne shrugged casually, trying to mask his unease. Having seen the other recruits fight, he was confident he was leagues above them, even without considering his skills. But Sid''s warning echoed in his mind, tempering his arrogance. Sid, noticing his casual shrug, narrowed his eyes further. "Don''t be arrogant. You may have trained for years instead of months like the others, and you may best them in a stand-up fight, but this is a den of spies and assassins¡ªthey''re not known for stand-up fights." Thorne''s swagger faltered, replaced by a more cautious demeanor. He thought internally that he was still smart enough to see through schemes, but Sid''s words had made him reconsider his approach. He decided he would be careful. After all, he had already made enemies on the first day. "The training will be a piece of cake for you," Sid continued, his tone lightening slightly. "And if it''s not, then I must have made a mistake in your training." Thorne chuckled, shaking his head. "You''ve done a good job, Sid." Sid''s face broke into a surprised smile at Thorne''s praise, a rare moment of genuine emotion. But then he grew serious again, leaning forward slightly. "There are still things to learn, like how to operate in a group. Some activities will be uncomfortable..." Sid''s eyes flitted to the side, a shadow passing over his face, but he didn''t elaborate. "Listen to your trainers." Thorne nodded, absorbing the advice. "What¡¯s your deal with Lock?" he asked, curiosity getting the better of him. Sid scoffed, rolling his eyes. "He''s just a jump start. He is a newer hire and is desperate to climb the ranks. He''s envious of my position as Uncle''s right-hand man." Thorne looked at Sid with troubled eyes, considering the implications. "If he doesn''t like you, he may hold a grudge against me as well. Will he be trouble?" Sid shook his head, a small, confident smile on his lips. "I don''t believe so. He''s too scared of Uncle and wants his attention and to be in his good graces too much to do you any harm. Still, I wouldn''t drink ale with him if I were you. He may have poisoned it." He laughed, a deep, genuine sound, and Thorne couldn''t help but smile, shaking his head in exasperation. Sid stood, stretching his arms above his head with a groan. "We¡¯d better get moving before your trainers start sharpening their knives," he said with a smirk. Thorne rose too, brushing crumbs from his tunic. "Wouldn¡¯t want to keep them waiting," he muttered, following Sid out of the room. "Yeah, thanks for that," Thorne scoffed, rolling his eyes with exaggerated annoyance. Sid shrugged, a wry smirk tugging at his lips. "What can I say? Lock¡¯s a little shit." His tone was casual, but the disdain was unmistakable. They started walking toward the door, Sid¡¯s boots clicking against the cold stone floor, but just as they reached it, Sid stopped. His hand came to rest on Thorne¡¯s shoulder, the gesture surprisingly gentle for the man who had spent years barking orders at him. There was an unusual weight to it, something unspoken but deeply felt. ¡°For the next few months, you won¡¯t be able to leave the den,¡± Sid said quietly, his voice serious. ¡°They do it on purpose. They want to isolate you, cut off any ties you have to the outside world¡ªfriends, family, all of it. They want you to think the Family is all you¡¯ve got. And it works.¡± He paused, his expression softening in a way Thorne rarely saw. ¡°Don¡¯t try to see your friends. You¡¯re always watched. Always. But I¡¯ll let them know you¡¯re okay. I¡¯ll tell them not to worry.¡± Thorne froze, his chest tightening. He wasn¡¯t used to this side of Sid. The gruff man who had trained him to exhaustion and berated him for his every mistake now stood before him offering something unexpected¡ªkindness. A lump formed in his throat, and he swallowed hard, his voice barely a whisper. ¡°Thank you.¡± Sid nodded, his face unreadable for a moment before he softened further. ¡°I¡¯ll come back when I can. And listen to me, kid.¡± His grip on Thorne¡¯s shoulder tightened just enough to emphasize his words. ¡°If I find you dead when I come back, I¡¯ll find a way to bring you back to life just so I can kill you myself. Got it?¡± A small smile tugged at Thorne¡¯s lips, despite the knot of emotions twisting inside him. ¡°Got it,¡± he said, his voice tinged with amusement. Sid gave his shoulder a firm squeeze before letting go. ¡°Good. Now, let¡¯s move.¡± They headed out, Sid walking with his usual air of confidence, and Thorne trailing behind, his mind still processing the rare moment of connection they¡¯d just shared. ¡°You know,¡± Sid began, his tone shifting back to his usual irreverent self, ¡°you should really take a bath. You stink like a dead gravedigger left out in the sun too long.¡± He wrinkled his nose dramatically. Thorne glanced down at his blood-smeared hands and body, grimacing. ¡°Yeah, I guess I could use one.¡± ¡°And some clothes,¡± Sid added with a smirk. ¡°Unless you¡¯re trying to make a fashion statement. Right now, you look like my great uncle Eugene after he lost his marbles and started running around the village naked, crowing like a rooster.¡± Thorne raised an eyebrow, caught off guard. Sid chuckled at his own joke, a rare, warm sound that felt oddly out of place in their grim surroundings. In all his years with Sid, the man had never mentioned anything personal. Thorne took the opportunity to dig. " You had a great uncle Eugene? Where are you from?" he asked, curious.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Sid¡¯s shoulders stiffened slightly, and he grumbled something incoherent under his breath, his gaze shifting away. Before Thorne could press further, Sid changed the subject, his eyes narrowing as they landed on Thorne¡¯s neck. ¡°That necklace. I¡¯m surprised they didn¡¯t take it. Where¡¯d you get it?¡± Thorne instinctively reached up, his fingers brushing the familiar chain. The cool metal felt like an anchor, grounding him. He narrowed his eyes at Sid. ¡°Nah, that¡¯s not how it works. If you want answers, you¡¯ve got to give some first. No grumbling like an old man.¡± Sid snorted, shaking his head, but his gaze lingered on the necklace for a moment longer. ¡°Fair enough,¡± he muttered, turning away. Thorne watched him go, his grip on the necklace tightening. He didn¡¯t know why they had left it alone when they¡¯d stripped him of everything else, but he was grateful. It was the only thing he had left of his mother, and he never took it off unless he was absolutely sure he was safe. Even then, it never left his sight. He let out a quiet sigh, his fingers curling around the pendant as they continued walking. Some questions would remain unanswered for now, but Thorne knew one thing for certain: he wasn¡¯t about to let anyone take this from him. In all the years Thorne had owned the necklace, he dared to remove it only once. That moment had occurred in the safety of the forest, where the dense canopy and gentle rustle of leaves had offered him a rare sense of solitude. When he slid the necklace off, there had been an almost imperceptible snap¡ªnot painful, but jarring¡ªas if something deep within him had been severed. A strange unease prickled at his core, but curiosity drove him to find a reflective surface. He knelt by the edge of a tranquil pond, the glassy water offering a mirror-like clarity. As his gaze met his reflection, his breath hitched in his throat. The face staring back was not his own. His hair, once dark and forgettable, had turned an arresting shade of silvery white, shimmering like moonlight caught in a spider¡¯s web. His eyes, once an unremarkable brown, now glowed with an intense, otherworldly green¡ªan untamed color that seemed to pulse like the vibrant life of the forest itself. His skin had undergone a startling transformation, from rough and sun-kissed to smooth and radiant, emanating a faint luminescence. The glow was subtle, but it danced across his features like firelight, making him seem both alive and ancient. His cheekbones were more pronounced, his jawline sharper, and his features carried a regal, ethereal quality. The most striking changes, however, were his ears, which had grown elegantly pointed, and his teeth¡ªhis canines slightly elongated, hinting at a feral, predatory edge. He looked like a creature born of the wild, untamed and primal. Staring at his reflection, Thorne had felt a wave of unease mixed with awe. He looked like something out of an old myth, a figure that belonged to the wilds, not the civilized world. The realization had been too much. With trembling hands, he had slipped the necklace back around his neck. The transformation reversed in an instant, his features returning to their usual human guise. From that day, he had vowed never to remove the necklace again. As Thorne and Sid continued through the labyrinth, the corridors widened, and Thorne took in the peculiarities of the Cousins'' underground base. The narrow, twisting tunnels felt alive, their rough-hewn walls seeming to pulse with history, etched with the marks of countless skirmishes and secretive messages, half-erased by time. Torchlight flickered against the uneven stone, their strange green flames painting the air in a haunting, unnatural glow. The light stretched shadows into bizarre shapes that twisted and coiled as if they carried secrets of their own. Thorne noticed how other Cousins in the tunnels moved aside for Sid, giving him a wide berth. There was respect in their hurried glances, even a hint of fear. Sid walked on without acknowledgment, his stride steady, his focus ahead, seemingly oblivious to the authority he commanded. The base of the cousins felt like a hidden fortress carved deep into the heart of the earth. Narrow, winding tunnels twisted through the rock like the veins of some ancient beast, leading to cavernous chambers where the cousins trained and plotted. "Living like rats in a maze," Thorne muttered under his breath, his frustration spilling into his tone. Sid glanced sideways at him, his expression neutral but his voice laced with a hint of a smirk. "You think Uncle built this place for comfort? It¡¯s about control. Down here, there¡¯s no escape unless you know the way. Keeps us sharp. Keeps us disciplined." Thorne frowned, watching as they passed Cousins huddled in shadowy corners. Whispers floated in the damp air, conspiratorial and fleeting. Some exchanged small objects¡ªcoins, vials, or something else Thorne couldn¡¯t quite make out¡ªwith practiced subtlety. Others stood in tight groups, their conversations quick and furtive. He caught the occasional glint of steel in the dim light, an ever-present reminder of the tension in the air. ¡°And the secrecy?¡± Thorne asked, glancing at a section of the tunnel where the rough stone had given way to polished black marble. The reflective surface warped the eerie green light into mesmerizing patterns that seemed to ripple and shift. Sid sighed, his voice dropping slightly as if he, too, were wary of eavesdroppers. "Power attracts attention. And attention brings enemies. Uncle knows this. The deeper we stay hidden, the harder it is for anyone to find us. That¡¯s how we stay alive. How we stay one step ahead." Thorne nodded begrudgingly, his frustration simmering but tempered by a growing understanding. The labyrinth wasn¡¯t just a place¡ªit was a tool, a weapon, and a shield. A place to sharpen those who lived within it and confound those who dared try to enter. Still, Thorne couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that the walls were watching him, waiting for him to falter. Finally, they reached a cavernous room buzzing with relentless activity¡ªthe physical conditioning training area. The space was massive, its high ceilings disappearing into shadows. Torches mounted along the walls cast a flickering light over the chaotic scene below, highlighting the sweat-soaked determination etched onto every recruit''s face. The air was thick and heavy with the tang of sweat, dirt, and the faint metallic scent of blood. Sid stopped abruptly, turning to face Thorne. His expression was a mix of sternness and expectation. "This," he said, gesturing at the bustling arena, "is where you''ll be spending most of your time. Physical conditioning isn¡¯t optional. No matter how sharp your skills are, if your body fails, you¡¯re dead weight. And dead weight doesn¡¯t last here." Thorne nodded, letting his gaze sweep over the room. The dirt-packed floor had been worn down by countless drills, its surface uneven and scarred with the history of harsh training. The walls were lined with wooden dummies riddled with impact marks, frayed climbing ropes dangling ominously, and crude weights fashioned from heavy stones and iron. Obstacles stretched across the room in dizzying patterns¡ªwalls to scale, pits to leap, and narrow beams to balance on, each designed to push recruits to their physical and mental limits. Near one corner, a group of recruits sprinted back and forth, each lap punctuated by the bark of their trainer¡¯s harsh commands. Some stumbled, collapsing in exhaustion, only to be dragged to their feet and ordered to run again. In another section, a cluster of seasoned recruits navigated a maze of swinging logs and spinning platforms with a precision that spoke of long hours of grueling practice. One boy hesitated for a split second, and a heavy log slammed into him, sending him sprawling to the ground. The others stepped around him without a glance, their focus unbroken. In a far corner, a young woman moved with a mesmerizing blend of elegance and power, her routine a fusion of dance, acrobatics, and combat drills. Every leap, twist, and strike was fluid and deliberate, her movements so precise they seemed choreographed. Thorne¡¯s gaze lingered on her for a moment before shifting to another group practicing sparring. Their wooden swords clashed with dull thuds, the sound echoing through the room as they fought with frantic desperation. The room pulsed with energy, the relentless rhythm of hard labor and determination driving it like a heartbeat. Thorne inhaled deeply, his stomach knotting with equal parts apprehension and resolve. "Looks brutal," he muttered, half to himself. Sid smirked, his expression tinged with nostalgia. "You¡¯ve seen worse," he said, his voice low. "Remember the butcher¡¯s quarter? How many times did I make you run there from the docks?" Thorne¡¯s lips quirked upward in a faint, wry smile. "Every time you threatened to gut me for being too slow," he replied, the memory vivid. He could still feel the sting of Sid¡¯s blade grazing his heels, the searing pain a cruel motivator to push harder, faster, even when his lungs burned and his legs felt like lead. Sid¡¯s expression sobered. He placed a firm hand on Thorne¡¯s shoulder, leaning in. "But this isn¡¯t just about running faster or fighting harder. It¡¯s about staying alive in a place that thrives on deception and ambition. Keep your head down. Watch your back. And never¡ªnever¡ªunderestimate anyone. Not even the ones who look too weak to stand." Thorne met Sid¡¯s gaze, his jaw tightening. "I won¡¯t." For a moment, Sid studied him, and then his face softened, a flicker of pride in his eyes. "Good. Now, go show them what you¡¯re made of. And don¡¯t forget," he added with a smirk, "if you make me look bad, I¡¯ll personally come back to kick your ass." With a deep breath, Thorne squared his shoulders and stepped into the training area, heading toward the huddle of young recruits surrounding Talon and Lock. He didn¡¯t look back, but he felt Sid¡¯s gaze on him, urging him to make him proud. CHAPTER 60 Thorne slipped into the back of the group, his entrance deliberate and quiet. He kept his posture relaxed, his movements casual, but his sharp eyes were anything but idle. He scanned the other recruits, noting the ones who looked eager, the ones who seemed terrified, and the ones who carried themselves with false bravado. He caught Lock glaring at him, the man''s dark eyes simmering with disdain, but Lock said nothing. Thorne offered the faintest smirk before turning his attention to Talon, who was finishing her speech. "You are racing a ticking time clock," Talon said, her voice cold and unyielding. "Most of you have less than a year before your core manifests. The harder you train, the more skills you will gain, and the higher those skills will level. Your curriculum is designed so that, by the time your core forms, you will have the tools necessary to survive. Neglect your training, and your fellow cousin will outpace you¡ªstronger, faster, more skilled. Or worse," she added, her piercing gaze sweeping the group, "you''ll find yourself on a mission, make a mistake, and cost your entire party their lives." The weight of her words settled heavily over the recruits, their expressions a mix of apprehension and resolve. Thorne stayed silent, letting the words sink in as he observed the shifting body language of the others. Talon continued, "Lock will oversee your physical conditioning and weapon training. I will handle stealth techniques and survival skills. For today, we will observe your performance together to assess your abilities and determine the appropriate exercises for each of you." She stepped back with an air of finality, her sharp eyes lingering on Thorne for a moment before turning to Lock. Lock strode forward, his presence as commanding as ever. His voice cut through the murmurs like a blade. "Physical conditioning is the foundation of everything we do here. Without a strong body, you are nothing but a liability. You will run. You will climb. You will lift. You will strengthen every muscle, every sinew, every bone until your body can endure anything." Lock began to lay out the regimen with the detached precision of a drillmaster. "We start with a warm-up: ten laps around the training hall. After that, strength training¡ªpush-ups, pull-ups, sit-ups, and squats. Then agility drills: hurdles, balance beams, crawling through tight spaces. And finally, endurance. Planks, wall sits, and timed sprints. You will push until you collapse, and then you will push harder." The recruits exchanged nervous glances, but no one dared to voice a complaint. Lock¡¯s sharp whistle broke the moment, jolting them into action. They lined up, a sea of grim determination and nervous energy. Thorne hung back, watching the others surge forward as Lock barked orders. When the laps began, Thorne fell into an easy rhythm, his movements fluid and controlled. His years of running through the alleys and rooftops of the city, dodging guards and weaving through market crowds, had conditioned his legs well. He didn¡¯t push to the front, preferring to keep a steady pace at the rear where he could observe. He noted the ones who were already struggling, their faces flushed and their steps uneven. Others sprinted ahead, their enthusiasm outpacing their stamina. A lanky boy stumbled, narrowly avoiding a collision, and a wiry girl shoved past him with a look of pure disdain. Thorne''s focus sharpened as he took in every detail. The recruits were revealing themselves¡ªnot just their physical strengths and weaknesses, but their personalities, their desperation, their pride. He could see the ones who thrived on competition and the ones who simply hoped to survive unnoticed. As the laps wore on, Thorne remained steady, his breath even, his gaze darting between Lock and Talon. He knew this was as much a test of their resolve as their stamina. And if there was one thing Thorne had learned, it was that surviving wasn¡¯t just about strength¡ªit was about playing the long game. Thorne noticed the girl with the stoic expression from the day before, her bow still slung across her back as she pushed herself through the laps. Her muscles quivered under the strain, but her face remained unreadable, revealing nothing of the effort she was expending. There was something about her composure that drew Thorne in, an unconscious pull he didn¡¯t entirely understand. He quickened his pace, closing the distance until he was running just beside her. Her fiery red hair clung to her neck and shoulders, damp with sweat, and he couldn¡¯t help but admire the effortless grace in her movements despite the exertion. Suddenly, she stumbled, her foot catching on an uneven patch of ground. Without thinking, Thorne reached out, steadying her by the elbow. Her reaction¡ªor lack of one¡ªwas unnerving. No flicker of embarrassment, no acknowledgment of her mistake, no gratitude for his intervention. She simply nodded once and continued forward, her face a mask of stoic determination. Thorne smirked to himself, intrigued by her unshakable demeanor as he fell back into his rhythm. At the center of the training hall, Talon and Lock stood side by side, their eyes like hawks, scrutinizing each recruit. "That one," Talon said under her breath, gesturing subtly toward a lanky boy who was clearly struggling to maintain the pace. "He¡¯s got heart, but his stamina is pitiful. Endurance drills for him." Lock gave a grunt of agreement. "And her," he added, nodding toward a wiry girl darting through the crowd. "Good agility, but look at those arms¡ªshe¡¯ll buckle the moment she has to lift a blade for more than five seconds. Upper-body strength is her priority." The transition to strength training was swift, Lock¡¯s whistle driving them to drop into their first exercise. Thorne hit the ground, his body moving with mechanical precision as he powered through push-ups. His arms burned with effort, his chest brushing the ground with each descent, but he embraced the discomfort. Pain was a familiar companion. It fueled him, reminded him of what he had endured to get here. Pull-ups came next, and Thorne leapt to grab the wooden bar, his fingers curling around it as he hoisted himself up in a steady rhythm. Sweat dripped down his face, but he pushed through, his muscles straining as he worked. He caught Lock watching him, the man¡¯s sharp eyes picking apart his form with a critical gaze. By the time squats were finished, Thorne¡¯s body felt like a live wire, every muscle alight with strain and effort. But he didn¡¯t stop. He wouldn¡¯t. Not when he could feel both trainers¡¯ eyes lingering on him. The agility drills followed, a series of hurdles, balance beams, and tight crawl spaces laid out in a daunting sequence. Thorne approached with cautious excitement, his focus narrowing as he sized up the course. When the whistle blew, he launched himself forward. He vaulted over the hurdles with practiced ease, his body moving in perfect synchronization. Each leap carried him forward with the grace of someone who had spent years navigating the narrow alleys and rooftops of the city. The balance beams were a test of poise, requiring him to shift his weight carefully, every step calculated to maintain stability. As he ducked into the crawl spaces, Thorne¡¯s movements became serpentine, his body twisting and turning to navigate the confined paths. Behind him, a recruit miscalculated, slamming into a low-hanging bar with a sickening thud. The boy crumpled to the ground, groaning in pain, but Thorne didn¡¯t falter. He kept moving, his focus razor-sharp. From the center of the hall, Talon observed with her arms crossed. "Thorne¡¯s performance is solid," she remarked, her voice low but audible enough for him to catch as he landed lightly from the final hurdle. Lock didn¡¯t hide his displeasure. "He¡¯s passable," he muttered grudgingly. Talon tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. "I think he¡¯s holding back," she mused, a faint trace of confusion in her tone. "We may need to move him to a more advanced group." Lock¡¯s face soured, but he didn¡¯t contradict her. The final trial was endurance. Planks, wall sits, and sprints pushed the recruits to their absolute limits. Thorne dropped into a plank, his body trembling with the effort to hold himself steady. Each second felt like an eternity as the burn spread through his shoulders and core, but he gritted his teeth and held on. Wall sits were next, and his legs screamed in protest as he pressed his back against the cold stone wall, sinking into a seated position. The strain was almost unbearable, but he refused to falter. The sprints came last, and by then, Thorne was running on sheer willpower. Each step felt heavier than the last, his lungs burning with every gasp of air. But he pushed forward, his legs churning as he forced himself to complete each timed sprint.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Finally, Lock blew his whistle, signaling the end of the session. Thorne straightened slowly, his body aching but his spirit unbowed. As he wiped the sweat from his brow, he caught Talon and Lock watching him. Their expressions were inscrutable, but he knew they were assessing him, judging his every move. Thorne didn¡¯t care. He had survived the first round. As Thorne caught his breath, he noticed Talon and Lock exchanging a few brief glances. Their faces betrayed nothing, and he couldn¡¯t decide if their silence was good or bad. What they already figured out he had already formed his core and he was holding back? Were they truly considering moving him to a different group? If they were, he didn¡¯t know whether to feel relieved or uneasy. Being singled out had its risks¡ªhe had learned that much already. Nearby, Vance leaned against a wooden post, panting heavily. His face was drenched in sweat, his hair plastered to his forehead. Despite his exhaustion, he managed a weak smile. "Not bad for a first day, eh?" Thorne gave him a short nod, not in the mood for small talk. Camaraderie didn¡¯t come easily here; everyone was either a rival or a potential threat. His mind wandered back to his friends¡ªDarius, Jonah, Ben, and Eliza. He pictured Darius swinging a practice blade, Jonah bartering for prices, Ben¡¯s quiet intensity as he worked with herbs, and Eliza¡¯s infectious laughter. Thorne¡¯s chest tightened. He missed them more than he¡¯d realized. Here, he was just another faceless recruit, trapped in Uncle¡¯s relentless machine. There was no space for old connections, not in this place. "Alright, recruits," Lock¡¯s bark cut through Thorne¡¯s thoughts, jolting him back to the present. "Form a line! Time to assess your performance. Each of you will run the obstacle gauntlet. Show us what you¡¯re made of." The recruits shuffled into line, nerves buzzing in the air like static. Thorne naturally gravitated toward the back, his sharp eyes scanning the scene ahead. The gauntlet sprawled before them like a battlefield: rope climbs, balance beams, narrow tunnels, and a maddening puzzle lock at the end. Above it all hovered an enchanted hourglass, glowing faintly as its sand trickled down, marking each recruit¡¯s time. The steady hiss of sand falling into the bottom chamber seemed to amplify the pressure hanging over them all. Vance was the first to step forward. Despite his earlier fatigue, he approached the course with renewed determination. His strength shone as he tackled the rope climb, pulling himself up with surprising speed. The wall climb, however, proved to be his downfall; he struggled for footing, slipping twice before finally hauling himself over the edge. On the balance beam, a misstep nearly sent him tumbling, but he regained his footing at the last second. "Not bad," Talon commented with a cool nod. "But your balance needs work." Lock smirked, adding, "At least you didn¡¯t kiss the floor. That¡¯s something." Next was a burly recruit whose sheer size seemed more of a hindrance than an advantage. He bulldozed through the physical elements but froze in front of the puzzle lock. His face reddened as he fumbled clumsily with the pieces, his frustration mounting. "Think before you act," Talon advised, her tone even. Lock snorted. "Or maybe try thinking at all. Just once." Thorne watched carefully, taking mental notes. Some recruits surprised him with their skill, like the red-haired girl. She approached the gauntlet with a calm confidence, her bow still slung across her back. Her movements were fluid, her balance perfect as she breezed across the beams. She solved the puzzle lock in seconds, her hands working quickly and decisively. Thorne couldn¡¯t help but feel a twinge of respect. Most of the others, however, fared far worse. A wiry boy froze at the rope climb, too paralyzed by fear to move. A smaller girl managed to make it halfway through before falling from a beam and retreating, tears streaming down her face. Those who finished were few, and even they looked dejected as they glanced at the hourglass and saw their times. Disappointment hung over them like a dark cloud, the weight of inadequacy settling in as they shuffled away. Thorne¡¯s gaze lingered on the red-haired girl and on Vance, who had shown flashes of promise despite his struggles. He wasn¡¯t sure yet who would rise to the top of this brutal hierarchy, but he knew one thing¡ªif he wanted to survive, he¡¯d need to stay sharp, keep observing, and make sure his name was at the top of their lists. Finally, it was Thorne''s turn. He stepped forward, his heart pounding a steady rhythm in his chest, but his face was a mask of calm indifference. Lock¡¯s cold eyes tracked him, arms crossed tightly over his chest. The room grew quieter as the recruits turned their attention to him, curiosity and skepticism etched on their faces. "Begin," Lock commanded sharply, his voice cutting through the stillness like a blade. Thorne approached the high wall first, its surface marked by sparse, jagged footholds. He narrowed his eyes, gauging the angles and calculating his approach. With a deep breath, he launched himself upward, his fingers latching onto the first ledge. His muscles strained as he pulled himself higher, each movement deliberate and smooth. Reaching the top, he swung his legs over and vaulted down, landing in a crouch. His breaths came steady and controlled, his years of training with Sid evident in his every move. Talon tilted her head, a faint glimmer of approval crossing her sharp features. "Good form," she remarked, her voice low. Ahead loomed a pit spanned by a single dangling rope. Thorne didn¡¯t hesitate. He sprinted forward, gripping the rope and swinging across with practiced ease. His timing was flawless, and he landed lightly on the other side, his momentum carrying him smoothly into the next obstacle. A narrow balance beam stretched over another pit, its wooden surface worn smooth from countless attempts. Thorne stepped onto it, his arms outstretched for balance, his movements deliberate and steady. The beam wobbled beneath him, but his Acrobatics skill kicked in, his instincts guiding him. His gaze remained locked forward as he traversed the length of the beam without a single misstep. Talon¡¯s eyes followed his movements closely. She whispered something to Lock, whose expression remained impassive, though his jaw tightened slightly. The next challenge was a complex lock mechanism embedded in a heavy metal door. Kneeling before it, Thorne studied the intricate puzzle. His fingers moved deftly, manipulating the pieces as his mind worked through the patterns. Beads of sweat formed on his brow, but he stayed calm, each turn and shift of the pieces bringing him closer to the solution. Finally, with a satisfying click, the lock disengaged. Thorne pushed the door open and strode through. At the final station, a target loomed at the far end of the course. A weighted ball rested on a pedestal nearby. Thorne picked it up, feeling its heft as he calculated the distance. He steadied his breathing, narrowing his eyes as he focused. With a controlled exhale, he hurled the ball. It sailed through the air in a perfect arc, striking the target dead center with a resounding thud. A faint smile tugged at the corners of Thorne¡¯s lips as he straightened, catching his breath. "Perfect aim," Talon acknowledged, her tone betraying a sliver of genuine praise. Lock blew the whistle sharply, signaling the end of the run. Thorne glanced up at the enchanted hourglass hovering above, its shimmering grains of sand trickling away. Eleven grains remained¡ªa time far faster than any recruit who had completed the gauntlet. A surge of satisfaction coursed through him, but he kept his expression neutral as he turned and rejoined the group. His steps were slow and deliberate, his gaze fixed ahead, ignoring the stares that burned into him from the other recruits. The air buzzed with their unspoken reactions: envy, awe, suspicion. They had seen his performance and knew he had set himself apart, and the weight of that distinction hung heavy around him. "You have half an hour to rest before your next training," Lock announced, his voice slicing through the low murmurs of the recruits. His dark eyes scanned the group, daring anyone to challenge him. "If any of you wander off and don¡¯t return in time, you¡¯ll be used as practice dummies during weapon training. Consider that your only warning." The recruits stiffened at his words, their fatigue momentarily forgotten. Thorne walked to the side of the hall, seeking a moment of solitude to gather his thoughts. The gazes of the other recruits still prickled at his back, a constant reminder that he had painted a target on himself with his performance. But his quiet escape didn¡¯t last long. Moments later, Vance plopped down beside him, a bundle of sweat and unrelenting energy. The boy was panting heavily, yet his words poured out in a relentless stream. "You know," Vance began, his tone animated despite his breathlessness, "I¡¯d heard of you way before I even met you. You''re like this... tale. The whisper among the cousins. You''re the hope, you know? The one they say Uncle actually notices. A living legend or something." He paused briefly to suck in more air, then barreled on. "I mean, at first, I thought it was just a load of crap. Some cousin spinning fantasies to make the rest of us feel better. ¡®Oh, yeah, there¡¯s this guy out there killing magical beasts in the forest, going on dangerous missions for Uncle,¡¯ they¡¯d say. And I''d think, ¡®No way, that¡¯s just daydreams.¡¯ But now..." He glanced sideways at Thorne, his eyes wide with near reverence. "Now, after watching you today, I believe it." Thorne kept his expression neutral, his gaze fixed on some indistinct point in the distance. Inside, however, his thoughts churned. How does he know so much? And if he does, who else knows? He fought to keep any trace of curiosity¡ªor irritation¡ªout of his voice as he asked, "Where did you hear all these... rumors?" Vance smirked and raised an eyebrow. "Rumors? After what I just saw, I wouldn¡¯t call them that anymore." He leaned back, tilting his head as if recalling a distant memory. "I heard bits and pieces from this girl¡ªshe was in some group you apparently saved? And she heard it from some boy who, I don¡¯t know, does business with you or something? Honestly, it¡¯s a mess. Cousins live off gossip; it¡¯s like currency down here." Thorne¡¯s jaw tightened, his teeth grinding as understanding dawned. Jonah. Fucking Jonah. His so-called "friend" had always been quick to name-drop and exaggerate their exploits whenever it benefited his business. Ever since Jonah had decided to open a shop, he¡¯d used every trick in the book to close deals, including boasting about Thorne¡¯s kills in the forest. When Thorne got out of this hellhole, Jonah was going to get an earful¡ªand possibly a few bruises. Lost in his seething thoughts, Thorne barely noticed Vance watching him expectantly. When it became clear no reply was coming, the boy¡¯s grin faltered, and he coughed awkwardly. "So, uh," Vance ventured, scratching the back of his neck, "what do you say? Should we go scrounge up some food or something?" Thorne turned his gaze to Vance, studying him for a long, uncomfortable moment. The boy shifted under the scrutiny, his earlier confidence slipping. Finally, Thorne gave a curt nod. "Sure," he said, his voice measured. If he was going to survive in this place, he¡¯d need allies. For now, Vance would do. CHAPTER 61 Thorne and Vance navigated the twisting tunnels of the base, their eyes scanning every shadowed corner and recessed doorway for something¡ªanything¡ªto eat. The passageways all seemed to blend together, a never-ending labyrinth of rough stone and packed earth. They dared not venture too far, the fear of getting hopelessly lost gnawing at them almost as much as their empty stomachs. Their search led them to a series of narrow side tunnels. The air grew colder, and the walls seemed more ancient, cobbled together with rough stone and tangled roots. They found a few small, empty rooms along the way, their hopes briefly rising only to be dashed when nothing of value turned up. Still, their hunger spurred them onward, though their stomachs growled louder with each step. Eventually, they stumbled into a particularly old tunnel. The damp air smelled faintly of moss and decay. The walls, mostly earthen, were laced with vines and cracks where a thin trickle of water dripped down to pool on the floor. Both boys stopped, taking the opportunity to scrub themselves clean. The icy water stung, but the sensation of washing away the grime, blood, and sweat was invigorating. For a few fleeting moments, they smiled at each other, feeling almost human again. Their stomachs still ached, but at least they felt refreshed. When they returned to the main training area, they found most of the recruits sprawled on the ground, their faces drawn and pale from exhaustion. The air was heavy with quiet groans and the occasional muttered complaint. Thorne and Vance kept to themselves, sitting among the others but maintaining a distance. Lock¡¯s sharp voice shattered the quiet like a blade cutting through cloth. "Alright, recruits, line up!" The recruits scrambled to their feet, groaning as they formed a disorganized line. Lock led the group out of the training hall, with Talon close behind, her sharp eyes scanning the recruits for any sign of defiance or hesitation. As they moved, a group of older recruits filed into the room they had just vacated, their practiced movements and confident expressions a stark contrast to the new recruits¡¯ disheveled state. The group followed the main tunnel for a while before taking a sharp turn down a narrower passage. The air grew colder, the light dimmer. Ahead, a steep staircase carved from uneven stones descended into the earth. Each step was irregular in size, forcing the recruits to tread carefully. Deep alcoves lined the walls, each one holding a hanging brazier with green flames that burned without producing heat. The flames leapt and danced unnaturally whenever a recruit passed, eliciting gasps and startled jumps. Thorne noticed the flames reacted just as strongly when he passed, but he felt no warmth from their eerie glow. The stairs emptied into a sprawling chamber with a low ceiling supported by thick stone pillars. The room was alive with potential, part armory and part training ground. Along the far walls, racks of weapons stretched from floor to ceiling. The variety was staggering¡ªswords, daggers, spears, and bows were arranged neatly alongside more exotic instruments of death, some of which looked more like cruel experiments than actual tools of combat. In the center of the room, several enclosed sand pits awaited, clearly designated for sparring. The air hummed with the energy of countless battles that had taken place here before. Recruits craned their necks, their eyes wide as they took in the spectacle. Whispers broke out among them, hushed murmurs of anticipation and dread. Lock turned to face the group, his expression equal parts cruel and calculating. "This is where you learn to fight. Where you learn to kill. Each of you will choose a weapon that speaks to you. You will train until every bone in your body screams for mercy¡ªand then you will train harder. By the time we¡¯re done with you, you won¡¯t just hold weapons. You will be weapons." Talon stepped forward, her voice calm yet commanding, cutting through the tension with precision. "Today, we¡¯ll be testing your familiarity with different weapons. You¡¯ll spar with each other and rotate through the arsenal. We¡¯re here to assess your strengths, weaknesses, and adaptability. Remember: this is not a game. Your ability to wield these weapons properly will determine whether you live or die out there." The recruits exchanged glances, a mix of apprehension and excitement. Thorne, however, kept his focus on the racks of weapons. He scanned them critically, his mind already evaluating which ones he could use most effectively. Daggers and short swords called to him, their familiarity comforting amid the overwhelming array of choices. Yet his thoughts drifted to Sid, whose nagging words echoed in his mind: ¡°A true fighter is versatile, Thorne. You never know what weapon will save your life.¡± Despite Sid''s constant prodding during training, Thorne had stubbornly stuck to daggers, valuing speed and precision over brute force. Now, staring at the vast array of deadly tools, he wondered if Sid had been right all along. Lock and Talon ordered them to pick up the training swords, which were carefully placed at one side of the wall. The recruits surged forward in a chaotic rush. Elbows jabbed, feet stomped, and the clang of metal echoed as the group surged toward the wall like a desperate tide. Thorne hung back, his eyes narrowing as he observed the chaos. There was no point in rushing into the fray; his experience had taught him that patience often paid off. But as he waited, a shadow of doubt crept into his mind. A sword was unfamiliar territory for him¡ªa cumbersome weapon compared to the nimble daggers he was used to. When the crush of bodies finally thinned, Thorne stepped forward and picked up one of the swords. It was heavier than he expected, the balance foreign and unwieldy. He swung it experimentally, the motion awkward and jerky. The blade, dull and unassuming, bore none of the elegance he associated with weapons. Memories stirred unbidden in his mind¡ªvisions of soldiers in gleaming armor, their swords cutting arcs of deadly precision. He clenched his jaw, forcing the images away. This wasn¡¯t the time for the past to haunt him. Lock and Talon moved through the group like predators, their sharp eyes assessing the recruits. They began assigning pairs, pointing to the pits at the center of the room. The recruits lined up in tense anticipation, the atmosphere charged with nervous energy. Thorne¡¯s partner was a tall, lean girl with blond hair pulled back into a messy braid. Her posture was stiff, her grip on the sword white-knuckled and clumsy. But her eyes¡ªsharp and resolute¡ªhinted at some level of familiarity with the weapon. Thorne sized her up quickly, noting the potential weaknesses he could exploit. He noticed the slight tremble in her arms and the way her stance left her exposed. She was scared but determined. As he adjusted his grip, his attention drifted briefly to the other group under Talon¡¯s watch. Vance was paired with the red-haired girl, who remained as impassive as ever. Despite the tension, Vance¡¯s nerves manifested in a rapid-fire stream of chatter, his hands gesturing wildly as if to emphasize his words. The girl gave no reaction, her bow still slung across her back like an extension of her being. Her composure was striking, even intimidating. Some recruits had parted with their familiar weapons reluctantly, but others clung to them like lifelines. Thorne couldn¡¯t help but feel a flicker of respect for the red-haired girl as she ignored Vance''s nervous chatter. "Form up!" Lock¡¯s voice cut through the noise like a whip, his tone brooking no disobedience. The recruits scrambled to attention, the clatter of swords and shuffling feet echoing in the chamber. Talon stood in the center of her group, her gaze calm but piercing. "This is an assessment," Lock barked, pacing in front of the recruits like a drill sergeant. "Show us what you¡¯ve got, or show us how little you¡¯re worth." "On my mark," Talon added, her voice smooth but commanding. "Begin." The pit erupted into chaos the moment the command was given, the air filling with the clang of metal and grunts of effort. Thorne¡¯s opponent lunged at him almost immediately, her attack uncoordinated and easy to read. He sidestepped effortlessly, his instincts kicking in. His body moved fluidly, but the sword in his hand felt like a lead weight, throwing off his rhythm. He compensated with quick footwork, darting around her wild swings.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. She came at him again, her blade swinging in a wide arc. Thorne ducked and countered with a strike of his own, the sword cutting through the air awkwardly. The balance was all wrong, and the impact against her blade jarred his arm unpleasantly. His frustration mounted as he tried to adapt to the weapon¡¯s unfamiliarity. Lock¡¯s voice rang out from the sidelines, dripping with disdain. "Pathetic," he sneered, his words aimed directly at Thorne. "Is that the best you can do?" The taunt stung, but Thorne didn¡¯t let it shake him. He narrowed his eyes, focusing on his opponent. If the sword wouldn¡¯t bend to him, he would make it work. Adjusting his grip, he feinted left and then darted right, his movements calculated and precise. He needed to finish this quickly, not just to silence Lock¡¯s jeering but to remind himself of his own capability. Talon remained a silent observer, her piercing green eyes flitting between the recruits, absorbing every movement. Her face betrayed nothing¡ªno approval, no disapproval, just a cool detachment that somehow felt more intimidating than Lock''s barbed comments. Thorne felt her gaze linger on him and the others, a quiet pressure that made the air heavier. She wasn''t there to encourage; she was there to assess. Across the pit, Vance''s fight with the red-haired girl unfolded with surprising intensity. Despite her usual composure, the girl was struggling. Her inexperience with the sword was evident in her tentative swings and uneven stance. For the first time, her impassive facade cracked slightly, a faint frown marring her face. Vance, with his unpredictable, almost chaotic style, capitalized on her discomfort. His erratic movements kept her on edge, forcing her to react rather than attack. Thorne tore his attention back to his own fight, determined not to let Lock''s derisive voice distract him. His opponent lunged, her blade coming down in an obvious arc. Thorne parried with precision, the clang of steel reverberating through the training hall. He activated his Critical Eye skill experimentally, but the blond girl¡¯s numerous weak points illuminated her as if she were a glowing target. Her poor form left her completely exposed, and Thorne sighed inwardly at the almost comical effectiveness of his skill in this situation. He spotted an opening and moved swiftly, his sword striking her wrist with just enough force to disarm her. The blade fell to the ground with a clatter, and the girl winced, clutching her hand. Despite her inexperience, she met his gaze and nodded, a flicker of respect passing between them. Thorne returned the nod, appreciating her resolve. When she bent to retrieve her weapon, he allowed it, resetting their sparring with an unspoken agreement to push harder. Around them, the room buzzed with raw, unfiltered aggression. Some recruits fought as if their very survival depended on it, their swings wild but fierce. Others crumpled under the pressure, their bodies sprawled in the sand, unconscious or too bruised to continue. The intensity in the air was palpable¡ªevery clash of metal echoed the high stakes of their training. Thorne glimpsed one recruit being carried off, his face bloodied and swollen, a grim reminder of what failure could look like here. His opponent came at him again, her strikes more desperate but no more refined. Thorne sidestepped and parried with ease, the sword beginning to feel slightly more natural in his grip. He wasn¡¯t anywhere near mastering the weapon, but his agility and instincts compensated for his lack of skill. Each block, each dodge, felt more deliberate, his confidence growing with every movement. "Pathetic!" Lock¡¯s grating voice barked at another recruit, his scowl deepening. "That¡¯s not a swing¡ªit¡¯s a slap! Hit like you mean it!" Thorne tightened his grip on his sword, shutting out the distractions. He spotted another opening¡ªa lapse in the girl¡¯s defense¡ªand struck decisively. The force of his attack sent her reeling, her blade slipping from her grasp once more. This time, Thorne didn¡¯t wait for her to retrieve it. He stepped back, lowering his sword and signaling the end of their bout with a curt nod. Lock stalked over, his dark eyes fixed on Thorne. He said nothing, but the tension in his gaze carried weight. Thorne met his stare head-on, refusing to show any sign of weakness. Lock¡¯s silence wasn¡¯t approval, but it wasn¡¯t outright disdain either¡ªa small victory in Thorne¡¯s book. Turning his head, Thorne saw Vance standing over the red-haired girl, her sword lying in the sand. For once, her stoic mask showed cracks¡ªher lips pressed into a tight line, her frustration evident. Vance, however, looked thrilled with himself, his face lit up with a triumphant grin. Despite his cocky demeanor, Thorne could see the strain in his movements, the way his chest heaved with exhaustion. As the session wore on, Thorne found himself studying the other recruits, noting their strengths and weaknesses. Few showed any natural aptitude, their movements clumsy and uncertain. However, one boy stood out¡ªa scrappy, wiry kid who fought with such ferocity that his opponent was left massaging his bruised hands by the end of their bout. Lock was uncharacteristically effusive, showering the proud recruit with praise that bordered on favoritism, his gruff voice carrying over the clang of weapons. "That''s how it''s done!" he barked, a rare note of approval in his tone. By the time Lock blew his whistle to end the sword training, the recruits were battered, bruised, and visibly drained. The clatter of swords hitting the ground was a chorus of relief as they dropped their weapons and sagged with exhaustion. But there was no reprieve. Talon immediately ordered them to line up for the next round of assessments. First up was archery. Thorne handled the bow well enough, his arrows consistently finding the target. But he paled in comparison to the red-haired girl. Each of her shots landed dead center, her precision almost unnerving. Despite her usual stoic demeanor, a faint glint of satisfaction shone in her eyes, though her expression remained as impassive as ever. Even Lock had to acknowledge her skill with a rare nod of approval, while Talon¡¯s piercing gaze lingered on her longer than anyone else. Next was dagger fighting, and here, Thorne came alive. The daggers felt like an extension of his hands, their weight and balance familiar and comforting. His movements were swift and precise, his footwork keeping him one step ahead of his opponent at all times. By the end of the match, Thorne had disarmed the boy opposite him so many times that the poor recruit looked dazed, his disorientation almost comical. Lock raised an eyebrow at the display, and Talon¡¯s lips curved into the faintest semblance of a smile. "Efficient," she murmured to Lock, who grunted in reluctant agreement. The spears, however, proved to be a different story. Thorne felt clumsy wielding the long, unwieldy weapon, its weight and length a challenge to control. His opponent, a tall boy with dark skin and a glare that could cut steel, was determined to best him. The boy¡¯s aggressive strikes forced Thorne onto the defensive, and he found himself dodging and parrying frantically to avoid serious injury. A particularly vicious thrust missed Thorne¡¯s ribs by mere inches, the spear¡¯s tip slicing the air with a deadly whistle. Seizing the opportunity when his opponent overextended, Thorne countered, ramming the butt of his spear into the boy¡¯s temple with a sharp, controlled strike. The boy crumpled to the ground in an unconscious heap. Thorne stood over him, chest heaving, a flicker of anger and frustration coursing through him. For a moment, the temptation to kick the boy while he was down until he heard his ribs crack flared within him, but he shoved it aside, masking his emotions with a blank expression as he walked away. Staff fighting, surprisingly, was far more enjoyable. The staff¡¯s versatility suited Thorne¡¯s natural agility, and he quickly found a rhythm. He danced around his opponent, using quick strikes and clever footwork to keep the stocky, shaved-headed boy off balance. The solid thwack of the staff connecting with its target was deeply satisfying, and by the time the boy finally yielded, Thorne had a newfound appreciation for the weapon. Finally, the recruits were handed maces. The heavy, unwieldy weapons were a challenge for everyone. Thorne struggled to adapt to the mace¡¯s cumbersome weight, his swings slower and less precise than he would have liked. His opponent, a wiry girl with wild, darting eyes, proved more tenacious than he expected, her feral strikes forcing him to rely on brute strength rather than skill. In the end, his superior endurance carried him through, but he walked away from the bout feeling less confident than he had with other weapons. As the session wound down, Talon stepped forward, her calm voice cutting through the room. "The assessment is over," she announced. "You are free to explore the den for now. Rest while you can¡ªnightfall will bring the second part of your training." Thorne frowned, rolling his shoulders to ease the lingering tension from the brutal training session. He couldn¡¯t fathom how anyone could track time this deep underground¡ªthere were no windows, no natural light, nothing but the flickering green glow of the sconces. Shrugging, he stretched until his spine popped, trying to shake off the creeping chill that seemed to settle into his bones. The damp, oppressive air clung to his skin like a second layer, and his threadbare clothes offered little protection against it. Before he could dwell further on his discomfort, Vance trotted up to him, his ever-present grin lighting up his face. "Ready for an adventure?" he asked, his tone brimming with energy. Thorne shot him a sidelong glance, the corners of his mouth twitching in faint amusement. ¡°Not really,¡± he admitted. ¡°But we need food. And clothes. I¡¯m starting to feel like I¡¯ll freeze solid before the night¡¯s training.¡± Vance laughed, clapping him on the back. ¡°That¡¯s the spirit! Let¡¯s go raid the pantry¡ªor whatever passes for one in this maze.¡± The pair had just stepped toward the exit when a low chuckle echoed behind them. The sound made Thorne pause, his instincts sharpening. ¡°Well, well,¡± a voice drawled, smooth and mocking. ¡°If it isn¡¯t Shortie here, trying to become the baddest assassin in all of Alvar.¡± CHAPTER 62 Thorne turned slowly, his bare feet scraping against the icy stone floor, the sound low and grating in the charged silence. He cracked his neck with deliberate nonchalance, letting out a soft sigh. Of course, it was him. He wasn¡¯t surprised in the slightest to see Rafe standing there, that damn smirk plastered across his face like a badge of superiority. How many times had that smirk set Thorne¡¯s blood boiling? How many times had it dared him to lash out, to rise to Rafe¡¯s taunts? But now, here in this strange, suffocating place, Thorne found he didn¡¯t have the energy to muster anger. There was no fire, no immediate urge to retaliate. Instead, a quiet weariness settled over him as he studied the boy¡ªno, the young man¡ªhe had once known so well. Rafe, standing with the casual arrogance of someone who felt right at home in the chaos, looked unchanged and yet entirely different. His dark hair, disheveled but deliberate, framed sharp eyes that missed nothing. That self-assured tilt of his head, the cocky stance, the almost theatrical air of disdain¡ªit was all so familiar. Yet there was an edge to him now, a hardness that had grown like armor, making him sharper, colder. Rafe¡¯s smirk faltered, just for a moment, when Thorne failed to react the way he used to. There was a flicker of something¡ªuncertainty, maybe¡ªbut it was buried quickly beneath a new smirk, more forced than the first. "So," Rafe drawled, his voice oozing with mockery, "they finally decided you were worth something. About damn time." The chuckle that followed was low and cutting, echoed dutifully by the two older recruits flanking him. The sound bounced off the stone walls, grating on Thorne¡¯s nerves like nails on glass. But instead of rising to the bait, instead of letting Rafe get under his skin, Thorne sighed again and rolled his eyes, a gesture so dismissive it bordered on insulting. The tension in the air thickened, pressing down on them like a suffocating fog. Thorne could feel it, the weight of unspoken words, the crackling anticipation of violence. He noticed Vance, hovering just behind him, taking a cautious step back. The boy¡¯s nervous energy was palpable, his gaze darting between Thorne and Rafe like he was preparing to dodge an incoming blow. Thorne¡¯s eyes swept over Rafe, taking in the sight of his old friend¡ªor enemy, depending on the day¡ª cataloguing every detail. The standard uniform of the older recruits clung to him with an ease that suggested it had been earned. Twin short swords hung at his hips, their hilts polished and worn from use. The glint of steel caught Thorne¡¯s eye¡ªdagger hilts tucked neatly into his boots, weapons hidden but not out of reach. This wasn¡¯t the Rafe Thorne had grown up with, the boy who had been an infuriating rival one day and a grudging ally the next. No, this Rafe was something else entirely¡ªhoned, dangerous, and utterly unapologetic. Whatever he had been through since they last saw each other, it had carved him into a sharper blade. Thorne met Rafe¡¯s eyes, his gaze steady and unyielding, and let a small, knowing smile tug at the corner of his mouth. "Still an ass, I see," he said, his voice carrying a deliberate mix of amusement and disdain, like the sting of a blade carefully wielded. Rafe froze, his signature smirk slipping as if wiped clean. For a brief moment, a flicker of uncertainty flashed across his face before being quickly buried under a scowl. His eyes darted to the two older boys flanking him, seeking reassurance, but the damage had been done. The quiet insult had landed perfectly, and the tension crackling between them deepened. The older boys, both towering and armed, bristled visibly. Their hands twitched towards their weapons, their eyes burning with barely concealed anger. Thorne barely spared them a glance. To him, they were nothing more than Rafe¡¯s hired muscle, loyal only so long as their own egos were fed. They didn¡¯t matter. Rafe, however, was another story. Thorne could see the fury bubbling beneath the surface, could almost feel the heat of Rafe¡¯s embarrassment radiating off him. His face darkened to an angry shade of red, his lips curling into a snarl. "You¡ªhow dare you¡ª" Rafe began, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. Thorne moved before Rafe could finish. His hand shot out with lightning speed, gripping Rafe¡¯s elbow with iron-like strength. The suddenness of the motion stunned Rafe, and he stumbled as Thorne yanked him forward. Gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd of recruits watching from a distance. They leaned in, their curiosity piqued by the unexpected turn. "What are you doing?" Rafe spat, his voice a mixture of indignation and alarm. He struggled against Thorne¡¯s grip, jerking his arm back in a futile attempt to free himself. But Thorne¡¯s hold only tightened, drawing a pained gasp from Rafe. "How the hell are you so strong?" Rafe blurted out, genuine shock flashing across his face. Thorne allowed himself a faint smirk. It was satisfying to see Rafe thrown off balance¡ªliterally and figuratively. For a moment, he had wondered if the year Rafe had spent with a core would have tipped the scales. But this struggle confirmed what he had hoped: Rafe hadn¡¯t caught up to him yet. Without a word, Thorne dragged Rafe away, his steps purposeful as he headed for a shadowy alcove along the edge of the training area. The older boys hesitated, caught between their loyalty to Rafe and their instinct to avoid unnecessary confrontation. When they reached the alcove, Thorne shoved Rafe away with a force that sent him stumbling. Rafe barely managed to stay on his feet, his hand shooting out to steady himself against the wall. He straightened quickly, his glare sharp and full of venom. "Is this what you¡¯ve been doing all these years?" Thorne asked, his voice low and edged with barely contained anger. His emotions, carefully bottled for so long, threatened to spill over. He wanted to hit Rafe, to wipe that sneer off his face once and for all. But he clenched his fists, reigning himself in. Acting on impulse would only feed into Rafe¡¯s games, and he couldn¡¯t afford that¡ªnot here.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. Rafe stepped forward, his posture aggressive, his body radiating challenge. But Thorne stood his ground, unmoving and unimpressed. His eyes met Rafe¡¯s without flinching, a silent declaration that he wasn¡¯t afraid. He had faced worse than Rafe, and he wasn¡¯t about to be intimidated now. "You do not get to talk to me that way here," Rafe hissed, his voice low and dangerous, each word a sharp blade meant to cut. "You are to show respect!" "Respect?" Thorne scoffed, spitting the word out like poison. "Respect for you?" He laughed, a harsh, biting sound that echoed through the narrow alcove, hollow and cold. "I think not." Rafe¡¯s hands twitched toward his swords, the movement as much instinct as intent. "I am your elder here," he growled, his voice trembling with barely contained rage. "You will conduct yourself as is customary for the younger cousins!" Thorne¡¯s gaze slid to the two older recruits standing behind Rafe, their postures stiff, their eyes glinting with unspoken threats. They had taken a step forward at Rafe¡¯s outburst, but Thorne noted the subtle flicker of hesitation in their eyes. They were waiting, unsure if they were meant to act or merely observe. He didn¡¯t miss the almost imperceptible shake of Rafe¡¯s head that stopped them in their tracks. Followers. Thorne¡¯s lip curled in faint disdain. "So, you have lackeys now," he said, tilting his head toward the boys. "I guess that¡¯s why you disappeared and stopped hanging out with us. Too busy playing king of the hill?" For the briefest moment, something like guilt flickered across Rafe¡¯s face¡ªa crack in the mask he wore so tightly. But it vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by his trademark scowl. "You know damn well why I stopped coming!" Rafe snapped, his voice rising. "I¡¯m sure your trainers have already informed you¡ªyou are not to leave the den until the first part of your training is complete." "That was three years ago, Rafe!" Thorne¡¯s voice trembled with anger, sharp and cutting. "You had three years to tell us what was going on with you!" Rafe¡¯s posture shifted, some of the bravado draining out of him. His shoulders slumped slightly, but his tone remained defensive. "I couldn¡¯t tell you! Are you dense? We¡¯re spies; we can¡¯t go around spilling secrets!" Thorne shook his head, his disappointment palpable. "Not even to your friends?" Rafe¡¯s eyes narrowed, his lips curling into a bitter sneer. "Yeah, right. Like your little group of misfits was heartbroken without me. I¡¯m sure you all just carried on as if I never existed." Thorne held Rafe¡¯s gaze, letting the weight of his next words settle. For the first time in a long while, he activated his skill, Echoes of Truth, weaving genuine emotion into his voice. "You may never have been my favorite person in the world, but I always considered you a friend. We¡¯ve been through too much together for me to think otherwise." He paused, letting the statement sink in, his Acting skill lending an air of sincerity to his expression. "But Darius? He was the most affected by your absence. Every time he sees you hanging out with these guys, his eyes take on this wounded look, like you kicked his favorite puppy. You know he was always protective of you, like a big brother. Now he thinks he failed you somehow, that it¡¯s his fault you turned away." Rafe¡¯s hard exterior began to waver, cracks forming in the wall of arrogance he had built around himself. The guilt that had flickered earlier returned, this time staying longer. For a moment, his face was raw, vulnerable¡ªa glimpse of the boy Thorne used to know before ambition and bitterness had taken hold. Thorne pressed on, a gentle laugh escaping his lips to ease the tension. "And you know what¡¯s worse? Without you to look after, Darius has doubled down on us. Poor Ben can¡¯t even sneeze without Darius showing up with his guard buddies, ready to beat up anyone who looks at him funny. I swear, if someone accidentally bumps into him, they¡¯ll be lucky to leave with all their teeth." A faint smile tugged at the corners of Rafe¡¯s mouth¡ªa fleeting moment of shared memory breaking through the wall. A notification appeared in Thorne¡¯s vision: Skill level up: Echoes of Truth. Thorne dismissed it without hesitation, his focus entirely on the boy in front of him. When Rafe spoke again, his voice was softer, the anger draining away and leaving behind something closer to regret. "I¡¯m the big dog around here, Thorne," he muttered, his tone almost apologetic. "I¡¯m the best of my year, and my year has seven squads¡ªthe biggest class since the organization was founded. I¡¯ve earned respect here. People treat me like I¡¯m somebody. I can¡¯t risk being associated with... the orphans. With a guard... or a mute." The sincerity in Rafe¡¯s voice took Thorne by surprise, and that only made it more tragic. Rafe truly believed what he was saying¡ªthat his status here justified the bridges he had burned. As Thorne listened, a dull roar filled his ears, drowning out the words. It wasn¡¯t anger, not exactly. It was something colder, heavier¡ªa realization. Rafe hadn¡¯t been taken. He hadn¡¯t been forced. He had chosen this. The boy who had once fought beside them in the streets, who had laughed and bled with them, had abandoned them willingly. Not out of necessity, but ambition. And for Thorne, that was a far greater betrayal. Thorne felt something cold and heavy settle in his chest, a dark knot of anger, betrayal, and sadness that defied easy explanation. It wasn¡¯t a fiery rage or a sharp stab of hurt¡ªit was deeper, heavier, like an anchor dragging him down. For once, his carefully honed acting skill, the one that had gotten him out of so many dangerous situations, abandoned him. The polite mask he usually wore cracked, his smile twisting into something jagged and razor-sharp. Rafe¡¯s cocky smirk faltered, his bravado dimming as fear flickered in his eyes. The aether motes that always lingered on the edge of Thorne¡¯s awareness seemed to respond to the maelstrom within him, vibrating and swirling faster as if mirroring his turmoil. He drew them closer unconsciously, the faint glow of their presence pulsing faintly in the shadows around him. They coiled protectively, a silent testament to the storm he was barely containing. His instincts screamed at him to lash out, to strike and make Rafe feel even a fraction of the pain his words had caused. But he didn¡¯t. Rafe, perceptive in his own way, seemed to sense the shift in Thorne¡¯s energy. His jaw tightened, and whatever cutting remark he had prepared died on his lips. Thorne cracked his neck, the sound echoing in the narrow alcove like a whip crack, an effort to channel the tension coiled in his muscles into something else, anything else. "I see," Thorne muttered finally, his voice flat, devoid of the warmth or wit it usually carried. The words weren¡¯t an acknowledgment so much as a dismissal, a judgment passed. When his eyes met Rafe¡¯s again, the older boy had gone pale, his confident facade crumbling. For now, that was enough. Thorne took a deliberate step back, his movements precise and controlled, the image of calm masking the tempest beneath. "I¡¯ll see you around, I guess," he said, his tone as indifferent as if he were commenting on the weather. The deliberate coldness in his words seemed to cut deeper than any blade. He turned away without waiting for a response, his footsteps steady as he moved to leave. "Wait! Thorne!" Rafe¡¯s voice cracked, desperation lacing his words, but Thorne didn¡¯t pause. He didn¡¯t so much as glance back. He was done listening. Done hoping. Done with Rafe. The sound of his footsteps echoed in the hallway, the only reminder of his presence as he disappeared into the shadows. The weight of the conversation hung heavy on his shoulders, like chains he couldn¡¯t shake off. The rift between them, once a small crack, had split wide open into a chasm neither of them could cross. And yet, as Thorne walked away, leaving Rafe and whatever they¡¯d once had behind, he couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that he¡¯d lost something important¡ªsomething he hadn¡¯t fully realized he needed until it was gone. A friend. Maybe it was for the best. Maybe it wasn¡¯t. All Thorne knew was that whatever bond they¡¯d shared was over. CHAPTER 63 Thorne stormed out of the training area with long, deliberate strides, his fury simmering just below the surface. Rafe¡¯s words played on a loop in his mind, each one stoking the anger that burned hotter with every step. The glares from Rafe¡¯s lackeys barely registered, nor did the murmurs of a few recruits lingering in the corridors. His focus was singular¡ªmove forward, stay in control. His clenched fists and tense jaw were the only outward signs of the storm raging inside. By the time he reached the staircase, the flickering green torchlight revealed a familiar figure leaning against the rough stone wall. Vance. The boy was whistling, attempting to appear casual, but his fidgeting hands and the nervous flicker in his eyes gave him away. When Vance spotted Thorne approaching, he straightened up quickly, his carefree facade slipping for a moment. "That looked... intense," Vance remarked, his voice laced with an awkward mix of caution and curiosity. "Friend of yours?" Thorne shot him a glare sharp enough to make Vance take an instinctive step back. "Ouch," Vance muttered, forcing a grin that didn¡¯t quite reach his eyes. "Touchy subject?" Thorne stopped abruptly, his patience threadbare. "I¡¯m not your bodyguard," he snapped, his voice laced with irritation. Vance blinked, clearly caught off guard. "Huh? What are you talking about?" "Why are you here?" Thorne demanded, his tone colder now. "Don¡¯t you have better things to do than wait around for me?" Vance scratched the back of his head, looking sheepish. "Better things? Like what?" "Oh, I don¡¯t know," Thorne scoffed, his words dripping with sarcasm. "Like finding food? Or maybe figuring out how to not starve to death in this hellhole?" Vance shuffled his feet, his bravado faltering. "I thought we¡¯d, you know, search together," he admitted quietly, his usual energy muted. Thorne narrowed his eyes, his frustration bubbling over. "I¡¯m not your bodyguard," he repeated, his tone low and threatening. Vance threw up his hands in exasperation. "I don¡¯t want you to be! I can handle myself. Look, it¡¯s nice having someone to watch my back, sure, but that¡¯s not why I stuck around." His voice sharpened, cutting through Thorne¡¯s hostility. "I don¡¯t need you to protect me¡ªI¡¯m actually a good fighter if you haven¡¯t noticed!" Thorne clenched his fists, ready to retort, but something in Vance¡¯s words gave him pause. The boy¡¯s earnestness, his frustration, and the undeniable truth in his tone disarmed him. Thorne¡¯s anger ebbed slightly, leaving behind a strange mixture of guilt and grudging respect. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the tension thick between them. Finally, Thorne let out a long breath, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. "Fine," he muttered, his voice still rough but less venomous. "Let¡¯s go." Vance¡¯s relief was almost tangible, but he wisely refrained from gloating or pushing for more. He simply nodded and fell into step beside Thorne as they descended the uneven staircase in silence. The damp air of the main tunnel greeted them, and as they navigated the twists and turns, Vance broke the quiet, his tone lighter now but still cautious. "You know," he began, casting a sidelong glance at Thorne, "for someone who doesn¡¯t want to be a bodyguard, you¡¯re doing a pretty decent impression of one." Thorne shot him a withering look, but for once, he couldn¡¯t summon the energy to argue. "To be completely honest," Vance said, his tone half-joking but tinged with a nervous energy, "I may have approached you because of your ties with Uncle. It doesn¡¯t hurt to have friends in high places." Thorne rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath, "Whatever." His tone was dismissive, but inwardly he filed the comment away, another piece of information to consider about his companion. They continued down the tunnel in a silence that, while more comfortable than before, was still tinged with unease. Thorne¡¯s thoughts churned, circling back to his confrontation with Rafe. At first, he¡¯d felt a spark of relief at seeing a familiar face, someone who might help him navigate this hellish place, someone who might share advice or lend support. But Rafe¡¯s arrogance, the way he dismissed Ben and Darius¡ªit left a sour taste in Thorne¡¯s mouth. Yeah. A reunion wasn¡¯t happening anytime soon. The air in the tunnels was cool and damp, carrying with it the faint scent of wet stone and rusted metal. Their cautious footsteps echoed faintly, amplifying the eerie quiet. Every now and then, they passed doors, each one sealed tight, their destinations unknown. Occasionally, Thorne¡¯s sharp eyes caught glimpses of faint markings around the frames¡ªsymbols he didn¡¯t recognize but didn¡¯t trust either. Then they came upon a door that was slightly ajar, its faint glow casting flickering shadows on the walls. Thorne exchanged a quick glance with Vance, who shrugged. "You¡¯re the one with the death wish," Vance muttered under his breath, but he followed when Thorne pushed the door open wider. The room beyond was small and cluttered, its walls etched with strange, spidery symbols that seemed to shift when caught in the flickering light. In the center of the room stood a pedestal, and on it rested a cracked crystal that pulsed with a faint, eerie glow. Its fractured surface refracted the dim light in strange patterns, casting jagged shadows that danced along the walls. Scattered around the pedestal were bones¡ªsmall ones, like those of animals, though some seemed unsettlingly human¡ªand scraps of brittle parchment covered in faded writing. A shiver ran down Thorne¡¯s spine as he stepped closer, his gaze locked onto the crystal. There was something wrong about it, something that made his core churn uneasily. The glow of the crystal seemed alive, almost sentient, and as Thorne stared into its depths, he felt an inexplicable pull, as if it were calling to him. Behind him, Vance peered over his shoulder, his usual bravado slipping away. "What the hell is this place?" he muttered, his voice low, barely audible above the hum that seemed to emanate from the crystal. "I don¡¯t know," Thorne replied, his voice tight. The room felt alive, heavy with a memory of something dark and ancient, something that had long since seeped into the stones. Thorne took a deliberate step back, forcing himself to look away. "Let¡¯s go," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. They slipped out of the room and shut the door behind them, leaving the strange crystal and its unsettling aura behind. But even as they continued down the tunnel, the memory of it lingered, clawing at the edges of Thorne¡¯s mind. For a brief moment, when he had looked into the crystal, he had seen his reflection¡ªnot the face he knew, but something darker, colder. His eyes had been harder, stripped of the faint humanity he clung to, and the realization sent a chill through him. It was as if the crystal had shown him a glimpse of what he could become, and he wasn¡¯t sure he wanted to see it again.Stolen novel; please report. The thought clung to him like a shadow as they walked, his steps slower and more deliberate. Vance seemed to sense his unease but said nothing, his earlier chatter replaced by wary silence. Minutes later, they came upon another door, this one marked by deep, jagged scratches, as if something had tried to claw its way through. Thorne¡¯s instincts flared, a silent warning urging him to be cautious. He exchanged a look with Vance, who hesitated before nodding, and Thorne pushed the door open. The room was larger than the last, lit by faint green flames flickering in sconces along the walls. Training dummies filled the space, but they were far from ordinary. Their surfaces were studded with sharp, jagged spikes, and some had rusted weapons embedded in their wooden frames as if they had been used in violent training exercises. The air was thick with the smell of rust, old blood, and decay, a nauseating combination that made Thorne¡¯s stomach churn. "Whoever trained here wasn¡¯t messing around," Vance said, his usual easygoing tone laced with unease as his gaze swept over the brutalized dummies. The jagged spikes and deep gouges made it clear¡ªthis wasn¡¯t practice for self-defense. This was training for something far deadlier. Thorne didn¡¯t reply, his eyes narrowing as he activated Cunning Trapper. A faint buzz of awareness spread through him, scanning the room for traps or hidden dangers. Nothing. Just the eerie silence of a place steeped in violence. The state of the dummies told him enough. Whoever had trained here didn¡¯t just learn how to fight. They¡¯d learned how to kill, and efficiently at that. "Let¡¯s go," Thorne muttered, already heading for the door. Vance didn¡¯t argue, following close behind. The tunnels stretched on endlessly, the cold air gnawing at their skin. They passed door after door, each one leading to empty rooms or forgotten corners piled with broken crates and rusted junk. The further they went, the more oppressive the silence became, the weight of the underground pressing down on them. After what felt like hours of searching, they finally got lucky. Tucked behind a stack of old crates, Thorne spotted a faint glimmer. He crouched, clearing away the debris to reveal a small stash of food¡ªbruised vegetables and a few pieces of fruit. It wasn¡¯t much, but his stomach growled at the sight, and he didn¡¯t hesitate to grab an apple, biting into it with a sigh of relief. Vance snatched up a pear, holding it like it was a precious gem. "Never thought I¡¯d be so happy to see fruit," he mumbled around a mouthful. They sat on the cold floor, leaning against the stone wall as they ate. The fruit was bruised and bitter, but it was food, and it filled the gnawing ache in their stomachs. For a brief moment, the tension in the air eased, the reality of their situation fading into the background. When they¡¯d eaten their fill, they pocketed a few apples for later and stood, brushing the dust from their clothes. "So, back to our room now?" Vance asked, stretching as he spoke. Thorne hesitated, weighing the options. They¡¯d accomplished what they set out to do, and wandering the maze of tunnels carried its own risks. "We should head back," he said. "Better not push our luck." Vance frowned, shaking his head. "Come on, we¡¯ve got time. It¡¯s better to explore now while we can. Who knows what else we might find down here?" Thorne gave him a skeptical look. "We already found food. Wandering around just for the sake of it isn¡¯t exactly smart." Vance grinned, the expression full of mischief. "Since when has smart been fun? Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯re scared, Thorne. A little adventure never hurt anyone." He nudged Thorne playfully. "Besides, what else are we gonna do? Sit around and wait to be ordered around again? No thanks." Thorne rolled his eyes, but Vance¡¯s energy was infectious. Against his better judgment, he found himself smirking. "Fine," he said, his tone resigned. "But if we get lost, it¡¯s your fault." "Deal," Vance replied, already heading down the tunnel. They retraced their steps to the first classroom they¡¯d passed, using it as a marker before branching out again. Vance kept the mood light, cracking jokes and pointing out random details in the stone walls, like he was narrating a grand adventure. "Think there¡¯s a treasure vault somewhere down here?" Vance asked, gesturing dramatically. "Maybe piles of gold, jewels, secret weapons... Uncle¡¯s private stash of loot. Bet he wouldn¡¯t even notice if we took a little." Thorne snorted, shaking his head. "Right. And when he does, I¡¯m sure he¡¯ll let us off with a stern lecture." Vance grinned. "Well, I like to think I¡¯m pretty persuasive." Thorne didn¡¯t reply, but he couldn¡¯t help the small laugh that escaped him. As they continued through the tunnels, Vance kept up a steady stream of chatter, his voice echoing faintly off the damp stone walls. "You know, this place could use a serious makeover. Maybe a few windows, some drapes¡ª" "Vance," Thorne cut in, his tone sharper than intended. He exhaled slowly, forcing the tension in his shoulders to ease. "Just... focus." Vance blinked, clearly caught off guard by the edge in Thorne¡¯s voice. "Right, sorry. Just trying to keep things light, you know?" For a moment, he was silent, then added in a quieter tone, "You seem... different. Since that talk with Rafe." Thorne¡¯s jaw clenched. "I¡¯m fine," he said curtly, though even he didn¡¯t believe it. The words were hollow, a mask to cover the roiling emotions beneath. The rage, the betrayal¡ªit all simmered just below the surface, coiled and waiting for release. The tunnel ahead split into a crossroads, the air cool and heavy with the scent of damp earth. Thorne¡¯s ears perked up, catching the faintest sound¡ªa grunt, followed by a muffled groan of pain. He froze mid-step, holding up a hand to stop Vance. "Do you hear that?" he whispered, his voice tense. Vance tilted his head, frowning. "Hear what?" "Fighting," Thorne murmured, the words barely audible. His eyes darted to the shadows stretching along the intersecting paths. He felt the familiar buzz of his Escape Artist skill nudging at him, a primal urge to find an exit and avoid unnecessary danger. But there was something else¡ªa gnawing compulsion to investigate, to not look away. "Come on," he said, his voice tight as he motioned for Vance to follow. Vance hesitated, then nodded, his usual levity replaced by wary silence. Together, they crept forward, the sounds grew louder with each step¡ªa thud, a pained cry, the unmistakable rhythm of fists meeting flesh. They rounded a corner, and Thorne¡¯s breath caught in his throat. Three recruits stood in the middle of the tunnel, savagely beating a prone figure. The flickering torchlight cast jagged shadows on the scene, making it look even more brutal. One of the attackers¡ªa tall boy with a cruel smile¡ªdelivered a hard kick to the fallen recruit¡¯s ribs, eliciting a broken whimper. The figure on the ground shifted weakly, and Thorne caught a glimpse of red hair, sticky with blood. "Shit," Vance hissed behind him, the word sharp and filled with disbelief. Thorne¡¯s instincts screamed at him to leave. This wasn¡¯t his fight. Getting involved would only make him a target. But then he recognized one of the attackers¡ªthe wiry boy with dark eyes who had tried to skewer him during the spear training session. The memory brought the smoldering embers of his anger roaring back to life, flames licking at the edges of his composure. Rafe¡¯s voice echoed in his head, mocking and dismissive, fanning the fire. Before Thorne even realized what he was doing, he stepped forward, his voice erupting in a raw, furious yell. "Hey!" The shout echoed down the tunnel, raw and commanding, carrying with it all the pent-up fury he¡¯d been holding back. He felt Vance¡¯s hand brush his arm, the boy hissing, "What the hell are you doing?" but Thorne ignored him, his focus locked on the attackers. The two girls who had been kicking the red-haired recruit faltered, startled by the sudden interruption. One of them, a wiry girl with short-cropped hair, delivered a final, vindictive kick to the prone girl¡¯s stomach before retreating a few steps. Her companion followed, their eyes darting nervously between Thorne and the tall boy. The tall boy¡¯s head snapped up, his bloodied knuckles curling into fists as he turned to face Thorne. For a moment, surprise flickered in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by a wide, bloodthirsty grin. He stepped forward, cracking his neck as if relishing the opportunity for another fight. "Well, well," he sneered, his voice dripping with malice. "The little hero wants to play." Thorne¡¯s lips curled into a snarl, the cold indifference he usually wore as a shield stripped away. His fury burned too brightly to hide. He didn¡¯t wait for the boy to make the first move. This wasn¡¯t going to be a fight¡ªit was going to be a reckoning. Rafe¡¯s words clashed in his mind with the brutality unfolding before him¡ªthese three recruits had been given free rein to be as savage and cruel as they wanted, and they were taking full advantage of it. It wasn¡¯t about the tattered shirt and pants the red-haired girl wore; it was about the power they had been allowed to wield, the permission they had been given to unleash their worst instincts. And now Thorne had a reason, too. The inferno of rage within him blazed even hotter, consuming the last remnants of restraint. For a moment, his mother¡¯s gentle words whispered in the back of his mind, a reminder of a life he had once known. But that life was gone, and he had been thrust into a world where survival meant being stronger, more ruthless than those around him. He was done feeling guilty. It wasn¡¯t his decision to be here, to be trained as an assassin, but it was his decision what to do with the power he had. And he had made his choice. CHAPTER 64 Thorne¡¯s fury ignited like a wildfire, consuming him in a storm of unrestrained violence. Days of frustration, simmering anger, and the constant grind of survival had been building toward this moment, and now, it exploded in a relentless assault. The boy¡¯s grin barely had time to falter before Thorne¡¯s fist connected with his jaw. The sound of impact¡ªa dull, sickening crack¡ªechoed through the tunnel. The boy staggered back, shock etched into his features as blood sprayed from his mouth. But Thorne didn¡¯t give him a second to recover. His body moved with instinctual precision, every strike an outlet for the inferno roaring inside him. He lunged forward, grabbing the boy by the collar and yanking him close. Thorne¡¯s knee drove into his gut like a battering ram, knocking the air from his lungs in a single, devastating blow. The boy folded in on himself, gasping, his knees threatening to buckle. But Thorne wasn¡¯t done¡ªnot even close. ¡°You think you¡¯re untouchable?¡± Thorne snarled, his voice low and guttural, each word dripping with venom. His knuckles slammed into the boy¡¯s face again, sending him reeling. Blood and spittle flew in a crimson arc, painting the stone floor. The boy¡¯s head snapped to the side, but the raw force of the punch wasn¡¯t enough to bring him down. Thorne grabbed him by the neck, fingers digging into flesh, and threw him to the ground with the force of a falling hammer. The boy hit the floor hard, his limbs sprawling awkwardly, but Thorne didn¡¯t give him a moment to regain his senses. A savage stomp to the ribs sent a sickening crunch reverberating through the air, and the boy let out a strangled cry. Thorne stomped again, the impact jolting up his leg, but he relished the feeling. He welcomed the sound of cracking bone, the boy¡¯s breath hitching into desperate gasps. It wasn¡¯t enough¡ªnot yet. Rage clawed at Thorne¡¯s chest, demanding more. He wanted to hear the boy scream, wanted to see the terror in his eyes. He wanted to make him pay for every ounce of rage and pain that had been building inside him since he first set foot in this cursed city. "Get up!" Thorne spat, grabbing the boy by his blood-matted hair and jerking him upright. The boy¡¯s face was a mess of blood and broken teeth, his eyes glassy with pain. Thorne didn¡¯t care. He slammed the boy¡¯s head against the unforgiving stone floor, the dull thud of impact momentarily silencing his cries. The boy¡¯s weight sagged in Thorne¡¯s grip, but he forced him to his feet, only to hurl him against the tunnel wall with a roar of rage. The sound of the boy¡¯s body colliding with stone was sickeningly satisfying. He slumped to the floor in a heap, blood pooling beneath him, his breaths coming in weak, ragged wheezes. Skill Level Up: Unarmed Combat! The notification flickered in the corner of Thorne¡¯s vision, but it barely registered. All he saw was red¡ªhis vision narrowed to the boy crumpled at his feet, the embodiment of everything that had pushed him to the edge. Another kick, sharp and precise, cracked against the boy¡¯s ribs. The boy let out a weak, garbled cry, blood bubbling from his mouth as Thorne¡¯s boot connected with his side. The sound was pitiful, but it didn¡¯t stir an ounce of mercy in him. Thorne aimed another kick at the boy¡¯s head, sending him sprawling. The metallic tang of blood filled the air, sharp and bitter. Behind him, Vance¡¯s voice broke through the haze, urgent and panicked. ¡°Thorne! Stop it! You¡¯re gonna kill him!¡± The words were faint, distant¡ªbarely audible over the roar in Thorne¡¯s ears. His fists clenched, trembling with the need to continue. But it wasn¡¯t until he felt a sudden presence at his back, too close, too quick, that his instincts snapped into focus. Thorne¡¯s body moved on pure instinct, his Combat Reflexes saving him in the critical moment. He spun just as the girl lunged, her dagger gleaming wickedly in the dim light, its blade aimed with deadly precision at his back. The world seemed to slow for a heartbeat, every detail etched sharply into his mind: the wild determination in her eyes, the trembling desperation in her grip, the faint whistle of the blade slicing through the air. His hand shot out, catching her wrist mid-thrust with unerring accuracy. Her momentum stopped abruptly, her eyes widening in stunned disbelief as Thorne¡¯s iron grip clamped down. For the briefest moment, fear flickered across her face, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared, swallowed by the rising tide of Thorne¡¯s fury. With a savage twist, he wrenched her arm. The snap of bone was loud, like the crack of a dry branch breaking underfoot, and her scream tore through the tunnel¡ªa high, piercing wail that sent a chill racing down the spine of anyone who heard it. The dagger slipped from her grasp, clattering uselessly to the ground, but Thorne wasn¡¯t done. His free hand struck like a hammer, his fist colliding with her face in a brutal, bone-jarring blow. Her head snapped back, blood bursting from her nose in a spray of crimson as her body crumpled to the cold stone floor. She groaned, clutching at her shattered arm, her breaths coming in short, panicked gasps as she tried to crawl away. Thorne stepped over her without a second glance. She was nothing. A minor nuisance. His rage was fixated elsewhere, unrelenting and consuming. The boy lay sprawled on the ground, his body twisted and broken, a grotesque parody of its former self. Blood pooled beneath him, dark and viscous, staining the stone like a spreading shadow. His breaths were shallow, ragged, each one a struggle. Yet even now, the sight of his pathetic state wasn¡¯t enough to sate Thorne¡¯s fury. A strangled cry tore through the air, yanking his attention briefly to the remaining girl. She stood frozen, her face pale and eyes wide with horror as she took in the bloodied chaos before her. The girl¡¯s trembling hands hovered near her waist as if debating whether to intervene, but her nerve broke before she could decide. With a panicked scream, she turned and fled, her footsteps echoing wildly as she disappeared down the tunnel. Thorne barely noticed her retreat. If he did, he dismissed it. His focus snapped back to the boy, and his vision tunneled. Everything around him faded¡ªthe distant shouts, the flickering torches, even Vance¡¯s voice, calling his name in alarm. All that mattered was the boy lying helpless before him. Thorne straddled the boy, his knees pinning the battered figure to the ground. The boy¡¯s broken body offered no resistance, his limbs splayed awkwardly, his breaths coming in shallow, pitiful gasps. Thorne¡¯s hands closed around his throat, his fingers digging into the soft flesh with an unyielding grip. The boy¡¯s eyes bulged, terror flashing in their depths as Thorne¡¯s thumbs pressed mercilessly against his windpipe. He thrashed weakly, his hands clawing feebly at Thorne¡¯s arms, but it was no use. The boy was too broken, too weak to fight back. "You should have stayed down," Thorne hissed, his voice low and cold, each word dripping with venom. The boy¡¯s gasps grew fainter, his struggles slower and more desperate. His face turned an alarming shade of red, veins standing out on his forehead and neck as he fought for air that wouldn¡¯t come. Thorne¡¯s grip didn¡¯t waver, his thumbs pressing deeper, cutting off the boy¡¯s lifeline with ruthless precision. The light in the boy¡¯s eyes began to dim, the faint spark of life flickering like a candle in a storm. His movements stilled, his body going limp under Thorne¡¯s weight.This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it Still, Thorne held on. He wasn¡¯t satisfied until the boy¡¯s chest stopped rising altogether, until the last vestiges of life had drained away. Only then did he release his hold, his hands trembling as he let the boy¡¯s lifeless body slump to the ground. The world around him returned in a rush¡ªVance¡¯s panicked breathing, the faint drip of blood pooling beneath him, the oppressive silence of the tunnel. Thorne didn¡¯t look at the body. He didn¡¯t need to. He knew the boy was dead. Thorne stared down at his bloodied hands, his chest heaving as the reality of what he¡¯d done began to sink in. The rage that had consumed him, so fiery and all-encompassing, now smoldered into ashes, leaving behind a stark, hollow void. His knuckles, raw and bruised, were smeared with blood¡ªnot just his own but theirs. The metallic tang hung heavy in the air, a suffocating reminder of his brutality. His legs trembled as he stumbled back, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps. The adrenaline that had driven him now abandoned him, leaving his limbs weak and his mind awash with clarity he didn¡¯t want. His gaze swept over the scene, each detail clawing at his already frayed nerves. The red-haired girl was crumpled on the ground, her body a tapestry of bruises and blood. She lay motionless, save for the shallow rise and fall of her chest, each breath a strained, desperate effort. Her hair, once vibrant and wild, was matted with blood and dirt, a stark contrast to her pallid skin. Thorne couldn¡¯t tear his eyes away. She was alive, barely, clinging to life by the thinnest of threads. Then his gaze shifted to the boy. The boy he had killed. The body was grotesque, limbs splayed at unnatural angles, blood pooling beneath him. His lifeless eyes stared unseeing, his expression frozen in terror and pain. Thorne¡¯s stomach churned violently. That was his doing. He had crossed a line he couldn¡¯t uncross. The girl with the broken arm was still crawling away, her movements slow and pained. Her shattered nose had left a trail of blood across her face, and her arm dangled uselessly at her side. She kept glancing back at Thorne, her wide, tear-filled eyes brimming with raw terror. She whimpered as she moved, a pitiful, animal-like sound that cut deeper into Thorne than any blade could. And then there was Vance. Standing a few feet away, his face pale as ash, his eyes wide with something Thorne recognized immediately: fear. Not fear of the carnage around them¡ªfear of him. Vance¡¯s gaze darted between Thorne and the broken bodies, his lips parting as if to speak but no words came. Thorne¡¯s heart sank like a stone. He wanted to shout, to explain, to justify the carnage as something he had to do. But no words came. The weight of Vance¡¯s horrified expression bore down on him, the shame coiling in his gut like a viper. And as if mocking him, the familiar glow of a notification appeared in his vision. Congratulations! You have leveled up. You have reached level 32. The words hovered there, detached, coldly indifferent to the carnage around him. Thorne felt his chest tighten, his breath hitching as the reality of what the system was rewarding him for hit home. He had leveled up¡ªnot through training, not through skill, but through violence. Through death. He had killed, and he had been rewarded for it. His vision blurred, the edges darkening as if the world itself was closing in. His mother¡¯s voice surfaced in his mind, soft and chiding, the echo of a life far removed from the blood-soaked one he now lived. Thorne, never let anger control you. But her voice was a whisper, distant, almost unrecognizable, a remnant of a life that felt worlds away. A sudden movement snapped him back to the present. Vance knelt beside the red-haired girl, his hands shaking as he checked her pulse. His face twisted with a mix of relief and worry as he glanced up. ¡°She¡¯s alive,¡± Vance said, his voice shaky, barely above a whisper. ¡°She¡¯s pretty beaten up, but¡­ she¡¯ll make it. I think.¡± The words felt distant, muffled, as though they were coming from underwater. Thorne¡¯s eyes remained locked on the blood on his hands, the sticky warmth clinging to his skin like a brand. It was everywhere¡ªhis hands, his clothes, the floor beneath him. No matter how much he tried, he couldn¡¯t escape it. The nausea that had been rising in his throat threatened to spill over. He swallowed hard, forcing it down, his body trembling as he fought to keep control. He wanted to run, to put as much distance as possible between himself and this gruesome scene, but his legs felt like lead. He was rooted to the spot, trapped there. Somewhere, deep inside, a small voice whispered that this was who he had become. A killer. A weapon. And no matter how much he hated it, he couldn¡¯t deny the truth. Vance¡¯s voice finally broke through the suffocating fog in Thorne¡¯s mind, dragging him back to the present. ¡°We should get her to the room,¡± Vance said, his tone careful, like he was treading on glass. His words hung in the air, tentative, as though he feared one wrong move would shatter whatever fragile control Thorne had left. Thorne nodded stiffly, the motion mechanical, devoid of thought or feeling. When he spoke, his voice sounded foreign to his own ears, hollow and flat. ¡°Yeah¡­ let¡¯s get her to the room.¡± Vance hesitated before standing, his eyes flicking to Thorne with an expression Thorne couldn¡¯t quite read¡ªcaution, maybe, or something closer to fear. That look sent a sharp pang through Thorne¡¯s chest, but he didn¡¯t have the strength to examine it. Instead, he took a step forward, moving toward the girl¡¯s crumpled form, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw it¡ªVance flinching. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there. Thorne froze for half a heartbeat before pretending he hadn¡¯t noticed, forcing his feet to keep moving. He crouched down beside the girl, her bloodied body barely stirring. As he slid his arms under her, lifting her as gently as he could, his eyes caught a glint of metal on the ground. A dagger. Without thinking, he grabbed it, tucking it into the waistband of his pants. The cold weight of it against his hip grounded him. The girl moaned softly as he lifted her, the weak sound twisting Thorne¡¯s gut like a knife. Her broken bow lay awkwardly against her back, the wood splintered and useless. He left it where it was. Taking it away felt wrong, as if it would strip her of the last shred of strength or dignity she had left. Vance, crouching nearby, sifted through the mess on the ground until his hand closed around a small bag. He opened it, peering inside, then let out a soft, incredulous breath. ¡°Food,¡± he muttered, shaking his head. ¡°All that¡­ for some food.¡± Thorne swallowed hard, his throat dry, the weight of Vance¡¯s words settling heavily in the pit of his stomach. He didn¡¯t respond¡ªcouldn¡¯t respond. Instead, he watched as Vance slung the bag over his shoulder, the silence between them laden with unspoken truths. Together, they started the long walk back to the room, the girl limp in Thorne¡¯s arms. When they finally arrived, the room fell deathly quiet. The few recruits inside stopped what they were doing, their gazes snapping to Thorne like moths drawn to a flame. Whispers rippled through the group, soft but insistent, as they took in the blood splattered across Thorne¡¯s face, his hands, his clothes. Fear radiated from them like a palpable force, and one by one, they edged back, pressing themselves against the walls as if distance could shield them. Thorne ignored their stares, his focus fixed on the girl in his arms. He moved to his bed, laying her down carefully, as though she might shatter if he wasn¡¯t gentle enough. Her bow and the bag of food were placed beside her. Vance perched at the edge of the bed, his leg bouncing nervously, fingers tapping a restless rhythm on his knee. Thorne stood there awkwardly, unsure of what to do, the weight of the recruits¡¯ stares burning into his back like a brand. The silence stretched until Vance finally broke it, his voice barely above a whisper. ¡°You should go clean yourself up, Thorne. You¡¯re freaking everyone out.¡± Thorne glanced at him, then at the others, their wide, fearful eyes a mirror of Vance¡¯s earlier flinch. Shame and frustration swirled inside him, an ugly, volatile mix. But Vance was right¡ªhe needed to get out of there. To escape. To breathe. ¡°Yeah¡­ okay,¡± he muttered, his words clipped and hollow. He turned and walked out, his movements stiff, robotic. The corridor felt colder than before, the damp chill gnawing at his skin. Each step echoed in the silence, the sound of his own breathing too loud, too fast. His stomach churned violently, and his head swam with fragmented thoughts that refused to settle. The walls of the tunnel seemed to twist and close in, and for a brief, terrifying moment, he thought he might collapse. Two recruits appeared ahead, their quiet conversation dying the instant they saw him. Their eyes widened in unison, mouths hanging open in shock. One of them stumbled, grabbing the other¡¯s arm, and they both quickened their pace, nearly running as they passed him. Thorne barely registered their reaction. Their fear didn¡¯t matter. Nothing did¡ªnot the blood still caking his hands, not the whispers in the room, not even the growing weight of what he had done. He kept walking Finally, he found a door slightly ajar. Pushing it open, he stumbled into the small, dark room and fell to his knees, the nausea finally overwhelming him. He barely made it to the corner before the contents of his stomach came up, the acidic taste burning his throat. The retching shook his entire body, leaving him trembling and weak, but he didn¡¯t stop until there was nothing left. When it was over, Thorne wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his entire body trembling. He felt empty, drained, as if the fight had ripped something vital from him and left him hollow. He slumped against the wall, closing his eyes, trying to block out the memories of what he had just done, but they played on a relentless loop in his mind. The room was silent, save for the sound of his ragged breathing. Thorne pressed his palms against his eyes, willing the darkness to swallow him whole, but he knew there was no escaping what he had become. CHAPTER 65 Thorne didn¡¯t know how long he lay in the small, dark room. Time seemed to stretch and warp, the minutes bleeding into one another until they lost all meaning. The tremors that had wracked his body had finally subsided, leaving him feeling hollow and drained. His thoughts, once a chaotic storm, had turned eerily silent. He stared blankly at the opposite wall, his mind numb, the weight of what he had done pressing down on him like a heavy blanket. He told himself he had to get up. He repeated it over and over in his mind, a mantra that barely made a dent in the overwhelming emptiness. Finally, the thought of the notification that had flashed before his eyes¡ªcold, indifferent¡ªstirred something within him. He had leveled up. It had been months since his last level-up, yet the usual surge of satisfaction was absent, replaced by a gnawing void. With a heavy sigh, Thorne forced himself to pull up his character sheet, inspecting his progress with a detached gaze. The familiar lines of text appeared before him, listing his attributes, his skills, his level¡ªeverything that defined his strength and abilities in this brutal world. His gaze lingered on the notification: Character Level Up! Name: Thorne Level: 32 Race: Human Age: 14 Special Trait: Elder Race Health Points: 830/830 Aether: 540/540 Stamina: 850/850 Attributes: Skills: Primal Aether Manipulation: 15 He had 15 points to distribute among his attributes. In the past, he had always tried to distribute his points evenly, balancing his growth across all areas. But here, in this place, he knew that balance was a luxury he couldn¡¯t afford. Magic was too dangerous to rely on; the very thought of using it in this environment made his stomach twist with unease. No, it was his physical attributes¡ªStrength, Agility, and Dexterity¡ªthat would keep him alive. His fingers hovered over the options for a moment, then he made his decision. He poured five points into Strength, feeling the familiar rush of power as his muscles tightened and strengthened. Five more points went into Agility, and his body responded with a newfound lightness, his movements becoming quicker, more fluid. The final five points went into Dexterity, enhancing his precision and control, sharpening his reflexes like a finely honed blade. As the changes settled into his body, Thorne could feel the subtle differences¡ªthe way his muscles coiled with more power, the ease with which he could shift his weight, the heightened awareness of his surroundings. For the first time since he had formed his core, he hadn¡¯t put any points into Spirit. A pang of guilt flickered through him, as if he were betraying a part of himself, but he pushed it aside. There was no better way. In this place, survival demanded strength, speed, and skill¡ªnot the ethereal power of his spirit. Taking a deep breath, Thorne finally pushed himself upright, his legs steady beneath him. His fingers instinctively brushed the hilts of the daggers strapped to his hips, finding reassurance in their familiar weight. They were more than weapons¡ªthey were an extension of himself, his lifeline in this brutal world. He gripped them briefly, grounding himself like a drowning man clutching driftwood. He had to clean himself up. The blood, the grime¡ªhe needed it gone, needed to wash away the remnants of the violence he had unleashed. He couldn¡¯t erase what he¡¯d done, but he could wash away the evidence, even if it was only superficial. With a determined set to his jaw, Thorne left the small room, his footsteps muted as he started his search for water. The corridors stretched out before him, cold and silent. His footsteps echoed faintly off the stone walls, each one a reminder of how alone he felt in this moment. He encountered no one on his way, a fact that brought him unexpected relief. He wasn¡¯t ready to face anyone¡ªnot with the weight of what he¡¯d done still dragging behind him like a chain. After what felt like an eternity, he found a small washroom tucked away in a quiet corner of the base. The room was sparse and utilitarian, the sharp smell of damp stone filling his nostrils. The cold, sterile atmosphere was a jarring contrast to the chaos still roiling inside him. He approached the sink, the sound of rushing water startlingly loud as he turned the tap. The cold water spilled out, clear and relentless, and Thorne plunged his hands into the stream, splashing it onto his face. The icy sting cut through the haze in his mind, jolting him back to himself. He scrubbed at his skin with a desperation that bordered on frantic, his fingers working against the dried blood and grime as if trying to erase what had happened. The freezing water seeped into his pores, biting through the numbness that clung to him, chasing away the fog clouding his thoughts. He scrubbed until his skin was raw, the cold prickling like needles against his face, his hands, his neck. He didn¡¯t stop until every trace of blood and dirt was gone, until he felt clean in a way that went deeper than the surface. The ache in his soul didn¡¯t fade completely, but the cold water dulled its sharp edges, bringing with it a strange, fragile calm. When he finally straightened, droplets of water clinging to his skin, Thorne took a long, shuddering breath. The air felt lighter now, each inhale no longer suffocating. His reflection in the cracked mirror above the sink stared back at him, pale and drawn but composed. He turned away, unwilling to look at himself any longer, and made his way back to the room. Pushing open the door, Thorne found Vance sitting where he had left him, still by the red-haired girl¡¯s side. The other boy¡¯s shoulders were slumped, his fingers twitching nervously against his knee. Vance¡¯s expression was unreadable, a mix of concern and lingering unease.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Thorne approached slowly, his voice low and rough. ¡°Any change?¡± Vance didn¡¯t look up, his gaze fixed on the girl. He shook his head. ¡°I tried to wake her, but¡­ nothing. She¡¯s breathing, but she¡¯s out cold.¡± His voice was heavy, tinged with exhaustion and a thread of guilt. Thorne nodded, lowering himself to the floor beside Vance. The cold stone pressed against his back as he leaned against the wall, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. The weight of the day still pressed down on them both, filling the room with a silence that was almost suffocating. Vance made a half-hearted attempt to speak, muttering something about how rough things were getting, but his words faltered, trailing off into the quiet. He was still shaken, the events of the day too fresh, too raw to process fully. Thorne didn¡¯t respond, and they lapsed back into silence. They sat there, side by side, each lost in their own thoughts, the quiet broken only by the sound of the girl¡¯s faint, uneven breaths. As the minutes ticked by, more recruits trickled back into the room, their footsteps hesitant, their faces a mix of exhaustion and anticipation. The air thickened with murmurs of subdued conversation and the restless shifting of bodies, but Thorne barely noticed. His mind was a tangle of thoughts, the noise around him fading into an indistinct hum. When Lock and Talon entered, their arrival silenced the room instantly. The trainers carried an aura of authority that demanded attention, and every gaze snapped toward them. Lock¡¯s sharp eyes swept over the gathered recruits, lingering briefly on the red-haired girl and the two boys beside her. Talon¡¯s gaze was no less piercing, her expression unreadable, but the slight narrowing of her eyes betrayed that she had taken note of the situation. ¡°Your next class will focus on stealth techniques,¡± Lock announced, his voice cutting through the quiet like a blade. His gaze roamed over the recruits, lingering on each one as though weighing their worth. ¡°Stealth isn¡¯t optional. It¡¯s a critical skill, and mastering it will determine whether you succeed in the field¡ªor whether you fail and get others killed.¡± Talon stepped forward, her tone less abrasive but no less firm. ¡°Stealth is not just hiding in shadows. It¡¯s about anticipation, precision, and control. It¡¯s about reading your environment, outmaneuvering your enemies, and ensuring you¡¯re the one who decides when you¡¯re seen.¡± As the trainers spoke, Thorne¡¯s eyes drifted across the room, instinctively cataloging the reactions of the other recruits. His gaze snagged on the two girls who had attacked the red-haired girl. The one he¡¯d fought was easy to spot¡ªher face was pale, marred with bruises and smeared with the remnants of dried blood. She and her companion huddled together, their eyes darting toward him before skittering away, unable to hold his stare. A flicker of satisfaction coursed through Thorne, but it was quickly smothered by a dull, gnawing unease. He forced himself to look away, focusing instead on Lock and Talon. Still, the tension in the room was unmistakable, a subtle charge in the air that made every word from the trainers feel heavier. When the trainers finished their introduction and called for the recruits to follow, Thorne hesitated. His gaze dropped to the red-haired girl, still lying unconscious on the bed. The knot of worry that had settled in his chest tightened. ¡°Is it wise to leave her undefended?¡± he asked quietly, his voice low but edged with concern. Vance, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, finally spoke up. ¡°She¡¯ll be fine,¡± he said, though the slight hesitation in his tone betrayed a lack of confidence. He nodded toward the two girls cowering in the corner. ¡°I mean, look at them. I bet they¡¯ve already spread the word about what happened. Nobody¡¯s going to risk messing with her now.¡± Thorne¡¯s jaw tightened, his instincts at odds with Vance¡¯s reassurances. Still, there was logic in his words, and the thought of making a scene in front of the trainers made Thorne uneasy. He lingered for a moment longer before nodding reluctantly. ¡°Alright,¡± he muttered, more to himself than Vance. With one last glance at the girl, Thorne pushed himself to his feet. His movements felt stiff, reluctant, as if his body resisted the idea of leaving her behind. But he forced himself to follow the rest of the recruits, his steps quickening to close the distance between him and the group. As they moved through the dim corridors, the oppressive quiet of the stone walls pressed in on him. His thoughts churned, half anchored in the present, half lost in the memory of what had transpired. But when they finally entered the stealth training room, the weight of his thoughts was momentarily lifted by the sight that greeted him. The room was vast and dimly lit, its walls lined with strange, jagged obstacles. Shadows danced across the space, cast by flickering green flames in hanging sconces. The ground was uneven, with patches of soft dirt, scattered rocks, and artificial pools of darkness created by cleverly designed alcoves. It was a place built to test them, to break them. However, what immediately caught Thorne¡¯s attention were the large crystals floating in the air, spaced at intervals throughout the chamber. Each crystal pulsed with a soft, rhythmic glow, casting brief bursts of light that illuminated the room in short, sporadic flashes. The light was bright, almost harsh against the otherwise dark surroundings, and Thorne quickly realized that these crystals were the key to their next test. Lock stepped forward, his sharp voice cutting through the low murmur of the recruits. ¡°This is your next test,¡± he began, his gaze sweeping over the room. ¡°You will cross this chamber without being detected by the crystals. Every few seconds, these crystals will emit a burst of light. If you¡¯re caught in that light, it will trigger a reaction.¡± Talon, standing beside him, pointed to a crystal as it pulsed. Immediately, the crystal flared with a bright, rapid glow, flashing repeatedly as if sounding an alarm. ¡°If a crystal catches you,¡± Talon continued, her voice calm but firm, ¡°it will mark you as failed. Stealth is not just about avoiding detection; it¡¯s about precision, timing, and understanding your surroundings. This test will mimic the kind of challenges you will face in the field.¡± Lock crossed his arms, his expression hard. ¡°Move too fast, and you¡¯ll make noise. Too slow, and you¡¯ll run out of time. Every step you take must be deliberate. Show us you¡¯re not a liability.¡± The weight of their words hung in the air, and the recruits shifted uneasily, their nerves on full display. Thorne clenched his fists, his thoughts racing. His Stealth skill had been honed over years of survival and was far beyond what most recruits here could manage. But that was the problem. If he used it fully, he would stand out in a way he couldn¡¯t afford. Not here, not now. He couldn¡¯t afford to let Lock and Talon, or any of the other recruits, suspect that he had already formed his core. As the recruits lined up at the starting point, Thorne forced himself to breathe evenly. He would have to hold back, make himself clumsier and louder than he actually was. He couldn¡¯t rely on his skills here, not fully. But even as he resolved to pull back, a part of him bristled at the thought of intentionally failing. He had to walk a fine line¡ªsucceed just enough to pass, but not enough to stand out. The first recruit stepped forward, his movements tentative. The crystals pulsed with their relentless rhythm, and the bursts of light illuminated the chamber in harsh flashes. The recruit made it halfway before his foot caught on a loose rock. A crystal flared instantly, its warning light cutting through the darkness. Lock¡¯s sharp whistle sent the recruit trudging back to the start, his face pale with frustration. One by one, the recruits attempted the course. Some moved with a semblance of grace, making it through a few crystals before slipping up. Others were caught almost immediately, their movements too clumsy or their timing off. The crystals seemed to mock them with their harsh, unforgiving light. When Thorne¡¯s turn came, he stepped forward, his heart thundering in his chest. He paused, observing the closest crystal as it pulsed, counting the seconds between flashes. As soon as it dimmed, he moved, deliberately slower and less precise than he was capable of. His footfalls were heavier, his movements less fluid, but still, he managed to slip past the first crystal just as it flared to life. As he moved deeper into the room, Thorne fought the instinct to activate his Stealth skill fully. He forced himself to make mistakes¡ªallowing his elbow to brush against a crate, his foot to scrape across the floor¡ªbut he kept them minor, just enough to seem plausible for a recruit with no advanced training. The effort left him feeling tense, his muscles twitching with the desire to move faster, to vanish into the shadows as he knew he could. He continued through the course, his eyes darting from one crystal to the next, timing his movements with the rhythm of the light. Every time he passed a crystal without being caught, a small sense of satisfaction crept in, despite his attempts to suppress it. When he finally reached the end of the course without triggering any of the crystals, he allowed himself a brief moment of relief. He had done it¡ªhe had completed the course successfully, and without giving away too much. As Thorne waited at the end of the course, he watched the other recruits as they took their turns. To his surprise, most of them performed better than he had expected. Despite the difficulty of the test, many managed to make it through the course with only minor stumbles, their movements cautious but effective. It seemed that, under the pressure of the challenge, they had risen to the occasion. However, not everyone succeeded. One large boy, who looked more like a muscle-bound barbarian than a stealthy assassin, struggled from the start. His heavy footfalls echoed loudly in the chamber, and the first crystal caught him almost immediately, flashing brightly as it signaled his failure. The boy cursed under his breath, frustration etched on his face as he was sent back to the start. Then there was the girl Thorne had beaten earlier. She was still pale, her face marked with bruises, and she moved in obvious pain. Her fear was palpable, and it seemed to cloud her judgment. She hesitated too long at each crystal, second-guessing her timing, and it wasn¡¯t long before one of the crystals caught her, the flashing light signaling her failure. The girl flinched as the light pulsed around her, her shoulders slumping in defeat as she made her way back to the start. Thorne watched her for a moment, but then forced his gaze away, focusing instead on his own thoughts. He had completed the course, but the satisfaction was hollow knowing that he had to hold back. CHAPTER 66 Thorne, Vance, and the rest of the recruits returned to their sleeping quarters, their footsteps echoing softly against the stone floor. The air was thick with the exhaustion that clung to each of them, a weight that seemed to grow heavier with every step. The stealth techniques assessment had taken its toll, both physically and mentally, and Thorne felt completely lost on what time it was. After the assessment, the trainers had given them their next directive: they were to fend for themselves¡ªfind food, clothes, and clean up so that they would be presentable for the next class. It was a test of their survival skills, a challenge they would have to complete before the next class tomorrow morning. Thorne and Vance had spent the better part of the day scouring the base, their search taking them through the labyrinthine tunnels and dimly lit chambers. The layout of the base, once overwhelming and disorienting, was slowly becoming more familiar with each turn they took. But there was still so much they didn¡¯t know, so many places they hadn¡¯t yet explored. At one point, they had come across a large door, different from the others they had encountered. It was guarded by two older cousins, their expressions stern and unyielding. When Thorne and Vance had approached, the guards had blocked their path, telling them in no uncertain terms that fresh recruits were not allowed beyond the door. The two of them had scurried back, Vance casting curious glances over his shoulder as they retreated. As they moved away, Vance began to speculate wildly about what could be behind the door, his voice a mix of excitement and apprehension. Thorne listened in silence, his own thoughts drifting to the possibility of what lay beyond, but he knew better than to dwell on it. There were more immediate concerns to focus on. Their search continued, and as they revisited familiar tunnels and classrooms, the base gradually became less daunting. The twists and turns that had once felt like an endless maze were now starting to make sense, and with each step, Thorne felt a growing sense of control. They might not know every corner of this place, but they were beginning to understand its rhythms, its patterns. Eventually, they found a small, unassuming door tucked away in a shadowed alcove. It led into a utility closet, cluttered with various items haphazardly stacked and stored. Among the dusty shelves and forgotten tools, they discovered a stash of clothes¡ªsimple black pants and shirts, similar to what all the recruits wore. The clothing was rough and utilitarian, nothing special, but it was exactly what they needed. Vance rummaged through the pile, muttering complaints under his breath as he searched for something that would fit. ¡°Great,¡± he grumbled, holding up a pair of pants that were clearly too long for him. ¡°I¡¯ll have to roll these up a dozen times just to keep from tripping over them.¡± Thorne couldn¡¯t help but smirk at Vance¡¯s frustration, though his own mood was far from light. He found a pair of leather moccasins among the clothes and slipped them on, the familiar feel of the soft leather against his feet grounding him in a way he hadn¡¯t expected. It wasn¡¯t much, but in a place that seemed determined to strip away every part of who he was, it felt like reclaiming a small piece of himself. With their new clothes in hand, they made their way back to the sleeping quarters. The room was mostly deserted, though a few recruits had already returned, their faces drawn and tired. Thorne and Vance quickly resumed their places next to the red-haired girl, who still lay unconscious on Thorne¡¯s bed. The worry that had gnawed at him earlier returned, but there was little he could do now except wait. Before too long, Vance¡¯s soft snores filled the air, the boy having succumbed to the exhaustion that had been pulling at them all day. Thorne, however, remained awake, his eyes fixed on the dark ceiling above. The events of the day replayed in his mind, each moment sharp and vivid, refusing to let him rest. He couldn¡¯t allow himself to sleep. Not yet. He was afraid that the moment he closed his eyes someone would attack. So Thorne kept watch, his body tense and alert, refusing to let his eyes close even as fatigue threatened to drag him under. At some point during the long night, exhaustion finally overtook Thorne, and his eyelids grew heavy. He had fought sleep for as long as he could, but eventually, the strain of the day caught up with him. His head nodded forward, and his body slumped against the wall as sleep claimed him. But it wasn¡¯t long before he was jerked awake by movement nearby. His eyes snapped open, and instinctively, his hand flew to the daggers tucked at the waist of his new pants. His heart pounded in his chest as he quickly scanned the room, every muscle in his body tense and ready for action. His eyes rounded in surprise when he saw the red-haired girl shuffling in the bed, grimacing as she held her bruised side. She was awake, blinking groggily as she tried to make sense of her surroundings. Thorne hesitated for a moment, then asked quietly, ¡°Are you okay?¡± The girl jolted in surprise at the sound of his voice, her eyes widening as she looked over at him. The room was quiet, the other recruits fast asleep, their bodies spent from the grueling day. The girl seemed confused, her gaze darting around the room before settling back on Thorne. ¡°What happened?¡± she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, laced with confusion and fear. Thorne hesitated, reluctant to tell her everything. He didn¡¯t want to mention the blood, the violence, or the death that had followed her unconsciousness. ¡°You were attacked,¡± he said quietly, choosing his words carefully. ¡°We found you and brought you here.¡± Her stomach growled loudly, interrupting the moment, and the girl¡¯s cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. Thorne blinked, then slapped his forehead as he realized what she must be feeling. ¡°Oh right, you must be hungry!¡± he exclaimed, forgetting himself for a moment. His voice echoed in the quiet room, and he quickly turned red as well, feeling strangely off-balance in front of her. The girl¡¯s expression softened at his sudden outburst, but the awkwardness between them hung in the air. To cover his embarrassment, Thorne reached down to the floor, his hand brushing against a small pebble. He picked it up and, with unerring accuracy, tossed it across the room, hitting Vance squarely on the head. Vance jolted awake, flustered and blinking rapidly as he looked around in confusion. ¡°What? What?¡± he mumbled, his voice loud in the stillness. ¡°Keep it down,¡± Thorne whispered harshly, glancing nervously at the sleeping recruits around them. Vance blinked again, rubbing the spot on his head where the pebble had hit him. He turned to Thorne with a scowl, but then he noticed the red-haired girl, now awake and watching them both. His expression shifted from annoyance to surprise. ¡°Oh, you¡¯re awake,¡± he said, his voice softening. ¡°Are you okay? How are you feeling?¡±Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. The girl answered his questions quietly, still clearly disoriented, but her voice was stronger now. Thorne listened, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watched her movements. There was something strained about the way she held herself, and she seemed to be favoring her left arm. Finally, Thorne interrupted their exchange. ¡°Vance, give her the bag,¡± he said, nodding toward the small bag of food they had taken from her earlier. Vance¡¯s face twisted into a reluctant grimace. ¡°But¡ª¡± he began, then caught Thorne¡¯s sharp look. With a sigh, he begrudgingly handed the bag to the girl, muttering under his breath. ¡°Fine." The girl hesitated for a moment, then opened the bag and all but devoured its contents, stuffing pastry after pastry into her mouth with a ravenous hunger. Thorne watched her carefully, noting every pained movement, every wince as she shifted in the bed. Vance licked his lips as he watched her eat, then leaned closer, his voice a low whisper. ¡°Can I have one?¡± he asked, eyeing the remaining pastries with a hopeful look. Thorne shot him a disapproving glare. ¡°Vance, she needs it more than you.¡± Vance threw his hands up in protest. ¡°Hey, it¡¯s the least she could do! After all, we did save her life.¡± The girl, catching the tension between them, looked up with a frown. After a moment of hesitation, she offered each of them a pastry. Vance snatched his eagerly, stuffing it into his mouth with a satisfied grin. Thorne, on the other hand, was reluctant. He didn¡¯t want to take more from her, but the rumble of his empty stomach reminded him that he hadn¡¯t eaten since throwing up earlier. With a sigh, he accepted the pastry and began to eat, the food settling heavily in his stomach. As they ate, Vance moaned appreciatively, savoring the taste. ¡°Where did you even find this?¡± he asked between bites. The girl looked at them both, her expression serious. ¡°Do you remember the circular room with all the bridges above? I found a staircase there, and it led to another floor. I followed some older recruits and found their resting area. There was a pantry with all kinds of food. I gathered what I could and slipped out.¡± Vance smirked, nodding in approval. ¡°A true spy, if I¡¯ve ever seen one.¡± The girl laughed bitterly, shaking her head. ¡°Not good enough, apparently,¡± she said, her voice growing quieter. ¡°The next thing I knew, I was attacked. I didn¡¯t even see them coming¡­¡± Her voice trailed off, and she fell silent, her eyes downcast. After a moment, she looked up again, her expression softening. ¡°Thank you,¡± she said, her voice sincere as she glanced between the two boys. She hesitated, her gaze lingering on Thorne, as if searching for something. ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t know your name.¡± ¡°Thorne,¡± he replied quietly, his tone measured. The girl nodded slowly, as if committing it to memory. ¡°I¡¯m Rielle,¡± she said, her voice still a bit shaky, but there was strength in it. ¡°Thank you, Thorne. Thank you, both of you.¡± Vance grinned, waving off the thanks with an exaggerated flourish. ¡°You¡¯re welcome! Although, you should thank this guy,¡± he said, pointing at Thorne. ¡°He did most of the murdering. I just gave commentary during the fight.¡± Thorne shot Vance a warning glare, but Rielle only nodded again, her eyes locked on Thorne. They ate in silence, the quiet only broken by the soft sounds of chewing and the occasional rustle of the nearly empty bag. Rielle offered one more pastry, which Thorne accepted reluctantly, and it quickly disappeared. As she chewed, her gaze fell on the broken bow resting on the floor beside the bed. Her expression darkened, and she muttered an oath under her breath. Vance looked up, noticing her glare. ¡°Yeah, sorry about that,¡± he said, nodding toward the broken bow. ¡°It was already like that when we found you. Be thankful it was the only thing broken.¡± He flashed her a big smile, while Thorne rolled his eyes at Vance''s attempt at levity. Rielle¡¯s face tightened, and her eyes scanned the room, filled with a simmering anger. ¡°That bitch,¡± she muttered, her voice low and venomous. Vance and Thorne exchanged a glance, with Vance raising a playful eyebrow. Thorne merely shrugged in response. Rielle¡¯s gaze locked onto someone sleeping on the other side of the room, her eyes narrowing into daggers. ¡°I¡¯ll skin her alive, that little treacherous bitch!¡± she hissed, her voice barely above a whisper but laced with fury. Vance made a small sound of understanding and smirked at Thorne. ¡°You two are alike,¡± he remarked with a grin. ¡°Both of you have serious anger issues.¡± Thorne shot him a glare, but Vance raised his hands in mock surrender. ¡°Hey, just saying,¡± Vance added, his tone light, though there was a hint of truth behind his words. Rielle, ignoring their exchange, picked up her broken bow with careful hands, her anger only seeming to intensify as her gaze once again zeroed in on the sleeping form across the room. Vance, clearly impatient, scooted closer to the bed, his curiosity piqued. ¡°Come on, spill it,¡± he urged, leaning in eagerly. ¡°It sounds like an interesting story, and I really need a good bedtime story.¡± Rielle frowned, her eyes still fixed on her target like a predator stalking its prey. ¡°That girl,¡± she said, nodding toward the other side of the room. Thorne followed her gaze and saw the girl who had run away during the earlier confrontation, now curled up and sleeping soundly. ¡°I¡¯m sure she was the one who made the others attack me. I hadn¡¯t seen the other two before, but I know her,¡± Rielle continued, her voice edged with bitterness. ¡°Most of my life, actually.¡± Thorne listened closely, noting the tension in her voice. He could tell this wasn¡¯t just about the broken bow or even the attack itself¡ªthere was a deeper history here, one that Rielle was reluctant to share but too angry to keep to herself. ¡°They recruited us at the same time,¡± Rielle explained, her tone growing more intense. ¡°We did odd jobs, spying in the Grey Quarter.¡± Thorne¡¯s mind flicked back to the one time he had visited the Grey Quarter, a grim and desolate place where the sick were sent to keep their diseases from spreading. It was like a small city within the city, a place of suffering and despair. He remembered the feeling of dread that had hung over him as he followed Jonah there for a deal¡ªa place he had been more than happy to leave behind. ¡°We were never friends,¡± Rielle continued, her voice steady but cold. ¡°We knew of each other, but that was it. A few months back, a woman came¡ªa trainer from the Family¡ªinforming us that she would prepare us for the trial. It was me, her, and another girl named Lira. The two of them became fast friends, but with me¡­ not so much.¡± Thorne listened intently, sensing that this story was more than just an explanation¡ªit was a confession, a release of the anger and betrayal that had been festering within Rielle for a long time. ¡°Our trainer was fair,¡± Rielle said, her tone tinged with a hint of pride. ¡°She didn¡¯t tolerate their shenanigans and showed clear favoritism toward me. I was focused and eager to learn. When we discovered my affinity for the bow, the trainer doubled down on my training, spending more time with me than with the others. They were jealous, always plotting to undermine me.¡± Rielle paused, her grip tightening on the broken bow. ¡°When the time came for the trial, I was in a group with Lira. Instead of working together, she did everything in her power to get me killed. And when we found ourselves facing each other in the cage¡­ I didn¡¯t hesitate.¡± Her voice wavered for a moment, but she quickly steadied herself. ¡°The other girl, Sera, was furious. All day she had been whispering that she would make me pay. She was determined to see me fall.¡± For the first time since she started talking, Rielle turned to Thorne, her eyes filled with a mix of accusation and desperation. ¡°You didn¡¯t kill her,¡± she said, her voice trembling slightly, as if she was holding back a flood of emotions. Thorne was taken aback by her reaction, completely unprepared for the sudden shift in her demeanor. His mouth opened and closed several times as he struggled to find the right words, but nothing came. He was left flabbergasted, unsure of how to respond. Vance, sensing the tension, quickly cut in with a glare at Rielle. ¡°Cut him some slack,¡± he said firmly. ¡°He¡¯s already killed for you. What more do you want?¡± Rielle pinched the bridge of her nose, her expression softening. ¡°Sorry,¡± she muttered, her voice thick with regret. ¡°You¡¯re right. I just¡­ I don¡¯t know what to think anymore.¡± Vance chuckled softly, the tension easing slightly. ¡°Yeah, that makes three of us,¡± he said, leaning back against the wall. Silence fell over them again, each lost in their own thoughts. After a while, it was Thorne who broke the quiet. ¡°We better sleep,¡± he said, his voice calm and measured. ¡°Who knows how much time we have until they come back to take us.¡± The other two nodded in agreement, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up with them. Rielle lay back down, clutching her broken bow close to her chest, while Vance sprawled out on the floor beside her, his earlier energy drained away. As they settled in, the room grew quiet once more, and Thorne allowed himself to relax, his mind drifting as sleep began to pull at him. Just as he was about to slip into unconsciousness, he heard Vance mutter under his breath, a faint smile in his voice. ¡°I knew it would be a good bedtime story.¡± CHAPTER 67 Thorne, Vance, and Rielle were in the physical conditioning classroom, enduring the grueling exercises under the watchful eyes of Lock. The recruits had been running laps around the vast room for the past hour, and even Thorne was beginning to feel the strain. His stamina points were flashing dangerously, reminding him that even he had limits. All around him, recruits were collapsing like flies, retching up what little food they had managed to scavenge the previous night. Rielle had dragged her battered body out of bed when Lock had appeared in their sleeping quarters, barking orders at them to get moving. She had tried to keep up with the others, but after just two laps, she had collapsed in a corner, gasping for breath. Despite her obvious pain, Lock had continued to hurl abuse at her, his voice echoing off the stone walls. His relentless barrage was meant to break them down, to weed out the weak, and the older recruits who had gathered to spectate seemed to enjoy the show, placing bets on who would be the next to fall. Thorne knew he had an unfair advantage. His endurance points were far higher than those of the other recruits, giving him a stamina reserve that they could only dream of. Every few minutes, he pretended to need a break, bending over and gasping for air like the others, but in reality, he didn¡¯t need to rest. Still, just because he had the stamina didn¡¯t mean the exercise was easy. His muscles screamed in protest as he forced himself to keep running, pushing through the discomfort. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Lock called for a break. A collective sigh of relief swept through the room as the recruits stumbled to a stop, many of them collapsing onto the floor, too exhausted to move. Thorne noticed Rielle still struggling to catch her breath in the corner, but there was no time to check on her as Lock immediately set them on their next task: jumping hurdles and pulling weights. For Thorne, these exercises were laughably easy. His superior attributes made the tasks trivial, but for the others, they were a true challenge. He saw the boy he had beaten up for the bed, his exposed flesh a sickly shade of yellow, straining to lift weights that were clearly too heavy for him. Despite his struggles, the boy¡¯s eyes were filled with determination. With a loud grunt, he managed to lift the weights for a brief moment before they clattered back to the ground with a crash. Rielle had rejoined the group after Lock threatened to kick her out if she didn¡¯t participate. Though she grimaced with every movement, she pushed herself through the exercises, refusing to give up. Vance, who had been a menace during the earlier laps, was now struggling, his strength flagging as he struggled to lift even the lighter weights. It was clear that the physical toll was catching up to everyone. The training dragged on for hours, the recruits slick with sweat and their muscles aching. By the time Lock finally called an end to the session, they were all thoroughly spent. They had an hour to rest before their next class, and Thorne, Vance, and Rielle decided to stay in the room, too exhausted to move far. When the hour was up, they headed to the weapon training room. Lock, as relentless as ever, had them face off against each other, starting with basic footwork. For the first hour, all they did was practice steps and moves that Sid had ingrained into Thorne years ago. It was monotonous, but Thorne moved through the exercises with precision, his mind half-focused on the repetitive drills. The monotony was suddenly broken when Lock called for them to attack each other. The room filled with the sound of shuffling feet and grunts as the recruits sparred. Then, without warning, a sharp snap echoed through the room. Everyone froze, turning to see what had happened. The muscle-bound boy who had failed the stealth techniques earlier lay crumpled on the sand, his head twisted at an unnatural angle. Standing over him with a self-satisfied smirk was the bruised recruit from the previous day. Thorne¡¯s eyes narrowed as he met the boy¡¯s gaze. There was a manic glint in his eyes, as if he was promising Thorne that he was next. Thorne stared back blankly, unsure if he was meant to be intimidated. Instead, he turned his attention back to his opponent¡ªthe blonde-haired girl he had faced during the sword session. She looked back at him with wide eyes, clearly shaken by what had just happened. Lock didn¡¯t seem to care about the dead recruit. He called for two others to pick up the body, his voice devoid of any emotion. The recruits dragged the boy¡¯s lifeless form out of the room, leaving behind a silence that hung heavy in the air. Their numbers were shrinking¡ªonly thirty-two of the original forty-seven remained. Later, when the class was over, Thorne was checking a blooming bruise on his arm. The blonde girl had become surprisingly adept at unarmed combat, and she had managed to land a solid kick on Thorne¡¯s arm during their sparring match. As he rotated his arm to check for any unseen damage, Vance approached him, his expression serious. ¡°You know that was meant for you, right?¡± Vance said quietly, his eyes flicking to where the dead recruit had been. Thorne nodded, still rotating his arm. ¡°I¡¯m shaking in my boots,¡± he replied with a smirk, though there was a hardness to his tone. Vance shook his head, a small smile playing at his lips. ¡°I wish I had your confidence,¡± he muttered. Before Thorne could respond, Rielle stomped over to them, her face a thundercloud. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with you?¡± Thorne asked, noticing her sour expression. Rielle huffed and glared across the room. ¡°I didn¡¯t get to kick the shit out of that bitch, that human pimple!¡± she snapped, her voice seething with frustration. Vance looked between Thorne and Rielle, then sighed in exasperation. ¡°Do you two ever consider being nice to people? Maybe then they wouldn¡¯t plot to kill you at every corner.¡±A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Rielle¡¯s response was immediate. ¡°Nope,¡± she said flatly. Thorne protested at the same time, ¡°Hey! I¡¯m nice! Well¡­ sometimes.¡± Vance just shook his head with a small smile. ¡°So, what¡¯s next?¡± he asked, looking between the two of them. Thorne¡¯s stomach growled loudly, reminding him that the two pastries from the previous night had done little to sate his hunger. He glanced at Vance and Rielle, who both looked equally worn out, and decided it was time to address the issue. ¡°We need to find food,¡± Thorne suggested, his voice firm. ¡°I¡¯m starving.¡± Vance nodded with a serious expression, then quickly broke into a grin. ¡°A noble quest indeed,¡± he quipped, adding with a wink, ¡°and one that might just save us from becoming skeletons before our time.¡± Rielle, who had been glaring at something or someone across the room, finally stopped and shrugged. ¡°That works for me,¡± she said, though her voice still carried a hint of irritation. ¡°But after that, I need to find somewhere to wash. I feel disgusting.¡± Thorne nodded, remembering the washroom he had found near their sleeping quarters. ¡°I found a washroom close by,¡± he offered. ¡°I¡¯ll take you there after we get something to eat.¡± Vance¡¯s eyes lit up with mischief. ¡°Why not head to the older recruits¡¯ resting area and steal some more food? We¡¯ve got Rielle, our resident spy, to show us the way.¡± Rielle gave Vance a look but eventually nodded. ¡°I can take you there, but I¡¯m not sure I can sneak inside in my condition,¡± she admitted, her hand instinctively moving to her bruised side. Thorne quickly stepped in. ¡°I¡¯ll go myself. You just point me in the right direction.¡± Vance flashed him a grin. ¡°Good enough for me! I¡¯ll stay back and entertain the lady while you do the heavy lifting.¡± He gave Rielle a mock bow, his grin widening. Rielle groaned, rolling her eyes at Vance¡¯s antics, but a small smile tugged at her lips despite herself. She reached back, gathering her red hair into a ponytail with a thin strap of leather she pulled from her pocket. ¡°Alright,¡± she said, ¡°follow me.¡± Thorne and Vance fell into step behind her as she led the way out of the training room. Rielle¡¯s movements were slower than usual, her injuries making her stiff and cautious, but she moved with determination. They navigated through the now-familiar tunnels, passing a few recruits who barely gave them a second glance, too wrapped up in their own exhaustion to care. As they walked, Vance couldn¡¯t resist throwing in a few more jokes, mostly about the ¡°noble quest¡± they were on, with exaggerated tales of their heroism and bravery. Rielle snorted at one particularly ridiculous quip, though she tried to hide it behind a cough. Eventually, they reached the circular room with the bridges above¡ªthe place Rielle had mentioned before. She gestured to a narrow staircase tucked away in a corner, its stone steps worn from years of use. ¡°That¡¯s where I found the older recruits¡¯ resting area,¡± she explained. ¡°It¡¯s a floor above us. There¡¯s a pantry in there, stocked with all kinds of food. If you¡¯re careful, you should be able to grab enough to last us a while.¡± Thorne studied the staircase, his mind already planning the best approach. He turned to Rielle, his expression serious. ¡°Stay here with Vance. I¡¯ll be back soon.¡± Rielle nodded, her usual fire dimmed by the pain she was clearly trying to hide. ¡°Be careful,¡± she said, her voice softened by a hint of concern that she tried to mask. Thorne gave a curt nod and began his ascent up the staircase, his movements deliberate and measured. As he neared the top, he paused for a moment, preparing to activate his Stealth skill. The familiar sensation washed over him, and his body seemed to blend into the shadows, his presence diminished to almost nothing. The door at the top of the stairs led into a dimly lit corridor, the air cooler and fresher than the levels below. Moving cautiously, Thorne slipped through the corridor, his Stealth skill keeping him undetected. He approached the resting area that Rielle had described, listening carefully for any signs of movement. Peering through the slightly ajar door, Thorne saw several older recruits lounging on worn-out couches, some playing cards, others resting or chatting in low tones. In the far corner, he spotted the pantry, its door slightly open, revealing shelves lined with food. Thorne¡¯s heart pounded in his chest as he slipped inside, his steps silent and deliberate. He moved quickly toward the pantry, his eyes scanning the room to ensure no one noticed him. His Stealth skill held strong, but the tension in his muscles reminded him of how exposed he truly was. Once inside the pantry, Thorne worked quickly, gathering as much food as he could carry¡ªbread, cured meats, fruits, and some dried herbs. As he loaded his arms, he heard footsteps approaching. He froze, his heart skipping a beat as he realized he was still too exposed. Before he could retreat, the door swung open, and Rafe barged into the room, his obnoxious voice carrying through the space as he entered with his crew. "Pretenders, the lot of them!" Rafe sneered, his voice echoing in the room. "Think they can survive on scraps and blind luck. They¡¯re not even worth the dirt on my boots." One of his lackeys, a lanky boy with a perpetual smirk, laughed too loudly. "You¡¯ll show them, Rafe. Just a matter of time before they¡¯re groveling at your feet." "Of course they will," Rafe boasted, puffing out his chest. "It¡¯s only natural. We¡¯re the real Cousins, the ones who¡¯ll carry on the family legacy. The rest are just fodder, here to amuse us until they get tossed aside." Thorne gritted his teeth as he listened, every word grating on his nerves. He ducked behind a shelf, but he knew it wouldn¡¯t be enough to hide him. His mind raced, and with no other option, he activated his Shadow Meld skill, feeling the familiar drain on his aether as his body melted into the shadows, becoming nearly invisible. Another recruit, a bulky girl with a cruel grin, chimed in. "Did you see that red-haired girl collapse during laps? Pathetic. She should have stayed down, save us all the trouble of kicking her ass later." Rafe snorted. "She¡¯s lucky I didn¡¯t decide to finish her off myself. But then again, where¡¯s the fun in that? Let her squirm a bit longer." The group laughed, their voices filled with malice. Rafe strutted around the room, picking up a piece of bread from the pantry and taking a bite without a care in the world. "We own this place," he declared between chews. "It¡¯s about time these recruits realized that. I¡¯m tired of playing nice." His lackeys eagerly agreed, showering him with sycophantic praise. Rafe¡¯s eyes glinted with satisfaction, basking in their adoration. "Let¡¯s see how long it takes before the weak ones start begging to go home," he said with a nasty smile. "I¡¯ll make sure they remember who made them crack." As Rafe and his crew continued their obnoxious banter, Thorne could feel his aether points dipping steadily, a reminder of how precarious his situation was. Rafe walked dangerously close to where Thorne was hidden, and Thorne could feel the sweat on his brow as he remained perfectly still, blending with the darkness. After what felt like an eternity, Rafe finally moved past him, heading toward a staircase in the back of the room that led further upstairs. Thorne waited patiently, his breath shallow, until Rafe and his crew disappeared from sight. With the room clear, Thorne let out a slow breath and released his Shadow Meld skill, feeling his body return to normal. He quickly grabbed the food he had gathered and slipped out of the pantry, making his way back down the corridor and the staircase as fast as he dared. When Thorne finally reached the bottom of the stairs, Vance and Rielle were waiting, their expressions tense. ¡°Who¡¯s ready for a feast?¡± Thorne asked with a smile. CHAPTER 68 Thorne, Vance, and Rielle lounged in a small room they had discovered weeks ago, a hidden nook tucked away in the labyrinthine corridors of the base. The space was clearly once the secret lair of older recruits, as evidenced by the faded scribbles on the walls and the worn furniture scattered about¡ªa few loungers, a table, and some chairs. It had become their unofficial meeting place, where they sought peace and quiet away from the other recruits. Almost three months had passed since they began their training, and now only 26 recruits remained. Thorne sat in one of the loungers, tossing a small ball into the air and catching it absentmindedly, his mind drifting. Vance, looking unusually broody, was perched at the desk, nibbling on some sweets he had swiped from another recruit. Meanwhile, Rielle was seated on the floor, meticulously inspecting the arrows for her new bow, a prize she¡¯d earned after winning a particularly brutal challenge. The silence was broken by the sudden arrival of the newest addition to their group¡ªRhea, the girl who had sparred with Thorne and managed to land a solid kick on him during their combat training. She burst into the room, glancing over her shoulder to ensure she hadn¡¯t been followed, before flashing a wide grin and holding up two bottles of liquor triumphantly. ¡°Look what I found!¡± Rhea announced, her eyes gleaming with excitement. Vance¡¯s brooding expression vanished instantly, replaced by a look of eager anticipation. ¡°Where the hell did you find those?¡± he asked, raising his hands for one of the bottles. Rhea tossed one of the bottles to Vance, who caught it deftly, then flopped down next to Rielle. She uncorked the bottle, took a long swig, and passed it to Rielle, who followed suit, letting out a satisfied sigh that caught Thorne¡¯s attention. ¡°Upstairs,¡± Rhea said with a smirk, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. ¡°I¡¯ve been earning my title as the resident daredevil. I flirted with one of the older recruits to get into his room, and while he was distracted, I stole his stash.¡± Thorne raised an eyebrow teasingly. ¡°And what did you have to do to distract him?¡± Rhea blushed, waving her hand dismissively. ¡°Nothing I couldn¡¯t handle,¡± she replied, her voice light but tinged with a hint of embarrassment. Rielle frowned, concern etching her features. ¡°Are you going to be in trouble for this?¡± Rhea giggled, her confidence returning. ¡°Trust me, he¡¯s not going to be angry. In fact, he¡¯d probably offer me his whole stash if I promised a repeat performance.¡± The girls shared a giggle, and Thorne couldn¡¯t help but chuckle along with them. The tension that had hung in the air dissipated slightly, replaced by a brief moment of levity. Vance, however, seemed less amused. He took a swig from the bottle and passed it to Thorne, his mood darkening once more. ¡°We sure deserve it,¡± he mumbled, his voice heavy with resignation. A depressing shroud fell over them, and Thorne was the first to break the silence. ¡°What do you think it will be this time?¡± he asked, though he wasn¡¯t sure he wanted an answer. Ever since the first month of training ended, their trainers had introduced special tests¡ªeach one different, each one designed to break them in new and horrifying ways. The first test had been almost deceptively simple: they were blindfolded, their ears covered, and left to rely only on their sense of smell to find their way out of a labyrinth within the base. It had taken them a full day, but thankfully, everyone made it out. The second test, however, had been far more sinister. After a grueling week of training, the trainers had surprised them with a feast in their sleeping quarters. After a month of eating scraps, everyone had been too eager to question the unusual generosity. But the celebration quickly turned into a nightmare. The food had been poisoned, and as the recruits began vomiting and collapsing in pain, the trainers announced they had one hour to find the antidote¡ªor die. They lost three recruits that day¡ªonly one to the poison. The other two were killed in the frantic scramble for the antidote. But it was the last challenge that had truly broken Vance. They were each placed in a dark, silent cell for a week¡ªno light, no food, no sounds, no human contact. Just darkness and their own thoughts. The isolation had been harrowing. Thorne still heard the unsettling whispers at night, a lingering effect of the long captivity. Though no one had died during the test, one girl had been completely shattered. She had been found catatonic, unable to speak or move, and disappeared the next morning without a trace. Vance hadn¡¯t fared much better. For days after, he barely spoke, wandering aimlessly with a haunted look in his eyes. It had taken Thorne and Rhea working together to bring him back, but he was still a shadow of the boy he had once been. ¡°If it¡¯s anything like that last one¡­¡± Vance¡¯s voice was filled with dread. ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll make it.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t talk like that,¡± Rhea said firmly, but it was Rielle who managed to reassure him. ¡°It won¡¯t be,¡± Rielle said with pragmatic confidence. ¡°Each test is different, meant to prepare us for different situations.¡± Vance looked up at her, hope flickering in his eyes, but Rielle¡¯s next words dashed it. ¡°Don¡¯t get me wrong. It¡¯ll still be horrifying¡ªjust a different kind of horrifying.¡± Vance grumbled, taking another swig from the bottle. ¡°The next time I¡¯m down, please don¡¯t be the one to cheer me up.¡±This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. Rielle shrugged, muttering, ¡°I¡¯m just telling it how I see it.¡± * The next day, the recruits were lined up in the dimly lit chamber, tension thick in the air. A group of older recruits moved among them, tying blindfolds tightly over their eyes. Thorne stood in line, his body rigid with anticipation. He could hear Lock and Talon pacing in front of them, their boots echoing ominously against the stone floor. "You will be divided into groups," Lock announced, his voice cold and commanding. "Each group will be dumped into a part of the base you don¡¯t have access to yet. Every group will be positioned in a different tunnel. Your task is simple: find a glowing crystal and defend it until the time is up. Those who succeed will get to keep the crystal. Those who fail¡­ well, they¡¯ll be dead." A nervous murmur spread through the line of recruits. Thorne¡¯s heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing in his ears. Suddenly, a voice spoke up¡ªa boy¡¯s voice, wavering with fear but filled with determination. "What will we be defending against?" Thorne, now blindfolded, couldn¡¯t see Lock¡¯s face, but he could feel the chill in the air as the trainer paused before answering. There was a twisted pleasure in his voice when he finally replied, "Oh, that¡¯s a surprise." A shiver ran down Thorne¡¯s spine as the older recruits began to lead them away, one by one. They walked for what felt like an eternity, the sound of boots scuffing against stone and the occasional murmur the only indications of the world around him. Thorne tried to map their course, counting steps and listening for familiar sounds, but it wasn¡¯t long before he was completely disoriented. At some point, they passed what Thorne believed was the circular room with the bridges¡ªhe could hear the faint echo of footsteps above¡ªbut as they continued, the sounds of activity gradually faded into an eerie silence. The air grew colder, and the atmosphere felt increasingly oppressive. He heard the shuffling of feet as some recruits were pulled away from the group, then another group broke off, and then another, each time leaving the remaining recruits in deeper isolation. Finally, Thorne felt a hand grasp his arm, pulling him to the side. He was led through what he assumed was a doorway and into a room. The hand released him, and a moment later, his blindfold was removed. Blinking against the dim light, Thorne quickly took in his surroundings. The room was small and bare, with stone walls and a single, low-hanging light casting shadows in every corner. With him were two other recruits¡ªDevon, a tall, lanky guy with a scimitar strapped to his back, and Cassandra, a surly girl with a spear clenched in her hand. The older recruit who had led them there stood by the door, arms crossed over his chest, a smirk playing on his lips. He nodded toward a small hatch on the floor. "You are to enter the tunnel there," he said simply. Devon stepped forward, his hand trembling slightly as he gripped the iron ring on the hatch and pulled it open, revealing a gaping black hole. The three recruits peered into the darkness, a sense of foreboding hanging over them like a shroud. The older recruit remained by the door, his eyes gleaming with a challenge as he watched them. It was clear he wasn¡¯t going to offer any help¡ªor mercy. Devon looked back at Thorne and Cassandra, his uncertainty clear in his eyes. Cassandra, her patience worn thin, shoved him aside with her bulging arms. "What are you waiting for?" she demanded, her voice harsh. Without another word, she swung her legs over the edge and began to descend, using the iron foot holds that lined the walls of the tunnel. Devon hesitated for a moment, casting a nervous glance at Thorne before following her down into the darkness. Thorne took a moment to study the older recruit, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. "I¡¯m guessing you won¡¯t tell me what¡¯s down there," he said, his tone half-joking but laced with tension. The older recruit chuckled, a dark, knowing sound. "Oh, you¡¯ll love it," he replied, his smirk widening. Thorne shook his head, his curiosity piqued but his sense of caution on high alert. Without another word, he followed the other recruits, gripping the iron foot holds as he descended into the abyss. The darkness swallowed him, and as he went deeper, the light from above faded until there was nothing but blackness. The only sound was the faint scraping of their hands and feet against the metal rungs, echoing in the confined space. Thorne¡¯s heart raced as he descended, every instinct screaming to get back up to safety. After a moment, the trio heard a loud bang above them, and what little light had managed to filter through the opening was extinguished as the older recruit slammed the hatch shut. The darkness became absolute, swallowing them whole. Thorne could hear Devon muttering nervously to himself as they continued their descent. They climbed down the narrow shaft for what felt like minutes, the iron foot holds cold and slippery beneath their hands. Suddenly, a splash echoed through the tunnel, followed by a string of curses from Cassandra. "We¡¯re in the sewers," she informed them, her voice tinged with disgust. Devon was the next to reach the bottom, his feet splashing into the foul water below. Thorne followed closely behind, and as he dropped down, the stench hit him like a gut-punch¡ªa putrid mix of decay and wetness that made his stomach churn. The water reached up to his knees, thick and slimy as it soaked through his pants. He bumped into Devon, who jolted in fear. "I can¡¯t see a thing," Devon said, his voice faltering with fear. "Me neither," Cassandra agreed, her tone laced with frustration. Thorne, with his superior eyesight, could just barely make out the vague outlines of their surroundings. The walls were damp and covered in grime, the narrow tunnel stretching out into the darkness ahead. They were definitely in a sewer, and the thought of wading through this filth for who knew how long didn¡¯t sit well with him. "How are we going to find the stone if we can¡¯t see a thing?" Cassandra demanded angrily. Thorne scanned their surroundings, trying to get a sense of direction, and responded absentmindedly, "I guess that¡¯s part of the test." Cassandra scoffed. "Yeah, like I hadn¡¯t thought of that." Devon, trying to sound more optimistic, added, "I guess¡­ at least it¡¯ll be easier to find it with the light and all that." Cassandra seemed to consider this for a moment before responding with a grudging, "I guess there¡¯s that." "Take my hand," Thorne instructed Devon, his tone firm. "What?" Devon asked, confused. "Take my hand, and then take Cassandra¡¯s," Thorne repeated, his voice leaving no room for argument. "What are you on about?" Cassandra asked, her irritation clear. "Just do as I say," Thorne insisted. "I can make out the way ahead, at least a little." The other two recruits sounded surprised. "You can?" Cassandra asked, her voice betraying a hint of hope. "Well, a little," Thorne confessed. "I can see the current of the water. Now do as I say." Reluctantly, Devon reached out and grabbed Thorne¡¯s hand, while Cassandra gripped Devon¡¯s other hand. Thorne took a deep breath, trying to steady himself against the overwhelming stench, and began to move forward, carefully navigating the murky water. "This is disgusting," Cassandra muttered, but she followed closely behind, her grip on Devon¡¯s hand tightening as they waded through the sewer. Thorne could feel the faintest shift in the air up ahead, the cold, damp breeze signaling an intersection. His senses were working overtime, trying to piece together the layout of the tunnels. He ignored the branching tunnel to the right, choosing instead to follow the current of the water. They turned a bend, the water sloshing around their legs, and that was when the attack came. CHAPTER 69 The attack came without warning. Whatever it was, it moved with a terrifying silence, its presence unknown until it was upon them. Cassandra was the first to feel it¡ªa cold, slimy grip that wrapped around her leg and dragged her down into the foul water. She screamed, flailing wildly as she tried to free herself from the unseen assailant. Thorne¡¯s heart leapt into his throat. He reached for his daggers, but the darkness was absolute, and he couldn¡¯t see the creature. He could only hear Cassandra¡¯s panicked screams and the chaotic splashing as she fought for her life. In the confusion, Devon lashed out blindly with his scimitar, his fear driving him to swing with wild desperation. Thorne ducked just in time, feeling the blade whistle past his head, narrowly missing him. ¡°Watch it!¡± Thorne yelled, but his voice was drowned out by Cassandra¡¯s screams, which suddenly became muffled as though she were being dragged under the water. Thorne¡¯s mind raced as he realized that he couldn¡¯t fight what he couldn¡¯t see. Desperation clawed at him, and he knew there was only one solution. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, drawing on the power deep within him, and activated his aether vision. When his eyes snapped open, the world around him was transformed. The darkness was filled with swirling, colorful motes of aether, the energy of life itself pulsing in vibrant patterns all around him. It was overwhelming at first, disorienting him as he tried to make sense of the chaos. But then he saw it¡ªa shape moving through the motes, human-like but wrong, its form twisted and unnatural. With renewed determination, Thorne shoved Devon aside, ignoring the other boy¡¯s scream of terror, and charged at the creature. His daggers flashed as he plunged them into its back, again and again, but there was no spray of blood, no sound of pain. The creature didn¡¯t react at first, as if it couldn¡¯t feel the blows. But Thorne persisted, slashing and stabbing with a ferocity born of fear and adrenaline. Finally, he drove one of his blades into what his aether vision told him was the creature¡¯s neck. There was a sickening crunch, and the creature went limp, collapsing into the water with a splash. Thorne shoved its body away and immediately turned to Cassandra, who was flailing in the water, her eyes wide with terror. He grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her up, her body breaking the surface as she gasped for air. ¡°It¡¯s okay, I¡¯ve got you,¡± Thorne said, his voice steadier than he felt. Cassandra sputtered, her breaths coming in ragged gasps as she clung to him, her entire body trembling. ¡°I can still feel it,¡± she whispered, her voice hysterical. ¡°In my skin, in my throat¡ªthere¡¯s some kind of slime¡ª¡± She screamed suddenly, flicking something off her arm and into the water. Thorne tightened his grip on her, trying to calm her down. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, and his own fear was only barely contained. Devon stood nearby, his scimitar shaking in his hand, his face pale and drenched in sweat. For several long minutes, the only sounds were their heavy breathing and the faint dripping of water from the tunnel walls. It took all of Thorne¡¯s strength to keep himself from collapsing into the same panic that had gripped Cassandra. Slowly, her breathing began to steady, and she finally stopped shaking. Devon was the first to speak, his voice shaky and barely above a whisper. ¡°What¡­ what was that?¡± Thorne shook his head, his eyes still locked on the dark water. ¡°I have no idea,¡± he replied, his voice hollow. He hesitated, then took a step closer to the floating body of the creature. Cassandra¡¯s hand shot out, grabbing his arm with surprising strength. ¡°Where are you going?¡± she demanded, her voice laced with fear. Thorne hesitated, his hand hovering just above the creature. He could feel the revulsion crawling up his spine, but his curiosity gnawed at him. He wanted to understand what they were facing, to know if there were more of these things lurking in the darkness. But he could feel the others¡¯ terror, and his rational mind won out. With a shudder, he snatched his hand back. ¡°We have to keep going,¡± Thorne announced, his voice firm, despite the fear gnawing at his insides. Cassandra and Devon didn¡¯t argue. They quickly grasped each other¡¯s hands, forming a chain, and followed Thorne as he led them deeper into the tunnel. The darkness of the sewers seemed to close in on them as they continued their grim journey, the foul water sloshing around their legs with every step. Thorne kept his aether vision active, scanning the tunnel ahead for any sign of movement. His senses were on high alert, every nerve in his body coiled like a spring, ready to react at the slightest provocation. It wasn¡¯t long before they heard it¡ªthe faint, rhythmic splashing of dragging feet echoing through the tunnel. The sound sent a shiver down Thorne¡¯s spine, but it also gave them a precious few moments of warning. He raised a hand, signaling the others to stop.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. ¡°There¡¯s something up ahead,¡± Thorne whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of the water. Devon and Cassandra tensed, their grips tightening on their weapons. Thorne moved ahead, his eyes narrowed as he focused on the shifting motes of aether that outlined the shambling form in the distance. The creature was slow, its movements sluggish and almost pitiful, but Thorne knew better than to underestimate it. He approached cautiously, his daggers ready. When he was close enough, he lunged, slashing at the creature¡¯s neck with both blades. The creature staggered, its head lolling to the side, but it didn¡¯t go down. Thorne gritted his teeth and attacked again, stabbing it repeatedly in the chest until it finally collapsed into the water with a splash. ¡°Got it,¡± Thorne muttered, wiping the back of his hand across his brow. The creature hadn¡¯t been particularly fast, but it was disturbingly resilient. He turned back to the others, who were frantically looking around in the darkness. ¡°Let¡¯s keep moving.¡± They hadn¡¯t gone much further when the splashing returned, this time louder and more urgent. Thorne¡¯s heart sank as he realized there were two sets of dragging footsteps this time. ¡°There¡¯s more of them,¡± he warned, his voice tense. The shambling forms emerged from the darkness, their grotesque outlines barely visible through the haze of aether. Thorne squared off against the nearest one, his body tensing as he prepared to strike. Behind him, he could hear Devon and Cassandra readying themselves to face the second creature. Thorne¡¯s opponent lunged at him with surprising speed, its clawed hands reaching out to grab him. He dodged to the side, slashing at its outstretched arm with one dagger while driving the other into its side. The creature seemed unfazed. It swung at Thorne, and he barely managed to duck in time, feeling the rush of air as its claws passed over his head. Meanwhile, Devon and Cassandra were locked in a desperate struggle with the second creature. Devon, panic clear in his movements, swung his scimitar wildly, trying to keep the creature at bay. His blows were erratic, driven by fear rather than precision, and Cassandra was forced to take up the slack, jabbing at the creature with her spear whenever she could make out an opening. The fight dragged on, the tunnel filled with the sounds of grunts, splashing water, and the sickening crunch of metal meeting flesh. Thorne¡¯s arms burned with fatigue as he continued to hack away at the creature, but it seemed to absorb the punishment without flinching. His aether vision guided his strikes, allowing him to target the creature¡¯s weak points, but it was still difficult to bring down. Skill level up: Critical Eye! Devon, in a fit of panic, swung his scimitar with all his might, and by some stroke of luck, the blade connected with the creature¡¯s neck, severing its head in a single blow. The decapitated body collapsed into the water, lifeless at last. But in his wild swing, Devon¡¯s blade had also nicked Cassandra¡¯s hand. ¡°Damn it, Devon!¡± Cassandra spat, clutching her wounded hand, her fear momentarily forgotten in the heat of anger. ¡°Watch what you¡¯re doing!¡± Devon stammered an apology in embarrassment. ¡°I-I didn¡¯t mean to¡ª¡± Cassandra shot him a fiery glare that could be communicated even through the darkness, but her anger quickly subsided as the reality of their situation sank back in. The fear returned, but at least now it was mingled with the adrenaline of survival. She tore a strip of cloth from her tunic and wrapped it around her bleeding hand, muttering curses under her breath. Thorne, panting from exertion, looked back at the others. ¡°We¡¯re not out of this yet. Stay close and be ready for anything.¡± The three of them formed a tighter group, Cassandra¡¯s earlier bravado fading back into wary silence as they continued their march through the sewer. Each step was measured, every sound scrutinized, as they prepared for the next attack that could come from anywhere, at any moment. They trudged through the foul water for a few more minutes, though to Thorne and the others, it felt like an eternity. Every step was tense, every faint sound in the distance making them jump as their nerves frayed to the breaking point. The darkness seemed to press down on them, heavy and suffocating. Then, in the midst of their silent dread, Devon¡¯s voice broke through with a shout of relief. ¡°Light! I see light!¡± Thorne¡¯s aether vision had been playing tricks on him, making it difficult to distinguish the subtle changes in the ambient light, so he blinked it off, letting the natural darkness return. He could see it now¡ªa faint glow in the distance, a beacon of hope in the oppressive gloom. ¡°Blessed be the dead gods for not forsaking us,¡± Cassandra murmured, her voice trembling, as if she were on the verge of tears. The sight of the light renewed their determination, giving them the strength to push forward. They quickened their pace, driven by the hope that this nightmare was finally coming to an end. As they neared the source of the light, it grew stronger, becoming blindingly radiant compared to the darkness that surrounded them. At last, they reached the source of the light: a small, glowing crystal hovering above a tiny island at the center of an intersection where four tunnels converged. The stone was much smaller than the ones they had seen during their stealth technique class¡ªjust the size to fit in the palm of their hand. But in this moment, it seemed like the most precious thing in the world. They scrambled up onto the small island, their feet slipping on the wet stone as they approached the crystal. As they drew near, the stone began to flash rhythmically, casting sharp pulses of light into the darkness. ¡°Is it meant to do that?¡± Devon asked, his voice filled with apprehension as he eyed the blinking stone. Cassandra frowned, her hand still clutching the makeshift bandage she had wrapped around her wound. ¡°I don¡¯t like this,¡± she muttered, her eyes narrowing at the flashing crystal. Thorne¡¯s heart plummeted as a wave of cold dread gripped him, chilling him to the core. While the others were transfixed by the flickering light, he caught something far more sinister¡ªa faint, almost imperceptible sound that sent ice through his veins. The distant sloshing of water, soft at first, began to grow louder, multiplying, converging. It was the unmistakable, sickening rhythm of countless feet dragging through the muck, moving as one, from every direction. The sheer number was staggering, overwhelming¡ªan unholy swarm of nightmares closing in, unseen but undeniably there, drawn to them like predators to wounded prey. Thorne¡¯s breath caught in his throat as the horrific realization set in, they were surrounded. CHAPTER 70 ¡°Get ready!¡± Thorne screamed, his voice slicing through the suffocating darkness as he circled the small island, his eyes darting from one tunnel to another, searching the shadows for movement. His heart hammered in his chest, the icy grip of fear tightening around him. Devon and Cassandra looked at him in confusion, their faces pale in the dim light. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± Devon asked, his voice trembling. ¡°They¡¯re coming,¡± Thorne said, his words clipped and urgent. ¡°We¡¯re surrounded.¡± The color drained from Cassandra¡¯s face as the reality of the situation set in. She froze for a moment, her eyes wide with terror, before she began to murmur prayers to the dead gods, her voice quivering with desperation. Devon, his whole body shaking, gripped his scimitar with both hands, his knuckles turning white as he struggled to steady himself. They waited in agonizing silence, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Cassandra¡¯s whispered prayers were the only sound, barely audible over the pounding of Thorne¡¯s heart in his ears. The rhythmic tapping of water began to grow louder, more pronounced, as the creatures crept closer, their shambling footsteps echoing through the tunnels. As the sound reached Devon and Cassandra, they both went rigid with fear. Cassandra¡¯s prayers grew more fervent, her words coming faster as she clutched her spear like a lifeline. Devon swallowed hard, his eyes darting nervously around the island as the dreadful realization sank in. Then Thorne saw it¡ªthe first of the creatures emerging from the darkness, and his blood ran cold. The faint light of the crystal illuminated the figure, revealing its ghastly form in sickening detail. It was a zombie, but not just any zombie¡ªit was the reanimated corpse of a recruit. The once-pristine uniform now hung in tattered strips from its body, its flesh desiccated and rotting. What Thorne had first mistaken for claws in the darkness were actually fingers, stripped of flesh, leaving only bone and sinew behind. ¡°Is that a¡­ a zombie?¡± Devon¡¯s voice broke the silence, his words filled with disbelief and horror. Thorne¡¯s mouth tightened into a grim line as more of the creatures emerged from the tunnels, their grotesque forms closing in from all sides. ¡°Not just zombies,¡± Thorne muttered, his voice hard. ¡°They¡¯re the recruits.¡± Cassandra screamed, her voice raw with fear, as she realized the same horrific truth. The undead recruits advanced slowly but steadily, their soulless eyes locked on the trio, drawn by some dark hunger. Thorne¡¯s mind raced as he assessed the situation. They were surrounded on all sides, with only the small island and the glowing crystal to protect. He knew they had to act fast or be overwhelmed. ¡°Pull yourselves together!¡± Thorne barked, snapping Devon and Cassandra out of their stunned stupor. ¡°Each of us will defend a part of the island. We can¡¯t let them overwhelm us.¡± Devon and Cassandra hesitated for a moment, their fear holding them back. But when Thorne¡¯s voice rang out again, more forcefully, they quickly moved into position. Devon took one side, gripping his scimitar tightly, while Cassandra faced another, her spear at the ready. ¡°Remember,¡± Thorne said, his voice steadying as he took charge, ¡°we have the advantage with your long weapons. Keep them at a distance. I¡¯ll have to get close, but you two should aim for their heads¡ªthat seems to be the fastest way to kill them.¡± The two recruits nodded, their expressions a mix of fear and determination. Thorne could see the terror in their eyes, but there was also a flicker of resolve. They knew what was at stake, and they knew they had no choice but to fight. The creatures were almost upon them now, their footsteps heavy and unrelenting. Thorne tightened his grip on his daggers, his muscles coiled and ready to strike. ¡°Here they come!¡± he shouted, the words echoing in the cavernous space as the first of the zombies reached the edge of the island. The first of the zombies lunged forward, its movements jerky and unnatural. Thorne met it head-on, his daggers flashing as he slashed at the creature¡¯s head. His blade connected with a sickening crunch, and the zombie staggered back, black ichor oozing from the wound. But even as it faltered, more of the undead recruits surged forward, their hollow eyes fixed on the living. Thorne quickly noticed something strange¡ªthe zombies seemed hesitant as they neared the glowing crystal. They slowed, their shambling steps faltering as if the light itself caused them pain. But the sheer number of them was overwhelming, and soon they began to press forward again, driven by some dark force, their fear of the light outweighed by their relentless hunger. ¡°Keep them back!¡± Thorne shouted, his voice strained as he blocked a swipe from a skeletal hand. He ducked under another lunge, slicing his dagger across the zombie¡¯s neck. The head lolled to the side, but the creature kept coming, its remaining hand clawing at him with desperate ferocity.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. Cassandra and Devon fought valiantly, their weapons striking out at the advancing horde. Cassandra¡¯s spear thrust forward again and again, the sharp tip piercing through rotting flesh and brittle bone. Devon swung his scimitar in wide arcs, cleaving through the zombies that pressed too close. But despite their efforts, the undead continued to close in from all sides, their numbers seemingly endless. The air was filled with the sounds of battle¡ªgrunts of exertion, the crunch of bone, and the sickening squelch of flesh being torn apart. The foul stench of decay was overpowering, and the water around them churned with the movement of the zombies. Thorne¡¯s arm ached from the relentless strikes, but he pushed through the pain, his focus razor-sharp. He dispatched one zombie only to have two more take its place, their grotesque forms closing in with deadly intent. He could feel the pressure mounting, the undead closing in tighter, pushing them back toward the center of the small island. Then, from the corner of his eye, Thorne saw Cassandra falter. She had been holding her ground, her spear keeping the zombies at bay, but now they were overwhelming her. Several zombies grabbed her, their skeletal hands digging into her flesh, dragging her down toward the water. Cassandra screamed, her voice raw with fear as she struggled against the relentless pull of the undead. Her spear clattered to the ground, knocked from her grasp as she tried to free herself from their grasping hands. Thorne¡¯s heart leapt into his throat. ¡°Cassandra!¡± he shouted, disengaging from his own battle. He grabbed the glowing crystal with one hand and rushed to her side, slashing at the creatures that were dragging her down. The light from the crystal seemed to give the zombies pause¡ªthey recoiled from it, their movements faltering as if the light burned them. With a fierce yell, Thorne hacked at the zombies holding Cassandra, the glowing crystal in one hand, his dagger in the other. The creatures shrank back from the light, and Thorne used the opportunity to free Cassandra from their grasp. He grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet, his muscles straining with the effort. ¡°Get up!¡± he shouted, his voice urgent. Cassandra, pale and trembling, managed to stand, but Thorne could see the terror in her eyes. She was shaken, her usual bravado shattered by the sheer horror of the situation. But there was no time to comfort her. Thorne¡¯s own section of the island was being flooded with undead, and Devon was starting to get overwhelmed. The zombies pressed in closer, their gnarled fingers grasping at the air as they moved in for the kill. ¡°I¡¯ll hold them off,¡± Thorne said, shoving the crystal into Cassandra¡¯s hands. ¡°Stay close to the light, and keep fighting!¡± Without waiting for a response, Thorne dashed back to his position, where the zombies had broken through the defenses. He could see Devon struggling to hold his ground, his scimitar slicing through the air with desperate swings. But the fear in Devon¡¯s eyes was unmistakable¡ªhe was losing hope, and the weight of the battle was bearing down on him. Thorne launched himself into the fray, his daggers flashing as he cut down the nearest zombies. But the onslaught was relentless, and soon he found himself surrounded. The zombies closed in, their rotting faces twisted into grotesque masks of hunger. Thorne¡¯s heart pounded in his chest as he realized he was dangerously close to being overwhelmed. Desperation drove him to tap into his inner reserves. He focused on the skills he had honed over countless battles, his mind sharpening as he activated Backstab. With a sudden burst of speed, he slipped behind one of the zombies, his dagger plunging into the back of its neck. The creature crumpled, collapsing to the ground in a heap. But there was no time to celebrate. Another zombie lunged at him, and Thorne¡¯s movements became a blur as he activated Lethal Flurry. His daggers whirled through the air, striking out in a rapid succession of precise, deadly blows. Each strike found its mark, severing heads, slicing through tendons, and reducing the zombies to motionless corpses. Skill level up: Daggers! Skill level up: Combat Reflexes! But even as he fought with everything he had, the horde pressed on, driven by some unholy force. Thorne¡¯s arms burned with the effort, his breath coming in ragged gasps, but he couldn¡¯t afford to slow down. His only chance of survival was to keep moving, to keep striking, and to hope that they could hold out long enough for the attack to end. The fight continued to intensify. Despite the rush of newfound power, the unending tide of undead began to press in on all sides. Devon, his energy flagging, faltered, his scimitar barely making a dent in the advancing horde. Thorne could see it in Devon¡¯s eyes¡ªthe creeping despair, the realization that they were seconds away from catastrophe. If one of them fell, they all would. Thorne¡¯s mind raced. His every instinct screamed at him to hold back, to avoid drawing on the power that could reveal his true strength. But there was no other choice. Gritting his teeth, he activated his aether surge skill, the energy flooding his body in a rush of raw, primal force. Power surged through his muscles, amplifying his strength and speed to levels he had never dared to reach. With newfound speed and ferocity, Thorne plunged back into the fray. His daggers became blurs of steel, slashing wildly as he tore through the undead with savage precision. Each strike sent heads flying, caved in skulls, and severed limbs. The zombies fell before him, their twisted forms crumpling under the onslaught. Skill level up: Thick Skin! Thorne¡¯s skin toughened, absorbing the glancing blows from the zombies with barely a flinch. His body moved with a grace and power that defied the exhaustion that had been gnawing at him moments before. He was a whirlwind of destruction, cutting down everything in his path with relentless efficiency. Devon, who had been on the verge of collapse, looked up in stunned disbelief as Thorne mowed down the zombies with a fury that seemed almost inhuman. The undead that had nearly overwhelmed him were now nothing more than a pile of dismembered corpses at Thorne¡¯s feet. But there was no time to celebrate. The battle raged on, the island awash in blood and ichor as Thorne, Cassandra, and Devon fought with every last ounce of strength they had. The glowing crystal in Cassandra¡¯s hand continued to pulse, its light the only thing holding the darkness at bay. Thorne knew that if they faltered for even a moment, the consequences would be dire. They fought on, a desperate struggle for survival, their only hope that they could hold out long enough to see the light of day once more. CHAPTER 71 Thorne was heaving, his breaths coming in hard, fast gasps as he plunged his daggers into the neck of the zombie before him. The desiccated face, once belonging to a male recruit, twisted in a grotesque mask of death. With a savage twist of his wrists, Thorne made a scissoring motion that severed the creature¡¯s head from its body. The sudden loss of resistance nearly caused him to stumble. His body, drained and weak, was teetering on the brink of collapse after sustaining the Aether Surge for so long. His eyes darted around wildly, half-expecting another attack, but none came. Everywhere he looked, there were dead, decomposing bodies strewn across the ground. The foul stench of decay mixed with the metallic tang of blood hung heavily in the air. Devon was still locked in combat with a zombie, though he looked ready to collapse, his uniform torn and bloodied, his movements sluggish. Cassandra was fending off two more of the undead, her right hand hanging uselessly at her side as tears carved tracks through the dirt and grime on her face. She was fighting with desperation, every thrust of her spear driven by the instinct to survive. Thorne saw the danger she was in and, summoning the last of his strength, threw one of his daggers at one of her opponents. The blade embedded itself in the zombie¡¯s head, causing the creature to stumble. Cassandra seized the opportunity, plunging her spear into its skull before quickly yanking it out and doing the same to the last zombie. When the final body fell, Cassandra looked around wildly, disbelief etched on her features. "Is... is it over?" she asked, her voice trembling as more tears fell down her cheeks. Thorne looked at her with a tight expression, unsure of how to respond. He noticed she was limping, and a deep sense of dread settled in his stomach. If they were attacked by a second wave, they wouldn¡¯t survive. He had lost count of the zombies he had killed¡ªthey had become an indistinct mass of death and decay to his exhausted eyes. But one thing was clear from the experience: he had leveled up. The faint notification of his advancement to Level 33 flickered at the edge of his vision, but he didn¡¯t have the strength or the will to read it or check his character sheet. He was utterly spent. Devon, shaking violently, managed to stammer out, "Will they... will they come back?" His teeth chattered, and he looked at Thorne as if begging him to say no, to offer some reassurance. But Thorne could only manage a hollow response. "I don¡¯t know." Devon¡¯s expression crumpled, and he looked at Thorne as if he had been betrayed. The hopelessness in his eyes mirrored Thorne¡¯s own exhaustion. All Thorne wanted to do was collapse, to find a moment of peace, but everywhere he looked, there were dismembered body parts and the remnants of their desperate battle. Then a voice cut through the tension, making them all jump and tighten their grips on their weapons. "You passed," Talon¡¯s voice echoed from the shadows, her tone devoid of any emotion. She stepped into the faint light, her expression as unreadable as ever. "Follow me, and for goodness¡¯ sake, put away that stone. Light attracts the creatures." Cassandra¡¯s eyes widened in realization, and she hurriedly tucked the glowing crystal into her pocket, dimming its light. The trio was too exhausted to talk; they simply followed Talon¡¯s steps, their bodies on autopilot. Devon and Cassandra held hands again, as they had during the trial, gripping each other tightly for support and reassurance. "Here," Talon said, stopping at a wall. Thorne could barely make out the metal footholds in the dim light. His limbs felt like lead as he reached out and started climbing, his fingers and feet barely able to hold onto the cold metal. Each step felt like an eternity, the strain in his muscles screaming at him to stop, but he forced himself to keep going. When he finally reached the top, he crawled out of the hole, collapsing onto solid ground. The cold, rough surface beneath him felt like a blessing after the endless nightmare below. He wanted to weep in relief, but his body had no energy left for tears. He could only lie there, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath, the horrors of the past hours replaying in his mind. Talon watched them impassively as they all crawled out of the hole, her piercing eyes betraying nothing. "You survived," she said flatly, as if it were the most mundane observation in the world. "But you won¡¯t always be so lucky. Rest while you can." Thorne could barely muster the energy to nod. He felt Devon and Cassandra collapse beside him, their breath ragged, their bodies trembling from the exertion. For a long moment, none of them spoke. They were too drained, too battered, to do anything but lie there in silence, their minds too numb to process what had just happened. Thorne¡¯s thoughts drifted back to the fight, to the countless times they had been seconds away from death. He had used everything¡ªhis skills, his strength, even the Aether Surge he had been so reluctant to rely on. But in the end, they had survived. Somehow, they had survived.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. Thorne sat in the sleeping quarters, his foot tapping anxiously against the cold stone floor. The room was heavy with tension, filled with the anxious energy of recruits who had returned from the trial. Three more groups had made it back, but not all of them. Every time the door creaked open, Thorne¡¯s heart would race, and he¡¯d bolt upright, only to sink back down when he realized his friends weren¡¯t among them. Finally, the door opened again, and this time, he caught a flash of fiery red hair. He stood immediately, his heart in his throat. Before he could even move, Rielle rushed to him, her face a mask of stoic resolve that crumbled the moment she reached him. Without warning, she threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest as silent sobs wracked her body. Thorne¡¯s arms wrapped around her instinctively, holding her close as he tried to offer what little comfort he could. He felt her trembling against him, her breath hitching with each suppressed sob. She leaned into him, whispering in a voice that barely reached his ears, ¡°She was down there, Thorne. Lira was down there.¡± It took him a moment to realize who she was talking about, but when the memory of Rielle¡¯s fellow trainee, the one she had killed during the trial, surfaced, his grip on her tightened. He didn¡¯t know what to say, so he just held her, letting her grief pour out in the safety of his embrace. After a moment, Rielle pulled herself together, stepping back and wiping the tears from her face. The mask of impassiveness she wore slipped back into place, the brief moment of vulnerability disappearing as quickly as it had come. Together, they turned their gaze toward the door, waiting for the rest of their group to return. It wasn¡¯t long before Vance appeared, walking in with the recruit Thorne had clashed with on the first day. The guy, Marcus, looked just as battered as everyone else, but his eyes still held that same malevolent glint as they flicked over to Thorne. Vance, on the other hand, looked like he had been through hell. His face was pale, his uniform torn and bloodied, but aside from some superficial wounds, he appeared to be okay. As Vance approached, his eyes darted around the room, searching desperately, ¡°Where¡¯s Rhea?¡± Thorne and Rielle shook their heads, and Vance let out a frustrated sigh, dropping down next to them. He was still gripping his short swords tightly, his knuckles white with tension. ¡°We¡¯re going to have to kill that guy,¡± Vance muttered, his voice low and dangerous. ¡°He tried to kill me twice down there.¡± Thorne¡¯s head whipped around, his eyes narrowing as he stared at Vance. He was ready to ask when they should do it, when Vance¡¯s expression suddenly shifted, his eyes losing focus. ¡°I can¡¯t believe they did that,¡± Vance mumbled, his voice distant, haunted. ¡°They¡¯re using the dead to train us. They can¡¯t rest, even in death.¡± No one had an answer for that. The truth of it settled over them like a dark cloud, weighing them down. More recruits trickled in, but the flow soon slowed to a stop. The room was filled with a tense, suffocating silence as they all waited, hoping against hope that their remaining friend would walk through the door. Vance kept muttering to himself, his voice growing more frantic with each passing minute. "Come on, come on, we¡¯re waiting... We¡¯re waiting for you, damn it." Rielle sat on the other side of Thorne, her bow resting on her lap. The wood groaned under the tightness of her grip, but she didn¡¯t seem to notice. Her eyes were fixed on the door, every muscle in her body tense with anticipation. Then, finally, the door opened one last time. Rhea stood in the doorway, and Vance bolted to her side. But Thorne remained frozen, his heart dropping at the sight of her. Her once-long blond hair was matted with blood and grime, patches missing where chunks had been torn out. Her clothes were so tattered they looked ready to fall apart at any moment, barely covering the multitude of cuts and bruises that marred her skin. She stood there, her eyes vacant, her hand still clutching the machete, bits of flesh and gore still clinging to the blade. Rielle¡¯s shout cut through the haze of Thorne¡¯s thoughts. ¡°We need to get her cleaned up.¡± Thorne nodded, snapping out of his stupor, and rushed to help. He took Rhea in his arms, and she didn¡¯t protest, didn¡¯t make a sound, her body limp and unresponsive. Vance hovered by her side, his hands shaking as he kept trying to push her matted hair out of her face. Rielle, in a calm but firm voice, reassured him, ¡°She¡¯s just in shock, Vance. She¡¯ll come around. Give her time.¡± Vance¡¯s voice wavered as he murmured, ¡°She was alone. Why was she alone? Where is her group?¡± Thorne and Rielle exchanged a somber glance, both knowing that Rhea was likely the only survivor of her group. They guided her to the washroom, where Rielle and Vance began to clean her up. Rielle¡¯s hands were steady as she poured water over Rhea¡¯s head, washing away the blood and grime, revealing the full extent of her injuries. They were worse than Thorne had imagined. Rielle looked up at Thorne and told him to find some clothes for Rhea. He nodded and quickly left the room, searching through the quarters for something suitable. When he returned, Rhea was cleaned up, but her injuries were even more pronounced. Bruises covered her body, and her skin was marred by deep gashes. The sight of her bald patches, where the zombies had torn away her hair, made Thorne¡¯s stomach churn. ¡°She¡¯ll make it. She¡¯ll make it, right?¡± Vance asked, his voice thick with desperation. Rielle inspected Rhea¡¯s injuries with cold efficiency. ¡°She will,¡± she said, her tone firm. ¡°The injuries look worse than they are. She¡¯ll heal, but it will take time.¡± Thorne forced himself to stop staring and moved to help Rielle. Together, they guided Rhea back to the sleeping quarters and laid her down on one of the beds. All around them, the room was filled with the sounds of whimpers and outright sobbing. Everyone had lost someone in that test. Later that night, as they all tried to sleep, the real horror began. The room was filled with the echoes of their collective trauma. Every few minutes, a horrified scream would pierce the silence, waking everyone. Each time, it was a different recruit, reliving the nightmare of that day. Thorne lay awake, staring at the ceiling, listening to the screams and the sobs, feeling the weight of it all pressing down on him. It was a sound he knew he would never forget¡ªa sound that would haunt him for the rest of his life. CHAPTER 72 Thorne and Rielle searched through the shadowy corridors of the base, their mission clear: to find and memorize hidden messages scattered throughout the labyrinthine structure. Talon had emphasized the importance of this task. Each recruit was supposed to search alone, but Thorne and Rielle had decided to team up. It wasn¡¯t the first time they¡¯d bent the rules in their favor. Thorne activated his Tracking skill periodically, hoping to catch some clue, but the base was alive with hundreds of tracks and markings. The sheer amount of activity rendered his skill almost useless. Still, he kept his eyes peeled, scanning for anything out of place. As they searched in silence, Thorne broke it with a question that had been gnawing at him. "Are you excited for tonight?" he asked, trying to sound casual. "It¡¯s finally time to leave the base. Three months of this, and we¡¯re finally allowed out for a night. I can¡¯t wait to see my friends again." Rielle, crouched by an old armoire, shrugged as she sifted through the dust beneath it. "I¡¯m excited to see the light of day again," she replied dryly. "If I stay buried down here any longer, I¡¯m afraid I¡¯ll burst into flames like a vampire the next time I see the sun." Thorne chuckled at the mental image, but then his Tracking skill pinged something. "Look behind that painting," he suggested, nodding towards the dusty, framed canvas on the wall. Rielle gave him a skeptical glance but did as he said. She pulled the painting away from the wall and, to her surprise, found a note wedged behind it. She quickly unfolded it, reading the cryptic message scrawled on the paper, before crumpling it into a ball. "How did you know?" she asked, genuinely curious. Thorne shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips. "Just a hunch," he said, enjoying the brief look of confusion on her face. Rielle rolled her eyes and held the crumpled paper over a candle flame, watching as it ignited. "Next one is yours," she said, tossing the flaming ball to the ground and stomping it out with her boot. They moved on to another room, this one lined with old, dusty bookcases, each filled with worn tomes and scrolls. The air was thick with the smell of aged paper and forgotten secrets. They split up, each taking a different section of the room. Thorne¡¯s mind, however, was only half on the task at hand. "Are you sure you don¡¯t want to come with me tonight?" he asked for what felt like the hundredth time. "My friends would love to meet you." For some reason he felt reluctant parting with her. Rielle didn¡¯t look up from the shelf she was searching. "I told you, I have things to do," she replied, her tone neutral but firm. Thorne grumbled under his breath, his fingers brushing absently against the spines of the books. Rielle was a mystery to him, her past and life outside the Family a well-guarded secret. He had tried to pry information from her before, but she was always tight-lipped, deflecting his questions with ease. "Do you have someone waiting for you?" he ventured, trying to sound casual. The thought of someone else being important to her stirred an unfamiliar feeling of jealousy in him, a realization that made him frown. "I think I found it!" Rielle¡¯s voice rang out, cutting through his thoughts. Thorne blinked, momentarily disoriented. "You found what?" he asked, having lost track of their mission. She rounded the corner, holding up a stained parchment with a triumphant smile. "The code, dummy! Here, read it." Thorne took the parchment from her, scanning the cryptic message and committing it to memory: "Raven flies at dawn, over the mountain''s shadow." He hadn¡¯t missed the fact that she had sidestepped his question, but he decided to let it go. "Let¡¯s head back. I don¡¯t want to be the last ones there," Rielle said, tossing the parchment into a nearby sconce, where it quickly turned to ash. They made their way back to the classroom, where a few recruits had already gathered. Rielle¡¯s gaze landed on Sera and Marcus, who were laughing obnoxiously in the corner. "Great," she muttered, dipping her chin toward them. "They¡¯re probably laughing about who tripped over their own feet first." Thorne barely noticed, his mind already drifting to thoughts of seeing Darius, Jonah, and Ben again after so many months. The anticipation made him almost bounce on his toes, eager for the time to pass quickly. More recruits trickled in, including Vance. Rhea followed shortly after, looking much better. Her wounds had healed, leaving only faint scars, but it was her hair¡ªor the lack of it¡ªthat caught his attention. She had shaved it off, unable to stand the sight and feel of the patches of scalp left by her ordeal, reminding her every waking moment the sight of her fellow recruits being torn limb to limb. Despite this, her confident gait showed she cared little about her bald head, sashaying toward them with a playful smirk. "I can¡¯t wait to get wasted tonight!" she said as a form of greeting. "My girls know the best places to get hammered. Thorne, are you in? Vance is coming later."Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! Thorne was tempted, the idea of letting loose appealing, but the thought of reuniting with his friends was stronger. He shook his head. "Nah, my friends will kill me if I don¡¯t meet them." Rhea shrugged. "Have it your way. We¡¯ll be at Bullheaded Pete¡¯s if you want to swing by," Rhea said, flashing him a grin before turning to greet Vance. Thorne nodded, making a mental note of the place just in case he decided to join them later. He was about to ask her more about this mysterious tavern when a sharp clap of hands silenced the room. Talon had entered, her presence commanding immediate attention. The room fell silent, the air thick with anticipation. "I hope everyone was successful in finding their codes," Talon said, her voice cold and firm as she scanned the room with her steely gaze. When everyone nodded or muttered in agreement, she continued. "Now, you are free to go. Remember, you are to be in the Room of Bridges in an hour for your free day." A murmur of excitement rippled through the recruits as they exchanged eager glances. They had all been waiting for this moment, the chance to step outside the base and breathe fresh air, to feel the sun on their faces. The promise of freedom, even if only for a night, was almost too good to be true. The group dispersed to their sleeping quarters to get ready. Thorne was practically buzzing with excitement as he hurried to change into something more presentable. Before too long, they were all gathered in the large circular room, their eyes drawn to the intricate network of bridges above them. Older recruits walked across them with practiced ease, some chatting leisurely, others focused on their tasks. It was a scene Thorne had grown accustomed to, but today it held a new significance¡ªthe gateway to freedom, if only for a short time. Talon and Lock appeared at the entrance to the room, their expressions as unreadable as ever. "We¡¯ll be bringing you up in groups of five," Lock announced, his voice gruff. "We don¡¯t want to raise suspicions with a large crowd suddenly appearing out of nowhere." Lock scanned the room, his eyes landing on the first group of recruits, including Cassandra and Marcus. "You¡¯re with me, follow me," he barked, motioning for them to follow him through a narrow door at the side of the room. Next, Talon selected Rielle, Vance, and three other recruits. Thorne watched anxiously as they left the room, a nervous knot forming in his stomach. He knew this wasn¡¯t another test, but the past three months had made him suspicious of everything. Finally, it was Thorne¡¯s turn. Talon reappeared, her sharp eyes locking onto him. "You¡¯re with me," she said, gesturing for him to follow. Rhea, Devon, and two other recruits were also chosen, and together they followed Talon through the same narrow passage. The tunnel they entered was winding and steep, the incline growing sharper with each step. Thorne¡¯s legs burned with the effort, but he pushed on, his excitement propelling him forward. After what felt like an eternity, they crossed into a large room filled with towering columns. A massive depression in the center of the room could have housed several dozen people, but it was eerily empty. They continued through the room and into another corridor, where they began to ascend a wooden staircase. The steps creaked under their weight, and the damp, musty smell of the room grew stronger the higher they climbed. The space at the top was cramped, barely large enough to hold them all. Thorne could hear the others¡¯ harsh breathing, echoing off the close walls. Talon reached the top first, pushing against a wooden panel that slid to the side with a soft scrape. She turned back to them, her voice a whisper. "This is the entrance to the Butcher Quarter. This is where you¡¯ll return. Use the code you found today to enter." Everyone nodded in understanding, eager to escape from the small room. One by one, they squeezed through the tight space and emerged into the night. For the first time in months, Thorne saw the sky, a vast expanse of red and orange hues stretching out above him. He inhaled deeply, the fresh air filling his lungs and clearing his mind. Thorne stood still for a moment, savoring the cool breeze against his face. The others around him whispered excitedly, their voices full of awe and relief at finally being outside. For Thorne, it was more than just the fresh air or the open sky¡ªit was the feeling of freedom, the sense of being unshackled from the dark, oppressive confines of the base. His eyes were drawn to the horizon, where the sun dipped below the city¡¯s rooftops, painting the sky in deep reds and purples. Twilight had always been his favorite time of day, and now, after so long underground, it felt like a reward. But the moment was broken abruptly. The whispers of excitement died down, and a tense silence fell over the group. Talon had reappeared in front of them, her sharp daggers gleaming ominously in the dim light. Her expression was as cold and unreadable as ever, and the recruits stiffened. Out of the shadows emerged a figure. Everyone held their breath, and Talon twitched, her body tense and ready to attack. The recruits shifted uneasily, their eyes darting from Talon to the figure, trying to discern friend from foe. As the figure stepped into the dim light, Thorne¡¯s eyes widened in shock, and despite himself, he blurted out, "What are YOU doing here?" The others turned to look at him, confused by his outburst. But Thorne barely noticed their stares; his attention was locked on the familiar face that had just emerged from the shadows. To his surprise, Talon''s posture relaxed, a subtle but clear indication that she recognized the person. Arletta stepped forward, her movements as precise and controlled as ever. She wore her signature maid uniform, the fabric pristine despite the grime and muck of the city streets. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and her face was severe, her expression giving nothing away. She looked exactly as Thorne remembered her, an unwavering pillar of discipline and order in Uncle¡¯s household. "Thorne," she said in her no-nonsense tone, "Uncle is waiting. If you will follow me?" Without another word, she turned on her heel and began walking briskly down the narrow alley. Her footsteps were nearly silent on the cobblestones, a testament to her training and years of service in the shadows. Rhea mouthed, "Uncle?" her eyes wide with bewilderment. Devon''s gaze flicked back and forth between Arletta and Thorne, his expression incredulous, as if trying to piece together the puzzle that had just been thrown at them. But Thorne had remained frozen in place, his mind struggling to catch up with the sudden and unexpected turn of events. The last thing he had expected was to see Arletta here, in the city, and to be summoned by Uncle. Talon''s voice cut through his shock like a blade. "What are you waiting for, recruit? Go!" The sharp command snapped him out of his stupor, and Thorne¡¯s body moved before his brain fully processed the order. He fell into step behind Arletta, his legs carrying him forward automatically. As they walked away, he could feel the eyes of the other recruits on his back, their curiosity and confusion practically tangible in the air. Rhea, still standing with the others, watched him go, her brow furrowed in thought. "What the hell was that about?" she muttered to herself, but no one had an answer. CHAPTER 73 Thorne followed Arletta through the Butcher Quarter, the sharp, metallic scent of blood hanging heavy in the air, mixed with the stench of raw meat. The shopkeepers were closing down their stalls, their weary faces reflected in the dim light of the few remaining lanterns. Some threw pitchers of water across the cobblestones, the streams tinted red as they washed away the day¡¯s work. The last-minute shoppers moved hastily, as if intimidated by Arletta¡¯s rigid posture and severe frown, making wide circles around her as she passed. "I hope your training is going well," Arletta remarked in that cool, detached voice of hers, like she was commenting on the weather rather than the brutal training he¡¯d been enduring. Thorne¡¯s lips curled into a sneer, a bitter laugh escaping him before he could stop it. "Oh, it¡¯s been just grand," he replied, his voice dripping with venom. "Always dreamed of becoming an assassin, you know? Living in constant fear that today might be the day I get my throat slit in my sleep. Watching my friends get ripped apart... It¡¯s been a real treat." He felt his hands twitch involuntarily, the memory of blood on them, warm and sticky, flooding his mind. His eyes glazed over as he continued, almost as if he were talking to himself rather than Arletta. "You know, I¡¯ve started to enjoy it. The blood. It¡¯s not so bad watching that irritating guy who always nags you squeal like a stuck pig... It¡¯s... satisfying... And it turns out I have a real gift for it. Who knew?" The image of Marcus bleeding out flashed in his mind, and Thorne¡¯s smile twisted, growing wider, almost deranged. Arletta suddenly whirled around, her expression sharp with an admonishing look that bordered on worry. For a brief moment, Thorne felt a flicker of something¡ªwas she actually concerned? "Do not speak of such things publicly," she snapped, her voice laced with cold fury. Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and resumed her brisk pace. Scratch that. She didn¡¯t care about him¡ªjust that he wouldn¡¯t spill Uncle¡¯s secrets to some poor, unsuspecting fool on the street. Thorne¡¯s smile didn¡¯t fade; it grew, fueled by a dark amusement. "What can I say? Fighting every waking¡ªand sleeping¡ªmoment for your life can leave you a little unbalanced," he said, more to himself than to her. He felt a bubbling inside him, a restless energy that he couldn¡¯t quite contain. Arletta¡¯s indifference, her calm dismissal of his ordeal, fanned the flames of his anger. He wanted to push her, to break through that icy exterior and see what lay beneath. "And I have Uncle to thank for all that," he continued, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, tinged with bitterness. "Without our great benefactor, the orphans in the city wouldn¡¯t be dying like flies. He¡¯s... a true... humanitarian." The laughter that burst from him was wild, uncontrollable¡ªa release of the tension that had been coiling tighter and tighter inside him. He doubled over, clutching his sides as if the sheer force of it would tear him apart. But there was no joy in it, only a madness that had been festering for far too long. Arletta stopped abruptly, and when she turned to face him, her expression was one of genuine fury. "Get it out, get it all out before you meet Uncle," she hissed, her voice dangerously low. "Because I promise you, whatever you think you¡¯ve learned in that god-awful training of yours won¡¯t save you if you say such things to him!" Thorne¡¯s laughter died in his throat, as if a switch had been flipped. He straightened up, his eyes narrowing as he glared at Arletta. Her usually austere face was contorted with anger¡ªreal anger, for the first time since he had known her. "You don¡¯t know what I¡¯ve been through," he spat, his voice shaking with the pent-up rage he had been holding onto for months. "No," she responded, her eyes narrowing into slits. "I don¡¯t, and I don¡¯t care to find out. What I do care about is Uncle¡¯s mood, and I have no intention of trying to rein in his anger after you¡¯ve made him explode. So pull yourself together! You aren¡¯t meeting one of your friends, but the most powerful man in the city." Her words cut through him like a knife, and he knew she was right. That knowledge only deepened the sense of helplessness gnawing at him. He closed his eyes, taking a shaky breath to calm the turmoil inside him. When he opened them again, the fury had receded, leaving only cold determination. He nodded curtly, and they continued on their way, the silence between them now heavy with unresolved tension. As they walked, something pricked at Thorne¡¯s senses, something off. His instincts, always on alert ever since he joined the Famiy, picked up on a faint noise¡ªa sound that didn¡¯t belong. He could hear breathing somewhere nearby, but no accompanying footsteps. He checked again, his mind racing through the possibilities, and then he realized. "I hope those four following us are your bodyguards and not some assassins from an enemy gang," Thorne said, his tone casual. "Because I¡¯m going to be honest with you, I¡¯m not going to defend you. I¡¯ll just run." He felt a wave of satisfaction when Arletta stumbled, her usually unflappable demeanor finally cracking. For a split second, she looked genuinely startled. With a tone that almost made him question what he had heard, she replied, "They are here for our protection. Uncle still has enemies. Bodyguards from the Family have become common practice." Thorne nodded, a wicked grin curling his lips as he turned to the shadows where he had last heard the faint breathing, he turned and waved his hand. "Hey, guys," he called out, a chuckle escaping him when he heard someone swear softly in response.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. When they finally reached Uncle''s manor, Thorne felt a familiar sense of dread creeping up his spine. The imposing structure loomed ahead, its darkened windows like the hollow eyes of a skull, but Thorne had grown used to the foreboding atmosphere over the years. Arletta led him to the side entrance, the one they always used when returning from missions or after dark. Thorne¡¯s steps slowed ever so slightly, a subtle reluctance he quickly quashed. The moment they stepped inside, the tension that had built up in Thorne¡¯s chest loosened, replaced by the comforting warmth of the manor¡¯s kitchen. The familiar scents of baking bread, simmering stews, and roasting meats enveloped him, soothing his frayed nerves like a balm. The kitchen was as he remembered it¡ªa whirlwind of activity. Pots clanged, knives chopped with precision, and servants bustled about, each absorbed in their tasks, yet moving in perfect harmony with one another. Overseeing it all was Matilda, her commanding voice cutting through the chaos as she directed her staff with the authority of a general. Thorne felt the first genuine smile of the night tug at his lips. Matilda looked up from her task of kneading dough, flour dusting her hands and forearms. Her face lit up as she spotted him, and without hesitation, she abandoned her work and ran toward him, her round cheeks flushed with excitement. Thorne¡¯s nose was filled with the comforting scents of yeast and sugar. Matilda pulled back slightly, still holding him by the shoulders as she looked up at him with mock sternness. "I swear to the dead gods, every time I see you, you¡¯re getting taller! When are you going to stop sprouting? I can¡¯t reach you anymore to give you a kiss!" Thorne couldn¡¯t help but laugh, a sound that felt foreign in his own ears. Leaning down, he planted a loud, exaggerated kiss on her plump cheek before pinching it playfully. "All you have to do is ask, my dear lady," he teased, taking her hand and spinning her around as if they were in the middle of a ballroom instead of a bustling kitchen. "Now, let me have a look at you." He pretended to scrutinize her, tsking as he shook his head. "Matilda, you¡¯re not eating enough! I hope Uncle isn¡¯t working you to death!" Matilda giggled, batting at his chest with a flour-covered hand. "Oh, stop it, you! I¡¯m eating plenty, and you know it." Thorne grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "What can I say? Your food is the best in Alvar. I thank the dead gods I¡¯m not here every day, or you¡¯d have to roll me out of this kitchen with a cart." The kitchen staff, overhearing the exchange, chuckled quietly as they worked, the atmosphere lightening in Thorne¡¯s presence. Matilda blushed, the pink in her cheeks contrasting with the flour dusted on her skin. "You¡¯re such a sweet-talker," she said, her voice warm with affection. Thorne¡¯s grin widened as a mischievous thought struck him. "Now, tell me," he said, narrowing his eyes in mock seriousness and placing his fists on his hips. "Has Toby proposed yet? If not, I¡¯m going to have a few words with him." Matilda¡¯s face turned a deep shade of red, and she let out a startled yelp, "Thorne!" Thorne laughed, the sound rich and full of genuine amusement. He had known about Matilda¡¯s crush on Toby, the burly man who delivered supplies to the manor, for quite some time. And from the way Toby¡¯s eyes followed Matilda whenever he thought no one was looking, Thorne was certain the feeling was mutual. "Now that I think about it," Thorne continued, feigning deep contemplation, "I hope he hasn¡¯t proposed yet! He hasn¡¯t asked for my permission, after all. I¡¯m not giving my girl away without some assurances about her future! Where will you two be living? Are you planning on having kids? How many? Not too many, I hope¡ªyou have to mind your alluring figure! Three are enough, don¡¯t you think?" Matilda was now as red as a beet, her eyes wide with embarrassment as she tried to hide her face behind a stained rag. The kitchen staff, sensing an opportunity for some harmless fun, began to chime in with good-natured jabs and laughter. "Better make sure Toby knows how to cook, Matilda! You can¡¯t be expected to do it all!" one of the older maids teased, grinning from ear to ear. "And don¡¯t forget, you¡¯ll need someone to look after all those kids while you¡¯re here baking us pies!" another added, winking at Thorne. Matilda was laughing so hard she could barely speak, her face buried in the rag as she waved them off. "You lot are terrible!" she managed between giggles. Thorne, thoroughly enjoying the chaos he had stirred up, turned to the gathered crowd, spreading his arms wide. "What do you all think? Three kids? Four? I¡¯m not sure Matilda can handle more than that¡ªToby might have to hire some help!" The kitchen erupted in laughter, the noise filling the room and spilling into the hallways beyond. Matilda, now thoroughly flustered, peeked out from behind the rag just in time to see Thorne grinning at her. Arletta, who had been standing by with a patience that was clearly wearing thin, finally stepped forward. "That¡¯s enough," she said firmly, though Thorne caught the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. "Uncle is waiting for you." Thorne sighed theatrically, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. "Duty calls," he said with exaggerated regret, giving Matilda one last fond smile. "Be sure to keep me a plate of that blueberry pie." Arletta, already holding the door open, interjected, "You won¡¯t be needing it. You¡¯ll be dining with Uncle tonight." Thorne¡¯s eyebrows shot up in surprise. "I am?" he asked, genuinely taken aback. Then he shrugged as if it didn¡¯t matter. "I am," he repeated, turning back to Matilda with a wink. He started to leave the room but then paused, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Turning on his heel, he pointed an accusatory finger at Matilda. "Have you two kissed yet?" he asked, his voice a mix of playful suspicion and mock horror. Matilda¡¯s eyes went wide, her mouth opening and closing as she struggled to find words. The guilty flush on her cheeks was all the confirmation Thorne needed. He threw his head back and laughed, a rich, full-bodied sound that filled the kitchen. "You have!" he declared, pointing at her in delight. "Next time, tell him to take you for a moonlit stroll by the piers¡ªI know just the place. But no funny business, mind you!" He shook his finger at her, his expression one of exaggerated disapproval. "Thorne! Stop it!" Matilda cried out, her voice a mixture of exasperation and amusement as she hid her face behind her hands, her neck now as crimson as her cheeks. The room erupted in laughter once more, the sound echoing off the walls as the kitchen staff doubled over with mirth, thoroughly enjoying the spectacle. Even Arletta, who usually remained stoic and composed, couldn¡¯t hide the small smile that briefly crossed her face. But that moment of levity was short-lived. With a sigh, Arletta reached out, grabbed the nape of Thorne¡¯s shirt, and began to drag him out of the kitchen, much to the continued amusement of the staff. "Alright, alright, I¡¯m going!" Thorne protested, though he didn¡¯t resist. He cast one last look over his shoulder at Matilda, who was still trying to recover from her embarrassment, and gave her a wink. "I¡¯ll be back to check on you, Matilda¡ªdon¡¯t you worry!" With that, Arletta pulled him through the doorway, the warmth and laughter of the kitchen fading behind them as they stepped into the cold, echoing halls of the manor once more. CHAPTER 74 Thorne¡¯s faint smile evaporated the moment he stood before the gilded double doors. The heavy atmosphere of Uncle¡¯s manor pressed down on him, each step closer feeling like a descent into a well-practiced nightmare. The doors, with their gaudy gilding and intricate carvings, were a perfect symbol of Uncle¡¯s world: excessive, opulent, and suffocating. Two servants, stiff in their pristine uniforms, stood at attention. At Arletta¡¯s nod, they pushed the doors open, revealing the dining room beyond. It was a display of wealth, as over-the-top as Thorne remembered. The room was a testament to excess. The walls were draped in colorful tapestries, and the chandeliers above sparkled with a thousand crystals, casting a glittering light over the gaudy gold and silver decorations that littered every surface. The sheer opulence was overwhelming, a display of wealth and power that Uncle had cultivated to impress the nobles of Alvar. To Thorne, it was a mockery¡ªa hollow attempt to mask the decay and rot that lay beneath the surface. Arletta, ever the consummate professional, stood at attention beside him. "My lord," she announced, her voice carrying the cold formality of a soldier addressing her superior, "Thorne has arrived to be in your presence." The room fell into an eerie silence, broken only by the ticking of a grand clock that stood in the corner, its pendulum swinging with ominous precision. Thorne watched as Uncle rose from his seat at the far end of the room, his movements slow and deliberate. The man who had once been a formidable presence was now a bloated figure, swollen with years of indulgence. His body had grown soft and heavy, but his eyes¡ªsharp, calculating, and as cold as ever¡ªbetrayed none of the weakness his frame suggested. "Ah, Thorne," Uncle¡¯s voice echoed through the room, warm and syrupy, a deceptive contrast to the icy gaze that locked onto him. He held a goblet of wine in one hand, nearly spilling its contents as he stumbled forward with a forced grin. "My dear boy, come closer. Let me see what the Family has made of you." Thorne¡¯s instincts screamed at him to keep his distance, to flee from the venomous embrace of this man who had caused him so much pain. But he had learned to suppress those instincts, to bury his fear beneath layers of calm detachment. His Acting skill, honed through years of necessity, served him well now. He stepped forward with measured steps, keeping his posture relaxed, even as every fiber of his being tensed in preparation for the subtle battle ahead. As he approached, Thorne could see the flicker of something dangerous behind Uncle¡¯s smile¡ªa predatory glint that sent a chill down his spine. Uncle was smiling, yes, but it was a smile devoid of warmth or affection. It was the smile of a man who saw others as tools to be used and discarded when no longer useful. "Closer," Uncle urged, his voice thick with a false tenderness that Thorne knew all too well. He stopped just short of reaching out to touch Thorne, his hand hovering in the air as if savoring the moment. Thorne obliged, stopping a mere foot away from Uncle. His face remained impassive, his eyes cool and unreadable. "Uncle," he said, his voice steady, "it¡¯s good to see you again." Uncle¡¯s smile widened, though there was nothing genuine about it. "Is it?" he asked, a trace of amusement in his tone as if he were sharing a private joke. He set down his goblet with a deliberate clink, the sound reverberating through the room like the toll of a bell making him want to flinch. "I wonder, Thorne, what it is you truly see when you look at me." Phantom pain bloomed in his body. Remnant of his previous visits. He knew if his answer was wrong, Uncle would get angry, and when Uncle got angry... He had the urge to curl into a ball and protect himself, but he fought against the urge. Then Thorne felt the familiar surge of anger rise within him, but he quickly quelled it. This was a game¡ªa deadly one, but one he had been forced to master. "I see the man who has shaped me," he replied carefully, choosing his words with precision, "the man whose vision I strive to uphold." Uncle¡¯s chuckle was a dark, mirthless sound that sent a shiver down Thorne¡¯s spine. "Oh, you¡¯ve learned well, haven¡¯t you?" Uncle stepped closer, his breath hot and reeking of wine. "Tell me, my boy, how does it feel to finally be molded into something useful?" Thorne¡¯s lips twitched, but he maintained his composure. "It feels... necessary," he said, his tone as cool as the chill that pervaded the room. "The Family has taught me much, but it is your guidance that has given me purpose." For a brief moment, Uncle¡¯s gaze softened, a flicker of something almost like pride in his eyes. But it was quickly replaced by the calculating look Thorne had come to know so well. "You¡¯ve always been clever, Shortie," Uncle said, his voice almost admiring. "But cleverness can be a double-edged sword. Tell me, how is your training faring? Are you thriving among the other recruits? Or do you find yourself... stifled?" Thorne knew this was more than a casual inquiry. Uncle was probing, searching for weaknesses, testing the limits of Thorne¡¯s loyalty. "The training is rigorous," Thorne admitted, knowing that honesty, tempered with caution, was his best defense. "But I¡¯ve adapted. The others are... adequate." Uncle¡¯s smirk deepened, his eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and indulgence. "Adequate? A polite way of saying beneath you, I¡¯m sure. And what of the bonds you¡¯re forming? Are these... friendships... proving useful?" Thorne¡¯s response was measured, controlled. "Everyone has their part to play," he said smoothly. "It¡¯s all about finding the right balance." Uncle¡¯s laugh was harsh, tinged with contempt. "Balance? Balance is for those who don¡¯t have the stomach to rise above the filth. Those nobodies¡ªthose orphans¡ªthey¡¯re good enough for what they are, Thorne. Tools. Hired help. They will never be more than that."If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Thorne felt his anger flare, white-hot and toxic, ready to erupt. How dare he? Those "filthy orphans" were the foundation of Uncle¡¯s power, the very people who kept his empire running. Thorne himself had been one of those orphans, plucked from the streets and thrust into this world of blood and betrayal. The fury surged within him, threatening to consume his carefully crafted facade. He fought to keep his true emotions hidden, feeling the pressure mounting as Uncle continued to speak, his words dripping with disdain. "When the evaluation from your trainers came, saying you exceed every expectation, outperforming every challenge, I considered moving you to another group, a more advanced one. those wretched orphans would only drag you down. You deserve better than to be held back by their incompetence." Thorne¡¯s rage threatened to break free, his composure slipping for a brief moment. His Acting skill failed at the barrage of emotions, and he could feel it¡ªthe raw, seething anger clawing at the edges of his control. He was on the verge of being exposed, vulnerable before the man who would pounce on any sign of weakness. But just as he felt the cracks forming, a new notification appeared in his vision. New skill unlocked: Mask of Deceit! An unnatural calm washed over him, smoothing his features, relaxing his body in a way that felt disturbingly natural. Whatever turmoil he truly felt was now buried deep beneath a layer of perfect deceit. The mask slipped into place so effortlessly that it was as if it had always been there, waiting to be used. Thorne¡¯s voice was smooth, betraying none of the turmoil within. "Placing me in a more advanced group might help in the short term, but it would be counterproductive in the long run. I need to understand how to work with others, even those who aren¡¯t as strong. It¡¯s a lesson in leadership, in patience. One I¡¯m still learning." Uncle narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing Thorne with a gaze that felt like it could pierce through steel. But after a long, tense moment, he nodded, seemingly satisfied. "That¡¯s what your trainers pointed out," he muttered. "Still, if you ever feel that anyone is getting in your way¡ªanyone¡ªyou come to me. I¡¯ll have them removed. Permanently." Uncle spoke with such casual ease, as if ordering the death of a fellow human being was no more significant than asking for a cup of tea. Thorne felt a cold shiver run down his spine, but his new skill allowed him to appear as indifferent as Uncle. "There¡¯s no need," Thorne said, his tone light, almost careless. He knew that accepting even the smallest favor from Uncle would come with strings attached, strings that would tighten around his throat the moment he showed any sign of independence. "I can handle myself." Uncle¡¯s gaze softened slightly, a complex mix of emotions flickering in his eyes¡ªcalculation, pride, weariness, and something that almost resembled affection. It was a strange, disconcerting sight, one that left Thorne feeling more unsettled than anything else. "I know you can, Shortie," Uncle said, a twisted smile forming on his lips. "I¡¯m well aware. Leaving bodies in your wake is a trait you got from me. You are my son in every way that matters." Shock shot through Thorne¡¯s system, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. For a moment, he was overwhelmed by a whirlwind of conflicting emotions¡ªdisgust, horror, and an unwelcome, deep-seated yearning. It was a feeling he had fought against for so long, the desire to be recognized, to be acknowledged, to be seen as something more than just another pawn. And here it was, twisted and corrupted, coming from the very man who had shaped him into the person he had become. Uncle was a cunning and powerful man, but he was also cruel and vicious. To be turning into him was... But Thorne¡¯s face betrayed none of these emotions. Skill level up: Mask of Deceit! Skill level up: Mask of Deceit! The notification flashed before his eyes as he offered Uncle a look of humble gratitude, his features arranged into a mask of supplication. "Thank you, Uncle," he murmured, his voice filled with the perfect mix of respect and deference. "Let us eat, son," Uncle said, the word rolling off his tongue as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He shuffled to the extravagantly set dining table, where a servant immediately moved to help him sit. Thorne followed, his mind still reeling from Uncle¡¯s words. The room seemed to blur around him as he moved to take his seat beside the man who claimed him as his own. The man who had shaped him, molded him, turned him into the weapon he was today. As Thorne settled into his chair, he barely registered Uncle¡¯s voice droning on about some new recipe the cook had learned, the words slipping past him as he tried to anchor himself in the present. The sudden appearance of six footmen entering the dining room, each carrying plates laden with food, snapped his attention back to the room. It was an extravagant feast, the likes of which Thorne had never seen before. Platters of roasted game, exotic fruits, delicately arranged pastries¡ªevery dish looked as if it had been crafted by an artist, each more opulent than the last. The footmen, clad in immaculate black and white uniforms, moved with a precision that bordered on unnatural, circling the table with military-like discipline as they began to serve the meal. Thorne¡¯s gaze narrowed as he observed their movements. There was something off about the way they handled the plates, the way they balanced the trays with an effortless grace. It wasn¡¯t just the poise of well-trained servants; it was something more, something calculated and deadly. His suspicions solidified into certainty as he glanced at Uncle, who was already licking his lips in anticipation of the feast. Thorne leaned slightly toward him, his voice low and calm. ¡°I wasn¡¯t aware you were hiring cousins as servants now.¡± Uncle paused mid-reach for a leg of pheasant, his eyes flicking to Thorne with an unreadable expression. For a moment, Thorne couldn¡¯t tell if Uncle was annoyed or pleased by the observation. But then, a devious smile crept across the older man¡¯s face. ¡°Always so perceptive, Shortie,¡± Uncle chuckled, a sound of genuine amusement that seemed almost out of place coming from him. ¡°That¡¯s what made me take you under my wing, you know?¡± He then resumed eating with gusto, the noises he made as he tore into the food loud and uncouth. ¡°Always so perceptive and sharp.¡± Thorne tracked the movements of the servants¡ªno, the assassins¡ªas they continued to serve the meal. Now that he knew their true nature, he felt a distinct unease creeping into his gut. These were no mere footmen; they were trained killers, each of them a weapon in Uncle¡¯s arsenal, and they were all standing just a few feet away from him. Uncle, ever the master of perception despite his bluster, noticed Thorne¡¯s focused attention on the men. He waved a hand dismissively, as if shooing away an inconsequential concern. ¡°Don¡¯t fret, Thorne. They¡¯re just the hired help. What good is it to breed assassins if you can¡¯t use them for your own personal gain?¡± Uncle stuffed his mouth with more food, chewing loudly, completely oblivious¡ªor perhaps indifferent¡ªto the irritated glances exchanged by the assassins. Thorne caught those looks, subtle as they were, and couldn¡¯t help but think that perhaps, if fortune ever favored him, Uncle might meet his end at the hands of those he had so carelessly dismissed. The meal continued in silence for a few moments, the only sounds the clinking of silverware and the soft footsteps of the assassins as they moved about the room. Thorne ate mechanically, his mind whirling with thoughts and strategies. He knew he had to play the long game, to bide his time and wait for the right moment. He almost jumped when Uncle¡¯s voice cut through the silence. ¡°Leave us!¡± Thorne froze, not knowing what would come next, one of Uncle''s games or punishment? CHAPTER 75 The grand dining room echoed with the soft click of the door as the servants departed, leaving Thorne alone with Uncle. The room, which had felt so suffocating moments ago, now seemed even more oppressive in its silence. Thorne¡¯s heart pounded, a familiar dread clawing at his insides. The sudden solitude with Uncle felt like being trapped in a cage with a beast, the tension in the air thick enough to choke on. His body wanted to twitch, to brace itself for the inevitable beating that had been a constant threat in these moments, but the new skill he had unlocked earlier¡ªMask of Deceit¡ªsaved him once more, keeping his exterior calm and controlled. Uncle leaned back in his chair, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as he wiped his greasy hands on a napkin. "You know, Thorne," he began, his tone oddly conversational, "this little project could change everything for us." Thorne forced himself to focus, pushing past the residual fear. His mind quickly analyzed the situation¡ªUncle rarely spoke without purpose. This was likely a test, a way to gauge Thorne¡¯s understanding of the larger game. "The Guild of Assassins," he said, more of a statement than a question. Uncle¡¯s eyes gleamed with a mixture of pride and ambition. "Indeed. This far from the capital, the cities are neglected in more ways than one. The guilds¡ªthe real guilds¡ªthey never venture this far out. They think there¡¯s nothing to gain here, no power worth taking. But that¡¯s where they¡¯re wrong." Thorne listened intently, understanding the layers beneath Uncle¡¯s words. Every sentence was a puzzle, a piece of a larger strategy that Thorne had to decipher. "The thieves'' guilds, the assassins'' guilds," Uncle continued, his voice growing more animated, "they all see the borders of the kingdom as a waste of money and resources. They believe there aren¡¯t enough nobles out here to finance their operations. Most of the influential nobility reside in the capital and the surrounding provinces, after all. But what they see as barren ground, I see as fertile soil, ripe for the taking." Thorne nodded slowly, absorbing the information. Uncle¡¯s vision was clear, and in its own twisted way, it made sense. With the established guilds focusing their efforts on the more populated and wealthier regions, Uncle had found an opportunity to exploit. "You¡¯ve already made offers to some important figures, haven¡¯t you?" Thorne asked, his voice measured. Uncle grinned, a smile that didn¡¯t reach his cold eyes. "Oh, yes. There are those who see the potential here, who understand the power I¡¯m building. But so far, the guild has been... expensive. A money pit, if you will. But that¡¯s going to change soon. I just need my recruits to be competent enough, which, frankly, they aren¡¯t yet." Thorne hesitated, knowing the weight of the question that was coming. "And now that you¡¯ve been with the Family for some time," Uncle asked, his tone casual but his gaze sharp, "what do you think of the recruits? You¡¯ve seen them with your own eyes." Thorne paused, considering his response carefully. He had seen the recruits¡ªhad trained with them, fought alongside them. Though they hadn¡¯t been allowed to the higher levels where the older, more experienced recruits resided, he had caught glimpses of them during training. There were some who were impressive, who showed real potential. But the ugly truth was that what Uncle was trying to build couldn¡¯t create assassins overnight. It took years of training, experience, and, most importantly, survival. Compared to the older cousins and the gravediggers, the recruits were still amateurs. Even the guards from the noble houses wouldn¡¯t have much trouble taking them out in a straightforward fight. He paused, considering his response carefully, his mind racing through possible answers. "I think..." Thorne began cautiously, "that they¡¯re improving. Some of them show promise. But it takes time to create skilled assassins. The recruits aren¡¯t ready yet to take on more... sophisticated targets." Uncle¡¯s face reddened, the calm demeanor vanishing in an instant as if Thorne¡¯s words had been a personal insult. His hand clenched into a fist, slamming down on the table with a force that made the cutlery rattle. Thorne¡¯s muscles tensed, his body instinctively bracing for the retaliation he had been dreading. But Uncle took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down, though his face remained flushed with anger. "I grow impatient with their incompetence," Uncle hissed, his voice tight with barely restrained fury. "Why can¡¯t they be more like you?" Thorne had no answer to that. The comparison made him uncomfortable, not least because he knew what it implied. Uncle¡¯s expectations for him were far higher than for any of the others, and the pressure of those expectations weighed heavily on him. But there was also a need to defend his fellow recruits, to speak for those who were struggling to survive in the harsh environment Uncle had created. "Some of the older cousins are very skilled," Thorne said cautiously, choosing his words with care. "For example, my trainers¡ªTalon and Lock¡ªthey¡¯re excellent." The mention of Talon and Lock seemed to strike a nerve. Uncle¡¯s face twisted with sudden rage, his hand shooting out to grab the edge of the table. "Cousins?" he spat, the word laced with venom. "Don¡¯t you dare call them that! My new guild shouldn¡¯t be associated with orphans, with common street rats!" Thorne gritted his teeth, the insult burning in his chest. He had to fight to keep his expression neutral, to swallow the anger that threatened to boil over. Uncle¡¯s disdain for those he considered beneath him was nothing new, but it never failed to enrage Thorne.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Uncle continued, his voice harsh, each word a slap. "Talon and Lock, and most of the older members of the guild, are nothing more than adventurers I hired as personal guards and later turned into trainers. They are not family, and they certainly aren¡¯t worth your respect." Thorne felt his nails digging into the palm of his hand beneath the table, but he forced himself to remain calm, to not let Uncle see how much the words affected him. "I understand," he said quietly, though the words felt bitter on his tongue. Uncle frowned, his jowls quivering as he squirmed in his seat. He seemed to be considering something, his mind churning as he tapped his finger against his chin. "I don¡¯t like my guild being called ¡®the cousins,¡¯" he muttered, more to himself than to Thorne. "It lacks... gravitas. What should I call them?" Thorne thought of the broken and haunted faces of his fellow recruits, the way their eyes had dulled from the endless trials and suffering they endured. The name came to him unbidden, a reflection of the pain and despair that had become a part of their lives. "The Lost Ones," he murmured, the words slipping out before he could stop them. Uncle paused, his eyes narrowing as he considered the name. A thunderous clap broke the silence as Uncle slapped the table with a beaming smile. "That is splendid, Shortie! The Lost Ones!" He repeated the name, savoring it as if it were a fine wine. "It will inspire fear in my enemies. The Lost Ones..." Uncle¡¯s cold eyes gleamed with the possibilities the name conjured, a future filled with power and control. Thorne nodded humbly, knowing that was the response Uncle was expecting. Inside, though, he felt a hollow ache. The name, once a quiet tribute to his fellow recruits, had now been twisted into a tool for Uncle¡¯s ambitions. Uncle leaned back in his chair, a wicked smile playing on his lips. "Always the one with the answers, aren¡¯t you, Thorne?" "I try to be," Thorne replied, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him. Uncle¡¯s smile grew sharper, more calculating. "You know, I plan to employ my assassins soon¡ªto the nobles. They are a hot commodity, one that will bring me gold and power. One cannot depend on wool forever." He waved a hand dismissively, as if the mention of Lord Durnell was of no consequence. "Lord Durnell is good enough as a puppet, but he cannot provide me with what I crave." Thorne arched an eyebrow, curious despite himself. "And what do you crave?" Uncle¡¯s smirk widened. "Power, Thorne. Power and control." The smirk faded, replaced by a deep scowl. "These cursed nobles, though, have proven to be more stubborn and irritating than I expected. They have yet to accept me into their circle, no matter how much power I have accrued in Alvar. I am never invited to their balls, their councils, or even their garden parties," he spat the last words as if they were poison, though Thorne could see the anger and bitterness simmering beneath his uncle¡¯s facade. "Without them, I cannot begin to push my products." Thorne felt a wave of disgust rise within him at the way Uncle spoke of his recruits. Every day, they fought for their lives, struggling to become stronger, to survive, only for Uncle to use them as tools to gain more power. But he kept his face impassive, drumming his fingers lightly on the table as he considered the situation. The truth was, Uncle¡¯s frustration with the nobles was understandable, but his approach was flawed. Thorne could see the cracks forming in Uncle¡¯s strategy, but it wasn¡¯t his place to point them out. Not yet, anyway. With a calm voice, Thorne responded to the unspoken question. "I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve thought of every possible way, Uncle. You¡¯re a brilliant strategist, after all." Uncle arched an eyebrow at the obvious flattery but didn¡¯t stop him. Thorne continued, "The way I see it, you have three options. One is to obtain a noble title. I don¡¯t know how feasible that is, but I¡¯m guessing it will be very difficult to obtain. Having a title would open most doors automatically." Uncle grunted, clearly not impressed with that suggestion. "The second option," Thorne went on, "is to amass so much power that even the mere thought of offending you would make the nobles hesitant to slight you. Since it will take some time for the Lost Ones"¡ªhe hid a grimace as he said the name out loud¡ª"to become the force needed to completely subdue the local nobility, you¡¯ll either have to be patient or find another way." Uncle¡¯s frown deepened, his jowls swinging as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "And what about the third option?" he demanded when Thorne didn¡¯t immediately speak. Thorne shrugged, spearing a piece of honeyed lamb with his fork. "You find a representative. Someone who can infiltrate their ranks and act on your behalf." Uncle glared at him, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. "You think I haven¡¯t thought of that? But all those cursed nobles are either too arrogant to accept such a deal or too cunning to be trusted. They¡¯ll reap the benefits of our arrangement and backstab me in the process." Thorne carefully set his fork back on the table, his movements slow and deliberate. "Then you either find someone too desperate to betray you... or create your own noble." Uncle¡¯s fork hovered mid-air, his eyes narrowing as he processed Thorne¡¯s words. "What?" he asked, his tone flat. Thorne met his gaze evenly. "You know, make someone pass as a noble and have them infiltrate high society. You do have a few aspiring spies lying around." For a moment, Uncle glared at Thorne¡¯s suggestion as if he were about to lash out, but then he fell into deep thought, his expression softening as he considered the possibilities. He half-spoke to Thorne, half-muttered to himself, "Parading as a noble is no easy feat. There are enchanted papers to acquire, signed by the king no less, a magical signet, a crest approved, authentication of the provenance..." Uncle continued to ramble, losing himself in the logistics of the idea, and Thorne allowed his mind to drift, picking at his food while Uncle became absorbed in his musings. Suddenly, Uncle touched a small crystal by his side, and at once, the double doors opened. Arletta entered, bowing respectfully as she awaited his command. "Prepare the Blue Room for Thorne. He will be staying the night here." Arletta¡¯s eyebrows flickered in surprise for just a moment before she responded, "It will be done." Thorne knew that he was being dismissed, and he stood up, careful to keep his movements smooth and respectful. Uncle didn¡¯t say goodbye, merely giving him a nod of acknowledgment as he remained lost in thought. As Thorne walked out of the grand dining room, his mind still buzzing with everything that had transpired, a single thought dominated his mind: he had survived. Unscathed, no less. He finally let his body relax and turned to the blinking notifications in his vision. Skill level up: Mask of Deceit! Skill level up: Mask of Deceit! Skill level up: Mask of Deceit! Skill level up: Mask of Deceit! Skill level up: Mask of Deceit! Skill level up: Mask of Deceit! CHAPTER 76 Thorne followed Arletta for only a few feet before his patience snapped. Without a word, he turned abruptly and started walking toward the front door, his boots echoing ominously on the marble floor. "Where do you think you¡¯re going?" Arletta¡¯s voice was sharp as she quickened her pace to catch up with him. "I¡¯m going to visit my friends," Thorne replied coldly, not bothering to look back at her. The fury that he had tried his hardest to keep down during his meeting with Uncle was now bubbling to the surface, ready to explode. He needed to vent his frustration¡ªperhaps by drowning it in ale, or better yet, by poking someone with his daggers. "Uncle said you must sleep upstairs," Arletta insisted, her voice losing some of its edge as she tried to assert control. Thorne stopped just short of the front door, two guards stepping into his path, their arms crossed. He glared at them, and to his surprise¡ªand satisfaction¡ªhe realized he was now at the same height as them. His glare, once easily dismissed, now carried a weight that wasn¡¯t there before. The coiled muscles beneath his skin didn¡¯t hurt either. "Uncle said I should sleep upstairs," Thorne repeated, his voice laced with defiance, "but he didn¡¯t say when. I¡¯ll be back." In a moment of reckless abandon, Thorne activated Aether Surge, feeling the familiar rush of power course through his veins, his body humming with energy. He shoved one of the guards with a force that surprised even him. The man stumbled backward, nearly losing his balance as he croaked in surprise. The other guard, quicker to react, drew his sword, the blade gleaming under the dim lights. Thorne smirked, his hand instinctively finding the daggers strapped to the small of his back. He prayed the guard would attack, giving him the excuse he needed to finally unleash the anger that had been festering inside him. The thought of sinking his blades into flesh, of feeling the rush of battle, was almost intoxicating. "Don¡¯t you dare!" Arletta¡¯s voice cut through the tension like a blade. "Sheath your sword this instant." The guard hesitated for a moment before reluctantly lowering his weapon, his eyes still fixed on Thorne. There was a cold fury in Arletta¡¯s gaze as she looked at Thorne, but she tempered her voice, making it more measured. "I expect you back before dawn," she said, her tone brokering no argument. Then, almost as an afterthought, she added, "Use the side door." Thorne watched as Arletta turned and walked away, her stiff posture radiating disapproval. The guards growled at Thorne, but he barely acknowledged them. He knew that he probably couldn¡¯t take them both on¡ªat least not without his magic. But that didn¡¯t stop him from smirking as he passed them, provoking them just a little more. "Who¡¯s a good guard dog? Who? You two are!" he taunted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. The guard he had shoved took a threatening step toward Thorne, but the other one stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder. Thorne couldn¡¯t help but chuckle as he reached the door, hollering back to them, "Don¡¯t piss on the walls; Uncle will be furious!" As Thorne stepped into the cool night air, a wave of satisfaction washed over him. It felt good to make someone else as angry as he was, to let out some of the venom that had been building up. But as he walked down the dark, familiar streets, his anger began to sharpen again, his hands instinctively finding their way to his daggers. The streets were quiet, the silence punctuated only by the distant sounds of the city winding down for the night. He could feel someone following him, the soft footsteps barely audible over the rustle of the wind. He knew they were tracking him, likely on orders from the guild or Uncle. It didn¡¯t matter. It was just another reminder that he was a leashed dog, just like the guards he had taunted. No matter where he went, someone would always be watching. The smell of the sea and the nearby fish market reached his nose, the briny scent mingling with the faint aroma of stale fish. It was a smell that had always signaled home to him, grounding him in a way nothing else could. His heart raced with anticipation as he quickened his pace, nearly running through the empty marketplace, weaving between crates, closed stalls, and the occasional stray cat nibbling on discarded scraps. He was almost there¡ªalmost back with his friends. The sounds of the tavern filtered through the deserted street, a drunken man stumbling out the door, whistling a jaunty tune. Thorne couldn¡¯t help but smile. This was where he belonged, not in Uncle¡¯s suffocating manor, but here, in the heart of the city, with the people who mattered most to him. He burst through the tavern doors, the warmth and noise of the crowded room enveloping him like a familiar embrace. His eyes scanned the room desperately, searching for the faces he had missed for so long. And then he found them, tucked away in their usual corner, just as he remembered. Jonah was hunched over the table, three different parchments spread out in front of him, taking up more than half the space. He had used Darius¡¯ empty goblets to weigh down the corners of the papers, while Darius himself leaned back in his chair, a drink in hand as he chatted with a man at the next table. Ben was wedged between them, tearing into a drumstick with grease trailing down his chin, a small book propped open on his lap. His friends. The sight of them sent a wave of relief crashing over him. He hadn¡¯t realized just how much he had missed them until this moment. The first person to spot him was Gilly, her voice cutting through the noise of the tavern as she exclaimed, "Thorne? Is that you?" Thorne turned to her, a grin spreading across his face. Gilly was holding a tray full of drinks, but that didn¡¯t stop her from setting it down and rushing over to hug him. She smacked him affectionately on the arm, her eyes shining with relief and something else¡ªsomething like worry. "Where the hell have you been?" Gilly demanded, pulling back to look him up and down as if checking for injuries. "I was worried sick!" Thorne scratched his head awkwardly, not quite meeting her eyes. "My trip was... unplanned," he said, searching for the right words. "I had some business to attend to." Gilly narrowed her eyes suspiciously, but then her expression softened, and she smiled again. "The only thing that matters is that you¡¯re back. Now go to your friends. I¡¯ll fetch you some food and drink."The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. Thorne nodded, feeling a warmth he hadn¡¯t felt in months. He turned back to his friends, his heart lifting, but then he noticed Darius staring at him, his expression inscrutable. There was something in Darius¡¯ gaze¡ªsomething Thorne couldn¡¯t quite place. It wasn¡¯t just the usual mix of curiosity and mischief; there was something deeper, something that made Thorne¡¯s smile falter for just a moment. He forced the grin back onto his face and made his way over to the table, slipping into the seat across from Jonah. "Miss me?" he asked, trying to keep his tone light, though the weight of Darius¡¯ gaze still lingered in his mind. Jonah gave him a measured look, his usual warmth replaced with a guarded expression. "You could say that," he replied, his tone neutral. The easy camaraderie that had once defined their friendship was absent, replaced by an uneasy tension that gnawed at Thorne¡¯s gut. Darius leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he studied Thorne. "You were gone for months, Thorne. What happened? Sid only told us that you had to travel for a task for Uncle, but that¡¯s all we got. Why didn¡¯t you tell us anything?" Thorne suppressed a sigh, forcing himself to remain calm. He had anticipated questions, but Darius¡¯ probing gaze made him uneasy. "It was all very sudden," Thorne began, choosing his words carefully. "Uncle sent me away on a task that... took longer than expected. It was dangerous, and I didn¡¯t want to involve you all." Darius¡¯ eyes remained fixed on Thorne, his suspicion clear. "Dangerous? What exactly were you doing that was so dangerous you couldn¡¯t even send a message? We thought you were dead, Thorne. We didn¡¯t know if you were coming back." Thorne swallowed hard, feeling a flicker of discomfort. Lying to his friends felt too easy, almost disturbingly so. His Acting skill had been honed to perfection, and his Echoes of Truth skill made his words sound even more convincing. But that didn¡¯t make the lies sit any better in his stomach. "I¡¯m sorry," Thorne said, letting a note of regret slip into his voice. "I really am. But I couldn¡¯t contact you. It was too risky. Uncle was very clear about the secrecy of the mission. I didn¡¯t have a choice." Darius wasn¡¯t satisfied. "What was so secretive about it? What could possibly be so important that you couldn¡¯t even tell us you were leaving?" Thorne hesitated, his mind racing to come up with a plausible story. "I had to travel to some remote areas," he said finally. "Places where there were no safe lines of communication. And I had to stay undercover. If I¡¯d contacted you, it could have jeopardized the whole mission. Uncle would have... well, you know how he is." Gilly arrived at that moment, setting down a tray of drinks and a plate of food in front of Thorne. She gave him a searching look, her worry still evident, but she said nothing as she busied herself with distributing the drinks. Thorne took a moment to steady himself, grateful for the brief reprieve. "You were undercover?" Darius pressed, still not letting up. "What were you doing, Thorne? We¡¯ve never heard of Uncle sending you on a mission like that before." Thorne forced a smile, trying to project confidence. "I¡¯ve been training for this, Darius. Uncle has... bigger plans for me, and this mission was part of that. I can¡¯t say more, but believe me, it was necessary." Darius¡¯ gaze was piercing, his silence stretching uncomfortably. Thorne could feel the weight of his lies, each one stacking on top of the other, creating a fragile tower that could collapse with one wrong word. But even as he lied, he was struck by how easily the words came to him, how natural it felt to weave these deceptions. It disturbed him, the ease with which he was deceiving his closest friends. "I don¡¯t like it," Darius said finally, his tone hard. "You disappearing without a word. You¡¯ve changed, Thorne." Thorne flinched inwardly at the accusation but kept his face neutral. "I¡¯m still me," he said quietly. "I haven¡¯t forgotten what we¡¯ve been working towards." As if to defuse the tension, Jonah leaned in, his tone lighter as he tried to shift the conversation. "We¡¯ve been making progress while you were gone, you know. We¡¯re close to having enough money for the shop." Thorne looked at Jonah, surprised and relieved by the change in topic. "Really?" Jonah nodded, a small smile returning to his face. "I¡¯ve already got my eyes on a place. It¡¯s in a good location, too. And I¡¯ve even managed to make a deal with one of the local fishermen to sell us corals. It¡¯ll give us a nice edge over the competition." Thorne¡¯s heart lifted at the news. "That¡¯s great, Jonah. I knew you¡¯d pull through." Ben, who had been quietly nibbling on Thorne¡¯s food, perked up and started signing excitedly. The tension that had been building seemed to dissipate as Ben¡¯s enthusiasm infected the group. "Ben says he¡¯s finally learnt some useful skills," Darius said, without needing Jonah to translate. "Skills that¡¯ll help him become an alchemist." Thorne¡¯s eyes widened in genuine surprise, a smile breaking through the lingering unease. "That¡¯s incredible, Ben! I knew you had it in you." Ben¡¯s face lit up with a wide grin, and he continued signing with rapid gestures. Jonah chuckled as he watched, then added, "Ben¡¯s managed to create several potions already. We¡¯ve been selling them to make money for the shop. Now we just need consistency and larger batches." Ben scowled, signing furiously. Everyone at the table laughed, understanding his complaint. "He¡¯s mad because we haven¡¯t been able to buy him large quantities of ingredients yet," Jonah explained, still smiling. Darius, who had been quiet for most of the exchange, couldn¡¯t help but chuckle at Ben¡¯s frustration. Thorne turned to him, the tension between them still lingering, but softened by the shared moment. "And you, Darius? How have things been for you?" Darius shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "Quiet, mostly. The only notable thing was searching for you." Thorne¡¯s heart sank at the words. He knew how much Rafe¡¯s sudden departure had hurt Darius, how betrayed he had felt when Rafe had abandoned them. The idea that Darius might think Thorne had done the same was almost too much to bear. The thought of Rafe stirred a deep anger within Thorne, but his Mask of Deceit kept it hidden, his face a calm fa?ade. Ben caught Thorne¡¯s attention, signing slowly this time, his expression serious. "Are you back for good?" Thorne hesitated, feeling the weight of their expectations. He wanted to tell them yes, that he was back for good, that things could return to the way they were. But he couldn¡¯t lie about this, not entirely. "I¡¯m... I¡¯m not sure," he said, the words heavy. "I have to leave again tomorrow night. But I¡¯ll be back as soon as I can, I promise." A heavy silence fell over the table, the joy of their reunion dissipating as reality set in. They had hoped that Thorne¡¯s return would mean things could go back to normal, but his words shattered that hope. The silence stretched on, thick and oppressive, until Darius suddenly slammed his hand on the table, causing the dishes to rattle. Everyone jumped, startled by the sudden noise. "Well," Darius said, his voice firm and determined. "We¡¯ll just have to make the best of it. Tomorrow will be all about Thorne." Thorne looked up, surprised by the sudden change in Darius¡¯ demeanor. Darius grinned, the first genuine smile Thorne had seen from him all night. "I¡¯ll get a day off from the guard, and we¡¯ll go to the fish market, then find a good tavern to eat, and afterward..." He paused for dramatic effect, glancing at Ben with a mischievous glint in his eye. "We¡¯ll go swimming." Ben¡¯s eyes widened in horror, his hands immediately signing frantic protests, but everyone at the table understood him without needing Jonah to translate. "He says there¡¯s no way he¡¯s getting in the water," Jonah interpreted through his laughter. "You know Ben hates getting wet." Darius crossed his arms with a smug expression. "Come on, Ben. You see all those people swimming around. They look like they¡¯re having fun. Why not us?" Ben continued to sign furiously, his protests growing more exaggerated, but the rest of the table erupted in laughter. Thorne couldn¡¯t help but join in, the tension easing as the laughter washed over them. For a brief moment, everything felt right again. The guilt, the anger, the lies¡ªthey all seemed to fade away in the warmth of his friends¡¯ company. Tomorrow might bring more lies he¡¯d have to weave, but for tonight, he could enjoy the moment. He was back with his friends, and for now, that was enough. CHAPTER 77 Thorne walked through the narrow, blood-stained streets of the Butcher Quarter, the sun dipping low on the horizon, casting long shadows that crept across the cobblestones. The air was thick with the familiar smell of blood and raw meat, but today it didn¡¯t bother him as much. His steps were lighter, the single day of freedom with his friends having lifted a burden from his shoulders, if only temporarily. A smile tugged at his lips as he recalled the day¡¯s events. Jonah had eagerly shown him the shop he wanted to buy¡ªa small, unremarkable hole-in-the-wall wedged between the fish market and the merchant district. The place was cramped and smelled faintly of salt and old wood, but Jonah¡¯s excitement had been infectious. Of course, their exploration had been cut short when the owner caught them snooping around and chased them off with a broom, but that only made the moment all the more memorable. They had run through the streets, laughing like children, the thrill of being together again making everything seem lighter. Darius had been in unusually high spirits, his earlier suspicions seemingly forgotten. His jovial smile had been a constant throughout the day, but Thorne hadn¡¯t missed the way Darius stuck close to his side, as if afraid Thorne might disappear again at any moment. Ben, as always, had been a source of endless entertainment. The image of him flailing madly as they swam near the docks, almost drowning several times to their hysterical laughter, was still fresh in Thorne¡¯s mind. Ben¡¯s fear of water had been as intense as ever, but his willingness to join in their fun had been endearing. Thorne had even managed to unlock a new skill, swimming. He didn¡¯t know if it would ever come in handy, but having more skills was always good. Later, back at the tavern, Thorne had volunteered to test a few of the potions Ben had created. One had caused a sudden sprouting of hair on his face¡ªmuch to the delight of the others¡ªwhile another had made his palms emit a faint, eerie glow. Whether that had been the intended effect or not, Thorne couldn¡¯t say, but Ben¡¯s wide-eyed surprise suggested it hadn¡¯t been. Now all his friends had formed their cores, and in a couple of months, when he would have his birthday, he could finally be free to use his skills without the fear of being recognized as an elder race. A few less lies were always good in his book. The goodbyes at the end of the day had been bittersweet. They all knew Thorne was hiding something, but they also understood that, for whatever reason, he couldn¡¯t share the truth. They hadn¡¯t pressed him, hadn¡¯t asked the questions that lingered just beneath the surface. There had been an unspoken agreement¡ªa trust that, despite the secrets, they were still the same group they had always been. But as Thorne walked the familiar streets, a sense of unease began to creep back in, the weight of his reality slowly returning. He stopped in front of an inconspicuous panel set into the wall of a butcher¡¯s shop, hidden in the shadows where few would notice. He glanced around, ensuring he wasn¡¯t being watched, and then tapped the panel with his knuckles. A muffled voice from behind the wall asked for the password, and Thorne recited the code he had found the other day, his voice steady despite the growing tension in his chest. The panel slid open with a soft click, revealing only darkness beyond. Thorne hesitated for a moment, his eyes straining to adjust to the pitch black. Something felt off, but before he could react, he felt a rough hand grab him from behind. Panic surged through him, but it was too late¡ªa thick, suffocating bag was thrown over his head, plunging him into total darkness. He struggled, instinctively reaching for his daggers, but his movements were sluggish, disoriented. The world tilted, his head spinning as if the ground had been ripped out from under him. The last thing he felt was a sharp pain at the base of his skull, and then, everything went black. * Thorne awoke to the sensation of cold stone beneath him, his body aching with a pain so deep it felt like it had settled into his bones. His head throbbed with a dull, pulsing ache, and when he tried to move, he realized with growing dread that his wrists and ankles were tightly bound. Panic gripped him, his breathing quickening as he struggled against the restraints, but the rough ropes only cut deeper into his skin, sending sharp, searing pain through his limbs. The room was small and dimly lit, the walls made of cold, unforgiving stone slick with moisture. The only light came from a single, flickering torch mounted on the wall, casting eerie shadows that danced across the rough surfaces. The air was thick with the smell of mold and something else¡ªsomething metallic and sharp that set Thorne¡¯s nerves on edge. His mind was a jumbled mess, tangled with fear and confusion. How had he gotten here? His last memory was of entering the Butcher Quarter, and then¡ªnothing. Two figures loomed over him, their faces hidden beneath the hoods of long, dark cloaks. They were unnervingly silent, their presence suffocating in the small room. Thorne¡¯s heart pounded in his chest as he tried to make sense of the situation. He didn¡¯t know who these men were, where he was, or what they wanted from him. One of the men crouched down beside him, the torchlight casting eerie shadows across his hooded face. "You¡¯ve been hiding something, Thorne," the man said, his voice low and cold, sending a shiver down Thorne¡¯s spine. "And we¡¯re going to find out what it is."This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. Thorne swallowed hard, his throat dry and raw. "I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about," he rasped, his voice barely above a whisper. The words felt hollow, empty¡ªhe knew they wouldn¡¯t believe him, knew that whatever was coming next would be far worse than anything he had faced before. The second man, taller and more imposing, stepped forward, a cruel smile playing on his lips as he pulled a long, thin knife from his cloak. The blade gleamed in the dim light, and Thorne¡¯s blood ran cold as he realized with sickening clarity what they intended to do. "Let¡¯s start with something simple," the taller man said, his voice deceptively calm. "Who runs the Cousins? Where is their leader?" Thorne clenched his jaw, refusing to answer. He knew the rules¡ªnever betray the guild, no matter what. But the resolve he had clung to in the past was already fraying at the edges, and he could feel the fear gnawing at his insides, threatening to unravel him completely. The man didn¡¯t wait for a response. With a quick, precise motion, he brought the knife down, the blade slicing through Thorne¡¯s shirt and into the flesh of his abdomen. Thorne gasped, the sudden, searing pain radiating through his body, his muscles tensing involuntarily as blood welled up from the wound. "I¡¯ll ask again," the man said, his voice a cold, emotionless whisper. "Who runs the Cousins?" Thorne¡¯s breath came in ragged gasps as he tried to will himself to stay silent, to endure the pain. But the knife cut deeper, twisting in his flesh, and a scream tore from his throat, echoing off the stone walls. The man smiled, his eyes glinting with sadistic pleasure. "You¡¯ll talk eventually, Thorne," he said, his voice dripping with cruelty. "They all do." The next few hours were a blur of agony. The men took turns with the knife, each cut more precise and excruciating than the last. They worked methodically, asking questions in calm, measured tones, as if they were discussing the weather rather than torturing a man to the brink of madness. They asked about the guild¡ªwho the spies were, where they were stationed, how many there were. They demanded to know if the entrance to the base was trapped, how the defenses were laid out, who was responsible for security. Each question was punctuated with another slash of the knife, another wave of blinding pain that left Thorne gasping for breath. But Thorne knew he couldn¡¯t give them what they wanted. Even as his vision blurred, even as he felt his resolve crumbling under the relentless onslaught of pain, he clung to the one thing he knew for certain: he couldn¡¯t betray the guild. He couldn¡¯t betray Uncle. He would die before he did that. They didn¡¯t stop at cutting. When Thorne refused to answer, they produced a thin metal rod, heated until it glowed red-hot in the torchlight. They pressed it against his skin, the smell of burning flesh filling the room as Thorne screamed, the pain unlike anything he had ever experienced. His vision blurred, the world tilting around him as his mind struggled to hold onto consciousness. But the torture didn¡¯t end there. They used pliers to crush his fingers, the bones snapping with sickening cracks that sent fresh waves of agony through his body. They shattered his kneecap with a hammer, the force of the blow sending white-hot pain lancing up his leg, his scream hoarse and broken. The men seemed to take pleasure in his suffering, their voices calm and almost clinical as they continued their interrogation, as if this was just another day¡¯s work for them. They fed his healing potions, when they thought he was close to dying. They only gave him a couple of drops each time, just enough to heal the most grievous wounds, but not enough to feel relief. They deprived him of food and water, letting him grow weaker with each passing hour, until even the smallest movement sent sharp, stabbing pain through his battered body. Sleep was a distant memory, each attempt to slip into unconsciousness met with a fresh wave of agony that jolted him back to the harsh reality of his situation. Thorne¡¯s world became a twisted nightmare of blood and pain, his body broken, his mind shattered. He couldn¡¯t tell how much time had passed¡ªdays, maybe? Each hour bled into the next, the pain never-ending, the questions ceaseless. The men demanded answers, and when Thorne couldn¡¯t give them what they wanted, they punished him, their methods growing more brutal with each passing hour. At some point¡ªThorne didn¡¯t know when¡ªhe began to talk. The words spilled from his lips in a broken, slurred stream, a desperate attempt to make the pain stop. But he didn¡¯t tell them the truth. His Echoes of Truth skill whispered possible lies into his mind, and in his desperation, he clung to those lies, infusing his words with just enough truth to make them sound convincing. "The entrance isn¡¯t trapped," he rasped, his voice barely more than a whisper. "It¡¯s safe... you can walk right in..." But the men seemed to know. They exchanged glances, and the taller one shook his head, a cruel smile curving his lips. "He¡¯s lying," he said, almost amused. "He thinks he can fool us." The smaller man leaned in close, his breath hot against Thorne¡¯s ear. "We know what you¡¯re trying to do," he whispered, his voice cold and menacing. "But it won¡¯t work. We can tell when someone¡¯s lying." Thorne¡¯s heart sank, the flicker of hope that had been keeping him alive snuffed out in an instant. They knew. They knew he was lying, and nothing he said would make them stop. The realization hit him like a physical blow, sending a fresh wave of despair crashing over him. But he couldn¡¯t stop. Even as they pressed the red-hot rod against his flesh again, even as they shattered more bones and cut deeper into his skin, he couldn¡¯t stop. He kept lying, kept trying to twist the truth into something that might save him, even as he knew it was futile. The men didn¡¯t stop. They continued their twisted work, their voices cold and detached as they questioned him, as if he were nothing more than an object, a tool to be used and discarded when no longer useful. At some point, Thorne lost all sense of self. He was no longer a person¡ªjust a broken, bloodied husk, a vessel for the pain that ravaged his body. His mind retreated into itself, a desperate attempt to escape the horrors that surrounded him. But there was no escape, no end to the torment. He was trapped in a never-ending cycle of agony and despair, with no hope of release. When the men finally stopped, Thorne was barely aware of it. His body was numb, his mind shattered beyond repair. The room was quiet, the only sound the ragged, uneven breaths that tore from his throat. He was alive, but barely¡ªa shadow of the person he had once been. The taller man crouched down beside him, his voice a low, mocking whisper. "Do you really think you¡¯re special, Thorne? That you mean anything to the guild? To Uncle? You¡¯re just another tool, another pawn to be used and discarded. No one¡¯s coming for you. No one cares." The words cut through the haze of pain, striking deep into Thorne¡¯s broken heart. He wanted to fight back, to scream at them, but he had no strength left. All he could do was lie there, tears slipping silently down his cheeks. ¡°That is enough!¡± A familiar voice cut through his sobs. CHAPTER 78 "That is enough!" The voice sliced through the darkness like a knife, startling Thorne out of the haze of pain and confusion that had consumed him. The words were familiar, but his mind, battered and broken, struggled to connect them to anything real. He felt a sudden, violent tugging at his feet and hands, and then, without warning, he was free. The ropes that had held him in place for what felt like an eternity fell away, and he crumpled to the cold stone floor, his body too broken to move, his mind too overwhelmed by pain and shock to comprehend what was happening. He lay there, motionless, every inch of his body screaming in agony. His muscles refused to respond, and even the simple act of breathing sent waves of fresh pain coursing through his chest. His jaw throbbed, a fractured mess, and he was dimly aware of the blood that pooled in his mouth, the metallic taste making him want to retch. Suddenly, hands were on him, prying his mouth open with little care for the new pain it caused. His fractured jaw protested violently, but he couldn¡¯t summon the strength to fight back. No part of him was left untouched, every nerve ending alight with agony. A thick, bitter liquid was forced down his throat, and his body¡¯s first instinct was to reject it. He gagged, his entire being recoiling from the foreign substance, but the hands clamped down on his mouth, leaving him no choice but to swallow. The liquid burned as it went down, but within moments, a soothing wave began to spread through his ravaged body, dulling the worst of the pain. It wasn¡¯t enough to erase the agony completely, but it was a relief¡ªone he hadn¡¯t known in days. Amidst the haze of pain and fleeting relief, Thorne¡¯s eyes, unfocused and glazed, caught sight of a figure rushing toward his torturers. The figure slapped them, the sound sharp and echoing off the stone walls. There was yelling, the voice filled with rage, but Thorne¡¯s brain couldn¡¯t process the words. Everything was a blur, his senses dulled to the point where only fragments of reality seeped in. Bits and pieces of the argument reached him, the tone frantic and furious, but the meaning was lost to him. He caught flashes of words¡ªidiots, nephew, Uncle¡ªbut they floated in and out of his consciousness, unable to form anything coherent. His head lolled to the side, and he saw the figure turn away from his torturers and move back toward him, their movements hurried and panicked. The figure crouched beside him, hands moving with a sense of urgency as they checked his injuries, their touch far gentler than anything he had experienced in days. Another potion was pressed to his lips, and this time Thorne didn¡¯t resist. The liquid slid down his throat, and with it came another wave of relief, though his body was still a battlefield of pain. As the figure leaned in closer, Thorne¡¯s bleary eyes finally managed to focus on the face. It was Lock. Lock¡¯s face, usually so composed and confident, was a mask of fear and horror. His eyes darted over Thorne¡¯s broken form, taking in every injury, every cut, every bruise. Thorne wanted to frown, to ask a thousand questions, but even that simple action was impossible. His face felt like it was made of lead, too heavy and unresponsive to obey his commands. What was Lock doing here? Was he in league with those two? Had he betrayed Uncle? The thoughts swirled in Thorne¡¯s mind, each one more terrifying than the last. But then, Lock¡¯s next words made his blood run cold, freezing him to his core. "You¡¯re dead, you idiots!" Lock bellowed at the torturers, his voice shaking with barely controlled rage. "Do you know what Uncle would do to you if he finds out? You were meant to interrogate him, not break him! What will I tell Uncle now? That two overzealous recruits tried to kill his favorite nephew? IDIOTS!" Thorne lay there, broken and battered, as clarity finally began to dawn. It had been another trial. Another fucking trial! He had been tortured for days because of a trial. The realization was like a knife to the heart, cutting deeper than any wound those men had inflicted on him. All the pain, all the suffering, all the terror¡ªit had all been orchestrated by the very people he was supposed to trust, the very organization that had sworn to train him, to make him stronger. And for what? To see if he could endure? To test his loyalty? A wave of fury threatened to drown him, for a moment his pain registering as a simple nuisance. Lock returned to his side, his expression softening as he poured another potion into Thorne¡¯s mouth, the liquid cool and soothing against his raw throat. "It¡¯s okay, Thorne," Lock said, his voice shaky but trying to be reassuring. "You¡¯re okay. You¡¯ll just rest for a while, and then you¡¯ll be brand new again." But Thorne could see the truth in Lock¡¯s eyes. The man wasn¡¯t trying to reassure him¡ªhe was trying to reassure himself. Lock was terrified, and for good reason. The punishment for failing Uncle was severe, and these men had come dangerously close to killing the one person Uncle valued most... At least to their eyes. Thorne wanted to argue, to demand justice, to scream at Lock and those bastards who had put him through this nightmare, but his body felt impossibly heavy, the exhaustion pulling him under like a relentless tide. His vision blurred, the world fading to black around the edges. The last thing he saw was Lock¡¯s haunted face, his mouth moving in words Thorne could no longer hear. And then, mercifully, he slipped into unconsciousness once more. * Thorne awoke to the sensation of soft, luxurious sheets beneath him. The bed cradled his aching body in a way that felt almost foreign, and for a moment, he remained still, his mind struggling to grasp where he was. Slowly, he opened his eyes, blinking against the bright light that filled the room. The space around him was unfamiliar yet unsettlingly familiar, his surroundings making him feel both comforted and on edge. The room had no windows, its walls made of the same cold stone that had surrounded him during his ordeal, but the chamber was far more comfortable. Sparsely decorated, the furniture was of high quality¡ªpolished wood and rich fabrics that gave the room an air of understated luxury. Despite the elegance, the room had the unmistakable feel of the guild. It was a place meant to heal, to restore, yet it reminded him of the very institution that had brought him to the brink of destruction. Thorne''s mind struggled to connect the dots. How did he get here? The last thing he remembered was the blinding pain, the cold stone floor, and Lock¡¯s frantic face. As memories began to flood his mind, a surge of panic gripped him. His breath quickened, chest tightening as he fought to make sense of it all. The days of torture, the endless questions, the agony¡ªit all came rushing back with brutal clarity. He felt as if he was suffocating, the room spinning as his heart pounded in his ears. His hands trembled as they clutched at the sheets, and a low, strangled sound escaped his throat. He was back in that dark room, back with those faceless torturers. The pain, the terror¡ªit was all happening again. But then, slowly, he forced himself to breathe, to regain control. He counted his breaths, focusing on the rise and fall of his chest until the panic began to recede, leaving him drained and shaky. He wasn¡¯t in that room anymore. He was safe¡ªor as safe as he could be in the guild. With a deep, shuddering breath, Thorne tried to think rationally. What had happened? Lock had found him, pulled him from that nightmare. But why had he been there in the first place? Had the torture really been another trial? And if so, why hadn¡¯t anyone intervened sooner? Questions swirled in his mind, but no answers came. His thoughts were interrupted by a soft, insistent chime. Thorne blinked, momentarily confused, before realizing that it was coming from within him¡ªa series of notifications, blinking at the edge of his vision. He focused on them, willing them to appear, and a familiar translucent screen materialized before him, displaying the effects of the past days¡¯ horrors. Skill Level Up Notifications: Skill Level up: Echoes of Truth (4 levels gained) Skill Level up: Mask of Deceit! (2 levels gained) Skill Level up: Resilience! (11 levels gained) Skill Level up: Thick Skin! (15 levels gained) Thorne stared at the notifications, his breath catching in his throat. He couldn¡¯t believe what he was seeing. Echoes of Truth had leveled up four times, and Mask of Deceit twice. But it was Resilience and Thick Skin that truly shocked him. Eleven levels gained for Resilience, and fifteen for Thick Skin. The sheer scale of the increase was unprecedented¡ªhe had never experienced anything like it before. It was as if the days of torture had forcibly dragged his body and mind through some brutal gauntlet, toughening him in ways he hadn¡¯t thought possible. There was a twisted sense of accomplishment buried beneath the horror, a small, grim satisfaction that at least something good had come from the torment. But as Thorne¡¯s eyes lingered on the notifications, his thoughts began to drift. The memories of the torture, the relentless pain, the voices of his torturers¡ªall of it came rushing back, and without realizing it, he was reliving the horror in vivid detail. He could feel the knife slicing into his flesh, the searing heat of the metal rod, the crushing pain as his bones snapped under the pliers. His mind looped through the memories, again and again, each replay more suffocating than the last.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. He stared blankly into space, lost in the nightmare, until another chime broke through the haze, snapping him back to the present. Notification: Your Thick Skin skill is ready to evolve. Choose a new branch of evolution: Thorne¡¯s breath caught in his throat as he read the notification, the implications hitting him like a punch to the gut. He had heard of skills leveling up, even of rare skills evolving after reaching a certain threshold, but it was something he had never personally experienced¡ªsomething he had only heard whispered about in the darkest corners of the guild. He blinked at the screen, the three options laid out before him in elaborate lettering that left him breathless. Stoneflesh, Titan¡¯s Endurance, Aetheric Skin. Each one was powerful, each one a potential game-changer. But which one to choose? Stoneflesh would turn his skin into an almost impenetrable barrier, making him nearly invulnerable to physical attacks. It would make him a walking fortress, able to withstand the sharpest blades and the deadliest arrows. Titan¡¯s Endurance would push his physical resilience to an almost superhuman level, allowing him to absorb blows that would shatter lesser men. His body would become a weapon in itself, able to endure the kind of punishment that would kill others. But it was Aetheric Skin that gave him pause. This skill would allow his skin to channel aether, neutralizing or greatly reducing the damage from attacks. It wasn¡¯t as purely physical as the other two options, but it was precise and reactive, providing an intelligent defense that responded instantly to threats. Thorne¡¯s mind raced as he weighed the pros and cons of each option. He had always relied more on his stamina than his aether. His stamina points were nearly double his aether points, and he used stamina much more frequently in combat. The first two options, Stoneflesh and Titan¡¯s Endurance, seemed to align more closely with his existing strengths, both relying on physical resilience and endurance. They would turn him into an unyielding force, a wall against any physical threat. But the idea of evolving beyond just physical endurance, of incorporating aether into his defense, was tempting. Aetheric Skin would allow him to harness aether in a way that was both defensive and efficient, protecting him without draining his resources unnecessarily. It was a strategic option, one that could give him an edge in situations where raw physical power wasn¡¯t enough. He hesitated, his thoughts swirling with uncertainty. Any of these choices would make him stronger, more capable of surviving the harsh realities of his world. But which one would serve him best in the long run? After what felt like an eternity of deliberation, Thorne made his decision. He chose Aetheric Skin. Despite his reliance on stamina, the potential of using aether as a reactive defense was too valuable to ignore. It would diversify his abilities, giving him a level of adaptability that could mean the difference between life and death. The moment he made his choice, he felt a profound change ripple through his body. It wasn¡¯t painful, but it was intense¡ªa deep, almost seismic shift in his very being. His skin tingled, the sensation spreading outwards from his core, as if his entire body was being rewritten on a fundamental level. Thorne lay there, breathing deeply as the transformation took hold. The agony of the past days still lingered in his mind, but beneath it, he felt a new strength, a new resilience growing. As the initial shock of his transformation settled, curiosity got the better of him. He summoned his character sheet, eager to see how his torment had shaped his progress. Name: Thorne Level: 33 Race: Human Age: 14 Special Trait: Elder Race Health points: 860/860 Aether: 540/540 Stamina: 900/900 Strength: 63 ¡ú 68 Agility: 80 Dexterity: 78 Endurance: 85 ¡ú 90 Vitality: 83 ¡ú 86 Spirit: 98 ¡ú 100 Wisdom: 54 Intelligence: 50 Skills: Tracking: 25 Foraging: 6 Archery: 19 Running: 46 Stealth: 40 Reading: 15 Arithmetic: 12 Herbalism: 6 Acting: 22 Haggling: 10 Deception: 25 Sleight of hand: 20 Pickpocketing: 18 Lockpicking: 15 Resilience: 30 ¡ú 41 Thick Skin: 36 ¡ú 50 ¡ú Aetheric Skin: 1 Acrobatics: 37 Daggers: 41 ¡ú 42 Escape Artist: 33 Shadow Meld: 26 Mindguard: 10 Echoes of Truth: 14 ¡ú 18 Unarmed Combat: 23 Combat Reflexes: 30 ¡ú 31 Hunter¡¯s Insight: 10 Stealth Strike: 18 Cunning Trapper: 11 Critical Eye: 6 Crossbows: 7 Throwing knives: 9 Sword mastery: 6 Lethal Flurry: 4 Backstab: 6 Mask of Deceit: 1 ¡ú 11 Swimming: 2 PRIMAL AETHER MANIPULATION: 15 AETHER BURST: 9 AETHER SURGE: 7 AETHERIC GRIP: 5 The sheer scale of his progress left him breathless. His Thick Skin skill had indeed evolved, transforming into Aetheric Skin and resetting to level 1. The torture had nearly broken him, but it had also forged him into something stronger, something more dangerous. And yet, as he looked at his character sheet, Thorne felt a creeping sense of disorganization. He had accumulated so many skills, so many abilities, that it all felt chaotic and overwhelming. He couldn¡¯t help but feel like he was losing control over his own growth, like his power was sprawling out in every direction without any clear focus. As soon as he recognized the chaotic state of his abilities, the letters and numbers on his character sheet began to shift and move. The screen flickered, and suddenly, the entire sheet seemed to come alive, letters and numbers flying across his vision in a dizzying array of movement. Skills, stats, and abilities reorganized themselves, reshuffling like a deck of cards in the hands of a master dealer. Thorne watched, wide-eyed and disoriented, as the chaotic mess began to take on a new form. Name: Thorne Level: 33 Race: Human Age: 14 Special Trait: Elder Race Health Points: 860/860 Aether: 540/540 Stamina: 900/900 Core Attributes Combat Skills Stealth & Deception Survival & Miscellaneous Skills Mental & Social Skills Defensive Skills Aetheric Abilities He marveled at the transformation, feeling a sense of clarity he hadn¡¯t known he needed. And as the new Aetheric Skin pulsed faintly beneath his flesh, Thorne felt a sense of anticipation. He was ready to test his new skill. Too absorbed in his newly transformed layout Thorne failed to hear the faint creak of the door. ¡°You are awake!¡± Sid sighed in relief. PS: I am thinking of spending all my hard earned Patreon money on another ad here on RR. I will use one of the images I have created for my chapters on Patreon. Which one do you think is best? 1. 2. 3. CHAPTER 79 Sid entered quietly, his usual confident stride replaced with a more subdued, careful step. "You''re awake," Sid said, his voice soft but tinged with relief. He pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat down, his expression serious. Thorne tried to push himself up, but his muscles protested with sharp jolts of pain. He settled for a slight nod. "What happened?" he croaked, his throat raw from days of screaming. Sid sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "The trial... it wasn''t supposed to go that way. It was meant to be a light interrogation, just a test of your loyalty to the Family. Not even full recruits go through something like that." He paused, his gaze hardening. "The fact that you survived is nothing short of miraculous." Thorne grunted in response, knowing deep down that his survival had more to do with his skills and his insanely high health points. His formed core had likely saved him from the brink of death. If he were an ordinary recruit, he would have been long dead. "Why did they do it?" Thorne demanded, his voice laced with anger. "Why did those recruits go so far?" Sid hesitated, a shadow passing over his face. "They wanted to teach a lesson to the arrogant, favorite nephew of Uncle. They were jealous, Thorne. Apparently, your skills have drawn attention from more than just the recruits in your group." At Sid¡¯s words, images of his torture flashed briefly in Thorne¡¯s mind. The searing pain, the cold metal biting into his flesh... But just as quickly as the memories surfaced, they faded away, leaving only a dull ache in their wake. Thorne frowned, confused by the sudden dissipation of the trauma. A few minutes ago, he had been on the verge of collapse, the pain and terror overwhelming. But now, it felt like a distant memory, like it had all happened to someone else. His mind drifted to his Resilience skill, and he understood what was happening. The skill was protecting him, not just physically but mentally, from the aftereffects of the torture. For a moment, he wondered what the skill would evolve into once it reached level 50. "What happened to the recruits?" Thorne asked, his voice cold and detached. Sid looked away, clearly uncomfortable. "They''re dead." Thorne nodded, feeling a twisted sense of satisfaction. He waited for the guilt to come, for some remorse to surface for having been the cause of their deaths. But there was nothing¡ªonly a deep, burning satisfaction and a regret that he hadn¡¯t been the one to kill them. He would have savored the act, would have enjoyed making them suffer as they had made him suffer. He could almost feel their blood on his hands, hear their screams echoing in his ears... Sid coughed, snapping him out of his dark thoughts. "Uncle came to visit you." Thorne jolted in surprise, his thoughts scattering. "He came here?" Sid nodded. "He was furious when he saw you in this condition. He... lost it. He was the one who killed the recruits." Thorne didn¡¯t know what to feel. Uncle¡¯s behavior was becoming more perplexing by the day. Was he furious because they had harmed him, or because they had damaged his investment? The line between Uncle¡¯s affection and his cold calculations was blurring, and Thorne wasn¡¯t sure where he stood. "Uncle wanted to take you out of the guild," Sid continued, his tone more cautious now. "But I convinced him otherwise." Thorne frowned, his eyes narrowing. "You did?" he asked, suspicion creeping into his voice. Sid met his gaze with a piercing look. "Do you want to leave, Thorne? To quit?" Thorne opened his mouth, ready to berate Sid for keeping him in this nightmarish place, but no sound came out. He closed his mouth, confused. He wanted to leave, didn''t he? To return to his friends, to the carefree days of hunting, hanging out in the tavern, training with Sid. He wanted it... didn¡¯t he? Sid nodded as if answering an unasked question. "Thorne, ever since I met you, you''ve been wasting away. You were wandering aimlessly. Our training helped you, gave some structure to your life, but you lacked a goal. Here, you have it. As awful as this place is, it will shape you and give you purpose. Maybe I''m wrong, and it will leave you broken. Not everyone has the strength to come out the other end. But I believe you will." Thorne opened his mouth to speak, but Sid shook his head and put a finger to his lips. Thorne frowned as Sid pulled a small purple crystal from his pocket, the object buzzing with aether. As Sid infused it with his own aether, Thorne inhaled sharply, watching in awe as the aether motes around them froze, solidifying and forming a multicolored dome that enclosed them. Sid appeared oblivious to the change, his focus entirely on the crystal. When it blinked and then shone a bright light, Sid sighed in relief.Stolen story; please report. "We don''t have long before the ward fails," Sid said, his voice low and urgent. Thorne¡¯s eyes were wide with amazement. "What is this?" he asked. "We don¡¯t have time for that," Sid replied, dismissing the question with a wave. "I¡¯m sure multiple ears are eavesdropping on our conversation. Now listen to me, we both know you¡¯re no ordinary kid." Thorne opened his mouth to argue, ready to use Echoes of Truth to convince Sid otherwise, but Sid raised a hand to stop him. "Don¡¯t try to deny it," Sid said, his voice firm. "You think I don¡¯t know you have skills? That you¡¯ve had them ever since I¡¯ve known you?" He arched an eyebrow, waiting for Thorne¡¯s response, but Thorne was frozen, feeling ice slithering through his veins. He had been so careful, so sure that he had hidden his abilities. But Sid¡¯s knowing look shattered that illusion. "You¡¯ve been very careful not to use them in my presence, but you always slipped," Sid continued, a fond chuckle escaping his lips. "And you always had this wide-eyed look after that, as if praying I hadn¡¯t noticed. I did, Thorne, every time. But I quickly understood that you didn¡¯t want anyone to know, so I kept my mouth shut." Thorne was speechless. He had always thought he was so clever, so sneaky. But now, he felt foolish, realizing how wrong he had been. "Uncle?" Thorne asked, his voice trembling unable to hide his dread. "Have you told Uncle?" A dark expression passed over Sid¡¯s face as he shook his head. "No, but Thorne... I¡¯m not a very smart man. If I figured it out, don¡¯t you think Uncle already knows?" Thorne slumped back in the bed, feeling untethered. His mind raced, trying to process the implications of Sid¡¯s words. He clutched his mother¡¯s pendant tightly, his thoughts spiraling. He calmed himself and started thinking rationally, almost clinically. "If what you say is true, and it probably is... Uncle knows. Of course, he does. I just didn¡¯t want to think about that possibility. But if he knows the truth about me and hasn¡¯t acted, it means he has other plans for me." Thorne¡¯s voice grew cold and calculating as he spoke aloud, trying to unravel Uncle¡¯s schemes. "If you put the man upside down and shake him, more schemes than you can count would fall out of his pockets." Sid looked at him, wide-eyed and bewildered. Thorne didn¡¯t know if it was because he was speaking so openly or because of the cold, detached tone he was using to dissect Uncle¡¯s plans. "It means," Thorne continued, "that I have importance to him. I don¡¯t buy for a second that that calculating, cold-hearted bastard truly cares for me. I¡¯m safe for the moment. Uncle wants power, and for some reason, he thinks I can get it for him. How I¡¯m supposed to accomplish that is a mystery, but I¡¯m sure I¡¯ll find out in time." His unfocused eyes turned sharply to Sid, who was still looking at him in disbelief. "Does anyone in the guild know? My trainers?" Sid shook his head, still somewhat flabbergasted by Thorne¡¯s change. "No, I mean, I don¡¯t think so. Talon might suspect, but she¡¯d probably just think you¡¯re either older than you say or that our training is what made you so powerful." Thorne looked back at the wall, muttering, "Which is partly true." Then he asked, "What about Lock?" Sid¡¯s expression darkened. "He¡¯s no longer a problem." Thorne¡¯s voice was indifferent. "Did he kill him?" Sid shook his head. "Somehow, he was spared, but he was banished for his failure. He was supposed to monitor the trial, but he failed to notice the situation for days. He¡¯s no longer part of the guild." Thorne nodded, still thinking about the implications of Uncle knowing his secret. Did Uncle know his true lineage, or just that he had a core? That was information he needed to uncover. "Good," Thorne finally said, his voice flat. "I never liked the guy." Sid didn¡¯t respond for a moment, then announced, "I¡¯ll be taking over his position." Thorne finally looked at him with a small smile, infusing it with warmth using his Acting skill. "Good." "I think I should fake forming my core," Thorne said, returning to business. "I can¡¯t fake my capabilities endlessly. I¡¯ll eventually slip up, and my skills are growing too fast to hide my progress. Some I can control, but the passive ones are too obvious to an observant person." Sid suddenly broke in, "What level are you, Thorne?" His face was a mask of intensity. Thorne arched an eyebrow and smirked. "What level are you?" "Fifty-one," Sid replied without hesitation, catching Thorne off guard with his honesty. Thorne looked Sid in the eyes. "If you¡¯re 51, then what levels are the other recruits?" Sid remained silent for a moment, clearly displeased with Thorne¡¯s evasion. "I¡¯m the second highest level here. I don¡¯t know Uncle¡¯s exact level, but if my guess is correct, he¡¯s pushing 70." Thorne felt a wave of surprise at that information. He hadn¡¯t expected Uncle to be this high-level. "Full recruits," Sid continued, "are ranging from 25 to 35. Some of the more experienced ones are close to 40. The adventurers and other warriors employed by Uncle are a little higher." Thorne was left speechless. No wonder his training with his fellow recruits felt laughably easy¡ªhe was more in league with his trainers than the recruits. "I thought so," Sid muttered, nodding. "How do you know all that?" Thorne demanded, as the crystal started blinking erratically. "I have an inspection skill," Sid replied, glancing at the crystal in his hand. "Then why don¡¯t you know my level?" Sid looked pointedly at Thorne¡¯s pendant. "Something is blocking my skill, I have already told you that, and if I¡¯m correct, it¡¯s that thing," he said, pointing at the small piece of jewelry Thorne always clutched whenever he was in distress or deep in thought. Thorne looked down at the pendant, newfound appreciation flooding through him. "Okay, now listen up," Sid said urgently. "The ward is about to fail. With Uncle coming here, showing a very public display of support to you, you¡¯ve become the talk of the guild. Which is good and bad. You¡¯ll be monitored every second of the day, with everyone observing your every word, your every move." "Great," Thorne muttered, but Sid cut him off with a stern glare. "They¡¯ll mostly stay away from you, with the constant reminder of what happens to anyone who touches you. But some may choose other ways to harm you, or use you to get in touch with Uncle. Be careful." As the crystal flickered one last time, the aether motes forming the dome around them scattered, no longer giving them privacy. Sid¡¯s voice turned crisp and cold as the ward failed. "I¡¯m your trainer now, Thorne. I¡¯ll keep my eyes on you. Uncle¡¯s orders." Sid stood up, giving Thorne one last glance before saying, "See you tomorrow in training," and leaving the room. Thorne was left alone, the weight of everything he had learned pressing down on him like a heavy blanket. He had a lot to think about, and even more to prepare for. CHAPTER 80 Thorne spent another day in the infirmary, his body still healing from the brutal trial. The woman acting as the healer¡ªstoic and efficient¡ªtended to his wounds with a cold detachment. She didn¡¯t speak much, simply ensuring he was stable before allowing him to leave. When she finally escorted him out, Thorne couldn¡¯t help but feel a sense of unease. The infirmary was situated in the higher levels of the base, a place he had never ventured before. As they walked through the tunnels, Thorne noticed the difference immediately. The passageways were better lit, the green glow from the torches casting an eerie luminescence on the polished walls. Unlike the lower levels, these tunnels were meticulously maintained, with gleaming black marble and granite lining the walls. In some areas, he saw sculpted scenes¡ªcarvings depicting battles, figures of power, and moments of victory. The craftsmanship was surprising, almost out of place in such a brutal environment. The silence between him and the healer was heavy, only broken by the occasional clink of metal from deeper within the tunnels. As they approached the round room with the bridges, Thorne¡¯s eyes were drawn to the intricate network of walkways crisscrossing above and below them. He had always known the room was large, but from this vantage point, it was even more impressive. The room itself, he realized, was a massive air vent for the base, its size and design carefully calculated to serve both form and function. As they descended one of the bridges, an ominous creaking echoed from below. Thorne¡¯s sharp ears picked up on it immediately, and he peered over the edge of the bridge, searching for the source of the sound. When he finally saw it, his heart skipped a beat. Two dark forms were swinging slightly, hanging from thick ropes. It took him a moment to realize that they were the bodies of his torturers, strung up as a grim reminder of the consequences of disobeying Uncle. Thorne stopped, his eyes narrowing as he studied their faces. During the days of his captivity, he had never seen their faces, never known who they were. Now, looking at them, he saw that they weren¡¯t much older than him¡ªperhaps eighteen, nineteen at most. They were barely adults, yet they had inflicted such suffering upon him. He searched for any emotion¡ªanger, sadness, even relief¡ªbut found nothing. They were just empty vessels, and their deaths meant nothing to him. With a careless shrug, Thorne turned to the healer, who had been watching him closely. "Let¡¯s go," he said, his voice steady. She gave a curt nod and continued leading him down the bridges, their footsteps echoing in the vast space. As they descended further, passing from the higher levels into the more familiar lower tunnels, Thorne noticed the stares. Recruits and older cousins¡ªnow known as the Lost Ones¡ªpassed by them, their eyes lingering on him longer than usual. They appeared engrossed in their tasks, but Thorne could feel the weight of their gazes, could sense the curiosity, the fear, the respect that had now become a part of his presence. When they finally reached the bottom floor, Thorne saw a group of recruits from his class waiting. They had clearly heard about his return and were gathered in a loose circle, talking in hushed tones. The moment they spotted him, they fell silent, their eyes wide as they took in his appearance. Thorne¡¯s Mask of Deceit was securely in place, his expression unreadable as he approached them. A small smirk played on his lips as he watched their reactions¡ªsome were fearful, others merely curious. A girl from his class stepped forward hesitantly. He recognized her¡ªCynthia, one of the quieter ones. Her eyes were filled with concern as she looked at him, and after a moment¡¯s hesitation, she asked, "Are you okay?" Thorne followed her gaze upward, to where the bodies of his torturers still swung in the air. He stared at them for a long moment, then looked back at Cynthia. A wide, almost unnerving smile spread across his face, and with a playful wink, he said, "I¡¯m splendid." The girl blinked, clearly taken aback by his response, but before she could say anything more, Thorne walked past her, his steps light and confident. He had no time for their pity or their questions. He had survived, and that was all that mattered. He continued through the tunnels, searching for his friends. The familiar sights and sounds of the base greeted him, but everything felt different somehow. The days of torture, the brush with death, had changed him in ways he was only beginning to understand. But for now, all he wanted was to find his friends, to surround himself with the familiar faces that grounded him. He would deal with everything else later. * Thorne found his friends in their usual spot, a small sitting room that was more like a storage room than a place to relax. When he reached the small sitting room that he and his friends had claimed as their own, he hesitated outside the door. A wave of anxiety washed over him, but he pushed it down, reminding himself that these were his friends, the people he trusted most. Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside. The moment he entered, Vance was on his feet, talking nonstop, his questions rapid and insistent. "Where were you? What happened? Are you okay? Why did they keep you so long?" Thorne could barely keep up with the barrage, his mind still reeling from everything that had happened. But as he tried to answer, Rhea cut in, her concern focused elsewhere. "Thorne, forget about that," she said, her voice serious. "What¡¯s going on with you and Uncle?"A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Thorne raised an eyebrow, surprised by her shift in focus. "You¡¯re more concerned about my ties with Uncle than what I went through?" Rhea laughed, though it was a humorless sound. "If anyone would survive, it would be you, Thorne. I¡¯m not worried about that." Her confidence in him was unsettling, almost dismissive of the torment he¡¯d endured. Before he could respond, Thorne noticed Rielle sitting quietly in the corner, holding her bow. She hadn¡¯t said a word since he entered, her eyes fixed on him with an inscrutable gaze, her face impassive as ever. Thorne felt a flicker of curiosity. Rielle¡¯s ability to remain so emotionless made him wonder if she had already formed her core. Only a skill or a significant level of emotional control could allow someone to mask their feelings so effectively. Her grip on her bow was her only show of emotion. Trying to shift the topic, Thorne asked, "So, what about your trials? How did they go?" The group exchanged glances before Vance spoke up. "We¡¯ve all gone through it," he said, his voice subdued. "Not at the same time, though. The day after we got back from our free day, half the class was missing. It caused a panic, but they all returned after a day or two. Then the rest of us were taken for our own trials." Thorne frowned. "I was gone for so long¡­" "Yeah," Vance nodded. "We noticed. You were the only one who didn¡¯t come back with the rest." Thorne downplayed what had happened to him, giving them an abbreviated rundown of his experience. His Deception and Echoes of Truth skills worked together, helping him sound convincing even as he twisted the truth. Skill level up: Deception! Despite his efforts, he could tell that his friends weren¡¯t entirely convinced. They exchanged uneasy looks, clearly sensing that he wasn¡¯t telling them everything. But they didn¡¯t press him further, perhaps out of respect for what he had been through. That night, they all decided to sleep in the sitting room, the closeness of their group providing a sense of safety and comfort. Thorne wasn¡¯t in the mood to face the stares and whispers of the other recruits, and his friends seemed to understand that. They huddled together, finding solace in each other¡¯s presence, even if they didn¡¯t talk much. As he lay there, staring at the ceiling, Thorne couldn¡¯t help but reflect on how easily the lies had come to him. He had lied to his friends once again, the people he trusted most, and it had felt disturbingly natural. A part of him was unsettled by this, but another part¡ªthe part that had survived the torture¡ªknew it was necessary. The next morning, they got ready and headed to their first class¡ªphysical conditioning. When they arrived, Talon and Sid were waiting for them. The group formed a semi-circle around their instructors, sitting like children waiting for a story. Thorne noticed excited murmurs among his fellow recruits, but he had no idea why. In the far back of the cavernous room, he spotted older recruits going through their daily drills, their movements sharp and precise under the shouts of their own trainers. Talon began talking, introducing Sid as their new instructor. Sid simply nodded, his expression unreadable, but didn¡¯t speak. When one of the guys asked about Lock, Talon silenced him with a glare before continuing. "Earlier today, we had the first recruit from your group form his core." Thorne jolted in surprise, his eyes scanning the familiar faces around him to see who was missing. To his dismay, he noticed that Marcus, the guy that always challenged him, wasn¡¯t there. "He¡¯s being guided through the process by a senior member of the guild," Talon continued. "Given the importance of such an occasion, we thought it was prudent to inform you. It¡¯s a rite of passage for everyone, and we expect your group to start forming their cores soon." Talon stepped back, and Sid took over. "Forming your core is a monumental change for everyone. You stop being children and become adults overnight, with all the responsibilities that come with it. It¡¯s a magical transformation that reveals your true self. And it¡¯s as close to actual magic as one can get. There¡¯s a reason your training is so intense and brutal¡ªyour experiences shape your core. Skills are unlocked, and levels are gained depending on your affinities and your achievements throughout your earlier years. Those excelling in physical feats, for instance, will unlock corresponding skills, and the longer they¡¯ve trained, the more levels they¡¯ll gain. Of course, there¡¯s a cap to the levels one can gain, but anyone gaining a couple of levels would be miles above the rest." Cynthia, the girl who had spoken to Thorne yesterday, raised her hand. Talon nodded, giving her permission to speak. "Will we be gaining character levels as well?" Cynthia asked. Talon shook her head. "Character levels are obtained through experience¡­ through killing." Cynthia frowned, and Sid added, "There is a chance to gain a level or two initially if you¡¯ve unlocked a large number of skills and gain several levels when forming your core, but that is rare." Another boy raised his hand. "But if we have to kill to gain levels, how are we supposed to level up if we¡¯re kept here?" Talon responded with a cold smile. "Those with formed cores will eventually be assigned missions. In those cases, you will have plenty of opportunities to level up¡­ if you don¡¯t die, of course." Sid and Talon shared a look before Sid added, "We also use the catacombs for training." The recruits exchanged confused glances, but when Sid elaborated, silence fell over the group. "You¡¯ve ventured into the catacombs during your survival trial." Horrified expressions spread across the recruits¡¯ faces as they realized Sid was referring to the tunnels full of zombies. Talon stepped in to steer the conversation back on track. "During the formation of your core, you will be accompanied by one of the senior members to guide you through the process and advise you on the best way to build your character sheet. Skills are respected as confidential, but we encourage you to disclose the necessary information to better guide you. There are balances that must be kept depending on your affinities, and without knowing your skills, we won¡¯t be able to help you." Thorne frowned, not fully understanding what they were talking about. In all his years, he had never known about affinities or the importance of balance. He made a mental note to ask Sid about it later. Now that he knew the truth about his situation, he had the chance to fill the gaps in his knowledge. "Now," Sid began, "the moment you feel your core awakening, you are to find us or another member of the guild so we can take you to safety." More frowns appeared among the recruits. Vance was the one to ask the obvious question. "Why? What happens?" "Forming your core is a taxing process for your body," Sid explained. "For the first time, you get in touch with the aether. Our bodies aren¡¯t acclimated to it, to containing the aether inside us. Once you¡¯ve formed your core, your body needs to recuperate, and you¡¯ll be unconscious for a day or two. So, given where we are, it¡¯s better to be in a safe environment than be defenseless and at the mercy of your fellow recruits." Several recruits nodded in agreement. "Now," Talon said, her green eyes sweeping over the group. "Let¡¯s begin your training. I hope our words will incentivize some of you to train harder." CHAPTER 81 The next morning, Thorne was quietly making his bed, his movements methodical as he tried to clear his mind of the lingering tension from the previous days. Beside him, Rielle was tying her hair into a ponytail, her fingers deftly working through the strands. Thorne¡¯s eyes drifted to her hair again and again, finding the simple act oddly soothing. It was a stark contrast to the turmoil still simmering beneath his surface. Next to their bed, Vance was still snoring loudly, sprawled out in a mess of blankets, while Rhea, always an early riser, was yawning and stretching, her short blond hair sticking out wildly on one side. The morning silence was shattered by the sudden bang of the door swinging open. Everyone¡¯s eyes snapped to the entrance as Marcus sauntered in, his posture radiating confidence. The red-haired boy paused for a moment, his gaze sweeping over the room with cold arrogance, it stopped for a moment at Rielle and then moved until it landed on Thorne. His eyes narrowed, and a small, smug smirk played on his lips. He began to approach, each step slow and deliberate, the kind of walk meant to instill fear, to assert dominance. It didn¡¯t work. Thorne remained calm, his expression impassive as Marcus closed the distance between them. As if on cue, Sera and Caelan flanked Marcus, their smug expressions mirroring his. The three of them formed a wall in front of Thorne, attempting to box him in. Marcus leaned in so close that Thorne could feel the heat of his breath, the sickly sweet smell of whatever he had eaten for breakfast. ¡°If I were you, I¡¯d be careful from now on, boy wonder,¡± Marcus hissed, his voice dripping with venom. ¡°The shadows aren¡¯t safe anymore.¡± Thorne met Marcus¡¯ gaze, unimpressed. "Careful? Of what? You?" he scoffed, his voice laced with mockery. "I think I¡¯m more worried about tripping over your ego than anything else." Marcus¡¯ smirk wavered for a moment, replaced by a flash of irritation. "You think this is a joke?" he hissed, stepping even closer, their faces inches apart. "You¡¯ve been strutting around here like you own the place, but you¡¯re nothing more than Uncle¡¯s pet. A little stray he decided to take in." Thorne¡¯s eyes narrowed, his temper flaring. "And you¡¯re what? A lapdog trying to prove you¡¯ve got teeth?" he shot back, his tone ice-cold. "You¡¯re not half as dangerous as you think you are, Marcus. You may have your core now, but you¡¯re still weak." Marcus¡¯ face twisted with fury. "You think I won¡¯t kill you? You think I¡¯m scared? Uncle won¡¯t get a whiff of what happened long after you¡¯re dead." Thorne¡¯s laughter was cold, devoid of any real amusement. "Oh, I don¡¯t doubt you¡¯re stupid enough to try and kill me. It¡¯s just that you¡¯ll die in the process." Thorne leaned in, their noses actually touching now, and he relished the flicker of fear that flashed in Marcus¡¯ eyes. "I don¡¯t need Uncle to protect me," he continued in a low, deadly whisper, ¡°I could gut you right here, right now, and make it look like an accident. But I won¡¯t. Not yet. I find you... amusing.¡± Thorne¡¯s eyes darkened, the amusement fading into something much colder, much crueler. ¡°You see, Marcus,¡± he went on, his tone conversational but with an edge of steel, ¡°you¡¯re nothing but a little insect buzzing around my head. Annoying, sure, but not worth the effort to swat. But if you push me¡ª¡± he paused, letting the threat hang in the air for a moment, ¡°¡ªI¡¯ll crush you. Slowly. And I¡¯ll enjoy every second of it.¡± Marcus clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white as he fought to keep his composure. "You¡¯re a dead man, Thorne. You just don¡¯t know it yet. One of these nights, when you least expect it, I¡¯ll be there. And I¡¯ll make sure you beg for your life before I end it." Thorne¡¯s smile was cold, calculating. "You¡¯re welcome to try," he said softly. "But let me make one thing clear¡ªif you come after me, I¡¯ll make sure you¡¯re the one doing the begging. And I won¡¯t be as merciful as you think." Sera, who had been silently watching the exchange, finally spoke up, her voice dripping with disdain. "You think you¡¯re untouchable because Uncle favors you. But favorites can fall out of favor just as quickly." Thorne turned his gaze on her for a brief moment, but he quickly dismissed her. Sera¡¯s eyes flashed with anger at the casual dismissal but before she could speak up Marcus suddenly lunged forward, shoving Thorne with all his strength. Thorne barely moved, his body rooted in place as Marcus¡¯ power move fell flat. A flicker of confusion crossed Marcus¡¯ face as he realized that his newly formed core had done nothing to shake Thorne. Despite Marcus¡¯ newly formed core, his strength was laughable compared to Thorne¡¯s. With more than 30 levels over him, Marcus was nothing more than a child trying to move a mountain. Thorne¡¯s eyes flashed with a dangerous light, and he leaned in even closer, his voice a cold whisper. ¡°Let me show you something, Marcus. Something Uncle taught me... but better.¡± With a sudden, swift movement, Thorne¡¯s hand shot out, grabbing Marcus by the collar and lifting him off the ground as if he weighed nothing. Marcus¡¯s eyes widened in shock and fear, his hands scrabbling at Thorne¡¯s arm, trying to break free, but it was like trying to pry open a steel trap. ¡°You think you can threaten me?¡± Thorne snarled, his voice low and dangerous. ¡°You¡¯re nothing but a weakling playing at being strong. And I don¡¯t tolerate weakness.¡± With a flick of his wrist, Thorne hurled Marcus backward. Marcus crashed to the ground with a sickening thud, his head bouncing off the rough stone floor. He lay there for a moment, dazed, his hand reaching up to touch the back of his head. When he pulled it away, his fingers were stained with blood. ¡°Not everyone needs a core to beat you into the ground,¡± Thorne sneered, his voice filled with contempt. He turned his back on Marcus, dismissing him as if he were nothing more than a minor inconvenience, and casually returned to making his bed. Marcus struggled to sit up, his face twisted in a mixture of pain and rage. ¡°This isn¡¯t over!¡± he spat, his voice hoarse with fury. Thorne didn¡¯t even bother to look at him as he replied, ¡°Oh, it¡¯s over, Marcus. You just don¡¯t realize it yet.¡± He could feel Rielle shuffle behind him, her hand gripping her bow tightly, ready to defend him if needed. Thorne appreciated the sentiment, even though it was unnecessary. He had no fear of Marcus or his lackeys; they were nothing compared to what he had already endured.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. As they made their way to class, the incident with Marcus was the main topic of conversation among the recruits. Vance, unable to contain his curiosity any longer, blurted out, "How the hell were you able to do that? That guy had a core!" Thorne, waiting in line for the next exercise, gave Vance a playful look. "If you want the answer, come and get it," he teased. Vance rolled his eyes but followed Thorne onto the suspended beam, crouching low with his hands extended. As Thorne walked carefully across, balancing on the balls of his feet, he noticed the deep drop below them. He reached the other side with ease and turned to face an impatient Vance. "Spill," Vance demanded as he reached Thorne, his eyes wide with curiosity. Thorne shrugged casually as they descended the wooden structure for their next exercise. "Training, Vance. Just training. I¡¯ve been at it since I was a little kid." Vance looked at him doubtfully. "Levels aren¡¯t everything," Thorne said, his tone casual. Talon¡¯s sharp voice cut through the chatter. "Go!" she screamed, and Thorne, Vance, and four other recruits took off running. Thorne tempered his speed, allowing two others to pass him by. He executed the jump effortlessly, clearing the obstacle with grace. As he landed, he activated Mask of Deceit, forcing signs of exertion onto his face. He fell onto all fours, crawling under the net as if the exercise was taxing him more than it actually was. He passed one of the other recruits and quickly jumped to his feet the moment he was clear of the net. As he swerved between the vertical logs and began scaling the wooden surface, he couldn¡¯t help but feel a surge of satisfaction. Once he reached the top, he doubled over, taking deep breaths, checking his stamina. He had only lost 30 points¡ªnothing he couldn¡¯t handle. Thorne glanced over at Vance, who was still catching up. His friend¡¯s curiosity was endearing, but Thorne knew that the answers Vance sought were not ones he was ready to share. Not yet, at least. Vance finally reached the top of the wall, panting heavily. He shot Thorne a look, half-annoyed, half-amused. "You¡¯re still not telling me everything," he accused, though his tone was more playful than serious. Thorne just grinned, clapping Vance on the back. "Gotta keep some secrets, right?" he said, his voice light. But beneath the surface, he knew that those secrets were what kept him alive, what kept him ahead of everyone else. As they moved on to the next exercise, Thorne could feel Sid¡¯s eyes on him. During their next class Thorne was paired with Rhea, and their swords clashed in a hypnotic rhythm, the sound of metal meeting metal filling the training hall. Thorne was always glad to have Rhea as his sparring partner¡ªshe was skilled with weapons, especially swords and spears. Each clash, each movement, was met with precision and intent. He couldn¡¯t wait to train with her once she formed her core; she would be a difficult opponent. They both were breathing hard by the end of the class, but a satisfied smile lingered on their faces. As the session ended and Thorne was about to leave, Sid¡¯s barked command stopped him in his tracks. "Thorne! My office, after your last class." Vance was on him the moment they were alone. "What was that about?" he asked, not able to hide his curiosity. Thorne shrugged, honestly having no idea. "No clue. Guess I¡¯ll find out later." The rest of the day passed in a whirlwind, and before long, Thorne found himself in the round room facing two recruits who acted as guards. They immediately let him pass, giving him directions to Sid¡¯s office. Thorne nodded and began his ascent; Sid¡¯s office was five levels above. He was crossing a bridge when a familiar face made him freeze in place. "Eliza?" he murmured, almost not believing his eyes. He hadn¡¯t seen her for so long that, for a moment, he thought she was someone else. But her shoulder-length hair, her cute nose, and her slim figure were unmistakable. Eliza froze as well, her eyes widening in shock as she stared up at him. "Thorne?" she exclaimed, her voice tinged with surprise. "What are you doing here?" Thorne smiled and replied, "Probably the same thing you¡¯re doing." Eliza¡¯s eyes widened even more as she looked between Thorne and her friends, her expression conflicted. The other recruits with her looked at her in question as she seemed to struggle with what to say. A girl by her side tugged at her sleeve, snapping Eliza out of her stupor. "I¡¯m glad to see you, Thorne, but I have to go. We need to get cleaned up before our next training session." She smiled at him, almost embarrassed, showing him her torn cloak and stained clothes. Thorne frowned, noticing her friends were in similar condition. "I¡¯ll come find you later," Eliza said as she waved at him, passing by with her friends. Thorne watched their retreating forms for a moment before continuing on his way. He eventually found Sid¡¯s door and knocked gently. A gruff voice called for him to enter, and he stepped inside. Sid was in the middle of sorting a pile of clothes, which he promptly tossed into a dresser. "Sit," he barked, pointing to a chair. Thorne obeyed, sitting down as he watched Sid rummage through a small trunk, eventually pulling out some socks and an old pair of slippers. It was strange seeing his usually intense trainer doing something so mundane. "Maybe I should come back later," Thorne said, feeling awkward. "Give me a second," Sid replied as he continued sorting through his belongings. After a few moments, he pulled out a bottle of red liquor and sat opposite Thorne. "Want some?" he asked, offering the bottle. Thorne shook his head, growing more confused by the second. Sid took a long swig, sighing in pleasure. "I hate teaching," he finally exclaimed. "Good to hear it," Thorne retorted. Sid shrugged, slumping back in his chair. "One kid is my limit. Having so many running around is exhausting." Thorne nodded, understanding the man¡¯s sentiment. During their classes, Sid constantly had to yell at the other recruits, making sure they didn¡¯t accidentally¡ªor intentionally¡ªkill each other. "Thorne," Sid said with complete seriousness. "You¡¯ve got to fake forming your core. Immediately." Thorne sat up straight, alarmed. "What?" Sid looked at him with judging eyes. "You suck at faking being weak. It¡¯s as clear as day! The other recruits might not notice, but the older ones will figure it out soon. I¡¯m pretty sure Talon suspects; she¡¯s just too scared to say anything in case Uncle gets involved." "Crap," Thorne muttered. "What now? When should I do it? Tonight? Tomorrow?" Panic began to set in. Sid shook his head, his expression grim. "It¡¯s not that simple." "Why?" Thorne demanded. "When a core is formed, the aether around the person becomes agitated¡ªa maelstrom of magic, obvious to everyone. We need to fake that somehow. I¡¯m already searching for an item that could mimic the effects, but finding a magical item in Alvar is difficult and time-consuming." Sid put the bottle by his feet and massaged his temples. "What a clusterfuck," he muttered. Thorne¡¯s mind raced. The clear problem to solve made him calm, his thoughts focusing on finding a solution. As his panic eased, the solution became obvious. The only question was whether he trusted Sid enough to reveal his skills. So far, the man had protected him, but Thorne hadn¡¯t forgotten the times Sid had let information slip to Uncle, whether with good intentions or not. "What?" Sid asked, frowning as he noticed Thorne looking at him with an inscrutable gaze. Thorne didn¡¯t respond, his mind still wrestling with the decision. "You have that look on your face again," Sid said, narrowing his eyes. "That cold, calculating look, like you¡¯re deciding whether to kill me or leave me to die in a hole." Thorne¡¯s eyebrows rose in surprise, and he huffed a laugh. "I wasn¡¯t thinking of killing you,¡± he paused, staring intently at his trainer, ¡°just whether I should trust you." It was Sid¡¯s turn to be surprised. "Well? What¡¯s your decision?" Thorne stood up, his expression unreadable. "Undecided," he replied curtly. "I¡¯ll fake my core when the next recruit goes through the transformation." He moved to the door, his hand on the handle, but paused as Sid spoke again. "Just so you know, that look¡ªyou¡¯ve got it down pat. It¡¯s eerily similar to the one Uncle has when he¡¯s hatching his plans." Thorne didn¡¯t respond. He simply opened the door and walked out, leaving Sid alone with his thoughts. CHAPTER 82 Thorne was heading back to his sleeping quarters between classes when he saw her¡ªEliza, standing in the narrow corridor just outside the entrance. Her posture was stiff, her eyes scanning the faces of passing recruits. The moment she spotted him, a mix of emotions flashed across her face: relief, tension, and something else he couldn¡¯t quite place. He wasn¡¯t alone; Rielle, Vance, and Rhea were with him, chatting about their recent training session. As they approached, Rielle¡¯s eyes narrowed at the sight of Eliza, her demeanor immediately shifting from relaxed to wary. "Thorne," Eliza called, stepping forward with a tentative smile. "Eliza," he greeted her, surprised to see her waiting for him. Before he could say more, he noticed Rielle bristling beside him, her gaze hardening as she eyed Eliza. "Who¡¯s this?" Rielle asked, her tone sharp. Thorne introduced them, but it was clear from the tension in the air that the two girls weren¡¯t going to get along. The dislike between them was immediate, like two predators sizing each other up. Rielle¡¯s hand twitched toward her bow, a subconscious gesture of readiness, while Eliza¡¯s stance remained calm, though her eyes flashed with challenge. Eliza didn¡¯t waste time on pleasantries. "Can we talk, Thorne?" she asked, her voice steady but carrying an undercurrent of urgency. Rielle stepped closer to Thorne, as if to assert her place at his side, but Thorne nodded to Eliza. "Sure," he said, glancing at Rielle. "I¡¯ll catch up with you guys later." Rielle opened her mouth as if to protest, but Thorne gave her a look that silenced her. She huffed and turned on her heel, leading the others away, though not without a final glare in Eliza¡¯s direction. Eliza waited until they were out of earshot before leading Thorne down a quieter corridor, away from the bustle of the base. They found a secluded spot near one of the lesser-used passageways, where the noise of the training halls was a distant murmur. "How have you been?" she asked once they were alone, her voice softening. "Better than before," Thorne replied, leaning against the cold stone wall. "And you?" Eliza sighed, a heavy sound that carried the weight of the past year. "I¡¯ve been... managing. It¡¯s been a year now since I joined the guild. They keep me busy, mostly out on missions." Thorne frowned. "That explains why I couldn¡¯t find you before... before all this." He gestured vaguely around them, indicating the base, the guild, the life they were now entrenched in. Eliza nodded, her expression guarded. "Yes. After the first year of training, they send us on missions regularly. It¡¯s how they test us, see if we¡¯re really cut out for this life." "What kind of missions?" Thorne asked, his curiosity piqued. At this, Eliza grew cagey, her eyes darting away from his. "I can¡¯t really talk about it, Thorne. We¡¯re not supposed to reveal the details of our missions to anyone outside our group." Thorne¡¯s unease deepened. There was a secretive, almost haunted look in her eyes that he hadn¡¯t noticed before. It made him wonder just what kind of things she had been through while he was still on the outside, unaware of the guild¡¯s reach. "These missions," Eliza continued, her voice low, "they¡¯re not just tests of skill. They push you, force you to confront parts of yourself you didn¡¯t even know existed. Sometimes... sometimes they break you." Thorne nodded slowly, understanding dawning on him. "I¡¯ve been through something similar," he admitted. "The trials they put me through¡ªit was more than just survival. They wanted to see what I was made of, how far I could go before I broke. And I came close, Eliza. Closer than I¡¯d like to admit." Eliza looked at him, her expression softening with empathy. "What did they make you do?" Thorne hesitated for a moment before responding. "They trapped me in a room for days, tortured me to the brink of death. It was a test, a sick, twisted test to see if I¡¯d betray the guild. I didn¡¯t even know it was a trial until it was over." Eliza¡¯s eyes widened, her hand reaching out to touch his arm. "Thorne, that¡¯s... I¡¯m so sorry." Thorne shook his head, trying to push the memories away. "I survived. But it changed me. Made me see things about myself I wish I hadn¡¯t." They fell into a heavy silence, both lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Eliza spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "I¡¯ve had to kill people, Thorne. Not just in self-defense, but because it was my mission. I¡¯ve taken lives because I was ordered to. And now... I can¡¯t stand to look at our friends. Darius, Ben, Jonah¡ªthey don¡¯t know what it¡¯s like to have blood on their hands. But I do." Thorne was taken aback by her confession. He had seen death, inflicted it even, but it had never occurred to him to feel ashamed in front of his friends because of it. The life they led didn¡¯t allow for such sentiments, or so he had thought. "Eliza," he began slowly, "I¡¯ve killed people too. That doesn¡¯t mean I have to turn away from my friends." She shook her head, a bitter smile on her lips. "It¡¯s different, Thorne. I wasn¡¯t just defending myself or fighting for survival. These missions... they make you do things. Terrible things. And now, I¡¯m not the same person I was. I¡¯m a killer, Thorne. A trained assassin." Thorne¡¯s mind raced as he tried to grasp the full weight of her words. He had been learning to kill, to fight, to survive, but there was something about Eliza¡¯s tone that suggested her experiences were far darker than his own. "So what?" he challenged gently. "Does that mean you have to cut yourself off from the people who care about you? From those who understand?" Eliza looked down, her expression conflicted. "Maybe," she whispered. "Or maybe I¡¯m just afraid. Afraid of what I¡¯ve become." Thorne reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, his touch firm but reassuring. "We all have to live with what we¡¯ve done, Eliza. But that doesn¡¯t mean we have to do it alone." Eliza¡¯s gaze met his, her eyes searching his face for any hint of judgment. "I don¡¯t know, Thorne. I killed because I was ordered to, but it¡¯s different for you. You¡¯ve killed to survive, to protect yourself." Thorne hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest as he wrestled with his own demons. Finally, he forced himself to speak the truth. "No, Eliza. It¡¯s not always been about survival. There were times... times when I killed because I wanted to. Because I was angry. Because I felt like it. This place... it¡¯s changed me. It¡¯s revealed parts of myself I never wanted to know existed." Eliza¡¯s eyes widened in shock, but Thorne continued, his voice low and filled with a quiet intensity. "I¡¯m not proud of it, but it¡¯s the truth. I¡¯ve done things¡ªhorrible things¡ªthat I can¡¯t take back. And I¡¯ve felt a darkness inside me that scares me more than anything else."This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. Eliza looked at him, her expression softening with understanding. "Maybe that¡¯s why we need our friends more than ever. To remind us of who we were before all this. To help us hold on to what¡¯s left of our humanity." Thorne nodded, the weight of his confession lifting slightly. "You¡¯re right. We can¡¯t do this alone." They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of their conversation hanging in the air between them. Eventually, Eliza looked up, her eyes meeting Thorne¡¯s. "Maybe you¡¯re right," she said softly. "Maybe it¡¯s time I stop running from them. From myself." Thorne nodded. "The next time we both have a free day, let¡¯s go together to see them. They¡¯ve missed you, Eliza. And I think you¡¯ll find that they¡¯re stronger than you think. Just like you." A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips, the first genuine smile he had seen from her since they had met up. "Alright," she agreed. "We¡¯ll go together." They talked for hours, just like before, before their life changed. They talked about their friends, their enemies, the trials they had been through and what they hoped one day they would achieve. Thorne never made it to his classes that day. He enjoyed the company of his old friend, and those moments softened something inside him that had been turning hard and brittle. * The next few days passed in a haze of tension for Thorne. Every moment felt like it stretched on endlessly, his nerves frayed as he waited for the next recruit to form their core. The anticipation gnawed at him, making him restless and irritable. He was hyper-aware of Sid¡¯s watchful gaze, ever-present, scrutinizing his every move. The constant surveillance felt suffocating. Adding to his unease was Rielle. For reasons unknown to him, she had grown distant, her demeanor cool and aloof. Her usual warmth was replaced with sharp jabs and pointed remarks, delivered with her characteristic impassive face. Her behavior didn¡¯t help his mood. Then, finally, during their morning class, it happened. Thorne had been practicing his sword strikes when he heard a startled yelp. He turned quickly, his eyes locking onto Jareth, a tall, black-haired recruit who usually kept to himself. Jareth¡¯s spear clattered to the ground, forgotten as he stood frozen, his eyes wide with shock. Around them, the other recruits began to murmur excitedly, the realization spreading like wildfire¡ªJareth was forming his core. Thorne¡¯s breath hitched as he felt it¡ªthe strange vibrations that filled the room, as if an invisible wind had swept through, disturbing the very air around them. Jareth¡¯s black hair whipped about his face, his expression stark and transfixed, as though he were caught in a trance. Without hesitation, Thorne activated his Aether Vision. It was as if a veil had been lifted from his eyes; the world around him exploded into a kaleidoscope of colors. His gaze honed in on Jareth, watching intently as the aether motes swarmed around him in a chaotic dance. The scene was mesmerizing. The motes appeared to attack Jareth, crashing into him like waves against a cliff, their loose shapes forming and reforming in a futile attempt to penetrate his body. Each time they were repelled, only to regroup and try again. This constant push and pull created ripples in the surrounding aether, giving rise to the unsettling sensation of an invisible wind tearing through the room. Thorne¡¯s mind worked furiously, his eyes capturing every detail, every movement of the motes as they circled and collided with Jareth. He seared the image into his memory, committing every nuance to mind so that he could replicate it later. This was his moment¡ªhis opportunity to finally fake his core formation. It had to be perfect. Just as he was absorbing the last details, Talon moved swiftly. She grabbed Jareth by the arm and began guiding him out of the room. The boy was unresponsive, his body moving mechanically as if he were in a deep trance, oblivious to everything around him. Thorne felt a pang of dismay as they disappeared from sight. He wished he could have observed the process longer, but he knew he had seen enough. It had to be enough. His eyes flicked across the room, meeting Sid¡¯s. The older man¡¯s expression was unreadable, but Thorne caught the slight nod of acknowledgment. It was time. He was ready to form his core. * Thorne''s mind raced as he made his way through the base, heading towards a secluded area where he could enact his plan. His heart pounded with a mix of anxiety and anticipation. He had spent countless hours replaying the image of Jareth in his mind. Now, it was his turn to put it all to the test. He found a small chamber, dimly lit and rarely used, a perfect spot for what he needed to do. Thorne took a deep breath, his nerves tingling with the awareness that this was a critical moment. He closed his eyes and activated his Aether Vision once more, drawing on the memory of Jareth¡¯s core formation. The colorful motes swirled in his mind, their movements ingrained in his consciousness. This was it. The moment he would fake the process that so many others had gone through naturally. But he was different¡ªhis core had already formed long ago, a secret he had to keep hidden from everyone, even those closest to him. Thorne focused, gathering the aether within him. He had to simulate the violent reaction of the motes, the clash and resistance, the visible struggle of forming a core. His mind reached out, shaping the motes around him, trying to create the illusion of chaos, the visible conflict of the aether trying to invade his body. But it wasn¡¯t as simple as he had hoped. The motes moved, but not with the erratic energy he needed. They danced in the air, but they lacked the ferocity, the intensity that marked a true core formation. ¡°Come on,¡± he muttered under his breath, frustration building. He could manipulate aether, but this was something entirely different. He needed to make it believable, make it look real. But no matter how hard he tried, the aether refused to obey, slipping through his grasp like water. His thoughts raced, desperation clawing at him. If this didn¡¯t work, if he couldn¡¯t fake this, everything would fall apart. His secret would be exposed, and Uncle would know everything. Panic began to set in, the cold tendrils of fear wrapping around his heart. Then, suddenly, an idea struck him. Aether Burst. It was a skill he had barely used, a surge of aether released all at once. Usually, it was a concentrated blast of aether, but this time, he had to manipulate it to spread over a wide radius. It was risky, but it might just be enough to create the effect he needed. The skill had a fixed intensity, but Thorne needed small bursts of energy to achieve the correct display. Thorne steadied his breathing, his mind calming as he focused on the aether around him. Slowly, deliberately, he gathered it, feeling the power build, the energy swirling. He could feel the pressure mounting, the aether straining against his control. On his first attempt, he let out a burst, but the intensity was too high¡ªit shot across the chamber, cracking the wall opposite him with a loud bang. Thorne winced but quickly reined it in, manipulating the subsequent bursts with more precision. Slowly, he managed to control the energy, releasing small bursts that created the chaotic storm of motes he needed. The motes swirled around him, the invisible wind returning, whipping through the room. It wasn¡¯t perfect, but it was close¡ªclose enough to mimic what he had seen with Jareth. Thorne gritted his teeth, focusing on maintaining the illusion. He let out a gasp, feigning the struggle, his body trembling as if under immense strain. The motes swarmed him, just as they had done with Jareth, only this time, they didn¡¯t repel. Instead, they seemed to merge with him, drawn into his body by the force of his aether. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the storm began to subside. The motes calmed, settling around him, their energy dimming. Thorne let out a shaky breath, his body trembling with exhaustion, but his mind sharp and alert. Skill level up: Aether Burst! It was done. He was ready to fake his core formation. That night, Thorne returned to his sleeping quarters, nerves still on edge. As the recruits settled in for sleep, he knew it was the perfect time to complete the ruse. He used his skills¡ªDeception, Acting, and Mask of Deceit¡ªall working together to replicate the signs he had observed during Jareth¡¯s transformation. He gasped loudly, his body convulsing slightly as if under immense strain. His face contorted in feigned pain, his breath ragged as he acted out the struggle of a core forming within him. He released small bursts of aether, creating a small maelstrom around him. His hair whipped around and the small objects strewn across the floor rattled. He heard the murmurs around him as the other recruits noticed the change. The sensation of aether swirling within him was real, but the visible struggle was all an act. Just as he had hoped, Sid appeared in the doorway, his expression a perfect blend of urgency and control. ¡°Move!¡± Sid barked at the other recruits, who quickly scrambled out of the way. He grabbed Thorne by the arm, pulling him out of the room as the door closed behind them. In the hallway, Sid leaned in close, whispering, ¡°Good job.¡± Thorne let out a shaky breath, his heart still pounding from the performance. He had done it. He had faked his core formation, and no one was the wiser. At least, he hoped. CHAPTER 83 Three year later Three years had passed since Thorne had finally been allowed to use his skills freely. The brutal training and deadly trials had never let up, leaving only 21 recruits still standing. Thorne had played his part in thinning the herd, having killed two of his classmates. Both had tried to kill him first, but his response had been swift, merciless¡ªexactly as he¡¯d been taught. Their new skills had made the remaining recruits even more dangerous, and for the first few months, nearly everyone had tried to kill each other. Cliques had formed, lines drawn in the sand, and every group had attempted to wipe out the others. Thorne and his friends had mostly been spared¡ªno one dared to challenge him directly. Even Marcus, who had grown bolder with time, seemed hesitant to launch an outright attack. But Thorne knew Marcus was plotting something; he could always be found whispering in dark corners with his two accomplices, Sera and Caelan. Despite the tension, Thorne¡¯s skills had progressed, though his character level had stagnated. The lack of frequent combat had stunted his growth, and he had managed to gain only a handful of levels. Opportunities for real battle were scarce; the occasional dive into the catacombs was too few and far between to make a difference. When given a free day, Thorne preferred to spend it with his friends rather than hunting in the wilderness. But recently, things had started to pick up. The guild had begun sending them on missions, and for the first time in a while, Thorne had the chance to kill again. As he chewed thoughtfully on his dinner, he found himself oddly disturbed by the realization that the thought of killing brought him a strange satisfaction. What¡¯s wrong with me? he wondered briefly, before the thought was interrupted. "What''s wrong, honey?" Matilda asked with a small smile, her hand propping up her chin as she watched him. "Do you need to go to the toilet?" Thorne huffed a laugh, the morbid thoughts dissipating as if they¡¯d never been there. "Nah, I was just thinking about something," he replied, spearing another piece of the tender lamb Matilda had prepared for him as a farewell gift. "You¡¯ve outdone yourself once more," he added with a satisfied moan as the meat practically melted in his mouth. Matilda beamed with pride. "Wait until you see what I have for dessert!" Thorne¡¯s eyes lit up with anticipation. "Don¡¯t tell me..." he began, his voice trailing off in excitement. Matilda¡¯s smile widened as she stood up and crossed the empty kitchen. She grabbed a checkered towel and carefully retrieved a blueberry pie. Thorne laughed in delight, his mouth already watering. "Woman, you are spoiling me rotten!" Matilda placed the pie in front of him, and Thorne dived in immediately, momentarily forgetting all about the lamb. "Someone has to," she muttered. "If it were up to me, I¡¯d lock you in this manor and never let you out." Thorne hummed in amusement, his mouth full of pie. "Promises, promises," he teased. When he swallowed, he looked at her more seriously. "You didn¡¯t have to do all this, you know. You didn¡¯t have to stay up so late." With a teasing smile, he added, "Your husband must be lonely," waggling his eyebrows suggestively. As expected, Matilda blushed furiously and swatted at him with her towel. "You fiend!" she exclaimed, but then her expression softened into something more serious. "It¡¯s your first time out of the city," she said quietly, her voice lowering into a whisper. "Those missions could be dangerous. I worry..." She bit her lip, and Thorne saw the genuine fear in her eyes¡ªnot fear of him, but for him. His heart skipped an irregular beat, the unusual sensation catching him off guard. He reached across the table and took her hand, meeting her gaze with an intensity that made her breath hitch. "Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll be fine," Thorne said, his voice firm yet gentle. "I¡¯ll be cautious." Matilda nodded, but the worry in her eyes didn¡¯t dissipate. Thorne released her hand, feeling a strange need to distance himself, as if continuing to touch her would somehow taint their pure relationship¡ªone of the very few he still held onto. "Uncle has trained me well," he said, letting the words hang in the air before adding, "too well. I won¡¯t be in any danger." Matilda looked at him as if he were still a small child, needing her protection. "Your friends will be with you to protect you, right?" she asked, her voice tinged with motherly concern. Thorne rolled his eyes, a slight smirk playing on his lips. "Only Rhea will be coming. Jareth and another guy¡ªyou don¡¯t know him." Matilda¡¯s eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What about your girlfriend?" she demanded. Thorne sighed in resignation. "I told you, she¡¯s not my girlfriend. She¡¯s..." He hesitated, frowning as he tried to find the right words. What exactly was Rielle to him? A friend? Something more? It was true that over the past year, their relationship had shifted, with them spending most nights alone in their secret room. But he couldn¡¯t exactly call it a relationship, not in the traditional sense. The dark, deadly tunnels of the guild weren¡¯t the place for such things. "Whatever she is," Matilda pressed, "why won¡¯t she be there to protect you?" Thorne slumped back in his chair, exasperation creeping into his posture. It hadn¡¯t crossed Matilda¡¯s mind that he was the one protecting his friends, not the other way around. "We don¡¯t choose which missions to take; we¡¯re simply assigned," he explained, trying to keep his tone patient. "Rielle just returned from her own. Vance as well."This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. Matilda bristled, planting her fists on her hips in a show of defiance. "I should go talk to Uncle about this. How are you supposed to go into danger without someone trusted to¡ª" Thorne sat up abruptly, his voice turning cold and definite. "You will do no such thing!" he snapped, surprising Matilda with the force of his words. Feeling guilty, he softened his tone and continued, "What I mean is, Uncle shouldn¡¯t be bothered with such trivial things." Matilda nodded, though her eyes remained unsettled. The two of them sat in silence, Thorne finishing his meal while Matilda watched him, her presence comforting yet tinged with unspoken fears. "Enough with the food," she said after a while, breaking the silence. "Even though your appetite for my cooking is endearing, you¡¯ve had enough. You ate with Uncle earlier too¡ªyou¡¯ll explode if you eat any more." Thorne burped and nodded, rubbing his full stomach. "You¡¯re right," he admitted, stifling a yawn. "I¡¯ll pack the rest of the food for your journey," Matilda offered, but Thorne was already half-asleep, his eyes drooping as exhaustion crept in. "You shouldn¡¯t have gone out tonight," Matilda chastised gently. "You have to get up early!" "I had to say goodbye to my friends," Thorne defended himself, his words slurred with drowsiness. "Now shoo," Matilda said, waving her towel at him playfully, though there was concern in her eyes. "I¡¯ll have Maria wake you an hour before dawn. Go rest!" Thorne dodged her towel with a grin, then leaned in to give her a warm hug. "Thank you," he whispered, the sincerity in his voice clear as he kissed her on the cheek. Matilda hugged him back, her own voice soft and full of worry. "Be careful," she whispered. Thorne nodded, feeling a warmth in his chest that he hadn¡¯t felt in a long time. He stepped back, giving her one last smile before turning and walking out, Thorne walked down the grand hallway of the manor, his footsteps echoing off the polished marble floors. The opulent surroundings had become familiar to him, almost like a second home. When he wasn¡¯t in the guild, this manor was where he spent his time, indulging in the luxuries that Uncle¡¯s wealth afforded. Tonight was no different. After spending the evening with Matilda, Thorne headed to his room, the one reserved for him every time he left the cold, dark corridors of the guild. The room was lavishly appointed, a stark contrast to the harsh, brutal world he had grown accustomed to. The walls were paneled with rich, dark wood, and heavy velvet drapes hung from the tall windows, their deep navy color adding warmth to the space. A massive four-poster bed dominated the room, its frame carved with intricate designs of mythical creatures, and the silk sheets shimmered in the soft glow of the ornate chandelier overhead. A thick, plush rug covered the floor, its intricate patterns a blend of deep blues and golds, and a large fireplace crackled gently, casting flickering shadows that danced across the room. A gilded mirror stood against one wall, reflecting the opulence of the space, and a grand armoire, inlaid with mother-of-pearl, held his belongings. Staying at the manor, eating meals, and talking with Uncle had become the new normal for him. But as he entered his room and closed the door behind him, the slight smile that had lingered on his face faded away. The moment he was alone, the Mask of Deceit that he wore so effortlessly slipped away, revealing the cold, impassive expression that had been molded during the years of brutal training. His face, now devoid of any warmth or emotion, was a true reflection of what he had become. Thorne began to change out of his clothes, his movements efficient and practiced, as his mind drifted back to the upcoming mission. He calculated the variables and potential threats with the same precision he applied to everything else. The fact that Rhea was joining him was not reassuring; if anything, it had him on edge. Things had changed, and trust was a luxury he no longer afforded anyone in the guild¡ªnot Rhea, not Vance, not even... Rielle. Jareth, on the other hand, was the one person Thorne didn¡¯t worry about. The man was too honorable for his own good, a trait that in any other context might have been admirable. In Darius, that quality had been a strength, something to be respected. But in Jareth, it was a liability, a weakness that could get them all killed. And then there was the other guy, Corwin, the one Thorne instinctively knew would be a problem. The name left a bitter taste in Thorne¡¯s mouth. Corwin was a threat, and Thorne was certain that he was planning to kill him during the mission. The thought didn¡¯t frighten him; it simply meant he had to be prepared. As he packed his things for the journey, his eyes caught his reflection in the gilded mirror across the room. The small pendant around his neck glinted in the firelight, drawing his attention. He paused, staring at his reflection, and for a moment, he allowed himself to reflect on how much he had changed¡ªboth physically and emotionally. The boy who had once been full of life and curiosity was long gone, replaced by a young man who had been shaped by violence and survival. He had grown into his looks, becoming strikingly handsome, with sharp, angular features that gave him a predatory air. His dark hair fell in loose waves around his face, and his eyes, a piercing blue, were cold and calculating, always watching, always assessing. His body had filled out with lean muscle, the result of endless hours of training, and his skin, once fair, now carried a subtle, otherworldly glow¡ªa faint reminder of what he truly was beneath the human facade. Thorne stepped closer to the mirror, his hand reaching up to grasp the pendant around his neck. The small, seemingly insignificant piece of jewelry was more than just an accessory; it was a tool, a weapon that he had learned to wield with deadly precision. He focused on the aether coursing through the pendant, allowing himself to take control of its flow. Slowly, he decreased its output, letting just a small glimpse of his true self seep through. The change was subtle but unmistakable. His features became more refined, his eyes more intense, their color shifting to a brighter, more unnatural shade of blue. His skin took on a slight luminescence, and his presence in the room seemed to grow, becoming more commanding, more magnetic. This was who he truly was, beneath the layers of deception and disguise. Thorne had learned to use this ability to his advantage, to let a hint of his true nature slip through whenever he needed to seduce or unbalance someone. He loathed using his looks and his secret heritage for such things, but he had come to understand that in this world, any weapon, no matter how distasteful, was worth wielding. With a sigh, Thorne released his hold on the pendant, allowing the aether to resume its normal flow. His features returned to their usual handsome but human appearance, and the room seemed to shrink back to its original size. He turned away from the mirror, the weight of his reality settling heavily on his shoulders once more. He finished preparing for the journey, his movements automatic as his mind continued to churn with thoughts of the mission ahead. Finally, with everything in place, he slipped under the silk sheets of the massive bed, the softness of the mattress doing little to ease the tension coiled within him. Thorne stared up at the canopy, the flickering light from the fireplace casting shadows across the ceiling. He knew sleep would come, but not easily. The world he lived in now was one of constant danger, where every step could be his last. But that was the life he had chosen, and he would navigate it with the same cold, calculated precision that had kept him alive this long. With a final sigh, Thorne closed his eyes, letting the exhaustion of the day and the weight of his thoughts pull him into a restless sleep. CHAPTER 84 Thorne awoke at the break of dawn, the first light of morning filtering through the heavy curtains of his opulent room. He stretched, feeling the stiffness of sleep in his muscles, then swung his legs over the side of the bed. He dressed quickly, slipping into his travel clothes and packing a small bag with a few essentials¡ªitems carefully chosen for their utility and concealment. The only thing he was careful about, wrapping it with a thick towel, was a small vial. He slung the bag over his shoulder and made his way out, quietly exiting through the kitchen where Matilda was already hard at work. "Leaving so soon?" Matilda asked, glancing up from a pot she was stirring. Thorne offered her a brief smile. "Duty calls." He said picking up her small package of food and placing it inside his bag. "Be safe," she said, her eyes lingering on him with a motherly concern that made his chest tighten ever so slightly. The other staff members barely glanced his way as he passed, accustomed to his comings and goings at odd hours. He stepped outside into the crisp morning air, the sky painted with the soft hues of dawn. The sun was just beginning to peak over the horizon as he made his way to the designated meeting point at the Old District . As he approached the abandoned square, he could already see Jareth, Corwin, and Rhea waiting for him. Jareth nodded in greeting, his expression as calm and unflappable as ever. Corwin, on the other hand, barely acknowledged Thorne¡¯s presence, his shifty eyes darting around the square as if he expected danger to spring from the shadows at any moment. He was almost hopping in place, his nervous energy palpable¡ªlike a rat cornered in a trap. Rhea spotted Thorne and greeted him with a teasing smile. "Was your luxurious bed too comfortable to part with?" she asked, her tone light, but with an undercurrent that Thorne couldn¡¯t quite place. Thorne had already activated his skill, Mask of Deceit, as he did every day now. He smirked, the expression practiced and easy. "No, but the breakfast was," he replied, the lie slipping from his lips without effort. "What in the blasted dead gods are we waiting for?" Corwin grumbled, his voice tight with impatience. Jareth, who had taken a seat on a low, crumbling wall, replied calmly, "For our handler. Is this your first time?" Corwin¡¯s pacing grew more frantic as he looked around the deserted square. "Of course not! But the other times, I wasn¡¯t kept waiting in broad daylight!" Thorne rolled his eyes and sat next to Jareth, pulling his bag onto his lap. He rummaged through it and pulled out the remaining slice of blueberry pie. As he bit into it, he noticed Rhea watching him. He held out the pie toward her. "Want some?" he asked through a mouthful of pie. Rhea shook her head, her expression unreadable, before she turned away. Thorne shrugged and continued savoring the delicious pie, enjoying the last bit of normalcy before the mission began in earnest. Suddenly, Corwin¡¯s voice rang out, sharp with tension. "They¡¯re coming!" He pointed down a long, deserted street lined with rundown buildings. Thorne wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood up, peering in the direction Corwin indicated. The first thing he noticed was the sound¡ªthe slow, steady clop of hooves against the cracked pavement. Then he saw the cart, an old, rickety thing drawn by a stubborn-looking donkey. The cart creaked and groaned as it rolled closer, piled high with wooden crates. A wizened old man sat at the front, hunched over with age, his few remaining hairs white as snow. His back was bowed, and he seemed more a part of the cart than its driver. "Are you sure that¡¯s him?" Jareth wondered aloud, his tone skeptical. The cart drew closer, and they could see a pair of dusty boots propped up on a crate in the back. Someone was lounging there, completely at ease. Thorne¡¯s hand instinctively drifted to the small of his back, where a blade was hidden beneath his coat, ready for a fight. The others tensed as well, their eyes locked on the approaching cart. Just as the cart came to a stop in front of them, a familiar face popped up from the back of the cart. Sid barked out a command in his gruff voice. "What the hell are you waiting for? Get in!" They all jumped slightly at his sudden appearance and tone but obeyed without hesitation. Thorne climbed up onto the cart, finding a seat among the crates. As he settled in, a strong, fishy smell assaulted his senses, making him grimace. "What am I sitting on?" he muttered. Sid chuckled from his spot at the front. "Salted fish," he replied, banging on the wood behind his head. The cart jolted forward as the donkey started moving again, and they were off. A few moments passed in relative silence, broken only by the creaking of the cart and the occasional muttered curse from Corwin. Corwin squirmed in his seat, his restless energy almost unbearable as his fingers drummed nervously on the wood beneath him. Finally, unable to contain his curiosity, "So, what¡¯s our mission?" he asked, his voice tight with impatience. Sid groaned, pulling the hood of his cloak lower over his eyes. "No questions. You¡¯ll be briefed when necessary. Now let me sleep¡ªI had a rough night." Thorne caught the unmistakable scent of alcohol wafting from Sid¡¯s direction and smirked to himself. Corwin looked like he wanted to argue, but wisely thought better of it and kept his mouth shut. With nothing else to do, the four of them settled into an uneasy silence Jareth immediately hunched against a crate and closed his eyes, seemingly unbothered by the uncomfortable conditions. Corwin, however, couldn¡¯t sit still, his head constantly swiveling as if expecting an attack at any moment. Rhea sat with her back straight, staring ahead, her expression unreadable. Thorne took out the last bit of his pie, finishing it off as he let his gaze drift to the passing scenery. This part of the city was a ghost town, remnants of elven architecture barely visible beneath layers of decay and neglect. Once-beautiful buildings and intricate decorations had crumbled, replaced by ugly, rundown structures made of stone and wood. Weeds sprouted from the cracked pavement, and dirt clung stubbornly to every surface. The cart creaked and groaned with every bump, sending uncomfortable jolts through Thorne¡¯s body. As they finally exited the city and moved onto the dirt road, the journey became somewhat smoother. They passed by scattered farms, fields of crops stretching out on either side, and herds of Alvar sheep dotting the landscape. Thorne recognized the sight of the sheep¡ªprized for their durable wool, a key bargaining chip Uncle had used to secure a deal with Lord Durnell.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. They traveled for three days, stopping only at night to sleep. Fortunately, they didn¡¯t encounter any beasts, though the distant howls of wolves echoed through the darkness each night, keeping them on edge. Sid had chosen a less-traveled road, avoiding the nearby villages and ensuring their journey remained discreet. They crossed paths with a traveler only once, a solitary figure who gave them a wide berth and quickly disappeared down a side path. The journey was far from enjoyable. Corwin¡¯s incessant fidgeting and complaints grew more irritating by the hour, and by the second day, Sid had taken to yelling at him every few hours, threatening to make him walk the rest of the way. The tension between Rhea and Thorne added to the discomfort, a silent strain that Thorne couldn¡¯t quite place. By the second day, even Thorne found himself growing restless. On the first day, after cresting a hill, Thorne caught sight of the small town of Netherton in the distance. It was the nearest big settlement to Alvar, serving as a resting spot for travelers heading to the city. They didn¡¯t stop there, instead circling the town and continuing on their way. On the third day, they passed a larger town, Rookhaven, where the road became congested with carts, horses, and people all heading toward the town¡¯s gates. The bustling activity slowed their progress. What gave Thorne pause, however, was the sensation of the aether. The further they traveled from Alvar, the more he could feel it¡ªlike a dam had broken, and the aether motes were steadily increasing in density. Whenever he activated his aether vision, the sheer volume of motes disoriented him, as if the very air was alive with energy. As they left the bustling town behind and entered a dense forest, the aether spiked to an almost palpable level. Thorne could feel it on his skin, a tingling sensation that made his hair stand on end. The donkey that had been so placid during the journey began to huff in agitation, its ears flicking back nervously. Sid, who had been dozing off, snapped awake, his senses alert and his muscles tensed for action. Everyone in the cart became visibly tense, picking up on the dangerous signs around them, their hands instinctively reaching for their weapons. The forest was thick, the trees ancient and towering, their branches forming a canopy that blocked out most of the sunlight. The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves, and the only sounds were the creaking of the cart and the occasional rustle of something moving through the underbrush. Thorne could feel the aether thickening in the air, almost suffocating in its intensity. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the surroundings. Corwin was muttering to himself under his breath, his voice a constant, nervous drone. ¡°Why does it feel so strange here? This place gives me the creeps,¡± he complained, his eyes darting around as if expecting something to leap out from the shadows. Sid, who had been lounging at the front of the cart, suddenly stood up and scanned their surroundings with narrowed eyes. ¡°This forest is thick with aether, and it''s teeming with aether beasts,¡± he explained, his voice low and tense. ¡°That¡¯s why Alvar is so cut off from the rest of the kingdom. Ebonwood Forest acts as a natural barrier.¡± At Sid¡¯s words, everyone else straightened, their senses sharpening in response to the potential danger. Everyone except Corwin, who seemed to fold in on himself, his shoulders hunching as if trying to make himself smaller. ¡°Great! That is just great!¡± Corwin groaned, his voice tinged with panic. ¡°Couldn''t I have been picked for an easier mission?¡± Sid froze, his gaze fixed on a spot deep within the trees, his body suddenly rigid with tension. ¡°Shut it!¡± he whispered urgently, his tone carrying a sharp edge of warning. ¡°Before you attract its attention.¡± Corwin¡¯s eyes widened in alarm, and he blurted out, ¡°What?¡± his voice rising higher than intended, the sharpness of it slicing through the thick silence of the forest. The single word echoed through the trees, and for a moment, everything went still, the forest holding its breath. Then, a deep, guttural roar erupted from somewhere in the shadows, the sound reverberating through the ground beneath them. The donkey, sensing the danger, came to an abrupt halt, its nostrils flaring as it huffed in fear. Thorne was on his feet in an instant, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his blade. The others followed suit, their weapons drawn and their eyes scanning the surrounding trees for any sign of movement. ¡°Dammit, Corwin,¡± Sid hissed, his voice barely more than a breath. ¡°Stay still and keep quiet!¡± The forest around them was alive with the sound of rustling leaves and snapping branches as something massive moved through the underbrush. The aether in the air thickened even more, making it hard to breathe, as if the very forest was closing in on them. Thorne could feel the aether motes swirling around him, reacting to the presence of the creature, their usual calm flow disrupted by the disturbance in the natural order. Suddenly, the underbrush exploded as a massive creature burst through the trees. It was a hulking beast, easily twice the size of the cart, with thick, matted fur and eyes that glowed with an eerie, unnatural light. Its long, twisted horns curved menacingly above its head, and its maw was filled with jagged teeth that dripped with saliva, hungry for blood. The creature¡¯s roar echoed once more, louder and more threatening, sending a shiver down Thorne¡¯s spine. This was an aether beast, unlike any other he had faced in the elven forest. Sid, without a hint of hesitation, turned to the group, his voice calm but commanding. ¡°Stay put. I¡¯ll handle this.¡± Thorne watched as Sid dropped from the cart with a grace that belied his rugged appearance. His movements were fluid, almost too fast to follow, as he melted into the shadows cast by the thick forest canopy. One moment he was there, and the next, he was gone, as if the darkness itself had swallowed him whole. The aether beast growled low in its throat, its senses keen, but it seemed confused¡ªunable to pinpoint Sid¡¯s location. The group remained tense, weapons drawn, but none dared to move as they tried to track Sid¡¯s subtle movements. Suddenly, Sid reappeared at the beast¡¯s flank, his figure flickering into view as if he¡¯d stepped out of a shadow. His twin daggers, slender and wickedly sharp, glinted in the low light. He struck fast, a blur of motion as he delivered a series of rapid, precise cuts to the creature¡¯s hind legs, aiming for the tendons. The beast roared in pain, spinning around to face this new threat, but Sid was already gone, his form vanishing into the shadows once more. The beast¡¯s eyes darted around, searching frantically for its attacker, but Sid had become a ghost, moving from shadow to shadow with supernatural speed. From the cover of darkness, Sid activated his Shadow Step skill, reappearing behind the beast¡¯s head. He leaped up with agility that defied his age, plunging one dagger into the creature¡¯s thick neck. A burst of dark aether flared from the blade, spreading through the beast¡¯s body like a poison, slowing its movements as it tried to shake him off. The aether beast thrashed violently, trying to dislodge Sid, but he held on with the dexterity of a seasoned rogue. Using his Evasion skill, he twisted and flipped off the creature¡¯s back, landing silently on the ground just as the beast¡¯s massive claws swiped through the air where he had been. Sid didn¡¯t give it a chance to recover. Activating Quick Strike, he blurred forward in a flash of speed, delivering a rapid series of slashes to the beast¡¯s vulnerable underbelly. Each strike was precise, aimed at weakening the beast¡¯s core where the aether was most concentrated. The beast howled in fury, the dark aether from Sid¡¯s attacks spreading through its system, further destabilizing it. It staggered, struggling to keep its form intact as the energy within it began to unravel. Sid wasn¡¯t done. He activated Backstab, slipping behind the beast in the blink of an eye. With ruthless precision, he drove both daggers into the base of its spine, channeling a surge of aether into the creature¡¯s body. The attack severed the flow of aether within the beast, causing its glowing eyes to flicker and dim. The creature roared one last time, a sound that shook the very trees around them, but its strength was fading. It stumbled forward, its massive body crashing to the ground as it finally succumbed to Sid¡¯s relentless assault. Sid stood over the fallen beast, his breathing steady, his face impassive as he surveyed his work. The aether around him seemed to calm, the motes no longer swirling in chaotic patterns but instead settling into a gentle, rhythmic flow. Without a word, Sid wiped the blood from his daggers with a swift motion and sheathed them. The entire encounter had lasted mere moments, but it felt like an eternity to those watching. Thorne, still on edge, slowly lowered his weapon, his eyes fixed on Sid. The man moved with an almost otherworldly skill, his rogue abilities on full display, making it clear that age hadn¡¯t turned him soft. Sid turned back to the group, his expression as blunt as ever. ¡°Let¡¯s keep moving,¡± he said calmly, as if nothing had happened. ¡°The forest isn¡¯t safe, and that wasn¡¯t the only danger we¡¯ll face.¡± CHAPTER 85 Thorne wiped the sweat from his brow, breathing heavily as the latest aether beast collapsed at his feet. Its death rattle signaled the end of the fight, a sound both satisfying and eerie. He could feel the tension in his muscles easing as the adrenaline began to fade, replaced by a deep, weary satisfaction. It had been a while since he¡¯d faced such a satisfying fight. The thick forest had proven to be a training ground of sorts, filled with danger at every turn. Sid, ever the practical instructor, had decided they needed a break from stealth and subterfuge. "You need to remember what it¡¯s like to fight head-on," he had said, "where there¡¯s no hiding, no running, just raw skill and power." Thorne couldn¡¯t have agreed more. The past few days had been a grueling, brutal march through the aether-rich wilderness, where the beasts seemed to grow stronger with every mile. But the danger also brought opportunity. The others had been eager, even thrilled, by the chance to level up. He had seen the gleeful grins on their faces as they took down beast after beast, each kill likely bringing them closer to their next level. For Thorne, however, the excitement was tempered by reality. At level 36, leveling up was no easy feat. A couple of beasts, no matter how fierce, weren¡¯t going to push him over the edge. Still, the experience was valuable. He could feel himself inching closer to that elusive next level, his skills progressing with each battle. Rhea had been a force to be reckoned with. Her greatsword cut through the beasts with devastating precision, each swing a testament to her growing strength. She fought with a controlled fury that was as impressive as it was terrifying. Jareth wasn¡¯t far behind, his agility and twin short swords making him a blur of deadly motion. His skill with the blades had improved dramatically, each strike calculated, each movement efficient. Corwin, on the other hand, was struggling. His choice of daggers, while effective against human opponents, was less so against the tough hides and sharp claws of the aether beasts. Thorne had shared in his frustration, though his higher level and superior attributes gave him an edge. Still, it took him longer to bring down the beasts, as he focused more on leveling up his newer skills than on sheer efficiency. A small, self-satisfied smile tugged at Thorne¡¯s lips as he checked the latest notifications. His persistence had paid off; several of his skills had leveled up during the fight. Skill level up: Bloodletting! Skill level up: Bloodletting! Skill level up: Knife Fan! Name: Thorne Level: 36 Race: Human Age: 18 Special Trait: Elder Race Health Points: 823/1000 Aether: 498/590 Stamina: 437/950 Core Attributes Combat Skills Stealth & Deception Survival & Miscellaneous Skills Mental & Social Skills Defensive Skills Aetheric Abilities But before he could fully relish the moment, Sid¡¯s gruff voice cut through his thoughts. "Let¡¯s go," Sid barked, breaking Thorne out of his reverie. "Hopefully, this is the last one. We¡¯re almost there." Thorne cast a final glance at the fallen beast, its body glowing faintly in his vision thanks to his Hunter''s Insight skill. He could see the value in its carcass, the aether-rich hide and bones, the potent core buried deep within. But there was no time to linger. With a resigned sigh, he turned away and hurried to catch up with the others. The donkey plodded forward once more, its hooves kicking up dust as they resumed their journey. Thorne clambered back up the crates, settling into a spot that was as comfortable as he could manage. Around him, the other recruits were in various states of exhaustion. Their clothes were torn and dusted from the three-day trek through the forest, their faces streaked with dirt and sweat. The exhaustion was etched into their features, the dark circles under their eyes, the tightness in their movements. As Thorne sat, he pulled out his daggers, now coated in the blood of their latest foe. He methodically cleaned each blade, the repetitive task soothing in its simplicity. Unfortunately, that beast hadn¡¯t been the last. Not long after, another creature appeared, its growls echoing through the trees. Sid didn¡¯t hesitate, urging Jareth forward. Jareth, though reluctant, stepped up. He had become quite the swordsman, his movements fluid and precise. Thorne watched with a mix of admiration and calculation as Jareth engaged the beast. His speed was astounding, his short swords moving with a life of their own. Each swing was lethal, each step calculated. Thorne could see the skills Jareth had unlocked, the way his blades seemed to dance with an unpredictable and deadly rhythm. It wasn¡¯t long before the beast was brought to its knees, a final, pained roar escaping its maw before it slumped to the ground. They moved on, circling around the dead beast. As the group resumed their journey, Thorne resigned himself to another night filled with tension and danger. The forest had proven to be relentless, beasts lurking around every corner. But just as the sun dipped toward the horizon, casting the forest in a golden glow, something shifted. The trees began to thin, their dense canopy giving way to open sky. The air felt different¡ªlighter, fresher¡ªand as they crested a small hill, Thorne finally saw the sky in full. The forest parted, revealing low, sloping hills covered in orchards and fields that stretched out before them like a peaceful oasis after the oppressive darkness of the woods. As the cart rumbled out of the forest and onto the open road, Thorne found his attention drawn to the sight emerging on the horizon. The city of Valewind came into view, its towering walls stark against the fading light. Thorne straightened in his seat, unable to suppress the flicker of awe as he took in the city¡¯s grandeur. Valewind was unlike anything Thorne had ever seen. Alvar, the city he knew, was a chaotic sprawl¡ªbuildings erected quickly and without care, crumbling facades patched together in a haphazard attempt at shelter. Alvar had no real defenses, just a short, decaying curtain wall that barely enclosed the city¡¯s most vital parts. It was a city built out of necessity, not for beauty or strength. But Valewind was different. The walls were immense, their sheer height and thickness something out of legend, stretching high above the surrounding landscape. Thorne had never seen fortifications like this¡ªmassive stone blocks fitted so tightly together that not even the smallest crack could be seen. The battlements were lined with old, but formidable defenses: rows of ballistae, the pointed ends of spears glinting in the dying light, and arrow slits that seemed to watch the landscape with silent vigilance. As the cart creaked along, closer to the city, Thorne¡¯s eyes were drawn to the intricacies of the architecture. The walls were punctuated by towers¡ªtall, sturdy structures that seemed ready to rain death upon any who dared approach. The road leading up to the city was narrow, winding, and flanked by steep embankments, making any large-scale assault almost impossible. Even the ground beneath the cart¡¯s wheels had been deliberately uneven, causing the cart to jostle and rock. The closer they got, the more Thorne noticed. The gates loomed ahead, massive and reinforced with iron, the wood beneath scarred by old battles yet still holding firm. Above the gate, ancient banners, faded and tattered, fluttered in the evening breeze. Sid, who had been silent for most of the journey, finally stirred, his voice cutting through Thorne¡¯s thoughts. ¡°Listen up,¡± he said, reaching into his cloak and pulling out several pieces of parchment. As the cart rolled closer to the city¡¯s entrance, the clatter of hooves and wheels on the cobblestones echoed off the walls, adding to the city¡¯s imposing presence. Sid handed each of them a sheet of parchment. ¡°This is your mission briefing. Read it carefully.¡± Thorne accepted the parchment but couldn¡¯t tear his eyes away from the city for long. He could see the figures of guards patrolling the walls, their armor catching the last rays of sunlight, and the shadows of ancient siege weapons lying in wait atop the battlements. Everything about this place spoke of a readiness for war. As Thorne finally glanced down at the parchment, Sid continued. ¡°We¡¯re here for the annual ball of Lord Eadric Valewyn. He¡¯s our primary target.¡± The cart jolted slightly as it passed over a deep rut, bringing Thorne back to the present. He could now make out the individual stones in the walls, each one massive and ancient, their surfaces worn smooth by centuries of weather and conflict. The city wasn¡¯t just fortified; it was built to last. Sid¡¯s voice remained steady as he gave instructions. ¡°You¡¯ll be posing as a noble,¡± he said, his eyes locking onto Thorne. ¡°Jareth and Rhea, you¡¯ll be his bodyguards. Corwin, you¡¯ll act as his servant.¡± Thorne listened with half an ear, his mind still turning over the city¡¯s defenses. The more he saw, the more questions he had. Why would a city need such extravagant fortifications? He glanced around at the others. Jareth read the parchment with his usual calm, while Corwin¡¯s reaction was instant and furious. The man¡¯s hand twitched toward his pocket, his eyes flashing with anger as he glared at Thorne. But it was Rhea who drew Thorne¡¯s attention¡ªshe looked at him with something close to resentment. ¡°A bodyguard?¡± Rhea spat, her tone harsh. ¡°Is this what I¡¯ve been training for? To be a bystander in my own mission?¡± Sid¡¯s response was measured, almost dismissive. ¡°Each role was chosen with your strengths in mind. It¡¯s about how you can best contribute to the mission. If you¡¯re not satisfied, you can back out, but you¡¯ll be graded as a failure.¡± Rhea¡¯s eyes flicked back to Thorne, her expression hardening, before she turned away, biting back her frustration. Thorne noted the tension in her posture, the way her hands clenched at her sides. As they approached the gate, the enormity of the walls struck Thorne again. He couldn¡¯t help but ask, ¡°Why does this city need such defenses?¡± Sid¡¯s eyes shifted slightly, acknowledging the question as he responded. ¡°Valewind was once the closest city to the elven kingdom, Thal¡¯Dorei. During the centuries-long war, this was the last bastion, the city that held the line when all others fell. Its defenses were built to withstand the worst the elves could throw at it.¡± Thorne absorbed this new information as the cart rolled to a stop near the gate. The gates themselves were imposing, made of thick ironwood reinforced with steel bands, the hinges massive and bolted deep into the stone. The guards at the entrance were vigilant, their eyes sharp as they surveyed the incoming traffic. As the cart creaked along the narrow road toward the city¡¯s gate, the murmur of voices grew louder. The gates were crowded with merchants, travelers, and city folk, all eager to enter before nightfall. The guards at the entrance scrutinized each person, their hands resting casually on the hilts of their swords. Sid¡¯s voice cut through the noise, drawing the group¡¯s attention back to him. ¡°The main objective is to kill Lord Valewyn. I don¡¯t care how you do it¡ªstealth, poison, or a public execution¡ªjust make sure it¡¯s done. But the guild wants to send a message. Once you kill him, carve the guild¡¯s symbol into his forehead.¡± Thorne felt a ripple of unease pass through the group. The task was brutal, more personal than their usual jobs. Even Jareth¡¯s calm demeanor seemed to falter for a moment as he processed the order. Thorne noticed Corwin clutching his pocket more tightly, his face pale and drawn. Sid didn¡¯t wait for objections. ¡°Your secondary goal,¡± he continued, ¡°is to find a folder. We don¡¯t have an exact description, but you¡¯ll know it when you find it.¡± His tone left no room for questions, but that didn¡¯t stop Corwin from nervously asking, ¡°What¡¯s in the folder?¡± Sid¡¯s response was swift and cold. ¡°Your job isn¡¯t to ask questions, Corwin. It¡¯s to follow orders.¡± The city gates were close now, the massive iron structure looming above them, the air thick with the scent of woodsmoke and the distant clamor of city life. As they neared the entrance, Sid turned his attention back to Rhea, Jareth, and Corwin. ¡°You three have one last task¡ªgather anything valuable from the noble¡¯s estate. Coins, gems, weapons, I don¡¯t care what it is, as long as it can turn a profit for the guild.¡± They all nodded, accepting their roles without further complaint. Sid then turned to Thorne, his gaze hard. ¡°You have an additional task,¡± he said, his voice lowering as the cart drew to a halt near the gates. ¡°You¡¯re to make contact with certain people of interest. The details are in your brief.¡± Thorne frowned as he looked down at the parchment, noticing the long list of names and descriptions. Each person had detailed information about their physical appearance, personal history, and connections within the noble circles. It was clear that these weren¡¯t just random individuals¡ªthey were people the guild had an interest in. ¡°And the goal?¡± Thorne asked, his voice level. Sid¡¯s answer was simple but loaded with meaning. ¡°Make sure they remember you.¡± Thorne absorbed the words as the cart jolted to a stop in front of the gate. The implications were clear¡ªThorne wasn¡¯t just to blend in. He was to leave an impression, one that would last. The guards approached, their eyes sharp and suspicious as they inspected the group. Sid¡¯s final words hung in the air, his tone leaving no doubt about the stakes. ¡°This mission is crucial to the guild. Failure is not an option.¡± As the guards waved them through and the cart rolled into the city, Thorne tucked the parchment into his coat, his mind already calculating the steps ahead. Valewind¡¯s streets unfolded before them, narrow and winding, lined with ancient buildings that seemed to lean into the road. The mission was clear, the risks understood. Now, all that remained was execution. CHAPTER 86 The cart rumbled through the streets of Valewind, its wooden wheels clattering over cobblestones polished smooth by centuries of foot traffic. As they climbed higher into the city, Thorne took in the sights around him, his eyes wide with a mixture of awe and unease. Valewind was more fortress than city, its structure built into the side of a large hill, tiered and fortified at every level. The road spiraled upward, each tier marked by a gate and a new layer of defenses, making it clear that this city was designed to withstand a siege. Valewind¡¯s streets were a stark contrast to the cramped, dirty alleys of Alvar. The buildings here were grand, with tall stone facades, intricate carvings, and vibrant banners hanging from windows. Every corner seemed to whisper of wealth and power, from the gleaming metalwork on the gates to the neatly trimmed gardens that lined the streets. Thorne could see people walking about, their clothes a riot of colors, rich fabrics adorned with jewels that sparkled in the fading light. Unlike the hunched and weary people of Alvar, these citizens stood tall, their movements confident, their faces clean and well-fed. As the cart ascended, Thorne noticed something else¡ªan unusual concentration of aether. It was subtle at first, but as they moved higher into the city, the aether grew thicker, clinging to certain buildings like an invisible mist. Some doors glowed faintly, windows shimmered as if a barrier lay just beneath the surface, and the occasional statue or fountain pulsed with a quiet, magical energy. He realized that Valewind wasn¡¯t just fortified with stone and steel¡ªit was fortified with magic as well. In the cart, the atmosphere was tense. Rhea sat rigidly with her back turned to Thorne, her posture a clear message that she wasn¡¯t interested in speaking to him. The anger rolled off her in waves, her body language making it clear that she felt betrayed or at least deeply dissatisfied with the role she had been assigned. Thorne could sense her frustration, but there was no point in trying to speak to her now. Corwin, on the other hand, was a picture of nervous energy. He stared blankly at the passing buildings, his lips pressed into a thin line as he bit down anxiously. Every so often, his fingers would slip into his traveling cloak, touching something hidden within. Thorne¡¯s eyes narrowed as he watched the motion, unease prickling at the back of his mind. Jareth was the only one who seemed focused, his expression businesslike as he absorbed the details of their surroundings. Jareth was the first to break the silence. ¡°Where are we heading?¡± he asked, his tone direct. Sid, seated at the front of the cart, turned slightly to address them. ¡°The guild has already made reservations at an inn. Impersonating a noble has to be believable, so they chose one of the better establishments. But with the ball coming up, most inns in the city are fully booked. We had to make some compromises.¡± The cart passed through another gate, the iron portcullis lifting slowly to allow them passage. Thorne glanced up at the towering walls as they entered the next tier of the city. The streets here were narrower, but still bustling with activity. Market stalls lined the road, their colorful awnings shading an array of goods¡ªexotic fruits, finely crafted weapons, and rare spices that filled the air with a heady aroma. The people here were wealthier still, their clothes even more elaborate, their jewelry more extravagant. Thorne tried to focus on Sid¡¯s words, but his attention kept drifting back to Corwin. There was something off about him today. The way his fingers kept slipping into his cloak, the way he seemed to be holding something back¡ªThorne didn¡¯t like it. He had learned to trust his instincts over the years, and right now, they were screaming at him to keep a close eye on Corwin. Sid¡¯s next words jolted Thorne back to the present. ¡°I won¡¯t be staying with you,¡± Sid announced, his tone as serious as Thorne had ever heard it. ¡°And I won¡¯t interfere in your mission in any way. You¡¯ll be on your own.¡± All four recruits turned to look at their trainer, the weight of his words sinking in. Sid¡¯s expression was unreadable as he continued. ¡°Your rooms are already settled. You¡¯ll find everything you need for your mission there¡ªclothes, armor, weapons, whatever is necessary to embody your roles. My advice is to read your briefs in detail, especially you, Thorne. You¡¯ll be scrutinized the most. But remember, eyes will be on all of you as newcomers.¡± Rhea¡¯s bitterness broke through her silence. ¡°Even us, the lowly guards?¡± she demanded, her voice sharp. Sid looked at her impassively. ¡°Who do you think will complete the tasks when Thorne is surrounded by nobles? You may even be tested by others¡ªguards or drunken nobles looking to prove themselves. They might not want to offend a potential ally directly, so they¡¯ll go after you. You must be on your guard.¡± Sid turned his gaze to Corwin. ¡°You, however, will have the most freedom to move around. Servants are overlooked, and you¡¯ll have plenty of chances to snoop around.¡± At first, Corwin¡¯s expression was one of anger, his lips pressed into a thin line. But as Sid¡¯s words sank in, his look turned calculating. Thorne could almost see the wheels turning in Corwin¡¯s mind as he considered the opportunities this role would give him. Sid¡¯s voice grew harder. ¡°Once the mission is complete, you must escape immediately. Don¡¯t linger or give anyone the chance to discover what you¡¯ve done.¡± As the cart rattled over another uneven patch of road, Thorne¡¯s mind raced. The mission was far more complex than he had initially thought, the stakes higher than he¡¯d ever faced. He felt out of his depth, the enormity of the task pressing down on him like the weight of the city itself. Finally, Thorne spoke up, voicing the doubts that had been gnawing at him since they left the guild. ¡°This mission has a lot of demands. It¡¯s obviously crucial to the guild. Why weren¡¯t older, more experienced recruits selected instead?¡± Jareth gave a slight nod, clearly sharing Thorne¡¯s reservations. The cart climbed higher still, the sounds of the city bustling below them as they reached another tier. Sid looked at Thorne for a long moment, his gaze unreadable. Then, with a voice as cold as steel, he replied, ¡°You¡¯ll find out in time¡­ if you¡¯re successful.¡± The cart rolled to a stop in front of an inn that was unlike any place Thorne had ever seen. The street leading up to it was paved with smooth stones, arranged in a careful pattern that guided the eye towards the grand building at its end. Lush, flowering vines crawled up the walls of nearby houses, their bright blooms adding splashes of color to the scene. Lanterns hung from ornate wrought-iron posts, their soft light casting a warm, golden glow over the cobblestones. The air was filled with the scent of jasmine and freshly baked bread, a far cry from the musty, smoke-filled streets of Alvar. The inn itself was beautiful, its stone walls covered in ivy that had been carefully trimmed to allow for the building''s elegant features to shine through. The entrance was framed by tall, arched windows made of stained glass, each pane depicting scenes from Valewind¡¯s storied past. Above the double doors, a sign carved from dark wood and inlaid with gold lettering proclaimed the inn¡¯s name: The Golden Stag. Thorne hopped down from the cart, his boots landing with a soft thud on the stone street. Sid motioned for the driver to move on, and with a brief nod, the man flicked the reins, guiding the donkey-drawn cart away from the inn and down a side street, disappearing into the growing twilight.Stolen story; please report. For a moment, the four of them stood in silence, taking in the inn¡¯s grandeur and the bustling street around them. The sound of laughter and lively conversation spilled from the open windows of the inn, mingling with the clink of glasses and the occasional burst of music from a bard strumming a lute near the hearth. Patrons, dressed in fine clothes, passed by with easy smiles, their eyes glancing curiously at the newcomers but quickly moving on. ¡°Well,¡± Jareth finally said, breaking the silence. ¡°I suppose we go in.¡± Rhea hesitated, her eyes darting towards Thorne before quickly looking away. Corwin fidgeted with the edge of his cloak, his body hunched over, as if afraid to be seen in public. Thorne felt a similar uncertainty gnawing at him, but he pushed it aside. They had a mission, and the first step was getting settled. ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± Thorne said, his voice firmer than he felt. He led the way towards the inn¡¯s grand entrance, the others following close behind. As they stepped inside, they were immediately enveloped by the warmth and noise of the inn¡¯s common room. The interior was just as luxurious as the exterior promised. Rich tapestries adorned the walls, depicting scenes of great battles and mythical beasts. The wooden beams above were dark and polished, supporting a high ceiling that gave the room a sense of openness despite the crowd. The common room was packed with patrons, their conversations a loud, cheerful hum that filled the air. A roaring fire crackled in a large stone hearth at one end of the room, its flames casting flickering shadows across the polished wood floor. Long tables were crowded with people, some deep in conversation, others laughing over mugs of ale or plates of food. The bard¡¯s music added a melodic backdrop to the lively atmosphere. Serving girls weaved through the throng with practiced ease, balancing trays laden with drinks and platters of roasted meats. Thorne took a moment to absorb the scene, the atmosphere a strange blend of opulence and activity. It was a far cry from the grim, tense taverns of Alvar, where patrons kept to themselves, wary of thieves or worse. Here, the mood was light, and the patrons seemed genuinely at ease. They stood near the entrance, unsure of their next move. The opulence and liveliness of the place was slightly overwhelming, especially for Thorne, who had never set foot in such a grand establishment. Even Rhea, usually so confident, seemed out of place, her gaze flicking around the room as if searching for a sign of what to do next. Jareth took a deep breath and approached the large counter at the far end of the room, where a portly man with a neatly trimmed beard and a jovial expression was chatting with a pair of well-dressed patrons. The man looked up as they approached, his eyes quickly assessing them before a broad smile spread across his face. ¡°Welcome to The Golden Stag!¡± the innkeeper greeted them with a warm, booming voice. ¡°How can I assist you today?¡± Jareth hesitated for a moment, stumbling slightly over his words as he tried to respond. ¡°We¡¯re here on behalf of...¡± Thorne stepped in smoothly, picking up where Jareth faltered. ¡°Lord Thorne Silverbane,¡± he said confidently, using the fictional name from his brief. The name rolled off his tongue with ease, as if he had been born to it. The innkeeper¡¯s eyes widened slightly, and a hint of fluster crept into his expression. ¡°Ah, Lord Silverbane! We weren¡¯t expecting you so soon,¡± he stammered, quickly regaining his composure. ¡°Your rooms will be ready shortly, but in the meantime, why not enjoy some of our special dishes? The chef is known for his roasted pheasant and spiced wine.¡± Thorne exchanged glances with the others, sensing their reluctance. They had hoped to get settled quickly, but it seemed they would have to wait. The inn was luxurious, but the atmosphere was tense among them, each of them aware of the importance of maintaining their cover. ¡°Thank you,¡± Thorne said, giving a polite nod. ¡°We¡¯ll take a table and wait.¡± The innkeeper nodded eagerly, gesturing towards an empty table near the hearth where the bard was playing. ¡°Please, make yourselves comfortable. I¡¯ll have the kitchen prepare something special for you.¡± Reluctantly, the four of them moved towards the table, the lively atmosphere doing little to ease the tension between them. As they sat down, no one was in the mood to talk. Rhea, still fuming, refused to meet Thorne¡¯s eyes, while Corwin¡¯s nervous energy manifested in the way he kept tapping his fingers on the table. They sat in silence, absorbing the lively, yet foreign atmosphere. The inn¡¯s warmth and comfort were at odds with the unease that gripped them, each of them lost in their own thoughts as they waited for their rooms to be prepared. A serving girl soon approached with a tray, setting down plates of roasted pheasant, bowls of rich stew, and goblets of spiced wine. The food smelled delicious, but the four recruits barely touched it, their minds too preoccupied to appreciate the meal. Thorne picked at his food, his thoughts racing. The grandeur of the city, the inn, and the mission ahead all felt overwhelming. He had been trained for many things, but this¡ªthis was a whole new world, one that he was usure how to navigate. As the minutes ticked by, the tension at the table remained thick, none of them willing to break the silence. The lively tunes from the bard¡¯s lute were the only sounds that filled the gap. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the innkeeper returned, his smile now strained as he approached their table. ¡°Your rooms are ready,¡± he announced, bowing slightly. ¡°If you¡¯d like, I can show you to them now.¡± Thorne nodded, grateful for the chance to escape the crowded room. ¡°Yes, please.¡± The innkeeper led them up the grand staircase. The noise of the common room faded into a distant murmur, replaced by the softer sounds of the upper floors¡ªthe creak of wooden beams, the rustle of curtains stirred by a faint breeze. As they reached the third floor, Thorne felt the tension in his shoulders ease slightly, the quieter atmosphere helping him to regain some composure. Stopping before an intricately carved wooden door, the innkeeper turned to Thorne with a respectful nod. "This will be your room, Lord Silverbane," he said, pushing the door open with a flourish. Thorne stepped inside, and the innkeeper closed the door behind him, offering him some privacy. The room was opulent, a close second to his own room, in Uncle¡¯s manor. The walls were paneled with dark wood, polished to a shine that reflected the flickering light from the hearth. A large, canopied bed dominated the room, draped in rich fabrics of deep crimson and gold, with pillows piled high against the headboard. To one side of the room, a tall wardrobe stood next to a full-length mirror and writing desk sat near the window, upon which rested a quill and inkwell, along with several sheets of fine parchment. The window itself was framed by heavy curtains, tied back to reveal a view of the courtyard below, the twinkling lights from the inn¡¯s garden casting soft shadows against the walls. At the foot of the bed, Thorne noticed a small chest¡ªsimple, yet sturdy, its brass fittings glinting in the firelight. Curious, he knelt down and unlatched it, lifting the lid to see what was inside. Inside, neatly arranged, were several pouches of coins, far more than Thorne had ever seen in one place. He picked up one of the pouches, feeling the weight of the coins inside, the reality of his new role settling in. Beneath the pouches was a small, velvet-lined box. Opening it, Thorne found a signet ring, its polished surface engraved with the emblem of the noble house he was to impersonate¡ªHouse Silverbane. The ring was heavy, the craftsmanship exquisite, designed to be both a symbol of power and a tool to seal important documents. Next to the box was a rolled-up piece of parchment, sealed with a wax emblem matching the one on the ring. Thorne broke the seal and unrolled the parchment, skimming through its contents. It detailed the history of House Silverbane, a fictional lineage created by the guild, filled with facts and important information he would need to know to maintain his cover. The parchment listed allies, enemies, and notable figures within the house, along with key phrases and traditions that would lend authenticity to his performance. After committing as much as he could to memory, Thorne set the parchment aside and turned his attention to the wardrobe. Opening it, he found an array of finely made clothes¡ªtunics, trousers, cloaks, and doublets, all in the rich fabrics and vibrant colors he had seen nobles wear during his time on the streets, begging for a few coins. The garments were tailored perfectly, each one a show of wealth and status. Thorne sighed. How had he come to this? From a street urchin in Alvar, begging for scraps, to impersonating a noble in one of the wealthiest cities in the kingdom. It felt surreal, like a dream that could turn into a nightmare at any moment. He flopped onto the bed, the soft mattress sinking beneath him. The new role he had to play felt overwhelming, and the fact that he had to cooperate with Rhea and Corwin made things even more difficult. Hours passed as Thorne lay on the bed, his mind racing with thoughts of the mission ahead. The distant clamor from downstairs began to wane, replaced by the softer sounds of the inn settling into the quiet of the night. Eventually, he sat up, his instincts telling him that it was time to act. Thorne focused his keen hearing to monitor the rooms of Rhea, Jareth, and Corwin. He could sense their presence, the faint sounds of their breathing assuring him that they were asleep. When he was certain that the others had turned in for the night, he decided it was time. Moving with the silence he had perfected during his training, Thorne eased the door open, careful not to make a sound. He stepped out into the dimly lit hallway, the soft glow from the sconces barely illuminating his path. He closed the door quietly behind him, making sure not to alert Rhea or Corwin. With light feet, he began to descend the stairs but as he reached the halfway point, a sudden sound made him freeze. ¡°Where do you think you¡¯re going?¡± CHAPTER 87 Thorne turned around slowly, his muscles tensing as he prepared to face whoever had caught him sneaking out. His eyes landed on Rhea¡¯s massive frame, her figure barely illuminated by the dim light from the sconces lining the hallway. She stood at the foot of the stairs, arms crossed over her chest, looking down at him with an inscrutable expression. ¡°I was thinking of taking a stroll,¡± Thorne said smoothly, arching an eyebrow. ¡°Would you like to accompany me?¡± Rhea stared at him for a long moment, her eyes boring into his as if trying to decipher his true intentions. The silence stretched between them, heavy and charged, until she finally relented with a curt nod. ¡°Fine.¡± They descended the stairs together in silence, the tension between them thick as they passed through the nearly empty common room. Only a few drunken patrons remained, slumped over tables or mumbling incoherently to themselves. In a corner, the bard from earlier was scuffing down a bowl of stew, his face drawn and exhausted, the liveliness of his music long gone. As they stepped outside, a cool breeze ruffled Thorne¡¯s hair, and he took a deep breath, savoring the fresh air. The streets of Valewind were still alive with activity, even at this late hour. The faint sounds of laughter and conversation floated through the air, mingling with the clatter of hooves on cobblestones and the distant hum of a city that never truly slept. ¡°Where are we going?¡± Rhea asked, her voice low as she walked beside him. Thorne shrugged, keeping his tone casual. ¡°I didn¡¯t have a particular place in mind. I just wanted to see the city.¡± Rhea grunted in response, but didn¡¯t press him further. They walked side by side through the winding streets, the city¡¯s beauty stark against the dark night. The people of Valewind were different from those in Alvar. Even at this late hour, they were dressed in beautiful clothes, their jewelry catching the light from the lanterns that lined the streets. Guards patrolled the area with practiced ease, their presence a constant reminder of the city¡¯s order and security. As they turned a corner, they found themselves on a crowded street, full of lively taverns and restaurants. Despite the hour, the place was bustling with activity. People flowed in and out of the establishments as if it were midday, their laughter and chatter filling the air. Small vendors had set up stalls outside the taverns, offering light snacks, remedies for hangovers, and small trinkets to the late-night revelers. ¡°It¡¯s quite different from Alvar,¡± Thorne observed, his eyes scanning the crowd. ¡°The people don¡¯t seem afraid to go out. No thieves and cutthroats lurking in the shadows.¡± Rhea scoffed, her tone laced with irony. ¡°You could say that, but let me remind you¡ªwe¡¯re the thieves and cutthroats in this city.¡± Thorne allowed a small, knowing smile to slip through his Mask of Deceit. ¡°Indeed,¡± he agreed, his voice soft. As they walked, they passed by a small family¡ªa father holding his sleeping toddler in his arms, sharing a relieved smile with his wife. Rhea¡¯s eyes lingered on the couple, her expression softening as she watched them. There was something wistful in her voice when she finally spoke. ¡°Have you ever wondered what it would be like if we had grown up in a normal family?¡± Thorne had wondered, more times than he would care to admit. But the harsh realities of the last few years had forced him to come to terms with his life. Memories of his family had faded into the past, becoming nothing more than fond recollections. He shrugged, keeping his tone light. ¡°Of course,¡± he responded. ¡°But I¡¯ve come to realize that there¡¯s no point in dwelling on things I can¡¯t change.¡± His eyes trailed after a small child, his face smudged with dirt as he weaved through the throng of people. Rhea scoffed beside him, her voice tinged with bitterness. ¡°Of course, you would think that way. Always the cold little soldier.¡± Thorne turned to face her, one eyebrow lifted in curiosity. ¡°You¡¯re angry with me,¡± he stated, more than asked. Rhea gritted her teeth, finally meeting his gaze. ¡°Not with you exactly,¡± she said, her voice strained, but Thorne could sense the lie. ¡°At the guild.¡± Thorne resumed walking, his mind turning over her words as they found themselves in front of a vendor, a small grill propped up next to an expensive-looking winery. The vendor asked if Thorne wanted something to eat, and he nodded, his hand slipping into the pouch of coins he had found in his room. He turned to Rhea. ¡°Do you want some?¡± Rhea gave him an intense look, as if considering whether this was some elaborate plan to poison her. Then, with a slight shake of her head, she declined. Internally, Thorne sighed. How had they reached this point, where even old friends couldn¡¯t trust each other? Thorne tossed a silver coin to the vendor, who accepted it with surprise and delight. He bit into the food, savoring the rich flavor as he walked on, speaking as if their conversation had never been interrupted. ¡°Earlier, you were angry with me,¡± he said over a mouthful of food. It was a calculated move, keeping the conversation going in a direction that might reveal more of Rhea¡¯s intentions. Rhea trailed behind him, her eyes momentarily flicking back to the vendor, as if regretting her decision. ¡°Yes,¡± she finally admitted. ¡°But again, it¡¯s not about you. You¡¯re not the center of everything, Thorne.¡± Thorne chewed thoughtfully, his mind split between Rhea¡¯s words and the dirty child that kept getting closer to them. ¡°Do you know when the last time I went on a mission was?¡± Rhea asked, her voice neutral, but with a dark undercurrent that Thorne couldn¡¯t ignore. If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Thorne shook his head. ¡°Two months, Thorne. For two months, I¡¯ve been waiting for a chance to prove myself, to gain some experience and level up.¡± Thorne hid his surprise, his social skills keeping his face impassive. He could understand her frustration now. Every recruit went on missions at least twice a month. To be sidelined for so long must have been maddening for Rhea. ¡°And when I finally get my chance,¡± she continued, her voice thick with bitterness, ¡°I get to play the nobody, someone who waits patiently in case things go south.¡± Thorne wanted to frown at her flawed logic, but he knew better than to react too quickly. Everyone had their part to play in this mission, but it was clear that Rhea felt undervalued. ¡°Sometimes I wish I could just see things the way Vance does,¡± Rhea said quietly, almost as if she were confessing. ¡°He makes it sound so simple. Survive. Eliminate the threats before they eliminate you. But it¡¯s never that simple, is it?¡± He was about to respond when he felt a rustle in his cloak. His hand darted out instinctively, catching the small child who had finally made his move. The child looked up at him with wide, fearful eyes. Thorne smirked. ¡°Better luck next time, kid.¡± The child¡¯s eyes widened further in terror as he squirmed, trying to escape. ¡°Thorne, don¡¯t cause a scene,¡± Rhea whispered urgently, glancing around nervously as some of the passersby began to notice the commotion. Thorne released the child, who bolted away immediately. But before the kid could get too far, Thorne called out and tossed a silver coin in his direction. The boy leaped and snatched the coin with ease before dashing into a side street. Thorne chuckled, shaking his head in fondness. Once, he had been that kid. Now, he was something else entirely. ¡°I¡¯m surprised there are street rats here,¡± Rhea commented with a condescending tone, her eyes now viewing the affluent city with a different perspective. Thorne shrugged, his gaze following the child until he disappeared. ¡°There are always orphans,¡± he said, then turned back to their conversation. ¡°I don¡¯t think you realize how crucial your role is in this mission.¡± Rhea scoffed at that, her frustration boiling over. ¡°Yeah, right. Why do you think I was assigned the role of your bodyguard, Thorne? Why am I never assigned a proper mission? Why do you think?¡± They exited the crowded street, the noise giving way to the quieter surroundings of a manicured park. Lanterns glowed softly among the blooming trees, casting a serene light over couples who strolled and talked quietly in the peaceful setting. Thorne didn¡¯t respond to Rhea¡¯s questions, instead waiting for her to voice the answer she had already decided on. ¡°Because they don¡¯t think I¡¯m cut out to be an assassin!¡± she burst out, her voice filled with frustration. ¡°I don¡¯t have the affinities for it, Thorne! The guild has no use for me! They just keep me around until I¡¯m no longer useful, and then I¡¯ll end up in the catacombs, helping train the newest recruits.¡± Rhea was somewhat correct in her assessment. As their training had progressed, aiming to hone skills that would assist in their missions, it became clear that there were outliers among the recruits. Rhea was one of them, as was Devon, the recruit they had gone through the survival trial with in the catacombs. Both had unlocked skills that suited frontal assault, rather than stealth. Rhea¡¯s skills worked better with large weapons and heavy attacks, rather than the subtlety required of an assassin. Thorne kept his true thoughts hidden, his Mask of Deceit skill keeping his face void of emotion. ¡°The guild doesn¡¯t only value those who have unlocked rogue skills,¡± he said, his voice calm. ¡°They utilize everyone, depending on their abilities. The guild has many agents, not just assassins, but spies, guards, and merchants¡ªeach with unique skills and abilities. For Uncle, they¡¯re just as valuable as a sharp dagger in the shadows.¡± It was a calculated lie, meant to test Rhea and perhaps plant some doubt in her mind. If she was planning something, it might make her hesitate. Every instinct in Thorne screamed that Rhea was planning to kill him. He didn¡¯t know if Corwin had pulled her into his scheme or if she was acting alone, but he couldn¡¯t afford to trust anyone blindly. Rhea¡¯s face turned red with anger. ¡°Don¡¯t patronize me, Thorne! I have no stealth skills to speak of! I seem to unlock a new defensive skill every other week! Even my Daggers skill is a measly level 3! I don¡¯t even have the Sword Mastery skill! I have Long Blades instead! And I can¡¯t use my other combat skills unless I use a greatsword!¡± Thorne was shocked, but he kept walking, not missing a beat as he absorbed the information. Sharing such details about one¡¯s skills was taboo in the guild. It revealed too much¡ªstrengths and weaknesses that could be exploited. The fact that Rhea was sharing this with him suggested she was truly frustrated, but Thorne couldn¡¯t dismiss the possibility that she was playing him, feeding him false information to catch him off guard later. His lack of response seemed to infuriate Rhea even more. ¡°Damn it, Thorne! I just told you my deepest, most shameful secret, and you don¡¯t even react! I hate when you do that! Can¡¯t you show some compassion for your friends?¡± Thorne stopped and turned to face her, his gaze cold. ¡°All I hear is whining. You think the guild doesn¡¯t appreciate you? You think you¡¯re not as good as the rest of the recruits because you don¡¯t have certain skills?¡± He raised his hands, gesturing towards her imposing figure. ¡°Look at you! You¡¯re a wall of muscle! You¡¯ve doubled in size in a couple of months, thanks to your new skills, and you still complain. Everyone shivers at the thought of facing you in training. So, stop crying like a spoiled child.¡± Several emotions flickered across Rhea¡¯s face at his words, but finally, in a small voice, she said, ¡°Vance agrees with me. He says that the first chance they get, the guild will kill me.¡± Thorne felt a sharp pang of betrayal, his heart sinking. Not Vance too, he thought. His friend, his first friend in the guild, involved in Rhea¡¯s schemes. Despair threatened to crack his carefully maintained facade, his true emotions pressing against the edges of his Mask of Deceit. ¡°I don¡¯t know what to tell you, Rhea,¡± he said, his voice devoid of emotion. ¡°I don¡¯t think I can change your mind anymore.¡± With that, Thorne turned and walked away, leaving Rhea standing alone in the park. His gamble had paid off. He had suspected that Rhea might be spying on him. Her sudden appearance at the stairs had confirmed it. She was watching him, just as he had been watching her. He had needed information, to understand what was really going on, and tonight¡¯s conversation had provided just that. His suspicions had been proven correct¡ªRhea was harboring resentment, but more importantly, she was vulnerable, desperate even. And desperation made people dangerous. He didn¡¯t want to believe that she was planning to kill him. But his gut told him otherwise. It was more than just frustration with her role, it was something darker, something that put him on edge. He couldn¡¯t understand how she came to this point, but Thorne knew instinctively that there was no return. As he walked through the quieter streets of Valewind, Thorne reached into his cloak and pulled out the small piece of paper the orphan had slipped into his pocket earlier. He unfolded it carefully, his eyes narrowing as he recognized Sid¡¯s handwriting. He is planning on killing you. Thorne stifled a bitter laugh, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all. If only Corwin was his only problem... CHAPTER 88 Thorne stood in front of the ornate mirror in his room, scrutinizing his reflection with a critical eye. Tonight¡¯s excursion required him to look the part of a noble, and he had taken great care in preparing himself. He wore a finely tailored coat of deep midnight blue, the fabric rich and smooth to the touch. The coat was embroidered with intricate silver thread that caught the light as he moved, and beneath it, a crisp white shirt and dark trousers completed the ensemble. His boots, polished to a gleaming finish, added a few inches to his height, further enhancing his imposing presence. For once, Thorne had taken the time to comb his hair meticulously, sweeping it back from his forehead in a manner that highlighted the sharp angles of his face. He had always possessed a certain rough attractiveness, but tonight, with his features clean and his clothes immaculate, he looked every bit the noble he was pretending to be. He reached for the pendant around his neck, a small piece of aether-infused jewelry that had become one of his most useful tools. With a practiced twist, he manipulated the flow of aether within it, allowing some of his true appearance to bleed through. His refined features became sharper, his eyes took on a more intense gleam, and there was something almost regal about the way he carried himself now. The transformation was subtle but unmistakable; anyone who looked at him would see a man of stature, someone born to command respect. Rhea and Jareth, who were accompanying him tonight, noticed the change immediately. Rhea frowned, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. ¡°What did you just do?¡± Thorne shrugged casually, brushing off her concern. ¡°It¡¯s one of my newer skills,¡± he said, his voice smooth and nonchalant. ¡°Just a little something to help with tonight¡¯s mission.¡± Rhea didn¡¯t seem entirely convinced, but she didn¡¯t press the issue further. Jareth, ever the stoic, simply nodded and continued preparing. Thorne could sense the tension in the air¡ªRhea¡¯s unease, Jareth¡¯s quiet focus, and his own anticipation. It had been two days since they arrived in Valewind, and Corwin had been conspicuously absent each night. It didn¡¯t matter now; tonight, Thorne had to focus on himself. As they left the inn, the crisp night air greeted them. The higher tier of Valewind where they were headed was a stark contrast to the grim streets of Alvar. Here, the streets were lined with elegant lanterns that cast a soft glow over the cobblestones. The buildings were grand, with intricate carvings and polished stone facades that spoke of wealth and power. Even at this hour, the city buzzed with life¡ªpeople dressed in luxurious garments strolled about, their laughter and conversation filling the air. Thorne couldn¡¯t help but feel a pang of envy as he observed the opulence around him. These people had never known true hardship, had never struggled to survive in the shadows of a decaying city. They were soft, pampered by their privilege, and yet they held the power he had always craved. He would play their game, master it, and then use it to his advantage. They arrived at the restaurant, a lavish establishment perched on a hill that offered a stunning view of the city below. The place was buzzing with activity¡ªcarriages arriving, well-dressed men and women stepping out, and guards stationed at the entrance, carefully inspecting everyone who entered. The guards, clad in polished armor, exuded an air of authority that demanded respect. As Thorne approached the entrance, one of the guards stepped forward, his eyes narrowing as he assessed them. ¡°Your signet, sir?¡± the guard asked, his tone polite but firm. Thorne¡¯s heart skipped a beat. The signet ring he carried was a carefully crafted fake, but it lacked the unique aether signature that only the king¡¯s approval could bestow. If the guard inspected it too closely, his cover would be blown. But Thorne remained outwardly calm, his mind racing as he quickly devised a plan. ¡°I must apologize,¡± Thorne began, his voice laced with a believable mix of regret and annoyance. ¡°In my haste to enjoy the evening, I seem to have left it behind. Surely, you don¡¯t mean to turn away a guest of Lord Barrington?¡± He let his words hang in the air, adding just the right amount of arrogance to make the guard question his own authority. The guard hesitated, clearly weighing the risk of offending a noble against the possibility of a mistake. Thorne activated his Echoes of Truth skill, letting his words carry a subtle, almost hypnotic weight. ¡°It would be most unfortunate if my absence from tonight¡¯s gathering were noted, don¡¯t you think?¡± The guard blinked, his stern expression faltering. ¡°Of course, my lord. I meant no offense. Please, enjoy your evening.¡± He stepped aside, allowing Thorne and his companions to pass. As they entered the restaurant, Thorne allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. The brief had warned him about the dangers of the fake signet, but his skills had once again proven invaluable. Rhea and Jareth followed closely behind, their eyes scanning the opulent surroundings. The interior of the restaurant was even more extravagant than Thorne had anticipated. The ceiling soared high above, adorned with chandeliers that glittered like constellations, casting a warm, golden glow over the space. The walls were lined with ornate tapestries and paintings depicting grand hunts, epic battles, and scenes of decadent excess. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfumes, tobacco smoke, and the rich aroma of fine wine. The young nobles within the establishment were engaged in all manner of indulgences. Some lounged on plush velvet couches, their limbs draped lazily over one another as they sipped from crystal goblets filled with deep red wine. Others smoked long, slender pipes, the sweet-smelling smoke curling lazily through the air as they laughed and flirted with one another. There were those who were more openly decadent¡ªhalf-dressed couples exchanging heated kisses in dark corners, their bodies tangled in passionate embraces without a care for the eyes of others. As Thorne walked through the room, his senses were assaulted by the sheer excess on display. He felt a strange mix of revulsion and fascination. These people were so far removed from the harsh realities he had known, their lives a never-ending series of pleasures and entertainments. And yet, this was the world he needed to navigate, to manipulate, to conquer. Thorne made his way toward the terrace that overlooked the city, the soft murmur of conversation and laughter surrounding him. He spotted a waiter passing by with a tray of drinks and smoothly plucked a glass from it. The cool, crisp wine slid down his throat as he took a sip, the taste sharp and refreshing. He walked to the edge of the terrace, looking out over the sprawling city below, the lights of Valewind twinkling like stars against the darkness.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. It wasn¡¯t long before his presence drew attention. A group of nobles, curious and perhaps a bit wary, approached him. They were a little older than him, but no older than twenty, their clothes immaculate and their expressions a mix of amusement and arrogance. One of them, a tall, slender young man with a sharp jawline and a haughty expression, spoke first. ¡°You¡¯re new around here,¡± he said, his tone both welcoming and condescending. ¡°What brings you to our little gathering?¡± Thorne smiled politely, careful to keep his true emotions in check. ¡°I¡¯ve recently come to Valewind on business,¡± he replied smoothly. ¡°I¡¯ve heard much about the city¡¯s¡­ charms, and I couldn¡¯t resist the opportunity to experience them for myself.¡± The young man¡¯s eyes flicked to Rhea and Jareth, standing a few paces behind Thorne. His lip curled in distaste. ¡°And you brought your guards with you? How quaint. Most of us leave our dirty work outside.¡± Thorne inwardly cursed himself for the oversight. Bringing Rhea and Jareth inside was a clear faux pas, one that marked him as an outsider. But he didn¡¯t let the insult show on his face. Instead, he chuckled lightly, brushing off the comment. ¡°One can never be too careful these days. Besides, they¡¯ve proven themselves to be¡­ indispensable.¡± The group of nobles laughed, though Thorne could tell they were still testing him. He knew he needed to find a way to turn the situation to his advantage. As the nobles continued their idle chatter, Thorne observed them closely, trying to read the dynamics of the group. There was always a weak link, someone who could be manipulated, and it didn¡¯t take long for Thorne to identify his target. ¡°Indispensable, you say?¡± another noble, a woman with dark hair styled in elaborate curls, commented with a smirk. ¡°I can¡¯t imagine why you¡¯d need such protection in a place like Valewind. Unless, of course, you¡¯re hiding something.¡± Thorne met her gaze, his expression cool and unbothered. ¡°Not at all,¡± he replied smoothly. ¡°I¡¯m simply here to make a few connections, maybe establish a foothold in your lovely city. You might say I¡¯m expanding the family¡¯s interests.¡± ¡°Expanding?¡± the first noble, the tall young man, echoed. ¡°And which family would that be? You must forgive us, but we don¡¯t recall seeing you at any of the recent gatherings. Who are your people?¡± Thorne had expected this line of questioning. He had been briefed extensively on the details of his fabricated background, and he was prepared to weave the story with the ease of a practiced liar. ¡°The Siverbane family,¡± he said, a hint of pride in his voice. ¡°We¡¯re based in the south, but we¡¯ve been expanding our holdings. I¡¯ve been handling affairs there, which is why you haven¡¯t seen me before. My father thought it was time I made an appearance, especially with the upcoming ball.¡± At the mention of the ball, the nobles exchanged interested looks. The dark-haired woman raised an eyebrow. ¡°The Silverbane family¡­ I¡¯ve heard of them... I think... A wealthy house, but one that prefers to keep to itself. And you say you¡¯re invited to the ball?¡± Thorne nodded, maintaining the air of nonchalance that had served him well so far. ¡°Indeed. I received the invitation personally. It seems my father¡¯s efforts haven¡¯t gone unnoticed.¡± The nobles seemed to relax slightly, though Thorne could tell they were still wary. ¡°Well,¡± the tall noble said, a smile slowly forming on his lips. ¡°It seems we¡¯re in the presence of someone with connections. Welcome to Valewind, Lord Silverbane.¡± Thorne smiled graciously, though inwardly he was analyzing every word, every gesture. He knew that in this world, words were as dangerous as blades, and he had to be careful not to reveal too much¡ªor too little. As they continued talking, Thorne subtly directed the conversation, ensuring that the focus remained on his fabricated story. But as he spoke, his attention was also on the group dynamics. He quickly identified the tensions, the subtle power plays, and the rivalries among them. His eyes kept returning to one noble in particular¡ªa jovial, drunken young man who seemed to despise one of his ¡°friends¡± in the group. Thorne watched as the drunk noble¡¯s eyes narrowed every time the other man spoke, his forced smiles never quite reaching his eyes. There was envy there, and maybe even hatred¡ªa crack that Thorne could exploit. As the conversation continued, Thorne engaged the group in casual banter, paying particular attention to his target. He laughed at his jokes, agreed with his opinions, and subtly mirrored his body language. It wasn¡¯t long before the drunken noble was warming to Thorne, his hostility toward the others becoming more apparent. The opportunity Thorne was waiting for came when the group¡¯s conversation turned to a recent hunt. The man the drunk noble despised¡ªa handsome, arrogant noble with a beautiful girl draped over his arm¡ªboasted about his kill, flaunting his success in a way that made the drunk noble¡¯s face flush with anger. Thorne seized the moment. He faked a clumsy mishap, spilling his drink slightly as he bumped into the arrogant noble. ¡°My apologies,¡± Thorne said with a mocking smile, his tone laced with just enough insincerity to provoke a reaction. ¡°It seems I¡¯ve overestimated your reflexes.¡± The room went quiet as the arrogant noble turned to face Thorne, his eyes narrowing. ¡°Careful, friend,¡± he said, his voice dripping with menace. ¡°You¡¯re new here. It wouldn¡¯t do to start off on the wrong foot.¡± Thorne smirked, feeling the tension rise. ¡°I was just thinking the same thing. How about we settle this the way nobles do?¡± He glanced at Jareth, who understood immediately and handed him his sword. Thorne took it, holding it with a practiced ease that belied his readiness for the confrontation. ¡°I¡¯ll even fight with my right hand tied behind my back if that makes it fair.¡± The challenge hung in the air, and the other nobles exchanged eager glances. A duel was always good entertainment, especially when it involved someone new. The arrogant noble sneered, drawing his own sword. ¡°You¡¯ll regret this,¡± he hissed. The duel began, and it was clear from the start that the arrogant noble was stronger than Thorne had anticipated. His strikes were powerful, his form well-practiced, but he lacked the speed and agility that Thorne possessed. Thorne dodged and parried, using his superior reflexes to avoid the heavier blows. He could tell the crowd was watching intently, their eyes gleaming with excitement. It was over quickly. Thorne¡¯s precise movements and sharp instincts allowed him to land a decisive blow, disarming his opponent and leaving him on the floor. The room erupted in cheers and applause as Thorne offered the noble a hand, helping him up with a friendly smile. ¡°No hard feelings, I hope,¡± Thorne said, his voice smooth and conciliatory. The noble, though clearly humiliated, forced a grin and took Thorne¡¯s hand. ¡°None at all,¡± he said through gritted teeth. But Thorne could see the fury in his eyes, and he knew this wouldn¡¯t be the last time they crossed paths. Thorne moved to the bar, ordering a drink as the adrenaline from the fight began to fade. He could feel the eyes of the nobles on him, their respect grudgingly earned. He had made an impression, and that was what mattered. As he sipped his drink, his target¡ªthe jovial, drunken noble¡ªapproached him, grinning from ear to ear. ¡°That was quite a show,¡± the noble said, clapping Thorne on the back. ¡°I like your style. The name¡¯s Alden.¡± ¡°Thorne,¡± he replied, offering a charming smile. ¡°I¡¯m glad you enjoyed it.¡± Alden laughed, already feeling like they were old friends. ¡°You¡¯ve got guts, challenging Percy like that. I haven¡¯t seen anyone put him in his place like that in a long time.¡± Thorne shrugged modestly. ¡°It was nothing, really. Just a bit of fun.¡± ¡°Well, it certainly made an impression,¡± Alden said, his voice lowering conspiratorially. ¡°I¡¯ve got a feeling we¡¯re going to get along just fine.¡± Thorne smiled inwardly, knowing that his plan was working. Alden was the perfect candidate to act as his guide at the ball, someone who could help him navigate the treacherous waters of noble society. But more importantly, Alden was someone who could be easily manipulated. ¡°To new friends,¡± Thorne said, raising his glass. ¡°To new friends,¡± Alden echoed, clinking his glass against Thorne¡¯s. As they drank, Thorne couldn¡¯t help but feel a sense of satisfaction. Tonight had gone better than he had expected. He had passed his first test as a noble, and he was one step closer to achieving his goals. But he knew this was only the beginning. The real challenge lay ahead, and Thorne would be ready. CHAPTER 89 Thorne sat beneath the shade of a cherry blossom tree, the delicate pink petals creating a soft, ethereal canopy above him. The gazebo in which he and Alden sat was nestled in the heart of an exclusive garden, a secluded sanctuary within the bustling city of Valewind. The garden, hidden from the public eye, was known only to the most privileged nobles of the city. Thorne marveled at the sight around him¡ªcarefully manicured lawns, winding pathways of polished stone, and ponds dotted with elegant koi fish. It was a far cry from the rough streets of Alvar, and even though he knew it was all a fa?ade, he couldn¡¯t help but appreciate the beauty of it. In front of him sat a small bowl of ice cream, its pale lavender hue a mystery to him until Alden had explained it was flavored with some rare flower from the distant east. Thorne had discovered the existence of ice cream only the previous day, and it had quickly rivaled even his beloved blueberry pie in taste. He resisted the urge to devour it, reminding himself to act as the cultured noble he was pretending to be, taking small, deliberate spoonfuls instead. Alden, seated across from him, appeared at ease, though there was always a flicker of something guarded in his pale blue eyes. Ever since their meeting, Alden had taken it upon himself to show Thorne the best places in Valewind, and they had been inseparable. Unfortunately for Thorne, Alden wasn¡¯t as naive or easy to manipulate as he had initially thought. The young noble, almost a man, was desperate for a friend, but he was also wary, his low status among the social circles of Valewind making him a pariah. The apparent dislike between him and Percy Vayne, one of Valewind¡¯s most influential young nobles, only exacerbated his isolation. For Thorne, Alden¡¯s desperation was an opportunity, one he had exploited to the fullest over the last three days. Alden had taken him to various exclusive spots, introducing him to people and helping him get a feel for the city. The fact that Alden loved to gossip was even better for Thorne¡¯s purposes. The information flowed freely, and Thorne soaked it all in, weaving it into his growing web of lies and schemes. Alden chuckled softly, breaking Thorne out of his thoughts. Thorne raised an inquisitive eyebrow, the picture of mild curiosity. ¡°What¡¯s so amusing?¡± Alden waved his hand dismissively, though the mirth remained in his thin face. ¡°It¡¯s nothing. I was just remembering your duel with Percy. Still can¡¯t believe you did that.¡± Thorne wanted to roll his eyes, but instead, he gave a light, affable laugh, knowing that was what Alden wanted. ¡°It was all in good fun,¡± he replied, though he knew there had been nothing light-hearted about it. ¡°Fun?¡± Alden shook his head in disbelief. ¡°Percy is furious. You humiliated him, Thorne. Many of us have wanted to do what you did, but no one dares. Not since he went to the academy. Since then, he¡¯s been the prince of Valewind, everyone bowing and scraping at his feet.¡± Thorne frowned, pretending to ponder Alden¡¯s words. ¡°The academy?¡± he asked, letting confusion show on his face. Alden narrowed his eyes, suspicion flickering in his gaze. ¡°You know¡­ THE academy.¡± Thorne¡¯s expression cleared as he nodded, his Acting skill playing its part. ¡°Ah, of course,¡± he said, as if the answer had been on the tip of his tongue all along. He cursed inwardly at the slip, realizing too late that he¡¯d made a mistake. Alden¡¯s gaze remained sharp. ¡°I think Lord Emric goes to the academy as well. He¡¯s from your city¡­ what¡¯s it called again?¡± Thorne felt the strands of aether probing at the edges of his mind, and he fought the urge to swear. Skill level up: Mindguard. Damn it, he thought to himself. He had been too careless, forgetting for a moment that Alden wasn¡¯t actually his friend. He needed to right the situation and fast. This was clearly a test, and he was certain there was no Lord Emric from his supposed city. He frowned, allowing a look of confusion to cross his features. ¡°Emric¡­ Emric¡­ no, I don¡¯t believe we have a Lord by that name in my city. Perhaps you¡¯re thinking of someone else?¡± Alden studied him for a long moment, suspicion still clouding his face. Finally, he relented, shrugging as if dismissing the thought. ¡°You might be right. Perhaps he¡¯s from Redhold.¡± Thorne nodded in agreement, though inside, his mind was racing. He had been working hard to keep up appearances, and his social skills had been put to the test more than he¡¯d anticipated. The last few days had been a relentless exercise in deceit, leaving him with two new and incredibly useful skills: Sculpted Persona and Tactful Deflection. Mental & Social Skills But even with these new tools, the challenge was immense. Every single noble in the city had social skills of their own, and Thorne had been coaxed, tricked, and manipulated more times than he cared to admit. He had lost count of the times he had been forced to reveal something he didn¡¯t want to, to admit to things that made him vulnerable. Some of these nobles had such high levels in their skills that his Mindguard had been unable to completely shield him from their effects, leading to embarrassing situations. Once, he had been made to confess his love to a girl in the group, and another time, to show his signet. Thankfully, he had been quick enough to hide it before anyone realized it was a fake. And the last time¡ªhe scowled at the memory¡ªhe had admitted his mother was dead.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. The revelation had brought a heavy silence over the group, and for the first time, Thorne had dropped the mask of the affable and gracious noble. He had leaned forward, his voice low and dangerous, and threatened to chop the offending noble into cubes if he ever used such a skill on him again. Since then, the younger nobles had spared him from any more unpleasantness, though Thorne was certain that some of the older, more experienced ones were still trying¡ªjust more subtly. Alden drew Thorne¡¯s attention back to the present with a thoughtful expression. ¡°You were lucky Percy didn¡¯t start using magic in your duel. If you hadn¡¯t been quick enough to establish the ground rules, he would have roasted you with his fire spells.¡± Thorne raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised by the information. ¡°Magic? I didn¡¯t realize Percy was capable of that.¡± Alden nodded, his expression turning bitter. ¡°It¡¯s still a mystery how his family managed to send him to Aetherhold Academy of Arcane Arts. I mean, it¡¯s the single most prestigious institute in the world! Only royalty and the wealthiest families can afford to send their children there¡ªfamilies like the Aurelius, the Venaris, or the chancellor¡¯s family.¡± At the mention of the chancellor, Thorne froze, a long-buried memory surfacing in his mind. In the name of the chancellor¡­ That was what the guard had said before he killed his parents. Thorne clenched his jaw, forcing down the maelstrom of emotions that threatened to break his composure. He kept his face calm, his Mask of Deceit skill working overtime to hide the turmoil within him. ¡°I wasn¡¯t aware the chancellor had family members in the academy,¡± Thorne said, his tone casual. Alden slurped on his ice cream, oblivious to the tension in Thorne¡¯s voice. ¡°Oh yes. His daughter graduated a few years ago, but his son is set to start classes soon.¡± Thorne¡¯s mind raced as he connected the dots. He recalled a conversation he had overheard years ago between a merchant from the capital and Lord Durnell. They had spoken of an academy and¡­ the Elder races. Could this academy, this Aetherhold, be where Bea was taken? The possibility made his heart pound in his chest, though outwardly, he remained calm. ¡°You know,¡± Thorne said casually, ¡°I¡¯ve heard they do all kinds of studies and experiments at that place.¡± Alden shrugged carelessly, waving to a passing waiter. ¡°Of course. The mages are always up to something¡ªnew spells, ancient artifacts, breeding new beasts. It¡¯s a wonder they find time to teach at all.¡± Thorne¡¯s hand trembled slightly, and he discreetly placed it under the table to steady himself. This was it¡ªthis was the clue he had been searching for, and yet it felt just out of reach. If only royalty and the elite could gain access to this academy, how was he supposed to get in? He seethed with frustration. He finally had a lead on Bea¡¯s whereabouts, and he couldn¡¯t reach her. He needed a new plan. ¡°I¡¯m surprised Percy is even here. Is he in town for the ball?¡± Thorne asked, his tone deliberately innocent. Alden gave him a bland look. ¡°The school is in recess. You can¡¯t casually leave Aetherhold for a ball, Thorne. Valora the island, where the academy is located, is miles to the north. Without the academy¡¯s transportation, it would take Percy months to get here.¡± Thorne nodded as if that made perfect sense. He was beginning to realize just how far away his goal was¡ªboth literally and figuratively. But that didn¡¯t matter. He had found a path, however faint, and he would pursue it with everything he had. No matter what it took, he would find Bea, and he would make those who had taken her pay. Alden continued to yap, his voice a constant stream of gossip and trivial anecdotes, but Thorne barely listened after the revelation about Aetherhold Academy. His mind was elsewhere, spiraling through the implications of what he had just learned. Bea, his sister, taken to that place¡ªwho knew what horrors she might have faced? His thoughts darkened, images of experiments and unspeakable atrocities flashing through his mind. He couldn¡¯t let himself dwell on it; he had to stay focused. He forced himself to respond to Alden¡¯s chatter when necessary, just enough to keep him talking, though he was barely aware of what he was saying. Finally, their conversation drew to a close. Thorne exchanged pleasantries with Alden, their goodbyes cordial but detached. Alden, oblivious to Thorne''s internal turmoil, waved him off with a casual smile and turned to leave, his constant shadow¡ªa young servant¡ªtrailing behind him without a word. The servant, like most in Valewind, seemed to blend into the background, an unnoticed fixture in the noble¡¯s life. Alden didn¡¯t even spare a glance at Rhea and Jareth as he walked away, disappearing into the busy streets. As soon as Alden was out of sight, Rhea began to grumble, her voice low and filled with irritation. "I don''t see why we have to follow that peacock around like lapdogs. What a waste of time..." But Thorne was too preoccupied to pay her complaints any mind. His thoughts were consumed by a single, clear goal: he had to get to Aetherhold Academy. That was where they had taken the Elder races, where they might have taken Bea. The stories his mother had told him as a child, tales of secret experiments and dark rituals, were seared into his memory. She had always impressed upon him the need for secrecy, the necessity of hiding who they were. The mere thought that Bea could be suffering because of their mother¡¯s heritage made him shiver. He couldn¡¯t allow himself to be overwhelmed by that fear, though. He needed to act, not dwell. ¡°Thorne?¡± The voice jolted him from his reverie. He turned to face Jareth, blinking as he brought himself back to the present. "Huh?" Jareth nodded toward a nearby bakery, its windows filled with freshly baked goods that sent warm, inviting scents into the street. "Mind if we stop here for a moment? We haven''t eaten all day." It took Thorne a moment to process what Jareth was asking, but when the realization hit, his eyes widened. "Oh! Sorry! Let me get you something." He quickly stepped into the bakery, the smell of bread and pastries filling his senses as he approached the counter. With a practiced air, he ordered two sandwiches, the woman behind the counter practically falling over herself to serve him. She recognized the expensive clothes, the noble bearing, and rushed to fulfill his request. Within minutes, Thorne was outside again, handing the sandwiches to Rhea and Jareth, who began devouring them with gusto. Rhea spoke through a mouthful, her voice filled with newfound appreciation. "It''s nice to have so many coins. Where did you even get them?" Thorne noticed a flicker of movement behind them, something that made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle with awareness, but he ignored it for now, focusing on the conversation. He shrugged nonchalantly, setting a leisurely pace as he started walking. "They were in my room. I have to play my part, and my part needs money." "Must be nice to be you," Rhea commented, her tone carrying a hint of resentment. After a pause, she asked, "Do you think they¡¯ll let us keep them?" Thorne frowned slightly, his eyes narrowing as he glanced over his shoulder, confirming his suspicions. "Keep what?" he asked, feigning ignorance. "The coins. Or whatever we¡¯re meant to steal," Rhea clarified. "I¡¯ve heard that sometimes, if a mission is successful, they let recruits keep some of the spoils." Thorne was well aware of that. Rafe had made sure he knew all about it. After his group had completed a heist mission, the guild had allowed them to keep a portion of the stolen goods. Rafe had strutted around like a peacock for a week, boasting of his success to anyone who would listen. The memory made Thorne¡¯s lips curl in distaste. Before he could respond, Jareth spoke up, his voice thoughtful. "I doubt it. The guild has spent a lot of coins on this mission. They¡¯ll want to break even." Jareth chewed the last of his sandwich, his gaze distant as he considered the situation. "This mission must be very important." Thorne nodded in agreement. This wasn¡¯t a simple mission, not just an assassination, a heist, or even simple spying. This was something completely different, something bigger. They had arrived early in the city, before the ball, and it had felt like pure chance at first, but now he wasn¡¯t so sure. Rhea¡¯s voice cut through his thoughts, laced with confusion. "I don¡¯t get it. I mean, we have to kill someone¡ªbig deal. Just a run-of-the-mill mission." Thorne and Jareth shared a glance, a silent understanding passing between them. Rhea¡¯s perspective was short-sighted, her inability to grasp the mission¡¯s broader implications a worrying sign. Maybe she wasn¡¯t cut out for this job after all. "Where are we even going?" Rhea asked, frowning as she looked around at the narrow alley they were now walking through. "This isn¡¯t the way back to the inn." Thorne sighed and stopped walking, turning around to face Rhea and Jareth. With a casual gesture, he pointed behind them. "So they can catch up with us." Rhea¡¯s eyes widened in surprise as she turned to see what Thorne was pointing at. A group of men had entered the alley behind them, moving with a predatory purpose. They clutched a variety of weapons, their faces hard and unwelcoming. Jareth, however, remained calm, his short swords already in his hands, a sure sign that he had noticed them long before Thorne mentioned it. ¡°I think I have to dial down my charm, because I am attracting admirers left and right.¡± He said with a smirk as his hands snaked at the small of his back. CHAPTER 90 Thorne kept his expression cool as he watched the group of men enter the alley, their weapons drawn and bloodthirsty grins on their faces. Rhea quickly recovered from her shock, her eyes narrowing as she took in the situation. "Why didn¡¯t you say anything sooner?" she hissed. Thorne didn¡¯t respond immediately. He merely observed the approaching men with a cool detachment, assessing their threat level. "They¡¯re nothing special," he finally said, his voice tinged with the slightest hint of boredom. "Just some thugs who think they can take advantage of a few out-of-towners." The leader of the group, a burly man with a scar running down the side of his face, stepped forward, his eyes locking onto Thorne. "You¡¯ve been making quite the impression around town, noble boy. Thought we¡¯d see if you¡¯re as tough as they say." Thorne raised an eyebrow, his expression one of mild curiosity rather than fear. "And who, exactly, is ''they''?" His tone was light, almost bored, but there was a sharpness beneath it, an edge that made the leader pause. Thorne¡¯s probing was subtle, his words designed to elicit information without giving away his own suspicions. The man sneered, gesturing with his sword. "Does it matter? Hand over your coin and maybe we¡¯ll let you walk away from this." Thorne glanced at Jareth, who was watching the men with a predatory gleam in his eyes. Then he turned back to the thug and smiled. "I think you¡¯ll find that¡¯s not going to happen." The man¡¯s sneer faltered as he noticed the calm confidence in Thorne¡¯s demeanor. There was something unnerving about the way Thorne held himself, as though he were the one in control despite being outnumbered. The leader hesitated, glancing at his men as if seeking reassurance. ¡°Let me guess,¡± Thorne said, his voice dripping with condescension. ¡°Someone with a grudge? Or perhaps just a curious observer? Either way, I¡¯m afraid your little outing was a waste of time.¡± The leader¡¯s expression darkened, but Thorne could see the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. He pressed on, his words soft but piercing. ¡°What did they promise you? Money? Power? A chance to prove yourself? You¡¯re wasting your time. We¡¯re far beyond anything you can handle.¡± ¡°Enough talk,¡± the leader snapped, clearly rattled. He gestured to his men, signaling them to attack. But Thorne had already gathered all the information he needed. Rhea, who had been quietly seething with pent-up frustration, stepped forward, her hand gripping the hilt of her greatsword. "Let¡¯s just get this over with," she muttered, her voice carrying a deadly edge. Thorne stepped back, giving Rhea and Jareth space to move. "Try not to make too much of a mess," he said dryly. The leader snarled, his bravado returning as he raised his sword. "Get them!" ¡°Don¡¯t kill the leader,¡± Thorne murmured to Jareth and Rhea as the men advanced. ¡°We might need him to talk later.¡± With a nod, Jareth moved first, his body a blur of motion as he closed the distance between himself and the nearest thug. His short swords flashed, moving with deadly precision. Jareth¡¯s movements were fluid, almost dance-like, as he slipped past the thug¡¯s defenses and struck. The man barely had time to react before he crumpled to the ground, clutching a deep wound in his side. Rhea was equally efficient, her greatsword sweeping in wide arcs that forced her opponents to backpedal. Despite her size, she moved with surprising speed, her blade cutting through the air with a whistle. One thug, bold enough to charge her head-on, found himself slammed into the alley wall, the force of Rhea¡¯s strike nearly splitting him in two. She spun on her heel, her sword already aimed at the next target, her face a mask of concentration. Thorne, meanwhile, hung back, his eyes narrowing as he observed the battle. He was gauging the enemies¡¯ levels, assessing their strengths and weaknesses. As he expected, most of the thugs were around level 10 to 15, their attributes lacking the refinement that came with higher levels. They were outclassed, and it showed. Even as the fight intensified, it was clear that Jareth and Rhea had the upper hand, their movements practiced and efficient, honed by the brutal training of the guild. Thorne watched with a calculating eye, noting the leader¡¯s increasingly desperate attempts to rally his men. The leader wasn¡¯t bad¡ªhis stance was solid, and he managed to parry several of Jareth¡¯s strikes. But it was only a matter of time before he faltered. Thorne had seen this scenario play out countless times in training. The leader¡¯s confidence would wane, his resolve crumble, and that was when he would break. Jareth was relentless, his short swords moving in a flurry of strikes that left the leader struggling to keep up. A well-placed feint forced the leader to overcommit, and in that moment, Jareth struck, disarming him with a flick of his wrist. The leader staggered back, his sword clattering to the ground as he clutched his bleeding hand. Rhea dispatched the last of the thugs with a powerful overhead swing, her greatsword cleaving through the man¡¯s chest with ease. She turned to the leader, her eyes blazing with a fierce intensity, but she held back, following Thorne¡¯s orders. Thorne watched the fight with a detached interest, his mind already planning their next move. These thugs were nothing but a minor distraction, a footnote in the larger narrative of his mission. As Rhea and Jareth dispatched their opponents with ruthless efficiency, Thorne allowed himself a moment to savor the thrill of control, the knowledge that he was the one pulling the strings, orchestrating events to suit his needs. When only the leader was left, the alley was silent except for the sound of labored breathing and the occasional groan from the fallen. Rhea wiped her blade on the clothes of one of the men, her expression dark. "Waste of time," she muttered. The leader, now weaponless and bleeding, looked around at his fallen men, his expression a mix of fear and disbelief. He fell to his knees, clutching his injured hand, his eyes darting between Jareth, Rhea, and Thorne. Thorne approached slowly, his expression unreadable as he towered over the defeated man. ¡°I¡¯ll ask you one more time,¡± Thorne said, his voice cold and devoid of the earlier mockery. ¡°Who sent you?¡± The leader hesitated, his pride warring with his survival instincts. But Thorne didn¡¯t need to wait for an answer; he already knew. A dark smile tugged at the corners of Thorne¡¯s lips as he placed a firm hand on the leader¡¯s shoulder, his grip unyielding. ¡°Tell Percy,¡± Thorne said, his voice barely above a whisper, but laced with a deadly edge, ¡°the next time he wants to talk, he can do it himself.¡± The leader¡¯s eyes widened in shock, realizing too late that Thorne wasn¡¯t speaking to him. Instead, Thorne¡¯s gaze was fixed on the only other living thug¡ªa young man, barely more than a boy, who was clutching his abdomen, his hands slick with blood. The boy¡¯s face was a mask of abject terror, his eyes locked onto Thorne¡¯s, unable to look away. The leader opened his mouth to speak, perhaps to plead for his life, but Thorne didn¡¯t give him the chance. With a quick, practiced twist, he snapped the leader¡¯s neck, the sound of bone breaking sharp in the stillness of the alley. The man¡¯s body crumpled to the ground, lifeless, the light fading from his eyes. Thorne didn¡¯t flinch as the experience flowed into his core from the kill, a warm sensation that spread through him, briefly igniting his senses. He felt a small surge of satisfaction, the familiar rush of power that came from taking a life and reaping its rewards. He turned to the remaining thug, his expression now a mix of cold calculation and cruel amusement. The boy¡¯s breath came in ragged gasps, and he flinched as Thorne took a step toward him. ¡°Run back to your master,¡± Thorne said, his voice deceptively gentle. ¡°Tell him what happened here today. Tell him that next time, he should come himself¡ªor there won¡¯t be anyone left to deliver a message.¡± The boy¡¯s head bobbed in a frantic nod, his eyes wide with fear. Thorne watched him struggle to his feet, one hand still clutching his bleeding abdomen, before he stumbled away, his footsteps echoing through the alley as he fled. Thorne turned back to Jareth and Rhea, who were both watching him with unreadable expressions. A satisfied smile played on Thorne¡¯s lips as he surveyed the scene. ¡°Well,¡± he said lightly, ¡°I think that went rather well, don¡¯t you?¡± Jareth sheathed his short swords, his gaze lingering on the dead leader for a moment before he looked back at Thorne. ¡°Efficient,¡± he remarked, though there was a note of caution in his voice. ¡°But was it necessary?¡± Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. Thorne¡¯s smile widened, though it didn¡¯t reach his eyes. ¡°Absolutely. We needed to send a message, and I think Percy will receive it loud and clear.¡± Rhea remained silent, her greatsword still gripped tightly in her hand, though she seemed to relax slightly now that the fight was over. She glanced at the bodies, then at Thorne, as if weighing something in her mind. Whatever it was, she kept it to herself, her expression hardening as she finally wiped her blade clean on one of the fallen thugs. ¡°Let¡¯s get out of here before more of them show up,¡± Thorne said, his tone casual as he turned on his heel and began to walk out of the alley. Jareth and Rhea followed, though the tension between them was palpable. As they left the scene, Thorne¡¯s mind was already moving ahead, strategizing his next steps. The encounter had confirmed his suspicions¡ªPercy Vayne was involved, and now Thorne had sent a clear warning. But this was just the beginning. He would have to stay sharp, to anticipate Percy¡¯s next move and counter it before it could threaten his plans. As they emerged from the alley and back onto the bustling streets of Valewind, Thorne¡¯s smile remained fixed in place, though his thoughts were anything but calm. He had a lot to prepare for, and time was running short. * Thorne lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, the soft glow of the moon filtering through the curtains doing little to calm his restless mind. His thoughts churned, relentlessly analyzing every detail, every variable that had cropped up in the past few days. There were too many moving parts, too many potential threats and problems for tomorrow night. The mission was already complicated enough, the tasks they had been given by the guild. Assassination, theft, infiltration¡ªall necessary, all dangerous. But now he had to factor in the unexpected elements, the wild cards like Rhea and Corwin, whose motives were still unclear. As well as Percy and his new grudge. And then there was his own mission, the one that mattered most to him. He had to learn as much as he could about Aetherhold Academy and, more importantly, how to reach Bea. The thought of his sister being held in a place like that twisted something deep inside him. He needed to find a way to her, but every path seemed blocked by obstacles he couldn¡¯t yet navigate. His mind moved from one concern to another, each thought building on the last until a dull headache began to form behind his eyes. It was all too much¡ªthe missions, the deception, the uncertainty of who he could trust. He could feel the pressure mounting, and it was only going to get worse as the ball approached. Just as he was about to force himself into a state of calm, there was a knock at the door. Thorne frowned, the headache throbbing a little harder as he wondered who would be calling on him at this hour. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing his temples briefly before moving to answer the door. When he opened it, he found the innkeeper standing there, his face flushed and his eyes wide with a mixture of anxiety and awe. "My lord, there''s a lady downstairs asking for you." Thorne¡¯s frown deepened. "A lady? At this hour? Did she give a name?" The innkeeper nodded, his voice barely above a whisper as he said, "She¡¯s Lady Seraphina Valmont.¡± The name gave Thorne pause. Seraphina Valmont was no stranger to him¡ªshe was one of the most prominent socialites in Valewind, known for her beauty, charm, and her ability to draw everyone¡¯s attention wherever she went. Thorne had crossed paths with her several times in the past few days, mostly at the same gatherings where Percy Vayne was present. Though they had exchanged only a few words, it was clear that she was rarely seen far from Percy¡¯s side. Seraphina projected the image of a carefree, party-loving noblewoman, someone who seemed more interested in social gatherings than political maneuvering. Thorne knew she was also Percy Vayne¡¯s lover, which made this visit all the more troubling. Thorne hid his unease behind a neutral expression. "Tell her I¡¯ll be down shortly." The innkeeper bowed and hurried away, leaving Thorne standing in the doorway. He quickly rummaged through his wardrobe, searching for something suitable to wear. He needed to present himself as the cultured noble he was pretending to be, but he also had to be careful not to appear too eager or desperate. Finally, he settled on an elegant but casual outfit, the fabric luxurious and finely tailored. Before leaving the room, Thorne took a moment to adjust the aether flow in his pendant, allowing just enough of his true features to come through. His reflection in the mirror showed a face that was subtly more refined, almost regal. Satisfied with his appearance, he stepped out into the corridor, his footsteps silent as he moved toward the stairs. As he moved through the corridor, Thorne noted the silence from the other recruits'' rooms. Rhea and Jareth were likely asleep, and Corwin was¡­ well, who knew where Corwin was. Thorne pushed the thought aside and focused on the task at hand. He needed to be sharp for this encounter. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, his eyes immediately found Seraphina. She was standing near the entrance, her posture regal, her gaze sweeping the room with a mixture of mild curiosity and faint distaste. Her lips, painted a deep, rich red, were curved in a small, almost amused smile as she took in the surroundings. A luxurious carriage waited just outside the door, flanked by a small army of servants, all standing at attention. Seraphina herself was a vision of opulence. She wore a long, flowing gown that shimmered with precious stones, each movement causing the fabric to catch the light in a dazzling display. Her dark hair was elegantly styled, adorned with jewels that sparkled against the rich tones of her gown. The patrons of the inn, most of whom were simple travelers or locals, could only stare in awe at her beauty and the wealth she so effortlessly displayed. Thorne approached her with a calm, composed expression, though his mind was already analyzing the situation. "Lady Seraphina," he greeted her with a polite bow. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit at this late hour?" Seraphina¡¯s smile widened slightly, and she tilted her head as she regarded him. "I simply couldn¡¯t resist, my lord. After all, it¡¯s not every day I hear of a noble choosing to stay in such¡­ humble accommodations." Her tone was light, almost teasing, as if she were sharing a private joke. Thorne returned her smile, though his eyes remained watchful. "I¡¯ve found that Valewind¡¯s more exclusive establishments can sometimes be a bit too stifling for my tastes. I prefer a place with¡­ character." Seraphina chuckled, the sound soft and melodic. "Character, indeed. Though I must say, it¡¯s a rather unconventional choice for someone with your¡­ standing." She glanced around the room, her gaze lingering on the rustic decor and the simple patrons. "But then, I suppose that¡¯s what makes you so intriguing, Lord Thorne." Thorne inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the compliment while keeping his own thoughts hidden. "I aim to keep things interesting, my lady. But surely you didn¡¯t come all the way here just to discuss my choice of lodgings." Seraphina¡¯s eyes sparkled with amusement as she stepped closer, her gaze never leaving his. "You¡¯re right, of course. I couldn¡¯t wait until the ball to see you again. It¡¯s been far too long since we¡¯ve had the chance to speak properly." Her voice was warm, with just a hint of flirtation that made Thorne¡¯s pulse quicken despite himself. He gave her a charming smile in return, though his mind was already racing. "I¡¯m flattered, my lady. But surely you could have waited until tomorrow. The ball would have provided us ample opportunity to converse." Seraphina¡¯s smile turned sly as she leaned in slightly, her voice lowering to a more intimate tone. "Ah, but tomorrow will be difficult, my lord. The ball will be filled with prying eyes and listening ears. It¡¯s not easy to find a moment alone unless we plan it carefully." She paused, her eyes gleaming with a suggestive glint. "With so many people watching our every move, it will be quite the challenge to slip away¡­ unless we make arrangements." Thorne felt a subtle pressure in his mind, as if something was trying to wrap around his thoughts and guide them in a certain direction. He quickly realized what it was¡ªSeraphina was using her social skills on him, and they were powerful. The air around her seemed to hum with an almost hypnotic energy, making her presence even more alluring. As she continued to speak, Thorne found himself struggling to maintain his focus. Her words were weaving through his mind, clouding his judgment and making it difficult to think clearly. It was as if a fog was settling over his thoughts, dulling his senses and pulling him toward her. He felt an almost physical urge to agree with her, to do whatever she asked, but he fought against it, forcing himself to concentrate. "My lady," he began, his voice tight as he struggled to maintain control, "are you sure it¡¯s wise to meet in person at the ball? With so many eyes watching¡­" Seraphina¡¯s laugh was soft and playful, and she leaned in even closer, her lips just inches from his ear. "Oh, I¡¯ll have a dance with you, my lord. No matter what." Her breath was warm against his skin, sending a shiver down his spine. Thorne stood frozen, his body responding to her presence even as his mind fought to break free. Her social skills were at such a high level that even with his training, he could barely resist. The power she held over him was undeniable, and for a moment, he felt a flicker of panic. But as quickly as it had come, the moment passed. Seraphina stepped back, her smile one of triumph as she regarded him with a knowing look. She turned gracefully, her gown sweeping around her as she moved toward the waiting carriage. As Seraphina made her exit, her servants falling into line behind her, Thorne remained where he stood, his mind struggling to catch up with what had just happened. It was only when the carriage door closed behind her and the sound of hooves began to fade that the fog started to lift. Skill Level up: Mindguard! Skill Level up: Mindguard! When he could finally think clearly again, he swore silently to himself. Another complication¡ªone he hadn¡¯t anticipated. Seraphina Valmont was not just a socialite; she was one of the most powerful women in Valewind, her family¡¯s influence extending throughout the kingdom. They controlled one of the largest iron mines, giving them significant power. In fact, her family was one of the targets mentioned in his briefing, a group he had to get close to. But her visit couldn¡¯t have been a coincidence. Just hours after he had dispatched Percy¡¯s henchmen, she had appeared at his inn. It was such an obvious play, so blatant, that it left Thorne confused. Did they really think he would be bewitched by her skills, or were they counting on him seeing through their ploy? What game were they playing? He clenched his fists, feeling the headache from earlier intensify. This was too much. Too many layers, too many traps to navigate. He needed to stay sharp, but the pressure was starting to get to him. Thorne took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. He wanted to go to bed, to shut out the world and get some rest, but he knew sleep would evade him. His mind was too restless, too filled with questions and doubts. Instead, he decided to clear his head with a walk. Maybe the cool night air would help him think, help him sort through the tangled web of lies and schemes that had become his life. He grabbed his cloak and headed for the door, his thoughts still racing as he stepped out into the night. CHAPTER 91 Thorne sat at the small table in his room, the late afternoon light casting long shadows across the wooden floor. The others¡ªJareth, Rhea, and Corwin¡ªwere gathered around him, each holding a copy of their assigned tasks for the evening. Everyone was tense and uneasy, the weight of the night¡¯s mission hanging over them like a storm cloud. Jareth was the first to speak. ¡°We need to be clear on the objectives,¡± he began, his voice steady and calm. ¡°Thorne, you¡¯ll handle the social aspect¡ªgetting close to the targets and making sure you¡¯re seen by the right people. Rhea and I will stick close to you as bodyguards, but we¡¯ll also keep an eye out for opportunities to locate the envelope or take out the target. Corwin¡­¡± He turned to the shifty-eyed boy, who had been uncharacteristically quiet. ¡°You¡¯ll be responsible for stealing valuables for the guild. Servants aren¡¯t often noticed, and you¡¯ll have the best chance to slip into restricted areas.¡± Corwin nodded, his eyes flicking up to meet Jareth¡¯s before quickly darting away. ¡°I¡¯ll do what it needs to be done,¡± he muttered, his voice carrying an edge of something Thorne couldn¡¯t quite place. Thorne leaned back in his chair, studying the faces of his companions. Rhea¡¯s expression was a mixture of determination and frustration, likely still brooding over the fact that she would mostly stay on the sidelines. Jareth remained focused, his body language betraying little beyond his usual professionalism. Corwin, however, was difficult to read¡ªhis typical nervous energy subdued, replaced by a strange calmness that made Thorne¡¯s instincts prickle. ¡°Remember,¡± Thorne said, letting his voice take on the authoritative tone he¡¯d been practicing, ¡°we need to be in and out without drawing too much attention. This mission is about precision, not chaos. Stick to your roles, and we¡¯ll get through this.¡± Rhea nodded, though there was a flicker of doubt in her eyes. Jareth grunted in agreement, while Corwin¡¯s lips curled into a faint, almost mocking smile. With the plan laid out, the others dispersed, leaving Thorne alone to prepare. He stood in front of the mirror, eyeing his reflection critically. Over the past few days, he had come to appreciate the finer things in life¡ªthe luxurious fabrics, the intricate designs of his clothing, the way they made him feel as though he truly belonged among the nobles he was meant to deceive. Yet, despite the growing ease with which he wore these trappings, there remained a part of him that felt out of place, an imposter in these gilded halls, like he was still the homeless orphan he once was. He reached up, his fingers brushing against the small silver pendant that hung around his neck. The pendant was a constant reminder of his family, of his past, and the secret he kept close to his heart. Thorne grasped it between his fingers, feeling the steady hum of aether coursing through it. He had long since learned to control the flow of aether, using it to subtly enhance his appearance¡ªjust enough to make him more alluring, more captivating, without revealing too much of his true nature. Tonight, however, he wanted something more. The stakes were higher, the dangers greater, and he needed every advantage he could muster. Slowly, Thorne began to manipulate the aether within the pendant, dialing back the flow until he felt a shift in his appearance. As he looked back at his reflection, he saw his features sharpen, becoming more defined, more striking. His eyes took on a brighter, almost ethereal glow, and his skin seemed to emit a faint, otherworldly light. For a moment, Thorne was mesmerized by the transformation. His appearance was no longer just enhanced¡ªit was transcendent, as if he had crossed a threshold into something beyond human. His features had taken on an almost mystical quality, too perfect, too radiant, as if he were a being of pure magic rather than flesh and blood. But even as he marveled at the change, Thorne knew it was too much. Anyone would see through the illusion, and even those without magical senses would find his appearance unsettling, perhaps even terrifying. The last thing he needed was to draw that kind of attention. With a sigh, he began to dial back the aether flow, carefully adjusting it until he struck the right balance. His reflection now showed a young man of striking beauty, with an aura of subtle charm that would capture attention without raising too many questions. His eyes retained a faint glow, just enough to make others linger on his gaze a moment longer than they should, while his features remained sharp but grounded in the realm of the believable. Thorne reached for the silver brooch he had impulsively purchased earlier that day¡ªa small sapling with two symmetrical leaves. It had caught his eye during his shopping trip with Alden, a rare moment of sentimentality breaking through his carefully constructed facade. The brooch reminded him of his mother, though he couldn¡¯t quite place why. Perhaps it was the simplicity of the design, or the way it seemed to hold a quiet strength despite its delicate appearance. As he pinned the brooch to his lapel, he thought back to that morning with Alden. The young noble had been unusually quiet, a stark contrast to his usual chatter. In fact, Alden had been so subdued that Thorne had forgotten he was there more than once, only to be startled by his presence when he spoke up. It was unlike Alden to be so unobtrusive, and now, in the silence of his room, Thorne couldn¡¯t help but wonder if there had been something more to it.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Shaking off the thought, Thorne turned to the wardrobe, his eyes scanning the array of finely made clothes hanging inside. He selected a dark, tailored suit, the fabric soft and expensive against his skin. The jacket was a deep shade of midnight blue, almost black, with subtle silver embroidery along the cuffs and collar. He paired it with a crisp white shirt and a silk cravat, tying it with practiced precision. The outfit was completed with polished black boots and a matching waistcoat that hugged his frame perfectly. Finally, he combed his hair back, the dark strands gleaming under the soft light. The reflection staring back at him was one of refinement and poise, his features sharp and regal. He had come a long way from the boy who had begged for coins in the dirty streets of Alvar. Now, he looked every bit the noble he was pretending to be, his posture exuding confidence and authority. But as he adjusted his appearance, he couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that something was missing. Jewelry, perhaps. Alden had suggested it earlier, pointing out how the right accessories could elevate one¡¯s status among the elite. But Thorne had been reluctant, uncomfortable with the idea of adorning himself with anything more than the brooch. With a final glance in the mirror, Thorne was satisfied with his appearance. He had perfected the art of deception, masking the turmoil beneath with a veneer of charm and sophistication. Tonight, he would need every bit of that skill to navigate the dangers that awaited him at the ball. * The journey to the fortress at the highest point of Valewind was made in a rented carriage, a necessity to maintain his noble fa?ade. As they ascended the winding roads, Thorne gazed out of the window, taking in the breathtaking view of the ancient city below. Valewind was built like a fortress, its architecture reminiscent of a bygone era when it served as the last line of defense against the neighboring elven kingdom. The city rose in tiers, each level connected by steep, narrow streets that wound their way up the hill. The buildings were tall and imposing, constructed from heavy stone that had weathered countless years of conflict. The streets were clogged with carriages, each one vying for position as they inched their way upward. Drivers shouted at one another in frustration, their voices mingling with the clatter of hooves on cobblestone. The air was thick with anticipation, as nobles dressed in their finest garments peered out of their windows, eager to reach the palace at the summit. Thorne watched as they passed through the different tiers, each level more opulent than the last. The lower tiers were crowded with commoners going about their daily lives, while the upper tiers were reserved for the wealthy and powerful, the ancient families who had lived there for generations. Their grand homes and lush gardens standing in stark contrast to the cramped streets below. As they neared the top, the view became even more breathtaking. From this vantage point, Thorne could see the entire city spread out beneath him, a vast labyrinth of streets and alleys crisscrossing between the sturdy walls that encircled each tier. The palace itself was a sprawling complex, its towers reaching high into the sky, each one offering an unobstructive view of the city and the surrounding countryside. The fortress-like structure loomed over Valewind, a reminder of the city¡¯s storied past. The walls were impossibly thick, studded with watchtowers and battlements that spoke of the countless battles fought to protect this last bastion of the kingdom. Thorne¡¯s heart pounded as the carriage rolled to a stop in the expansive courtyard of the ancient palace. The towering structure loomed above them. This was the highest point of Valewind, where the elite gathered, far removed from the grime and desperation of the lower tiers. The palace, both fortress and monument, overlooked the city with a commanding presence, its walls lined with torches that flickered in the twilight, casting long shadows across the cobblestone streets. The courtyard was bustling with activity. Nobles dressed in elaborate finery exited their carriages with practiced grace, their laughter and conversation filling the air. Groups gathered in clusters, exchanging pleasantries and discussing the evening ahead. The scene was vibrant, full of life, but beneath the surface, Thorne could sense the undercurrents of rivalry and ambition that ran deep in this world. Thorne stepped out of the carriage, his polished boots touching the ground with deliberate precision. The crisp evening air kissed his face, and he took a moment to steady himself, adjusting his jacket and smoothing his cravat. As he moved toward the entrance, his companions fell in line behind him. Rhea and Jareth, clad in armor that was both functional and finely crafted, flanked him as his bodyguards. Corwin, dressed in the plain garb of a servant, lingered a few steps back, his eyes scanning the crowd with a mix of apprehension and calculation. Thorne could feel the tension among them, the silent understanding that tonight would be a test unlike any other they had gone through as the Lost Ones. The grand entrance to the palace was a sight to behold. Massive doors, intricately carved with scenes of battle and victory, stood open, allowing the steady stream of guests to flow inside. Guards, clad in ceremonial armor, stood at attention, their expressions stern as they checked invitations and ensured that only those with the proper credentials were admitted. Thorne approached the guard at the entrance and produced the invitation the guild had secured for him. The guard took the parchment, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized the fine print and the seal. Thorne held his breath, knowing that the slightest mistake could unravel everything. But after a tense pause, the guard nodded and stepped aside, allowing him entry. As they passed through the gates, the grandeur of the palace unfolded before them. The interior was a marvel of architecture and design, with vaulted ceilings, marble columns, and chandeliers that sparkled with a thousand crystals. The walls were adorned with statues depicting ancient kings, standing sentinels over the overindulgent nobles. The crowd inside was just as impressive as the palace itself. Nobles from across the kingdom had gathered, their attire a dazzling display of wealth and status. Women in gowns of silk and velvet, encrusted with jewels, moved gracefully among the throngs of men dressed in tailored suits and military regalia. The air was thick with the scent of perfume and cologne, mingling with the soft notes of music that floated from the grand ballroom. Thorne paused at the entrance to the ballroom, turning to give one last set of instructions. His voice was low, meant only for the ears of those closest to him. ¡°Remember your roles. Rhea, Jareth, you know what to do. Corwin... You do... You. I¡¯ll handle the rest.¡± He was about to turn and enter when he noticed Alden standing just behind him. Thorne¡¯s heart skipped a beat¡ªhow had Alden approached without any of them noticing? His presence was so unobtrusive, so quiet, that even Thorne¡¯s finely honed instincts had missed him. Alden greeted him with a smile, though there was an intensity in his eyes that Thorne found unsettling. ¡°Thorne,¡± Alden said, his tone as smooth as ever. ¡°I was wondering when you¡¯d arrive. Shall we?¡± Thorne nodded, his expression carefully neutral as they stepped into the grand ballroom together. The space was vast, with high ceilings and tall windows that offered a panoramic view of the city below. The room was bathed in a warm golden light, the chandeliers casting a soft glow over the polished marble floors. Nobles mingled in clusters, their conversations punctuated by the clinking of crystal glasses and the soft strains of the orchestra playing in the background. For a moment Thorne simply stood there watching the display of excess and wealth with a dazed expression. Guests passed him by, waving, smiling or greeting someone and for a moment Thorne felt like he didn¡¯t belong. He wanted to run. But the night was just beginning, and he had a mission to complete. CHAPTER 92 Thorne entered the grand ballroom alongside Alden, the sounds of music and laughter washing over him as they descended the marble staircase. The room was a sea of color and light, a dizzying display of opulence that took his breath away. Everywhere he looked, nobles moved about in elaborate outfits, the men in finely tailored suits, the women in gowns that glittered like jewels. At the center of it all, an orchestra played a lively tune, their music accompanying dancers whose outfits changed color with each spin and twirl. It was a scene of pure decadence, a world so far removed from his own that for a moment, Thorne felt a pang of unease. As they reached the bottom of the staircase, Thorne¡¯s eyes swept across the room, cataloging every detail with practiced precision. He noted the exits¡ªtwo large doorways at either end of the ballroom, each flanked by discreetly armed guards. The servants moved through the crowd like shadows, barely noticeable in their efficiency. The chandeliers above cast a warm, golden light over the scene, their crystals sparkling like stars. Alden, ever the chatterbox, began speaking rapidly, pointing out nobles and sharing the latest gossip with a gleeful smile. ¡°That¡¯s Lord Fenwick over there,¡± he said, nodding towards a rotund man in a deep blue robe, ¡°and you see Lady Cressida? She¡¯s been having an affair with her steward for months, but her husband has no idea.¡± Thorne barely listened, his focus elsewhere as he tried to take in everything at once. The noise, the movement, the sheer magnitude of it all¡ªit was overwhelming. A waiter passed by, and Alden flagged him down, grabbing two crystal glasses from the tray. ¡°This is Aetherwine,¡± Alden said, offering one to Thorne. ¡°Imported from the capital. Costs a fortune.¡± Thorne accepted the glass, feeling its cool surface against his palm. He took a sip, letting the rich, velvety liquid coat his tongue. It was unlike anything he¡¯d ever tasted¡ªsweet, with a subtle hint of spice. But he didn¡¯t dare drink more. He needed a clear head tonight, and the reassuring weight of the glass in his hand reminded him to stay grounded. As he glanced down, he noticed the liquid swaying slightly. His hand was trembling. Thorne took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. Alden, oblivious to Thorne¡¯s internal struggle, continued to chatter away, his excitement palpable. ¡°Come on, I want to introduce you to some people,¡± Alden said, pulling Thorne through the crowd. ¡°You¡¯ll love them¡ªthey¡¯re a riot.¡± They joined a group of young nobles, most of whom Thorne had met in passing over the last few nights. They were a lively bunch, their conversations animated as they gossiped about the other guests. ¡°Did you see Lady Ivora¡¯s gown?¡± one of them asked. ¡°It must have cost a fortune!¡± ¡°I heard someone from the capital is here,¡± another whispered, her eyes wide with excitement. ¡°Can you imagine?¡± Thorne smiled politely, nodding along as they spoke, but his attention was elsewhere. He barely contributed to the conversation, his mind racing with thoughts of the mission ahead. As he scanned the room, he noticed a disturbance on the far side of the ballroom. The crowd parted like waves, making way for a man who walked with effortless grace. He greeted the nobles with hearty handshakes and lively laughs, his presence commanding respect and admiration. Thorne elbowed Alden lightly, nodding towards the man. ¡°Who is that?¡± Alden glanced over, then leaned in close. ¡°That¡¯s Lord Alistair Valewyn, the Warden of the West,¡± he whispered. ¡°The most powerful man in this region. Some say he¡¯s even more influential than the king himself in these parts. His family founded this city, giving it its name.¡± Thorne felt a chill run down his spine. He had hoped that the man described in his brief wasn¡¯t his target, but the description matched perfectly. Lord Valewyn was in his fifties, with salt-and-pepper hair and an elaborate mustache. He had the body of a seasoned warrior, his clothing accentuating his impressive physique, and a gravitas that few could match. Even from across the room, there was no denying the man¡¯s power. Just as Thorne was absorbing this information, he felt a gaze lock onto him, a sensation that sent a shiver down his spine. He resisted the urge to turn around immediately, instead letting his eyes sweep across the room as if merely observing the spectacle. His gaze briefly locked with Seraphina¡¯s, who quickly turned her attention back to Percy and the group of older men she was with. Still, the odd sensation didn¡¯t dissipate, and a sense of dread began to creep into Thorne¡¯s mind. Had he been discovered? Did someone know who he truly was? The impulse to leave was strong, but Thorne forced himself to remain calm. He smiled and responded to a question from one of the nobles in his group, but his mind was racing. He needed to complete his mission as soon as possible. His eyes darted back to Lord Valewyn. Should he attempt to kill him here and now? It was a reckless thought¡ªattacking the Warden in such a public place would be disastrous. The moment he struck, the guards would be on him, and there was no guarantee he could kill Valewyn in a single blow. The man was likely several levels above him. Alden interrupted his thoughts by whispering that he wanted to introduce Thorne to some of his father¡¯s friends. Thorne welcomed the distraction. Alden led him away, almost forcefully, through the throng of guests until they reached a group of older men engaged in a heated discussion. "The western provinces are slowly but assuredly withering away," one of the men said, his voice laced with frustration. "The closer one goes to the borders, the scarcer the aether becomes."If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. Another man, his face red with anger, jabbed a finger in the air. "It''s the elves, mark my words! When I was a lad, the aether was so rich that even a baker possessed magical skills. Now? Now, even the most talented mages struggle to maintain their power." A third man, dressed in an opulent robe, shook his head. "I visited the capital earlier this year. The difference in aether was astounding. It¡¯s no secret that the elves are behind this. They¡¯re siphoning our aether, draining our lands to fuel their own magic." "But the ley lines have been drying out for years," another argued. "We can¡¯t afford to sow discord with the elves. Another war would be catastrophic. The last one nearly brought the kingdom to its knees." The conversation was growing more heated by the second, but Alden intervened, cutting his father off mid-sentence. ¡°Gentlemen, I¡¯d like you to meet my friend,¡± Alden said, introducing Thorne with a flourish. He recited Thorne¡¯s fake name, family name, and the city he supposedly came from. Alden¡¯s father, an older, more shrewd version of Alden, turned his gaze on Thorne, scrutinizing him with a keen eye. The older man was silent for a moment, his gaze piercing. "A pleasure to meet you," he finally said, his tone polite but reserved. Thorne returned the greeting, doing his best to project confidence. But as the older men began to question him, Thorne felt a subtle pressure building in his mind. It started as a slight discomfort, a nagging sensation that made it difficult to focus. He could feel their social skills probing at his defenses, testing his resolve. His Mindguard skill kicked in, working overtime to protect him from their subtle manipulations. Despite his best efforts, Thorne felt himself slipping, making several small but critical mistakes. He fumbled a detail about his supposed lineage, struggled to keep up with the intricate rules of noble etiquette, and found himself unsure of how to respond to a particularly pointed question. Sensing that he was losing his grip, Thorne excused himself hurriedly, muttering something about needing fresh air. He could feel the penetrating gaze still locked on him, observing his every move as he made his way towards a side entrance. The adjoining rooms were filled with guests, but Thorne pushed forward, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn¡¯t know where he was going¡ªhe just needed to escape the pressure, the scrutiny, the relentless eyes that seemed to follow him everywhere. He found himself in a dark side corridor, away from the noise and the lights of the ballroom. The silence was a welcome relief, and Thorne stopped to take a breath, trying to regain his equilibrium. But just as he began to calm down, voices tickled his ears¡ªtwo male voices approaching from the other end of the corridor. Thorne quickly activated his Shadow Meld skill, slipping behind a tapestry and blending into the darkness. He strained to hear the conversation, his heart racing once more. ¡°¡ªspent a fortune on this ball,¡± one of the voices said, dripping with disdain. ¡°The coffers are nearly empty, and he¡¯s throwing parties like this?¡± ¡°The Warden holds too much power,¡± the other voice replied, his tone cold and calculating. ¡°He¡¯s stifling the growth of the other families. But his time will come soon. With our alliance and the crown¡¯s backing, we¡¯ll topple him and make the west a superpower once again.¡± The voices faded as the men continued down the corridor, their conversation growing fainter with each step. Thorne remained hidden, his mind racing. So Lord Valewyn had enemies, even among his own kind. Powerful enemies, by the sound of it. The realization didn¡¯t bring Thorne any comfort. It only made his task more complicated. When he was sure the coast was clear, Thorne emerged from his hiding spot, his thoughts spinning. He needed to stay focused, to find a way to complete his mission despite the mounting obstacles. He decided to return to the ballroom, but as he moved through the grand halls, he couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that someone was still watching him. Reentering the ballroom, Thorne swept his gaze across the room, searching for his target. He found Lord Valewyn near the dancers, not too far from where Alden and the group of men were standing. Thorne gritted his teeth, forcing himself to rejoin the conversation with the obnoxious nobles. Some of them made cutting remarks, veiled in niceties, but Thorne barely heard them. His eyes were on the Warden of the West. Alden quietly inquired where Thorne had been, and Thorne almost jolted in surprise, having forgotten that Alden was right next to him. He murmured a vague excuse under his breath just as a man directed a question at him. Thorne froze momentarily, recognizing the voice as one of the men he had overheard in the corridor. Just as Thorne was about to respond, Seraphina appeared, placing her arm through the man¡¯s and smiling sweetly. ¡°Father, have you met Thorne?¡± she asked, her voice dripping with charm. They exchanged pleasantries, but Thorne¡¯s mind was elsewhere. He was still trying to piece together what he had overheard, to understand the web of intrigue that surrounded the Warden. And all the while, he felt that piercing gaze, as if someone was drilling into his very soul. A hypnotic, lyrical voice suddenly filled the room, accompanied by the sound of dozens of instruments. A bard had begun to sing, his voice echoing around the grand ballroom, drawing everyone¡¯s attention. The lyrics told the story of a small kingdom, poor but proud, beset by enemies on all sides¡ªbeasts, barbarians, petty kings, and murderous elves. The kingdom came close to ruin, but a brave king fought back with a ferocity that rivaled the dead gods and the primal people, the first people. As the lyrics unfolded, the aether in the air took shape, crafting elegant illusions that held every noble in awe. Thorne was equally transfixed, staring at the expertly crafted illusions with wonder. The story seemed to resonate with him, its themes of survival, strength, and resilience striking a chord deep within. He could almost see himself in the brave king, fighting against impossible odds, trying to carve out a place for himself in a world that sought to crush him. A hand touched his arm, breaking him from his reverie. The simple gesture made his mind go slack, his thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind. He turned his head and saw Seraphina, her eyes twinkling as she batted her lashes coquettishly. ¡°Follow me,¡± she whispered, her voice sultry and inviting. Thorne was unable to refuse. How could he, when such a divine creature of elegance and beauty wanted to be alone with him? His mind was fogged with her charm, his thoughts muddled and confused. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, a small voice warned him that something was wrong, but he was too enamored, too entranced to listen. Seraphina led him out of the crowd and through a side door, her grip on his arm gentle yet firm. The only thing that registered in Thorne¡¯s mind was the burning intensity of the gaze that followed him as he left the ballroom, but even that soon faded into nothingness as he followed Seraphina into the unknown. CHAPTER 93 Thorne followed Seraphina, utterly captivated by her presence. A notification flickered at the edge of his vision. Skill Level Up: Mindguard! But it barely registered in his mind. Every fiber of his being was focused on her¡ªher cascading waterfall of hair, her slim waist that swayed with every step, and the hypnotic rhythm of her hips as they moved with an elegance that defied reason. The world around them blurred into insignificance as he trailed behind her, willing to follow her to the ends of the world. They ascended grand staircases, passed through rooms filled with lively guests and opulent decorations, and navigated deserted hallways. None of it mattered to Thorne. He would follow Seraphina anywhere. Finally, she stopped at a simple, unassuming door. Without hesitation, she opened it and pulled him inside. The door closed behind them with a soft click, and suddenly, the fog clouding Thorne¡¯s mind lifted. Reality crashed back into him like a tidal wave. His senses sharpened, and he realized with a start that he had no idea where he was or how he had gotten there. Before he could fully grasp his situation, Seraphina darted to the side, releasing her hold on him. For a moment, he stood there, disoriented, his thoughts struggling to catch up with the rapid shift. Then, in a heartbeat, whispered words reached his ears¡ªwords laced with a power that made his blood run cold. His body seized up, muscles locking into place as invisible forces bound him. He tried to move, to resist, but his body refused to obey. Seraphina stepped back into view, a triumphant smile curling her lips. ¡°Finally,¡± she said, her voice dripping with satisfaction. The room was small, windowless, and dimly lit. From the corner of the room, a familiar voice echoed, dripping with venom. Percy. ¡°Sera, let me kill him! I¡¯ll fry him to a crisp!¡± Percy¡¯s voice was filled with rage, his eyes burning with a fiery hatred as he stepped into the light, a wand clenched tightly in his hand. The sight of Thorne, immobilized and helpless, seemed to feed his fury. So this was it. All of this¡ªthe elaborate charade, the flirting, the games¡ªhad been a vain attempt to soothe Percy¡¯s bruised ego after Thorne had humiliated him. The realization filled Thorne with a cold, detached sense of understanding. But what troubled him more was the powerlessness he felt. No matter how hard he tried, his body remained frozen. Thorne activated his Aether Vision, and what he saw shocked him to his core. Invisible aether ropes bound his body, their structure intricate and impossibly complex. They wrapped around him in delicate patterns, each strand humming with a potency that spoke of a high level of aetheric manipulation. It was unlike anything he had seen before. His own use of aether was raw, an expression of his willpower, bending the motes to his command. But these bindings were something else¡ªsophisticated, precise, and entirely foreign to him. Seraphina¡¯s voice cut through his thoughts. ¡°We¡¯re not here for this, Percy. Behave yourself!¡± she snapped, the earlier elegance and grace in her voice replaced by a commanding tone that left no room for argument. It was clear now who held the power between them. Percy hesitated, his wand still raised, his hand trembling with barely controlled rage. But Seraphina¡¯s sharp glare was enough to make him lower it, albeit reluctantly. Thorne noted the dynamic between the two with interest¡ªSeraphina was clearly the one in control. Seraphina turned her gaze back to Thorne, her expression speculative and calculating. ¡°You know, Thorne, when someone is new in town, they should draw less attention,¡± she said, her voice laced with a mocking tone. ¡°With your display of power, you made waves. Unfortunately for you, that made us curious.¡± Thorne narrowed his eyes, suspicion replacing the initial shock. They wanted something from him¡ªthat much was clear. If they didn¡¯t, he would already be dead. He tested the bonds again, this time calling upon his aether manipulation skill. For a moment, he watched Percy closely for any sign that he had noticed Thorne¡¯s efforts. When there was none, Thorne continued his careful work, experimenting with the complex bindings bit by bit. Seraphina continued, her voice tinged with satisfaction. ¡°We sent people to spy on you, but you have an uncanny ability to vanish into thin air. No matter how hard they tried, our guards could never follow you.¡± She arched a delicate eyebrow, clearly expecting some sort of reaction. When she got none, her smirk deepened. ¡°You may be an expert at avoiding our guards, but others weren¡¯t so successful... Your companions.¡± Thorne¡¯s jaw clenched involuntarily. Damn it! Rhea. It had to be her who slipped up. He made a mental note to bring this up with Sid the moment they returned. He could see now that he had underestimated the nobles¡¯ resourcefulness. ¡°It took us some time to piece together the truth, but we did it!¡± Seraphina declared, her eyes gleaming with a mix of greed and anticipation. ¡°There are rumors in Valewind about a secret organization full of spies, but no one has been able to uncover the truth. Until now!¡± Thorne¡¯s mind raced, trying to piece together how they had connected the dots and what exactly they wanted from him. One thing was certain¡ªthey needed him alive, at least for the moment. That meant he had some leverage. He continued to work on his bonds, using his aether manipulation skill to sever the connections holding him. The structure, though intricate, was fragile in places, as if Percy¡¯s control over the aether was clumsy or incomplete. Using this to his advantage, Thorne formed two aetheric blades and sliced through the bonds at strategic points where the structure was weakest. Suddenly freed, Thorne casually stepped back, trying to regain some control over the situation and leaned against a nearby console table as if he didn¡¯t have a care in the world. Both nobles froze in shock at his sudden movement, their eyes widening in disbelief. Percy, his face pale and slack with surprise, raised his wand again, his hand trembling uncontrollably. ¡°Who are you?¡± he demanded, his voice quivering with a mix of fear and confusion. ¡°How did you unravel my spell? Are you a hedge mage? An apostate? No regular skill can combat spells!¡± Thorne raised an eyebrow mockingly, crossing his arms and looking at Seraphina, who watched him with wide eyes. "A spy, you say?" Thorne asked casually. "I am that, among other things..."If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. Deactivating his Mask of Deceit skill, Thorne allowed his true face to show¡ªa cold, calculating visage with piercing eyes and a cruel, predatory smile. ¡°But I prefer the term assassin.¡± Seraphina¡¯s eyes widened in fear, her earlier confidence now wavering. Percy muttered something under his breath, preparing to cast another spell, but Thorne was faster. With a fluid motion, he reached for his hidden dagger. Before Percy could react, Seraphina, in a desperate move, slapped Percy¡¯s hand away. ¡°Stop it!¡± she commanded, her voice trembling with fear and anger. Thorne couldn¡¯t help but admire her courage. He had to give it to her, the girl was brave. He didn¡¯t hide his dagger, in fact he began toying with it, tossing it into the air and catching it as if it were a harmless trinket. ¡°I¡¯m getting bored,¡± he said, directing his question at Seraphina. ¡°What do you want from me?¡± Seraphina, still trembling, met his gaze. ¡°So, it¡¯s true,¡± she said, as if seeking reassurance. Thorne simply nodded, sensing that she was on the verge of making a deal. He could put two and two together. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. ¡°I want to meet your leader.¡± Thorne almost laughed at the absurdity of her request. The thought of this naive girl meeting Uncle was beyond ridiculous. ¡°You or your father?¡± Thorne asked casually, watching both nobles stiffen at his words. ¡°So, your parents need assassins,¡± Thorne stated, his tone matter-of-fact. ¡°Their scheme to overthrow Lord Valewyn must require some... delicate maneuvering.¡± He could see the shock and horror on their faces. It was one thing to speak ambiguously, but another to talk plainly about treason. ¡°I could arrange a meeting,¡± Thorne mused, tapping his chin thoughtfully, ¡°but I see no benefit in doing so.¡± Percy, desperate to salvage the situation, blurted out, ¡°Coins! We can give you more money than you¡¯ve ever seen in your life!¡± he said with the arrogance and certainty of a man born into wealth. Thorne rolled his eyes at the typical response. Seraphina, however, was more measured. ¡°What do you want?¡± she asked, her voice laced with calculation. Thorne smiled, a genuine, predatory smile. ¡°You know,¡± he said almost fondly, ¡°if you two manage to survive the next few years, you might actually become something remarkable. With his brawn and spells, and your wits, you could truly rule this city.¡± Seraphina offered a small, hesitant smile, clearly flattered, but Percy¡¯s expression darkened. "Just a little advice," Thorne said, "don¡¯t start using your skills when you don¡¯t know what your target is capable of. It can tip you off." He winked at her, making her blush. Percy growled in anger, ¡°What do you want?¡± he demanded again, his voice edged with frustration. Thorne turned his cold gaze on Percy, his amusement fading. ¡°Information,¡± he stated simply. ¡°About what?¡± Percy snapped, his patience wearing thin. Thorne began to pace, a calculated move that made the nobles even more uneasy. ¡°While you were busy investigating me, I did some digging of my own. The Vaynes, while high nobles, aren¡¯t exactly wealthy. You lack the resources to become a true powerhouse. This pairing,¡± he gestured to the two of them, ¡°will improve your situation, but not enough to give you the power you need. What might actually achieve that is... your newfound status as a mage.¡± He stopped pacing and took a step closer to Percy. ¡°Many people in Valewind are whispering about your surprising acceptance into Aetherhold, but no one knows how you managed it. And there¡¯s my interest. Your family doesn¡¯t have the money or the status to get you into the academy. So how did they do it?¡± Thorne¡¯s body was coiled, his eyes staring intently at Percy. Percy laughed. "You think I will tell you something like this? I guess spies aren¡¯t very bright." Thorne sighed and shook his head in disappointment. "Idiot," he muttered, before exploding into action. Using his evolved running skill, Burst of Speed, he closed the few meters between them, slapping Percy¡¯s wand out of his hand with a swift, practiced motion. The wand clattered to the floor, useless. Thorne twisted his body and grabbed Seraphina by the neck, pulling her in front of him like a human shield, his dagger pressed against her throat. ¡°I¡¯ll ask you again,¡± Thorne said calmly, ¡°how did they do it?¡± To emphasize his point, he pressed the blade harder against Seraphina¡¯s skin, feeling the soft flesh part slightly under the pressure. Seraphina¡¯s eyes filled with tears, and Percy¡¯s face twisted in helpless fury. His face transformed when his eyes returned to Thorne. "I will kill you! I swear to the dead gods, the moment I get the chance, I will burn you alive." Thorne rolled his eyes. "Let me remind you, it is not prudent to threaten the man who has a dagger at your fianc¨¦e¡¯s throat." Looking at Seraphina, he commented, "He¡¯s not very bright, is he?" Seraphina whimpered. Thorne looked at Percy. "I¡¯m listening," he said with a steely voice. ¡°I... I can¡¯t tell you,¡± he stammered, his voice trembling. Thorne¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°You seem to be under the impression that I care whether you two live or die.¡± He increased the pressure on the dagger, a thin line of blood appearing on Seraphina¡¯s neck. Seraphina sobbed quietly, her body trembling in his grasp. Percy¡¯s eyes darted between Thorne and Seraphina, desperation clear in his expression. Finally, his resolve crumbled, and he spoke. ¡°The king! The king sponsored me!¡± he blurted out. Thorne raised an eyebrow, surprised by the revelation. ¡°And?¡± "And what?" Percy shot back, furious. "From personal experience, I know there is always a catch. No one gives something without expecting something in return." Percy hesitated, then continued, ¡°The king sponsors candidates, but they have to sign a contract¡ªan agreement that binds them to serve him for life. It¡¯s the only way.¡± Thorne¡¯s expression darkened as he considered the implications. ¡°And what else?¡± he pressed, knowing there was more to the story. Percy¡¯s face twisted with frustration, but when he looked at Seraphina¡¯s tear-streaked face, his will broke. ¡°I swear, that¡¯s it! You sign the contract, and you¡¯re bound to serve the king as a mage. That¡¯s the deal.¡± Before Thorne could respond, Seraphina made a desperate move. She reached into the folds of her gown and pulled out a letter opener, trying to stab him. Thorne easily deflected the small weapon and laughed, a harsh, mocking sound. ¡°Oh, I like you,¡± Thorne said, his voice filled with cold amusement. ¡°I have a soft spot for violent women¡ªyou should meet my girlfriend. In fact, if I didn¡¯t already have a girlfriend, I might have taken you up on that dance.¡± Percy¡¯s face flushed with rage, his fists clenching in impotent fury. ¡°Unhand her,¡± he demanded, his voice shaking with barely controlled rage. ¡°You got your information¡ªnow let her go.¡± Thorne considered the demand for a moment, then shrugged. ¡°Sure,¡± he said casually, releasing Seraphina. She stumbled away, rushing to Percy¡¯s side, her eyes wide with fear. Thorne¡¯s mind raced as he processed what he had learned. ¡°So, he¡¯s building an army,¡± he muttered to himself, ¡°an army of mages.¡± Percy, still furious, demanded, ¡°What army? We¡¯re not soldiers¡ªwe¡¯re just...¡± Thorne cut him off, his gaze shifting to Seraphina. ¡°Really? This guy?¡± he said, jerking his thumb toward Percy. ¡°You could do so much better.¡± Seraphina looked at Percy with a mix of disdain and pity, her expression one of disappointment. ¡°Anyway,¡± Thorne said, sheathing his dagger with a fluid motion, ¡°it was a pleasure doing business with you. The leader of our guild will be notified about your interest.¡± Seraphina coughed delicately, trying to regain some composure, her face still red in places.¡± He glanced at both of them, his eyes cold and calculating. ¡°Is there a way to get in contact?¡± Seraphina, somewhat more composed, reached into her gown and pulled out a token bearing her family¡¯s crest. Percy did the same, handing her another token. Seraphina approached Thorne hesitantly, holding out the tokens with a shaky hand. ¡°If you present these tokens to anyone in our household,¡± Seraphina said, her voice barely above a whisper, ¡°you¡¯ll be taken straight to the head of the family.¡± Thorne took the tokens, careful not to touch her skin. ¡°Good,¡± he murmured, pocketing the tokens. ¡°That has been an interesting meeting,¡± Thorne remarked as he turned to leave. ¡°Will we see you again?¡± Seraphina asked, her voice tinged with a mix of fear and hope. Thorne glanced over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. ¡°Let¡¯s hope not, for your sakes.¡± He opened the door but paused before stepping out. ¡°Tell your fathers I¡¯ll be offering them a gift soon.¡± With one last, mocking wink, Thorne left the room, closing the door behind him. CHAPTER 94 Thorne turned a corner, his thoughts still tangled with the conversation he had just had with Seraphina and Percy. The information he had pried from them was useful, he finally had a clear way to Bea. There were complications he had to solve, but after years of no progress, he now had something to look forward to. Suddenly, that piercing gaze returned¡ªsharp, almost tangible, as if someone had driven a dagger into his back. He didn¡¯t hesitate this time. His hands flew to the daggers, hidden beneath his waistcoat, and in a fluid motion, he whirled around to confront his stalker. He expected to see a guard, or perhaps one of the nobles who had followed him from the ballroom, but what he found was entirely different. Standing before him was a small, older woman. She was beautiful, but in a peculiar, almost ethereal way, as if she didn¡¯t quite belong in this world. Her short, spiky hair was a striking silver, contrasting with her bright green eyes, which glinted with intelligence and something else¡ªsomething darker. She wore a forest green gown that clung to her slender frame, and around her neck hung a single necklace with a green gem that seemed to pulse with its own light. Before Thorne could react, the woman began to berate him, her voice sharp and commanding, cutting through the air like a blade. "You¡¯re an idiot," she snapped, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Using primal magic in a place like this¡ªare you out of your mind? Any mage worth their salt would have immediately figured out what you¡¯ve done! The aether disturbance you caused... I could sense it all the way from the ballroom." Thorne¡¯s mouth opened, but no words came out. He had so many questions¡ªWho was this woman? How did she know about his magic? Why was she so concerned? But she seemed intent on not giving him a chance to ask any of them. She paced back and forth in front of him, muttering to herself, occasionally glancing up at him with a look that made him feel like a misbehaving child. Her eyes suddenly narrowed, focusing on his sternum as if she could see straight through his chest. Without warning, she reached out, her hand moving with surprising speed, and plunged it into his shirt. Thorne tried to pull away, but her grip was like iron, her fingers wrapping around the pendant he wore. ¡°Where did you get this?¡± she demanded, her voice low and dangerous. The calm, almost detached demeanor she had shown earlier was gone, replaced by something fiercer, something primal. Thorne stammered, caught off guard by the sudden change in her demeanor. ¡°My mother,¡± he managed to say. ¡°My mother gave it to me.¡± The woman¡¯s eyes widened in shock, and for a moment, she seemed to forget where she was. She stepped back as if she had been slapped, her grip on the pendant loosening until she finally let go. The color drained from her face, and she stared at him with an expression that was a mix of disbelief and something else¡ªfear, perhaps. ¡°Your mother?¡± she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Thorne nodded, his mind racing. Who was this woman? How did she know about his pendant? How had she felt his magic? But before he could voice any of his questions, the woman seemed to regain her composure. Her expression hardened, the brief moment of vulnerability vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. ¡°Never use the primal aether in the presence of others again,¡± she said, her voice cold and final. Then, without another word, she turned and vanished, dissolving into the shadows as if she had never been there. Thorne stood there, in the now-empty hallway, the ancient statue beside him his only companion. The events of the last few minutes swirled in his mind, each question feeding into the next, creating a storm of confusion and uncertainty. Who was she? And what did she know about his mother? As the silence pressed in around him, Thorne realized just how much he didn¡¯t know¡ªand how dangerous that ignorance could be. Thorne remained where he was for a few precious moments, confusion and worry swirling within him. The encounter with the mysterious woman had shaken him more than he cared to admit. His hand instinctively touched the pendant beneath his shirt. Why did she care so much about his mother¡¯s pendant? But as much as he wanted to dwell on those questions, he couldn¡¯t afford to let them distract him now. There was a mission to complete, and if he failed, it could cost him far more than answers. He let out a slow breath, forcing his emotions to settle. That¡¯s something he could deal with later. Now, he had to focus. Looking around, Thorne realized Seraphina had dragged him so far from the ballroom that he had no idea where he was. The stone walls, flickering with soft light from sconces and torches, seemed to close in on him, and he gritted his teeth in frustration. He strained his hearing, trying to pick up any sounds that might guide him back. Distant voices, the hum of music, and the low murmur of conversation drifted faintly toward him. That would do. He began moving toward the sound, following it as his only guide through the maze-like hallways. For minutes, he wandered aimlessly, turning corner after corner with no idea if he was getting closer to the grand ballroom or further away. He tried to ignore the unease building in his chest, forcing himself to focus. He had barely seen any servants, and that worried him. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Thorne spotted a hurried-looking servant carrying a heap of towels. He stepped into the servant¡¯s path and without hesitation, demanded directions to the ballroom. The servant pointed down another long corridor, barely sparing him a glance before rushing off again. Thorne exhaled, righted his clothes, and slicked his hair back into place as he walked. Activating his Mask of Deceit skill, he allowed his outward appearance to return to the calm, composed noble he was pretending to be. As the sounds of the party grew louder, his focus sharpened. He was nearing the grand ballroom again¡ªback where he was supposed to be. But as he moved down an elegant hallway with wide arches and flickering candelabras, something caught his attention from the corner of his eye¡ªmovement. Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. His heart skipped a beat as his gaze locked onto the figure ahead. Lord Valewyn, his target. The warden of the west. He stopped dead in his tracks, indecision warring within him. Should he return to the party and rejoin Alden and the nobles, or should he follow his target now? His task was supposed to be networking, not assassination. The kill had been assigned to Jareth and Rhea. They were the ones meant to handle that part of the mission. But here he was, right in front of him. An opportunity had presented itself. Before he could second-guess himself, Thorne acted. He activated Shadow Meld, his body blending seamlessly into the dim lighting of the corridor, followed by Stealth, muffling any sound he made as he moved silently in pursuit of Lord Valewyn. The noble turned right into a narrow side corridor¡ªone far less decorated, with plain stone walls and a cramped feel. Clearly, it was a passage used by the servants. Thorne closed the distance between them, moving as quickly as he dared without compromising his stealth. As he crept closer, he realized that Lord Valewyn wasn¡¯t alone. Damn it. The presence of a second person complicated things, but he couldn¡¯t afford to back out now. He needed to know what was going on, to gather any information that might be useful. Keeping his breathing steady, Thorne followed the two men as they made their way down the dimly lit corridor. Their voices were low, but the acoustics of the narrow space allowed snippets of their conversation to reach his ears. As Thorne moved closer, careful not to make a sound, he strained to hear the content of their conversation. Lord Valewyn¡¯s deep, commanding voice was unmistakable, but the other man spoke in hushed tones, his words barely audible. They came to a stop in front of a large wooden door at the end of the corridor. Thorne¡¯s pulse quickened as he realized they were about to enter an office, a place that was likely to contain valuable information. He pressed himself against the wall, watching as Lord Valewyn pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the door. The two men stepped inside, and Thorne hesitated for a brief moment before following. The door had not closed all the way, leaving a small gap just wide enough for him to slip through. He slid into the room silently, his heart pounding as he took in his surroundings. It was an opulent office, decorated with rich, dark wood and heavy, luxurious drapes. A large desk dominated the center of the room, covered in papers and ledgers, while the walls were lined with bookshelves filled with ancient tomes and artifacts. Thorne kept to the shadows, his eyes fixed on the two men as they moved toward the desk. Lord Valewyn gestured for the other man to sit, and the conversation resumed, this time in tones that Thorne could just barely make out. The man that Lord Valewyn was with lacked the polish of the other nobles, but his relaxed posture and casual demeanor indicated that he didn¡¯t care much about the Warden of the West. Thorne observed the blond man closely, noting his plain attire and the confidence with which he carried himself¡ªa confidence that spoke of power, but not the kind that came from wealth or title. "So? Are we ready?" Lord Valewyn demanded, a note of impatience in his voice. The other man had an uninterested look on his face, his eyes lazily sweeping the room. For a brief moment, his gaze lingered on Thorne¡¯s hiding spot, causing Thorne¡¯s heart to pound in his chest. But thankfully, the man¡¯s eyes returned to Lord Valewyn. ¡°The chancellor will decide when the time is right,¡± the man replied with a tone of casual authority. ¡°He hasn¡¯t reached the position he¡¯s in by acting on impulse.¡± Thorne felt his heart squeeze painfully at the mention of the chancellor¡ªthe man who had ordered his family¡¯s death. He looked at the mysterious man with renewed interest, memorizing every detail of his face, every subtle expression, and mannerism. ¡°The operation,¡± the man continued, ¡°must be a complete success. No witnesses, no survivors. Complete extermination.¡± Lord Valewyn opened his mouth several times as if trying to speak, but it took him a moment to find his voice. ¡°But... but he has to act now!¡± he finally stammered. ¡°The nobles are already suspicious. There is talk about them... I¡¯m worried they will act against me!¡± The other man scoffed. ¡°You have no need to fear. As long as the chancellor is by your side, there is no danger of the western provinces falling into another family¡¯s hands. You are safe.¡± Despite the reassurance, Lord Valewyn didn¡¯t seem convinced. His eyes darted around the room, his mind clearly racing through a million different contingencies. ¡°It may be so... but...¡± He licked his lips nervously as if trying to find the courage to speak. ¡°It sets a bad precedent... if they find out... it is more prudent to act now...¡± The other man cut him off, his tone sharp. ¡°The chancellor will not make a move until he is assured of success. Mere warriors and soldiers are not up to the task. He will need someone who can annihilate an entire army.¡± Lord Valewyn¡¯s eyes widened in shock. ¡°He is willing to deploy HIM?¡± The noble¡¯s voice quivered, all the confidence drained from him. He sat heavily on an armchair, as if his legs could no longer support him. The other man smirked. ¡°Of course. The chancellor doesn¡¯t like to leave his missions up to chance, and he¡¯s not very forgiving. They¡¯ve infringed on his territory, questioned his authority, and they have to pay.¡± Lord Valewyn nodded weakly, his face pale as a ghost. ¡°Do not take the kindness he showed you for granted,¡± the man continued, his voice low and menacing. ¡°He took you back despite your betrayal because you are useful. But that doesn¡¯t mean he won¡¯t change his mind once you are no longer useful to him.¡± The noble, who had exuded confidence and entitlement earlier in the ballroom, now looked like a scared little child. ¡°Of course, of course! I am a faithful servant to the chancellor!¡± he hurried to reassure, his voice trembling. ¡°I¡¯ve done everything he asked of me¡ªcollecting information and using them as per his instructions!¡± The other man nodded, looking bored as he stood up and picked at an invisible lint on his black jacket. ¡°Very well. We should return to the ballroom. Your absence would have been noted, and I have a few more contacts to get in touch with.¡± Lord Valewyn nodded, but he remained seated, his hands clutching the armrests of the chair as if he were too terrified to move. ¡°I¡¯ll return shortly,¡± he mumbled. ¡°I have... some obligations to take care of...¡± The other man smirked, clearly aware that Lord Valewyn was too frightened to leave the room. He crossed the room toward the door, and as he did, Thorne felt an unsettling sensation wash over him. To his shock, he could feel the man¡¯s core¡ªa powerful, oppressive energy that radiated from him like heat from a furnace. Thorne nearly lost his grip on his Shadow Meld skill, the realization hitting him like a physical blow. This man was no ordinary man¡ªhe was something far more dangerous. The sheer power emanating from his core was overwhelming, and Thorne knew that he was in the presence of someone far beyond his level. The man¡¯s pace slowed as he neared Thorne, and Thorne didn¡¯t dare breathe. Every instinct screamed at him to run, but he remained rooted to the spot, hidden within the shadows. The man passed by him, mere meters separating them, and opened the door. But before he could leave, Lord Valewyn spoke up, his voice trembling. ¡°How long?¡± The mysterious man paused, his hand on the door, and responded without turning around. ¡°Just a few months.¡± With that, he stepped out of the room, the door closing behind him with a soft click. Thorne remained where he was, his heart pounding in his chest as he processed what he had just heard. The chancellor¡¯s reach extended further than he had imagined, and the forces at play were far more dangerous than he had anticipated. It couldn¡¯t be a coincidence that the day he had found information about Bea, was the day he heard about the cursed man that had ordered the execution of his family. He gritted his teeth, anger and frustration bubbling up in a dangerous cocktail inside him. He needed to get out of here¡ªnow. But as he turned to leave, his eyes fell on Lord Valewyn, still seated in the chair, his face pale and drenched in sweat. The man looked utterly defeated, a far cry from the powerful noble he had appeared to be in the ballroom. He couldn¡¯t just leave now. Now that his target was alone and helpless. He had to complete his mission. CHAPTER 95 Thorne remained still as he watched Lord Valewyn sit alone in his office, his once-proud form now hunched over the large desk. The noble¡¯s hands clutched his head in frustration, his posture betraying the effect the noble¡¯s earlier meeting with the mysterious man had. Thorne¡¯s mind raced through possible approaches for the assassination, but he knew time was running out. A surprise attack was his safest bet; a head-on confrontation with an unknown opponent could prove disastrous. He didn¡¯t know what skills Valewyn possessed, but the man had the body of a warrior. The years may have dulled his edge, but Thorne couldn¡¯t take any chances. He activated his Critical Eye skill, and his vision immediately sharpened, highlighting weak points on the noble¡¯s body. Red markers flared in his sight, indicating vulnerabilities, but to Thorne¡¯s surprise, they were few and scattered. Beneath Valewyn¡¯s fine clothing, there was an unseen layer of protection¡ªa magical barrier or perhaps armor disguised as a simple shirt. Thorne¡¯s grip tightened around the dagger he had palmed. He took a deep breath, centering himself, and with practiced precision, he hurled the blade toward Valewyn¡¯s throat. The dagger flew true, cutting through the air with deadly intent. Thorne watched, heart pounding, as the blade neared its mark. But just as the dagger was about to strike, a loud noise echoed through the room, startling both Thorne and the noble. A small explosion erupted from Valewyn¡¯s hand, and Thorne¡¯s eyes widened as he saw the man¡¯s body flash with a blue light. A metallic clang reverberated through the room, the sound of his dagger meeting an invisible barrier. Valewyn leaped to his feet, his eyes wild as they scanned the room. He looked confused, perhaps even disoriented, and Thorne noticed a strip of burnt skin on his hand, as if a ring had once been there but had suddenly vanished. ¡°Who¡¯s there?¡± Valewyn demanded, his voice a mix of fear and anger. He began circling the desk, his eyes searching frantically for something. Thorne narrowed his eyes, quickly assessing the situation. The noble was clearly searching for a weapon, something to defend himself with. Thorne wasn¡¯t about to give him that chance. He palmed another knife, this one concealed inside his boot, and waited for the right moment. With a sudden movement, Thorne hurled the second dagger. Valewyn¡¯s reflexes were surprisingly sharp; he twisted to the side, the blade narrowly missing him. The man¡¯s speed was unexpected for someone his age, and Thorne¡¯s suspicion grew. This wasn¡¯t going to be as easy as he¡¯d hoped. His aether points were dwindling after maintaining Shadow Meld for so long, leaving him with limited options. Thorne deactivated both Shadow Meld and Stealth, stepping into the light. The noble¡¯s eyes locked onto him, confusion etched across his face. ¡°A boy?¡± Valewyn muttered under his breath, the disbelief evident in his tone. Thorne arched an eyebrow, his mind working quickly. He needed information, and the noble¡¯s shock might provide an opening. ¡°You seem surprised,¡± Thorne said casually, as if they were discussing the weather. ¡°Did you expect someone else?¡± Valewyn¡¯s eyes narrowed, the confusion slowly giving way to recognition. ¡°One of the Lost Ones,¡± he muttered, almost gleeful. ¡°So, your master has sent you to kill me.¡± Thorne¡¯s heart skipped a beat, but he kept his expression neutral. The man knew about Uncle¡¯s secret guild. This was bad¡ªvery bad. He needed answers, but prolonging the confrontation was dangerous. Valewyn had already shown that he had hidden aces, and Thorne wasn¡¯t eager to find out what else he had up his sleeve. ¡°You know,¡± Valewyn continued, his voice gaining strength, ¡°I was once like you¡ªa tool for someone more powerful, an expendable pawn sent to do the dirty work.¡± He sneered, his eyes flicking over Thorne¡¯s. ¡°Once?¡± Thorne scoffed dismissively. ¡°From what I heard you are just the chancellor¡¯s errand boy.¡± Thorne felt satisfaction as the man¡¯s face turned red in fury. ¡°You¡¯re young, inexperienced. You think you¡¯re dangerous, but you¡¯re just a child playing with knives.¡± Lord Valewyn said with barely controlled anger, trying to sound placating. Thorne remained silent, his expression unreadable, but inside, he was seething. Valewyn¡¯s dismissive tone grated on his nerves, but he couldn¡¯t let the man get to him. He needed to stay focused. ¡°You think you can kill me?¡± Valewyn continued, his voice dripping with contempt. ¡°Do you even understand who I am? What I¡¯ve done? Your Uncle sent a boy to do a man¡¯s job, pathetic.¡± Thorne¡¯s eyes narrowed, his grip tightening on the dagger in his hand. He needed to end this quickly, but he also needed answers. ¡°You seem confident,¡± Thorne replied coolly, ¡°but you¡¯re still here, cowering in this office, hiding from that man.¡± Valewyn¡¯s expression darkened, a flicker of something¡ªfear, perhaps¡ªcrossing his face. ¡°You know nothing,¡± he spat. ¡°I¡¯ve survived this long because I¡¯ve learned to play the game. I¡¯ve outlived more powerful men than you, boy.¡± ¡°Then you should know when the game¡¯s over,¡± Thorne said, his voice steady despite the tension thrumming through him. Valewyn barked a harsh laugh, shaking his head. ¡°You really think you can just walk in here and kill me? I¡¯ve been dealing with assassins for longer than you¡¯ve been alive.¡± You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. ¡°Then it shouldn¡¯t be a surprise when you die tonight,¡± Thorne said, his voice cold as ice. Valewyn¡¯s eyes flashed with anger, but he didn¡¯t reply. Instead, he lunged toward a heavy candlestick on the desk, but Thorne was faster. With a burst of speed, he crossed the distance between them, his daggers flashing in the dim light. Valewyn parried the first strike with the candlestick, swinging it with surprising strength. Thorne ducked under the blow, his foot lashing out to sweep the man¡¯s legs from under him. Valewyn stumbled but didn¡¯t fall. Instead, he grabbed a paperweight from the desk and hurled it at Thorne. Thorne dodged, rolling to the side and coming up with both daggers ready. The man was fighting desperately, using anything he could find as a weapon. But Thorne could see the subtle way Valewyn was maneuvering, leading him toward the back of the room. Realizing the trap, Thorne pressed the attack, unwilling to let the noble gain any more ground. He unleashed his Lethal Flurry skill, his daggers moving with rapid, calculated precision, each strike aimed at a vital point. But Valewyn¡¯s defensive skills were formidable. He used the environment to his advantage, deflecting and blocking Thorne¡¯s attacks with whatever he could grab. The fight was growing desperate, the room echoing with the sounds of their struggle. Thorne considered using one of his aetheric abilities¡ªAetheric Grip could end the fight instantly¡ªbut his earlier encounter with the mysterious woman had left him wary. He couldn¡¯t risk drawing more attention to himself. A vase shattered as Valewyn used it to block a strike aimed at his throat, the shards scattering across the floor. Thorne pressed forward, his daggers cutting through the air with deadly intent. Valewyn grabbed a chair and swung it at Thorne, forcing him to leap back. The chair splintered against the wall, but Valewyn didn¡¯t hesitate¡ªhe grabbed the broken leg and wielded it like a club, his eyes wild with desperation. The two clashed again, Thorne¡¯s daggers moved in a blur as Valewyn fought back with ferocity. The noble was surprisingly strong, each of his strikes carrying the weight of a seasoned warrior. But Thorne was faster, his reflexes honed through years of training with Uncle¡¯s elite assassins. Valewyn wasn¡¯t just strong; he was skilled. Thorne recognized the signs¡ªthis was a man who had been trained in combat arts, who had honed his body into a weapon over decades. The noble swung the club in a wide arc, aiming for Thorne¡¯s head. Thorne ducked under the blow and lunged forward, his dagger slicing through the air toward Valewyn¡¯s chest. But the noble twisted at the last moment, the blade grazing his side instead. Blood blossomed on Valewyn¡¯s shirt, but he barely seemed to notice. With a snarl, he brought his knee up, aiming for Thorne¡¯s gut. Thorne twisted his body, avoiding the knee strike by a hair¡¯s breadth. He retaliated with a quick, precise strike, his dagger aiming for Valewyn¡¯s throat. But the noble saw it coming and threw his weight to the side, the blade missing by inches. As they clashed, Thorne felt the noble¡¯s Warrior¡¯s Instinct skill activate, allowing Valewyn to anticipate his moves with uncanny accuracy. Each time Thorne thought he had an opening, Valewyn countered with surprising speed, his strikes aimed with lethal precision. Thorne dodged a powerful swing of the club, but Valewyn¡¯s follow-up kick caught him in the ribs, sending him crashing into a bookshelf. Pain lanced through Thorne¡¯s side, but he gritted his teeth and pushed off the shelf, using the momentum to throw himself back into the fight. Valewyn¡¯s eyes glinted with a cold, calculating light as he pressed his advantage. He reached for a small vial hidden in his belt and hurled it at Thorne. The vial shattered against the wall behind Thorne, releasing a cloud of noxious gas. Smoke Bomb! Thorne thought, his vision going hazy as he inhaled the fumes. Coughing, he activated his Escape Artist skill, the skill allowing him to slip out of the gas cloud as he felt his health points taking a hit. But the momentary distraction allowed Valewyn to close the distance. The noble¡¯s Brutal Strike came at him fast, a heavy punch aimed straight for Thorne¡¯s head. Thorne ducked just in time, the blow grazing his ear as he spun to the side. He retaliated with a swift Backstab, but Valewyn twisted away, the blade barely scratching his side. Thorne was starting to realize just how outmatched he was. Valewyn wasn¡¯t just powerful; he was experienced. Every move Thorne made was met with an equal and opposite reaction. The noble¡¯s Tactical Awareness skill was clearly at a high level, allowing him to stay one step ahead in the chaotic battle. But Thorne had one advantage: his speed. With a sudden burst, he activated Burst of Speed again, moving with blinding agility as he unleashed another Lethal Flurry. His daggers flashed like lightning, striking from unexpected angles. Valewyn tried to block, but this time, Thorne was faster. He feinted left, drawing Valewyn¡¯s guard, then spun right, his daggers slicing in a deadly flurry. The blades found their mark, cutting deep into Valewyn¡¯s defenses and slashing through his protective shirt. Blood splattered the fine carpet as Valewyn stumbled back, his eyes wide with shock and pain. Thorne didn¡¯t give him a chance to recover. With a final, decisive strike, he drove his dagger into Valewyn¡¯s chest, piercing his heart. The noble¡¯s eyes went wide, a choked gasp escaping his lips before the light faded from his eyes. Valewyn¡¯s body crumpled to the floor, the life draining from his body. Thorne stepped back, breathing heavily. The room was silent, the only sound the soft drip of blood onto the floor. He stood over the body, his mind already compartmentalizing what he had done. There was no time for guilt or hesitation. This was his life now. As Valewyn lay dying, a faint smile crossed his lips. ¡°Uncle¡¯s time¡­ is coming,¡± he rasped, the words barely a whisper. ¡°He won¡¯t escape¡­ what¡¯s coming for him.¡± Thorne¡¯s expression remained cold, but the words struck deep. There was no time to dwell on them. He knelt beside the body and, with steady hands, began to carve the symbol of the Lost Ones into Valewyn¡¯s forehead. The spiral emblem took shape under his blade, each cut precise and deliberate. It was a message¡ªa warning to those who opposed Uncle¡¯s will. When the task was done, Thorne straightened, wiping the blood from his dagger. He moved to the desk, quickly searching through the papers and documents scattered across it. Most of it was useless¡ªledgers, correspondence, nothing of real value. But when he opened the drawer, he froze. There, among the trinkets and papers, was a token. A spiral emblem, identical to the one he had just carved, emblazoned on its surface. Thorne¡¯s hand trembled as he pocketed the token, his mind racing with questions. What was this doing here? What connection did Valewyn have to the Lost Ones? Pushing the questions aside for now, Thorne moved to a small mirror propped up on a vanity table. He cleaned himself up, leaving no trace of the battle on his clothes or skin. Satisfied, he activated Shadow Meld once more, his form blending into the shadows as he slipped out of the room. As he walked down the hallway, he couldn¡¯t help but smile. The notification flashed before his eyes, filling him with a sense of accomplishment. Congratulations! You have leveled up! CHAPTER 96 Thorne walked down the main hallway leading to the ballroom, doing his best to hide the flinch every time he moved. The obnoxious lord had landed some solid hits, leaving his ribs bruised and his movements stiff. He checked the notifications that had piled up during the night, pleased to see that the mission had turned out more profitable than he had initially thought. Both his social and combat skills had seen significant progress, and he had finally leveled up. Each level-up felt like a cause for celebration now that his progress had slowed, with every advancement requiring intense training and real-world experience. He quickly distributed the fifteen attribute points and scanned his character sheet as he approached the staircase leading down to the ballroom. Name: Thorne Level: 36 ¡ú 37 Race: Human Age: 18 Special Trait: Elder Race Health Points: 791/900 ¡ú 791/950 Aether: 198/540 Stamina: 574/900 Core Attributes Combat Skills Stealth & Deception Survival & Miscellaneous Skills Mental & Social Skills Defensive Skills Aetheric Abilities The din of the party was getting louder, reminding him that he needed to return to the festivities and maintain his cover. He heard hurried footsteps behind him. His shoulders tensed, wondering what new calamity had befallen him. Thorne turned around slowly, keeping his movements nonchalant as he prepared for whatever¡ªor whoever¡ªwas coming. His gaze landed on Alden, who was approaching him with an unreadable expression. There was something off about the other noble¡¯s twitching movements, his nervous eyes darting around the corridor.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. As Alden came closer, his voice was low but filled with barely controlled anger. "Who are you?" he growled, his tone demanding answers. Feigning surprise, Thorne tilted his head slightly, letting his Acting skill portray bewilderment. "What do you mean, Alden? It''s me, Thorne Silverbane," he replied smoothly. "Don''t play with me!" Alden snapped, his fists clenching at his sides. "I know what you did! Is Silverbane even your real name?" Thorne glanced around discreetly, scanning the few nobles nearby. They seemed too absorbed in their own affairs to notice the tension between the two. "Why would I lie about something like that?" Thorne asked, his tone tinged with indignation. "To kill Lord Valewyn!" Alden''s voice rose, and Thorne''s eyes darted around the hall. He couldn''t afford to let this conversation draw any more attention. His mind raced, trying to piece together how Alden could have figured it out. He had been so careful. Thorne stepped forward, grabbing Alden by the arm and dragging him toward a nearby door. "Let me go!" Alden protested, struggling against Thorne''s grip. "That''s enough," Thorne hissed, his voice cold and authoritative. his eyes scanning for a quiet place to continue their discussion. He spotted a door that looked more utilitarian than decorative and shoved it open. Inside was a large room filled with supplies and crates of cleaning goods. Thorne pushed Alden inside, causing him to stumble, before closing the door behind them. The young noble stumbled before whirling around, his face flushed with fury. "How dare you! Don¡¯t touch me ever again!" Alden spat, his anger flaring as he regained his balance. "I could have you hanged for that offense, common filth!" Thorne didn¡¯t respond immediately. He checked the hallway through a crack in the door, ensuring they hadn¡¯t been followed, before leaning against it. He leaned against the door, crossing his arms in a seemingly relaxed pose, though his ribs screamed in protest. His mind was focused on one thing: what to do with Alden. "Calm down and explain what has you so riled up," he said, his voice measured and steady. Alden''s face contorted in incredulity, his cheeks turning a deeper shade of red. "Are you serious? You just killed the Warden of the West, and you have the gall to ask me why I''m outraged?" Damn it, Thorne thought. How the hell did this seemingly oblivious noble know? His face remained impassive, but the curiosity gnawed at him. "You don''t know what you''re talking about," he said, his tone low and soothing. "You''ve clearly had too much to drink." "I''m not drunk!" Alden shot back, his voice quivering with anger. "When you were gone from the ballroom for too long, I knew you were up to no good! I''ve been watching you all day. I heard you talking to your servants about some shady stuff and decided to investigate." Thorne¡¯s earlier observations about Alden¡¯s uncharacteristically quiet behavior began to make sense. The young man had been biding his time, silently observing, just as he claimed. But the question still remained: how had he pieced it all together? "You see," Alden continued, his voice growing steadier, "I noticed some slip-ups. You got names and cities wrong. While you were charming everyone around you, every once in a while, you''d let your guard down¡ªwhether it was a slip in your speech or a certain look in your eyes. Being in the sidelines has made me good at observing and analyzing people. When no one pays attention to you, you learn there¡¯s power in reading people. It took me some time, but I figured you out. You¡¯re not who you say you are!" Alden stepped forward, his posture aggressive, as if he were ready to attack. Thorne regarded him carefully, realizing he had severely underestimated the young man. Alden was far more observant and intelligent than Thorne had given him credit for. Once again, he had let his own arrogance lead him into a precarious situation. Now he had to rectify that mistake. Thorne let go of his Mask of Deceit, allowing his true emotions to show. Curiosity more than anything else. How had this young noble managed to pierce through his carefully maintained facade? "You¡¯re certainly sharper than the rest of the nobles I¡¯ve met here," Thorne said with a small smile. "Congratulations are in order. I thought I was better at faking an identity, but I guess my Acting skill isn¡¯t on par just yet." Alden narrowed his eyes at the sudden change in Thorne''s demeanor. "I also have some skills," he admitted, his voice dripping with bitter satisfaction. "Being overlooked has given me a very useful one, Subtle Presence. It lets me eavesdrop on conversations without being noticed, makes everyone overlook me and forget I¡¯m even there." Ah, Thorne thought, that explains it. That¡¯s how Alden seemed to pop into existence out of nowhere when Thorne had thought he¡¯d forgotten him. And to think he¡¯d felt bad for not remembering Alden was with him! "That¡¯s all very good," Thorne said, his voice taking on a mocking edge, "but the accusation of killing is a bit much, don¡¯t you think?" Alden gritted his teeth, his hands balling into fists once more. "I searched for you, and I found you! But before I could follow, you vanished. When I saw you again, you were near the Warden¡¯s office. I was curious... so I investigated." Alden''s eyes turned glassy, as if the memory itself was too much to bear. "And... I found him... dead." The young man was clearly shaken, the shock evident in his trembling voice. It was likely the first dead body he had ever seen. But then his eyes hardened, and he pointed an accusatory finger at Thorne. "You did it! You killed him!" Thorne nodded, feeling no need to lie. Alden had already figured out too much. "I did," he admitted, his voice calm and untroubled. Alden¡¯s eyes widened in shock at how casually Thorne confessed to the murder of the Warden of the West. Before he could react, Thorne¡¯s hand moved with deadly precision, a dagger appearing in his grip as if by magic. "And you," Thorne said in a voice devoid of emotion, "are no longer needed." With a flick of his wrist, the knife sailed through the air, its edge catching the dim light as it found its mark in Alden¡¯s chest. The young noble didn¡¯t even have time to scream. His body crumpled to the ground, his eyes wide with shock and pain. Thorne stared down at the body for a moment, a strange sense of finality settling over him. He had tried to manipulate Alden, to use him as a pawn in the complex game of noble politics. But in the end, Alden had been more than just a pawn¡ªhe had been a threat. And threats had to be eliminated. Thorne sighed, pulling the dagger free and wiping it clean before sheathing it. He looked down at Alden¡¯s lifeless form, feeling a pang of something¡ªregret, perhaps?¡ªbut quickly pushed it aside. He had a mission to complete, and sentimentality had no place in it. Thorne took a few minutes to dispose of the body and with a regretful sigh he turned and left the room, locking the door behind him. The ballroom awaited, and there was still much to be done before the night was over. Thorne reentered the grand ballroom, a carefully constructed mask of carefree drunkenness firmly in place. He knew he had been gone for a significant amount of time, long enough that anyone keeping tabs on him would have noticed his absence. As he walked, his gaze swept over the room, assessing the situation. The festivities were in full swing¡ªcouples danced under the soft, melodic voice of the bard, nobles drank and laughed loudly, and servants scurried about with trays of sparkling drinks. No one seemed the wiser to what had transpired, no indication that Lord Valewyn¡¯s lifeless body was lying somewhere in the depths of the palace. Thorne grabbed a flute of a sparkling liquid from a passing servant, letting the cool glass steady his hand as he scanned the room. His eyes locked onto Seraphina and Percy, who stood a few paces away, engaged in conversation with a group of young nobles. Thorne took a sip of his drink as he approached them, allowing his Acting and Deception skills to take over. He let his posture slacken, his speech slurring slightly as he greeted them. His eyes took on a distant, unfocused look, as if he were struggling to concentrate. To anyone watching, he appeared to be thoroughly intoxicated. Seraphina and Percy exchanged a quick, confused glance at Thorne¡¯s sudden change in demeanor. Seraphina gave him a questioning look, but she quickly masked her surprise and played along with his charade. "It seems our earlier game of dare was a little too intense for you, Thorne," she teased, her tone light and playful. "You were terrible at it¡ªyou had to drink after every round!" Thorne forced a sloppy grin, leaning heavily on the back of a nearby chair for support. "What can I say?" he drawled, his voice thick with feigned inebriation. "I never was good at those kinds of games." Percy chuckled, though his eyes remained suspicious as he observed Thorne¡¯s odd behavior. "Well, you certainly look the part now," he said, raising his glass in a mocking toast. Thorne¡¯s eyes darted around the room, taking in the scene. The music swelled, and the laughter of the nobles filled the air, but beneath the surface, a simmering tension lay hidden. No one knew yet that the Warden of the West was dead, but Thorne knew it was only a matter of time before the news spread like wildfire through the gathered aristocrats. Just as Thorne began to believe that everything would turn out well, a firm hand grabbed him by the arm, yanking him away from the group of young nobles. Every instinct screamed at him to fight back, to eliminate the threat, but he forced himself to maintain his drunken facade. He allowed himself to be led away, stumbling slightly as if he were too drunk to resist. Alden¡¯s father loomed over him, his face a mask of barely controlled rage. His grip on Thorne¡¯s arm was painful, his fingers digging into the flesh. "Where is my son?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous. Thorne blinked slowly, feigning confusion as he swayed on his feet. "Alden?" he slurred, his words thick and clumsy. "Haven¡¯t seen him for a while... maybe he¡¯s off with... someone special?" He forced a lazy, lopsided grin, the picture of a drunken youth who had indulged too much. The older man¡¯s eyes narrowed, his suspicion deepening. "Don¡¯t lie to me, boy. I know you¡¯re not who you say you are," he hissed, his voice low enough to avoid attracting attention, but loud enough for Thorne to hear the threat clearly. Thorne acted bewildered, his gaze unfocused as he muttered, "The only thing I know... is that a certain lady has very soft lips." He winked clumsily in Seraphina¡¯s direction, adding to the lie, and the young woman played along, tipping her head and raising her glass in acknowledgment. Alden¡¯s father¡¯s eyes blazed with fury, but he refrained from causing a scene. "If anything happens to my son, you will be held accountable," he warned, his voice like ice. "I¡¯ll make sure of it." Good luck with that, Thorne thought to himself, his mind flashing back to the moment he had disposed of Alden¡¯s body in a waste chute, a place where the servants disposed of trash and debris. It was unlikely anyone would find the body anytime soon. With a final glare, Alden¡¯s father released Thorne¡¯s arm, shoving him back toward the center of the room. Thorne stumbled slightly, letting his movements mimic the clumsiness of drunkenness as he made his way through the crowd. He had to find Jareth and Rhea¡ªhe needed to ensure they were prepared to leave once the mission¡¯s completion became known. As Thorne weaved through the ballroom, he made a show of stumbling a few times, selling the act of a drunken young noble. His eyes scanned the room until he finally spotted Rhea standing outside the ballroom with the other guards, all of whom were waiting for their charges. She looked serious and focused, her gaze constantly sweeping over the crowd. Jareth, however, was nowhere to be found. Thorne caught Rhea¡¯s eye and subtly signaled that he had completed his task. She frowned slightly, a look of concern crossing her face, but she nodded in acknowledgment. Thorne knew she would understand the implication and be ready to act when the time came. Satisfied, Thorne returned to the group of young nobles, who were still indulging in drink and gossip. He rejoined them, slipping seamlessly back into his role. As the hours passed, he carefully observed the crowd, always on the lookout for any signs that the Warden¡¯s death had been discovered. He smiled and laughed, his act never slipping. A servant passed by with a tray of desserts, and Thorne¡¯s attention was caught by a slice of blueberry pie. Without thinking, he took a piece, savoring the familiar taste as he continued his surveillance. The sweetness of the pie momentarily distracted him, and he allowed himself to relax slightly. But then, like the buzzing of bees, whispers began to circulate through the room. The atmosphere shifted subtly, the laughter quieting, and the lively conversations grew muted. Thorne¡¯s heart quickened as he realized what was happening. The body had been discovered. The realization sent a thrill through him¡ªa mixture of satisfaction and anxiety. The mission was complete, but the most dangerous part was yet to come. He had to get out before suspicion fell on him. For now, though, he would wait, blending into the crowd, just another face among many as the news of the Warden¡¯s death spread like a shadow across the ballroom. CHAPTER 97 The whispers spread through the ballroom like wildfire, a low, creeping buzz that rippled from one corner of the grand hall to the other. Thorne stood amidst it all, the carefully constructed mask of a carefree noble still in place, even as tension coiled tight within him. He could feel the shift in the atmosphere, the way the laughter had dulled and the music now seemed a bit too loud, a bit too bright against the growing undercurrent of unease. He¡¯d been at this long enough to recognize the signs¡ªthe subtle glances exchanged between nobles, the nervous flick of a fan, the way conversations died abruptly as someone leaned in to murmur a secret. The news was spreading faster than he¡¯d anticipated, and with each passing second, the danger of discovery increased. Thorne¡¯s eyes scanned the room, taking in the various groups of nobles as they began to cluster together, their heads bent in hushed conversation. He didn¡¯t need to hear what they were saying to know the subject. Lord Valewyn, the Warden of the West, was dead. It was time to leave. He turned slightly, his gaze sweeping over the room, searching for Jareth and Rhea. The ballroom was packed, the throng of bodies making it difficult to spot anyone. But he caught a glimpse of Rhea near the entrance, still standing with the other guards, her face set in a mask of stoic professionalism. Good. She was ready. Thorne took another sip of his drink, the cool liquid doing little to ease the tension in his chest. He needed to find Jareth, confirm that the last part of their mission had been completed, and then get out before the chaos truly erupted. As he moved through the crowd, Thorne kept his expression neutral, his body language relaxed, but his mind was racing. The nobles were beginning to react, their movements becoming more agitated, more purposeful. Some were making their way toward the exits, their curiosity piqued by the sudden shift in the room¡¯s energy. A knot of young nobles stood nearby, their conversation halted as one of them¡ªan older, sharp-eyed man¡ªleaned in to speak. His words were too low for Thorne to catch, but the reactions were clear enough. Shock, disbelief, and then a slow, dawning horror. Thorne slipped past them, his movements smooth and unhurried, as if he were merely seeking a quieter spot in the bustling room. He had to keep his cover intact, even as the storm of realization broke around him. And then, just as he was about to make his way toward the far end of the room, he felt it¡ªa sharp, penetrating gaze that cut through the crowd and settled on him with unnerving precision. Thorne¡¯s breath hitched, and he resisted the urge to look around wildly for the source. Instead, he casually turned his head, scanning the crowd with the same feigned disinterest he¡¯d maintained all night. It was the mysterious woman from before. She was standing with a group of distinguished nobles, her eyes locked onto him with a look that sent a cold shiver down his spine. Her lips were parted slightly, as if she was about to speak, but she made no move to approach him. Beside her, two men were engaged in a heated conversation, oblivious to the silent exchange happening right beside him. Thorne forced a grin, raising his glass in a mock salute. The woman didn¡¯t return the gesture. Instead, she merely tilted her head, her expression unreadable as she continued to watch him. He couldn¡¯t tell if she knew¡ªif she had somehow pieced together the truth about what he¡¯d done. But the intensity of her gaze was enough to make him uneasy. He needed to get out of here. Now. Thorne moved again, his body protesting with every step. Exhaustion had set in, a deep, bone-weary fatigue that gnawed at him, dragging his every movement as if he were wading through thick mud. The night had taken its toll on him, and despite his best efforts to mask his fatigue, the strain was evident in the way his shoulders slumped slightly and his steps lacked their usual precision. Thorne¡¯s eyes swept over the crowd, searching for any sign of Jareth. He had been waiting for hours, biding his time and maintaining the facade of a carefree noble. But with each passing minute, the pressure mounted. The city guards had begun to trickle into the ballroom, their armor gleaming white and red¡ªthe colors of Valewind. Their presence was a stark contrast to the opulence of the event, a reminder that the situation was rapidly spiraling out of control. Time was running out. Thorne took a sip of the sparkling liquid in his glass, more to steady his nerves than anything else. The cool liquid slid down his throat, but it did little to soothe the tension coiled tight in his chest. He could feel eyes on him, a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. Alden¡¯s father had already confronted him earlier, and while Thorne had managed to deflect the man¡¯s accusations, it was clear that others were watching him closely. He cast a glance toward Rhea, who stood just outside the ballroom with the other bodyguards. Her stoic facade was beginning to crack, her eyes darting left and right as she watched the city guards swarm the room. She was searching for Jareth too, and the tension in her posture told him everything he needed to know¡ªshe was as worried as he was. Corwin, as always, was missing. Thorne had long since given up trying to keep track of him. The man was like a rat, always slipping through the cracks, surviving no matter what. But it was Jareth¡¯s absence that troubled him the most. They couldn¡¯t leave without completing all their tasks, and Jareth¡¯s return was the last piece of the puzzle. But how long could they afford to wait? His eyes swept the room one last time before he made his decision. He approached the entrance to the ballroom, moving past a squadron of city guards who passed him by, their hands on the hilts of their swords, their gazes scanning the crowd with sharp intensity. Rhea saw him coming and broke away from the other bodyguards, meeting him just outside the entrance. ¡°We need to leave soon,¡± Thorne said in a low voice, his tone tense. ¡°This place is about to explode. If we stay any longer, we¡¯ll be caught in the chaos.¡± Rhea nodded, her expression grim. ¡°I know, but I haven¡¯t seen Jareth since we got here. I don¡¯t like this, Thorne. He should have been back by now.¡±The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. Thorne clenched his jaw, his mind racing with possibilities. Jareth was a skilled assassin, but something had clearly gone wrong. The question was, how long could they afford to wait for him? ¡°What if something¡¯s happened to him?¡± Rhea continued, her voice edged with worry. ¡°We can¡¯t just leave without knowing.¡± ¡°We can¡¯t stay much longer either,¡± Thorne replied, his voice hard. ¡°Every minute we stay increases the risk. If we¡¯re caught here, it¡¯s over. We need to make a decision¡ªdo we wait, or do we leave?¡± Rhea hesitated, torn between her loyalty to Jareth and the cold logic of their situation. Thorne could see the conflict in her eyes, the uncertainty that mirrored his own. They had come too far, risked too much to fail now. But without Jareth, the mission was incomplete. ¡°Give him a little longer,¡± Rhea said finally, her voice tight with tension. ¡°But not much. If he doesn¡¯t show, we leave. Whether he¡¯s here or not.¡± Thorne nodded, his mind already calculating the risks. They would wait, but only for a short while. If Jareth didn¡¯t return soon, they would have to abandon him and make their escape. It was a harsh reality, but one they couldn¡¯t avoid. As they stood there, the tension between them palpable, Thorne¡¯s eyes flicked back to the ballroom. The city guards were becoming more active, moving through the crowd with purpose. The nobles were starting to notice, their conversations growing quieter, their movements more guarded. The whispers were spreading, and it wouldn¡¯t be long before the full truth came to light. Thorne felt a surge of frustration. Everything was teetering on the edge, and they were running out of time. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of thoughts swirling in his mind. They had to be ready for anything, and that meant staying focused, staying sharp. But even as he stood there, trying to project calm and control, he couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that something was about to go terribly wrong. Thorne''s heart pounded in his chest as he observed the city guards steadily filling the ballroom. Their armor, gleaming white and red, formed a growing circle around the nobles, creating an impenetrable wall of steel and authority. The atmosphere in the grand room shifted from festive to tense as the realization dawned on everyone that they were being contained. Murmurs of confusion spread through the crowd, and it wasn''t long before a few nobles attempted to leave. Their paths were promptly blocked by the guards, and one by one, the doors around the room were closed, trapping everyone inside. Thorne felt his pulse quicken as the situation grew more precarious. He needed to act quickly before the noose tightened around him and the other recruits. His Escape Artist skill flared, highlighting possible escape routes in his mind''s eye. He quickly assessed his options, searching for the safest way out. Minutes passed as he analyzed the room, trying to stay calm and focused despite the rising panic around him. The ballroom had fallen silent, save for the orchestra playing a subdued tune in the background. Indignant voices from nobles demanding answers echoed off the walls, but the guards remained stoic, unmoving. Finally, Thorne found a potential escape route. He spotted a small entrance at the far side of the room where servants were scurrying in and out like ants, though the flow of servants had slowed to a trickle as the tension in the room escalated. A few remaining servants, still holding trays, watched the proceedings with wide, fearful eyes. Thorne caught Rhea''s gaze across the room and subtly nodded towards the servants'' entrance. It took her a moment to understand his signal, but when she did, her expression firmed, and she nodded back. Thorne began making his way slowly towards the entrance, blending into the crowd of nobles as best as he could. He kept his movements deliberate, trying to appear as inconspicuous as possible. The crowd thinned the closer he got to the side of the room where the city guards stood watch, their eyes scanning the crowd with suspicion. For a moment, he hesitated, unsure how to slip through the wall of guards without drawing attention. But then his eyes landed on a servant standing frozen just outside the perimeter, his hand still raised with a tray of drinks. Thorne stumbled out of the throng of nobles, flagging the servant down. "You, servant!" he slurred, letting his Acting skill make him appear thoroughly drunk. The servant¡¯s eyes were glued to the crowd in front of him, oblivious to Thorne¡¯s approach. The guards, however, noticed Thorne''s movement and shifted closer to each other, closing the gap between them. "You stupid servant! Come here, you heathen!" Thorne''s words were barely coherent, pitched low enough so that only the guards could hear him, not the servant. He continued stumbling towards the guards, his eyes clouded as he faked a misstep and almost fell, clutching one of the guard''s gauntlets for support. He looked up at the guard with faked appreciation. "Thank you, my good man, I seem to have lost my balance. How unseemly of me." Thorne tried to move through the guards, but they blocked his path. "I''m afraid you cannot pass," the guard said, his voice bland and emotionless. Thorne looked at the guard with a beseeching expression. "Please, just one drink. There," he pointed at the servant, "I''ll get a glass and come right back." Seeing the guard''s impassive face beneath his helmet, Thorne scrambled to come up with another way to manipulate him. His face crumpled, and his eyes misted over. "It''s not every day you lose both your fianc¨¦e and your fortune in the same day," he said, his voice tinged with bitter despair. His Acting and Deception skills made him appear like a broken man, his shoulders slumped, and his posture defeated. "The moment I lost my father, the vultures came in, taking everything my family had! I¡¯m left with nothing! Nothing!" He clutched the guard''s hand tightly, his voice trembling. "I bet I won''t even be invited to the next party. This is my last outing among society. Please... I need... I need to forget..." A notification popped up in his vision. Skill level up: Acting! Skill level up: Acting! Thorne couldn''t help but think, Well, if I don¡¯t make it as an assassin, I can always take up acting as a profession. The guard hesitated, clearly moved by Thorne''s defeated expression, and then nodded. "Take a drink and come back immediately," the guard said. Thorne nodded eagerly. "You¡¯re a good man," he slurred, patting the guard on his armored shoulder as he passed by. He swayed as he moved towards the servant, surprising the man by taking a glass from the tray. The servant, absorbed in the tension of the room, barely reacted to Thorne¡¯s presence. He took a sip and noticed the guard was still watching him, so he stalled for time, tipping the glass back and draining its contents. He felt a brief wave of dizziness as the alcohol hit his system, but he forced himself to stay sharp. He picked up a second glass, taking a smaller sip this time, all the while keeping an eye on the guards. Finally, the guard who had been watching him looked away, distracted by a group of nobles demanding answers. Thorne didn¡¯t waste any time. He darted among the remaining servants clustered near the entrance and, with one last glance back at the ballroom, slipped through the door into a dimly lit corridor. He closed the door behind him, letting out a sigh of relief. The corridor was simple, lacking the decorations and extravagant displays of wealth that adorned the main hallways. Thorne walked down the corridor, letting his Escape Artist skill guide him. But as he moved, he heard a voice ahead. "My lord..." a servant called out, holding a tray of appetizers. "You must be lost. Let me show you the way back to the ballroom." Thorne returned the servant''s smile, but his mind was already calculating. When the servant drew closer, Thorne reached out, taking the tray from him. "Let me get that for you," he said smoothly. The servant blinked in confusion, just as Thorne''s other hand struck, delivering a precise blow to the back of the man''s head. The servant crumpled to the floor, unconscious. Thorne worked quickly, undressing the man and slipping into the servant''s clothes. They were a bit tight, but they would do. He dragged the unconscious servant into a small storage room, hiding him behind some crates. Then he ruffled his own hair, making it look wild and unkempt, and picked up the tray of appetizers. With the tray balanced on one hand, Thorne continued down the corridor, blending in with the other servants who scurried about their tasks. He kept his head down, moving with purpose. Now, all he needed to do was wait for Rhea. CHAPTER 98 Thorne moved cautiously through the labyrinthine servants'' quarters, his nerves stretched thin as he waited for Rhea. The quarters were vast, a network of chambers and hallways that seemed to stretch on forever. Each space buzzed with activity, a stark contrast to the tense, quiet anxiety building inside him. He passed through cavernous kitchens, where dozens of cooks and assistants worked feverishly, chopping vegetables, roasting meats, and stirring vast cauldrons of soup. The air was thick with the smells of cooking¡ªa blend of roasting meats, herbs, and freshly baked bread. Servants darted back and forth, balancing trays and dodging one another with practiced ease. In the serving chambers, prepared dishes were arranged meticulously on silver platters, ready to be whisked upstairs to the waiting nobles. Thorne paused here, watching the precision with which the servants operated, their faces set in concentration. This was their world, a place where mistakes were not tolerated, and every action was performed with calculated efficiency. He moved on, exploring the storage areas next. Some rooms were bone-chillingly cold, lined with hooks from which hung the carcasses of various animals. The meat was frozen solid, the cold air biting at Thorne''s skin even through his borrowed servant''s clothes. Other storage rooms were filled with racks of expensive-looking liquids, wines and spirits that glittered in the dim light, their labels promising luxury to those who could afford them. Finally, he entered a room stocked with more mundane supplies: crates of vegetables, wheels of cheese, sacks of flour and grain¡ªall stored in a more temperate room, the earthy smell of produce filling the air. It was here that he decided to wait, choosing a corner that allowed him a clear view of the door while still keeping him partially hidden. His nerves were starting to fray. The minutes ticked by, and still, there was no sign of Rhea. He paced nervously inside the storage room, peeking out the half-open door to the central hallway. Servants rushed past, too busy with their tasks or too engrossed in gossip about the events upstairs to notice him. He caught snippets of their conversations¡ªspeculation about what had happened in the ballroom, rumors of a murder, wild guesses about who might be responsible. It was clear that news was spreading fast, and it wouldn¡¯t be long before the entire palace was locked down. A pair of city guards marched past, their heavy boots echoing in the corridor. Thorne¡¯s heart skipped a beat, and he quickly shut the door, leaning against it as he tried to calm his racing thoughts. The window of opportunity was closing, and he knew it. The palace was becoming a cage, and if he didn¡¯t act soon, he might never get out. But could he really leave without the others? First, Corwin had disappeared, then Jareth, and now Rhea was nowhere to be found. He felt a surge of guilt at the thought of abandoning them, but the brutal truth was that staying might mean throwing away everything they had worked for. He couldn¡¯t afford to be sentimental¡ªnot now. Gritting his teeth, Thorne opened the door again and stepped into the hallway, determined to find a way out. His Escape Artist skill flared, guiding him through the labyrinth of corridors with an almost instinctual precision. He moved quickly but cautiously, avoiding the busier sections where guards were more likely to be stationed. At one point, he spotted a young serving girl carrying a stack of linens. With a winning smile, he approached her, keeping his voice light. ¡°Excuse me, miss,¡± he said, his tone friendly, ¡°I seem to have lost my way. Could you point me to the nearest exit? I just need to get some air.¡± The girl hesitated, glancing at him with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity. But something in Thorne¡¯s demeanor seemed to put her at ease, and she nodded, pointing down the corridor he was already heading toward. ¡°It¡¯s just down that way, sir,¡± she said softly. ¡°Take a left at the end, and you¡¯ll see a door that leads outside.¡± ¡°Thank you,¡± Thorne replied, giving her a grateful nod before continuing on his way. The corridors twisted and turned, each one looking more alike than the last. The familiarity of the layout nagged at him, reminding him of the hidden passages in the Lost Ones'' base. It was easy to imagine that whoever had designed this palace had thought of it as a fortress¡ªa place where secrets could be kept and enemies could be easily lost. Finally, he reached the door the girl had mentioned. He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath before cracking it open just enough to peek outside. The courtyard beyond was teeming with guards, their armor gleaming in the torchlight. It was as if the entire city¡¯s garrison had been called to the palace. There was no way he could slip past them unnoticed. Thorne gritted his teeth and closed the door again, turning back into the corridor. His mind raced as he tried to think of another option. He couldn¡¯t stay here much longer, not with the guards closing in and Rhea still missing. But he couldn¡¯t simply walk out into the courtyard and expect to get away unscathed. He needed a plan, and he needed it fast. Thorne¡¯s heart raced as he hurried back toward the kitchen¡¯s main area, the tension mounting with every step. His thoughts were a chaotic swirl¡ªhe needed to find Rhea, needed to regroup and escape this nightmare of a mission. He was just a few corridors away from the bustling kitchens when a sudden, piercing scream tore through the air. The scream was followed by the unmistakable sound of pounding feet and the clash of metal. Thorne¡¯s instincts kicked in, and he pressed himself against the wall, peering around the corner just in time to see Rhea barreling down the hallway, her face twisted in a mix of terror and determination. Behind her, half a dozen city guards were in hot pursuit, their armor clanking as they charged after her. ¡°Rhea!¡± Thorne¡¯s voice was barely above a whisper, but it was enough to catch her attention. Her eyes met his for a split second, filled with a desperate plea for help, before she dashed past him. Without a second thought, Thorne darted after her, his mind racing to come up with a plan. The corridor they were in was narrow and cramped, with no side passages to slip into¡ªno escape except forward. The sound of the guards¡¯ boots thundered in his ears, growing closer by the second. Rhea skidded around a corner, and Thorne followed her, his eyes darting ahead to assess their surroundings. They were heading deeper into the servants'' quarters, a maze of dimly lit corridors and cramped rooms. It wasn¡¯t long before they reached a choke point¡ªa narrow passage where the walls pressed in on either side, creating a bottleneck that could be their salvation or their doom. They would have to make their stand there. Thorne grabbed Rhea¡¯s arm, pulling her to a stop. ¡°We can¡¯t outrun them,¡± he said, his voice low and urgent. ¡°We make our stand here.¡± Rhea nodded, her breathing ragged but her eyes resolute. There was no hesitation in her as she turned to face the approaching guards, drawing her weapons with a fluid motion. Thorne drew his daggers, feeling the familiar weight in his hands, and took his place beside her.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. The first guard rounded the corner, his sword raised in a wide, sweeping arc that aimed to cleave them both in two. Thorne reacted instinctively, ducking under the swing and driving one of his daggers into the gap between the guard¡¯s breastplate and his neck. His Critical Eye skill highlighted the weak points in the armor, guiding his strike with deadly precision. The blade sunk in deep, and with a pained grunt, the guard crumpled to the ground, his sword clattering uselessly beside him. But there was no time to savor the victory. The second guard was already upon them, his longsword whistling through the air with brutal force. Rhea stepped forward, her greatsword raised to meet the attack. Her weapon clashed against the guard¡¯s with a resounding clang, sparks flying from the impact. She pushed back with all her might, activating a skill Thorne had seen her use before¡ªBrute Strength. With a roar, she shoved the guard back, forcing him to stagger. Thorne seized the moment, lunging at the disoriented guard. He slashed at the exposed gap under the arm, but the guard twisted just in time, the blade grazing but not piercing. The guard retaliated with a vicious swing that Thorne barely managed to dodge, the edge of the sword cutting through the air inches from his face. Another guard, emboldened by the skirmish, charged forward. Thorne¡¯s eyes narrowed. These weren¡¯t ordinary guards. They moved with the precision of seasoned warriors, their levels likely close to his own, if not higher. He couldn¡¯t afford to hold back. ¡°Rhea!¡± Thorne shouted, his voice tight with urgency as he ducked under another swing. ¡°We have to take them down now!¡± Rhea grunted in acknowledgment, her focus solely on the enemy before her. She activated another skill¡ªIron Resolve¡ªand her stance shifted, becoming more solid, more immovable. The guard before her hesitated for a fraction of a second, giving her the opening she needed. With a powerful swing, she aimed for the guard¡¯s legs, forcing him to leap back. But the narrow corridor left him little room to maneuver, and he collided with the wall, his armor scraping against the stone. Thorne knew they couldn¡¯t keep this up much longer. The guards were powerful, well-trained, and relentless. Even in the tight quarters, they were proving to be formidable opponents, their heavy armor and longswords making it difficult for Thorne and Rhea to land a decisive blow. The guards¡¯ heavy weapons made them slow in the cramped space, but their defense was nearly impenetrable. Each clash of swords sent jolts through Thorne¡¯s arms, and each time he tried to maneuver around them, they would close ranks and push him back. He needed an edge. Something that would turn the tide in their favor. With a growl of frustration, Thorne resigned himself to the only option left. He activated Aether Surge, feeling the raw power of aether flood his system. His muscles surged with newfound strength, his reflexes sharpening to a razor¡¯s edge. The world around him seemed to slow, each movement of his enemies highlighted in his vision. The third guard advanced, his sword poised for a lethal strike. Thorne moved with blinding speed, his Burst of Speed skill combining with the Aether Surge to make him a blur of motion. He darted past the guard¡¯s defenses, his daggers flashing as he unleashed a Lethal Flurry of strikes. The guard¡¯s armor couldn¡¯t keep up with the barrage¡ªThorne¡¯s daggers found every weak point, every gap, every exposed inch of flesh. Blood sprayed across the corridor as the guard fell to his knees, choking on his own blood before collapsing in a lifeless heap. But there was no time to rest. The fourth guard was right behind him, swinging his sword in a brutal downward arc. Thorne barely managed to twist out of the way, the blade grazing his shoulder and tearing through his tunic. Pain flared, but the aether coursing through him dulled the sensation, allowing him to focus on the fight. Rhea was holding her own, but Thorne could see she was reaching her limit. The fifth guard had her backed against the wall, his longsword smashing against her greatsword with relentless force. She activated another skill¡ªDefiant Guard¡ªand for a moment, the guard¡¯s sword bounced off her defense as if it had struck an immovable object. But the strain was evident on her face, and Thorne knew she couldn¡¯t hold out much longer. ¡°Enough!¡± Thorne snarled, his voice laced with the power of the Aether Surge. He launched himself at the fifth guard, using his Burst of Speed to close the distance before the guard could react. His dagger plunged into the guard¡¯s side, twisting cruelly as he yanked it out. The guard staggered, his breath hitching in pain, but he wasn¡¯t down yet. The sixth guard charged, seeing his opportunity as Thorne was occupied with the fifth. But Thorne was ready. He spun on his heel, his dagger flashing as he parried the incoming strike. The force of the blow sent a jolt through his arm, but he didn¡¯t let it slow him down. He pressed the attack, using the narrow space to his advantage. The guard¡¯s longsword was powerful, but it was also cumbersome in the confined corridor. Thorne¡¯s daggers danced in and out, slicing at the guard¡¯s exposed flesh, cutting through the gaps in his armor. The guard grunted in frustration, unable to land a solid hit on the agile assassin. Thorne¡¯s movements were a blur, his strikes precise and deadly. The guard tried to back away, to create some space to swing his sword, but Thorne was relentless. He used his Stealth Strike skill, disappearing from the guard¡¯s sight for a split second before reappearing behind him, driving both daggers into the man¡¯s back. The guard let out a strangled cry as he fell to the ground, his sword clattering to the floor. With the sixth guard down, Thorne turned back to the fifth guard, who was still reeling from the wound in his side. Rhea saw her opening and unleashed a powerful overhead strike, her greatsword cleaving through the guard¡¯s helmet and splitting his skull. The man crumpled to the ground, his lifeless body joining the others. Just as he turned to help Rhea, a new guard came barreling out of nowhere, his face twisted in fury. Thorne barely had time to react before the guard was on him, slamming into him with the force of a charging bull. Thorne was knocked off his feet, his daggers clattering to the ground as he was sent sprawling. The guard loomed over him, sword raised for a killing blow. But before he could strike, Rhea was there, her sword flashing as she drove it into the man¡¯s back. The guard let out a choked gasp, his body going rigid as the blade pierced through him. He toppled forward, landing on top of Thorne with a heavy thud. ¡°Get off,¡± Thorne grunted, shoving the dead weight off of him. He scrambled to his feet, retrieving his daggers as he did. He turned to thank Rhea, but his words died in his throat when he saw her. She was standing, but just barely. Blood was seeping from a deep gash in her side, staining her armor a dark crimson. Her face was pale, her breathing labored. Thorne watched her for a moment, his mind racing. The temptation to leave her behind was strong but he ultimately decided he couldn¡¯t leave her here, not like this. They had to keep moving. He slipped an arm around her, supporting her weight as they began to retreat. The hallway behind them was littered with bodies, but there was no time to linger. ¡°We need to get out of here before more of them show up,¡± Thorne said urgently, scanning their surroundings for an escape route. His Escape Artist skill was still active, guiding him toward the nearest exit. ¡°Can you walk?¡± Rhea nodded weakly, gritting her teeth against the pain. ¡°I¡¯m not dead yet,¡± she muttered, though her voice lacked its usual fire. They moved as quickly as they could, Thorne half-carrying Rhea as they navigated the winding corridors. The sounds of pursuit were growing louder¡ªmore guards would be on them soon. They had to reach the courtyard, had to get outside before it was too late. At last, they reached the door that led to the courtyard. Thorne hesitated for just a moment, listening for any signs of movement outside. When he was sure the coast was clear, he pushed the door open and they slipped out into the night. The courtyard was still teeming with guards, but they were focused on securing the palace and rounding up the nobles. Thorne and Rhea moved along the shadows, staying low and quiet as they made their way toward the outer walls. Rhea was struggling to keep up, her breathing ragged, but she refused to stop. They reached the edge of the courtyard, where a small gate led out into the city. Thorne hesitated again, scanning the area for any sign of danger. When he was sure it was safe, he pushed the gate open and they slipped through. They were outside, but they weren¡¯t safe yet. The city was still on high alert, and they would have to be careful to avoid detection. Thorne tightened his grip on Rhea, guiding her through the narrow streets and alleys as they made their escape. He didn¡¯t know where the others were, didn¡¯t know if they had survived the night. But right now, all that mattered was getting to safety. They could worry about the rest later. CHAPTER 99 Thorne and Rhea huddled in the shadows of a small park two tiers below the palace. The park, nestled between narrow streets and fortified buildings, was their designated fallback point¡ªthe place they¡¯d agreed to meet if they were separated during the mission. As it turned out, the plan had been necessary. Their journey here had been nothing short of harrowing. Each gate leading to the next tier was under lockdown, swarming with city guards. Forced to climb the fortified walls and then find a way down, they had faced an almost impossible task, especially given Rhea¡¯s condition and Thorne¡¯s deepening fatigue. Thorne slouched on a weathered wooden bench, every muscle in his body aching as if he¡¯d been run through a meat grinder. He felt wrung out, his body teetering on the edge of collapse. A bone-deep exhaustion gripped him, making even the slightest movement of his limbs a monumental effort. It wasn¡¯t just fatigue¡ªit was a pervasive, soul-sapping weariness that made him want to curl up and let the world fade away. Frowning, Thorne replayed the night¡¯s events in his mind. The intensity of the fights, the tension of the escape, and the sheer volume of mental energy he¡¯d expended should have left him tired, yes, but not like this. His high attributes should have allowed him to recover some of his lost energy by now. Something wasn¡¯t right. Curiosity gnawed at him, and he quickly checked his status screen. His breath hitched in his throat when he saw it. Stamina: 62/900 He stared at the numbers, disbelief washing over him. That hadn¡¯t happened before. His stamina points, along with their natural regeneration rate, had always kept him going. But now, his reserves were almost gone. He was running on empty, barely hanging on. Rhea shifted beside him, her breathing shallow and uneven. ¡°We should move. They¡¯re not coming,¡± she murmured, her eyes closed as she leaned heavily against a tree. Even in the dim light, Thorne could see the faint sheen of sweat on her brow and the slow trickle of blood leaking from her side. The wound must have reopened during their harrowing escape. He hadn¡¯t even noticed when she¡¯d taken that hit¡ªeverything had been a chaotic blur. ¡°Just a little longer,¡± Thorne whispered, his voice rasping like sandpaper. He knew they were out of time. If they waited too long, he might not be able to move at all. His body was already betraying him, his strength ebbing away with each passing moment. Soon, someone would have to carry him. The rustle of leaves behind them snapped both of them to attention. Instinctively, they reached for their weapons, but their hands shook with the effort. Jareth materialized out of the shadows like a wraith, his Stealth skill deactivating as he appeared before them. He surveyed them both with a sharp gaze, taking in their battered and bruised states. ¡°You two look like hell,¡± Jareth said, his voice calm but carrying an undertone of concern. ¡°Where the hell were you?¡± Rhea snapped, wincing as she shifted her weight. ¡°We almost got killed waiting for you!¡± Thorne wanted to agree, but he was too tired to muster the words. He simply watched Jareth, noticing the tight lines etched deeply into his face. ¡°Did you complete your assignment?¡± Thorne asked, his tone even but laced with underlying tension. Jareth nodded, but he looked even grimmer. He had never been the picture of happiness, but now he looked worse than usual. ¡°I did, but it took much longer than I anticipated to find the envelope,¡± he replied, reaching down to touch his leg. ¡°That place was a maze. I had to search several offices before I found the correct one.¡± He grimaced, lifting his right foot slightly. Thorne noticed for the first time that Jareth¡¯s armor was gone, replaced by simple, utilitarian clothing. The left leg of his pants was scorched, the skin beneath red and blistered. ¡°His office was trapped,¡± Jareth continued, his voice heavy with fatigue. ¡°I learned that the hard way. I had to disarm dozens of traps before I could enter, and even then, I didn¡¯t find them all.¡± Rhea¡¯s anger flared again. ¡°So you got the envelope?¡± she snapped, frustration clear in her voice. ¡°Then why do you look so down? If it¡¯s about the other part of the mission, Thorne took care of it,¡± Rhea said, pointing to Thorne. Jareth nodded in acknowledgment, but the sullen expression on his face didn¡¯t change. He pulled a heavy folder from beneath his cloak and handed it to Rhea. ¡°Read it.¡± Rhea snatched the folder from Jareth, her movements sharp despite her pain. Thorne moved closer, his curiosity piqued despite his weariness. Rhea opened the folder and began flipping through the pages, her eyes widening with every turn. ¡°What the hell...?¡± she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. Her hands trembled as she continued to read, her face draining of color. ¡°This... this is insane.¡± Thorne leaned in, his gaze scanning the pages. What he saw made his blood run cold. Detailed information about the Lost Ones filled the pages¡ªnames, physical descriptions, possible skills, even disturbingly accurate drawings of their faces. It was a list of almost everyone in the guild.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. ¡°This is... how did they get all this?¡± Rhea¡¯s voice shook with disbelief. ¡°They know everything¡ªabout our members, our missions... everything.¡± Thorne¡¯s mind raced as he took the folder from Rhea, his fingers brushing against the parchment. He flipped through the pages, recognizing the faces of recruits, senior members, even veterans. Talon¡¯s face stared back at him when he snapped the folder close. His stomach churned with a mix of anger and dread. ¡°Our information isn¡¯t in here,¡± he noted, his voice tight. ¡°That¡¯s why we were chosen for this mission. We¡¯re the only ones who could do this.¡± Jareth nodded, his face a mask of grim resolve. ¡°Most of our year is in here,¡± he said quietly, pointing to a section of the list. ¡°They¡¯ve documented everyone they could. If this fell into the wrong hands... the Lost Ones would be finished.¡± Rhea looked between them, her eyes wide with fear and confusion. ¡°But how is this even possible? How could they have gathered so much information?¡± Jareth shook his head, his expression dark. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± he admitted, frustration clear in his voice. ¡°But it¡¯s clear someone¡¯s been feeding them information for a long time.¡± Thorne¡¯s mind churned as he considered the implications. His gaze fell on the pocket of his pants, where he had kept the spiral emblem, he had found in Lord¡¯s Valewyn¡¯s office. ¡°I think I know how,¡± he said, his voice low as he held up the token for the others to see. Rhea¡¯s eyes widened in recognition. ¡°So he was a member?¡± she asked, shocked. Thorne shook his head. ¡°No, not a member. But I think he was an employer¡ªsomeone who used the guild for his own purposes.¡± Jareth took the token from Thorne, examining it closely. ¡°That would explain the information he had,¡± he murmured, a frown deepening on his face. ¡°But why would he need this much detail? It¡¯s almost as if he was preparing for something...¡± Rhea¡¯s brow furrowed as she tried to piece together the puzzle. ¡°If he was an employer, why would he have this much information on the guild¡¯s members? Wouldn¡¯t he just need details on the people involved in his contracts?¡± Thorne nodded slowly, the pieces beginning to click into place. ¡°He must have been planning something bigger,¡± he said, his voice thoughtful. In the back of his mind, something tickled at him, urging him to make a connection, but his exhausted brain was too foggy to piece it together. Jareth¡¯s expression hardened. ¡°Whatever the reason, we¡¯ve just saved the guild from potential destruction. This list could have been catastrophic.¡± Rhea looked at the token in Jareth¡¯s hand, her expression a mix of awe and dread. ¡°We just saved a lot of lives,¡± she said softly, the realization sinking in. ¡°If that list had gotten out...¡± Thorne nodded, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten as the full weight of their mission settled on him. ¡°This was more than just a routine job,¡± he said, his voice low. ¡°This was about survival¡ªfor all of us.¡± Jareth¡¯s gaze shifted to the horizon, his eyes dark with resolve. ¡°We need to get this information back to the guild. They need to know what we¡¯ve uncovered.¡± Rhea¡¯s expression hardened as she looked between them. ¡°And we need to figure out who else might have access to this kind of information,¡± she added, determination in her voice. ¡°We can¡¯t let this happen again.¡± Thorne took a deep breath, his mind still reeling from the implications of what they had discovered. ¡°The guild will make sure it never happens again.¡± When Uncle found out what they discovered he would be furious. But there was no time to dwell on it now¡ªthey had to move. ¡°Let¡¯s get out of here,¡± he said, his voice firm despite his fatigue. ¡°We¡¯ve done what we came here to do.¡± Jareth frowned, his eyes scanning the area. ¡°What about Corwin?¡± he asked. Rhea huffed in frustration. ¡°We haven¡¯t seen him since we entered the palace.¡± Jareth¡¯s frown deepened. ¡°But without him, our mission isn¡¯t complete. He needs to finish his task to earn the perfect score.¡± Rhea¡¯s eyes flashed with anger. ¡°Are you fucking kidding me? We almost died in there, and you¡¯re talking about scores? This isn¡¯t some fucked-up trial! This is real! The longer we wait out in the open, the more likely we are to be discovered! Be thankful you¡¯re alive and forget about scores and shit!¡± Jareth¡¯s expression remained impassive, but her words seemed to sink in. He nodded slowly. ¡°You¡¯re right.¡± Thorne just wanted the night to be over. He needed to get to bed and rest¡ªeverything else could wait. While Jareth had been searching the shadows, Thorne had been through hell, and it had left him drained beyond measure. The three of them began their descent through the city, moving from tier to tier. Each gate was heavily guarded, forcing them to find alternative routes. They scaled walls, crept through alleyways, and slipped past patrols. It was a grueling journey, made all the more difficult by their injuries and exhaustion. At one point, Jareth noticed the state Thorne was in and frowned. ¡°Are you alright?¡± Thorne tried to brush off his concern, but it was clear Jareth wasn¡¯t convinced. Without a word, Jareth moved to support him, placing an arm around Thorne¡¯s shoulders to help him keep moving. For once, luck was on their side. They managed to reach the inn without being noticed. The common room was empty, the woman at the front desk fast asleep. They slipped inside, exchanging a few brief words about their plans before heading to their respective rooms. Thorne¡¯s room was a sanctuary, the bed looking like a slice of heaven after the night he¡¯d had. He took a step toward it, then another, but his legs felt like they were made of stone. Before he knew what was happening, he collapsed, falling to the floor with a thud. The impact sent pain shooting through his already battered body, but he was too exhausted to even groan. He lay there, his muscles aching, his mind clouded with fatigue. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced. His body felt like it was shutting down, unable to sustain itself any longer. It was as if his very life force was being drained away, leaving him a hollow shell. With desperation he checked his status screen. His heart sank as he saw the numbers. Stamina: 0/900 How...? How had he been so careless? How had he been so stupid? How had he let this happen? He knew it, and he still fell for the trap. He had been poisoned. But how? When? And then it dawned on him¡ªthe blueberry pie. The one he¡¯d eaten after reentering the ballroom, after killing Lord Valewyn. Only someone who knew him well, who knew his weakness for that particular dessert, could have set such a trap. Corwin... Just as the thought crossed his mind, the door to his room creaked open. Light footsteps entered, and Thorne¡¯s heart skipped a beat. He tried to move, but his body refused to obey. His muscles, his limbs, even his voice¡ªthey were all paralyzed, leaving him helpless on the floor. He could only watch as Corwin stepped into the room, a twisted smile on his face and a dagger gleaming in his hand. CHAPTER 100 Thorne lay paralyzed on the cold floor, his body a prisoner to the poison coursing through his veins. Each breath felt like a monumental effort, his muscles refusing to respond to his commands. All he could do was lie there, helpless, as Corwin approached with slow, deliberate steps. The usual jittery energy that characterized Corwin was absent; instead, there was a cold, cruel expression on his face that made Thorne¡¯s blood run cold. Corwin crouched down in front of Thorne, a smirk twisting his lips as he placed the serrated edge of his knife against Thorne¡¯s cheek. ¡°Well, well,¡± Corwin said softly, his voice almost a purr. ¡°Looks like you¡¯ve had a rough night, Thorne.¡± Thorne tried to speak, to summon some semblance of strength, but all that came out was a low, hoarse whisper. ¡°Corwin...¡± Corwin crouched lower, his smirk widening as he reached out to brush a strand of hair from Thorne¡¯s forehead. ¡°Shh, don¡¯t waste your energy. You¡¯ll need it for what comes next.¡± Thorne¡¯s vision blurred, his thoughts becoming sluggish as the poison continued to work its way through his system. He struggled to focus, to find some way out of this, but his options were rapidly dwindling. ¡°You know,¡± Corwin continued, his tone conversational, ¡°I¡¯ve always admired you, Thorne. You¡¯re strong, clever, ruthless when you need to be. But you¡¯ve got one fatal flaw¡ªyou are too cocky. You dismiss those you think are beneath you.¡± Thorne¡¯s fingers twitched, a feeble attempt to reach for a weapon, any weapon. But Corwin noticed the movement and tutted softly, shaking his head. ¡°Don¡¯t bother,¡± he said. ¡°You¡¯re done. That poison is strong¡ªit¡¯ll keep you down for hours, long enough for me to finish what I came here to do.¡± Thorne¡¯s heart pounded in his chest, his mind screaming at him to move, to fight, to do something. But his body remained stubbornly unresponsive, pinned down by the poison sapping his strength. ¡°Just to be clear, this is not personal, mate,¡± Corwin said, his tone almost friendly, but there was no mistaking the malice behind it. The blade pressed into Thorne¡¯s skin, drawing a thin line of blood. ¡°Just doing a favor for a friend... for a price, of course.¡± Desperation clawed at Thorne''s mind as he tried to summon the last vestiges of his strength. He reached deep within himself, trying to call upon the aether that had saved him so many times before. He activated Aether Surge, but his drained body didn¡¯t respond. It was as if the aether was slipping through his fingers, just out of reach. If only... if only he could reach it... Corwin stood up, pacing leisurely, playing with the knife as if he were savoring the moment. He seemed to relish seeing Thorne so helpless, the power dynamic completely in his favor. ¡°You know,¡± Corwin began, his voice almost conversational, ¡°you have more enemies than you realize. Actually, there¡¯s an enemy around every corner. Uncle¡¯s protection is the only thing shielding you from their hands. But that doesn¡¯t mean they aren¡¯t plotting, bidding their time, waiting for the right opportunity.¡± Thorne¡¯s mind raced, his thoughts frantic. He activated Aether Vision, desperate to find a way¡ªany way¡ªto do something, anything. He tried to use Aether Burst, but his mind was too foggy, his body too drained. A small cluster of aether motes imploded weakly, the effects too insignificant to cause any real damage. A faint ripple flowed through the room, and Corwin narrowed his eyes, taking a step closer. ¡°Here, away from Uncle¡¯s clutches, is the perfect opportunity,¡± Corwin continued, his voice low and dangerous. ¡°An opportunity your enemies weren¡¯t willing to pass up.¡± Thorne was desperate. He had known. He had known something like this was coming. One night, while wandering through the base¡¯s tunnels, he had overheard his name whispered. It had become a habit of his to use Stealth and Shadow Meld to train, leveling up his skills in secret. He hadn¡¯t been noticed, but he had seen Corwin talking to someone, being handed a small vial and instructed to use it when the time was right to kill him. Thorne had wanted to see the face of the speaker, but the shadows had concealed them. Later that night, Thorne had sneaked into the washroom and found the poison. He had taken a few drops back to Ben, who had managed to create an antidote¡ªimperfect, but it was all they had. Ben had warned Thorne that the antidote might take time to work, given the lack of proper ingredients. Ever since, Thorne had carried the small bottle with him everywhere. But now he realized he had been poisoned too late. If only he could reach it... Wait... Corwin continued talking, unaware of Thorne''s struggle. ¡°Actually, I quite like you, Thorne. Even if you are an arrogant ass. But then, the great ones usually are.¡± He smirked, his eyes gleaming with a twisted sense of amusement. ¡°I have a confession to make¡ªI¡¯m an arrogant ass as well. I even had you fooled! I think we may have a similar skill. Mine¡¯s called ¡®Face of Lies.¡¯ It makes me look jittery and scared.¡± His smirk faded into a frown. ¡°Though, to be honest, I would¡¯ve preferred if I didn¡¯t have to look like a weakling.¡± Thorne wanted to curse, but his body refused to obey. He tried again to form strings of aether, to bind the small bottle in his pocket and bring it to his mouth. The plan was simple enough in theory, but the execution was anything but. After years of working with the aether, he had come to understand its intricacies, how to manipulate its motes and force them into solid constructs. Still, there was a fine Iine he had to grasp. The reaction of the aether motes turning solid was brief and happened when a specific force was applied to them. Too much and they would implode, too little and they would flee. In theory it wasn¡¯t too complicated, but his exhausted mind made the process infinitely more difficult.This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. Still, he persisted. Corwin walked over to the window, looking out at the sprawling city below. ¡°You know, I¡¯m quite good at spying and all that crap. I actually enjoy it. I like being the hunter, not the hunted. But that shithole we call a base? It¡¯s full of scheming and politics, and I hate it. But I need the coins. Maybe after I kill you, I¡¯ll disappear and try to strike it on my own. I¡¯ve got the coins now.¡± Thorne¡¯s focus narrowed as he finally managed to create a long string of aether motes. He realized he needed to use motes of a single color. He had experimented with different colors before¡ªred was too unpredictable, yellow too unyielding, black too elusive. But brown... brown was steady, reliable. It followed his commands without hesitation. The string snaked toward his pocket, gathering more motes as it traveled, like a caterpillar feeding and growing longer. The string latched onto the bottle, and Thorne felt a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, he could pull this off. ¡°Sadly for you, I have to kill you,¡± Corwin continued, his tone almost regretful. ¡°My employer was adamant about it. I wonder what you did to create such hatred, such envy.¡± Thorne applied more pressure to the string, feeling it change, becoming solid under his will. He tested his hold on it, willing the bottle to move. To his surprise, the small bottle shifted inside his pocket. His eyes darted to Corwin, who was still talking, still looking out at the city. With painstaking caution, Thorne willed the bottle to move closer. The fabric of his pocket rustled slightly as the bottle began to snake out. Thorne wanted to cry out in relief. A notification popped up in his vision, almost breaking his concentration: Congratulations! New skill Unlocked: Invisible Threads! Thorne saw the bottle hover in the air, just centimeters above his body. His tired mind stuttered for a moment, and the bottle wobbled, losing height. He quickly refocused, firming his will, and the bottle stopped its descent. His mind felt like it was wading through a sea of exhaustion, each thought and command slow and sluggish. The bottle moved, centimeter by centimeter, until it hovered above his mouth. Now came the most difficult task. His mind tunneled, focused solely on creating a second thread of aether. It didn¡¯t need to be long¡ªjust a few motes to latch onto the stopper. The moment the thread was formed, two notifications popped up in his vision: Skill level up: Invisible Threads! Skill level up: Invisible Threads! Thorne guessed the difficulty of the task played a role in a skill''s progression. The stopper fell with a faint pop, and the cold liquid inside began trickling down. At first, his aim was off, and the antidote spilled onto his shirt. But he corrected it by moving the bottle forward. His mouth was partially open, and most of the liquid fell to the side, but a few precious drops made it inside. Corwin, still talking, suddenly froze mid-sentence. He whirled around, his eyes widening in shock. ¡°What the¡ª?¡± he exclaimed, his voice thick with disbelief. Thorne tipped the bottle, letting the antidote splash onto his face. More drops fell into his open mouth, the bitter liquid sliding down his throat. Corwin dashed toward him, his face twisted in fury. ¡°You motherfucker,¡± he seethed, ¡°how did you do that?¡± He didn¡¯t wait for a response. With a snarl, he plunged his knife toward Thorne¡¯s heart. Thorne felt a sharp, piercing pain just as the fog in his mind began to lift. His vision cleared, and the world snapped back into focus. Corwin stared at him in disbelief, his eyes wide. ¡°How many damn health points do you have?¡± he exclaimed in frustration. ¡°I even used Devastating Blow¡ªit deals twice the damage¡ªand you¡¯re still alive?¡± Thorne quickly checked his health. The blow had been catastrophic, reducing his health points by over four hundred, leaving him with less than three hundred remaining. He couldn¡¯t afford to take another hit. Corwin raised his knife again, aiming for another killing blow. Thorne managed to move, just an inch, but it was enough. Instead of a fatal strike, the knife plunged into his side, sending a wave of searing pain through his body. He moaned, his breath ragged and shallow. ¡°You¡¯re like a cockroach!¡± Corwin hissed, his voice laced with venom. But Thorne was no longer helpless. The antidote had worked, and though his body was still weak, his mind was clear. Summoning what little energy he had left, Thorne raised his trembling hand and called upon the aether. With a flick of his wrist, he unleashed Aether Burst. A small explosion reverberated through the room, sending Corwin flying across the room. His body hit the wall with a sickening thud and crumpled to the floor. Corwin lay on the floor, his body twitching in pain as he struggled to rise. His face and body were riddled with wounds from the blast, his skin scorched and bleeding. Yet, with a grimace of determination, he pushed himself up, his movements fueled by sheer spite. His eyes, now wide with a mixture of disbelief and fury, flicked toward the door as if contemplating an escape. Thorne, seeing Corwin¡¯s intentions, whispered hoarsely, "Oh no, you don¡¯t." His voice was weak, barely more than a rasp, but it carried a steely resolve. With what little strength he had left, Thorne summoned another thread of aether, this one more powerful and controlled than before. The thread shot out, wrapping around Corwin''s wrist just as he made a desperate dash for the door. The aether thread tightened like a vice, yanking Corwin off his feet and slamming him back onto the ground with a bone-jarring thud. "What the hell, man? What are you?" Corwin gasped, his voice tinged with fear as he struggled against the invisible force holding him down. Thorne didn¡¯t respond. He couldn¡¯t. His energy was spent, his body teetering on the edge of collapse. His stamina had just barely reached double digits, and he knew that if he tried to move, he would be writhing on the floor again, powerless. The only option left to him was the one thing he had tried to avoid using¡ªthe aether. The warning of the mysterious woman echoed in his mind, but in this moment, Thorne knew he couldn¡¯t afford to be cautious. If he hesitated, Corwin would escape, and Thorne¡¯s life would be forfeit. He had no choice. Gathering the remnants of his willpower, Thorne raised his trembling hands and called upon a skill he had only used a handful of times¡ªAether Grip. The aether around him responded, condensing into ethereal hands that materialized in the air, translucent and shimmering with a pale light. The hands swarmed toward Corwin, wrapping around him with the force of a vice, binding him in their unyielding grip. Corwin¡¯s eyes widened in terror as the aetherial hands clamped down on him. He tried to scream, but one of the hands covered his mouth, muffling his cries. His body thrashed against the invisible bonds, but he was powerless against the strength of the aether. Thorne flicked his wrist, and the hands moved in unison, twisting Corwin¡¯s body with a sickening crack. The sound of snapping bones echoed through the room as Corwin¡¯s body contorted unnaturally, his spine snapping in two. The life drained from Corwin¡¯s eyes as his body went limp, the light fading from his gaze. As soon as the deed was done, Thorne¡¯s strength gave out completely. The aetherial hands dissipated into the air, vanishing as if they had never existed. Thorne collapsed onto the floor, his body utterly spent. He could feel his stamina slowly replenishing, but it wasn¡¯t enough to give him the strength to move. All he could do was lie there, too weak to even crawl, next to Corwin¡¯s twisted, lifeless body. CHAPTER 101 Thorne awoke with a start, the darkness of the room pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket. The night was silent, save for the distant creaking of the inn''s wooden beams. His body screamed in protest as he tried to sit up, the effects of the poison still lingering in his veins despite the antidote''s partial success. Every movement tugged at the fresh wounds, sharp pain radiating from the stab wound in his chest. He gritted his teeth, suppressing a groan as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. His fingers trembled slightly as he reached for his backpack. He rummaged through it, searching for a health potion that he knew would provide some relief, however temporary. His hands finally closed around the cool glass of a vial, and he uncorked it with a practiced motion. The liquid inside glowed faintly, a soft green hue that promised healing. Thorne brought it to his lips and downed it in one gulp, feeling the potion¡¯s warmth spread through his body, knitting flesh and easing the sharpest edges of the pain. But he knew it wouldn¡¯t be enough to bring him back to full strength. Not yet. The task at hand loomed over him like a shadow. Corwin''s lifeless body lay crumpled on the floor, reminding him of what happened earlier that night. Thorne rose unsteadily to his feet, his vision blurring for a moment before it cleared. He needed to dispose of the body¡ªquietly, without drawing any attention. The inn was full, even at this late hour, and the slightest noise could alert someone. He couldn¡¯t afford any more complications. He crouched beside Corwin¡¯s body, searching the man''s clothes for any clues, any sign of who his employer might have been. Thorne¡¯s fingers were quick and efficient, rifling through pockets and feeling for hidden compartments. He found a small pouch of coins¡ªno surprise there¡ªbut nothing else that would reveal the identity of Corwin¡¯s benefactor. It was as he had suspected: the only clue he had was the venomous hatred in Corwin¡¯s eyes and the bitter words he had spoken. His suspicions about the employer remained unconfirmed, but they were solidifying into a certainty in the back of his mind. With a sigh, Thorne hauled the body up, biting back the pain that flared in his chest with each movement. He couldn¡¯t just leave Corwin here. He dragged the corpse across the room, careful to keep the noise to a minimum. There was a small window at the back of the room, overlooking the alley below. The window was barely wide enough to fit the body through, but it was his only option. He pushed it open, wincing as the cool night air hit his face. He glanced down at the alley below, its shadows deep and concealing. Taking a deep breath, Thorne began the laborious task of maneuvering Corwin¡¯s body through the window. Inch by inch, he forced the lifeless form out, his hands slick with sweat and blood. Finally, with one last push, Corwin¡¯s body tumbled out of the window, falling into the darkness below. Thorne leaned against the windowsill, his body trembling with exhaustion. He listened for a moment, straining to hear any sound of disturbance, but the alley remained silent, the body swallowed by the shadows. But it wasn¡¯t enough. The body could still be found. If someone discovered it, questions would be asked, and those questions would lead back to him. He couldn¡¯t take that risk. Thorne wiped his brow, his mind racing as he considered his next move. He needed to get rid of the body for good, somewhere it wouldn¡¯t be easily found. His eyes flicked to the door. The alley was quiet now, but that could change at any moment. He needed to act fast. With a groan, Thorne forced himself to his feet, ignoring the sharp pain that flared with each movement. He retrieved his cloak from the chair, wrapping it around himself to conceal the bloodstains on his clothes. He moved with a newfound determination, slipping silently out of the room and into the hallway. The inn was quiet, the patrons asleep in their rooms, unaware of the grim task being carried out in their midst. Thorne moved quickly but carefully, making his way down the narrow staircase to the back door. The cool night air greeted him as he stepped outside, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. He found Corwin¡¯s body crumpled in the alley, half-hidden by a pile of discarded crates. Thorne gritted his teeth and dragged the body out from the shadows, his muscles burning with the effort. He knew the area well enough¡ªthere was an old well not far from here, a relic of the city¡¯s past that had long since fallen into disuse. It was deep, dark, and more importantly, abandoned. It would serve his purpose perfectly. The streets were deserted at this hour, the city asleep under the cover of night. Thorne kept to the shadows, his movements careful and deliberate as he dragged Corwin¡¯s body through the winding alleys. Every noise, every flicker of movement in the periphery of his vision made his heart pound, but he couldn¡¯t afford to stop. Not until the body was gone. Finally, he reached the well. It was exactly as he remembered¡ªancient and crumbling, overgrown with weeds and forgotten by the world around it. Thorne paused, catching his breath as he surveyed the dark hole in the ground. He could barely see the bottom, the darkness so complete it seemed to swallow the light whole. With a final, heaving effort, Thorne lifted Corwin¡¯s body and shoved it into the well. There was a sickening thud as the body struck the sides of the well on its way down, and then silence. Thorne peered down into the abyss, waiting for any sign that the body hadn¡¯t fallen all the way. But the darkness remained undisturbed. He stepped back, wiping his hands on his cloak, trying to rid himself of the sticky feeling of blood and grime. The body was gone, the evidence erased as best as he could manage. For a moment, he allowed himself to breathe, to feel the weight of the night¡¯s events finally begin to lift from his shoulders. Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. His thoughts were a mix of exhaustion and triumph as he leaned against the well, breathing heavily. The act of disposing of the body had drained what little energy he had left. His legs shook beneath him, and he felt the edges of his vision darkening again. But he had made it. He quickly returned to the room and cleaned it, removing any trace of the struggle that had taken place. Satisfied that he had covered his tracks, Thorne returned to bed, collapsing onto the mattress with a groan. His body ached for rest, and his mind was too exhausted to protest. He closed his eyes, willing sleep to take him, to let him recover at least a fraction of his strength before the morning came. * The sun was just beginning to rise when Thorne descended the stairs, each step sending a dull throb of pain through his body. He was dressed in simple clothes, a dark cloak covering his face. The days of impersonating a noble were over. Now, they needed to be discreet, to flee the city before their enemies realized what had happened. His movements were stiff, his body still heavy with the lingering effects of the poison, but he forced himself onward. He found Jareth and Rhea already downstairs, seated at a corner table in the inn''s modest dining area. They were eating breakfast, their faces tense with the unspoken weight of the night''s events. Thorne slipped into a chair opposite them, drawing his cloak tighter around him. "Morning," Thorne said, his voice hoarse. "You''re looking like hell," Jareth remarked, his tone bland. He had a plate of food in front of him, but he seemed more interested in pushing it around than eating. "Feel like it too," Thorne muttered. His eyes flicked to Rhea, who was staring into her mug of coffee with an unreadable expression. She looked almost angry, her lips pressed into a thin line. Her eyes were constantly moving, scanning the room as if expecting an attack at any moment. "We need to move soon," Rhea said, her voice flat. "They''ll be looking for us, and we can''t stay here much longer." Thorne nodded, wincing slightly as the movement tugged at his chest. "We¡¯ll meet the man with the cart just before the gates. We¡¯re his escorts, remember? From there, we¡¯ll head out of the city and rendezvous with Sid." Jareth grunted in agreement, though his expression remained grim. "And then what? We just go back like nothing happened?" Thorne gave him a look. "What else do you suggest? We''ve done our part, now it''s time to get out before things get worse." Rhea¡¯s hand clenched around her mug, and for a moment, she looked like she wanted to smash it against the wall. But she took a deep breath and said, "Fine. But if we¡¯re going to do this, we need to move now." The three of them finished their meal in silence. The air was thick with unspoken tension, each of them lost in their own thoughts. When they were done, they rose from the table and left the inn, making their way down the city, tier after tier. As they descended, the streets grew more crowded, filled with the hustle and bustle of the common folk going about their day. Thorne kept his head down, his hood drawn low, trying to avoid attracting any attention. But despite his efforts to remain inconspicuous, he couldn¡¯t help but glance around, taking in the sights of Valewind one last time. For all its opulence, there was something undeniably beautiful about the city. The towering spires, the intricate carvings on the buildings, the way the sunlight filtered through the trees lining the streets¡ªit was a far cry from the rundown, poverty-stricken streets of Alvar. Yet, as Thorne looked around, a peculiar feeling rose up within him. A strange yearning, not for the grandeur of Valewind, but for the gritty familiarity of Alvar. He found himself missing its dirty streets, its hardened people, and even its stark contrasts. Alvar, with all its flaws, was home. And now, more than ever, he wanted to return. When they reached the bottom tier, they found the old man with his donkey waiting at the agreed-upon spot. The cart was loaded with barrels this time, the smell of wine wafting from the cracked lids. Jareth and Thorne climbed up onto the cart, settling among the barrels. But Rhea hesitated, her eyes scanning the area with a wary expression. "What¡¯s wrong?" Jareth asked, frowning. Rhea glanced around again, her hand tightening on the hilt of her sword. "What about Corwin?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Thorne tensed, but kept his face neutral. He hadn¡¯t told them what had happened with Corwin. That was a secret he intended to keep to himself, at least for now... "If he hasn''t shown up by now, he¡¯s not coming," Thorne said, his voice flat. Rhea looked at him, her gaze piercing, as if searching for something in his expression. Thorne met her eyes without flinching, silently daring her to ask the question he knew was gnawing at her mind. Finally, she nodded, her face hardening as she climbed up onto the cart, her weight making it sway slightly. As she settled next to him, Thorne couldn¡¯t resist a smirk. "Why so bothered by Corwin¡¯s absence? Didn¡¯t know you two were so close." Rhea¡¯s eyes flicked away, a brief flash of something unreadable crossing her face. She muttered, "I don¡¯t care about him," flicking a strand of short blond hair out of her eyes. After a pause, she added, "I¡¯m worried we haven¡¯t completed all the tasks given to us." Thorne hummed, clearly not believing her, but he didn¡¯t comment further. The cart began to move, the old man clicking his tongue to urge the donkey forward. They remained silent as they crossed the gate, the way clogged with travelers¡ªfarmers heading to their fields, merchants on their way to other cities, and nobles fleeing the turbulence in Valewind after the death of the Warden of the West. The presence of the city guards was even more pronounced than when they had entered. The guards checked every passerby thoroughly, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords, eyes scanning the crowd for any sign of trouble. The tension in the air was palpable, and Thorne could feel his heart hammering in his chest as they approached the gate. But they passed through without incident, the guards barely giving them a second glance. The cart rolled onto the open road, the noise and chaos of the city slowly fading behind them. They traveled for miles, the road winding through the countryside, flanked by trees and open fields. Thorne let out a breath he didn¡¯t realize he¡¯d been holding, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. They had made it out. For now, at least, they were safe. As they continued down the road, a figure appeared among the trees lining the path. Thorne tensed, but relaxed slightly when he recognized Sid. The man hopped onto the cart with his usual agility, settling among the barrels with a satisfied grin. "Miss me?" Sid asked, his eyes glinting with amusement. Thorne rolled his eyes, but couldn¡¯t suppress a small smile. "You have no idea." CHAPTER 102 Thorne leaned back against the wooden planks of the cart, feeling the rough texture dig into his shoulders. The cart jolted slightly as it rolled over uneven patches of the dirt road, but Thorne barely registered the movement. His thoughts were elsewhere, tangled in a web of uncertainty and unease. Jareth and Rhea, seated across from him, had wasted no time in bombarding Sid with questions as soon as the man had climbed into the cart. Their voices overlapped, urgency and tension evident in their tones. ¡°What was all that about?¡± Rhea demanded, her voice tinged with frustration. ¡°The mission was way more dangerous than what we signed up for!¡± Jareth nodded in agreement, his expression dark. ¡°The folder we found¡ªit had names and faces of the guild members. How did Lord Valewyn get his hands on that? And why weren¡¯t we informed?¡± Sid, ever composed and unreadable, held up a hand to silence them. ¡°Let me see the folder,¡± he said, his voice firm and leaving no room for argument. Jareth handed over the heavy folder without hesitation. Sid flipped through the pages, his sharp eyes scanning the contents with meticulous attention to detail. When he was satisfied, he closed the folder and tucked it securely into his coat. ¡°This document,¡± Sid began, his tone measured, ¡°is a serious breach of the guild¡¯s security. The mission was more than just an assassination; it was about containing the damage, preventing this information from reaching the wrong hands.¡± ¡°Who would be interested in such information?¡± Rhea asked, her brow furrowed in confusion. ¡°Any number of factions,¡± Sid replied, his gaze hardening. ¡°Rival guilds, enemies of the Lost Ones, or even the Crown itself. The West is a critical region, and the power balance is delicate. This information, if used correctly, could cripple the guild and its operations.¡± ¡°So what happens now?¡± Jareth pressed, his voice edged with concern. ¡°Now,¡± Sid said, his tone leaving no room for debate, ¡°you keep your mouths shut. No one outside this cart is to know what you found or what you did. The guild will handle the rest. Your job is done.¡± Rhea and Jareth exchanged uneasy glances but nodded in agreement. Sid¡¯s authority was absolute, and they knew better than to question it further. As the conversation continued, Thorne found himself withdrawing into his own thoughts. The words around him blurred, becoming a distant hum as he focused on something else entirely. His new skill, Invisible Threads, fascinated him. The delicate balance required to form and control the aether strings intrigued him, and he couldn¡¯t resist the urge to test its limits. Without the others taking notice, he wove a series of threads, creating intricate patterns that only he could see. The motes of aether responded to his will, dancing in the air before him. The threads intertwined, forming delicate webs that shimmered with an ethereal glow. It was a small, private escape from the chaos of his thoughts, a way to regain a sense of control over something, anything. He glanced out of the cart, his eyes scanning the roadside for potential targets. A small rock lay just off the path, half-buried in the dirt. Thorne extended his will, forming an aether thread with careful precision. The thread snaked out, invisible against the backdrop of the forest. It wrapped around the rock, tugging it gently from the ground. The rock lifted slightly, then dropped back down as Thorne released the thread. He frowned, noting the effort it had taken to move even such a small object. The skill was still new, and he needed to understand its limitations. Next, he targeted a low-hanging branch, its leaves rustling in the breeze. The thread coiled around it, and with a bit more focus, Thorne managed to pull the branch downward. It wasn¡¯t much, but it was progress. He could feel the aether flowing through him, responding to his commands, but he also felt the strain it put on his already exhausted body. As the cart rolled on, Thorne continued his experiments. He moved from rocks and branches to more challenging targets. A squirrel darted across the road, and Thorne tried to latch onto it with his threads. The squirrel hesitated, as if sensing the aether, then bolted into the underbrush before Thorne could fully ensnare it. Thorne let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing his temples. The skill was powerful, but it required a level of finesse and control that he had yet to master. The strain on his body was noticeable, and he knew he couldn¡¯t push himself too hard, not in his current state. The poison had drained him, and even though the antidote had worked, he was far from fully recovered. Sid noticed Thorne¡¯s unusually quiet demeanor, his sharp eyes narrowing as he studied the young assassin. ¡°Something on your mind, Thorne?¡± he asked, his tone probing. Thorne snapped out of his reverie, the aether threads dissipating into nothingness as he met Sid¡¯s gaze. ¡°Nothing,¡± he muttered, forcing a casual tone. ¡°Just¡­ thinking.¡± Sid didn¡¯t press further, but Thorne could feel the weight of his gaze lingering. He knew better than to show weakness, but in that moment, he couldn¡¯t help the weariness that settled over him thinking again and again about that night. * The night air was cool and crisp as Thorne wandered through the streets of Valewind, his head throbbing with a persistent headache. He had hoped the fresh air might ease the pain, but as he moved through the city, the tension that gripped him only seemed to tighten. Valewind was beautiful, especially at night. The city was alive with energy, a festive atmosphere that seemed to spill out of every building and onto the cobblestone streets. The soft glow of lamplights cast a warm, golden hue over everything, the flickering flames creating an enchanting ambiance. As Thorne walked, he passed by grand buildings, their exteriors adorned with intricate carvings and tall, arched windows. The architecture here was unlike anything he had ever seen in Alvar. Everything was meticulously crafted, every detail designed to showcase the wealth and power of the city¡¯s elite. But despite the beauty surrounding him, Thorne felt a sense of disconnection, as if he didn¡¯t truly belong here. He walked down wide, elegant boulevards lined with trees that rustled softly in the breeze. The leaves, golden and red in the autumn air, fluttered to the ground, carpeting the streets in a blanket of color. Couples strolled along, hand in hand, their laughter and quiet conversation drifting through the night. Thorne watched them for a moment, envying their ease, their simplicity.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. He continued his walk, finding himself on a bridge that spanned a small river. The water below flowed silently, reflecting the lights of the city like a shimmering ribbon of gold. Thorne leaned on the railing, gazing out at the view. From this vantage point, the city of Valewind stretched out below him, a sea of twinkling lights that seemed to go on forever. For a moment, he allowed himself to forget everything¡ªthe mission, the lies, the danger. He was just Thorne, the orphan boy who had grown up in the dirty streets of Alvar. But even here, in this peaceful moment, the weight of the upcoming ball never truly left his mind. Tomorrow would be crucial, and he needed to be ready. The headache that had driven him from the inn still pulsed in his temples, a constant reminder of the stress and tension that had been building over the past few days. After a long while, Thorne pushed himself away from the railing and began to make his way back to the inn. He had walked far, almost losing himself in the city, and now he had to return. The streets were quieter now, the earlier bustle dying down as the night grew late. He passed by elegant shops with their windows darkened, their wares hidden from view. A few late-night revelers stumbled out of a nearby tavern, their laughter loud and boisterous as they made their way down the street. As he neared the inn, Thorne felt the urge to slip back into his role as the noble Thorne Silverbane. But the thought of running into another noble at this hour, of having to entertain them with polite conversation, was more than he could bear. Instead, he activated his Stealth skill, allowing himself to fade into the shadows, and decided to use the back entrance. The inn had a reputation for hosting the wealthy and influential, and it wouldn¡¯t be surprising if someone was watching him. He moved through the dimly lit streets, the flickering lamplights casting long shadows on the cobblestones. Just as he was about to turn into the alley that led to the inn¡¯s back entrance, a voice stopped him in his tracks¡ªa voice that sent a chill down his spine. Corwin. The constant murmur of the city faded into the background as Thorne¡¯s focus zeroed in on that single voice. Dread coiled in his stomach, tightening with every step he took. He didn¡¯t want to hear this conversation¡ªhe knew that¡ªbut something compelled him to move forward, as if he were a moth drawn to a flame. He activated Shadow Meld and slipped into a side alley, scaling the steep wall of a small shop with practiced ease. His fingers found purchase on the roof, and he pulled himself up, moving with silent precision until he crouched at the edge, peering down into the narrow alley below. There, standing in the dim light, was Corwin... and Rhea. Thorne¡¯s heart pounded in his chest as he watched the two of them, their heads close together, their voices low. He strained to hear, focusing on every word that passed between them. ¡°This is ridiculous,¡± Corwin muttered, his voice a mix of frustration and fear. ¡°Why do I have to use that poison? Why not something that would kill him instantly?¡± Rhea¡¯s response was a low growl, her tone dripping with irritation. ¡°Because, you idiot, we don¡¯t know how many health points Thorne has. If we mess up the dose and he survives, he¡¯ll figure it out, and we¡¯re both finished.¡± Corwin scowled, still not convinced. ¡°But what if it doesn¡¯t work? What if he notices something¡¯s off?¡± Rhea¡¯s eyes narrowed, her expression cold and calculating. ¡°Then that¡¯s where you come in. You¡¯ll be the one to finish him off if anything goes wrong.¡± Corwin¡¯s face twisted in dismay. ¡°Of course, I¡¯ll be the one sticking my neck out. And what about you? You just get to sit back and watch?¡± ¡°That¡¯s the point,¡± Rhea snapped. ¡°If something goes wrong, he won¡¯t know I was involved. I¡¯ll have another chance to kill him. You don¡¯t get it, do you? We¡¯re assassins. We don¡¯t take chances. This is the best way to ensure he doesn¡¯t see it coming.¡± Corwin muttered under his breath, clearly unhappy with the arrangement. ¡°Easy for you to say. You¡¯re not the one risking your life.¡± Rhea¡¯s gaze hardened. ¡°You think I¡¯m not risking anything? You don¡¯t know half of what¡¯s at stake here. And don¡¯t forget who gave the order.¡± Thorne¡¯s breath caught in his throat. Someone else was involved¡ªsomeone who had orchestrated this betrayal. But who? And why? Corwin shot her a sidelong glance, a flicker of something like doubt crossing his face. ¡°I thought you were friends with Thorne. You seemed close. I¡¯m surprised you¡¯re so eager to get rid of him.¡± Rhea¡¯s expression darkened, a dangerous edge to her voice. ¡°Shut it, Corwin. You know nothing about me, about him, or about what¡¯s really going on. This isn¡¯t about friendship. It¡¯s about survival.¡± Corwin¡¯s eyes flicked around the alley, as if checking to see if anyone else was listening. ¡°I know that,¡± he said, his voice quieter now. ¡°But I didn¡¯t think you¡¯d go this far.¡± Rhea¡¯s lip curled in disgust. ¡°I don¡¯t have to explain myself to you. You are an assassin, do your job.¡± Corwin hesitated, then sighed, resigned. ¡°I guess you¡¯re right. We¡¯re assassins. Trusting anyone is a fool¡¯s game.¡± ¡°Exactly,¡± Rhea said, her tone final. ¡°Now, stop complaining and do what you¡¯re told. When the time comes, we¡¯ll both play our parts.¡± There was a pause, the silence stretching between them. Then Corwin spoke again, his voice quieter, almost hesitant. ¡°So, what do we do if he doesn¡¯t take the bait? If he suspects something?¡± Rhea¡¯s eyes flashed with annoyance. ¡°That¡¯s why you¡¯re going to be the one to administer it. You¡¯re good at playing the fool, so use that to your advantage. Make him think you¡¯re harmless, just like always.¡± Corwin let out a bitter laugh. ¡°Playing the fool, huh? I¡¯ve gotten pretty good at that. But what if it doesn¡¯t work? What if he¡­¡± ¡°Then you improvise,¡± Rhea cut him off sharply. ¡°Figure it out. That¡¯s what we do. We adapt.¡± Thorne¡¯s stomach churned as he listened to their cold, calculated words. There was no hesitation, no doubt in their voices. They were planning his death as if it were just another job, just another target to eliminate. Corwin shifted uncomfortably, his gaze darting to the entrance of the alley. ¡°And what about the others? Are they in on this too?¡± Rhea¡¯s expression softened, just a fraction. ¡°No. This stays between us. The fewer people who know, the better.¡± ¡°So it¡¯s just us?¡± Corwin asked, his voice tinged with relief. ¡°For now,¡± Rhea replied, her tone firm. ¡°And that¡¯s how it¡¯s going to stay. Now, let¡¯s get back before someone notices we¡¯re gone.¡± With that, the two of them turned and left the alley, their footsteps fading into the night. Thorne remained where he was, crouched on the roof, his mind reeling from what he had just heard. He stayed there long after they were gone, his body numb with shock. Rhea, the one person he had thought he could trust, was planning to kill him. And not just her¡ªthere was someone else, someone pulling the strings from behind the scenes. As the truth settled in, the headache that had been plaguing him returned with a vengeance, a sharp, blinding pain that made him double over. He tried to hold it back, to keep his composure, but it was too much. He leaned over the edge of the roof and vomited, his body shaking with the force of it. When it was over, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his vision blurred with tears of pain and betrayal. He wanted to scream, to lash out, but he knew it would do no good. He was alone, surrounded by enemies, and the only way to survive was to keep playing the game. * Thorne blinked, the vivid memory of that night fading as he returned to the present. His surroundings came back into focus¡ªthe gentle rocking of the cart, the rhythmic creak of the wooden wheels as they rolled over the uneven road. His eyes shifted to Rhea, who sat across from him, her attention focused on her greatsword. She was sharpening the blade with slow, deliberate strokes, her expression set in that familiar stoic mask. The metallic rasp of the whetstone against steel filled the silence between them, a sound that seemed to echo in Thorne''s mind. He watched her, his thoughts churning. There was no hint of the cold, calculating woman he had overheard in that alley. Yet the memory of her words, the callousness with which she had plotted his death, was burned into his mind. At that moment, a cold realization settled over him¡ªthere was no other way. He had to kill her before she did. It was the only way to ensure his survival. As the cart continued down the road, Thorne''s gaze never left Rhea. His expression remained unreadable, but inside, the decision had already been made. He would kill her. Before she killed him. CHAPTER 103 Thorne pushed the heavy oak doors open, stepping into the dimly lit hall of Uncle¡¯s mansion. The two guards stationed at the entrance fixed him with their usual death glares, but Thorne ignored them, his gaze trained forward. He had no energy left to waste on their petty attempts to intimidate him. As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, Arletta appeared, her face as severe and expressionless as ever. She was a picture of perfect composure, the unshakable help. "I trust your mission was a success?" she asked, her voice as placid as her face. Thorne smirked, brushing the dust from his shoulders. "Of course it was," he quipped, feeling lighter than he had in days. After days of beating his frustration out on aether beasts in the wilderness, his mood had finally lifted. Though he would have preferred to return to the base and enjoy a quiet night with Rielle, Sid had made it clear¡ªUncle wanted to see him immediately. As they walked down the long hallway, Thorne asked, "How¡¯s Matilda?" He glanced around, almost expecting the woman to pop around the corner with a casserole in hand. Arletta¡¯s lips twitched into the barest hint of a smile. "Beside herself, once she heard you were returning. She even made your favorite pie." Thorne resisted the grimace threatening to pull at his mouth. Blueberry pie had once been a comfort, but after the incident, it had lost all its appeal. "I¡¯ll see her after dinner with Uncle," he said, keeping his voice even. Arletta nodded as they approached the doors of the dining room. She knocked once, her voice clear and professional as she announced, "Thorne has arrived." Uncle¡¯s voice boomed from within. "Let him in!" Thorne stepped around Arletta and entered the room, his gaze immediately landing on Uncle. The man circled the long dining table, his heavy form hobbling awkwardly. Each step Uncle took around the table seemed heavier, more labored. He was still the same man who¡¯d ruled over Thorne¡¯s life for years, but now... now he was slower, weaker. Age and weight had caught up to him, and Thorne had to fight the urge to frown. Uncle seemed even older and more worn down than before. His once-imposing figure was now sagging, the lines of his face deeper, his once-bushy mustache now snow white. The weight of his power, of his sins, dragging him down like a stone tied to his neck. Thorne wondered how long it would be before that weight crushed him completely. As soon as Uncle spotted Thorne, his expression brightened, and he spread his arms wide for a hug. Thorne bit back his revulsion and stepped into the embrace, briefly enduring the contact. "Son, it¡¯s so good to have you back! It¡¯s been too long," Uncle exclaimed, patting his back with exaggerated warmth. "No more missions to far-off cities for a while, you hear me?" He waved a finger in mock chastisement and chuckled. Thorne forced a smile and nodded, playing the role. They sat, Uncle at the head of the table and Thorne beside him, the distance between them both physical and emotional. Uncle called for Arletta to serve the dinner, but even before the first dish appeared, he launched into his barrage of questions. "So? I got a letter from Sid telling me that you were successful. It¡¯s true, isn¡¯t it?" Uncle shook his head, already beaming with pride. "Of course it is! My son could do nothing less than the best!" The servants¡ªwho were assassins in their own right¡ªbegan filing in with plates of food, but Uncle¡¯s focus never wavered. His eyes gleamed as he leaned forward. "Tell me, how was your mission? Were there any unforeseen obstacles? With so many moving parts, I¡¯m sure there were problems." Thorne nodded his thanks to one of the servants as a plate was set before him, then turned to Uncle. "There were a few complications, yes," he admitted, his tone nonchalant. "But nothing we couldn¡¯t handle. We didn¡¯t leave any loose ends¡ªexcept those beneficial to us, of course." Uncle¡¯s lips curled into a wolfish smile. "So, they saw through you, didn¡¯t they?" Thorne arched an eyebrow, noting the confidence with which Uncle spoke. Did he expect me to fail? Thorne wondered. He couldn¡¯t tell if Uncle had known the risks or simply lacked faith in him. Either way, the truth was undeniable¡ªhe had been discovered. Grudgingly, Thorne nodded. "The young man I used to infiltrate high society... he figured it out. He had skills I wasn¡¯t aware of, and he used them against me." Uncle¡¯s bright expression dimmed, his mouth thinning into a displeased line. "But," Thorne added quickly, "he did his job before I had to take him out. He never had a chance to tell anyone." Uncle studied him in silence for a moment, his eyes narrowed in thought. "Are you sure?" he finally asked. Thorne met his gaze and nodded firmly. "I am." "Good," Uncle replied, relaxing slightly. "Now, aside from him?" Thorne hesitated for a beat, choosing his next words carefully. "There was another incident," he began, "though it was more the fault of the other recruits than mine." He felt Uncle¡¯s mood shift, his face reddening with anger. As Uncle pressed him for more details, Thorne¡¯s mind briefly flickered back to the meeting he had witnessed¡ªthe way Lord Valewyn had cowered before the mysterious man, the weight of that conversation hanging over everything. He knew that man was important, knew that Valewyn¡¯s betrayal might have been orchestrated by something larger, something more dangerous than Uncle yet realized. But Thorne also knew better than to hand Uncle everything. This information¡ªthis shadow lurking in the background¡ªwas his alone for now. Let Uncle believe Valewyn had simply been another noble playing a dangerous game and losing. Let him think the mission had closed that chapter cleanly. There was power in secrets, and Thorne intended to keep this one for himself, at least until he understood how to use it. Before the explosion came, Thorne fished into his pocket and produced two tokens, laying them on the table in front of Uncle. Uncle¡¯s fury melted away the moment he saw the sigils. His eyes gleamed with greedy curiosity, and he leaned forward to inspect the tokens closely. "Leave us," he barked to the servants, not even bothering to look up as they hurried out of the room. As the door closed behind them, Uncle slumped back in his chair, his entire posture shifting from tense to... something else.This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. Once the door clicked shut, he lifted the tokens as if handling precious jewels. "You did it," Uncle breathed, his voice thick with wonder. "You actually did it." Thorne blinked, confused by the overwhelming relief in his uncle¡¯s tone. He had never seen him like this¡ªlike a man who had narrowly escaped disaster. "When I gave you this mission," Uncle continued, "I hoped you¡¯d manage to make a few connections¡ªjust enough to give us leverage. But this... securing tokens from the two most powerful families in Valewind?" He shook his head, clearly impressed. "You have no idea what you¡¯ve done." Thorne remained silent, watching as Uncle ran his thumb over the sigils. The man looked almost... grateful. It was unsettling. Thorne remained silent, his confusion deepening. The relief in Uncle¡¯s voice, the way his hands shook¡ªit was unlike anything he¡¯d ever seen from the man. "Uncle?" he asked, his voice cautious. "What is it? Why are these so important?" Uncle hesitated, glancing up from the tokens, a flicker of something¡ªfear, perhaps¡ªcrossing his face. He sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair. "It¡¯s Lord Durnell. He¡¯s cut ties with us." Thorne frowned. "Lord Durnell?" "Yes. Now that he¡¯s moved to the capital, he no longer needs me¡ªor our arrangement. He decided transporting Alvar wool from the other side of the kingdom is no longer profitable." Uncle¡¯s voice was bitter, his lips thinning into a hard line. "He¡¯s found new suppliers. And with him pulling his coin from our operation, things are starting to unravel." Thorne felt a cold twist in his gut. He had heard of Durnell¡¯s influence; losing his backing would be a heavy blow. "What does this mean for us?" "It means my hold in Alvar is weakening," Uncle admitted, his voice quiet, his eyes dark with worry. "Without Durnell¡¯s money to grease the wheels, everything threatens to fall apart. But now..." His eyes returned to the tokens, gleaming with new hope. "Now that we have these, we have other potential clients. The money from Valewind¡¯s nobles will keep us afloat." Uncle replied, still fingering the tokens. "With these families on our side, we¡¯ll be stronger than ever. Valewind will be ours, and with it, a foothold to expand our influence." Thorne¡¯s mind raced. He had been gone for weeks, focusing on his mission, while Uncle¡¯s grip on the guild had weakened. His hold on Alvar was slipping, and his survival now hinged on a few families in a distant city. It was risky. Desperate, even. "And Durnell?" Thorne asked. Uncle¡¯s expression hardened. "Durnell will regret severing ties with me. I will have to find a new puppet. Maybe I will use lord Thornfield, I still have... leverage on him." A wolfish grin spread across his face. "I have that letter, remember? The one that incriminates him in his sister¡¯s death. If he thinks he can walk away clean, he¡¯s mistaken." Thorne nodded, his mind already turning over the implications. The guild¡¯s future hung by a thread, dependent on the whims of powerful men. It felt as though Uncle¡¯s empire was crumbling beneath his weight, and yet the man still clung to power with a ferocious tenacity. Thorne leaned back, his thoughts swirling. So that was why Uncle had been so on edge, why he seemed more fragile than before. His empire was crumbling. It made sense now, the weariness that seemed to cling to him, the faint desperation in his voice. The powerful man who had loomed over Thorne for years was showing cracks. For the first time, Thorne saw Uncle not as a tyrant but as a man¡ªaging, vulnerable, and afraid of losing control. It should have made him feel pity. But instead, it filled him with a cold, growing sense of satisfaction. Uncle¡¯s time was running out, and Thorne was playing the long game. He wasn¡¯t ready to show his hand yet, but when the time came... "Name your wish," Uncle announced, his eyes bright with an expectant gleam. "Anything, and it will be fulfilled." Thorne¡¯s heart raced for a moment. The words he wanted to say were on the tip of his tongue¡ªBea. He finally had a trail, a reason to believe she might be at Aetherhold Academy. All he had to do was ask for Uncle¡¯s help, and he could pursue that lead. But something held him back. The timing didn¡¯t feel right. Not yet. "I¡¯ll think about it," Thorne said, offering a small smile. "Thanks, Uncle." Uncle nodded, clearly satisfied. "As you wish. Now, tell me about the Valmonts and the Vaynes." Thorne launched into a detailed explanation of his time in Valewind, focusing on Seraphina Valmont and Percy Vayne, and how both families were desperate to secure power in the city now that the Warden of the West was dead. "From what I¡¯ve observed, these two families will eventually control Valewind, with or without our help," Thorne said. "The Valmonts have wealth and connections, and the Vaynes... well, they have their heir." Uncle frowned, his eyes glazing over as if trying to recall some distant memory. "Their heir...?" he muttered. Thorne saw his opening. "Yes, Uncle. Percy Vayne, the mage-in-training. He attends Aetherhold Academy." Uncle¡¯s eyes sharpened with sudden clarity. "A mage? In their family?" he repeated, clearly impressed. "To have a mage... that¡¯s the ultimate weapon. Many families strive for that power, but few achieve it." Thorne nodded, hiding his growing excitement. This was it. This was his chance to ask. "I got to know Percy," Thorne began cautiously. "And I found out something interesting." Uncle¡¯s focus returned to him, razor-sharp. "Do tell," he said eagerly. Thorne leaned forward. "The Vaynes don¡¯t have the money or influence to send their heir to Aetherhold. But they found another way." Uncle¡¯s eyebrows shot up. "Go on," he urged, practically straddling the table in his eagerness. Thorne paused for effect, then dropped the bombshell. "The king helped Percy get into the academy." Uncle¡¯s eyes widened in shock. He leaned back in his chair, blinking in surprise. "The king?" he repeated, his voice tinged with disbelief. "Are you sure?" "I¡¯m sure," Thorne replied with confidence. Uncle¡¯s expression turned thoughtful, and he lapsed into silence, no doubt scheming about how to use this new information. "Uncle?" Thorne prompted after a moment, his voice soft but insistent. "Hmm?" "I was thinking..." Thorne hesitated, but he knew this was his only chance. "Since you¡¯ve already said that having a mage in the family could be advantageous... wouldn¡¯t it be useful to have a mage in the Lost Ones?" For years, he¡¯d dreamed of finding Bea, of knowing for sure what had happened to her. Now, with the academy in sight, he felt that hope burning bright again. This was his chance. Uncle¡¯s face darkened instantly, and his tone turned ice-cold. "No." Uncle¡¯s voice slammed into him like a blow, and Thorne froze, the hope that had sparked inside him flickering out, then die. "But¡ª" "I said no, Thorne!" As Uncle''s voice rose, filling the room with his booming commands, Thorne¡¯s fists clenched under the table. It was always the same¡ªUncle dictating his future, planning every move as if he were a mere pawn. And each time, the flame of rebellion inside him flickered brighter. But this wasn¡¯t the moment to show his hand. Not yet. "I¡¯ve planned your future to the finest detail. Your next years are carefully arranged. I will not have you jeopardize my plans because you want to play at being a mage!" Thorne¡¯s anger bubbled beneath the surface, but he forced himself to stay calm. "With the king¡¯s help, I could attend the most prestigious magic school in the world," he argued. "All we have to do is sign a contract¡ª" Uncle¡¯s fist slammed onto the table, rattling the silverware and spilling wine across the white tablecloth. "Are you stupid?" Uncle roared. "You want the king¡ªthe most powerful noble in the kingdom¡ªto know about us? About the Lost Ones, the guild of assassins that targets nobles?" Thorne remained silent, his hands trembling in his lap. "Besides," Uncle continued, his voice cold and venomous, "signing a contract is not something to be taken lightly. Magical contracts are binding, Thorne. Once signed, they cannot be undone. You will never sign such a thing without my knowledge. Am I clear?" Thorne didn¡¯t respond, the weight of Uncle¡¯s words pressing down on him. Patience. That¡¯s what Sid had always taught him. The strongest strike was the one delivered when your enemy didn¡¯t expect it. Uncle might control him now, but Thorne was learning¡ªwatching for the moment when the scales would tip. "Am I clear?" Uncle roared again, spittle flying from his mouth. Thorne nodded stiffly, the cold pit of helplessness in his stomach growing. Uncle leaned back, the storm of his anger passing, and sighed heavily. "Good. Now, no more nonsense about magic and mages." Thorne sat there, feeling small and powerless¡ªjust as he had so many times before. He hated Uncle for making him feel like this, for turning him back into the scared boy who had no control over his life. But for now, there was nothing he could do but obey. "Now," Uncle said, his voice calmer, "tell me everything that happened in Valewind, in the smallest detail." CHAPTER 104 Thorne took a slow sip from his goblet, letting the cool wine trickle down his parched throat. It did little to soothe the dryness after speaking for nearly an hour, recounting every detail of his mission. He had gone over everything¡ªalmost everything. He had omitted two key details, and the knowledge of what he held back simmered beneath his calm exterior. Across from him, Uncle devoured plate after plate of food, his appetite insatiable. The piles of meat, bread, and gravy that accumulated around his plate contrasted sharply with Thorne¡¯s untouched meal. Uncle was calm now, content, occasionally nodding along or asking for clarification. His earlier tension, the fury that simmered just beneath the surface when they began this dinner, had been subdued. Yet Thorne felt no satisfaction in his recounting. Not because he had failed, but because of what he chose not to say. He didn¡¯t mention the conversation between Lord Valewyn and the mysterious man, though he knew it would have been invaluable to Uncle. A small, dark part of him took pleasure in withholding that information and keeping secrets of his own. After Uncle¡¯s flat refusal to even entertain the idea of sending him to Aetherhold, this felt like a tiny act of rebellion. He knew Uncle would have loved to hear about the conversation, would have salivated over the potential value of such intel. But Thorne savored the secret. The second omission was more personal¡ªCorwin¡¯s betrayal. Uncle didn¡¯t know about Thorne¡¯s lapse in judgment, about the poison coursing through his veins. Thorne had taken care of Corwin, dealt with his mistake, and cleaned up his own mess. But in Uncle¡¯s eyes, the fact that Thorne had been vulnerable enough to be poisoned would have been seen as a weakness, a failure. And Thorne wasn¡¯t about to hand Uncle any more ammunition to use against him. A servant¡ªan assassin in disguise, like the rest¡ªentered the room with another platter of food, placing it in front of Uncle, who began tearing into it without so much as a glance. ¡°That was excellent work, son,¡± Uncle said between mouthfuls, his voice thick with satisfaction. ¡°Truly excellent.¡± Thorne gave a modest nod, his face perfectly composed thanks to his Mask of Deceit skill, though inside, he battled the rising tide of revulsion. How many times had Uncle called him son, and how many times had that word felt like a knife in his chest? He didn¡¯t dare let his true feelings show. His plate remained untouched, the smell of food turning his stomach. Uncle wiped his mouth with a greasy napkin, leaning back in his chair. ¡°I set certain goals for you, Thorne,¡± he said, his eyes narrowing slightly, ¡°but truth be told, I wasn¡¯t sure you would pull it off. This mission was important, yes, but it was also... a test.¡± Another test. How many more? Thorne suppressed the wave of anger that surged inside him. It seemed no matter what he did, no matter how perfectly he executed Uncle¡¯s orders, there was always another test. Always another challenge to prove himself. He was exhausted. He kept his voice even, but now he saw his opening he had some questions that needed answers. ¡°Uncle, about the mission... how did Lord Valewyn come by so much information on us?¡± Uncle¡¯s eyes flicked sharply to the servants standing at the edges of the room. His face hardened, a warning. ¡°The Warden was one of our earliest clients,¡± Uncle said through gritted teeth. ¡°A dirty man, hiding filth from the Crown. A man with more secrets than sense, and he used us to clean up his messes. But by doing too many jobs for him, we left ourselves exposed. A mistake that won¡¯t be repeated¡± Uncle wasn¡¯t just speaking to Thorne. His tone was deliberate, aimed at the assassins-turned-servants who lingered nearby. His words weren¡¯t just explanations; they were warnings to those in his employ. But Thorne wasn¡¯t satisfied with vague answers. ¡°Why would Valewyn collect all that information? What was he planning to do with it?¡± he asked, knowing he was pushing the limits of Uncle¡¯s patience. Uncle¡¯s hand tightened around his spoon, the metal bending slightly under the pressure. His gaze was cold, furious. ¡°Why do you think?¡± Uncle hissed. ¡°To sell it, of course. Information is worth more than gold to the right buyer.¡± Thorne¡¯s mind drifted back to the mysterious man he¡¯d overheard in Valewyn¡¯s chamber. Yes, someone like that would find the guild¡¯s secrets immensely valuable. Luckily, Valewyn hadn''t sold the information¡ªthat he knew of. Thorne nodded, satisfied enough to let the matter drop. ¡°More wine!¡± Uncle barked, his voice booming through the room. One of the servants rushed forward to refill his goblet. Uncle downed the wine in a single gulp, his tone shifting as he spoke again, lighter but no less sharp. ¡°As I was saying, I wasn¡¯t sure you could pull it off, blending in with the nobles. But I was wrong.¡± He smiled, though his eyes gleamed with something more than pride¡ªcuriosity, calculation. ¡°I¡¯m sure your skills helped with that.¡± The word skills sent a ripple of discomfort through Thorne. Even though Uncle now knew about his aether core, the old instinct to guard his abilities kicked in. Thorne¡¯s body tensed, but he masked it well. Uncle had a way of turning everything into leverage, and Thorne knew his skills were no exception. Uncle waved his goblet dismissively, spilling some wine. ¡°No matter,¡± he said, his tone lighter. ¡°It will make your next task easier.¡± Thorne felt the weight of those words settle over him. His helplessness was suffocating. No matter how much he achieved, no matter how perfectly he completed his missions, it would never be enough. Uncle would always have another task, another plan¡ªand Thorne would always be the pawn. Without warning, Uncle pulled out his summoning crystal and infused it with aether. The aether motes rustled for a moment, and Arletta entered within seconds, her face as calm and composed as ever. ¡°Master,¡± she muttered quietly, bowing slightly. Uncle dropped the crystal onto the table and spoke with finality. ¡°Thorne will become a full-fledged member of the guild in a few weeks. His final trial will mark the end of his initiation.¡± The announcement hit Thorne like a blow. He hadn¡¯t known his trials were nearly over. For a moment, hope flared within him¡ªfreedom was so close, just within reach. But then Uncle¡¯s next words crushed it. ¡°From then on,¡± Uncle continued, his tone cold and commanding, ¡°Thorne will live here. In this house. He will be my heir, and he will be treated as such by everyone in this household.¡± The room fell into stunned silence. The servants stopped in their tracks, unsure of how to react, and even Arletta¡¯s professional mask slipped for a brief moment. Heir? Had Uncle just named him his heir? Thorne¡¯s mind raced. Uncle hadn¡¯t prepared him for this. Hadn¡¯t even hinted at it. He had spent years being thrown into the pit of assassins, trained to kill, to deceive, to follow orders without question. Now, suddenly, Uncle wanted to pull him out and thrust him into the world of noble society, a gilded cage just as dangerous as the guild. ¡°You will continue your training at the base if you want, but you will not stay there. I have dozens of assassins at my beck and call to handle my tasks. But what I need, Thorne, is you. You¡¯re the only one who can help me with what truly matters¡ªtaking Alvar.¡± Thorne¡¯s world shifted. Just like that, Uncle had decided to upend his life again. Uncle¡¯s eyes bore into him, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. ¡°Why are you so surprised?¡± Uncle asked, his voice teasing. ¡°You were the one who gave me the idea, after all.¡± Uncle said, his voice teasing. ¡°You told me to find someone to further my goals. I found him. You.¡± Thorne blinked, struggling to keep his expression neutral, thanks to his Acting skill his voice came out calm, almost indifferent. ¡°I meant someone more experienced,¡± he said, his expression controlled. ¡°Someone already a noble, someone who knows how to navigate that world. Not me. Besides,¡± he added carefully, ¡°what about Lord Thornfield? I thought he was the key to your plans.¡± Uncle scoffed, waving away the suggestion. ¡°Thornfield?¡± he asked, his tone mocking. ¡°The man is spineless. I have no faith in him. But you...¡± Uncle¡¯s smile grew predatory, his eyes gleaming. ¡°You¡¯re different. You¡¯re like me.¡± If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. Thorne¡¯s stomach churned at the words. Like him? No. He wasn¡¯t like Uncle. He couldn¡¯t be. ¡°You¡¯re calculating,¡± Uncle continued, his voice filled with dark admiration. ¡°You can manipulate others, do what must be done, without hesitation. That¡¯s what makes you perfect for this. With you by my side, Alvar doesn¡¯t stand a chance. The city will be ours.¡± Thorne¡¯s mind spun, the weight of Uncle¡¯s declaration crashing down on him. His entire life had just been turned upside down again. First, Uncle had thrown him into the guild, into a world of blood and betrayal. Now, he was being thrust into another dangerous arena¡ªone filled with nobles, politics, and manipulation. And Uncle expected him to embrace it, to be his heir, his tool for conquering Alvar. But what unsettled Thorne most was the shift in Uncle¡¯s demeanor. Just hours ago, Uncle had been weary, defeated. Now, he was filled with feverish excitement, energized by the thought of power. And the way he spoke to Thorne, the words echoed in his mind: You are like me. But he wasn¡¯t. He couldn¡¯t be. Thorne clenched his fists under the table, reminding himself of that. He wouldn¡¯t let himself become that man. Uncle turned to Arletta. ¡°Prepare him,¡± he commanded. ¡°Teach him everything he needs to know. Etiquette, local dynamics, the most prominent figures in our kingdom. I want him to know the intricate connections of the nobility inside and out.¡± Arletta, having regained her composure, bowed deeply. ¡°Of course, Master.¡± Uncle took a final gulp of wine, setting the empty goblet on the table with a heavy thud. ¡°Your education starts tomorrow,¡± he said, his tone final. ¡°Now go upstairs and rest. You have a lot to learn.¡± * Thorne stood at the edge of the abandoned lighthouse, the wind tugging at his cloak as he watched the sun sink lower into the horizon. The sky had turned a deep red, streaked with hints of pink and orange, its vibrant hues reflected on the calm waters below. This place¡ªisolated and forgotten¡ªwas his sanctuary, a place where he could think without the weight of Uncle¡¯s gaze or the suffocating presence of the guild. No one knew about this spot except for Jonah, Ben, and Darius, his only real friends. He had chosen not to return to the base after his meeting with Uncle. He needed time¡ªtime to process everything that had just happened, to make sense of the whirlwind his life had become. He had been named heir, the successor to the lord of Alvar¡¯s underworld. It felt unreal, like a decision that had been made without his input, another chain thrown around his neck. Who could tell him anything now? Who could demand his presence at training? He was the heir of Alvar¡¯s shadow lord¡ªuntouchable, and yet... utterly trapped. Thorne sighed deeply, the sound coming from the very core of his being. He hadn¡¯t wanted to see anyone from the Lost Ones. No one was waiting for him, not really. Perhaps Rielle, but even then, he wasn¡¯t sure of her anymore. Vance and Rhea wouldn¡¯t care if he never returned. The guild felt like a dead end. Everything he had gone through¡ªthe pain, the betrayals, the sacrifices¡ªfelt hollow now. He¡¯d been cheated out of something, some imaginary reward for all he had endured. Becoming a full member had seemed like a destination, something he could cling to. Now, it was being ripped away. He wasn¡¯t a recruit anymore. He wasn¡¯t a full member either. He was something else entirely¡ªUncle¡¯s heir. A title he had never asked for, a role he never wanted. And yet... he couldn¡¯t shake the bitterness that came with leaving the guild behind. He had earned his place there, with every drop of blood he¡¯d spilled. The sky had deepened into crimson, the color of old wounds. Thorne¡¯s future, as ever, was up in the air, uncertain and terrifying. Why was it always like this? Why was his life always shifting, always being dictated by someone else? Now, he was expected to become a criminal lord, a fake noble to manipulate and control the city¡¯s elite. He clutched the pendant around his neck, the only physical connection he had left to his family. He tried to remember his father¡¯s face, his mother¡¯s voice, but the years had blurred their features. What would his mother say if she saw him now? Would she condemn him for the things he¡¯d done? For the blood on his hands? He could barely remember her voice, only vague echoes in his mind, like a distant wind that no longer carried the warmth of familiarity. Even the voice that occasionally spoke to him in his thoughts, the one that he imagined was hers, felt like a hollow imitation. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps on the lighthouse ladder. Thorne didn¡¯t turn to look. He kept his gaze fixed on the horizon, grateful for the distraction. ¡°How did you find me?¡± he asked, still staring at the setting sun. A familiar huff came from behind him, and when he turned, he found Ben climbing the final rung, his round face flushed from the effort. Ben stopped, catching his breath before signing, ¡°Darius saw you earlier. Why didn¡¯t you come to greet us? We were worried!¡± Thorne looked at his friend, guilt tugging at him. Ben, despite growing up in the harsh streets of Alvar, was still untouched by the darkness that had swallowed Thorne whole. He was still... pure, in a way that Thorne could never be. He was still a kid, even if the world had tried to beat that innocence out of him. And Thorne didn¡¯t want to hurt him. He didn¡¯t want to drag Ben into the mess his life had become. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Thorne said quietly. ¡°I just needed some time to think.¡± Ben nodded and tipped his head toward the sunset. ¡°We searched half the rooftops in the city to find you. Then we remembered your lighthouse.¡± Thorne allowed a small smile to tug at the corners of his mouth. There was something comforting about knowing that his friends knew him so well. He patted the spot beside him, inviting Ben to sit. Ben lowered himself awkwardly onto the edge, his weight making the old structure creak under the pressure. Once he was settled, Ben signed, ¡°Your face is weird. Did something happen during your mission?¡± Thorne frowned, touching his face instinctively. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with it?¡± Ben¡¯s hands moved quickly. ¡°It¡¯s too smooth. Like stone. No expression at all.¡± Thorne realized he still had the Mask of Deceit activated, hiding his true emotions even from his closest friends. With a thought, he deactivated the skill, and whatever Ben saw in his face then made him jolt, his eyes wide with concern. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Ben signed, his worry etched into every line of his face. Thorne turned back to the sunset, his voice low. ¡°There are... a lot of things wrong, Ben. A lot of things.¡± The sea was calm, the gentle waves reflecting the pink and red hues of the sky. It was a rare moment of peace, a stillness that didn¡¯t match the storm raging inside him. Ben¡¯s sudden slap on Thorne¡¯s hand caught him off guard. He whirled around, eyes wide. ¡°Hey!¡± Ben¡¯s hands flew through the air in a flurry of signs. ¡°Are you in trouble? Should we leave? Let¡¯s go to another city!¡± For a moment, Thorne was stunned by the suggestion, but then the absurdity of it hit him, and he started to laugh. He laughed so hard his eyes misted over, his chest aching with the release of tension. ¡°Ben, thank you,¡± Thorne said between chuckles. ¡°The idea of running away from this cursed city... it¡¯s hilarious.¡± Ben¡¯s face fell, hurt flashing in his eyes, and Thorne¡¯s laughter died in his throat. ¡°I¡¯m not laughing at you,¡± Thorne quickly reassured him. ¡°It¡¯s just... the thought of leaving is so impossible. If I tried to leave the city, Uncle would send every assassin in his guild after me.¡± Ben¡¯s frown deepened, his concern unwavering. ¡°We could run,¡± he signed again. ¡°Find somewhere safe.¡± Thorne¡¯s heart ached at the innocence in Ben¡¯s words. He reached out and patted his friend¡¯s leg. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about me. I¡¯m a survivor. We all are. I just... I got some unexpected news today. I need time to process it.¡± Ben didn¡¯t push, but his worry remained clear. They sat in silence, watching the last of the sunlight dip below the horizon. The quiet, the simple presence of Ben beside him, soothed something deep inside Thorne. This¡ªthis moment of peace, of friendship¡ªwas a rare gift in his world of lies and shadows. The sound of footsteps echoed up the ladder, and moments later, Jonah appeared, his face twisted in mock annoyance. ¡°You boneheaded idiot!¡± Jonah shouted, waving his arms. ¡°Did you have to come all the way out here? It¡¯s cold! And maybe, just maybe, you should consider repairing this wall¡ªit¡¯s drafty.¡± Thorne couldn¡¯t help but smile as Jonah plopped down beside him, grumbling all the way. ¡°What are we watching?¡± Jonah asked, handing each of them a piece of sugared bread. ¡°The sunset,¡± Thorne replied, taking a bite. Jonah shook his head in exaggerated exasperation. ¡°You and your sunsets. What¡¯s up with that?¡± Thorne never told them why he watched sunsets. It reminded him of his family, the last memory he had of them before everything changed. It made him feel... closer to them, somehow. But he never shared that with anyone. Jonah, of course, couldn¡¯t help himself. ¡°I¡¯d understand if you had a girl here, trying to seduce her with this view, but all you have is this fat lug.¡± He pinched Ben¡¯s side, making the boy flush and swat at Jonah in retaliation. ¡°Hey!¡± Thorne protested with mock offense. ¡°I happen to like Ben¡¯s fat rolls!¡± He sent a ridiculous kiss in Ben¡¯s direction, causing the boy to turn a deeper shade of red. Jonah burst out laughing, wiping away a tear. ¡°To each their own! Just don¡¯t let your scary girlfriend hear you say that.¡± The mention of Rielle killed Thorne¡¯s laughter instantly. His face darkened, the reminder of the guild weighing heavy on his heart. Jonah noticed the shift immediately, raising an eyebrow. ¡°Trouble with your spy friends?¡± Jonah asked, his tone less playful. Thorne stood up, lighting a few candles to ward off the encroaching darkness. ¡°I don¡¯t want to talk about it.¡± Jonah and Ben shared a glance, but neither pushed the subject. Jonah shrugged, his usual energy returning. ¡°That¡¯s fine by me, because I have news! Big news! What are you doing tomorrow? Do you have a day off?¡± Thorne hesitated. Jonah¡¯s excitement could come from any number of things¡ªsome legitimate, others not so much. It was a toss of a coin whether he¡¯d be talking about a market deal or stealing from the docks. ¡°I could have the day off...¡± Thorne said cautiously. ¡°Good! Because tomorrow,¡± Jonah said, practically bouncing with excitement, ¡°you¡¯re going to help me clean my new shop! I finally got the key!¡± From his pocket, Jonah pulled out a rusty, old key, holding it up like it was the crown jewel. Thorne¡¯s eyes widened, and his face split into a grin. ¡°You did it? You actually did it?¡± Jonah beamed with pride, and Ben took the key, examining it with wide eyes. ¡°I scraped together the last few coins! I¡¯m a shop owner! A full-blown merchant, Thorne!¡± All three of them started jumping in excitement, like children again. It felt like when they had first met, before the world had become so complicated. Thorne couldn¡¯t stop smiling. ¡°I¡¯m so proud of you!¡± They hugged each other, laughing, hopping up and down in a weird, awkward dance. ¡°We did it!¡± Jonah cheered. ¡°Now, let¡¯s go celebrate! Darius is waiting at the tavern, and Gilly promised to save the freshest fish for us!¡± Thorne hesitated, glancing back at the dark horizon. Another day away from the guild. Another day to pretend everything wasn¡¯t falling apart around him. He could do that. For one more night, he could be just Thorne, with his friends. ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± Thorne said, grinning as they headed toward the tavern. CHAPTER 105 The shop was, in Jonah¡¯s words, a ¡°charming little hole-in-the-wall.¡± In reality, it was more hole than charm¡ªa cramped, dirt-filled space no bigger than a closet, with debris scattered across the floor and a thick layer of dust coating every surface. The stone walls were cracked, and the wooden beams holding up the ceiling looked like they had seen better days¡ªa century ago. Thorne groaned, his head pounding from the aftermath of last night¡¯s celebration. The tavern had been full of life, the laughter and drinks flowing freely, but now, as the sunlight poured through the grime-covered window, he regretted every single drop of ale he had downed. Darius, as always, had taken control of the situation. ¡°Alright, we need to clear this place out if we¡¯re going to get Jonah¡¯s shop ready,¡± he said, holding a broom like a general brandishing a sword. ¡°Thorne, you handle the back room. Ben, stop eating and start sweeping. Jonah, you¡ª¡± ¡°I know how to sweep, Darius,¡± Jonah interrupted, leaning on his broom with a smirk. ¡°I don¡¯t need you telling me how to clean my own shop.¡± Darius huffed. ¡°Clearly, you do, because all you¡¯ve done is stand there talking while the rest of us are working.¡± ¡°I¡¯m thinking,¡± Jonah shot back. ¡°It¡¯s an important part of running a business. You should try it sometime.¡± Thorne chuckled, though the sound turned into another groan as his headache flared up. His broom moved sluggishly across the floor, pushing dust and dirt into a small pile. But his mind wasn¡¯t on sweeping. Invisible Threads. That was the skill he wanted to test. Subtly, making sure the others weren¡¯t looking, with a subtle flick of his fingers, he wove the invisible aether threads through the air. He could feel them wrap around the larger pieces of debris¡ªbroken wood, larger rocks¡ªand with a soft tug, he guided them into a neat pile in the corner. ¡°Thorne!¡± Darius barked, breaking his concentration. ¡°Stop pretending to sweep and get those rocks out of the corner!¡± Thorne gave him a lazy salute, still using his Invisible Threads to collect the debris. ¡°On it, boss,¡± he muttered, though he couldn¡¯t help but smirk at his own handiwork. The skill was more useful than he¡¯d thought¡ªsilent, effective, and best of all, it let him clean without actually moving too much. ¡°You¡¯re not even touching the broom!¡± Darius continued, completely oblivious to Thorne¡¯s magical assistance. ¡°Do you even know what manual labor is?¡± Jonah grinned. ¡°Leave him be, Darius. I¡¯ve got my hands full keeping Ben from eating everything in sight.¡± Ben, true to form, was sitting in the corner, pulling out yet another snack from seemingly nowhere. He hadn¡¯t done a single bit of cleaning since they¡¯d arrived. In one hand, he held a small loaf of bread, and in the other, a handful of dried fruit. ¡°I¡¯m eating for energy,¡± Ben signed between bites. ¡°You can¡¯t expect me to work on an empty stomach.¡± Darius threw his hands in the air. ¡°You¡¯ve been eating since we got here!¡± Jonah laughed, wiping the dust from his hands. ¡°It¡¯s Ben. He eats. You¡¯re not going to change that.¡± Ben, in response, simply shrugged and popped another piece of fruit into his mouth, completely unbothered by the chaos around him. Thorne cast a glance at Ben, who was still munching on a roll, and silently guided more of the debris into a corner using his Invisible Threads. Magic was supposed to be subtle, but he had to admit, part of him was hoping for a little more chaos¡ªjust enough to distract Darius from his micromanaging. At the back of the shop, Jonah opened a small crate, a wide grin on his face. ¡°And now, I present to you... my first wares.¡± Thorne raised an eyebrow. ¡°What¡¯s in there?¡± ¡°Potions!¡± Jonah said proudly, lifting the lid to reveal a row of small glass vials, each filled with a soft, pink liquid. ¡°Courtesy of Ben¡¯s fine brewing skills.¡± Darius stared at the crate, then at Jonah. ¡°Ben made these?¡± His voice was filled with skepticism. ¡°And you¡¯re planning to sell them? Are you sure that¡¯s... safe?¡± Jonah waved off the concern with a laugh. ¡°Relax! They¡¯re beauty potions, designed to smooth the skin for a few hours. Completely harmless.¡± Ben beamed from the corner, his hands already signing enthusiastically. ¡°They work! Mostly.¡± Thorne¡¯s eyebrow shot up. ¡°Mostly?¡± Jonah uncorked one of the vials and held it up to the light, the pink liquid shimmering faintly. ¡°You¡¯ve got to start somewhere. I figured a bit of good luck potions would help me kick off my new business.¡± Thorne narrowed his eyes, eyeing the vial warily. ¡°I¡¯m not drinking that.¡± ¡°Oh, come on,¡± Jonah teased, holding out the vial. ¡°It¡¯s just a beauty potion. It¡¯ll smooth out all those frown lines.¡± Thorne shook his head, taking a step back. ¡°I¡¯ve had enough of Ben¡¯s creations for a lifetime. The last time I tried one of his potions, I had scales on my back for a week.¡± Ben gave a sheepish shrug from the corner but didn¡¯t stop chewing on his bread. Jonah sighed dramatically. ¡°Where¡¯s your sense of adventure?¡± Thorne rubbed his temple, wincing at the dull throb of his headache. ¡°My sense of adventure is still recovering from last night¡¯s celebration.¡± ¡°You¡¯re just being a baby,¡± Jonah teased, tossing the vial in the air and catching it. ¡°You drank half the tavern last night, and now you¡¯re afraid of a little potion?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not afraid,¡± Thorne said, glaring. ¡°I¡¯m just... cautious.¡±If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. ¡°Cautious,¡± Jonah echoed with a smirk. ¡°Sure.¡± Meanwhile, Darius was still sweeping, his broom moving furiously as he tried to herd the group like sheep. ¡°If you¡¯re all done playing around with potions, maybe you could actually help clean this place? We still have dirt everywhere!¡± Jonah chuckled. ¡°Yes, sir, Captain Darius.¡± Ben snorted quietly at Jonah¡¯s comment, though his attention quickly shifted back to his snacks. He pulled out a small pastry, taking a large bite as if he were completely unaware of the chaos around him. Thorne, unable to resist, flicked a piece of broken wood toward Darius¡¯s feet with his Invisible Threads, watching in amusement as Darius stumbled over it. ¡°Oops,¡± Thorne muttered with mock innocence. Darius shot him a death glare. ¡°I swear, if you keep messing around with that¡ª¡± ¡°Relax, Darius,¡± Jonah interrupted, still grinning. ¡°We¡¯ll get it done. It¡¯s a small shop. How long could it possibly take?¡± Darius¡¯s eye twitched. ¡°That¡¯s not the point!¡± Thorne leaned back against the wall, watching his friends with a faint smile. The bickering, the joking, the familiarity of it all¡ªit felt... nice. Normal. After the heaviness of the past few days, this moment of normalcy felt like a breath of fresh air. For now, he could forget about the guild, forget about Uncle¡¯s plans, and just be Thorne with his friends. Almost. The shop was still a mess of dust, debris, and forgotten junk when the door creaked open, and Arletta stepped inside, flanked by two of Uncle¡¯s guards. The boys froze mid-sweep, and Ben¡¯s half-eaten pastry hovered in front of his open mouth. Thorne¡¯s heart sank. Arletta. Of all people. ¡°Master Thorne,¡± she said crisply, her sharp gaze scanning the room with poorly concealed distaste. She glanced around at the grime-covered walls and the dirt-streaked floor before her nose wrinkled in an almost imperceptible grimace. ¡°Since you didn¡¯t return to the base, I¡¯ve come to fetch you. Your session with me will take place at the mansion.¡± Thorne groaned, pressing his broom against the floor. ¡°Arletta, I¡¯m helping Jonah clean his new shop. Surely that can wait.¡± Her lips thinned as she cast a critical eye around the tiny room. ¡°This is what¡¯s keeping you occupied?¡± she asked, her tone flat but not entirely dismissive. ¡°You¡¯ve left your training... for this?¡± Jonah stepped forward with a dramatic flourish. ¡°It¡¯s a work in progress, my good lady,¡± he said, waving his hand as if he were revealing a royal ballroom. ¡°This shop will be a jewel of the city! And to commemorate the grand occasion, I¡¯m already prepared with my first wares.¡± He gestured grandly toward a small crate of potions. ¡°Behold¡ªpotions! Crafted by none other than the esteemed Ben!¡± Ben, still munching on his pastry, offered a half-hearted wave from the corner. Arletta¡¯s eyes flicked toward the crate, her expression carefully neutral, though Thorne caught a slight twitch of curiosity in her gaze. ¡°Potions?¡± she repeated, her voice deceptively casual. Sensing an opening, Jonah¡¯s grin widened. ¡°Yes, potions! Beauty potions, to be precise. Guaranteed to smooth the skin and give you a youthful glow¡ªfor a few hours, at least. A fine investment for someone of discerning taste, wouldn¡¯t you agree?¡± Thorne saw it. The tiniest flicker of interest crossed Arletta¡¯s usually impassive face. Her lips pressed together, her eyes narrowing just slightly as she tried to maintain her stoic expression. But Thorne knew better. She was intrigued. Jonah leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. ¡°And for you, a special price on the first batch.¡± Thorne fought the urge to facepalm. Jonah was going to get them all killed if he wasn¡¯t careful. Ben¡¯s potions were as unpredictable as they came, and if Arletta experienced one of the notorious side effects... Arletta paused, casting a quick glance at the crate. ¡°How much?¡± she asked, attempting to sound disinterested but failing spectacularly. ¡°Five silver per vial,¡± Jonah declared confidently, crossing his arms as if it were the deal of a lifetime. ¡°Five silver?¡± Thorne muttered under his breath, shaking his head. Jonah was aiming way too high. Arletta, however, didn¡¯t flinch. She stood perfectly still, though her eyes gleamed with something between interest and skepticism. ¡°Five silver,¡± she repeated, raising one brow. Before the silence could stretch too long, Thorne felt a familiar tingle in the air¡ªthe aether was shifting. His senses picked up the subtle manipulation of aether between Arletta and Jonah. Both of them were using merchant skills. Jonah was definitely activating his Persuasive Pitch skill, a favored ability he often used in markets. He probably thought it was enough to seal the deal. But Thorne could feel Arletta countering with her own skill, something more advanced. ¡°One silver per vial,¡± Arletta said smoothly, folding her arms. Jonah blinked, clearly thrown off by her counteroffer. He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. His eyes widened as his words seemed to get stuck in his throat. Thorne¡¯s eyes narrowed. That was aetheric interference. Arletta was using a social skill that physically prevented Jonah from arguing back. He strained, his face turning a shade redder as he tried to speak. Jonah¡¯s haggling, was no match for Arletta¡¯s experience. After several agonizing moments, Jonah managed to stammer, ¡°Two silver!¡± Arletta tilted her head slightly, her eyes twinkling with faint amusement. ¡°Half a silver,¡± she said, her voice light, but there was no question of who held the upper hand. Jonah sagged in defeat. ¡°Deal.¡± Arletta¡¯s lips curved into a slight smile. ¡°I advise you to level up your social skills, Jonah. The other merchants in the city will eat you alive with skills like yours.¡± She glanced at the crate of potions. ¡°Consider this a learning experience. Maybe our little battle of wills helped you gain some... experience?¡± Jonah, still looking a bit dazed, blinked several times. Then, in a rush, his eyes lit up, and he grinned. ¡°I leveled up!¡± He turned to the others, his grin stretching ear to ear. ¡°Guys, that sale just leveled up three of my skills!¡± Darius looked at him, unimpressed. ¡°That¡¯s great, Jonah. Are you going to sweep now?¡± Jonah ignored the broom entirely, practically bouncing with excitement. ¡°Three skills! Can you believe it? Persuasive Pitch, Barter, and Sales Charm¡ªall leveled up!¡± ¡°Sales Charm,¡± Thorne muttered, shaking his head. ¡°That¡¯s one word for it.¡± Arletta raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, her amusement thinly veiled. ¡°You¡¯ll need more than charm if you plan to succeed in business. But I¡¯m glad you learned something.¡± She nodded to one of the guards, who stepped forward to collect the crate of potions. Thorne stood frozen, watching as they took the potions. His stomach twisted with dread. If Arletta drank one of Ben¡¯s potions and it ended with scales or worse, she¡¯d undoubtedly blame him for bringing her here. Ben signed cheerfully from the corner, ¡°She¡¯s going to love it!¡± Thorne wasn¡¯t so sure. He could already picture the fallout if something went wrong. She gave Jonah a final look¡ªhalf-amused, half-predatory. ¡°I¡¯ll let you know if your potions deliver on their promise,¡± she said smoothly. ¡°But be prepared. If they don¡¯t, I¡¯ll be back... to negotiate again.¡± Jonah¡¯s grin wavered. ¡°I¡¯m sure they¡¯ll be... fine.¡± As the guard stepped back with the potions in hand, Arletta turned her gaze back to Thorne, her face slipping back into its usual mask of authority. ¡°Now, Master Thorne, we need to return to the mansion. Your lessons will continue there.¡± Jonah, catching the title, raised an eyebrow in exaggerated curiosity. ¡°Master Thorne?¡± he asked with mock surprise, flourishing an exaggerated bow. ¡°Why, I had no idea we were in the presence of such nobility.¡± Darius wasn¡¯t far behind, his brow furrowing. ¡°Master?¡± he mouthed, clearly confused. Thorne glared at them both, wishing he could disappear into the floor. Please, not now. ¡°Shut it,¡± Thorne muttered, his face heating with embarrassment. Jonah straightened from his mock bow, but the mischievous grin stayed on his face. ¡°Lead on, Master Thorne,¡± he teased with a flourish of his hand. Thorne rubbed his face with both hands, wanting to disappear. ¡°I hate you all.¡± Arletta, completely ignoring the boys'' antics, simply gestured for Thorne to follow. ¡°Shall we?¡± Thorne sighed, casting one last glance at the potions. Please don¡¯t explode. With that, he followed Arletta out of the shop, feeling dread curl in his stomach as the colorful potions clattered ominously ¡ªand the distant sound of Jonah and Darius laughing behind him didn¡¯t help. CHAPTER 106 Thorne slipped through one of the hidden entrances of the base, his body moving on instinct through the familiar maze of dark, narrow passageways. The stale air, the faint smell of damp stone¡ªit should have been comforting in its familiarity, but instead, it felt suffocating. He had left Uncle¡¯s mansion only hours ago, and the weight of the day still pressed heavily on him. His mind wandered back to his afternoon with Arletta, where he had been subjected to hours of tedious lessons on nobility and etiquette. Names of noble houses, the intricate connections between families, alliances, and petty rivalries¡ªArletta had been relentless in drilling it all into him. Every time he thought she was done, she had thrown another fact or another lesson at him. By the end of it, his brain felt like mush, and he had barely retained half of what she had said. He sighed, thinking of her monotone voice droning on about social etiquette: ¡°Never speak unless spoken to, always defer to higher titles, never display a weapon unless asked.¡± It was dull, mind-numbing work, but there was no escaping it. His life had been decided for him once again¡ªUncle¡¯s heir, his ticket into high society. The thought made him grind his teeth. He didn¡¯t belong there, he liked what he had become, a sharp blade hiding in the shadows. But that didn¡¯t matter. Uncle¡¯s word was law. He pushed the thoughts aside as he stepped deeper into the base, his mind refocusing on the present. As much as he hated to admit it, he had missed the dark corners of this place. But the base was no longer his home. Uncle¡¯s world awaited him now. Still, there was one person he needed to see¡ªRielle. As he turned down a narrow hallway, he was greeted by an all-too-familiar voice. Rafe. ¡°Well, look who finally decided to grace us with his presence,¡± Rafe drawled, leaning lazily against the wall. His arms were crossed, and his face was twisted into a smirk that Thorne wanted to wipe away with a single punch. Thorne bit down on his irritation, knowing exactly where this was headed. He had neither the time nor the patience for Rafe''s obnoxious games. ¡°Got tired of playing noble already?¡± Rafe continued, pushing off the wall to stand in front of him. ¡°Or did your new status finally get boring?¡± ¡°Not now, Rafe,¡± Thorne muttered, trying to move past him. But Rafe sidestepped, blocking his way. ¡°Oh, come on, Master Thorne,¡± he said, dragging out the word ¡°master¡± with exaggerated sarcasm. ¡°You¡¯re practically royalty now, aren¡¯t you? Must feel good¡ªbeing Uncle¡¯s golden boy.¡± Thorne¡¯s fists clenched at his sides, but he kept his voice low. ¡°What do you want?¡± Rafe¡¯s smirk widened. ¡°What I want? Nothing. Just wondering how it feels to leave the rest of us behind while you play noble assassin. Must be nice.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t know anything about it,¡± Thorne shot back, his patience wearing thin. ¡°Oh, I think I do.¡± Rafe¡¯s eyes glittered. ¡°You¡¯ve always thought you were better than the rest of us. And now, you get to prove it, don¡¯t you? I mean, come on¡ªUncle¡¯s heir? You must be thrilled.¡± Thorne stepped closer, his voice low and dangerous. ¡°I¡¯m not in the mood for this, Rafe.¡± But Rafe was relentless. ¡°No, I bet you¡¯re not. But just so you know¡ªyou¡¯re not fooling anyone down here. You¡¯re not one of us anymore. You¡¯re just... Uncle¡¯s pawn.¡± Thorne¡¯s jaw tightened as Rafe¡¯s words hit a little too close to home. He didn¡¯t reply. He didn¡¯t need to. His silence was answer enough. Rafe gave a mocking laugh before brushing past Thorne, his shoulder bumping him roughly. ¡°Good luck with that new life, Thorne. You¡¯re going to need it.¡± * Thorne found himself walking deeper into the base, his thoughts still swirling from the encounter with Rafe. He needed to find Rielle, needed to ground himself in something¡ªsomeone¡ªfamiliar. But as he neared the training hall, the sound of voices made him stop. Rielle. She wasn¡¯t alone. Thorne ducked into the shadows, his heart sinking as he saw her standing with Marcus, their conversation hushed but intense. Marcus looked... agitated, his body language tense. Thorne couldn¡¯t make out everything they were saying, but he heard enough to stir the suspicion gnawing at his gut. Not another one. Not another betrayal. Rielle seemed to be comforting Marcus, her hand resting on his arm as she spoke softly. Thorne¡¯s chest tightened, the familiar ache of betrayal creeping in. He had seen this before¡ªthe quiet conversations, the secret meetings. He didn¡¯t want to believe it, but Rhea and Corwin had shattered any trust he had left. Marcus¡¯s voice rose, his frustration clear. ¡°This isn¡¯t right, Rielle! You know it¡¯s not!¡± Rielle stepped closer to him, her voice calming but firm. ¡°Just trust me. It¡¯s complicated.¡± Thorne¡¯s hands balled into fists as he watched. Of all people... Marcus? The guy that was antagonizing him from the very first day in the guild? If Rielle wanted to spite him she couldn¡¯t have made a better choice. Well... Except maybe for Rafe. Rielle pulled Marcus into a hug before the young man nodded stiffly and walked away, his expression still stormy. Thorne remained in the shadows, his blood boiling. When Marcus was gone, Thorne stepped out, his voice cold. ¡°What was that?¡± Rielle whirled around, her eyes widening for a moment before narrowing. ¡°What are you doing here?¡± Thorne¡¯s voice hardened. ¡°I could ask you the same thing. What was that? What were you talking about with Marcus?¡± Rielle crossed her arms, her expression darkening. ¡°I don¡¯t have to explain myself to you.¡± Thorne¡¯s anger flared. ¡°Really? Because it sure looked like you were sneaking around, meeting him in secret while I was gone.¡± Rielle¡¯s eyes flashed. ¡°I don¡¯t owe you an explanation, Thorne. You¡¯re not my keeper.¡± ¡°Oh, but you¡¯re fine sneaking around with that idiot Marcus?¡± Thorne spat, his words laced with venom. ¡°Of all the people, him? I thought you had better taste.¡± Rielle¡¯s face flushed with anger. ¡°How dare you?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t try to deny it. I¡¯ve seen this before. You¡¯re just like the rest of them,¡± Thorne said, his voice rising. ¡°While I¡¯m away, you¡¯re plotting behind my back with him.¡± Rielle¡¯s fists clenched, her voice shaking with fury. ¡°You have no idea what you¡¯re talking about.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t?¡± Thorne shot back, stepping closer. ¡°I know betrayal when I see it.¡± Rielle¡¯s eyes were blazing now, her voice low and sharp. ¡°You think I¡¯m cheating on you? With Marcus? That¡¯s what you believe?¡±A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Thorne¡¯s jaw tightened. ¡°What else am I supposed to think?¡± Rielle¡¯s voice trembled with rage. ¡°You¡¯re a fool, Thorne. Not everything is about you. Not every conversation is some grand conspiracy against you.¡± Thorne glared at her, the bitterness rising like bile in his throat. ¡°I trusted you.¡± Rielle¡¯s expression softened for just a moment, but her voice remained firm. ¡°Trust goes both ways. But you¡¯re too caught up in your own paranoia to see that.¡± Before Thorne could respond, Rielle turned on her heel and stormed off, leaving him standing in the hallway, the bitterness and doubt twisting inside him like a knife. His mind was still buzzing with frustration as he made his way to the sleeping quarters. His conversation with Rielle played over and over in his head, but the doubt gnawed at him. After Rhea, after everything, he didn¡¯t know who to trust anymore. Thorne stepped into the sleeping quarters, his gaze immediately landing on Vance and Rhea. They sat together, speaking in hushed voices, their expressions calm¡ªtoo calm. As if they weren¡¯t the ones who had plotted his death. As if they weren¡¯t the reason he had nearly bled out in the dirt. A sharp, visceral desire clawed at his chest. He wanted¡ªgods, how he wanted¡ªto drive his dagger into Vance¡¯s eye, to watch the smug bastard twitch and spasm as the life drained from him. To carve open Rhea¡¯s throat and listen as her gasps turned wet and gurgling. His fingers itched for the kill, his body practically vibrating with the need to end them right here, right now. But he didn¡¯t move. Didn¡¯t react. Instead, he forced the rage down, buried it beneath layers of practiced control. His expression was empty, his posture loose, betraying nothing. Not yet. Not until he knew everything. There was someone else¡ªsomeone pulling the strings from the shadows. He was certain of it. When he had overheard Rhea whispering in the dark corridors of the base, there had been another voice with her. Not Vance. Not Corwin. Someone else. Someone careful. He would find them. He would unravel every thread of their treachery. And when the time was right... They would all die. By his hand. Vance looked up and greeted him with a warm smile. ¡°Thorne! Good to see you. How¡¯ve you been?¡± Vance asked, his tone casual, as if they were still the friends they once were. Thorne forced a small smile. ¡°I¡¯ve been fine.¡± Vance leaned back, a grin tugging at his lips. ¡°Life treating you well, Master Thorne?¡± The mock title dripped from his tongue. Before Thorne could respond, the door banged open. Rielle stormed in, her face set with determination. ¡°We need to talk,¡± she demanded, her eyes locked on Thorne. The room went silent, and a few of the recruits began snickering. Thorne could feel their eyes on him, their whispers buzzing in the background. Vance raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Looks like someone''s in trouble," he teased. Thorne sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. He didn¡¯t want to make a scene, especially with the other recruits watching, their eyes gleaming with amusement. ¡°Not now, Rielle,¡± Thorne muttered, glancing at the snickering recruits. The last thing he needed was to provide more entertainment for them. But Rielle wasn¡¯t backing down. ¡°I¡¯m not asking,¡± she said, her voice firm as she grabbed his arm and tugged him toward the door. The other recruits erupted in laughter, a few jeers following them as they left the room. ¡°Thorne and his girlfriend, having a spat?¡± one of the recruits called after them, causing another round of snickers. Thorne let Rielle drag him out into the hallway, his mind still spinning from their earlier argument. He didn¡¯t want to have this conversation, but he knew he couldn¡¯t avoid it forever. As soon as they were outside, Rielle spun around to face him, her eyes blazing with frustration. ¡°You don¡¯t get to accuse me of things you don¡¯t understand, Thorne,¡± she snapped, her voice trembling with barely-contained anger. Thorne crossed his arms, his own temper still simmering just beneath the surface. ¡°Then explain it to me. Why were you meeting with Marcus? What¡¯s going on?¡± Rielle¡¯s expression softened for a brief moment, but the anger remained in her voice. ¡°I told you before¡ªyou don¡¯t know everything that¡¯s happening. And not everything is about you.¡± Thorne shook his head, his thoughts clouded by suspicion and frustration. ¡°So, what then? You¡¯re just hanging around with Marcus while I¡¯m gone, hoping I won¡¯t notice? You think I wouldn¡¯t find out?¡± Rielle¡¯s eyes flashed. ¡°You¡¯re paranoid, Thorne. Do you really think so little of me?¡± Thorne¡¯s jaw clenched. ¡°What else am I supposed to think, Rielle? After everything that¡¯s happened what am I supposed to believe?¡± Rielle took a deep breath, clearly trying to steady herself. ¡°You¡¯re supposed to believe in me. But instead, you¡¯re letting your paranoia twist everything.¡± Thorne¡¯s chest tightened at her words, but he remained silent, the doubt still gnawing at him. Rielle shook her head, her voice softer now. ¡°I¡¯m not your enemy, Thorne. And I¡¯m not betraying you.¡± Rielle stood there, her face flushed with frustration and anger. Thorne''s accusation hung heavily between them, and for a long moment, neither of them spoke. The tension was thick, almost suffocating, but when Rielle finally looked at Thorne¡ªreally looked at him¡ªshe seemed to falter. The anger in her eyes softened, replaced by something else. Something that looked almost like... guilt. ¡°Thorne,¡± she said quietly, her voice trembling just a little. ¡°There¡¯s something I need to tell you.¡± Thorne didn¡¯t respond, his arms still crossed, his face hard. He wasn¡¯t sure if he wanted to hear whatever excuse she was about to offer, but he kept his eyes on her, waiting. Rielle sighed, running a hand through her hair. ¡°Marcus... he¡¯s my brother.¡± Thorne blinked, the words catching him off guard. ¡°What?¡± ¡°We¡¯re siblings,¡± Rielle repeated, her voice low. ¡°No one knows. Not even the guild. Only Sera knows and that¡¯s because we all grew up together in the grey quarter.¡± Thorne¡¯s mind raced as he processed what she had just said. Marcus? Her brother? It didn¡¯t make sense. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell me?¡± Rielle¡¯s expression tightened. ¡°We decided to keep it hidden when we first got here. We thought it was safer. If people knew we were related, they could use it against us¡ªagainst me.¡± Thorne took a step back, his head spinning. ¡°So... all this time. You and Marcus. You¡¯ve been hiding that from me?¡± Rielle nodded, her eyes never leaving his. ¡°Yes.¡± For a moment, Thorne stood frozen, his mind trying to make sense of everything. He should have felt relieved, right? This explained everything¡ªwhy she was meeting Marcus, why they were so close. But instead, all he felt was... betrayed. All these years. All the time they had spent together, all the secrets they had shared, the things they had confided in one another. And she hadn¡¯t told him. She had never trusted him enough to tell him the truth. ¡°If I hadn¡¯t seen you together today...¡± Thorne¡¯s voice was quieter now, tinged with bitterness. ¡°You would¡¯ve kept this from me. You would¡¯ve kept lying.¡± Rielle¡¯s eyes flickered with regret, but she didn¡¯t deny it. Thorne shook his head, his chest tight. ¡°All this time, Rielle. After everything we¡¯ve been through... You never thought I deserved to know?¡± ¡°It wasn¡¯t like that,¡± Rielle insisted, stepping toward him. ¡°I wanted to tell you, but I couldn¡¯t. It wasn¡¯t safe.¡± ¡°Safe?¡± Thorne scoffed, the bitterness creeping into his voice. ¡°You think I would¡¯ve used it against you?¡± Rielle shook her head. ¡°No, of course not. But¡ª¡± ¡°Then why keep it from me?¡± Thorne cut her off, his voice rising with anger. ¡°We¡¯ve been through hell together. I trusted you. I thought we were... I thought we meant something to each other.¡± ¡°We do,¡± Rielle said desperately. ¡°That¡¯s why I¡¯m telling you now.¡± ¡°Now?¡± Thorne¡¯s laugh was hollow. ¡°You¡¯re telling me now because you got caught.¡± Rielle¡¯s face tightened. ¡°It wasn¡¯t like that, Thorne. I was trying to protect him.¡± ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sure you were,¡± Thorne snapped. ¡°And while you were at it, you convinced him to stop antagonizing me, right?¡± Rielle looked startled, but she nodded. ¡°Yes, I talked to him. I told him it wasn¡¯t worth making enemies with you.¡± Thorne¡¯s eyes narrowed, his voice laced with sarcasm. ¡°Oh, I see. And here I was thinking Marcus had finally grown up, finally got some sense into him. But no, it was his dear sister advising him not to make enemies with important people.¡± Rielle¡¯s eyes flashed with anger, her hands balling into fists. ¡°I confided something personal in you, and you¡¯re mocking me?¡± Thorne¡¯s face hardened, his temper flaring. ¡°You¡¯ve had years to tell me the truth. All those nights we spent together, alone, whispering to each other in the dark, trying to make sense of the mess we were in. You could¡¯ve told me anytime. But you didn¡¯t.¡± ¡°I was trying to keep us both safe!¡± Rielle shot back, her voice trembling with frustration. ¡°And what about all those times I asked you where you were going when you sneaked away from the base?¡± Thorne¡¯s voice grew sharper. ¡°You always had some excuse, always told me it wasn¡¯t my concern. But all along, you were meeting him. Your brother.¡± Rielle stared at him, her face twisted with guilt and frustration, but she said nothing. Thorne¡¯s mind churned, his emotions spiraling. Anger. Hurt. Betrayal. They all twisted inside him, pulling him in different directions, threatening to tear him apart. He had trusted her¡ªmore than anyone else in this cursed place. And she had lied to him, kept secrets from him. After everything they had been through together, how could she still keep him in the dark? Rielle took a step closer, her voice softer now. ¡°Thorne... I¡¯m sorry. I should have told you sooner. I know that. But I thought¡ª¡± Thorne didn¡¯t want to hear it. His chest felt tight, his mind spinning. The weight of everything¡ªthe lies, the betrayals, the constant feeling of being used¡ªcrushed down on him. And in that moment, something inside him... shut off. He felt the familiar coldness wash over him, the Mask of Deceit falling effortlessly into place. His face became a blank slate, his expression smooth and unreadable. All the turmoil inside him was buried, hidden beneath the surface. ¡°I¡¯m done,¡± he said, his voice eerily calm, devoid of emotion. Rielle¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°What?¡± ¡°I¡¯m done,¡± Thorne repeated, his tone cold, final. Before Rielle could say anything else, before she could try to explain further or offer more excuses, Thorne turned and walked away, leaving her standing there, alone in the dim hallway. CHAPTER 107 The dark, narrow corridors of the base blurred as Thorne strode through them, each step driven by the need to escape. His fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles were pale, and his jaw ached from grinding his teeth. Every inch of this place, every shadowed corner, reeked of lies. Of betrayal. Not one of them had stopped him as he left. Not the older recruits, not the senior members standing guard at the doors. They had all watched, but no one had dared to speak, to question him. Maybe they saw the cold fury in his eyes. Maybe they knew better than to provoke him right now. His heart pounded, his thoughts a storm. Betrayed. Again. Rhea had plotted his death. Vance had put on a fake smile. Rielle had lied to him for years. Everyone around him, snakes. His fingers twitched at his sides, and he imagined drawing his daggers, imagined cutting through the deceit that clung to them all like a second skin. He walked faster, almost blindly, feeling like if he didn¡¯t get out, if he didn¡¯t put distance between himself and the place that had shaped him, he would suffocate. The walls seemed closer, the air thicker. Just keep moving. He didn¡¯t stop until the cold night air hit his face. The base, that cursed maze of treachery, was behind him, and for the first time in hours, he breathed deeply. But it did little to calm the storm inside. The city of Avar lay around him, silent and still. The streets were mostly empty at this hour, save for a few late-night stragglers and the flicker of lamplights casting long shadows on the cobblestones. He walked, unsure of where he was going. He didn¡¯t care. All that mattered was that he wasn¡¯t there anymore. His mind raced as he moved aimlessly through the streets. I could go to them. Jonah, Ben, Darius... they¡¯d understand. The thought of seeing his friends flickered in his mind, a momentary solace. They were the only ones left¡ªpeople he could still trust. But he knew himself too well. The anger inside him wasn¡¯t something he could just bury, not yet. If he saw them now, the rage coursing through his veins might spill over, and he might say something, do something he couldn¡¯t take back. They don¡¯t deserve that. They were innocent in all this. Unlike the snakes that coiled in the shadows of the guild, Jonah and the others had never lied to him, never twisted a knife into his back while pretending to care. I¡¯ll hurt them if I go now. I¡¯ll ruin everything. He clenched his fists tighter, feeling the sting of his nails biting into his palms. His feet carried him farther through the city, the square buildings of Alvar standing ominously against the night sky. The laughter of late-night revelers drifted faintly through the air, but it sounded distant, hollow. Somewhere along the way, his aimless walking brought him to the western gate. Thorne stood there for a moment, staring at the iron structure, his breath visible in the cool night air. He hadn¡¯t planned on coming here. He hadn¡¯t planned on anything. Yet here he was, at the edge of the city, staring out toward the dark, wild forest beyond. It wasn¡¯t a conscious decision, but the thought hit him like a sudden spark in the darkness. The forest. A midnight hunt. Aether beasts roamed those woods¡ªdangerous, unpredictable, and perfect for venting the fury that roared inside him. Out there, he wouldn¡¯t have to hold back. Out there, no one would betray him. No one would lie. There was only the fight¡ªthe rush of adrenaline, the primal satisfaction of letting his blades do the talking. Before he knew it, Thorne was slipping past the guards at the gate, his skills in stealth making him a mere shadow against the stone walls. He didn¡¯t need their permission. The guards were nothing to him now. Just another part of this broken city he couldn¡¯t bear to deal with. The forest loomed ahead, a dark, beckoning abyss. He felt a strange sense of calm settle over him as he walked into its depths. Here, under the cover of night, surrounded by the whisper of leaves and the distant howls of creatures in the distance, Thorne could finally let the anger out. He drew his daggers, the familiar weight of them a comfort in his hands. Come on, he thought, his breath steadying. Show yourselves. The beasts were out there, lurking. And tonight, they would be his release. Thorne moved swiftly through the dense forest, his steps silent as the night pressed in around him. The thick canopy above blocked out most of the moonlight, casting everything in shadows, but that didn¡¯t bother him. Out here, in the wild, he didn¡¯t need to hold back. No masks, no deceit. It was just him and the creatures lurking in the darkness. The anger that had been bubbling inside him since he left the base simmered just beneath the surface. His heart beat steadily, but his mind was on fire¡ªan inferno of rage, betrayal, and frustration that needed an outlet. He welcomed the challenge that the night would bring. Come on, he thought, his grip tightening around his daggers. Give me something to fight. And then, he saw them. They drifted through the trees like whispers of light¡ªpale, translucent creatures hovering just above the forest floor. Phantom Wisps. Dozens of them, their soft, blue glow a stark contrast to the darkness around them. They seemed peaceful, feeding on the ambient aether in the air, but Thorne knew better. When disturbed, they were anything but harmless. He didn''t hesitate. His feet moved on their own, charging forward, and with a sharp breath, he activated Aether Surge. His body responded instantly, muscles tightening as aether flooded his system, sharpening his senses and boosting his agility, strength, and reflexes. The world around him seemed to slow, the faint hum of his aetheric power pulsing in his ears like a war drum. This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. One of the wisps turned, sensing him before he even struck, its body flickering as it prepared to phase out. Not fast enough. Thorne lashed out with a dagger, his Lethal Flurry activating. His blades danced through the air, cutting through one wisp before it could phase. It let out a faint, almost musical cry as its ethereal body shattered, dissolving into motes of light. The others reacted instantly, shifting from peaceful to aggressive in the blink of an eye. A pulse of energy radiated from the nearest wisp¡ª Ethereal Pulse¡ªand Thorne felt a twinge of paralysis begin to creep into his limbs. But he was ready for this. Drawing on his Resilience, he forced his muscles to respond, shaking off the effects as he darted to the side, narrowly avoiding another wisp that tried to phase through him. They were everywhere now, swirling around him like angry hornets. His aether reserves pulsed with energy, but he could already feel the familiar pull as they began to sap his strength with their Aetheric Leech. The wisps fed off aether, draining it from the air and from him, weakening his abilities the longer he stayed in their presence. But Thorne had no intention of letting them take control. You want aether? he thought, a dark grin twisting his lips. Take it. He called forth his Primal Aether Manipulation, shaping the raw energy around him into a surge of power. With a swift motion, he unleashed an Aether Burst, a shockwave of pure energy that rippled outward, slamming into the nearest wisps and scattering them like leaves in the wind. Several of them blinked out of existence as they phased, avoiding the attack, but two more were caught off guard, their forms flickering violently before they dissolved into the night. Thorne didn¡¯t give them a chance to regroup. He dove into the fray, spinning through the air as he hurled throwing knives with deadly precision. Knife Fan activated, sending the blades arcing through the air in a wide, sweeping motion. One by one, the knives struck their targets, hitting the wisps just before they could phase. Their ethereal bodies shattered with each hit, disappearing in brief flashes of pale blue light. The rest of the swarm retaliated, releasing another wave of Ethereal Pulses. This time, Thorne felt the weight of their attack, his muscles stiffening, slowing him down just enough for them to close in. He cursed under his breath as he felt the aether in his body being drained faster now, the Aetheric Leech pulling at his strength. His reserves were dwindling, and the constant assault was starting to wear him down. But Thorne wasn¡¯t done yet. He shifted into Shadow Meld, his form blending into the darkness of the forest as the wisps momentarily lost sight of him. Silent and unseen, he darted between the trees, his Stealth Strike ready for the kill. As he moved, he focused on the wisps'' patterns, watching for the moments when they solidified between phases. Timing was everything. He reappeared behind one of the wisps, his dagger plunging into its core before it could react. Another blinked into existence to his left, and Thorne was ready, delivering a swift strike to its exposed form with his other blade. He moved fluidly, every strike precise, each step calculated. He was in his element¡ªno more masks, no more hiding. The wisps were thinning now, their numbers reduced by half, but they weren¡¯t finished. The remaining creatures circled around him, and he could feel their combined energy building, preparing for a final, coordinated attack. No more games. Thorne used Invisible Threads, the threads of aether snaking out from his hands and wrapping around the wisps. With a sharp pull, he yanked them toward him, forcing them to materialize. They struggled, flickering as they tried to phase out, but Thorne didn¡¯t give them a chance. His daggers flashed, and with one final, devastating Lethal Flurry, he cut through the remaining wisps, shattering them into nothingness. The forest fell silent. The soft glow of the Phantom Wisps had vanished, leaving Thorne standing alone in the dark, his breath coming in slow, steady gasps. His muscles ached, and his aether reserves were low, but the fury that had been raging inside him had finally started to subside. Out here, there were no lies. No betrayals. Just him and the night. And for a brief moment, that was enough. Thorne was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling as the effects of the battle settled over him. His muscles burned, his stamina drained, and his aether reserves felt dangerously low. Each strike, every surge of energy, had come at a cost. The glow of his Aether Surge faded, leaving a familiar fatigue in its wake. Despite the weariness, there was a small satisfaction in knowing that the battle had pushed him further. The familiar ping of notifications echoed in his mind. Skill level up: Aether Surge! Skill level up: Knife Fan! Skill level up: Stealth Strike! Skill level up: Invisible Threads! The strain on his body was undeniable, but the results spoke for themselves. Thorne had honed his abilities under pressure, and now he was stronger for it. As the forest around him settled into silence, a new sensation flickered in the back of his mind. His Hunter''s Insight flared to life, casting a faint golden glow over the scene before him. The remains of the Phantom Wisps¡ªethereal, glittering particles¡ªfloated just above the ground, their essence hanging in the air like the afterglow of a distant star. "Harvestable¡­" Thorne muttered under his breath, the information from Hunter¡¯s Insight feeding directly into his thoughts. These creatures, though dangerous, left behind valuable materials that could be used for aether-based potions, enhancements, or even trade. Jonah, with his new shop, would appreciate these ingredients. Thorne imagined his friend¡¯s face lighting up with a mix of gratitude and excitement at the haul. Pushing past the fatigue gnawing at him, Thorne began gathering the materials. The wisps'' remains shimmered with translucent beauty, delicate but potent. He collected them with practiced ease, using Sleight of Hand to carefully handle each piece without damaging their fragile forms. His hands moved swiftly, collecting what looked like small pearls of condensed aether essence, and wisps of energy that trailed between his fingers like strands of silk. ¡°These will fetch a good price,¡± Thorne muttered to himself. A faint smile tugged at his lips as he pictured Jonah¡¯s grin at the sight of the rare aether-infused remains. Just as he turned to leave, he heard it¡ªa rustle behind him. His body tensed, instincts flaring. The forest had been silent, too silent. Now something was there, watching, waiting. Before he could react, a heavy force slammed into him from behind, sending him crashing to the ground. His breath left him in a sharp gasp, dirt grinding against his skin as he rolled with the impact. Thorne sprang to his feet, daggers in hand, eyes scanning the darkness. Whatever had hit him was fast¡ªtoo fast. He couldn¡¯t see it, but he could feel it, circling, stalking. Heart pounding, he tightened his grip on his blades. The next attack was coming. CHAPTER 108 The rustling in the undergrowth grew louder, and before Thorne could fully turn, something massive collided with him. He hit the ground hard, his body slamming into the forest floor. Dirt and leaves scattered as he rolled to his feet, daggers already drawn. His breath came in sharp, controlled bursts, eyes scanning the dark. In the clearing ahead, the moonlight flickered over the creature that had attacked him. Thorne''s heart stuttered. It was unlike anything he''d ever encountered in the wild. A beast of pure white fur, shimmering faintly under the light of the crescent moon, stood before him. Its eyes gleamed silver, radiating an intelligence and a power that sent a chill down his spine. The white panther¡ªmajestic, silent, terrifying. Its form was fluid, almost ethereal, moving like a wisp of moonlight come to life. Thorne¡¯s instincts screamed at him: Run. This wasn¡¯t a fight he could win. Every fiber of his being knew it. The panther exuded raw power, its very presence pressing against his mind in a way that Thorne had only felt once before¡ªin Valewind, with the mysterious man whose core pulsed with unnatural energy. His body tensed, muscles taut as he prepared to move. Shadow Meld. It was his only chance. The panther¡¯s silver eyes locked onto him, and Thorne felt his skin prickle with dread. His daggers felt like toys against the looming power of this beast. In an instant, he activated Stealth, slipping into the shadows, his form dissolving into the darkness. Move. Get out now. His mind raced, and his body obeyed, vanishing among the trees. He darted into the underbrush, the shadows concealing him, feet barely touching the ground as he moved with the practiced grace of a seasoned assassin. But the beast was faster. The Lunaris Panthera prowled after him, its movements effortless, gliding through the moonlit forest as if the very light itself bent to its will. Thorne¡¯s heart hammered in his chest. Each breath was a gamble, each step a plea for the shadows to hold him. Then came the first strike. A flash of white, claws gleaming with a soft, deadly glow, sliced through the air. Thorne barely saw it coming. He ducked, but not fast enough. The beast¡¯s claws grazed his side, tearing through his armor like it was paper. Pain shot through him, and he stumbled, blood already seeping through the gash. He hissed under his breath, eyes darting around for cover. Moonshadow Prowl, he realized. The panther had melded into the very light it commanded, moving through the moonlit patches of the forest as if it owned them. Thorne twisted, activating Burst of Speed. He needed distance. Trees blurred past as he ran, pushing his already strained body to its limits, but the beast was relentless. Another flash of light¡ªa Lunar Beam¡ªcut through the trees ahead, the energy slicing into a tree just inches from his face. Splinters rained down, and Thorne¡¯s heart lurched. The creature was toying with him. He had to find a way out. He couldn¡¯t outrun it forever. His mind raced, scanning through his skills. Shadow Meld, again. He slid into the deeper shadows beneath the canopy, hoping against hope that the panther couldn¡¯t follow him here. The darkness swallowed him, and for a moment, there was silence. His breath slowed, heart pounding in his ears. Then the growl. Low, deep, vibrating through the very air around him. The Lunaris Panthera appeared from the shadows, its eyes glowing as it prowled closer. Thorne realized too late¡ªthe creature wasn¡¯t fooled. Its eyes reflected the moonlight, silver and sharp, seeing through his stealth like it was nothing. Another strike. This time, the claws raked across his back, a vicious blow that sent him crashing forward into a tree. He hit hard, vision blurring for a moment. The pain was unbearable. He could feel the warmth of his blood spilling from the wound, his body screaming in protest. He staggered to his feet, daggers still in hand, but the beast was on him again before he could react. A Lunar Claw strike hit him dead-on, sending him tumbling into the dirt, the wind knocked out of him. He gasped, trying to draw breath, but it felt like his chest was caving in. The panther circled him, its fur glowing faintly under the crescent moon. Thorne¡¯s mind was reeling, trying to make sense of it all. He couldn¡¯t beat this thing. Not here. Not now. But he couldn¡¯t run forever. His legs shook, exhaustion from the previous battle weighing him down. His aether reserves were low, his body aching with fatigue. Every breath was labored, every movement sluggish. The panther snarled, silver eyes gleaming in the dark. It was preparing for the kill. Thorne¡¯s instincts flared. He couldn¡¯t hide. He couldn¡¯t run. If he was going to survive this, he had to fight. Even in his weakened state, he had no choice but to confront it. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to stand. Pain radiated through his body with every movement, but he locked eyes with the panther. The creature¡¯s power was almost overwhelming making his body bow from the energy coming off in waves. But he focused, his mind honing in on its core. He felt the presence of it¡ªa pulsing energy, ancient and fierce, just like the man in Valewind. That familiar, untouchable force. It was now or never. He couldn¡¯t run. Not anymore. His only option was to fight, to rely on every skill, every instinct honed through years of training. His body screamed for rest, but Thorne had long since learned to ignore pain. His hand tightened around his daggers as his mind calculated the creature¡¯s next move. With no choice left, Thorne activated Aether Surge. Immediately, aether flooded his system, heightening his strength, speed, and reflexes. He felt his muscles tighten, his body lightening under the sudden boost. But he knew the cost. The clock was ticking now¡ªhe had only a limited window before the surge would drain him dry, leaving him vulnerable. The white panther prowled forward, the moonlight shimmering off its sleek, white fur. The air around the beast seemed to hum with energy, each step deliberate, its silver eyes locked on Thorne, as if it knew he was running out of time. Thorne braced himself as the beast lunged. Its Lunar Claws gleamed in the moonlight, slashing through the air faster than Thorne expected. He barely ducked in time, the claws ripping through his sleeve and grazing his arm. The pain was immediate, sharp, but Thorne ignored it. He countered with a quick slash from his dagger, aiming for the panther¡¯s exposed flank. The blade connected, slicing into the beast¡¯s side, but the wound was shallow. The panther twisted mid-air, its glowing claws coming down in a vicious arc. Thorne dodged again, but the panther was faster this time¡ªtoo fast. The claws raked across his back, cutting through cloth and flesh. Thorne gasped, stumbling forward from the force of the strike. Blood seeped from the wound, but Thorne didn¡¯t falter. He activated Bloodletting, aiming for multiple quick cuts to sap the beast¡¯s strength. His daggers flashed, finding their mark again and again, leaving crimson streaks across the panther¡¯s pristine fur. But each time he struck, the panther retaliated with brutal efficiency. This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. Before Thorne could recover, the panther lashed out with its hind legs, kicking him square in the chest. The impact knocked the wind from his lungs, sending him sprawling to the ground. He rolled to his feet, panting, eyes never leaving the beast. The moon panther was already on him again, relentless in its assault. It darted forward, jaws snapping at his throat. Thorne twisted, just narrowly avoiding the deadly bite, but the beast¡¯s claws followed, catching him across the thigh. He cried out as the sharp pain shot up his leg, forcing him to stagger back. The panther wasn¡¯t just faster. It was stronger¡ªits level far beyond Thorne¡¯s. Every strike carried a weight that Thorne could barely match. He knew that if the fight dragged on much longer, the beast would wear him down. I need to end this fast. Desperation surged through him. He used Invisible Threads, weaving the delicate strands of aether into the air around him. He needed to control the battlefield, to dictate the fight on his terms. As the panther circled him again, preparing for another attack, Thorne sent one of the threads toward its front paw. Just as the panther leaped, he yanked hard. The beast stumbled mid-air, its balance thrown off. Thorne took the opening, darting in with his Lethal Flurry. His daggers struck in rapid succession, carving deep gashes into the panther¡¯s side. Blood sprayed from the wounds, and the beast howled in fury. But it wasn¡¯t enough. The panther recovered almost immediately, its silver eyes narrowing with lethal intent. Thorne saw the glow gathering in its eyes and realized with a sickening certainty what was coming next¡ªLunar Beam. He tried to dodge, but he wasn¡¯t fast enough. The beam of concentrated moonlight shot forward, striking him square in the chest. The impact sent him flying backward, crashing through the underbrush. His back slammed into a tree, and for a moment, his vision went dark. Pain radiated through his body, the taste of blood filling his mouth. Thorne gasped for air, barely able to breathe, but he forced himself to stand. He couldn¡¯t stay down¡ªnot if he wanted to live. The panther prowled forward, its movements slower now, blood dripping from the wounds he had inflicted. But its eyes still glowed with that cold, relentless power, and Thorne knew it wasn¡¯t done. The panther pulled back, its silver eyes flashing dangerously. Thorne saw it then¡ªthe gathering of energy, the way the creature¡¯s eyes began to glow with a fierce intensity. It was preparing to unleash another Lunar Beam. He needed to act fast. Thorne quickly summoned Invisible Threads, weaving the aether into fine, nearly invisible lines that snaked through the air. He watched the beast¡¯s movements carefully, calculating the exact moment. Just as the panther was about to release the beam, Thorne sent one of the threads whipping around its front paw and yanked hard. The panther staggered, its aim thrown off. The Lunar Beam shot wide, carving through the trees behind Thorne instead of hitting him dead-on. The force of the beam sliced clean through the trunks of several trees, and they collapsed with a deafening crash. But Thorne had no time to admire his success. The panther recovered faster than he expected, its eyes narrowing in fury. It was learning, adapting to his tactics. The beast charged again, its claws glowing brighter under the moonlight. Thorne could feel the beast¡¯s power increasing with each passing moment as the moon climbed higher in the sky. He had to finish this, and soon. He activated Aether Burst, sending a shockwave of energy toward the beast. The panther staggered back, more wounds opening along its fur, but it didn¡¯t retreat. It shook off the attack, snarling as it charged forward again. This time, Thorne wasn¡¯t fast enough. The panther¡¯s Lunar Claws slammed into his side, slicing through his armor like butter. The force of the strike sent him sprawling once more, blood pouring from the deep gashes. His vision blurred, the world spinning around him. He was losing too much blood. His body was failing him. Focus. Don¡¯t stop. Thorne¡¯s mind raced. He had to stay calm. He was an assassin¡ªa hunter. His skills had always been about precision, not brute force. And right now, his only advantage was his mind. The panther charged again, but Thorne was ready. He activated Shadow Meld, slipping into the shadows just as the beast¡¯s claws came down. He darted behind a tree, using the cover to regroup. The panther growled, prowling the clearing, its glowing eyes searching for him. Thorne used the brief moment of cover to assess his injuries. The wounds were deep, but not fatal. He could still move¡ªbarely. His aether reserves were dwindling, the Aether Surge pushing him closer to his limit. He had to finish this soon, or the beast would tear him apart. As the panther moved past him, Thorne struck from the shadows. He aimed for the beast¡¯s legs, slashing at the tendons with Bloodletting, hoping to weaken its mobility. His blade connected, drawing blood, but the panther whipped around with startling speed, its claws catching him across the arm. Thorne hissed in pain, but didn¡¯t back down. He darted to the side, using Invisible Threads again to trip the panther as it charged. The beast stumbled, giving Thorne a precious second to strike. He lunged forward, driving his dagger deep into the panther¡¯s side. The beast howled, but it wasn¡¯t done yet. With a savage roar, the panther activated Eclipse Howl. The world around them darkened, the moonlight flickering as shadows consumed the clearing. Thorne felt the air grow heavy, disorienting him. His senses dulled, his vision clouded. The panther moved through the shadows like a ghost, invisible and deadly. Damn it, where is it? Thorne¡¯s heart raced, every muscle tense as he tried to track the beast. He couldn¡¯t see it, couldn¡¯t hear it¡ªbut he could feel it. The air shifted, a subtle change that told him the panther was close. Too close. The panther appeared out of the darkness, claws glowing with lethal moonlight. Thorne¡¯s instincts screamed at him to move, but the aura of the Eclipse Howl slowed his reactions. He barely managed to deflect the strike, his daggers vibrating from the force of the blow. He needed an opening. A moment to strike. He wasn¡¯t done. Not yet. With a final, desperate effort, he activated Aether Burst once more, sending another shockwave of energy toward the panther. The beast recoiled, its body flickering in and out of the shadows as the burst hit it head-on. Thorne staggered, barely able to stand, but he saw his opening. The panther was weakened, bleeding heavily from the wounds he had inflicted. Its movements were slower now, more deliberate. He couldn¡¯t let up. Thorne activated Burst of Speed again, forcing his exhausted body to move faster. He dashed forward, his daggers flashing in the moonlight. He aimed for the panther¡¯s throat, driving his blades deep into its flesh. The beast roared in pain, its body trembling as it struggled to stay upright. But Thorne didn¡¯t stop. He twisted the blades, tearing through muscle and bone, blood spraying across the clearing. The panther let out a final, desperate growl, its strength fading as it collapsed to the ground. Its silver eyes dimmed, the glow of the moonlight fading from its body. Thorne stood over the beast, panting heavily, his body trembling with exhaustion. Blood dripped from his wounds, his vision swimming, but he had done it. He had won. The moon panther was defeated. Thorne collapsed to the ground, his entire body trembling with exhaustion. The wounds from the panther¡¯s claws burned, and his muscles screamed in agony. He could barely breathe, his chest rising and falling in shallow gasps. His vision blurred, and he could feel the last traces of his aether slipping away, leaving him drained. He closed his eyes, hoping to find a moment of peace, a second to let his body rest. A long list of notifications waited at the edge of his vision, skill level-ups, for defeating such a powerful foe. But he ignored them, too tired to focus. For now, all he wanted was sleep. But even with his eyes closed, something changed. A bright light, impossible to ignore, pierced the darkness behind his eyelids. His heart skipped a beat, and his eyes snapped open. Thorne scrambled to his feet, every movement sending jolts of pain through his battered body. He winced, struggling to stand as the world came back into focus. The body of the moon panther lay before him, still and silent. But something was wrong. The outline of the beast shimmered, glowing faintly with aether. The air around it crackled with energy, and before Thorne¡¯s eyes, the dead panther¡¯s form began to change. A phantasmic shape¡ªradiant and luminous¡ªrose from the corpse, its form like the echo of the beast he had just fought. The translucent figure was made entirely of aether, glowing with a soft, pulsing light that filled the clearing. It hovered above the ground, its majestic body no longer bound by the physical world. Thorne was transfixed, his breath caught in his throat. The sheer presence of the thing was overwhelming, its aura radiating raw, untamed magic. The shapes within the spectral panther were shifting, interconnected in ways he couldn¡¯t fully comprehend. They moved and twisted, forming complex patterns that glowed brighter with each passing second. The longer he stared, the more his skin prickled, a sensation that crawled up his spine. This wasn¡¯t just a lingering spirit of the panther. It was something else¡ªsomething older, deeper, and far more powerful than anything Thorne had ever encountered. The patterns within the ethereal form pulsed with life, intricate shapes that wove together like threads of the universe itself. It was beautiful. Terrifying. The shapes moved faster now, their complexity growing, radiating an energy that made the air hum with power. Thorne could feel it¡ªthis was magic beyond anything he had seen, beyond anything he had imagined. He stood there, bloodied and battered, staring up at the luminous, shifting form in a daze. His mind raced, trying to make sense of it all, but there were no answers. Only more questions. What the hell is going on? CHAPTER 109 Thorne stood frozen, his breath shallow, eyes locked onto the intricate shapes of aether floating above the dead panther¡¯s body. The formations were unlike anything he had ever seen¡ªinterconnected symbols, shifting patterns that pulsed with an ancient, unearthly light. They moved with a purpose, not randomly, but like a story unfolding before him, a story so old it made him feel like an insignificant speck in the vastness of time. He had witnessed aether before, manipulated it, bent it to his will¡ªbut this¡­ this was different. This wasn¡¯t the magic of guilds or assassins. No, this was something older, something raw, primal, and terrifyingly powerful. It radiated with the kind of energy that felt alive, as if it were woven into the very fabric of the world itself. The kind of magic that existed when the gods still walked the land, shaping reality with their every step. Thorne¡¯s heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing in the silence around him. He was captivated, trapped between awe and fear, knowing instinctively that to disturb the aetheric formations would be to invite certain death. He could feel it¡ªlike a predator''s breath on the back of his neck. Any wrong move, any disruption, and whatever fragile balance existed here would snap, consuming him whole. And yet, he couldn¡¯t leave. His instincts, honed from years of training, screamed at him to run, to flee this ancient power that dwarfed everything he had ever known. But curiosity¡ªdeeper, older than any fear¡ªkept him rooted to the spot. He had to see. He had to know. The intricate shapes in the air began to shift, slow at first, like a giant wheel creaking into motion. They moved in a way that seemed deliberate, as if telling a story through a language Thorne couldn¡¯t hope to understand. His eyes followed them, transfixed as new links appeared, glowing brightly for a moment before fading away, replaced by more symbols¡ªalways changing, always shifting. What is this? Thorne thought, his mind struggling to grasp the magnitude of what he was witnessing. He had seen incredible things in his life, had faced enemies and forces that had tested every fiber of his being. But nothing like this. Nothing so ancient, so impossibly vast. The shapes seemed to form a path, a chain of glowing links that extended deeper into the forest. They beckoned him, pulling him forward, their light shimmering in the night air. Thorne¡¯s legs moved on their own, his body obeying the silent call of the aether. He stumbled, his steps uneven as pain flared in his side. Blood still seeped from his wounds, and his body felt like it was on the verge of collapsing. Each step was heavier than the last, his exhaustion weighing down on him, but he couldn¡¯t stop. He wouldn¡¯t stop. As he moved, he caught glimpses of something beyond the shapes¡ªmemories, perhaps? Moments of time so far in the past they seemed unreal. Mountains rising from the ground, vast oceans forming, the very world itself taking shape under hands far more powerful than any mortal could comprehend. The gods, the titans, the forces of creation¡ªwhatever this was, it had been here from the very beginning. Am I walking through time? Thorne thought, his mind racing as he followed the glowing path. His body ached with every step, his wounds screaming for rest, but he couldn¡¯t turn back. Something about this place, this moment, was too important. He had to see where the path led. Minutes passed, or maybe it was hours¡ªtime seemed to lose its meaning in the presence of such overwhelming power. The forest grew darker, quieter, as if the world itself was holding its breath. The air felt thick with energy, like the sky before a storm, every inch of his skin tingling with anticipation. The further he walked, the stronger the presence of the aether became. It wrapped around him like a living thing, humming with power and pulsing with each of his ragged breaths. He stumbled again, his foot catching on a root, and for a moment he thought he might fall. But he caught himself, dragging his body forward, driven by something he didn¡¯t understand. Finally, the path ended. Before him stood an ancient structure, barely visible in the dim light of the moon. A small gazebo made of exquisite marble, its surface worn and cracked with age. It looked like it had once been a place of beauty and peace, a sanctuary in the heart of the forest, but now it was nearly swallowed by nature. Ivy snaked up the columns, roots twisted around the base like bloated serpents, and weeds grew in the cracks of the stone. The roof was half-collapsed, weighed down by centuries of neglect, and the air around it felt thick with age, as though time itself had forgotten this place. Thorne stared at it, his mind struggling to comprehend what he was seeing. Why would such a structure be here, hidden away, forgotten by the world? And what was it for? Before he could even begin to search for answers, the aether flared again. The symbol that hovered above the gazebo pulsed with a bluish light, casting long, flickering shadows across the forest floor. The power it radiated was unlike anything he had felt before¡ªimmense, terrifying, and ancient. Thorne felt a sharp, painful tug at his core. The pull of aether was sudden, violent, and it took everything in him not to collapse. His hands flew to his chest, as if trying to hold onto his own reserves, but it was useless. The power here was too strong, siphoning his aether with relentless force. He gasped, his legs trembling as he fought to stay on his feet. The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. His core felt battered, stretched to its breaking point. He tried to pull his aether back, to shield himself from the drain, but it was like trying to hold back the ocean with a single hand. He was drowning in it, consumed by a force far beyond his control. The symbol flared brighter, and suddenly, the pull stopped. The forest fell deathly silent. Thorne staggered, blinking away the haze of pain and exhaustion, trying to make sense of what had just happened. But before he could gather his thoughts, the symbol flared once more¡ªthis time blindingly bright. The stillness made his heart race with dread. A wave of terror washed over him as a horrible realization hit him. Something was about to happen¡ªsomething bad. He didn¡¯t know how he knew, but he could feel it in his bones. The power building in the symbol was too much, too unstable. And then, without warning, the symbol exploded into blinding light with a deafening crack. It shattered. Chaos erupted. The shockwave hit Thorne like a sledgehammer, knocking him off his feet. He crashed into the ground, his vision swimming, his head pounding. But before he could even think to stand, the aether around him surged. He could feel it¡ªwild, chaotic, as if the very fabric of the world was tearing apart. His instinct screamed at him to leave, to run as fast as he could, but he couldn¡¯t. The aether around him exploded, pushing and pulling at him with impossible force. His body was both drained and filled to the brim at once, his core screaming under the pressure. His body was too weak, too battered to move. And even if he could, the sheer power in the air made him feel like running wouldn¡¯t matter. This was beyond him, beyond anything he could hope to survive. What have I done? Thorne¡¯s mind raced as he forced himself onto his knees, staring in horror at the scene unfolding around him. The aether motes above him swirled in violent patterns, crashing into each other, their energy building to impossible levels. They weren¡¯t moving like they should¡ªthey weren¡¯t responding to the natural flow of aether. They were clashing, agitated, spiraling out of control. They moved erratically, like they had lost all sense of order, smashing into one another and creating shockwaves of power. The aether had become unpredictable, dangerous. But what drew his attention wasn¡¯t just the motes. Above him, phasing in and out of his Aether Vision, were rivers of aether¡ª interconnecting in vast, delicate networks. They pulsed with life, weaving through the sky like veins of light. They flowed in perfect harmony, branching off into smaller streams, and in the distance, he could see where the rivers broke off into waterfalls of aether, cascading down like pressure valves, allowing the network to function smoothly. But there was something wrong. Almost all of the waterfalls ran south, their flow disrupted, leaving aether to build up and cluster in the skies above. The rivers of energy flickered, breaking off in places, their balance thrown into chaos. Thorne¡¯s eyes widened as he tried to make sense of it, but there was no time. And then, he saw it¡ªthe ball of aether. A terrifying mass of motes, so tightly packed together that their power was immeasurable. It was growing larger by the second, feeding on the leftover aether from the shattered waterfall. The energy crackled and sparked, and Thorne could feel the weight of it pressing down on him. If it imploded, it would take out the entire forest and half of Alvar, if not more. And it was getting worse. The motes continued to cluster, forming a mass of aether so dense that it pulsed with deadly energy. Whatever had happened when the symbol shattered had thrown everything into chaos, and now the leftover aether, without direction or purpose, was seeking each other out, adding to the ball¡¯s mass. What is this? Thorne thought, his mind racing with panic. What was that creature I killed? What have I unleashed? The ball of aether began to shrink, and Thorne¡¯s breath hitched. The energy levels were rising¡ªhe could feel it in the air, could sense the growing instability. Electricity sparked around him, tiny bolts singing his skin. The static in the air grew stronger, crackling all around him, and the once-silent forest erupted in a cacophony of sound. He had to move. The forest around him erupted in chaos, animals fleeing in every direction. Birds screeched, their wings beating wildly as they took to the skies. Beasts roared in panic, crashing through the underbrush, desperate to escape the impending disaster. Thorne knew he was too late. His core felt fragile, cracked from the relentless siphoning. He had nothing left. But he had to try. With one last look at the shrinking ball of aether¡ªnow no bigger than a melon¡ªThorne turned and ran. With a final burst of strength, he activated Burst of Speed, his legs moving faster than his mind could comprehend. He didn¡¯t care about the cost, didn¡¯t care that his stamina was draining rapidly. He had to get away. But deep down, he knew it wasn¡¯t enough. He sprinted through the forest, his vision a blur of trees and shadows. He could feel the aether ball shrinking behind him, its energy building to catastrophic levels. He saw a stag running beside him, its eyes wide with terror. They shared a desperate glance¡ªboth of them knowing that they were out of time. And then, it happened. The world turned white, then blue, and then white again, a blinding flash that consumed everything. The ground shook beneath him, and a deafening roar filled the air. Thorne felt himself lifted off his feet, thrown into the air by the force of the explosion. The trees around him bent and swayed, some uprooted entirely, their branches whipping through the air like lashes. Thorne sailed through the air, branches and thorns tearing at his skin as he flew but the pain was nothing compared to the agony in his core. It felt like his very soul was being ripped apart. His core was being dismantled, the cracks in it widening, leaking aether into the air around him. The pain was excruciating, his mind barely able to register anything but the agony. He crashed into a tree, his body slamming against the trunk before falling to the ground in a heap. His bones groaned in protest, his breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. And the world turned silent. Too silent. The aether was still there, but it felt different now. Wrong. The balance had shifted, the very nature of the world warped by the explosion. Thorne lay there, barely conscious, his body trembling. His core rattled inside him, cracks spreading like spiderwebs across its surface. Aether was leaking from him, draining out in a way he couldn¡¯t control. His body trembled with weakness¡ªworse than any pain he had ever known. It was as if the very essence of his being was being siphoned away. The weakness overtook him, a cold, terrifying numbness seeping into his limbs. He could feel it. His body fading. His mind fading. His soul¡­ fading. CHAPTER 110 Thorne gasped awake. The forest floor was cold beneath him, but it felt distant¡ªlike his body wasn¡¯t truly there. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, each one an effort. His fingers twitched against the earth, but the familiar strength that once surged through them was gone, replaced by a hollow emptiness. The ground beneath him felt wrong, as though the world itself had shifted. I should be dead. The thought came unbidden, but it rang with truth. He could still feel the echoes of that moment¡ªthe ancient magic ripping through him, the raw, unstoppable power that had nearly swallowed him whole. It had been like staring into an abyss, only to realize the abyss had been staring back the entire time. He had felt the weight of it crushing him, pulling him apart piece by piece. And yet, here he was. Broken, bleeding, but alive. The world around him felt unreal¡ªstill, silent, yet buzzing with an energy that seemed to hum beneath the surface of the earth. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, his ribs aching with each attempt to move. But it wasn¡¯t the pain that held his attention. It was the memory. The vision. The explosion¡ªno, the cataclysm¡ªhad torn through the forest with a force unlike anything he had ever felt. It was as if the very essence of the world had been ripped apart and rebuilt in the span of a few heartbeats. He closed his eyes again, letting it wash over him¡ªthe rivers of aether, flowing like veins in the sky, weaving a tapestry of light and energy unlike anything he had ever seen. It hadn¡¯t been just magic. No, this was something ancient, something primal. The symbols that had flickered before his eyes, shimmering in the air like glowing embers, were far older than any magic he¡¯d encountered. They had pulsed with meaning he couldn''t quite grasp, as if whispering secrets he was never meant to hear. The gazebo... It had stood there in the clearing, derelict and forgotten, surrounded by the silent power of the place. There had been something sacred about it¡ªno, not just sacred. Forbidden. Like he had trespassed on ground he had no right to stand on. His heart had pounded with the weight of it, the knowledge that he had tapped into something far beyond his understanding. He wasn¡¯t just playing with fire¡ªhe had walked into the heart of an inferno. The memory burned behind his eyes, a vivid imprint of power and terror. For a brief moment, as he had stood there, caught between the flow of aether and the ancient symbols surrounding him, he had felt himself unraveling. His own aether, the core of his being, had been pulled toward the currents like a thread being drawn into a river. He hadn¡¯t been able to stop it. The magic had been too powerful, too overwhelming. I should have died there, he thought, his body trembling at the memory. I should have been erased. How had he survived? How had he stood in the presence of something so vast and come away with his mind intact? A shiver ran down his spine as he recalled the symbols, strange and foreign, yet somehow familiar. They had hovered in the air, surrounding him, as if measuring his worth¡ªdeciding whether to consume him or let him go. He hadn¡¯t understood them, but he had felt their judgment. I wasn¡¯t supposed to see that. It hadn¡¯t been meant for mortal eyes. He had crossed a threshold, stumbled into a space where magic still breathed with the ancient rhythms of the world, where the power of the gods or something even older lingered. The air had been thick with it, like the world was holding its breath, waiting for him to make a move. And I survived... somehow. The panther had been a terrifying force, yes. But that... that was something different. Something cosmic. He had faced beasts before. He could understand them. He could fight them. But the magic? The vast, flowing rivers of aether, the symbols older than time itself? He couldn¡¯t fight that. He couldn¡¯t even comprehend it. His hands clenched weakly at his sides as he struggled to sit up, pain shooting through his muscles. Every inch of him screamed with exhaustion, but it was nothing compared to the turmoil raging inside his mind. He had seen behind the veil of reality, and it had nearly killed him. The familiar pulse of a notification flickered at the edge of his vision, and he welcomed the distraction. He needed something to ground him, something to remind him that he was still here¡ªstill alive, still whole. Slowly, he focused on the words vying for his attention. Congratulations! Character level up! You have reached level 38! The battle with the moon panther had gained him a level. If there was a doubt how strong the beast had been, then his new level was proof enough. A groan slipped his mouth and checked his health. Health Points: 110/950 Aether: 10/540 Stamina: 90/900 His body was a wreck, but the numbers confirmed what he already knew. He had barely survived. His health and aether reserves were on the verge of collapse, and the strain of whatever that magic had been still clung to him like a second skin. But it was the fact that he had leveled up at all that brought a bitter smile to his face. I lived through that. It felt like a hollow victory. The magic had spared him, but at what cost? What had it left behind, buried in the deepest parts of him? There was no walking away from an event like that unchanged. With a shaky breath, Thorne shifted his focus to his skills. It was a routine, something to cling to. He needed to see what had changed¡ªwhat he had gained from the experience that nearly killed him. Skill level up! Thorne blinked, the words taking a moment to register. His body still ached from the battle, his mind struggling to keep pace with the flood of information. He had leveled up¡ªnot surprising, given the sheer magnitude of the fight he had just survived. But the weight of the accomplishment didn¡¯t quite sink in. All he could focus on was the quiet pain in his body and the dull throb in his core. This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. He scrolled through the rest of the notifications, noting the small increases in his abilities. Aether Surge was stronger now, though he could feel its strain even more acutely after pushing himself to the brink. Bloodletting had grown sharper, more precise¡ªhis cuts would drain more blood, sap more strength from his enemies. Combat Reflexes had improved too, honing his instinctual reactions in the heat of battle. And Stealth Strike, his bread and butter, was faster, more lethal than before. But the messages that followed made him pause. His Stealth had finally reached its peak. Level 50. He had been so close to this moment for so long, and now, after everything that had happened, he had made it. A surge of satisfaction bloomed in his chest, followed quickly by a sense of dread. Evolving a skill wasn¡¯t just about getting stronger. It was a fundamental shift¡ªone that could change the way he fought, the way he survived. The last time a skill had evolved¡ªwhen his Running had become Burst of Speed¡ªit had altered the very way his body moved, giving him a level of control and agility he had never thought possible. But this... this was different. Stealth was his lifeline. It was the skill that had saved him countless times, the one thing that had kept him alive when nothing else could. The notification expanded, revealing his options for the skill¡¯s evolution. Thorne blinked at the list, his tired mind processing each one carefully. Stealth Evolution Options: His pulse quickened as he read through the choices. Each one offered something different, something powerful. But the thought of changing Stealth¡ªthe one skill he had relied on more than anything¡ªsent a wave of unease through him. Shadow Slip would make him faster, allowing him to vanish and reappear from one shadow to the next. A dangerous, useful tool in combat. But then there was Living Shadow, which would twist the very environment around him, making him nearly invisible even to magical detection. He could picture it now, shadows bending to his will, hiding him from enemies who thought they had the upper hand. Silent Echo was clever¡ªhe liked clever. The idea of leaving behind a false image to confuse his foes, letting him slip away unnoticed while they attacked the wrong target. It appealed to the trickster in him. And finally, Veil of Light and Shadow¡ªthe ultimate stealth. Hiding in plain sight, regardless of the environment. The thought of being invisible even in broad daylight was tempting, especially for someone like him who had learned to navigate the darkest corners of the world. His heart raced as the weight of the decision settled in. The battle with the panther had shown him that survival meant adapting, evolving. This was more than just an upgrade¡ªit was the next step in his survival. Thorne¡¯s eyes traced over the options again, each one tempting in its own way. He knew this was a pivotal moment¡ªnot just a simple power-up, but a choice that would shape how he moved forward, how he survived in the world that had just revealed a glimpse of its true power. The ancient magic that had nearly destroyed him reminded him how small he was in the grand scheme of things, how fragile even his best skills could be. He closed his eyes and let the possibilities settle in his mind. Shadow Slip, the ability to slip between shadows would have given him an edge in combat, a way to reposition or flee when things went wrong. There was something undeniably appealing about the mobility it offered¡ªthe freedom to vanish and reappear elsewhere, controlling the battlefield like a phantom. But it also came with a catch. It relied on shadows being present. In the deep forests or under the cover of night, it would be perfect. But what about the times when there were no shadows to slip through? Shadow Meld already gave him a degree of protection in darkness. This felt like a luxury, not a necessity. Living Shadow. He imagined it for a moment¡ªthe shadows bending to his will, obscuring him even from magical detection. It was powerful. The idea of becoming almost impossible to track was enticing, especially after the battle with the moon panther, where nothing he did seemed to hide him from the creature¡¯s relentless pursuit. But then again, it was still tied to the presence of shadows. In broad daylight or open spaces, it would be useless. Shadows could be elusive. They moved, they shifted. He needed something more consistent. Silent Echo, Thorne¡¯s lips twitched in a faint smile. This evolution was the closer to his heart. Leaving behind a false image to confuse enemies, allowing him to slip away unnoticed while they attacked the wrong target. It fit his style. It was cunning, deceptive, and practical. But it also felt situational. He couldn¡¯t count on enemies always falling for the illusion. And in the moments when speed and silence were of the essence, creating echoes might just slow him down. It was a tempting trick, but tricks had their limits. His eyes lingered on the final option. Veil of Light and Shadow. The ability to blend seamlessly into any environment, whether bathed in sunlight or cloaked in darkness. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. He wouldn¡¯t be restricted by shadows or specific environments. It was versatile, adaptable¡ªexactly what he needed moving forward. He could hide in plain sight, no matter where he found himself. It wasn¡¯t the most overtly magical of the options, but it was the most practical. The one that could serve him in any situation. He had relied on Stealth to survive all this time, and this evolution¡ªVeil of Light and Shadow¡ªwould ensure that he could stay hidden, no matter the circumstance. And if he ever needed more, his Shadow Meld skill was still there, offering protection in darker places, where the shadows wrapped around him like a second skin. This is the one, he thought, his mind clearing as the decision solidified. The one that makes the most sense. Thorne let out a slow breath and made the choice. The moment he confirmed the evolution, he felt the shift inside him. It was subtle at first, like the quiet settling of dust, but then it grew¡ªan expanding awareness of the space around him, of light and shadow, of how the world perceived him and how he could bend that perception. His skin prickled as the magic wove itself into his very being, intertwining with the core of his Stealth skill. He could almost feel the air shift around him, responding to his presence¡ªor rather, the absence of it. He wasn''t just hiding anymore. He was blending, becoming a part of the world in a way that defied sight and sound. Light no longer betrayed him, and darkness no longer offered his enemies an advantage. He was invisible, everywhere and nowhere at once. Thorne flexed his fingers, testing the sensation, and for a brief moment, the world felt like it had bent around him, bending to his will. Stealth Skill Evolved: Veil of Light and Shadow He blinked as the notification closed, leaving him alone with the new weight of power. It was done. The magic settled into him, the evolution complete. But even now, as the rush of new strength coursed through him, his thoughts wandered back to the ancient magic he had seen. It was a reminder that no matter how far he evolved, there were still forces out there beyond his comprehension. Forces that could unmake him in an instant. He lay back against the ground, exhaustion pulling at him, but his mind was sharp. The world was changing. He was changing. And whether or not he understood the full extent of it, one thing was certain. He was still alive. And that was enough. Thorne exhaled slowly, the faint warmth of his breath visible in the cool night air. The lingering sensations of his newly evolved Stealth skill buzzed at the edges of his awareness, but for the first time since the battle, he felt grounded. Stable. He wasn¡¯t whole yet, but he was getting there. His mind still ached from the weight of everything¡ªthe ancient magic, the battle with the moon panther, the overwhelming rush of power¡ªbut now, with a clearer head, he knew there was work to be done. Time to get organized, he thought, willing himself to focus. His body was still a mess, his health dangerously low, but that was something he could fix. He needed to pull up his character sheet and distribute his new attribute points, find some balance after everything had been pushed to the brink. With a flicker of thought, the familiar sheet began to unfold before him, the numbers waiting for him to make the next move. But before he could dive in, something else caught his attention. A soft chime, the subtle pulse of light at the edge of his vision¡ªa series of new notifications he hadn¡¯t seen before. Frowning, Thorne paused, hovering over them with hesitation. He hadn¡¯t expected more. The skill evolution alone had been a significant shift, and the level-up had been a direct result of his battle. But this¡­ this was different. The notifications blinked insistently, almost as if they had been waiting for him to notice. What now? His curiosity got the better of him. He hesitated for only a moment before pulling up the blinking notifications. The words unfolded before him, and his breath caught in his throat. That changes everything! CHAPTER 111 Thorne blinked at the notifications, his mind struggling to process what he was seeing. He lay there, surrounded by the wreckage of the forest, his body aching from the battle and the explosion, but the words before him were pulling his attention in an entirely different direction. New traits? He wasn¡¯t unfamiliar with power surging through him¡ªhe¡¯d been born with the unique trait of the Elder Race, able to wield raw aether in ways that others couldn¡¯t. But that trait had been with him since birth, something that was part of his very existence. The idea that he could gain new traits after battle, or worse, after breaking ancient magic? That was something he had never imagined. His mind raced, trying to make sense of it. His only experience with traits was the one he had inherited by birthright¡ªthe Elder Race¡¯s ability to tap into the raw aetheric flows of the world. He had always assumed it was something unique to him, a reflection of his lineage, not something that could evolve or be acquired. But this was different. This was new. He rubbed his temples, groaning as the ache in his head persisted. The notifications still blinked in his peripheral vision, waiting for him to acknowledge them fully. His heart was still pounding from the aftermath of the explosion, his body weak from exhaustion, but curiosity gnawed at him. What the hell is this? Thorne took a breath and focused, bringing the notifications back into view. His confusion only deepened as the words solidified before him. Achievement Unlocked: Veilbreaker. You have shattered an ancient and powerful spell, becoming a Veilbreaker¡ªone capable of sensing aetheric disruptions. While this trait does not grant you immense raw power, it allows you to perceive hidden magical forces and detect aetheric flows that others cannot, making you uniquely dangerous to spellcasters and illusionists. Trait Acquired: Veilbreaker. You can now sense aetheric disruptions around you. This passive ability allows you to feel the presence of magic, revealing the existence of illusions, magical entities, or wards nearby. While you cannot yet unravel these forces, your sensitivity to them is a first step toward greater mastery. Abilities: Passive: Veil Sense: You gain a passive sense for detecting aetheric disruptions around you. If a magical entity or spell is nearby, you feel a faint ¡°tug¡± in your consciousness, alerting you to the presence of magic. This sensitivity doesn¡¯t give you precise information but helps you stay alert in magical environments. Thorne stared at the words, his mind struggling to grasp what he was reading. His fingers twitched, feeling a new awareness creeping into his senses. The forest around him, quiet and still, seemed to hum with a low, almost imperceptible vibration¡ªlike a faint thrumming just at the edge of his consciousness. His instincts flared, and he could sense it now: the subtle currents of aether, the lingering traces of magic in the air, the aftermath of the cataclysm he had triggered. It was as if the world had opened a new layer to him, a hidden dimension of power and magic he had never been able to perceive before. He rubbed his eyes, still bewildered. This wasn¡¯t some ordinary skill or ability¡ªthis was something entirely new. He had become a Veilbreaker, capable of sensing the very fabric of magic around him. He couldn''t unravel it yet¡ªthat much was clear¡ªbut the fact that he could even perceive these forces¡­ it was staggering. Before he could fully process the implications, another notification flashed into view, making his pulse quicken. Achievement Unlocked: Lunar Champion. You have slain the ancient moon guardian, the Lunaris Panthera, and inherited its power. As a result, you are now bound to the cycles of the moon, gaining strength and abilities that fluctuate with its phases. Trait Acquired: Lunar Champion. You are now a bearer of forgotten lunar magic. The power of the moon flows through you, granting you unique abilities tied to its cycle. Abilities: Passive: Lunar Regeneration: You gain the ability to heal slowly when exposed to moonlight. Even a sliver of moonlight accelerates your recovery, and during a full moon, your healing is dramatically enhanced, allowing you to recover from non-fatal injuries at an increased rate. The words were there, clear as day, but they almost didn¡¯t make sense. He had inherited the power of the Lunaris Panthera¡ªthe ancient moon guardian¡ªand now, the moon itself would influence him, healing his wounds when its light touched him. Thorne could barely comprehend it. He instinctively flexed his fingers, feeling the faint pulse of the moon¡¯s magic already working inside him. The lingering cuts and bruises from the battle, while still painful, were mending, little by little, under the thin light of the waxing crescent moon above. How is this even possible? The notion that he was now bound to something as vast and timeless as the moon was overwhelming. His strength, his very abilities, would wax and wane with the moon¡¯s phases. It wasn¡¯t just about raw power anymore; it was about timing, about understanding the rhythms of the world itself. Thorne¡¯s eyes scanned the forest canopy, glimpsing slivers of moonlight cutting through the shattered trees. He had to admit, the thought of being stronger under the full moon, able to regenerate in the heat of battle, was¡­ reassuring. But it also filled him with a sense of unease. What would happen when the moon was new, when the sky was empty, and darkness reigned? Would he be weaker, more vulnerable? Stolen novel; please report. The thought left him cold. Another notification blinked into view, and this time, it was more ominous. New Trait Evolution System Unlocked: Traits can evolve. By siphoning aether from fallen foes and unlocking ancient abilities, your traits can evolve into more powerful forms. The aether you absorb feeds into your core, allowing for new abilities and transformations. Thorne froze. Siphoning aether? The realization hit him hard, the words leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He had never heard of anything like that. Absorbing aether from dead foes, using it to grow stronger¡ªit was foreign, alien. But then something darker slithered into his thoughts, making his skin crawl. It was exactly what people did to his kind. The Elder Races had always hidden, his family had lived in secret for years, and in the end, it hadn¡¯t been enough. The same people who now coveted power had murdered them for their cores, for the very essence of their being. And now here he was¡­ doing the same. Not to the Elder Race, no, but siphoning aether from dead foes to gain power was eerily similar to what those hunters had done to his family. And now, he thought bitterly, I¡¯m no different from them. The irony wasn¡¯t lost on him. The very thing that had destroyed his family, the thing that had driven them into hiding, had become his path to survival. He had never wanted this¡ªnever wanted to take from others. But here he was, standing on the same precipice. The choice before him was stark: siphon power or die. For a moment, his hands shook. What would his parents think if they saw him now? What would they say, knowing that to grow stronger, to survive, he had to tread the same dark path that had led to their destruction? A cold wave of guilt washed over him, but beneath that, there was something darker, more primal¡ªa hunger for survival, no matter the cost. He clenched his fists, pushing the thought away. There was no room for morality here, not when his very existence was at stake. This was the path the world had set him on, and he would walk it, no matter how much it sickened him. His jaw tightened, a wave of revulsion mixing with the cold realization that if he wanted to survive, this was the path he would have to walk. He had become a Veilbreaker, a Lunar Champion, and now¡­ he would need to siphon aether to evolve these traits, to gain strength. Just like the people who hunted his family had taken their cores to become more powerful. It was undeniable. Power had its cost. Thorne exhaled slowly, his hands trembling as he closed the notifications. The weight of the new traits settled over him like a cloak, heavy and daunting. He needed to move. Pushing himself to his feet, Thorne winced as pain flared in his ribs. His body was weak, but the Lunar Regeneration was working. Slowly, steadily, he was healing. The faint light of the moon brushed his skin, feeding the magic that now pulsed through his veins. As he staggered through the wreckage of the forest, his thoughts swirling with uncertainty, something became obvious., a strange silence hung over the forest. It wasn¡¯t just quiet¡ªit was unnaturally still. The trees around him were shattered, broken branches littering the ground like the aftermath of a great storm, but there was something more unsettling about the scene. No birds called from the trees, no rustle of animals moving through the underbrush. Even the wind seemed to have stilled, leaving the air heavy with an oppressive, suffocating weight. The explosion hadn¡¯t just torn through the physical world¡ªit had left a scar on the very essence of the forest. The aether here was different, thick and sluggish, like it was reluctant to flow. Thorne could feel it, pulsing faintly beneath the surface of reality, as though the forest itself was trying to recover from a wound it didn¡¯t fully understand. His Veil Sense pulsed faintly, alerting him to the presence of aetheric disruptions all around. Whatever had happened, it had changed everything around him. The magic here felt raw, unbalanced, as if the natural order had been shattered. He could sense other things in the distance, faint flickers of life, but none of it felt familiar. They weren¡¯t just animals anymore. Something had shifted, reshaping the creatures that had survived the blast into something¡­ more. Thorne¡¯s heart pounded as he took a step forward, scanning the eerie landscape. The world felt wrong, like it was on the verge of unraveling. He had unleashed something ancient, something forgotten, and the forest¡ªno, the very air¡ªhad absorbed it. And then his new trait alerted him to something, a tug in his consciousness that told him there was a significant aetheric presence near. It was a sensation he was still getting used to, but now it flared stronger than before, surging within him. The stag. Thorne froze, his breath catching in his throat as he stared at the creature. It stood not far from where he had been thrown by the explosion, its body still but somehow¡­ different. It was the same stag that had fled the cataclysm with him, the one that had shared that desperate glance as they ran for their lives. But now, it was no longer an ordinary animal. Thorne¡¯s eyes widened as he stared at the stag. The creature stood still, its large eyes gleaming with an almost serene intelligence, but its body had transformed into something both beautiful and alien. Vines coiled around its legs and torso, snaking upward in delicate, graceful patterns, their leaves dark green and vibrant. Among the twisted vines, small, iridescent flowers bloomed, their petals glowing faintly in the dim light. The stag¡¯s antlers, once ordinary, now resembled the boughs of an ancient tree, sprouting blossoms that shimmered with soft, magical light. It was as though the forest itself had wrapped around the creature, claiming it, infusing it with the wild magic that had been unleashed. Thorne¡¯s breath caught in his throat. He could feel it¡ªthe stag wasn¡¯t just a creature anymore. An aether beast. It had become something other, infused with magic far older than the world they knew. The air around it buzzed with power, faint and primal, and Thorne could sense the delicate balance of life and magic that now coursed through the creature¡¯s veins. His Veil Sense pulsed again, and for the first time, he truly felt it¡ªthe deep connection between the stag and the aetheric forces that had altered it. The flowers on its antlers gave off a faint magical pulse, like a heartbeat, resonating with the aether that had transformed the forest. The magic wasn¡¯t just in the stag¡ªit was part of the very air, the ground, the trees. This place had changed, and so had everything within it. Thorne shivered. The stag wasn¡¯t hostile, but it wasn¡¯t the same creature that had run beside him in the chaos. The forest had claimed it, just as it had claimed him. Thorne¡¯s heart skipped a beat, his senses flaring as something unexpected happened. His Veil Sense, the trait that had only just awakened, pulsed within him, responding to the presence of the creature. A rush of understanding flooded his mind, and to his surprise, he instinctively knew the stag¡¯s level. Level 16. His breath caught in his throat. His Veil Sense had shown him more than just the presence of aether¡ªit had revealed the creature¡¯s strength, its level. He hadn¡¯t expected that. The trait was more powerful than he realized, capable of giving him insight into magical entities in ways he had never imagined. Thorne stared at the stag, a mixture of awe and confusion washing over him. The world had changed, and so had he. The stag¡¯s gaze met his, and for a moment, they stood in silence. There was no fear in the animal¡¯s eyes now, only calm. It tilted its head slightly, as if acknowledging him, its antlers shimmering with life and magic. Thorne felt a shiver run down his spine. The forest had been forever altered by the events of that night. He wasn¡¯t the only one who had changed. With a final glance at the transformed creature, Thorne turned and began his long walk back to Alvar. The air was still, the moonlight faint but steady, and the weight of the new power within him pressed down on his thoughts. He was no longer just Thorne, the assassin. He was a Veilbreaker, a Lunar Champion, and now, he was someone who had to reckon with the dark truths about power and survival. Whatever came next, he would face it. CHAPTER 112 Thorne moved slowly through the forest, each step weighted with the aftermath of the cataclysm he had unleashed. The destruction around him was staggering. Trees had been split, their trunks shattered and scattered across the ground like broken bones, while others leaned precariously, barely held up by splintered roots. The ground was torn and gouged in strange patterns, as though the very earth had been ripped apart by unseen hands. As he distanced himself from the point of impact, the physical devastation lessened, but the magical disturbances remained. The air still hummed with power, the aether swirling in strange patterns. He could feel it, like a constant pressure on his skin, and his Veil Sense pulsed faintly, alerting him to the lingering magic that had transformed the forest. Everywhere he looked, there were aether beasts¡ªcreatures that had once been ordinary animals but were now changed beyond recognition. He passed by several, their bodies twisted and reshaped by the magic, their eyes wide with confusion. Even the most aggressive beasts seemed hesitant, uncertain of their new forms. He watched as a massive boar, its tusks now gleaming with faint aetheric light, stumbled awkwardly, trying to adjust to legs that had grown longer and more muscular. It glanced at Thorne briefly, but instead of charging, it snorted and turned away, absorbed in its own disorientation. They¡¯re all changed, Thorne thought, his eyes scanning the creatures. Not a single animal had been spared from the cataclysm. Everything¡ªbeast, tree, even the earth itself¡ªhad been touched by the explosion¡¯s magic. But the creatures were too distracted, too focused on their own transformations to even consider attacking him. It was like watching newborns learn to walk, unsure of their bodies and their new strength. As he continued walking, Thorne accessed his character sheet, his mind flicking through the familiar interface as he distributed his newly earned points. His level had increased again, a subtle reminder of the battles he had fought, the magic he had shattered, and the power he had gained. He allocated points carefully, balancing his stats, but the sense of unease still gnawed at him. Power was never without cost, and he knew better than anyone that his core was already fragile from the strain. Character Sheet Name: Thorne Level: 37 ¡ú 38 Race: Human Age: 18 Special Trait: Health Points: 394/950 Aether: 211/540 ¡ú 211/570 Stamina: 232/900 Core Attributes Combat Skills Stealth & Deception Survival & Miscellaneous Skills Mental & Social Skills Defensive Skills Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. Aetheric Abilities Special Abilities Satisfied for now, Thorne closed his character sheet and continued moving. The forest began to thin out, the trees becoming less dense, and the shattered landscape slowly returning to something resembling normality. Yet, despite the calming of the physical world, the magic remained. The aether was thick in the air, almost clinging to him, and his Veil Sense buzzed faintly, detecting the ebb and flow of the unseen magic around him. He slowed as he examined his new Lunar Regeneration trait. The healing had been subtle, gradual, but he was feeling better than he should, given the extent of his injuries. However, as he looked down at his arms, noticing how the cuts were healing, something caught his attention. The wounds that had been exposed to the moonlight were fading, but the ones hidden beneath his clothes were unchanged, still raw and bleeding. So that¡¯s how it works, he thought, frowning. The Lunar Regeneration only worked where the moonlight touched his skin. It was a limitation he hadn¡¯t considered, or even known to care about. But now, it was clear¡ªif the moonlight didn¡¯t reach the wound, it wouldn¡¯t heal. It was an important discovery, one that could mean the difference between life and death in a fight. He¡¯d have to be more careful in future battles¡ªhis enemies wouldn¡¯t always allow him the luxury of stripping down to expose his wounds to the sky. The thought gnawed at him as he pressed on. Finally, after what felt like hours, Thorne reached the edge of the Elven Forest. Beyond the tree line, the vast city of Alvar lay spread out before him, its silhouette framed by the fading light of the day. But something was wrong. The gates were abandoned. Thorne approached cautiously, his senses alert, his eyes scanning the empty guard posts and the broken remnants of what had once been a formidable gate. The doors were ajar, hanging off their hinges, and there were no signs of life, no watchmen or sentries. It was as if the city had been deserted. But that wasn¡¯t what disturbed him the most. As he stepped past the gates and into Alvar, something felt¡­ different. It took him a moment to realize what it was. In the forest, the concentration of aether had always been much higher. He had been surrounded by it, and while he had noticed the increase, it hadn¡¯t struck him as unusual. But now, in Alvar¡ªwhere the levels of aether had always been so low that it felt like a wasteland compared to the Elven Forest or Valewind¡ªthe contrast was staggering. For the first time, he felt the city teeming with magic. Thorne stopped, his eyes widening in disbelief. He relaxed his vision, letting his Aether Vision take over, and his breath caught in his throat. Everywhere he looked, there were aether motes, brilliant, shining motes of magic that floated in dense formations, clustering together in such numbers that it was almost impossible to see the physical world around him. He blinked, stunned by the sight. It was overwhelming¡ªlike walking through a dream where the air itself was alive with magic. The aether was everywhere, swirling around buildings, dancing across the cobblestone streets, even drifting lazily through the open sky. It was a far cry from the barren, empty Alvar he had known. Thorne walked blindly through the streets, marveling at the spectacle. But as he moved, something registered in the back of his mind, and he blinked away the Aether Vision, letting his normal sight return. He stopped dead in his tracks. The street in front of him was destroyed. Windows were shattered, their glass scattered across the ground like jagged stars, and shutters hung from their hinges, broken and twisted. Wooden beams lay splintered on the cobblestone, and the remains of carts and market stalls were strewn about like toys abandoned by a careless child. Thorne¡¯s heart sank. The explosion hadn¡¯t just affected the forest. The damage had spread to Alvar as well. He walked forward, his boots crunching over the rubble as he took in the destruction. It wasn¡¯t as severe as in the forest¡ªthe intensity here had been much lower¡ªbut it was still enough to cause damage. Enough to send a ripple of fear through the city. His pace quickened as his thoughts turned to his friends. Were they alright? Had they been caught in the explosion? Without thinking, Thorne¡¯s feet carried him to the tavern. He pushed through the door, the familiar creak of the hinges grounding him in the present. Inside, the room was nearly empty, but Gilly was there, wiping down the bar as if nothing had happened. She turned as he entered, her face lighting up in a wide smile. Thorne froze. Gilly had always been cute, in a way¡ªher round face marked with small scars from a childhood illness, her rusty-colored hair dull and a little wild. But now¡­ now she looked different. The scars were gone, her skin smooth and unblemished. Her hair, once lackluster, shimmered with a vibrant sheen, catching the light in a way it never had before. She looked younger, more radiant. A completely different person. Thorne¡¯s mouth fell open, unable to speak, his mind scrambling to understand what he was seeing. And then his Veil Sense flared. Level 11. His eyes widened in shock. Gilly had always been a common barmaid, no combat skills to speak of, and yet, here she was, transformed before his eyes. The realization hit him hard¡ªthe explosion had changed more than just the forest. Gilly beamed at him, rushing forward to wrap him in a hug. ¡°Thorne! Where¡¯ve you been? Are you alright? Are you injured? So many people got hurt during that explosion, I was so worried about you!¡± Thorne blinked, still processing the changes. He stammered, ¡°Gilly¡­ what¡­ what happened?¡± The woman blushed, a rosy flush spreading across her newly radiant cheeks as she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. ¡°When the explosion hit, everyone was terrified. Everything turned bright, the whole city shook. People who were outside got knocked off their feet. At first, we didn¡¯t know what had happened¡­ but then, the notifications came.¡± ¡°Notifications?¡± Thorne echoed, his voice barely a whisper. Gilly nodded enthusiastically, her eyes sparkling. ¡°Everyone got a new skill! Almost everyone in the city! It was like something out of a dream. And I got one too!¡± She leaned in close, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. ¡°After years of nothing, I finally got a new skill.¡± Thorne stared at her, his mind reeling. ¡°What¡­ what skill?¡± Gilly blushed deeper, glancing around the empty tavern before whispering in his ear. ¡°Enchanting Hospitality. It¡­ it makes me more attractive. Can you believe it?¡± Thorne could only stare, wide-eyed. Gilly straightened up, beaming. ¡°Almost everyone got something. It¡¯s like the whole city¡¯s changed overnight!¡± Thorne didn¡¯t have words. The explosion had done more than damage the city. It had given the people of Alvar new skills, new power. And the implications of that were terrifying. Thorne''s mind raced, his concern for his friends growing heavier with each passing moment. ¡°What about Jonah and Ben?¡± he asked Gilly, his voice tight with worry. Gilly tapped her chin thoughtfully. ¡°Jonah was here earlier. He was talking to some supplier, arguing about¡­ something. When the wave of aether hit, they both kind of froze. Jonah lingered with the man for a bit, but then, out of nowhere, he rushed outside. I think he¡¯s probably upstairs now.¡± Thorne let out a breath he hadn¡¯t realized he¡¯d been holding. ¡°Thanks, Gilly,¡± he said, nodding. ¡°I¡¯ll go check on them.¡± Gilly smiled warmly, still glowing with that newfound vibrancy that left Thorne both amazed and uneasy. ¡°You do that! Let me know if you need anything, okay?¡± With a quick wave, Thorne sprinted up the stairs, his boots thudding against the wooden steps. His heart pounded¡ªnot just from the exertion, but from the uncertainty gnawing at him. The city had changed. Gilly had changed. What about Jonah and Ben? He reached the top of the stairs, hesitating for a moment before pushing the door open. As he stepped inside, his Veil Sense flared again, giving him a quick read on his friends. Jonah¡ªLevel 9. Ben¡ªLevel 7. Thorne exhaled in relief. They were both here, alive, and stronger than before, but as he took in the scene, he immediately noticed how different the two men looked. Ben was deeply immersed in his work, standing by the open window where a makeshift potion station had been set up. His fingers moved with practiced precision as he chopped roots, herbs, and other ingredients, his movements fluid and focused. A small cauldron bubbled beside him, the steam wafting out through the open window in soft spirals. He was completely absorbed in the process of brewing. His eyes were distant, his hands steady as they stirred the potion, almost as if he were part of the very alchemy he practiced. Thorne stepped closer, but Ben didn¡¯t even glance his way. The intensity of Ben¡¯s focus, the complete disconnect from the outside world, was unnerving. It was as if Ben was lost in another plane of existence, one where only the art of potion-brewing existed. The magical energy around him was palpable, the air thick with the scent of herbs and the soft hum of his efforts. On the other side of the room, Jonah sat slumped in a chair, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his brow furrowed as he stared blankly at the wall. His jaw was clenched, tension radiating off him in waves. Thorne frowned, taking in the stark contrast between the two men. Jonah looked¡­ off. ¡°Jonah? Ben?¡± Thorne called, his voice cutting through the stillness. ¡°Are you alright?¡± Jonah flinched, his body jerking upright as if he¡¯d been startled awake. His blank expression shifted, and for a moment, he seemed dazed, his eyes unfocused. Then, slowly, a grin spread across his face, bright and wide. ¡°Oh, we¡¯re more than alright!¡± Jonah¡¯s voice came alive with sudden enthusiasm, his arms uncrossing as he leaned forward in his chair. ¡°Thorne, you wouldn¡¯t believe it.¡± Thorne¡¯s heart slowed, relief settling over him as he walked farther into the room. ¡°Good. I was worried for a second,¡± he said, glancing back at Ben, who was still completely engrossed in his work. ¡°What happened to you two?¡± Jonah chuckled, running a hand through his hair. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t believe it if I told you. That wave¡ªit was like everything stopped for a moment. Bright light, the whole world just... froze. Then, the notifications came in. And Thorne, you won¡¯t believe what I got.¡± Thorne raised an eyebrow, intrigued. ¡°A new skill?¡± ¡°Yeah!¡± Jonah exclaimed, his grin widening. ¡°You know how most people have mundane skills? I always thought I¡¯d be stuck with that, but after the wave hit, I got something useful. It saved me from a disaster, too.¡± Thorne crossed his arms, curious. ¡°Saved you how?¡± ¡°I was in the middle of arguing with a supplier downstairs,¡± Jonah began, his grin fading slightly. ¡°Guy was pushing this batch of goods, swearing it was top quality. I was about to cave in when the wave hit. And then I got it¡ªGold¡¯s Whisper. It¡¯s like I can hear money now. Know when something¡¯s worth it or not.¡± Thorne blinked. ¡°What does it do?¡± Jonah leaned back, laughing softly. ¡°It¡¯s like I can sense profit. As soon as the skill kicked in, I knew that man was full of shit. The goods weren¡¯t worth a copper, let alone what he was asking for. Saved me from throwing our money down the drain.¡± Thorne couldn¡¯t help but smile at Jonah¡¯s excitement. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ actually impressive.¡± ¡°Tell me about it! I can practically smell where the money is now,¡± Jonah said, his eyes gleaming. ¡°It¡¯s going to change everything.¡± Thorne glanced back at Ben, who was still silently brewing by the window, utterly absorbed in his task. The small cauldron bubbled gently, steam rising as Ben¡¯s hands moved with precision. He hadn¡¯t acknowledged Thorne¡¯s presence at all, completely focused on his work. ¡°He¡¯s got something new too,¡± Jonah said, noticing Thorne¡¯s gaze. ¡°Alchemical Trance, I think it¡¯s called. Gets him into this deep, meditative state when he¡¯s brewing. Makes his potions better, faster¡­ but if you interrupt him¡­¡± Jonah winced. ¡°Let¡¯s just say, don¡¯t do that.¡± Thorne nodded, watching Ben¡¯s meticulous movements. The air around him seemed to hum with energy, the potion brewing with a glow that hinted at its heightened potency. Whatever Ben was creating, it would be more powerful than usual¡ªif he succeeded. ¡°He¡¯s been like that since the wave hit,¡± Jonah continued, lowering his voice. ¡°Just started brewing, hasn¡¯t said a word. Honestly, I¡¯m not sure how long he¡¯s been at it, but¡­ it¡¯s working.¡± Thorne nodded again, more to himself than to Jonah. The changes in Alvar, in his friends, were becoming clearer. Everyone had gained something from the explosion, but their transformations weren¡¯t just magical¡ªthey were practical, grounded in who they already were. Jonah¡¯s skill played into his knack for sniffing out opportunities, and Ben¡¯s alchemical prowess had reached a new level. Still, something gnawed at the back of Thorne¡¯s mind. Power like this didn¡¯t come without consequence. The wave of aether that had hit Alvar had changed everything¡ªand everyone. His Veil Sense still buzzed in the background, alerting him to the thick aetheric presence that clung to the air. The world had shifted, and while his friends had gained valuable abilities, he couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that there was a price yet to be paid. ¡°Well,¡± Jonah said, breaking the silence with a grin, ¡°looks like you¡¯ve got some catching up to do, huh? Maybe you¡¯ll find a new skill in that forest of yours.¡± Thorne chuckled lightly, but his mind was elsewhere. The explosion had touched the city, giving everyone new potential. But beneath that excitement, he had an unsettling feeling that there was a price to be paid. For now, though, Thorne was just grateful that his friends were safe¡ªand stronger than ever. CHAPTER 113 Thorne lay sprawled out on the attic floor, too tired and in too much pain to keep standing. His body ached from the brutal events in the forest, and though his Lunar Regeneration had helped, the moment he stepped inside, the healing had stopped, leaving him to deal with the full brunt of his injuries. He winced, shifting slightly to find a less painful position, but his whole body felt like one giant bruise. Jonah sat nearby, waiting for Ben to emerge from his Alchemical Trance. His friend kept glancing at him, his eyes narrowing in suspicion every time they landed on Thorne¡¯s numerous cuts and bruises. Jonah wasn¡¯t stupid. They¡¯d been friends too long, and he could tell when something was off. Finally, Jonah spoke, his voice low but probing. "What happened to you, Thorne?" His tone carried more than just casual concern¡ªit was edged with suspicion. His eyes scanned the bruises, the gashes, the barely healed wounds. "You look like you fought a damn war." Thorne sighed, avoiding Jonah¡¯s gaze. "Just got into a bit of trouble. It¡¯s nothing." Jonah wasn¡¯t having it. "Trouble? You look half-dead." He leaned forward, his brow furrowed. "And I¡¯m not just talking about some random fight, either. You¡¯ve been¡­ off, ever since the explosion. Were you out there when it happened? Did you see it?" Thorne hesitated, not really wanting to share what had truly happened. He didn¡¯t want to lie, but he couldn¡¯t just tell Jonah that he had caused the catastrophe that had swept through the forest and transformed the city. He regretted, but kept silent, not trusting himself to speak. Jonah¡¯s eyes narrowed further, and after a long, tense pause, realization crept into his expression. ¡°Wait¡­ no.¡± His voice dropped, incredulous. ¡°You¡­ you weren¡¯t involved, were you?¡± He leaned closer, his face tight with disbelief. ¡°Thorne. Tell me you didn¡¯t have anything to do with that¡­ that thing. The explosion. Please.¡± Thorne stayed silent. Jonah¡¯s disbelief turned into a sigh, and he ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. ¡°You¡¯ve got to be kidding me, man,¡± he muttered. ¡°I¡ªThorne, seriously?¡± Thorne still couldn¡¯t meet his eyes. The truth sat on the edge of his tongue, but he swallowed it down. He didn¡¯t want to lie to Jonah, but he couldn¡¯t exactly reassure him, either. Jonah groaned, getting up from his seat and rummaging through a small crate. Bottles clinked together as he dug through them, muttering to himself. Finally, he pulled out a small vial filled with a shimmering red liquid. "Here," he said, tossing the health potion toward Thorne. "I was supposed to sell this in my shop, but I guess I owe you for giving me my new skill." His voice was more annoyed than grateful, but the gesture was appreciated. Thorne caught the potion with a nod of thanks. He uncorked it, the sharp, almost metallic scent filling his nose. He drank it in one gulp, feeling the warmth of it spread through his body, mending his deeper wounds. It wasn¡¯t instantaneous like the moon¡¯s power, but it helped. Inside the tavern, with no moonlight to touch his skin, his Lunar Regeneration had ceased. The potion was a necessary relief. "Thanks," Thorne said, finally able to sit up without wincing. Jonah waved a hand dismissively, still pacing around the attic. "Yeah, yeah, don¡¯t mention it. Besides, with this skill of mine, I¡¯ll be swimming in potions soon. Gold¡¯s Whisper is already paying off." Thorne managed a smile, but his mind was elsewhere. "What about Darius?" he asked, trying to shift the conversation away from his own situation. Jonah shrugged. "He came by earlier to check up on us. Stayed for a minute, then rushed off with his guard buddies. Apparently, they¡¯re running all over the city trying to keep people calm. You know, with the whole ¡®magical explosion¡¯ and all." Jonah¡¯s tone was casual, but Thorne could tell his friend was still thinking about the earlier conversation. Before Thorne could respond, Ben finally stirred. The large boy took a deep breath, his chest heaving as if he had been holding it underwater for far too long. Thorne¡¯s Veil Sense hummed in the back of his mind, alerting him to a sudden spike of aether coming from Ben. It wasn¡¯t aggressive, but the surge was undeniable. Ben blinked, his eyes a bit glassy as he came out of the Alchemical Trance, and then his face lit up with excitement. He immediately started signing with his hands, his fingers moving rapidly. I learned a new recipe, Ben signed, his eyes wide with enthusiasm. My new skill showed me how to make it. I don¡¯t know if that¡¯ll happen every time, but¡­ I did it. I created something new. Thorne smiled. Ben was practically glowing, but beneath that excitement, he noticed the boy looked drained. Exhausted, even. Jonah, ever the opportunist, leaned in eagerly. ¡°Wait, wait. What potion? Let me see it!¡± His eyes gleamed with a mix of curiosity and greed as Ben reached for the small vial sitting on his workstation. With a somewhat hesitant look, Ben handed the potion to Jonah. It was a deep azure color, shimmering slightly in the dim attic light. Jonah¡¯s eyes widened as he turned the vial over in his hands. "What is this? What does it do?" Ben signed quickly, his excitement not fading despite his exhaustion. It¡¯s called the Elixir of Flow. It increases the flow of aether in the body for a short period of time. Not a huge boost, but it can help with channeling magic. Or¡­ at least, that¡¯s what it¡¯s supposed to do. I¡¯ll need to test it. Jonah¡¯s grin stretched ear to ear. "This¡­ this could be huge!" he muttered, almost to himself. "If this works, we could sell it for a fortune! Ben, do you have any idea what this means for us?" You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. Thorne, however, was watching Ben closely. The boy looked pale and drained, as if he¡¯d just gone through a battle of his own. His hands shook slightly, and he swayed on his feet, catching himself on the edge of the potion station. Without a word, Thorne stood and crossed the room to him, gently guiding Ben away from the workstation. "You need to rest," he said firmly, helping him to the bed. "That skill took a lot out of you. Don¡¯t push yourself." Ben didn¡¯t resist, his eyelids already drooping as he settled onto the mattress. His large frame sagged against the pillows, and within moments, he was blinking sleepily, his energy spent. Jonah, meanwhile, was still turning the vial over in his hands, his mind clearly racing with possibilities. "Do you have any idea what this could mean?" he repeated, his voice full of excitement. "This could be our big break." Thorne shot him a glance, his patience running thin. He crossed the room and lightly slapped Jonah on the back of the head. Jonah yelped, glaring up at him. "What was that for?" Jonah demanded, rubbing the back of his head. "Ben needs rest. You should, too," Thorne said, his voice firm but not unkind. "We¡¯ve all been through a lot, and you¡¯re already dreaming up merchant empires. Let it wait." Jonah grumbled but didn¡¯t argue, his eyes still lingering on the potion. "Fine," he muttered, tucking the vial away for later. "But don¡¯t think I¡¯m letting this go. We¡¯re talking about this later." Thorne managed a tired smile, shaking his head. "I¡¯m sure we will." With a final glance at his friends, Thorne turned and headed toward the door. His body still ached, and his mind was spinning with everything that had happened, but there was one more thing he needed to do before he could rest. "Where are you going?" Jonah asked, his voice more curious than accusatory. "To Uncle''s mansion," Thorne replied, pausing at the door. "I need to check on something." Jonah frowned but didn¡¯t push further. With a last look at Ben, who was already drifting off to sleep, Thorne stepped out of the attic and made his way back into the night, the weight of the day pressing down on him as he headed toward the mansion. As Thorne made his way toward the noble quarter, his footsteps echoed through the empty streets. The fish market, which was normally bustling with shady characters lurking in the shadows, was eerily quiet. Upturned stalls littered the area, broken crates spilling their contents across the cobblestones. Not even the usual night dwellers were around. The only movement came from a stray cat, its glowing yellow eyes following him as it meowed softly from atop an overturned barrel. The sight was unsettling in its own way¡ªAlvar had always had a pulse, even in the darkest hours. Now, it felt like the city was holding its breath. As he passed deeper into the heart of the city, Thorne noticed the damage became less severe. The center of Alvar looked almost intact, with only a few signs of destruction here and there¡ªbroken shutters, a toppled sign, a cracked window. It wasn¡¯t enough to suggest total chaos, but something about the quiet stillness left him uneasy. Then, something ahead stopped him in his tracks. Guards clustered in a wide circle, their shouts cutting through the night air. In the middle of them stood a man, his face feverish, wild-eyed with a manic grin stretching across his features. The guards were yelling at him, tightening their perimeter, their weapons drawn but not yet attacking. Thorne could tell something was wrong¡ªterribly wrong. Beside the man were two stone statues. But Thorne knew better. Before his eyes, a guard stepped just a little too close to the man, and a sickening crack filled the air. The guard¡¯s skin began to gray, his movements slowing as the stone crept over his body, locking him in place. His expression was frozen in terror as the transformation took hold. Thorne¡¯s blood ran cold. The man was rooted to the ground, focused intently on his new skill, the manic grin never leaving his face as he watched the guard turn to stone. It was only when the other guards seized their opportunity¡ªrushing forward to tackle the man¡ªthat Thorne exhaled. They wrestled him to the ground, one of them pulling a sack over his head. The moment the sack was in place, the man stopped struggling, the stone spreading no further. They¡¯d subdued him, but the sight of the statues and the helpless, now half-petrified guard left Thorne deeply disturbed. Not every skill is simple, he thought, his stomach twisting. Some are dangerous¡ªdeadly. He didn¡¯t linger, knowing he couldn¡¯t help here. But the scene weighed heavily on him. People were gaining unimaginable power overnight. For some, it was a blessing. For others, like the man with the petrifying skill, it was the kind of power they had always craved. Alvar had changed, and not for the better. Thorne continued on, his steps quickening. But the city had one more reminder for him. A few streets later, he heard desperate screams. His head snapped toward the sound as a man ran frantically through the streets, his voice hoarse with terror. The man glanced back over his shoulder, and Thorne followed his gaze, expecting to see a beast or something dangerous in pursuit. What he saw instead made his brow furrow in confusion¡ªa grinning green skull, floating after the man like a child¡¯s harmless prank. The skull¡¯s grotesque grin was unsettling, but Thorne¡¯s Veil Sense kicked in, giving him a clearer picture. The skull was barely giving off a twinge of aether. It wasn¡¯t harmful¡ªat least not in any real sense. It looked terrifying, but it lacked any significant power. Thorne shook his head, trying to stifle the uneasy laugh that bubbled up. Whether the skill was the screaming man¡¯s or someone else¡¯s, it seemed more nuisance than danger. The city was quickly filling with strange and unpredictable manifestations of magic. By the time Thorne reached his uncle¡¯s mansion, the air felt thick with tension. The imposing structure loomed in the distance, the large iron gate standing as it always had¡ªsturdy, impenetrable. The guards stationed at the gate eyed him warily as he approached, as if nothing had changed. But Thorne¡¯s Veil Sense flared again, informing him of their levels: 24 and 32. He suppressed a smirk. He overleveled them both by a wide margin. The satisfaction that washed over him was hard to ignore. For so long, these guards had looked down on him, treating him like the dirt beneath their boots. But now, he was stronger than either of them, and the knowledge gave him a thrill he didn¡¯t bother to hide. He approached the gate with his head held high, and as the guards glared at him, he couldn¡¯t help but mock them. ¡°Hope that aether wave blessed you with a decent skill,¡± Thorne said casually, his smirk deepening. ¡°Because you¡¯re going to need it. You suck.¡± The younger guard¡¯s face reddened, and he took a step forward, his hand drifting toward the hilt of his sword. ¡°What did you say, you¡ª?¡± Before the boy could finish his sentence, the older guard grabbed his arm, yanking him back with a warning look. ¡°Stop it,¡± he murmured under his breath, his voice just low enough that most wouldn¡¯t hear. Most, but not Thorne. ¡°Now that the dirty boy¡¯s the master¡¯s heir,¡± the older guard continued quietly, ¡°you¡¯d best keep your mouth shut if you want to keep your job.¡± Dirty boy. Thorne felt the spite rise within him like a flame, but he kept his expression neutral. He¡¯d heard that insult too many times to let it faze him anymore. With his head held high, Thorne walked past the two guards, not bothering to look back. But as he reached the gate, a final retort slipped from his lips. ¡°Careful not to trip over your dirty feet.¡± The older guard scowled and turned, but Thorne was already ready. With a subtle flick of his fingers, he formed Invisible Threads and looped them around the guard¡¯s feet. One sharp tug, and the man lost his balance, stumbling forward. His armor clanged loudly against the cobblestone, the metallic sound echoing through the courtyard. Thorne stifled a laugh as the man cursed, struggling to get back to his feet. With a mock salute, Thorne turned and strode toward the mansion door, the satisfaction of the moment lingering as he stepped inside. CHAPTER 114 Thorne had entered the mansion expecting someone, anyone, to greet him. The servants, ever-present and diligent, usually appeared the moment he stepped through the door. But tonight, the grand hall was empty, silent. It was peculiar, but given the chaos in the city, it wasn¡¯t much of a surprise. The aether wave had shaken everything, including the well-oiled machine that was Uncle¡¯s household. Still, the quiet was a relief. The last thing Thorne wanted was conversation or questions. His body ached, the deep wounds from the panther battle still gnawing at him despite the health potion Jonah had given him. All he craved was a soft bed, and the chance to lose himself in sleep. The usual pomp and circumstance was gone¡ªno servants appeared to help him, no greetings of ¡°Master Thorne.¡± It felt strange, almost unnerving, but he welcomed the solitude. He washed up in silence, grimacing with each movement as his tender wounds pulled tight. Most of his injuries were nearly healed, but some, deeper and fiercer, still lingered. His core felt better, too¡ªmending, bit by bit, though still fragile. His mind wandered back to the explosion, the aether, the Lunaris Panthera. He swallowed hard, pushing the memories aside. Soon, he thought, everything would return to normal. He just needed time. Thorne collapsed into bed, the feathered cushion cradling his head like a long-lost friend. Sleep took him the moment his eyes closed. * He woke early the next morning, blinking into the soft light that streamed through the windows. His body still ached, but it was a dull throb rather than the sharp pain from the night before. To his surprise, he felt¡­ good. Lighter, almost. He couldn¡¯t remember the last time he had felt this at ease. Whistling softly, Thorne dressed in a casual burgundy shirt, tucking his pendant beneath the fabric. His footsteps echoed as he descended the grand marbled staircase, the mouth-watering scent of breakfast already drawing him downstairs. Matilda, ever the diligent cook, had clearly been hard at work since dawn. The smells of fried dough, warm meats, and fresh bread floated up to him. As he reached the bottom floor, he spotted a servant carrying a plate of sugared fried dough. She blushed when she saw him, offering a nervous smile before scurrying away. Thorne barely registered her reaction. His mind was too focused on the food, the table already set for what looked like a feast. The grand dining table was covered with dozens of plates¡ªsavory meats, fresh pastries, fruits, cheeses, and sweets piled high, enough to feed a small army. Thorne grabbed a plate and filled it with reckless abandon, his appetite ravenous after the events of the previous day. He sat down, halfway through his first plate of food when the door creaked open. Uncle appeared, trailing behind him a few sleepy servants. He hobbled inside, his clothes wrinkled and his eyes heavy with fatigue. It was rare to see him so disheveled, as though the night had been too much even for him. Uncle yawned deeply, blinking at Thorne as though he was surprised to see him. ¡°You¡¯re awake,¡± he muttered, rubbing his eyes. Thorne nodded, raising his fork with an easy smile, though beneath the surface his mind was anything but calm. His Mask of Deceit was in place, as it always was in Uncle¡¯s presence. ¡°I could say the same to you,¡± he remarked casually, his voice betraying none of the wariness he felt. Uncle sat heavily at the head of the table, and a servant immediately stepped forward to fill his plate. He let out another yawn, rubbing his temples as if to dispel the fog of sleep. Thorne studied him from the corner of his eye. Uncle¡¯s normally sharp demeanor was dulled by exhaustion, but that only made the man more dangerous in Thorne¡¯s eyes. "Rough night?" Thorne asked, his tone light, though he already knew the answer. Uncle grunted as his plate was placed before him. "You don¡¯t know half of it." He grabbed a syrup-soaked pancake, stuffing it into his mouth with little grace. "I see you¡¯re alright," he added, his eyes narrowing as he scanned Thorne¡¯s body with sudden sharpness. The fatigue didn¡¯t dull his perceptiveness, and Thorne could feel those eyes lingering on his healed wounds, as if searching for something deeper. Thorne shrugged, careful to keep his voice even. ¡°I was with Jonah and Ben in the attic. It was scary, but we were safe.¡± The lie slid easily off his tongue, his Acting skill smoothing over any cracks in the story, while his Echoes of Truth gave it just the right amount of conviction. Uncle stared at him for a long moment, the silence stretching between them. It was hard to tell whether he believed the story or was simply filing away the information for later. His expression remained unreadable, and Thorne¡¯s heart beat just a little faster as he waited. After what felt like an eternity, Uncle shoved another pancake into his mouth. ¡°You left the guild,¡± he stated flatly. Thorne¡¯s stomach tightened, but he kept his expression neutral, his voice nonchalant. "I did," he replied with a shrug. "For good." Uncle¡¯s response was as casual as it was surprising. ¡°That¡¯s fine. You¡¯ll still go through your last trial and become a full member, but as far as I¡¯m concerned, you¡¯ve gained whatever you needed to gain.¡± Thorne blinked. For a moment, he wasn¡¯t sure how to react. Uncle was being far too¡­ relaxed about the situation. Thorne had expected a reaction, something more pointed, but Uncle seemed unbothered. His mind raced, wondering if this was some kind of trap, a test to see how Thorne would respond. Uncle rarely did anything without purpose, and his casual demeanor only heightened Thorne¡¯s wariness. Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. The servant returned, this time with a carafe of wine, pouring a full goblet for Uncle, filling it to the brim. Thorne¡¯s eyes twitched, though he quickly buried the reaction. Wine this early? It wasn¡¯t unusual for Uncle, but it still seemed excessive, especially after a long night. They ate in silence for a while, Uncle shoveling food into his mouth as if he hadn¡¯t eaten in days. It wasn¡¯t just hunger, Thorne realized¡ªit was indulgence. Uncle had always been a man who consumed everything around him¡ªresources, people, and, most recently, Thorne¡¯s time and presence. And lately, Thorne had noticed a shift. He had become more than just another tool for Uncle¡¯s schemes¡ªhe had become someone Uncle counted on. It unsettled him in ways he didn¡¯t quite understand. Their relationship had evolved, but not in a way Thorne had expected. There was something suffocating about being pulled deeper into Uncle¡¯s orbit, knowing that each step forward made it harder to escape. ¡°The aether phenomenon couldn¡¯t have come at a worse time,¡± Uncle muttered between mouthfuls. Thorne set his fork down carefully, bracing himself. This was no idle conversation. Uncle wanted to talk, which usually meant venting his frustrations¡ªand Thorne had become the one to hear them. When Thorne had become that person for Uncle was unclear, but lately, Thorne had the sense that Uncle saw him as a confidant, someone to unload his troubles onto. ¡°I was in a meeting with Lord Thornfield last night,¡± Uncle continued, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. ¡°The man¡¯s a weasel¡ªfidgety, unpredictable. He knew I wanted something from him the moment I walked in.¡± Thorne listened silently, his eyes fixed on his uncle. ¡°He knew someone helped Lord Durnell take control of the city. He just didn¡¯t know it was me. Well¡­ last night, he found out.¡± ¡°And of course, everything had to come crashing down at the worst possible time.¡± He took a long swig from his goblet, his eyes flashing with frustration. ¡°The wave hit right when Thornfield was starting to see reason. The fool thought I was the one responsible for the explosion. Started throwing accusations, threatening me. If it weren¡¯t for the Lost Ones, he might¡¯ve lost his mind.¡± His eyes darkened. ¡°It took a squad of Lost Ones to restrain and calm him down.¡± Uncle shook his head, his expression sour. ¡°And then the whole city went mad. I was all over the place, putting out fires¡ªboth literal and figurative. Gang leaders tried to seize the chaos, shipments were disrupted, and peculiar phenomena tore through my establishments.¡± He sighed, leaning back in his chair and taking a long drink from his goblet. Thorne remained silent, though his heart pounded in his chest. Uncle¡¯s words hit too close to the truth. If only you knew how right you are, Thorne thought, doing his best to keep his face neutral. ¡°And what about you?¡± Uncle asked suddenly, his eyes sharper than before. ¡°What skill did you get?¡± Thorne¡¯s instincts screamed at him to stay calm. He couldn¡¯t tell Uncle the truth about his aetheric abilities¡ªthose were far too dangerous to reveal. His mind raced, and he settled on a half-truth. ¡°I gained a skill that lets me blend into any environment, regardless of light levels.¡± Uncle¡¯s eyebrows shot up, his near-gone hairline disappearing beneath his forehead. "That¡¯s a powerful skill," he said, sounding genuinely impressed. Thorne nodded, inwardly relieved that the vague explanation seemed to satisfy Uncle for the moment. Technically, it wasn¡¯t a complete lie. Stealth had been part of his arsenal for some time. But still, Thorne had learned long ago that Uncle had a knack for detecting deception. He wasn¡¯t sure if it was a skill or sheer intuition, but his Echoes of Truth helped circumvent it, though not entirely. ¡°So, it¡¯s true?¡± Thorne asked, trying to redirect the conversation. ¡°Everyone got a new skill last night?¡± Uncle hummed in confirmation, his eyes distant as he considered the implications. "It appears so. I hate when complications throw a wrench into my plans." He muttered to himself, lost in thought. "You may find some opportunity amid the chaos," Thorne offered carefully. Uncle nodded absently. "Maybe. But I don¡¯t like not knowing all the variables. What caused the phenomenon? Was it natural? Or did someone cause it? If so, what was the purpose?" His voice grew more frustrated. "Was the goal achieved? Or will it happen again? Too many unknowns." Thorne fought to keep his expression neutral as Uncle spoke, each word cutting closer to the truth. The questions hung in the air. He could feel Uncle¡¯s frustration growing, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on both of them. Uncle liked control, and the aether wave had thrown everything into disarray. A knock at the door broke the tension. Uncle tensed, glancing toward the entrance with narrowed eyes. ¡°Come in,¡± he barked. Arletta entered, her face as calm and unreadable as ever. She bowed slightly to Uncle before turning to Thorne. "Young Master," she greeted him, her formality almost mocking. Thorne nearly laughed at her sudden politeness, but he kept his face blank. Uncle grunted. "What is it?" "Master," Arletta said, her voice steady. "There¡¯s been an incident at the docks. You¡¯re needed immediately." Uncle cursed under his breath. "Another problem?" he growled. Arletta nodded. "Yes, Master. It seems more serious than before. It¡¯s not just another gang leader." Uncle heaved himself up from the chair with a string of curses, turning to Thorne with a final glance. "You have one week to prepare. You¡¯ll be making your debut in Alvar society as Thorne Silverbane next week." Thorne¡¯s stomach flipped, but he kept his face impassive. "Make sure he¡¯s ready," Uncle muttered to Arletta before storming out of the room. "It will be done," Arletta replied, bowing once more as Uncle disappeared. Thorne remained seated, his heart still hammering in his chest. The silence that filled the room felt heavy, oppressive, like the weight of the entire mansion was pressing down on him. He reached out for another grape, his hand trembling slightly as his mind raced. Level 82 His Veil Sense had finally managed to get a proper read on Uncle, and the number sent a chill down his spine. He had always known his uncle was powerful, but this? This was something else entirely. Uncle¡¯s influence and cunning were already formidable, but to possess such raw strength? It was beyond anything Thorne had expected. What does that mean for me? The thought surged to the forefront of his mind. He had been playing this game, carefully navigating the intricate web of manipulation and power that surrounded Uncle, but now, with this knowledge¡­ How could he ever truly be free of him? Thorne felt sweat bead at the back of his neck as the weight of the revelation sunk in. Uncle had been hiding his strength¡ªof course he had. That was his way, always keeping his cards close to his chest, always a step ahead. How much more had he concealed from Thorne? How many layers of power and control did Uncle possess that he hadn¡¯t even begun to reveal? Level 82 The number echoed in his mind. His uncle wasn¡¯t just a schemer, a manipulator¡ªhe was an apex predator in a world that had just become far more dangerous. CHAPTER 115 Thorne stood still, arms outstretched, as the servant worked on the last fastenings of his jacket. The servant¡ªa young, nervous man¡ªmoved with deliberate care, his hands shaking ever so slightly as he fumbled with the intricate silver clasps on Thorne¡¯s cuffs. Thorne glanced down, catching sight of the young man¡¯s furrowed brow and darting eyes. The servant was clearly terrified of making a mistake. ¡°Steady,¡± Thorne muttered, his voice low and restrained. The servant blinked and quickly nodded, focusing harder on his task. Thorne forced himself to remain still, though the formality of it all was beginning to wear on his nerves. The tailored jacket clung snugly to his frame, its deep burgundy fabric heavy with silver embroidery that shimmered in the soft morning light filtering in through the windows. ¡°Where¡¯s Uncle?¡± Thorne asked, breaking the silence. His voice was sharper than he intended, but the uncertainty gnawed at him. His uncle had been absent, more so than usual. In the past few days, Thorne had barely seen him, only hearing rumors about the growing unrest in the city. Arletta¡¯s eyes narrowed, studying him for a moment before answering. "Your uncle has been busy, as I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve noticed. The city isn¡¯t what it once was." Thorne nodded slowly, his thoughts drifting. Alvar was changing¡ªshifting beneath his feet. The once-stable currents of aether had become erratic, rippling through the city like waves crashing against rocks. There was something wrong with the flow of magic in the air. Thorne had felt it, that imbalance, as if the very core of the city¡¯s magic was trying to right itself after being thrown off balance. More people were showing strange skills. Useful for some, dangerous for others. He thought of the chaos he had witnessed in the streets, the guards struggling to contain the damage from people discovering new abilities they had no idea how to control. But worse still were the creatures¡ªconstructs of aether, creatures born from the magic itself. They had appeared suddenly, wreaking havoc before the city guards, ill-equipped to handle such threats, had brought them down. Ill-equipped and under-leveled, Thorne thought to himself. The guards aren''t ready for this... they were used to chasing drunks, not fighting magical beasts. The servant finished with the jacket, then moved to adjust the collar. Thorne felt the young man¡¯s hands graze the skin of his neck as he pulled the fabric tight. The pressure of the collar was uncomfortable, pressing against his throat with a stifling kind of formality. He gritted his teeth, holding back a sigh. The clothes were immaculate, yes, but they felt like armor¡ªheavy, restrictive, and not his own. The servant straightened Thorne¡¯s sleeves, his hands lingering on the edges of the cuffs before he stepped back, surveying his work. ¡°Is it... satisfactory, my lord?¡± the servant asked, his voice small and uncertain. Thorne glanced at his reflection in the full-length mirror. The man staring back at him was barely recognizable. His dark hair, slicked back with precision, gleamed under the light. The jacket fit perfectly, the sharp lines of the tailored fabric enhancing his broad shoulders and lean frame. His polished boots caught the sunlight, reflecting an image of someone completely at ease in this world of nobles. And the truth was, he actually felt comfortable in these clothes. He gave a curt nod to the servant, who breathed an audible sigh of relief and stepped back further, keeping his eyes downcast. Thorne couldn¡¯t blame the young man. The mansion had been filled with tension over the past few days, and everyone¡ªfrom the servants to the guards¡ªseemed to be walking on eggshells. Alvar was on the verge of something, and everyone could feel it. ¡°Who controls the Lockridge lands?¡± Arletta¡¯s sharp voice cut through the silence, pulling Thorne back to the present. ¡°Lady Elena Lockridge,¡± Thorne answered instinctively, his eyes still on his reflection. The name, the alliances, the details¡ªall of it had been drilled into him for days. He didn¡¯t need to think anymore. The answers came automatically, as if he had lived and breathed them for years. ¡°And their current allegiance?¡± Arletta pressed, her tone unrelenting. ¡°Neutral for now,¡± Thorne replied, forcing himself to remain calm. ¡°But leaning toward the Ravencourts.¡± Arletta nodded, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she stood by the door, watching his every move like a hawk. She had been relentless since dawn, pushing him harder than ever before. It wasn¡¯t just about knowing the names or alliances¡ªit was about understanding the delicate balance of power that was constantly shifting in Alvar. And now, more than ever, Thorne needed to be ready to step into that web of politics without getting caught. He turned slightly toward her, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface. ¡°I know who I need to approach,¡± he muttered, unable to hide his irritation. Arletta raised an eyebrow but remained silent. Her eyes flicked to the servant, who quickly bowed and scurried out of the room, eager to escape the tension that had thickened the air. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Thorne alone with Arletta. She took a step forward, her movements controlled, deliberate. ¡°This isn¡¯t Valewind,¡± she said, her voice low but firm. ¡°This is a different game. You can¡¯t just survive. You have to thrive. And for that, you need to understand that every word, every glance, every gesture matters.¡± Thorne met her gaze, his jaw tight. ¡°I know that. I¡¯m not some child.¡± ¡°Then act like it,¡± Arletta snapped, her eyes narrowing. ¡°You¡¯re walking into a pit of vipers. The slightest misstep, and you¡¯ll be swallowed whole.¡± Thorne clenched his fists, his patience wearing thin. ¡°I survived Valewind. I can handle this.¡± ¡°Valewind,¡± Arletta said with a cold chuckle, ¡°was chaos. This¡ª¡± she gestured to the mansion, the city beyond¡ª¡°is order. And order can be far more dangerous. At least in chaos, you can predict the next blow.¡± Thorne¡¯s eyes flashed with anger. He stepped toward her, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous tone. ¡°You think I don¡¯t know that? You think I haven¡¯t been preparing for this?¡± Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. ¡°I think,¡± Arletta said sharply, her tone icy, ¡°that you¡¯re not taking this seriously enough.¡± Before Thorne could respond, she reached into the folds of her cloak and pulled out an envelope. The creamy parchment was sealed with an elaborate wax crest¡ªHouse Langston¡¯s crest. ¡°This arrived earlier today,¡± she said, handing him the invitation. ¡°The Langstons are hosting a garden brunch. It seems the rumors your uncle spread about hosting a traveling noble have finally caught someone¡¯s attention.¡± Thorne took the envelope, his eyes narrowing as he ran his fingers over the seal. The Langstons. A fallen house, once powerful, now barely clinging to their noble status. Lady Rosalind Langston had her fingers in every political pot in Alvar, despite her family¡¯s decline. The fact that they were the ones to extend the first invitation wasn¡¯t surprising. Lady Rosalind was desperate to align herself with anyone who could restore her family¡¯s former glory. ¡°Your uncle has been careful,¡± Arletta continued. ¡°He let just enough rumors slip about you¡ªabout Lord Thorne Silverbane, the southern noble traveling the kingdom for adventure. The Langstons, as expected, took the bait. They¡¯re desperate for new alliances, especially ones that seem... promising.¡± Thorne¡¯s eyes flicked up from the envelope, his anger cooling slightly as the weight of the situation settled over him. He knew what today meant. His first step into Alvar¡¯s noble circles. His first test. ¡°Lady Rosalind is cunning,¡± Arletta warned, her voice dropping slightly. ¡°She¡¯ll want to know everything about you. She¡¯ll be watching for any sign of weakness.¡± Thorne slid his thumb under the seal, breaking the wax as he pulled out the invitation. The words on the parchment were formal, elegant, inviting him to the garden brunch as a guest of honor. He folded the invitation and slipped it into his pocket, exhaling slowly. Sculpted Persona began to settle into place again, wrapping around him like a cloak. The southern lord he had been rehearsing for days came to the surface, smoothing out the tension in his shoulders, softening the sharp edges of his frustration. ¡°I know what¡¯s expected of me,¡± he said, his voice calmer now, more controlled. Arletta¡¯s eyes flickered, her lips pressing into a thin line. ¡°Good. But remember, this isn¡¯t about being the loudest voice in the room. You¡¯re there to observe. To find the cracks.¡± Thorne nodded, though the frustration still simmered beneath the surface. ¡°I know.¡± Arletta stared at him for a long moment, then took a step back, her gaze hardening again. ¡°And your cover?¡± Thorne¡¯s jaw tightened. ¡°I¡¯m a southern lord. Traveling the kingdom to see the people, eager for adventure.¡± He forced the words out, biting back the urge to snap at her again. ¡°Then act like it,¡± Arletta said, her voice cold. She reached into her cloak again, pulling out the familiar signet ring¡ªthe same one he had worn in Valewind when he was pretending to be a noble. She held it out to him, her expression unreadable. Thorne took the ring, sliding it onto his finger. The weight of it felt heavier now, more final, as if he wouldn¡¯t take it out ever again. The life he had known¡ªthe orphan boy from before¡ªwas slipping further away with each passing day. He had learned to wear different faces, to slip into different skins when needed. Sculpted Persona had become a part of him, and now it was more than just a skill. It was his survival. As Thorne admired the ring on his finger, Arletta stepped closer, her tone softening slightly. ¡°I advise you to take some of the Lost Ones with you,¡± she said. ¡°They can pose as servants, guards. You may need backup if things go wrong.¡± Thorne¡¯s body stiffened, his hand curling into a fist as he turned to face her. The mention of the Lost Ones¡ªthe guild he had left, the betrayal still raw¡ªstoked the anger he had been holding back. He could feel the heat rising inside him, the bitterness gnawing at his chest. ¡°I don¡¯t need the Lost Ones,¡± Thorne said sharply, his voice hard. He stepped toward Arletta, his gaze locking onto hers. ¡°Uncle has already approved my helper. I don¡¯t need anyone else.¡± Arletta¡¯s eyes narrowed, and for the first time in days, Thorne saw a flicker of surprise¡ªmaybe even defiance¡ªin her gaze. ¡°This isn¡¯t a game,¡± she said, her voice low and biting. ¡°You can¡¯t afford to let your pride get in the way.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not pride,¡± Thorne shot back, his voice rising. ¡°I don¡¯t need anyone else.¡± ¡°They¡¯re more experienced than Jonah,¡± Arletta snapped. ¡°They can protect you.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t need protection,¡± Thorne growled, stepping closer. ¡°And I don¡¯t need the Lost Ones. They¡¯re not coming with me.¡± ¡°You¡¯re being reckless,¡± Arletta said, her voice tight with frustration. ¡°You¡¯re letting your emotions cloud your judgment.¡± Thorne clenched his fists, his breath coming faster. ¡°I¡¯m not taking the Lost Ones. End of discussion.¡± Arletta stared at him, her lips pressed into a thin, furious line. For a moment, it seemed like she might argue further, but then she exhaled sharply, stepping back. ¡°Fine,¡± she said coldly. ¡°But don¡¯t say I didn¡¯t ...¡± Thorne cut her off, stepping forward with a deliberate weight behind his words. "Don¡¯t forget your place, Arletta," he said quietly, but with enough venom to leave no doubt about his meaning. "I don¡¯t answer to you." A brief flicker of something¡ªsurprise, anger¡ªflashed in her eyes, but it was gone just as quickly. She pressed her lips together and inclined her head ever so slightly, taking a step back. "As you wish, young master." Thorne didn¡¯t respond. He turned on his heel, heading for the door. His patience had worn thin, and the weight of what was to come pressed heavily on his shoulders. As he descended the staircase to the main floor, Thorne forced himself to breathe deeply, to calm the storm that raged inside him. Sculpted Persona slid back into place, easing the tension in his chest, smoothing his voice, his thoughts. The role he had to play was clear now. The southern lord was fully formed. Arletta trailed behind him, a silent shadow, but he paid her no mind. His decision was made, and he had no intention of changing it. He reached the grand entrance, the door already ajar, letting the morning sunlight filter in. The crisp air was a welcome relief as Thorne stepped outside, feeling the warmth of the sun on his face. He squinted slightly, taking in the sight of the courtyard. By the gate, Jonah stood awkwardly, tugging at the high collar of his new shirt. His eyes were wide, darting between the mansion and the guards, who were glaring at him with obvious disdain. Jonah looked completely out of place, but the sight of him¡ªso uncomfortable, so unrefined¡ªbrought a genuine smile to Thorne¡¯s face. ¡°Ready to cause some trouble?¡± Thorne called out, amusement flickering in his voice. Jonah blinked, tearing his gaze away from the mansion. He grinned nervously, still tugging at his collar. ¡°If this collar doesn¡¯t kill me first,¡± he muttered. ¡°I swear, nobles must enjoy torturing themselves.¡± Thorne laughed, clapping Jonah on the back as they started walking. ¡°You¡¯ll get used to it,¡± he said. ¡°Besides, we¡¯re not here to enjoy it. We¡¯re here to survive it.¡± Jonah made a face, clearly unconvinced. ¡°I¡¯m just trying not to trip over my own feet.¡± They stepped out of the courtyard and into the bustling streets of Alvar. The morning sun bathed the city in a golden glow, casting long shadows across the cobblestone roads. The streets were already coming to life, merchants setting up stalls, children darting between wagons, and the scent of fresh bread and flowers filling the air. But Thorne¡¯s mind was already turning, focused on the task ahead. The garden party. A seemingly innocent gathering of nobles, but Thorne knew better. This was the first real test. His first step into a world where every word mattered. Where every move could either secure his place¡ªor destroy it. As they walked toward House Langston¡¯s estate, Thorne glanced at Jonah. His friend was still fussing with his collar, looking like he¡¯d rather be anywhere but here. Thorne smiled. ¡°Come on, Jonah. Let¡¯s see what kind of trouble we can stir up.¡± Jonah grinned back, though there was still a hint of nervousness in his eyes. ¡°Lead the way, spider prince.¡± And with that, they set off toward their first taste of noble life. P.S. Shoutout to CharlyHa for Thorne¡¯s awesome new nickname! ?? Here¡¯s to the Spider Prince! ????? CHAPTER 116 Thorne and Jonah walked side by side down the cobbled streets of Alvar¡¯s noble quarter, their footsteps echoing in the cool morning air. The sun was just beginning to rise higher, casting long shadows from the tall, imposing buildings that lined the streets. Each mansion they passed was grander than the last, their fa?ades gleaming in the light, but none seemed to draw much attention. It was as though the nobility here had retreated into their estates, hiding from the chaos that gripped the city. Jonah, fidgety, glanced at Thorne as they approached the Langston mansion. His fingers tugged at the collar of his shirt, his discomfort obvious. ¡°This place doesn¡¯t look all that different from Uncle¡¯s,¡± Jonah muttered, eyeing the tall iron gates and the mansion beyond. Thorne nodded slightly, his eyes scanning the estate. He couldn¡¯t argue with that. From a distance, it was almost a mirror image of Uncle¡¯s home¡ªgrand, elegant, and steeped in age-old wealth. But something about it felt off. The noble quarter wasn¡¯t large, and Thorne already knew the layout of the houses well enough to be certain that this was Lady Rosalind Langston¡¯s estate. Yet there was no bustling activity, no signs of the lavish, ostentatious displays he had come to expect from noble gatherings. No line of carriages filled with eager guests, no servants and bodyguards standing at attention. Jonah shifted nervously beside him. ¡°Uh... are we sure this is the right place?¡± Thorne shot him a glance, feeling the tension between them rise. ¡°Yes. I know whose house this is,¡± he said quietly, his eyes flicking toward the two lone guards stationed at the gate. The guards, dressed in simple but well-maintained uniforms, straightened as Thorne approached. Their expressions were neutral, betraying no emotion. Thorne held his head high, his southern noble persona already in place. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the invitation Arletta had given him earlier. The Langston family crest gleamed in the morning light as he handed it over to one of the guards. The guard took the envelope, examining it for a moment before nodding to his companion. "Wait here," he said curtly, stepping through the gate and disappearing down the path toward the house. Thorne exchanged a glance with Jonah, who looked even more out of place as the seconds stretched on. Moments later, a man in uniform rushed toward them from the mansion. He was older, his back slightly hunched, and his face lined with years of service. The butler bowed deeply as he reached Thorne. ¡°My lord, we¡¯ve been expecting you,¡± he said, his voice smooth and practiced. ¡°Please, follow me.¡± With a small nod, Thorne followed the butler through the gates, Jonah trailing behind. They walked up a stone path flanked by neatly trimmed hedges and flower beds, the house looming ahead of them. As they neared the entrance, Thorne couldn¡¯t help but glance around surreptitiously, taking in every detail. His eyes moved over the structure¡ªgrand, yes, but there was a certain emptiness to it. The windows were clean but lacked the gleam of constant upkeep. The fa?ade, while impressive, showed signs of wear. The grandiosity of the Langston estate was fading, just as the information Arletta had given him had suggested. House Langston was in decline. They were barely managing to hold onto their noble status. The butler led them through the front door and into a grand foyer. Thorne¡¯s eyes flicked over the space, noting the large marble columns and the intricate, but faded, tapestries that hung on the walls. There was a sense of age here¡ªof wealth that had once been immense but was now struggling to maintain its dignity. He could feel it in the air, the quiet desperation that lingered beneath the surface of the well-kept, yet sparse, furnishings. They crossed the foyer and moved into a large sitting area. Again, the room was elegant, but sparse. The few pieces of furniture that adorned the space were ancient, each one valuable in its own right. Thorne could tell at a glance that the tapestries and sculptures were relics from another era, priceless artifacts that had likely been passed down through generations. But there was nothing new, nothing modern. It was as if House Langston was living off the remnants of its former glory. ¡°Right this way, my lord,¡± the butler said, guiding them toward a set of tall glass doors that opened into the garden. He pushed the doors wide, allowing the fresh morning air to sweep into the room. Thorne stepped through the doorway and into the garden, his eyes widening slightly as he took in the scene before him. The garden was beautiful, but there was a simplicity to it that caught him off guard. It wasn¡¯t the lavish display of wealth he had expected from a noble party. There were no fountains made of gold, no towering statues or extravagant decorations. Instead, the garden was small and intimate, with carefully tended flower beds lining the stone paths. A modest fountain bubbled quietly in the corner, its waters sparkling in the sunlight. The scent of fresh flowers filled the air, and the soft murmur of conversation drifted from the small group of guests who were already mingling in the garden. Thorne stood still for a moment, struggling to keep his Mask of Deceit in place. The garden was pleasant, yes, but compared to the opulence he had seen in Valewind, it was almost... mundane. The stark difference between what he had expected and what he was seeing left him momentarily unsettled. The nobles here were dressed simply, their clothes fine but not overly showy. There were no extravagant displays of wealth or power, just quiet conversation and small glasses of colorful drinks in hand. A large table sat in the center of the garden, draped in a simple white tablecloth. It was already set, the silverware polished and the porcelain plates arranged neatly, but there was nothing ostentatious about it. No towering displays of food, no garish centerpieces¡ªjust a few vases of fresh flowers and the quiet, understated elegance of a family trying to hold on to its place in noble society. Before Thorne could fully process the scene, an older woman broke away from a group of nobles and approached him, a small smile playing on her lips. She was well-dressed, though her clothes, like the rest of the party, were simple compared to the extravagance Thorne had grown accustomed to in Valewind. Her gray hair was pulled back into an elegant bun, and her eyes, sharp and calculating, were fixed on him. ¡°Ah, you must be Lord Thorne Silverbane,¡± the woman said, her voice warm and gracious. She offered him a polite smile and a small bow of her head. ¡°Welcome. I¡¯m Lady Rosalind Langston.¡± Thorne returned the gesture with a smile of his own and a slight bow, feeling the weight of her gaze as she sized him up. ¡°It¡¯s an honor to meet you, Lady Langston. Thank you for the invitation.¡± Her smile widened, though it didn¡¯t quite reach her eyes. ¡°The pleasure is mine. It¡¯s not every day we have a noble visit from the south. I must admit, we¡¯re all quite curious about what brings you to this... forgotten corner of the kingdom.¡± Thorne kept his smile in place, though inside he could sense that Lady Rosalind¡¯s interest in him was more out of necessity than genuine curiosity. Her words were polite, but her tone carried a hint of something else¡ªsomething calculated. She was doing him the courtesy of being gracious, of including him, but it felt more like a move in a game than a genuine welcome. ¡°I¡¯ve been traveling for some time,¡± Thorne replied smoothly, his Sculpted Persona sliding into place once more. ¡°I wanted to see more of the kingdom, to experience its people and places firsthand. I¡¯ve heard many things about Alvar, and I couldn¡¯t resist visiting.¡± Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. Behind him, Thorne heard the butler leading Jonah away, likely to some other part of the garden or inside the mansion. He resisted the urge to turn and follow his friend, knowing that this was a test¡ªa moment to prove himself among the nobles of Alvar. He was on his own now. Lady Rosalind¡¯s smile remained as she gestured toward the group of nobles she had just left. ¡°Come, let me introduce you to some of our other guests. I¡¯m sure they¡¯ll be just as curious to meet you.¡± Thorne followed her across the garden, his eyes flicking from one noble to the next. As Lady Rosalind introduced him to the group, he could feel the indifference emanating from them. They were polite enough, offering nods and small smiles, but it was clear that they weren¡¯t particularly interested in him. Their glances were brief, their expressions neutral, and none of them bothered to hide their boredom. Thorne forced himself to remain charming, engaging them in light conversation as best he could. He could feel the eyes on him, watching, judging. But no matter how hard he tried, the group seemed distant, as if they were merely tolerating his presence rather than welcoming him into their circle. Before long, Lady Rosalind clinked her glass with a small spoon, drawing the attention of the party. ¡°My dear guests,¡± she said, her voice ringing out across the garden, ¡°please, let¡¯s take our seats. Brunch is ready.¡± The guests moved toward the large table at the center of the garden, and Thorne was guided to his place by a servant. As he took his seat, he glanced around the table, noting the faces of those present. The absence of both the Ravencourts and the Thornfields was obvious. Neither of the most powerful families in Alvar had bothered to attend. Thorne¡¯s eyes flicked back to Lady Rosalind, who took her place at the head of the table. The game was just beginning, and he could already feel the weight of it pressing down on him. The clink of silverware against porcelain filled the air as servants moved gracefully around the table, placing dishes of roasted meats, fresh breads, and vibrant fruits before each guest. The meal was simple, like the rest of the gathering¡ªno towering displays of food, no exotic dishes from distant lands. Just solid, respectable fare, served with quiet efficiency. Thorne picked up his fork, noting the polite murmur of conversation around him. The guests spoke in hushed tones, their voices barely rising above the gentle sound of the fountain bubbling in the garden. He glanced around the table, taking in the faces of the other nobles. Most were older, their expressions a mix of boredom and thinly veiled disinterest. They ate slowly, methodically, as if the act of brunch itself was simply a routine they had long since tired of. Thorne¡¯s mind raced as he tried to gauge the mood, to figure out how to break through their indifference. He had seen far more intricate social maneuvers in Valewind, where every word and glance held layers of meaning. But here, it all felt... flat. Suddenly, Lord Gregory Farroway, seated a few chairs down, turned toward him. Thorne recognized the man immediately¡ªhead of House Farroway, a family that controlled the trade routes to the south. He was older, with a sharp gaze that seemed to cut through the pleasant fa?ade of the gathering. ¡°So, Lord Silverbane,¡± Lord Farroway began, his voice smooth and cultured. ¡°What brings a young man like yourself to Alvar? Not exactly a common destination for one of your rank.¡± The other guests, previously lost in their quiet conversations, turned their attention to Thorne. He could feel their eyes on him now, watching, waiting for his answer. This was it¡ªhis first real test. Thorne smiled, letting his Sculpted Persona slide into place. ¡°I¡¯ve always had a passion for travel,¡± he began, his voice calm and steady. ¡°Before the responsibilities of my family fall on me, I wanted to see as much of the kingdom as I could.¡± Lord Farroway raised an eyebrow, his expression mildly intrigued. ¡°And where have your travels taken you so far?¡± ¡°My last stop was Valewind,¡± Thorne replied smoothly. The mention of Valewind drew a few quiet murmurs from the table. One of the older nobles leaned slightly forward, curiosity flickering in her eyes. ¡°Valewind? I¡¯ve heard there¡¯s been unrest there recently.¡± Thorne nodded, keeping his expression composed. ¡°Yes, it¡¯s true. There was a... particularly grand event that spiraled into chaos. The Grand Ball. Perhaps you¡¯ve heard of it?¡± A few of the nobles exchanged glances, some nodding slightly. Thorne could tell they knew more than they were letting on. Even in this remote corner of the kingdom, the whispers of Valewind¡¯s intrigue had reached their ears. ¡°And what of the route from Valewind to Alvar?¡± another noble, a stern-faced man with graying hair, asked. ¡°I¡¯ve heard it¡¯s become more dangerous. Bandits, rogue adventurers, aether beasts. Not the safest journey for a noble, especially without proper protection.¡± Thorne let out a soft sigh, allowing his Acting skill to take over. His expression shifted, a touch of sadness creeping into his voice. ¡°It was indeed perilous,¡± he admitted. ¡°I lost most of my attendants along the way.¡± The mood around the table shifted slightly. A few of the guests nodded sympathetically, though Thorne could tell their sympathy was mostly performative. They didn¡¯t care about his lost attendants, only the fact that he had survived the journey. Still, his Acting skill worked its magic, making his sorrow appear genuine, his loss heartfelt. Another noble, a sharp-eyed woman with a jeweled brooch pinned to her dress, leaned forward slightly, her curiosity piqued. ¡°And how did you come to be in the care of Master Varyn Eldridge?¡± She trailed off, her eyes narrowing slightly. Thorne blinked, his mind racing for a moment before it clicked. They were talking about Uncle. But, of course, no one here knew his true name. To them, he was just ¡°Master Eldridge¡±, a mysterious figure who held sway over the city¡¯s underworld and noble dealings alike. He paused briefly, crafting his next words carefully. ¡°When we were attacked by those dreadful beasts, our cries were heard by adventurers protecting a cargo for Master Eldridge.¡± He let the name hang in the air, knowing they would fill in the blanks themselves. ¡°They helped us fend off the beasts and, seeing I was in dire need of protection, offered to take me to him. He has been a gracious host so far, though I¡¯ve seen him very little.¡± The faces around the table shifted subtly¡ªsome showing polite interest, others still looking bored or mildly distrustful. Thorne could sense the wariness in their eyes, the unspoken judgment. They didn¡¯t know what to make of him, and worse, they didn¡¯t seem to care. His words were falling on ears that weren¡¯t truly listening. The indifference was palpable. One of the younger nobles, a thin man with a sharp nose and impatient eyes, spoke up next, his voice almost dismissive. ¡°And where do you plan to head next?¡± The tone in the man¡¯s voice wasn¡¯t lost on Thorne. He could feel the unspoken message¡ªwhen will you leave? It was as if the noble couldn¡¯t wait to be rid of him. Thorne suppressed a frown, forcing his smile to remain in place. ¡°I¡¯ve always wanted to visit the capital,¡± Thorne replied smoothly. ¡°But since I¡¯m this far west, I thought I might be a bit more adventurous. I¡¯ve considered heading to the Emerald Shores next.¡± There was a brief silence at the table before a scoff broke it. Down the table, a young man sat with his arms crossed, his large, muscular frame barely contained by the finely tailored suit he wore. His face twisted into a look of disdain, his lips curled in a sneer. Thorne¡¯s eyes flicked toward him, his instincts kicking in. The man¡¯s posture, his broad shoulders, the way he held himself¡ªit was obvious. This must be the young Lord Lockridge, son of Lady Elena. House Lockridge was known for its private army, small but highly trained. If the Thornfields could bring them into their fold, they¡¯d gain a valuable asset. But young Lord Lockridge didn¡¯t seem eager to make friends. ¡°What would you do there?¡± the young man asked, his tone dripping with scorn. ¡°There¡¯s nothing in that kingdom but sand and vipers.¡± Thorne didn¡¯t bother hiding his frown. The crude display was jarring, and what surprised him more was that none of the other nobles seemed to find it inappropriate. There was no disapproval, no muttered rebukes. Even Lady Elena, seated beside her son, didn¡¯t correct him. She merely placed a hand on his thigh, a small, restrained gesture that did little to hide her own simmering frustration. Thorne glanced around the table, reading the expressions of the guests. There was no subtlety here, no hidden half-truths or delicate maneuvering like he had seen in Valewind. It was as if the nobles in Alvar wore their emotions on their sleeves, unfiltered and unrestrained. What you saw was what you got. And right now, what Thorne saw was a group of people who either didn¡¯t trust him, didn¡¯t care about him, or were simply waiting for him to leave. Lady Rosalind, sensing the discomfort that had settled over the table, quickly chimed in, her voice warm and polite. ¡°And how are you finding Alvar, Lord Silverbane? Are you enjoying your stay so far?¡± Thorne forced himself to smile as he turned his attention to the older woman. ¡°Alvar is... different,¡± he said carefully. ¡°It¡¯s a beautiful city, and the people are kind. I¡¯m grateful for the hospitality I¡¯ve received.¡± Lady Rosalind nodded, her own smile firmly in place, though there was a flicker of something behind her eyes. ¡°It is a quiet place, isn¡¯t it? A far cry from the hustle and bustle of the major cities, I imagine.¡± Thorne nodded, making small talk as best he could, but the entire time, a sense of failure gnawed at him. He was getting nowhere with these people. Every word felt hollow, every attempt to charm them fell flat. The indifference that surrounded him was suffocating, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn¡¯t break through it. He could feel himself slipping, his Sculpted Persona wavering under the weight of the silence. For the first time in a long while, Thorne wondered if he had misjudged the situation. He had come here prepared to charm, to manipulate, to win over allies for the Thornfields. But these nobles didn¡¯t seem interested in being won over. They were bored, disconnected, and utterly indifferent to his presence. And that, more than anything, made him feel like he was failing his mission. CHAPTER 117 Thorne wandered aimlessly alongside Jonah, the cobbled streets of Alvar¡¯s noble quarter echoing under their footsteps. The morning light filtered through the tall, stately buildings, casting long shadows across the half-empty streets. But even the beauty of the noble quarter couldn¡¯t lift the weight of failure that pressed down on his chest. His first outing as a foreign lord had been nothing short of a disaster. Every moment of that garden party had been an exercise in patience. No matter what he said or did, the nobles met him with complete indifference. The cold, bored faces of the Alvar aristocrats still lingered in his mind, an unmovable wall he hadn¡¯t been able to break through. He had expected excitement, or at least curiosity. In Valewind, nobles had thirsted for anything new or peculiar, constantly on the lookout for foreign dignitaries or bizarre spectacles that could momentarily relieve their boredom. They would create drama for amusement¡¯s sake, feeding off anything that would cause a stir. Here, though, the Alvar nobility seemed content in their dull little bubble, completely unaffected by his presence. They were so accustomed to their routines, so at peace with their boredom, that even a visiting foreign lord wasn¡¯t enough to disrupt their placid existence. Thorne had been ready to charm, to weave his way into their good graces. But after hours of forced pleasantries and awkward conversations, he had left Lady Rosalind Langston¡¯s estate with nothing. No connections, no new information, not even a glimmer of interest from anyone at the table. Nothing. "How goes it, Lord Silverbane?" Jonah asked. There was a mocking gleam in his eyes, his voice dripping with exaggerated formality. "Troubles in foreign diplomacy, perhaps?" Thorne grunted, refusing to give Jonah the satisfaction of a proper response. He clasped his hands behind his back and looked around the small square they had wandered into. It was quieter than he liked, and it gave him far too much time to reflect on the disaster of the day. Jonah turned to him with a mock-horrified expression. ¡°What? People actually managed to resist your charm?¡± His eyebrows shot up in mock disbelief. "I didn¡¯t think it was possible! The mighty Lord Thorne Silverbane, scorned by nobles? What''s the world coming to?" Thorne shot Jonah a sideways glance, still keeping his silence, but Jonah was having too much fun to stop. He turned to the shopkeeper, still clutching the steam-puffing ball. ¡°Five coppers for this thing,¡± he said. The shopkeeper¡¯s face flushed with anger. ¡°Five coppers! This here¡¯s an intricate piece of craftsmanshi¡ª¡± Jonah held up a hand. ¡°Please, please. Spare me the sales pitch.¡± He gave the shopkeeper a sympathetic look. ¡°But, really, five coppers is more than fair.¡± Thorne watched the two argue back and forth, Jonah completely absorbed in his negotiation tactics. He let out a quiet sigh. While Jonah bartered, Thorne took a moment to open his notifications, needing something to distract him from the sting of rejection he had just endured. Skill level up: Sculpted Persona! Skill level up: Sculpted Persona! Skill level up: Tactful Deflection! At least the day hadn¡¯t been a complete waste. His skills had improved, if nothing else. Still, the gains felt hollow in the face of the utter disinterest he had encountered. The nobles hadn¡¯t cared who he was, and worse, they had seemed relieved to see him leave. "Got it!" Jonah¡¯s voice broke through Thorne¡¯s thoughts, and he turned to see his friend grinning triumphantly, the trinket now in his hand. "A silver and a few coppers," Jonah said, slipping the wooden ball into his pocket with satisfaction. Thorne raised an eyebrow. "What are you going to do with that thing?" Jonah shrugged, his expression nonchalant. "I don¡¯t know. I was just trying to train my skills. I leveled up both my Silver Tongue and Barter skills though, so I guess it was worth it." Thorne couldn¡¯t help but smirk slightly. "Great. You now own a... steaming wooden ball. I¡¯m sure that¡¯ll be incredibly useful." Jonah grinned back, clearly unfazed by the sarcasm. "Just wait. One day, this thing will save our lives. You¡¯ll see." Thorne nodded, tipping his head toward the street leading out of the square. "Let¡¯s get out of here." They walked side by side, leaving the more pristine streets of the noble quarter behind. The further they ventured, the more the streets began to lose their sheen. Cobblestones gave way to dirtier roads, and the buildings, though still grand, looked a little more weathered. The stark difference between the rich and the rest of Alvar was becoming more obvious with every step they took. "Did you find anything interesting from the servants?" Thorne asked, his hands sliding into his pockets. A slight chill had crept into the air, a reminder that autumn was on its way. Jonah sighed, his expression turning disappointed. "Nah, they were boring. Looked like they were about to collapse from exhaustion. None of them were in the mood to talk." Thorne narrowed his eyes. "But?" Jonah hesitated, then shrugged. "My new skill¡ªGold¡¯s Whisper¡ªflared up when I was talking to one of the servants. No idea why. How could a servant help me get rich?" Thorne gave a half-smile but didn¡¯t respond immediately. He had been hoping Jonah would have overheard some juicy tidbit, something that could help them worm their way into the good graces of the nobles. But it seemed they had both come away empty-handed. Everyone had bid him goodbye as if they were hoping it was the last time they¡¯d see him. The thought stung more than he cared to admit. Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. Well, not everyone. There had been a young woman at the far end of the table. She hadn¡¯t spoken much, and the others had barely acknowledged her presence, but Thorne had noticed the way her eyes kept flicking toward him. She was curious, fascinated even, but too shy¡ªor perhaps too restrained by the rigid formality of the gathering¡ªto approach him directly. Nobles could be so transparent. She hadn¡¯t been able to hide her interest, and that had piqued his. He hadn¡¯t caught her name, and she had barely interacted with anyone, but maybe... maybe she could be useful. If she was curious enough about him, perhaps he could use that to his advantage. She could be his way into Alvar¡¯s inner circle, just like Alden had been in Valewind. He just hoped she wouldn¡¯t end up like Alden. Thorne¡¯s pace slowed, and Jonah stopped, turning to look at him with curiosity. "What is it?" Thorne shook his head, clearing his thoughts. "Nothing," he muttered. "You go ahead. I¡¯m heading back to Uncle¡¯s to change. I can¡¯t walk around in these clothes all day. They¡¯re too eye-catching." Jonah glanced down at Thorne¡¯s outfit, a spark of envy flashing in his eyes before he nodded. "See you at the tavern then," he said, turning and heading off in the opposite direction. Thorne watched him disappear around a corner before letting out a long sigh. He turned down a shadowy side street, slipping out of the main road, away from the prying eyes of Alvar¡¯s citizens. The narrow alley was quiet, the buildings tall and close, casting long shadows that offered a welcome reprieve from the open streets. He leaned against the cold stone wall, waiting. Thorne waited, the chill of the alley seeping into his bones as he leaned against the rough stone wall. He kept his breathing steady, eyes half-closed but senses sharp, listening for the sound of footsteps. His patience paid off when he heard the faintest scuff of boots on stone, followed by a soft thud as someone dropped from the rooftop opposite him. Rielle. She landed lightly, barely making a sound, her form emerging from the shadows in her familiar black light armor. The white spiral of the Lost Ones was stitched into her cloak, a stark reminder of the world they had both come from. Her hood was drawn up, but a few loose red strands of hair escaped the tight ponytail she always wore. The bow slung across her shoulder was a familiar sight, but her expression¡ªcold, unreadable¡ªwas something Thorne had grown tired of. He stepped forward, his voice hard. "Why are you here?" Rielle¡¯s green eyes met his, her face devoid of emotion, as if she were staring at a stranger. "I hadn¡¯t seen you for days. People in the guild are talking. They think you¡¯re not coming back." Thorne¡¯s jaw tightened. The words hung in the air, confirming what he had suspected¡ªthat the guild was watching him more closely than he had realized. And yet, there was no fear. He had made his choice. Leaving was inevitable, and despite their whispers, they weren¡¯t going to stop him. ¡°I¡¯m not,¡± Thorne said simply, his voice cold. ¡°I¡¯m not going back.¡± Rielle¡¯s face barely shifted, but her lips parted slightly, and her voice dropped to a whisper, almost as if she hadn¡¯t meant to say it aloud. ¡°Really?¡± The soft word hit Thorne harder than he expected. For a moment, he saw something in her eyes¡ªsomething raw, unguarded. But it was fleeting, and soon the cold mask she always wore returned. "You''re not even going to come for the last trial?" she asked, her voice hardening. "Vance and Rhea have been asking about you. They''re... worried." Thorne let out a humorless laugh, the sound echoing softly in the narrow alley. ¡°Worried?¡± He looked away, the smirk on his face hiding the bitterness that simmered beneath the surface. They¡¯re worried because they didn¡¯t manage to kill me. ¡°Why now?¡± she asked, her voice softer, quieter. ¡°Why leave now?¡± Thorne didn¡¯t answer at first. He turned his gaze toward the ground, feeling the weight of her question. It wasn¡¯t that he hadn¡¯t thought about leaving before¡ªhe had. For years, the idea of walking away from the guild had been in the back of his mind, but he had been tied there by Uncle¡¯s commands. But now? Now he had a chance to break free. Free from all the pain, the horror and the betrayals. ¡°I thought you¡¯d understand,¡± Thorne said, his voice low. He wasn¡¯t even sure if he believed it, but the words came out before he could stop them. ¡°I thought you, of all people, would know why.¡± Rielle frowned, her eyes narrowing as she took a step closer. ¡°Understand what, exactly? That you¡¯d trade all of this for... that?¡± She gestured to his noble attire, her disdain clear. ¡°You think parading around in fancy clothes and playing noble makes you safer? Makes you better than this?¡± Thorne¡¯s eyes flashed with anger. "It''s not about being better," he snapped. "It¡¯s about surviving. You think I want to be a part of their world? I¡¯ve spent my whole life doing whatever it takes to stay alive. This is no different." Rielle shook her head, her frustration evident. ¡°Is that what you think this is? Another way to survive? You¡¯ve been surviving your entire life, Thorne. But this¡ª" she glanced at his clothes again, her tone bitter "¡ªthis isn¡¯t survival. It¡¯s something else.¡± Thorne felt a sharp sting in his chest, but he forced himself to stand taller, to push the emotions down. "And what do you think it is?" he asked, his voice dangerously low. She met his gaze, her green eyes bright with a mix of anger and something else¡ªsomething deeper. ¡°You¡¯re running,¡± she said, her words cutting through the silence like a blade. ¡°You think you¡¯re getting out, but you¡¯re just running from everything you¡¯ve been.¡± Thorne¡¯s breath hitched slightly, the accusation landing harder than he¡¯d expected. Running? Was that what she thought this was? No¡ªhe wasn¡¯t running. He was surviving, adapting, just like he always had. ¡°I¡¯m not running from anything,¡± he growled. ¡°I¡¯m doing what I have to. I¡¯m playing their game so I can win.¡± ¡°Win?¡± Rielle¡¯s laugh was sharp and humorless. ¡°And what exactly do you win? Their approval? Their respect? These people¡ªthey¡¯ll never see you as one of them. You¡¯ll always be an outsider to them.¡± Thorne clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. "I don¡¯t need their approval. I don¡¯t need anyone¡¯s approval." "Don¡¯t you?" Rielle asked softly, her eyes searching his face for something. "Don¡¯t you, though? You¡¯ve been fighting your whole life for a place in this world, but I¡¯ve never seen you fight this hard to get away from the one thing that¡¯s kept you alive." The words stung, the truth behind them cutting deeper than Thorne wanted to admit. He could feel her gaze on him, probing, waiting for him to respond. For a brief moment, he wanted to tell her everything¡ªto explain why he couldn¡¯t stay, why this life wasn¡¯t enough for him anymore. But the wall between them was too high, built on years of secrets and betrayals. ¡°I¡¯ll be back for the last trial,¡± Thorne said finally, his voice cold, distant. ¡°But after that, I¡¯m done. Once I become a full member, I¡¯m leaving. For good.¡± Rielle stood there, her posture rigid, her eyes locked on his. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but then stopped, something flickering in her gaze that Thorne couldn¡¯t quite read. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter, almost resigned. ¡°You think this will make you free?¡± Thorne¡¯s chest tightened at the question, but he didn¡¯t answer. He couldn¡¯t. Instead, he stared at her, the weight of her words hanging in the air between them like a noose tightening around his neck. Rielle¡¯s lips pressed into a thin line as she stepped back, her fingers brushing against the bow on her shoulder. "Maybe you¡¯re right,¡± she said softly, almost to herself. ¡°Maybe you will be free. But you¡¯ll be alone.¡± Without another word, she turned sharply on her heel and disappeared into the shadows of the alley, leaving Thorne standing in the cold, her final words lingering like a bitter aftertaste. He stared at the spot where she had stood, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on him like a heavy cloak. Free. Alone. The words echoed in his mind, taunting him. He had been alone before, many times. But this time, it felt different. This time, it felt like a choice. CHAPTER 118 Thorne stood alone in the dark alley, his back pressed against the cold stone wall, mind swirling with conflicting emotions. Part of him felt relieved that Rielle had left¡ªgone from his sight, and out of his thoughts. But another part of him ached, as though it wanted to chase after her, to stop her, to say something that might change the course of things. He clenched his fists, forcing the thought away. Before he could think any further, his Veil Sense flared to life, and a surge of aether crashed over him, rippling through Alvar like a shockwave. Thorne''s body tensed. This wasn¡¯t the usual background hum of magic in the city¡ªthis was wild, untamed. He allowed his Aether Vision to take over, and the world around him lit up with chaotic motes of aether. They weren¡¯t just flowing; they were swarming, colliding with each other, as though the very air was about to tear apart. The motes swirled violently, more aggressively than he had ever seen. It reminded him too much of what had happened in the forest¡ªthe night he barely survived. The aether was reaching a critical point. It was overcrowded, the motes pressing into each other with an intensity that made the air thick with tension. And then he saw it¡ªa pattern. The motes weren¡¯t just swirling aimlessly. They were all converging, drawn toward a single point like a tide pulled by an invisible force. Without thinking, Thorne bolted from the alley. His feet slapped against the cobblestones as he ran through the narrow streets, weaving between startled pedestrians who glanced at him with confusion. He didn¡¯t stop to explain. He could feel the pull of the aether, growing stronger, more intense, the closer he got to the source. The aether led him to the merchant quarter, where the streets were lined with shops and stalls, busy with shoppers and merchants haggling over goods. The air felt thicker here, suffocating with the dense charge of aether. Thorne¡¯s breath quickened as he scanned the street, his heart pounding in his chest. Above the center of the street, invisible to those without Aether Vision, hung a massive, growing ball of aether. The motes were clustering together, forming an unstable orb of pulsing energy. It looked like the scene from the forest all over again¡ªonly this time, it was happening in the heart of Alvar. The people around him, unaware of the growing danger, gave each other confused and concerned glances, sensing that something wasn¡¯t quite right. The atmosphere was tense, thick, like the charged air before a storm. But they couldn¡¯t see what Thorne could. They couldn¡¯t see the ball of destruction forming above their heads. He shouted, his voice ringing out above the noise of the crowd. ¡°Get out! Move! Run!¡± People turned to look at him, confused. Some glanced up at the sky, seeing nothing but feeling the unease in the air. They gave him puzzled looks, as though he were mad. ¡°Move!¡± Thorne shouted again, his voice more desperate. ¡°It¡¯s going to explode!¡± A few people¡ªthose sensitive enough to notice the charged atmosphere¡ªbegan to back away, their faces filled with uncertainty. But the street was crowded, too packed for a quick escape. Panic hadn¡¯t yet set in, and many just stood there, unsure whether to take him seriously or brush him off as a lunatic. Thorne¡¯s heart pounded. He could feel it¡ªfeel the aether about to snap. His eyes flicked upward, watching the ball of energy pulse, growing more unstable by the second. And then, it happened. The ball of aether exploded. The shockwave hit like a wall of force, sending Thorne flying backward. He crashed into the side of a building, his breath knocked from his lungs as pain radiated through his body. The blast rippled through the street, shattering windows, sending debris flying, and knocking people to the ground. Screams filled the air as chaos erupted. Thorne¡¯s vision blurred for a moment, his body aching from the impact. He gasped for air, his chest heaving as he struggled to push himself to his feet. His head throbbed, and his ears rang from the force of the blast. But something was different. The wild surge of aether that had filled the air was gone, dissipated. The pressure that had been building was relieved, the aether around him stabilizing¡ªbut it still thrummed with a high concentration of energy. Thorne¡¯s eyes flicked upward, and his breath caught in his throat. Above him, the aether motes¡ªstill charged and dense¡ªhad been drawn together by the explosion. But instead of scattering like he had expected, they were coalescing, taking shape. He watched in awe, frozen in place as the aether began to mold itself into something new. A massive form began to take shape in the center of the street, towering above the buildings. The creature, born from the overflow of aether, was unlike anything Thorne had ever seen. Its body was shimmering, translucent, and pulsating with raw energy. Tendrils of aether wove through its limbs, binding the motes together as it grew taller and taller, its head rising above the rooftops. It was as tall as the surrounding buildings, its presence casting a shadow over the street. If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. The people who had survived the blast scrambled to their feet, their eyes wide with terror as they looked up at the enormous creature now looming over them. Panic finally set in, and the crowd erupted into chaos as they fled in all directions. Thorne stood frozen, his mind racing. He had never seen anything like this. The aether hadn¡¯t just exploded¡ªit had created something. A creature. A construct so massive and powerful that he couldn¡¯t fathom how to stop it. People fled, screaming as they pushed and shoved, desperate to escape the towering monster that had suddenly appeared in their midst. Thorne stumbled as a wave of terrified shoppers surged past him, their eyes wild with panic. His heart pounded in his chest as the massive aether golem took its first step, the ground trembling beneath its enormous weight. The golem was humanoid in shape but barely recognizable as anything living. Its body was semi-transparent, glowing faintly with pulsing aether. Tendrils of energy crackled across its jagged surface, its massive limbs shifting with a strange fluidity, as if it were barely holding itself together. And yet, it moved with purpose, its hollow eyes scanning the city below as if aware of the havoc it was causing, even if it lacked any true intelligence. People screamed as they trampled over each other, desperate to escape. Thorne was nearly knocked off his feet as a group of terrified townspeople shoved past him, their faces pale with fear. His instincts kicked in, and he quickly ducked into a side street, dodging the stampede, his breath coming fast and shallow. The ground shook violently as the golem took another step, its massive foot slamming down onto the cobblestones with a deafening crash. Thorne¡¯s Aether Vision flared, and he saw the shockwaves ripple out from the impact, surging through the ground like an earthquake. His gaze followed the creature¡¯s foot and his stomach twisted. A woman, frozen in terror, was caught beneath the massive foot, crushed in an instant. Her scream was drowned out by the roar of the golem¡¯s movement. The cobblestones cracked under the weight, and the shockwave from the impact sent nearby people sprawling to the ground. Thorne clenched his fists, a bitter taste rising in his throat. He forced himself to move, shoving past more panicked townsfolk who clawed at each other in desperation. He stumbled as another wave of people pressed into him, knocking him off balance, his body slamming against the side of a cart. The golem moved again, this time swinging its massive arm. Thorne barely had time to look up before the creature¡¯s fist smashed into a nearby building. The structure crumbled in an instant, bricks and mortar raining down onto the street below. Dust and debris filled the air as people screamed and scattered, ducking behind whatever cover they could find. A couple of brave¡ªor foolish¡ªmen picked up whatever they could find, an iron bar and a wooden club, and charged at the golem, their faces pale but determined. Thorne watched as they swung wildly, their weapons barely making contact before the golem retaliated. The creature swung its massive hand with terrifying speed, and the men were sent flying through the air, their bodies crashing into the side of a building with sickening thuds. Thorne gritted his teeth. The creature wasn¡¯t just a mindless mass of energy¡ªit was aware of its surroundings, reacting to the people around it. More importantly, it was deadly. And if no one stopped it, more people would die. He forced himself to move, weaving through the panicked crowd, his eyes drawn toward the end of the street where the merchant quarter gave way to the fish market. Jonah¡¯s shop was there, just a few streets away. Thorne¡¯s pulse quickened, and his mind raced. If the golem kept moving in this direction, it would destroy everything in its path. Jonah was there, likely unaware of the chaos unfolding just a few blocks away. If Thorne didn¡¯t act soon, Jonah and countless others would be caught in the destruction. The creature took another step, its foot crashing down toward the center of the street. Thorne¡¯s eyes widened as he spotted a young man cowering beneath an abandoned cart, his glasses crooked, his face pale with terror. The golem¡¯s massive foot was descending, ready to crush him. Thorne didn¡¯t think¡ªhe just moved. His hands went to the knives hidden beneath his jacket, the ones he had concealed earlier, now cold and familiar in his grip. He didn¡¯t have time to plan or strategize¡ªhe just knew he had to stop that thing before it killed anyone else. He glanced down at his clothes¡ªfine, tailored, utterly useless against a creature like this. A bitter smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Fancy noble attire wasn¡¯t going to save him from being crushed underfoot. If he got hit by this monstrosity, no amount of skill or cleverness would protect him. He needed armor, something to protect him from the brute force of the creature. But there was no time for that now. The golem¡¯s foot hovered over the young man, who was curled into a ball beneath the cart, trembling with fear. Thorne''s jaw tightened. It was time to act. He sprinted forward, weaving through the wreckage and debris, his heart pounding as he closed the distance between himself and the towering creature. The aether pulsed around the golem, a constant, humming reminder of its raw power. But Thorne had fought against overwhelming odds before. He had faced creatures far more terrifying than this. And this time, he had no choice but to win. He launched his knives at the golem, aiming for the glowing core of aether pulsing in its chest. His blades sliced through the air with deadly precision, hitting their mark. The knives sank into the creature¡¯s semi-translucent form, but instead of embedding themselves in solid matter, they passed through the glowing energy. The golem didn¡¯t seem to register the attack, its massive foot still descending toward the helpless man below. Thorne cursed under his breath. Physical attacks wouldn¡¯t be enough. This thing wasn¡¯t made of flesh and bone. It was pure aether, held together by unstable energy. He¡¯d have to get closer, use everything in his arsenal if he had any hope of stopping it. He dashed forward, closing the distance between himself and the golem. His muscles screamed in protest, but he ignored the pain, his focus solely on the creature in front of him. He needed to buy time, distract the golem long enough to get the man to safety. The creature¡¯s massive foot came crashing down, and Thorne leaped forward, rolling toward the young man just as the foot slammed into the cart, shattering it into splinters. He grabbed the young man by the collar, yanking him to his feet. ¡°Move!¡± Thorne shouted, his voice raw with urgency. The man, wide-eyed and trembling, barely managed to stumble to the side as Thorne shoved him out of the way, just as the golem¡¯s foot obliterated the space where they had been standing moments before. Thorne rolled to his feet, another pair of daggers ready in his hands, eyes locked on the glowing form of the golem. The creature loomed above him, massive and terrifying, its hollow eyes glowing with eerie light. This was it. No more running. No more waiting. Thorne readied himself to use every skill, every ounce of strength, to take this thing down. CHAPTER 119 The golem stumbled, its massive foot catching on the uneven cobblestones, and half-fell into a nearby shop, destroying it in a cascade of splintered wood and shattered stone. The crash sent debris flying in every direction, chunks of masonry pelting the street and anyone unfortunate enough to be too close. Thorne raised his arms just in time, shielding his face as a barrage of wood fragments and dust battered him. The force of the destruction rattled his bones, but he remained on his feet, his heart pounding in his ears. The golem swayed, righting itself quickly, its massive form glowing with the eerie, pulsing light of raw aether. It turned its hollow eyes toward Thorne, aware but not fully intelligent, like a force of nature driven by instinct more than thought. Thorne didn''t hesitate. He had no time to contemplate the overwhelming power of the creature before him. His instincts kicked in. With a sharp breath, he activated Aether Surge. The familiar rush of power flooded his veins, sharpening his reflexes and heightening his senses, but he kept his aetheric abilities at bay. He didn¡¯t need to attract attention¡ªnot yet. His Veil Sense pulsed faintly in the back of his mind, alerting him to the creature''s level. It was strong, but not insurmountable. Level 30. Six levels below him. He clenched his fists, hope sparking inside him. He had the edge, if only barely. But this thing wasn¡¯t just about levels. The golem was a massive force of destruction, and its strength far outweighed its rank. Thorne dashed forward, his Combat Reflexes and Acrobatics taking over as he moved with lightning speed. The golem swung one of its massive arms in his direction, and Thorne ducked low, rolling beneath the colossal limb just in time to avoid being crushed. The impact sent a blast of wind past him, followed by the deafening crack of the golem¡¯s arm smashing into the side of a building, sending debris flying. Thorne pushed himself to his feet, dodging the falling rubble as he sprinted toward the golem¡¯s side. His daggers gleamed in the midday light as he aimed for the creature¡¯s legs, hoping to find a weak spot. He slashed at its glowing limbs, his blades cutting through the semi-translucent material, but just like before, they passed through the aetheric energy without solid resistance. The golem didn¡¯t even flinch. His mind raced. He couldn¡¯t brute-force this thing down. He had to outmaneuver it. The golem let out a low, guttural rumble, its hollow eyes fixed on him. It ripped a wooden beam from one of the half-destroyed shops and swung it like a club, aiming directly for Thorne. He barely had time to react, diving to the side as the beam whooshed past him, missing by inches. The force of the swing sent another gust of wind ripping through the street, scattering dust and rubble. A sharp pain lanced through Thorne¡¯s side as he hit the ground, a jagged piece of stone slicing into his arm. He hissed in pain, glancing down to see blood seeping through his shirt sleeve. It wasn¡¯t deep, but it hurt like hell. He gritted his teeth and forced himself up, ignoring the throbbing ache. The golem, not slowing, slammed the wooden beam into the ground where Thorne had landed, creating a crater in the cobblestones. Splinters and chunks of rock sprayed in all directions, and Thorne barely managed to roll out of the way in time. His Combat Reflexes were the only thing keeping him alive¡ªhe was faster, more agile, but he couldn¡¯t take a direct hit. One wrong move, and that beam would crush him into the ground like a fly underfoot. His mind flickered with strategies. He had to stay ahead of the golem, using his speed and skills to avoid its devastating attacks. But how long could he keep this up? His stamina was strong, but if the fight dragged on too long, he''d wear out. He needed an edge. His eyes darted to the wreckage strewn across the street. Poles, broken crates, and pieces of metal lay scattered everywhere. The debris from the destruction could be used against the golem. He just needed the right moment. The golem swung again, and Thorne leapt to the side, landing gracefully atop a pile of rubble. He could feel the creature¡¯s raw strength, the vibrations of its movements pulsing through the ground. But he had something it didn¡¯t¡ªspeed and precision. Without wasting a second, Thorne launched himself off the pile of rubble, darting behind the golem as it turned to follow him. He slashed at the back of its leg, hoping to weaken its balance, but again, his daggers passed through the swirling mass of energy. Still, the golem stumbled slightly, its massive frame slow to correct itself. Suddenly, a wooden pole, flung by the creature¡¯s earlier destruction, came hurtling through the air. Thorne saw it too late. It clipped his shoulder as he dodged, sending a wave of sharp pain down his arm. He hissed, gritting his teeth as he stumbled but quickly regained his footing. His fancy noble clothes were now torn and stained with dust and blood, utterly useless in protecting him. He could feel himself slowing down, the constant dodging and darting wearing on his stamina. But the golem wasn¡¯t invincible. Thorne¡¯s Veil Sense told him the creature was strong, yes¡ªbut not unbeatable. He just needed to find its weakness. The golem took another massive step, sending another shockwave through the ground as its foot slammed into the street. Thorne used his agility to vault over a broken cart, keeping just ahead of the creature¡¯s swings. His mind raced. He had to stop it. He dashed toward the side of the street, weaving between overturned carts and toppled stalls. He needed to put some distance between himself and the golem, even if only for a moment. The street around him was chaotic¡ªpeople were still running, pushing past one another in their desperation to escape. A few brave souls remained, trying to pull others to safety, but the sight of the towering creature had most fleeing for their lives. Thorne caught a glimpse of the young man he¡¯d saved earlier¡ªthe one with spectacles. He was hiding behind a stack of crates near the remnants of a shop, watching Thorne with wide, fascinated eyes. But what caught Thorne¡¯s attention was the small notebook in the man¡¯s hand. Even in the midst of the chaos, he was scribbling something down, his hands shaking but determined. Is he writing about the fight? Thorne clenched his jaw, his focus shifting back to the golem. There was no time to worry about spectators. He needed to finish this before the golem turned its attention to Jonah¡¯s shop¡ªor crushed more innocent people beneath its feet. The golem swung its massive arm, sending another wave of destruction through the street. Thorne dove behind a crumbling stall, using the remaining wood and metal for cover as the ground shook from the impact. The creature was strong, but it was slow, its movements predictable if he stayed focused. The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. He had to be smart about this. His eyes flicked toward the creature¡¯s legs, the massive, semi-translucent limbs crackling with unstable energy. His daggers might not have an immediate effect, but if he could weaken its movement, he might be able to find a way to take it down. Taking a breath, Thorne dashed toward the golem¡¯s side, his feet light and fast as he zigzagged through the debris. The creature¡¯s massive foot came crashing down again, and Thorne¡¯s instincts kicked in. Thanks to Combat Reflexes, his body moved before his mind even processed the threat. He leaped over the edge of a broken cart, landing in a roll as the ground shook beneath him. As he came up, Thorne activated Lethal Flurry. His hands moved in a blur, his daggers slashing in a rapid flurry of strikes. He targeted the creature¡¯s legs, aiming for the glowing lines of aether that held the limbs together. Each blow connected, slicing through the shimmering material with precision. His strikes were fast¡ªtoo fast for the golem to respond immediately¡ªbut the creature¡¯s body, made of pure aether, absorbed the blows without solid resistance. Still, the flurry of attacks had an effect. The golem staggered slightly, its movements growing more unstable as the glowing energy in its leg flickered. Thorne gritted his teeth and darted to the side, avoiding the golem¡¯s retaliatory swing. Its massive arm passed inches from his head, crashing into the ground with enough force to send a shockwave through the street. Dust and debris filled the air, but Thorne didn¡¯t stop moving. He circled around the golem, his eyes scanning for any opening, any weakness. His Critical Eye kicked in, sharpening his focus. The creature had no vital organs, no clear weak points¡ªbut the aetheric energy holding it together was unstable. If he could disrupt that energy, he could bring it down. He darted forward, aiming for the golem¡¯s back. His feet barely touched the ground as he sprinted behind the creature, leaping up onto a broken stack of barrels to gain height. Activating Backstab, Thorne plunged his daggers into the golem¡¯s back, aiming for the largest concentration of aetheric energy he could see. His blades sliced through the shimmering material, and for a moment, the golem¡¯s form wavered. The creature roared, a low, guttural sound that rattled through the air like thunder. It swung its arm backward, trying to shake Thorne off, but he was already moving, flipping off the golem¡¯s back and landing on the other side of the street. He rolled to his feet, his daggers ready, his breath coming in heavy gasps. His attacks were wearing it down, but it wasn¡¯t enough. He couldn¡¯t keep this up forever. The creature was relentless, and every time it struck, the destruction spread. Rubble and debris littered the ground, making it harder to move. His stamina was holding for now, but he knew he¡¯d tire out before the golem did. And all the while, the crowd around him was thinning, more people escaping¡ªexcept for that boy. Thorne¡¯s eyes flicked back toward the young man with the notebook. He was still there, hiding behind a stack of crates, his hands shaking but his gaze fixed on the battle. What the hell is he doing? ¡°Get out of here!¡± Thorne shouted, his voice rough from exertion. ¡°It¡¯s not safe!¡± The young man didn¡¯t move. He looked terrified, but something in his expression told Thorne he wasn¡¯t going anywhere. Whatever he was writing, it seemed more important to him than his own safety. Damn it. Thorne¡¯s focus shifted back to the golem, which was still lumbering toward him, its movements slow but devastating. He couldn¡¯t afford any more distractions. He had to finish this. He circled around the creature again, his mind racing. There had to be a way to bring it down without relying on his aetheric abilities. He wasn¡¯t ready to expose everything, not here, not now. But if he didn¡¯t act soon, Jonah¡¯s shop¡ªand the entire merchant quarter¡ªwould be reduced to rubble. The golem raised its arm for another swing, and Thorne darted forward, slipping beneath its massive limbs. His daggers flashed as he sliced through the aetheric material, aiming for the flickering points of energy that held the creature together. It staggered again, its movements growing slower, less controlled. But it wasn¡¯t enough. Thorne¡¯s heart raced as he searched for a strategy, trying to ignore the pain pulsing through his injured arm. He was fast¡ªfaster than the golem¡ªbut his constant attacks weren¡¯t enough. Not yet. His mind raced for answers, but before he could fully gather his thoughts, the creature did something unexpected. A wave of aether pulsed through the air, and Thorne felt it in his bones¡ªthe sudden pull, the surge of energy. The golem was siphoning the ambient aether, pulling in energy from the surroundings. The veins of flickering aether that Thorne had damaged with his earlier attacks began to glow brighter, healing themselves as the creature regained its strength. ¡°Damn it,¡± Thorne muttered under his breath. The thing was healing itself. He had to think fast. His attacks had slowed it down, but if it could heal like this, he wouldn¡¯t last much longer. Thorne paused for a breath, letting his Aether Vision take over. The world around him shifted into spectral light, and suddenly, the true state of the golem became clear. What looked like an imposing, indestructible force was actually far more fragile than he had thought. Dozens of open wounds covered the creature¡¯s massive body, leaking aether in shimmering streams. The aether construct was unstable¡ªcracks and gaps were forming where Thorne had struck. But it was healing. Slowly, methodically, it was using some kind of skill to draw in more energy from the environment. If Thorne didn¡¯t act fast, all his efforts would be undone. He needed to hit it harder¡ªinflict more damage before it could fully recover. And if he could disrupt the flow of aether, drain it faster than the golem could absorb it... Thorne¡¯s mind raced. Primal Aether Manipulation. He could use it to drain the aether out of the golem, but it had to be vulnerable first. He needed to land a strike that would open a deeper wound. One that would make draining the aether easier. His eyes locked on the golem¡¯s head. The highest concentration of aether pulsed from its core, just beneath the surface. If he could hit that, destabilize the core itself, he could weaken it enough to end this. With a plan forming, Thorne didn¡¯t hesitate. He darted forward, his feet barely touching the ground as he sprinted toward a pile of crumbled stone. His Acrobatics kicked in, his body moving effortlessly as he vaulted onto the wreckage, using the debris to climb higher. The golem turned its massive head, but it seemed distracted, its attention drawn elsewhere. Thorne wasn¡¯t sure what had caught its focus, but he didn¡¯t care. It was the perfect opportunity. The noise behind him¡ªscreams and shouts¡ªwas a distant echo, barely registering as Thorne scaled the side of a broken wall, his hands gripping the jagged stone as he hoisted himself higher. He moved like a shadow, his Combat Reflexes guiding his every move, ensuring his body reacted before his mind could process the danger. He needed to get higher. Thorne¡¯s eyes scanned the street below. The golem was in the center of the road, chasing after something. Its massive frame lumbered forward, crushing anything in its path, but its movements were erratic. It was trying to keep up with whatever had drawn its attention. Thorne cursed under his breath. He wasn¡¯t close enough. If he couldn¡¯t get above the golem, his plan wouldn¡¯t work. His mind raced. He needed a platform¡ªsomething to leap from. Without hesitation, Thorne called on his Primal Aether Manipulation, gathering the white motes of aether that danced in the air. He pushed them together, focusing his energy on solidifying them for just a moment. It was a trick he had used only a few times before¡ªforming temporary steps out of raw aether¡ªbut it was difficult, draining. Using the raw aether like this took a toll on him, and he could already feel the strain pulling at his reserves. He took a deep breath and leapt. Mid-air, Thorne¡¯s foot landed on the aether step, the solidified energy holding just long enough for him to spring forward. He soared through the air, his body twisting as he aimed for the golem¡¯s head, ready to strike the core with everything he had. But then, a voice cut through the chaos. ¡°Thorne!¡± The shout was familiar, urgent. It was Darius. For a brief moment, Thorne turned his head, catching sight of Darius and a group of city guards rushing toward him, their eyes wide with disbelief as they took in the scene. Thorne¡¯s heart lurched, but there was no time to think. The golem turned. A massive fist swung toward him. The world blurred. Thorne felt the impact before he even realized what had happened. The golem¡¯s fist slammed into him with the force of a battering ram, and everything went dark. He was sent hurtling through the air, his body crashing into the side of a building with a sickening thud. Pain exploded through him, white-hot and all-consuming, as the world spun out of control. CHAPTER 120 Thorne¡¯s eyes fluttered open, a wave of pain crashing over him like a tidal wave. His body felt like it had been shattered from the inside out¡ªeverything hurt. His vision blurred as he tried to focus, his mind a foggy mess. The world around him slowly came into focus, and he struggled to move, his muscles screaming in protest. With a groan, Thorne pushed himself into a half-sitting position, wincing as sharp pain shot through his side. What the hell hit me? He glanced down at his stat display, his breath catching in his throat. His Health Points were dangerously low: 72/950. His Aether reserves had taken a hit, sitting at 302/570, and his Stamina had nearly depleted: 240/900. ¡°How am I still alive?¡± he muttered, wiping the blood from his brow. The attack had nearly killed him outright, and it was a miracle he wasn¡¯t a broken, lifeless heap in the street. He winced, feeling his ribs, knowing something inside was damaged. Lunar Regeneration worked only during the night, and for the moment he was left helpless. Thorne¡¯s thoughts snapped back into focus as he became more aware of the sounds of battle surrounding him¡ªthe clang of metal, the guttural roars of the golem, and the cries of men fighting for their lives. With a grimace, he pushed himself to his feet, his legs trembling under his weight. He looked up and saw the golem. The monstrous construct was in the middle of the street, towering over the dozen or so guards that had arrived to face it. His stomach lurched as he took in the scene. The street was in ruins, completely transformed from the bustling marketplace it had been. Crumbled shops, craters that tore through the cobblestones, and debris littered every inch of the once vibrant road. But worse than the destruction were the bodies. Broken, twisted forms lay in the rubble¡ªguards who hadn¡¯t been fast enough, civilians caught in the crossfire. Thorne didn¡¯t know how long he had been unconscious, but the battle had ravaged the street while he was out. And from the looks of things, the guards didn¡¯t stand much of a chance. They fought valiantly, but it was like watching children trying to bring down a giant. The golem swung its massive arms with little care, smashing into buildings and the ground with devastating force, almost toying with them. His eyes locked onto one guard in particular¡ªa man caught in the golem¡¯s grasp. Thorne could hear the sickening crunch of bones and metal as the golem¡¯s fist tightened around the man¡¯s body. The guard let out a choking gasp before the golem unclenched its hand, letting the mangled form drop to the ground, a formless heap of flesh and shattered armor. Thorne swallowed hard. He had to act. If he didn¡¯t, more men would die. The guards were stronger than before¡ªno doubt thanks to the strange, frequent aether occurrences that had brought creatures into the city, forcing them to adapt. But even with their newfound strength, they were unprepared for something of this magnitude. He watched as the other guards sprang into action, their faces twisted with rage and determination. Skills activated in flashes of light¡ªone man charged forward, his sword glowing bright with a skill-enhanced strike. Another guard raised a shield, light shimmering around its edges as he used a defensive ability to protect his comrades from the golem¡¯s crushing blows. Despite their valiant efforts, the golem was barely phased. Thorne activated Aether Vision with a shaky breath, hoping to assess the damage. His heart sank. The wounds he had inflicted earlier¡ªthe ones he had fought so hard to create¡ªwere nearly gone. The glowing veins of aether that he had torn open had closed, leaving only shallow cuts that barely leaked any energy. Damn it, he thought, his mind racing. It was healing, just like before. But if he could tear it open again¡ªwound it deeply enough¡ªhe could drain its aether. He just needed to get back into the fight. He steeled himself, trying to push through the pain. His body screamed at him to stay down, to give in to the agony, but he didn¡¯t have a choice. These men would die without his help. Suddenly, a familiar scream pierced the chaos, freezing Thorne in place. His head snapped toward the sound, his eyes widening in horror as he spotted Darius. The golem was bearing down on him, its massive fist swinging downward with deadly intent. Darius raised his sword, a golden light flaring around the blade, and for a split second, it looked like the blow had been stopped. The golem¡¯s hand halted in mid-air, and a shimmering golden shield flickered into existence above Darius. But it was clear Darius couldn¡¯t hold it for long. The veins in his neck bulged, his face turning a deep red as his body shook under the immense pressure. His eyes darted wildly as the light flickered and dimmed, the shield starting to crack. He was moments away from being crushed. Thorne¡¯s heart pounded in his chest, his body moving on instinct to help, but before he could react, another guard rushed forward. The man clutched his shield in front of him, his body accelerating with a sudden burst of speed. Dust and rocks flew into the air as he launched himself like a cannonball into the golem¡¯s fist, using a skill to enhance his charge. The impact was massive. The guard crashed into the golem¡¯s hand with a thunderous boom, sending the creature¡¯s massive arm flying away from Darius. The force of the collision was so intense that the brave guard was launched across the street, crashing into the rubble with bone-rattling force. But his sacrifice was enough. Darius staggered back, gasping for air as he retreated behind the wall of his fellow guards. Thorne exhaled in relief, but the reprieve wouldn¡¯t last long. More guards rushed to reinforce Darius, their skills flaring as they pressed the attack. But Thorne knew the truth. Even with their newfound strength, even with their enhanced abilities, they weren¡¯t ready for something like this. Not yet. Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. His body trembled as he tried to move, his legs shaky beneath him. He glanced down at his hands, still covered in dust and blood. He was running on fumes, barely hanging on, but he couldn¡¯t sit by and watch any longer. The guards wouldn¡¯t hold out for much longer, and the cost would be too high. He had to finish this. Thorne stood amidst the chaos, his battered body protesting with every breath. His ribs ached, and his limbs felt heavy, but his mind was sharp, focused. The golem continued to wreak havoc, the guards pressing their attack, but Thorne knew it wasn¡¯t enough. Not yet. He glanced at the swirling mass of guards engaging the creature. The golem was distracted, focused on the more visible threat in front of it. That was all Thorne needed. His mind raced. The situation was different now. He didn¡¯t need to confront the golem head-on anymore. Stealth had always been his greatest advantage, and now that the guards had the golem¡¯s attention, he could use the shadows to his advantage. With a thought, Thorne activated Veil of Light and Shadow, his evolved stealth skill. Even in the bright daylight, he seemed to fade, his form blending seamlessly into his surroundings. It was a strange feeling, moving unseen in such an open space, but it was his element. It gave him the edge. He drew his last two knives from his boots and sprinted toward the golem, his feet silent on the rubble-strewn ground. The creature loomed above, unaware of his approach, its focus locked on the wave of guards swarming around it. Thorne¡¯s heart pounded in his chest as he got closer, his mind zeroing in on his target. This time, he wasn¡¯t going for shallow cuts. He needed something deeper, something that would cause real damage. In a fluid motion, he leapt from a pile of debris and landed behind the golem, activating Backstab. His blade found its mark, sinking deep into the golem¡¯s semi-translucent body. His Aether Vision flickered on, showing him the raw energy destabilizing inside the creature. He had caused massive damage. The golem shuddered violently, its form flickering as the aether inside it grew unstable. For a moment, it paused, the energy inside it rippling in erratic patterns. The guards noticed the shift, their attacks faltering as they looked around, confused by the sudden change in the golem¡¯s behavior. But Thorne was already gone, vanishing back into the shadows before anyone could spot him. The golem, unable to find its hidden attacker, roared in frustration and turned back toward the guards. It swung its massive arms, but Thorne didn¡¯t give it time to regain its balance. He charged again, slipping through the debris-laden street like a shadow. He darted between the ruined shops and crumbling walls, his eyes locked on the creature¡¯s weak spots. Stealth Strike. He moved in and out, striking the golem¡¯s legs and torso, retreating before the creature could even register his presence. Each strike added another wound, another point of vulnerability. Thorne¡¯s Bloodletting skill took effect, his blades leaving long, shallow cuts that bled raw aether. He repeated the process, again and again. Strike. Retreat. Wait. Strike. The golem¡¯s movements grew more sluggish, its form flickering as it struggled to maintain its integrity. Each time Thorne struck, a bit more aether leaked out, destabilizing the creature further. As Thorne leapt onto the awning of a building, preparing for another strike, he caught sight of Darius, his eyes wide with shock. The guardsman had seen him. Thorne didn¡¯t let it distract him. He jumped from the awning, landing squarely on the golem¡¯s back, plunging his blade into the creature¡¯s core with another Stealth Strike. The golem roared in pain, its massive frame shaking as it tried to dislodge him. Thorne leapt backward in a graceful arc, landing out of reach just as the golem turned toward him. His eyes met Darius¡¯s, who stood frozen, shock still etched across his face. ¡°What the hell are you looking at, you idiot!¡± Thorne shouted, glaring at his friend. ¡°Attack it! Cause as many wounds as you can, no matter how small!¡± Darius blinked, confusion clouding his face. ¡°Trust me!¡± Thorne barked, fading back into the shadows just as the golem turned to face him. Darius snapped out of his daze, turning to the other guards. ¡°You heard him!¡± he shouted. ¡°Focus on landing hits, doesn¡¯t matter if they¡¯re high damage!¡± One of the other guards, panting heavily, glanced at Darius with a skeptical look. ¡°Who the hell is that guy? Why should we listen to him?¡± Darius hesitated for a second before answering. ¡°Trust me,¡± he said firmly. ¡°He¡¯s been fighting aether beasts for years. He can help us.¡± Thorne, hidden in the shadows, felt a small smile tug at his lips. Lethal Flurry activated, and he darted forward once more, his blades moving in a blur as he tore into the golem¡¯s side. The other guards, emboldened by Darius¡¯s words, rushed in. They swarmed the golem, landing blow after blow, chipping away at its form. Small cuts, shallow strikes¡ªbut each one contributed to the golem¡¯s growing instability. Thorne watched from a small ledge, his eyes tracking the rivers of aether leaking from the creature¡¯s body. It was time. He steeled himself. Manipulating raw aether was always dangerous, and doing so openly could expose him in ways he wasn¡¯t ready for. But this wasn¡¯t the time for caution. If he didn¡¯t act now, the guards would lose too many men. His Primal Aether Manipulation skill surged to life, his arms raising as he called to the wild aether leaking from the golem. His senses sharpened, his world narrowing to the raw energy around him. The aether flowed like rivers, pouring from the golem¡¯s open wounds, shimmering and glowing in the air. This is it. Thorne reached out, his will connecting with the aether. He could feel it resisting him at first, the energy too wild and untamed. It had a different flavor than the raw aether he was used to¡ªlike something ancient, alien. But it was still aether, and that meant he could control it. His mind focused, his instincts guiding him as he willed the energy to obey. Slowly, ever so slowly, the aether responded. It flowed toward him in shimmering streams, leaving the golem¡¯s form as it weakened further. The creature shuddered, its body hollowing out as the energy drained from it. Thorne¡¯s world became one of swirling colors and shining stars, the aether filling the air around him. He called to the stars, commanding the energy to leave the golem and come to him. The flood of energy rushed toward him, and he felt a hunger rise within, a primal need to consume it. He didn¡¯t resist. The aether flowed into his core, filling him with a wondrous, refreshing energy. For a moment, his pain melted away, replaced by the intoxicating feeling of power. His body, bruised and battered as it was, felt invigorated, renewed by the raw aether flowing into him. The aether surged around him, circling like a storm. The golem¡¯s form flickered, growing more unstable by the second. The last of its aether drained away, leaving behind nothing but an empty husk. And then it exploded. The shockwave hit like a tidal wave, flinging Thorne and the guards backward as the golem¡¯s remains disintegrated in a blinding flash of light. Dust and debris filled the air, and Thorne crashed into the ground, his body aching from the force of the blast. A small, contented sigh escaped his lips. He felt... lighter. Stronger. And then the flood of notifications filled his vision, confirming what he already knew. CHAPTER 121 Thorne lay sprawled on the ground, trapped beneath a crushing weight. The midday sun burned down from above, a searing light that blurred the edges of his vision. His chest felt tight, as though the air itself pressed down on him. His body wouldn¡¯t move¡ªeach limb heavy, too weak to lift even a finger. A shadow passed over him. She was there. Rhea¡¯s greatsword caught the sunlight, reflecting its blinding glare right into his eyes. She stood tall, her face unreadable, staring down at him like a predator observing its prey. The heat from the sun baked his skin, but the cold dread creeping into his bones was worse. Thorne¡¯s breath hitched, his throat dry as he tried to form words. He managed a ragged whisper. ¡°Rhea... what are you doing?¡± Her silence was louder than words. Her grip tightened on the hilt of her sword, but she made no move to strike. Thorne¡¯s mind raced, struggling to make sense of her stillness. He was helpless, lying broken in the dirt, and she just stood there. ¡°Are you here to finish it?¡± The words felt distant, like they belonged to someone else. His body refused to respond, pinned down by an invisible force. ¡°Are you going to kill me?¡± Rhea¡¯s lips twitched, her expression cold and detached. ¡°I don¡¯t need to.¡± Thorne¡¯s brow furrowed, confusion mixing with fear. ¡°What...?¡± She knelt down beside him, bringing her face close to his. Her breath was warm against his skin, but there was no warmth in her gaze. ¡°You¡¯ve already sealed your fate, Thorne.¡± Her voice was calm, steady¡ªtoo steady. ¡°It¡¯s over.¡± His heart pounded in his chest, a wild, frantic beat that made his ribs ache. ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°You¡¯re going to lose,¡± she said, each word cutting deeper than the last. ¡°One by one, you¡¯ll lose everyone you care about. And when that happens, I¡¯ll be there. Watching.¡± The knot in his chest tightened, panic clawing at him. ¡°No...¡± ¡°All I have to do is sit back and enjoy the show.¡± She stood up slowly, her sword gleaming in the sun. Her figure blurred, distorted by the blinding light, but her words were sharp as ever. ¡°It¡¯s already started.¡± The world around him twisted, the sunlight warping into shadows. The ground beneath him dissolved into darkness, and Rhea¡¯s figure faded into the void. His breath came faster, panic rising in his throat as the darkness closed in, suffocating him. He tried to move, tried to scream, but the weight pressing down on him was unbearable. His mind was slipping, sinking deeper into the void. Then a hand gripped his shoulder, pulling him back. * ¡°Thorne! Snap out of it!¡± A hand shook him roughly, dragging him from the suffocating darkness. His eyes flew open, and he gasped for air, blinking into the dim light of Jonah¡¯s shop. Shelves were toppled over, and the usual clutter of supplies lay scattered across the floor, but it was unmistakable. He was inside. Thorne groaned as the ache in his body flared up again. Every inch of him felt bruised, and his ribs screamed in protest. He tried to sit up, but a hand on his shoulder gently pushed him back down. ¡°Stay still,¡± Darius said, kneeling beside him. His voice was firm, but the relief in his eyes was unmistakable. ¡°You took a serious hit.¡± Thorne blinked, his mind still clouded by the remnants of the dream. ¡°How long¡­?¡± ¡°A few hours,¡± Darius replied, his tone calming. ¡°We weren¡¯t sure if you¡¯d wake up.¡± Jonah¡¯s voice cut through the background, light and sarcastic as always. ¡°I was ready to pawn your stuff off if you didn¡¯t make it. But I see you¡¯re still kicking¡ªbarely.¡± Thorne winced as he shifted, his side throbbing with pain. His gaze flicked down, and he noticed the thick, smelly paste smeared across his skin. Two empty health potions lay discarded beside him. He blinked, trying to piece it together. ¡°That¡¯s Ben¡¯s doing,¡± Darius said, nodding toward the young man. ¡°He¡¯s been running around like a man possessed, patching you up.¡± Thorne¡¯s eyes found Ben, who was hurriedly moving about the shop, gathering herbs and supplies, nodding to himself. The man was in full work mode, completely absorbed in trying to keep Thorne in one piece. Thorne let out a shaky laugh, the pain in his ribs forgotten for a moment. The notifications flashed before his eyes, the ones he had seen just before blacking out. Skill Level Up: Veil of Light and Shadow! Skill Level Up: Stealth Strike! Skill Level Up: Acrobatics! Skill Level Up: Combat Reflexes! Skill Level Up: Backstab! Skill Level Up: Lethal Flurry! Skill Level Up: Bloodletting! Skill Level Up: Primal Aether Manipulation! Skill Level Up: Aether Surge! Character Level Up: Level 39! But there was more. Something bigger. Trait Evolved: Lunar Champion (2/5) He remembered what had happened right before the explosion¡ªhe had absorbed the aether from the golem, drained it dry, leaving it a hollow shell. The raw energy had rushed into him, empowering him, evolving his Lunar Champion trait. He¡¯d felt the surge of strength as the aether filled his core, turning the tide of the battle in his favor. Silverlight Strikes Description: You can imbue your weapons with the silver glow of the moon, adding a light-based damage effect to your attacks. The strength of the extra damage increases with the brightness of the moon. Jonah¡¯s voice broke through his thoughts. ¡°Damn, I thought he was dead a minute ago,¡± Jonah¡¯s voice rang out from the other side of the shop. ¡°But look at him now, lying there with a stupid grin on his face. Gotta say, it¡¯s not a good look.¡± Ben continued to scurry around the room, pulling jars of herbs and salves back to the shelves. Thorne noticed how exhausted the boy looked, but he wasn¡¯t stopping. It was like he had one mission: trying to keep everything and everyone in order. ¡°You can thank him later,¡± Darius said, glancing at Ben with a half-smile. ¡°Kid¡¯s been working nonstop.¡± Thorne nodded, but his thoughts kept drifting back to the vision he¡¯d had. Rhea¡¯s words echoed in his mind, chilling him to the bone. You¡¯ll lose everyone you care about. He glanced at Darius, then at Jonah, a knot tightening in his chest. He couldn¡¯t shake it. The words felt too real. ¡°You didn¡¯t see her, did you?¡± Thorne asked, his voice low. ¡°Rhea. After the battle.¡± Darius frowned, his expression puzzled. ¡°Rhea? You mean the big girl with the even bigger sword? Short blonde hair?¡± Thorne nodded, his heart picking up speed. ¡°Yeah. You know her.¡± Darius shook his head. ¡°No. You were all alone when I found you. Knocked out cold. No sign of her.¡± The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Thorne¡¯s stomach twisted. He¡¯d been sure she was there¡ªsure he¡¯d seen her. But if Darius hadn¡¯t seen her¡­ He forced the thought away, but the knot in his chest remained. ¡°Probably just hit my head too hard,¡± Thorne muttered, pushing himself up despite the soreness in his body. ¡°Forget it.¡± Jonah smirked. ¡°Yeah, clearly. That dumb look on your face is definitely a sign. Either way, let¡¯s avoid any more aether beasts, alright?¡± Thorne forced a grin, but Rhea¡¯s words lingered, gnawing at the back of his mind. The vision felt too vivid to dismiss, too personal to ignore. He could still hear her voice, cold and certain. You¡¯re going to lose everyone. Thorne¡¯s eyes trailed to Darius who didn¡¯t look much better than him. He had his right hand in a sling and his face sported several patches of dried cream. ¡°How are you?¡± Thorne asked as he checked his friend for any more wounds. Darius glanced down at him, his expression softening. ¡°I leveled up! I felt it right after I blocked that punch. Something clicked.¡± Thorne raised an eyebrow. ¡°You leveled up too?¡± Darius nodded, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. ¡°Yeah. Got the notification right after the fight.¡± Thorne smiled, shaking his head in disbelief. ¡°Good. You¡¯ll need it.¡± Jonah groaned dramatically, throwing his hands up. ¡°Of course. These guys nearly die, and instead of learning a lesson, they get stronger. Meanwhile, I¡¯m over here trying to get a good deal on boots.¡± Thorne laughed despite the pain. ¡°We are fine.¡± He turned, eyeing Ben, who was quietly attempting to clean up the mess in the shop now that Thorne was back on his feet. ¡°Alright, Ben, let¡¯s get to work. This place looks like an aether storm hit it.¡± Ben glanced up from the clutter, nodding but barely paying any attention as he focused on tidying up. Darius watched Jonah for a second, then turned back to Thorne, his expression shifting. His usual smile faltered, replaced by a more serious, reflective look. ¡°You know, if it weren¡¯t for you, we would¡¯ve lost a lot more people today.¡± Thorne shifted uncomfortably, unsure how to respond. He had never received... gratitude. He¡¯d done what he had to do, that was all. Darius continued, his voice softer. ¡°Today... I lost a lot of my friends. Good men. But it could¡¯ve been a hell of a lot worse if you hadn¡¯t stepped in.¡± His words hung heavy in the air, cutting through the lingering relief of survival. Thorne nodded quietly, the weight of it all pressing down on him. He didn¡¯t know what to say. He had never been in a situation like this. He was accustomed to the guilt that always followed the victory. Darius chuckled softly, though it didn¡¯t reach his eyes. ¡°It¡¯s weird. I had never seen you fight before today. Honestly, I could barely follow your movements¡ªthose fleeting moments when you were even visible, that is.¡± Thorne kept his gaze on the floor, his jaw tightening. ¡°What level are you, Thorne?¡± The question hit him like a hammer, and for a second, Thorne didn¡¯t respond. How could he tell him? Darius was only level sixteen¡ªThorne¡¯s Veil Sense had told him as much during the battle. And here he was, more than twenty levels higher than him. How could he explain that? Thorne finally lifted his head, his voice low and careful. ¡°High enough.¡± Darius smirked but didn¡¯t push. ¡°Yeah, I¡¯d say so. I¡¯ve never seen anyone fight like that. You were a shadow, moving so fast¡­ delivering death with every strike. I guess that little guild of yours did something right.¡± Thorne met Darius¡¯s gaze then, his eyes locking with his friend¡¯s, but he didn¡¯t speak. Instead, his Tactful Deflection skill activated, and he shifted the conversation. ¡°You should train more, Darius,¡± he said, his tone firm. ¡°And I mean really train. Not just waving your sword around with your drunken guard friends. These creatures¡­ they¡¯re not going away. One wrong move¡­¡± Darius¡¯s face darkened as Thorne¡¯s words hit home. He nodded, his voice barely a whisper. ¡°I know. Peter was the best of us¡­ and yet... I... We lost him.¡± Thorne¡¯s chest tightened. Peter. He had seen him during the battle, one of the men who had stood against the golem. One of the men who hadn¡¯t made it. He had met the guy on the rare occasions he visited the tavern along with Darius. They stayed like that for a moment, the silence heavy between them, filled with shared loss. ¡°Alright, you two!¡± Jonah¡¯s voice cut through the tension like a sharp blade. ¡°What are you doing? Ben¡¯s given you both enough potions to heal a bull! Now get off your asses and help me clean this place up. That creature made a mess of my shop, and I need some help!¡± Ben huffed, slapping Jonah¡¯s head lightly in frustration as he moved past him with a broom. Jonah yelped, rubbing the back of his head. ¡°Will you stop doing that?! I swear, if you keep this up, I¡¯ll get as dense as that one!¡± He pointed dramatically at Thorne, his voice full of mock outrage. Ben raised his hand again, clearly intending to give Jonah another slap, but this time Jonah ducked, stepping quickly out of the way. Thorne smirked, the heaviness of the moment lifting just slightly. Jonah always had a way of cutting through the tension, even when things seemed bleak. Darius let out a small, tired laugh. ¡°I¡¯ll help in a minute, Jonah. Let me catch my breath.¡± Jonah sighed, glancing between the two of them. ¡°Fine, fine. But don¡¯t think you¡¯re getting out of this. I want my shop back in order. It¡¯s the least you can do to repay Ben¡¯s hard work. The kid¡¯s been slaving away keeping you alive.¡± Ben huffed again, shaking his head as he moved toward the back of the shop, still working tirelessly to put everything back in order. Thorne watched them both, a faint smile lingering on his lips. For a moment, the knot in his chest loosened, the weight of the day fading into the background. But Rhea¡¯s words, cold and distant, still echoed in the back of his mind. You¡¯ll lose everyone you care about. No! Thorne shook his head, pushing the thought away. He wasn¡¯t going to let that happen. He wouldn¡¯t let anyone take away the people who mattered. Not now. Not ever. * Thorne sat on the edge of the lighthouse, his feet swinging lazily through the large hole in the crumbling wall, watching the sea shimmer under the pale light of the moon. The cold night air stung his bare skin, but he welcomed it. The moonlight poured over him, wrapping his body in a soft, silvery glow, slowly mending his wounds. His Lunar Regeneration skill worked quietly, knitting his flesh back together and reinvigorating his muscles. Thanks to the health potions Ben had poured down his throat and the natural magic of his new ability, his body was almost fully healed. But no potion or skill could erase the aether fatigue that weighed on him. The battle with the golem had taken a toll far deeper than physical injuries. He¡¯d pushed himself too hard, burned through too much raw aether, and his body felt the aftermath. It would take days to recover fully. A quiet creak of wood announced the arrival of Sid. Thorne frowned as he glanced over his shoulder, watching the old assassin climb the rickety ladder to the lighthouse. How did he find me? This was supposed to be his hideout, tucked away where no one else would bother him. Sid pulled himself up the last rung and, without a word, sat down next to Thorne, flinging his legs over the edge of the broken wall. ¡°You do know I¡¯m an assassin as well, right?¡± Sid said, giving him a bland look. ¡°My job is to track people.¡± Thorne snorted softly, turning his gaze back to the black, restless sea below. Right. It was a reminder that no matter how far he advanced, no matter how many skills he unlocked or how strong he became, there were always those who could find him. He wasn¡¯t untouchable. Not yet. They sat in silence for a while, the only sound the gentle lapping of waves far below and the occasional whistle of wind through the cracks in the stone. After a few minutes, Sid broke the silence. ¡°Why are you half-naked?¡± Thorne shrugged, his voice casual, though his mind was far away. ¡°Got a new skill.¡± The moonlight continued to wrap around him, healing what was left of his wounds. But it wasn¡¯t the physical pain that bothered him. His thoughts kept drifting back to the battle, back to the moment when everything slowed down, and Rhea¡¯s words echoed in his mind, over and over again. You¡¯re going to lose everyone you care about. Sid glanced sideways at him. ¡°Then why do you look so gloom? I would¡¯ve thought you''d be hopping for joy after getting a new power-up.¡± Thorne remained silent for a moment, staring down at the waves crashing against the rocks below. The sound was soothing, but it didn¡¯t quiet the storm inside him. Finally, he turned to Sid, watching the older man¡¯s profile¡ªthe deep lines of age etched into his face, the white strands running through his once-dark hair, the way his shoulders slumped slightly, as if carrying the weight of years. ¡°Is there anything you¡¯d like to share?¡± Thorne asked, his voice steady but probing. Sid frowned, turning to face him with a look of genuine confusion. ¡°Like what?¡± Thorne kept his gaze sharp, searching for any hint of deceit. ¡°Some hidden enemy of the guild. Some threat I should know about.¡± Sid¡¯s frown deepened, but after a moment, he shook his head. ¡°Not that I know of. Besides, I¡¯m sure Uncle shares more of his plans with you than he does with me.¡± Thorne studied him for a moment longer, confirming that Sid was telling the truth¡ªat least as far as he knew. Sid wasn¡¯t someone who could hide lies well. He wasn¡¯t one to play those kinds of games. Satisfied, Thorne turned back to the sea, watching the moonlight shimmer on the water. The silence returned, but it wasn¡¯t uncomfortable. ¡°Is this about your last trial?¡± Sid asked quietly after a few moments. ¡°About your next move?¡± His voice was gentle, almost fatherly. Thorne shook his head. ¡°No.¡± Sid tilted his head, looking at him curiously. ¡°Don¡¯t feel guilty for leaving the guild, you know. No one will hold it against you.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not,¡± Thorne said flatly. And he wasn¡¯t. There were too many secrets, too many betrayals. He had seen enough to know that leaving was his only option. But that didn¡¯t mean everything was clear. Sid watched him closely, but then Thorne asked, ¡°What even is the last trial? I keep hearing about it, but no one tells me anything.¡± Sid shrugged, though there was a slight hesitation before he answered. ¡°The ultimate test of loyalty.¡± Thorne groaned, leaning back on his hands. ¡°Please don¡¯t tell me it¡¯s another torture session.¡± Sid chuckled, a rare sound from him. ¡°Not quite. It¡¯s¡­ different.¡± Thorne stole a glance at his teacher, narrowing his eyes. ¡°Then what is it?¡± Sid hesitated again, but this time he shrugged it off. ¡°I suppose it wouldn¡¯t hurt to tell you. You¡¯re leaving the guild anyway.¡± He sighed, then told him what the trial entailed. As Thorne listened, his expression darkened. It wasn¡¯t torture, not in the traditional sense, but it was close enough. He shook his head sadly when Sid finished. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have expected anything less from the guild.¡± Sid gave a small, rueful smile. ¡°What can I say? It¡¯s a tested process. Most assassin guilds do something similar.¡± Thorne grunted in response, but an idea formed in his mind. A plan that, if it worked, could get rid of at least one of the problems hanging over his head. He turned to Sid, his lips curling into a smarmy grin. ¡°You know,¡± he began slowly, ¡°I never really took advantage of the fact that you¡¯re my teacher. Or that I¡¯m the boss¡¯s favorite.¡± Sid raised an eyebrow, his mouth twitching into a smirk. ¡°What are you getting at?¡± Thorne leaned in slightly, his voice low but full of mischief. ¡°Can I ask for a favor?¡± Sid¡¯s smirk widened. ¡°Depends on what you have in mind.¡± CHAPTER 122 Thorne lay sprawled on his bed in Uncle¡¯s estate, staring at the ceiling. His fingers absentmindedly fiddled with his mother¡¯s pendant, feeling the familiar warmth of the aether as it pulsed faintly beneath the surface. He toyed with the flow of it, restricting and widening the aether, feeling subtle changes ripple through his body as the intensity fluctuated. He was bored. Worse than that, he was grumpy. It had been days since the fight with the golem, and his body had completely healed. The aether fatigue that had weighed him down after the battle had finally lifted. He should have been relieved, but instead, an unsettling feeling hung over him. It refused to go away, clinging to him no matter what he did. Thorne sighed, flipping the pendant between his fingers. Since arriving in Alvar, his life had been a constant whirlwind of running, fighting, and scheming just to stay alive. Every moment had been filled with action or plotting. Now... now he had nothing. Nothing but waiting. Waiting for another invitation to some noble¡¯s party, waiting for something to happen. But Alvar wasn¡¯t Valewind. The social scene here was staler, and the gatherings were rare, especially now with the constant aether disruptions plaguing the city. People were cautious, locking themselves away in their estates, afraid they¡¯d get caught in another wave of destruction. Some of the nobles had even fled to their country estates, feeling safer surrounded by the quiet of nature than in the city. Thorne groaned. He had nothing to do. Nothing. His fingers tightened around the pendant. ¡°Maybe I could head to the forest and hunt,¡± he muttered aloud, trying to convince himself. His new trait, Lunar Champion, was itching to be tested. He knew he needed to absorb more aether from the beasts to unlock the next tier of his abilities. Last night, he¡¯d tried out Silverlight Strikes for the first time, and his dagger had glowed faintly with a silver light, just like the moon. He had wanted to test it further, see how much damage it could inflict, but he hadn¡¯t been in the mood to traipse through the woods. Thorne sat up, tossing the pendant onto the bed. ¡°I¡¯m not going to accomplish anything by lying here,¡± he muttered to himself. With a heavy sigh, he stood and wandered over to his closet. His fingers trailed through the rich, smooth fabrics, trying to decide what to wear. After a few moments, he settled on a simple gray outfit with a blue overcoat. Without the help of a servant, it took him longer than usual to button everything up, but once he was dressed, he felt... better. More refreshed. More purposeful. His first appearance in Alvar society had been a complete failure, but that didn¡¯t mean it had to stay that way. Maybe he could remedy that. He would stroll through the noble quarter, see if he could bump into someone familiar, strike up a conversation. Anything to make connections and turn things around. Thorne straightened his coat, grabbed the pendant from the bed, and put around his neck. Time to do something. * The streets of the noble quarter carried a quiet stillness, as if even the stones beneath Thorne¡¯s boots had settled into a long-held breath. There was something eerie about how subdued everything felt. The grand estates, with their towering walls and intricate gates, seemed lifeless¡ªmore like fortresses than homes. When he reached the square, he slowed. The governing building stood tall and imposing at the heart of it, surrounded by stately shops and open stalls. Thorne¡¯s eyes flicked toward the corner of the square, where memories from years past came flooding back¡ªstanding there, a young beggar boy, watching the nobles pass by, hoping for a coin or even just a glance. He sighed, a small, rueful smile tugging at his lips. What a difference a few years made. Shaking off the thoughts, Thorne moved to a nearby stall, buying a drink filled with slices of exotic fruit, the sweetness of the honey coating his tongue. He wandered from shop to shop, his eyes lazily drifting over the goods displayed in the windows. He wasn¡¯t really paying attention¡ªhis mind was elsewhere, restless. And then, he saw her. A young woman, accompanied by an older lady with a rigid posture, stepped out of a jewelry shop just ahead. Behind them, a servant struggled to carry several brightly wrapped packages, each one tied with extravagant bows. Thorne¡¯s gaze lingered on the young woman¡ªthe heart-shaped face, the cascade of blonde curls, the striking green eyes. She moved with effortless grace, but it wasn¡¯t just her appearance that caught his attention. He knew her. It clicked. Lady Langston¡¯s brunch. She had sat across from him at the table, her eyes filled with curiosity. He hadn''t known who she was then, but her face had left an impression. His posture straightened, a small spark of intrigue igniting within him. Without missing a beat, his expression shifted into one of pleasant surprise, his Acting and Mask of Deceit skills molding his features into the perfect blend of charm and recognition. Their eyes met. Thorne stepped forward with an easy smile. ¡°Good afternoon, my Lady,¡± he greeted, his voice smooth and confident. ¡°A pleasant surprise to see a familiar face.¡± The young woman blinked, her lips parting slightly before curving into a soft smile of her own. ¡°Good afternoon, my Lord,¡± she replied, her tone polite but carrying a hint of warmth. ¡°I believe we met at Lady Langston¡¯s brunch?¡± Thorne gave a slight bow, his smile widening just enough to show genuine interest. ¡°Indeed, we did. It¡¯s rare to see anyone out and about these days. Most seem to prefer the safety of their homes.¡± Her smile grew as she glanced at her chaperone, who stood stiffly beside her, before turning her attention back to Thorne. ¡°Well, I suppose some of us are a bit more restless than others. The estates can be dreadfully dull after a while.¡± Thorne caught the glint in her eyes, the unspoken desire for something more. But she held herself with the kind of grace that didn¡¯t give away too much. She was poised, measured, yet... something beneath the surface stirred. ¡°Lady Ravencourt, I believe it is time for us to leave.¡± The chaperone interrupted, the older woman giving Thorne hostile looks. ¡°You must be Lady Selene Ravencourt,¡± Thorne said, his tone shifting subtly as the realization settled in. He''d read the name in passing but had imagined a much younger girl. ¡°I am Lord Thorne Silverbane.¡± ¡°Selene Ravencourt,¡± she confirmed with a slight nod, her smile lingering. ¡°A pleasure to meet you properly.¡± Ravencourt. His mind briefly flicked to the family, the feud, and the power struggle. He had read the briefing about her, about her family. Yet here was Selene in the flesh, a name mentioned only in passing, as though she were insignificant¡ªa child. But standing before him now, there was nothing childish about her. He had assumed she was too young to be of any consequence. But as he stood there, looking into her bright green eyes, he realized she was anything but. ¡°Lord Silverbane,¡± she repeated, her gaze flicking briefly to the servant beside her, struggling with the boxes. ¡°You¡¯ve traveled quite a bit, haven¡¯t you? You must find Alvar dreadfully boring.¡± Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. There was a hint of amusement in her voice, but her words were careful, as if she were testing the waters. Thorne gave a soft chuckle, sensing the challenge. ¡°It¡¯s true,¡± he admitted, his eyes twinkling. ¡°Alvar has a... slower pace compared to some of the places I¡¯ve seen. But I find there¡¯s beauty in the quiet too, don¡¯t you?¡± She tilted her head slightly, her curls bouncing with the movement. ¡°Perhaps,¡± she mused, her lips curving into a playful smile. ¡°But I imagine someone like you¡ªsomeone who¡¯s seen the world¡ªmust long for excitement.¡± Thorne¡¯s gaze sharpened just a fraction, catching the subtle undertone in her words. She was curious, intrigued by the idea of adventure, but she wasn¡¯t showing all her cards just yet. Still, he could sense it¡ªthe thirst for something beyond the walls of Alvar, for stories that extended far beyond the safety of the estates. ¡°Well,¡± Thorne began, his tone low, almost conspiratorial., ¡°excitement can be found in the strangest of places. It¡¯s all about knowing where to look.¡± Her smile widened slightly, and for a moment, their eyes held. Their conversation seemed to narrow, the rest of the world fading into the background. There was a quiet understanding between them, something unspoken. Selene¡¯s chaperone shifted beside her, breaking the moment. ¡°My Lady Selene,¡± the older woman said, her tone firm, ¡°we really must return to the estate.¡± Selene glanced at her chaperone, a flash of annoyance passing through her eyes before she quickly composed herself. ¡°Of course, Milena.¡± She turned back to Thorne, her expression softening. ¡°But before we go... I would love to hear more about your travels, Lord Silverbane. Perhaps we could sit for a moment?¡± Thorne¡¯s smile widened. ¡°There¡¯s a lovely bakery just there,¡± he said, gesturing to a small shop with a couple of tables outside. ¡°They serve excellent pastries. I¡¯d be honored if you joined me.¡± Selene¡¯s face brightened, but Milena stepped forward, her eyes narrowing slightly. ¡°My Lady, it would not be proper. The Lord is unaccompanied.¡± Thorne¡¯s smile faltered for only a second before his Acting skill kicked in, his expression shifting to one of carefully measured grief. ¡°Ah... yes, of course,¡± he murmured, his voice heavy with emotion. ¡°Forgive me. I lost all my companions during my journey. They were... dear to me. Brave men, all of them.¡± Selene¡¯s eyes softened, a quiet sympathy flickering across her face. Milena hesitated, her strict posture faltering just slightly, but it was Selene who reacted. ¡°Milena, that¡¯s quite enough,¡± she said, her voice calm but resolute. ¡°It¡¯s just a conversation.¡± Without waiting for further protest, Selene turned and walked toward the small bakery, her movements graceful yet filled with quiet determination. Thorne watched her, a flicker of admiration passing through him. Milena pursed her lips but, with a resigned sigh, followed after her charge. Thorne, his grin barely contained, stepped forward and pulled out a chair for Selene, his eyes catching hers as she sat down. There was something electric in the air between them, a subtle connection forming with every exchanged glance, every unspoken word. ¡°I¡¯d love to hear more about the southern provinces,¡± Selene said, her voice light but eager. ¡°I¡¯ve always wondered what life is like beyond Alvar.¡± Thorne leaned back slightly, his grin widening just enough to show his amusement. ¡°I have plenty of stories to share, my Lady,¡± he replied, his tone smooth. ¡°Where would you like me to begin?¡± The server arrived with a small menu, but Selene was quick to make a suggestion, her eyes bright with enthusiasm. "You must try the blueberry pie," she said, clasping her hands together as if she were revealing a grand secret. "It''s the best in all of Alvar." Thorne couldn¡¯t help the small, unintentional laugh that escaped him. It wasn¡¯t mocking¡ªjust an instinctive reaction. Selene¡¯s head tilted slightly, her eyes narrowing with amusement. ¡°What¡¯s so funny?¡± Thorne smiled, more to himself than at her. ¡°Forgive me, Lady Selene. It¡¯s just... blueberry pie happens to be my favorite dessert. But it¡¯s been a long while since I¡¯ve had it. A... past experience left a bit of a bitter taste, so to speak.¡± Selene¡¯s brows rose, curiosity sparking in her eyes. ¡°Is that so, I sense a story here?¡± Her lips curved mischievously. ¡°Well, will I be able to change your mind? The blueberry pies are divine here!¡± Thorne gave an indulgent smile, feeling a warmth he hadn¡¯t expected. Despite himself, he found the words slipping out before he could stop them. ¡°I suppose I can be persuaded.¡± Selene clapped her hands together in triumph, a victorious gleam in her eyes. ¡°Two slices of blueberry pie, then,¡± she said to the server, her excitement bubbling over. As they waited for their order, their conversation shifted to small talk about the current happenings in Alvar. Thorne leaned back, watching her closely as she animatedly discussed the aether occurrences. ¡°I heard a rumor,¡± she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, ¡°that some brave hero helped the city guards defeat a gargantuan aether beast. They say it was... enormous!¡± Thorne smirked internally, though his expression remained neutral. So, word of the fight with the aether golem has already reached the Ravencourts. He took mental note of that. It could be useful later, knowing how quickly rumors spread in noble circles. The server returned with their slices of blueberry pie, each one a delicate masterpiece drizzled with syrup. Selene wasted no time, picking up her fork and taking a bite with a delighted sigh. Thorne followed suit, the taste of the pie bringing back memories he had long pushed aside. It was sweet, with a subtle tartness from the blueberries, and for a brief moment, he allowed himself to enjoy it. ¡°So, tell me,¡± Selene said between bites, her voice light but curious. ¡°What is it like to travel so far? Have you visited many cities?¡± Thorne leaned back, considering his answer. He could feel the intensity of her gaze, the eagerness to hear more about the world beyond Alvar. He began by mentioning a few of the cities Arletta had advised him to talk about¡ªnames that would sound impressive to any noble, yet distant enough to remain vague. But when he spoke of Valewind, the details came naturally. ¡°Valewind is like no other place,¡± he said, his voice lowering just slightly, as if sharing a secret. ¡°The city is beautiful and ancient, filled with old traditions and history. But it¡¯s also alive in a way that¡¯s hard to describe. There¡¯s a party every day, a gathering every night. Something new, something exciting always seems to happen. The nobles there are... different.¡± Selene was captivated. She rested her head on her hand, her eyes wide with curiosity, hanging on to every word. ¡°That sounds... incredible. Are there so many nobles in Valewind? Enough to have parties every night?¡± Thorne chuckled, savoring her interest. ¡°Not all the gatherings are hosted by nobles, though. The younger ones¡ªpeople our age¡ªoften go out to the city¡¯s taverns and wineries once the sun sets. It¡¯s a... different sort of excitement.¡± ¡°Taverns?¡± Selene¡¯s eyes widened in scandalized surprise, and Thorne couldn¡¯t help the smirk that tugged at his lips. ¡°Not the kind you¡¯re used to, I¡¯m sure,¡± he said, his voice smooth. ¡°These taverns are respectable establishments, with the finest drinks and food. They only allow the most reputable people inside. Some of them...¡± he paused, leaning forward ever so slightly, ¡°are quite spectacular. With bards, dancers, and breathtaking views of the city.¡± Selene''s mouth formed a small, shocked ¡°O¡± as she took it all in. She was completely entranced, her face alight with the thrill of imagining something so different from the world she knew. "I want to go there," she whispered, almost as if she had forgotten where she was. The words slipped out before she could stop them, her eyes glazing over with a distant dream. Thorne laughed, the sound rich and warm, though he noticed Milena¡¯s glare burning into him from the side. He could tell the chaperone wasn¡¯t pleased with him putting such ideas in her charge¡¯s head. But Selene¡¯s face remained radiant, her desire evident. "I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll have your chance to travel someday," Thorne said, his voice gentler now. He could sense the yearning in her words, the wish for more than what Alvar had to offer. But Selene¡¯s expression faltered, her smile fading into something uncertain. ¡°Maybe,¡± she murmured, her tone quieter now. ¡°In Alvar, things are different. As you¡¯ve probably noticed, there aren¡¯t many parties. Not like Valewind. Everything here is... slower.¡± Thorne studied her for a moment, noting the far-off look in her eyes, as if she were considering something. Her fingers drummed lightly on the table, her thoughts clearly wandering to some distant place. Then, as if struck by a sudden idea, her expression transformed¡ªher face lighting up with a radiant smile that was almost infectious. ¡°Lord Silverbane, I must depart!¡± she announced, standing abruptly and gathering her skirts with surprising urgency. Thorne blinked, caught off guard by her sudden shift in mood. His expression mirrored genuine confusion as he stood as well, offering a slight bow. ¡°Of course, my Lady, but...¡± Milena gave Selene a questioning look, but the young woman¡¯s resolve was unshakable. ¡°Milena, we have to pay a visit,¡± Selene said firmly, waving her finger at the servant to follow. The authoritative tone in her voice suggested that this wasn¡¯t a matter up for discussion. Before Thorne could even fully process the change in her demeanor, Selene turned back to him, offering a dazzling smile. ¡°I will see you soon, Lord Silverbane. I can¡¯t wait to hear more of your stories,¡± she said with a graceful curtsy. Thorne bowed in response, still flabbergasted by the whirlwind of her sudden departure. ¡°Of course, my Lady. It was a pleasure.¡± As Selene began to turn away, she paused for just a moment, her gaze locking with his. There was something playful, almost mischievous, in her eyes. ¡°You¡¯ve given me many great ideas,¡± she said with a wink. ¡°I have a feeling something exciting is on the horizon.¡± And with that, she swept away, her skirts billowing as she hurried down the street, leaving Thorne standing in stunned silence, the lingering scent of blueberries and adventure in the air. CHAPTER 123 The courtyard echoed with the sound of clashing blades. Thorne moved with effortless grace, his muscles shifting fluidly under his sweat-soaked shirt as he danced around the two guards. His twin daggers flashed in the early morning light, blocking and parrying the wild strikes of his opponents. They were strong, well-trained, but they were no match for him. ¡°Come on, is that all you¡¯ve got?¡± he taunted, sidestepping a heavy swing from the younger guard, Dalen. ¡°If you¡¯re going to take me down, you¡¯ll need to do better than that!¡± Dalen growled, his face flushed with exertion and frustration. ¡°Stay still for once, damn it!¡± Thorne laughed, a low, mocking sound that seemed to spur the guards on. The older guard, Eddrick, grunted as he swung his sword in a wide arc, aiming for Thorne¡¯s midsection. Thorne didn¡¯t even blink as he ducked, slipping under the blade and tapping Eddrick¡¯s shoulder lightly with the flat of his dagger. ¡°Too slow,¡± he quipped, spinning around to deflect Dalen¡¯s follow-up strike. The younger guard¡¯s eyes flashed with anger as he launched a flurry of blows, each one faster and more desperate than the last. Thorne blocked them all, his movements a blur of agility and precision. ¡°Easy, Dalen,¡± Thorne said, chuckling. ¡°You¡¯re letting your anger get the better of you. Keep a cool head.¡± Eddrick, the older guard, took advantage of Thorne¡¯s momentary distraction and lunged forward, his sword aimed straight for Thorne¡¯s chest. But Thorne was ready. He pivoted on his heel, his dagger coming up to deflect the blade at the last second, then he twisted around and kicked Eddrick¡¯s legs out from under him. The older guard crashed to the ground with a grunt, looking up at Thorne with a mixture of disbelief and grudging respect. ¡°You¡¯re getting slow, Eddrick,¡± Thorne teased, his eyes twinkling. ¡°You¡¯ve got to watch your footing.¡± Eddrick grunted, pushing himself up to a sitting position. ¡°Not all of us have the energy of a young pup,¡± he muttered, wiping the sweat from his brow. For hours, they fought like this, the two guards attacking him with everything they had while Thorne deflected, parried, and dodged with infuriating ease. His breaths came steady and even, his body barely showing any signs of fatigue. The guards, on the other hand, were drenched in sweat, their faces twisted with exhaustion and defeat. ¡°Come on, lads, don¡¯t tell me you¡¯re tired already,¡± Thorne teased, his grin wide and infuriatingly confident. He had dropped the mocking tone he had used earlier, now sounding almost encouraging. ¡°You¡¯ve got to keep up! Try coordinating your attacks better. You¡¯re practically tripping over each other.¡± Eddrick wheezed, his eyes narrowed in concentration as he nodded slightly to Dalen. They adjusted their stance, moving more in sync now, but it still wasn¡¯t enough. Thorne¡¯s movements were too quick, too unpredictable. ¡°Better,¡± Thorne admitted, his voice genuine this time. ¡°But still not good enough.¡± With a sudden burst of speed, he twisted around Dalen, locking his arm around the guard¡¯s throat in a mock hold, before releasing him gently and stepping back. ¡°Don¡¯t overcommit. You¡¯re too eager, and that makes you predictable.¡± Dalen stumbled back, panting heavily, his eyes wide with something that almost looked like respect. Eddrick, too, was watching Thorne with a guarded expression, his shoulders sagging with exhaustion. ¡°You¡¯ve got to work together,¡± Thorne said, lowering his daggers. ¡°Cover each other¡¯s weaknesses. If you do that, you¡¯ll be a much tougher challenge.¡± There was a long pause, the three of them standing in the courtyard, catching their breath. Then, Eddrick gave a reluctant nod, wiping the sweat from his brow. ¡°We¡¯ll remember that,¡± he said gruffly. ¡°You¡¯re not half bad, for a brat.¡± Thorne chuckled, sheathing his daggers. ¡°And you¡¯re not half bad, for a couple of glorified gatekeepers.¡± He turned to Dalen, who was staring at him with a strange, almost admiring look. ¡°Work on your footwork, Dalen. You¡¯ve got speed, but you¡¯re too aggressive. Use that energy more strategically.¡± Dalen blinked, then nodded, his expression softening. ¡°Thanks... Lord Silverbane.¡± Thorne smiled, clapping the young man on the shoulder before turning away. His muscles were pleasantly sore, his body thrumming with the afterglow of a good workout. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, feeling the warmth of satisfaction settle in his chest. After leaving the guild It wasn¡¯t often he got to push himself like that, and he was pleased with the results. As he made his way toward the kitchen, he thought about the subtle shift in the guards¡¯ attitudes. For the first time, there had been something other than disdain and hostility in their eyes. Respect, maybe. Or at least a begrudging acknowledgment of his skills. The kitchen was bustling with activity when he entered, the air thick with the mouthwatering scent of freshly baked bread and roasting meat. Matilda looked up from where she was directing the servants, her face breaking into a wide smile as she saw him. ¡°There¡¯s our young master,¡± she said warmly, wiping her hands on her apron. ¡°You look like you¡¯ve been through the wars.¡± Thorne shrugged, grinning. ¡°Just a little morning exercise.¡± He glanced around the kitchen, his stomach growling. ¡°Got anything for a starving warrior?¡± Matilda laughed, motioning for him to sit. ¡°You sit yourself down, and I¡¯ll get you something. I swear, if you keep training like this, I¡¯ll have to double your portions.¡± Thorne made his way to the long wooden table, collapsing into a chair with a sigh of relief. He hadn¡¯t realized just how tired he was until he sat down. The kitchen was bustling with activity, the clatter of pots and pans and the murmur of voices filling the air. Several of the serving girls were sneaking glances at him, whispering and giggling behind their hands. He raised an eyebrow, feeling a flush of confusion. ¡°Why are they staring at me?¡± he asked, genuinely puzzled. Matilda smirked, setting a plate piled high with food in front of him. ¡°Maybe because you¡¯re strutting around like a peacock in your fancy clothes, looking like you¡¯ve just stepped out of a fairy tale.¡± A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. Thorne blinked, looking down at his sweat-soaked shirt and breeches. ¡°I¡¯m not even dressed up.¡± Matilda rolled her eyes. ¡°It¡¯s not about the clothes, boy. You¡¯re a handsome young man, and you¡¯re showing off those muscles of yours like you¡¯re on display.¡± Thorne felt his face heat up, suddenly self-conscious. ¡°I didn¡¯t... I mean, I wasn¡¯t trying to...¡± Matilda laughed, patting his shoulder. ¡°Oh, don¡¯t worry, lad. It¡¯s not a bad thing. Just try not to break too many hearts, alright?¡± Thorne shook his head, grumbling under his breath as he dug into his food. The serving girls continued to watch him, but he did his best to ignore them, focusing instead on the delicious meal in front of him. Matilda had outdone herself, as always, and the food was a welcome distraction from his restless thoughts. He was just finishing his second helping when the kitchen door swung open, and Arletta stormed in, looking as if she were in a hurry. She scanned the room, her eyes narrowing as they landed on Thorne. ¡°There you are,¡± she said sharply, marching over to him. ¡°Master wants to see you.¡± Thorne sighed, setting down his fork. ¡°Of course he does.¡± He pushed back his chair and stood, brushing the crumbs from his hands. He could feel the shift inside him, his Mask of Deceit slipping into place, smoothing out his features into an inscrutable mask. One of the maids flinched, her eyes widening as she took an unconscious step back. ¡°Don¡¯t keep him waiting,¡± Arletta said, her tone curt. ¡°You know how he gets.¡± Thorne nodded, giving Matilda a grateful smile before turning to leave. As he passed by the flustered maid, he gave her a reassuring wink, his expression softening. She blushed, looking away quickly. ¡°I¡¯ll see you later, Matilda,¡± he called over his shoulder as he followed Arletta out of the kitchen. ¡°Save some of that pie for me, will you?¡± Matilda laughed, waving him off. ¡°Just get going, you rascal. And try not to get into too much trouble.¡± Thorne grinned, falling into step behind Arletta as they made their way through the mansion. He could feel the tension coiling in his gut, the anticipation of whatever new scheme Uncle had in mind. Whatever it was, he knew he would have to play his part perfectly. Thorne stepped into Uncle study, the familiar smell of ink and aged leather filling his nostrils. The room was lined with bookshelves, each one crammed with tomes and scrolls, the accumulated knowledge of decades of scheming. Uncle was seated behind his massive oak desk, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips as he held a piece of parchment in his hand. ¡°Ah, Thorne, just the person I wanted to see,¡± Uncle said, his eyes sparkling with a rare enthusiasm. He waved the paper in the air before setting it down. ¡°It seems your efforts at Lady Langston¡¯s brunch didn¡¯t go to waste after all. We¡¯ve received an invitation to a most prestigious event.¡± Thorne¡¯s brow furrowed in confusion. He had left that brunch feeling like a failure, the nobles¡¯ indifference still a sting in his pride. He hadn¡¯t thought anyone there would bother to remember him, let alone send an invitation. ¡°An invitation?¡± he repeated, his mind racing. ¡°To what?¡± ¡°To Bastian Lockridge¡¯s birthday party, no less!¡± Uncle declared, his voice brimming with excitement. ¡°It¡¯s going to be a grand affair, the kind of gathering that could determine the fate of our little endeavor.¡± Thorne blinked, surprise flashing across his face. He remembered the Lockridge heir well¡ªa towering, imposing figure with a sneer permanently etched on his lips. Bastian hadn¡¯t seemed particularly fond of him during their brief encounter. In fact, Thorne was almost certain the older boy had gone out of his way to make his disdain clear. ¡°Bastian Lockridge?¡± Thorne asked, still trying to make sense of it. ¡°He didn¡¯t seem like the type to want me at his party. I¡¯m pretty sure he would have preferred throwing me out.¡± Uncle chuckled, leaning back in his chair. ¡°True, young Bastian does have a bit of a temper, but I doubt he had much say in this matter.¡± He tapped his finger on the invitation, his smile widening. ¡°This reek of Lady Langston¡¯s handiwork. She must have convinced them to invite you.¡± Thorne wasn¡¯t so sure. His thoughts immediately flew back to his encounter with Selene. The girl¡¯s bright eyes and infectious enthusiasm had left a mark on him, and he could easily imagine her convincing the Lockridge family to extend an invitation. But still, why would she go to such lengths? His musings were interrupted by Uncle¡¯s excited voice. ¡°This is an opportunity you can¡¯t afford to squander, Thorne. You don¡¯t need me to tell you how crucial the Lockridge family is to our plans. Their private army is the most disciplined in Alvar, and their allegiance could tip the balance in our favor.¡± Thorne hesitated, his mind whirling with possibilities. ¡°I didn¡¯t get the impression that Bastian liked me, though,¡± he admitted cautiously. ¡°In fact, he seemed ready to rip my head off.¡± Uncle waved his hand dismissively. ¡°Bastian¡¯s opinion doesn¡¯t matter. It¡¯s his mother, Lady Elena, who holds the real power. She¡¯s a fierce warrior, but not the most cunning strategist. She can be influenced, especially if she sees us as the better option over the Ravencourts.¡± Thorne nodded slowly, understanding dawning. Lady Elena Lockridge was known throughout Alvar for her valor on the battlefield, but if Uncle¡¯s assessment was correct, her straightforward nature could be turned to their advantage. If they could sway her, convince her that aligning with the Thornfields was the best course of action, it could change everything. ¡°This party is more than just a social gathering,¡± Uncle continued, his voice dropping into a serious tone. ¡°It¡¯s a chance for us to see the lay of the land, to understand where the allegiances of the various houses lie. The Thornfields and Ravencourts will both be there. You need to observe, to listen, and to gather anything that might give us an edge.¡± Thorne raised an eyebrow, feeling a pang of uncertainty. ¡°Do you have any specific instructions for me? Anything in particular I should be looking for?¡± Uncle shrugged, a gesture that seemed almost careless, though Thorne knew better than to be deceived by his uncle¡¯s casual demeanor. ¡°I trust your instincts, Thorne. You¡¯ve proven more than capable. Just remember, anything that can strengthen the Thornfields¡¯ position is valuable. Information, alliances, even the slightest hint of a rift between our enemies.¡± Thorne¡¯s eyes narrowed slightly as he studied his uncle¡¯s face. There was something different about the way Uncle was speaking to him, a shift in the dynamic that he couldn¡¯t quite place. Since when did Uncle have this much faith in him, entrusting him with a mission of such importance without a detailed plan? Was this another test? Another way to gauge his loyalty and competence? ¡°Is there something else I should know?¡± Thorne asked, trying to keep his voice steady. Uncle leaned forward, his gaze sharp. ¡°Yes, there is. Later tonight, we¡¯ll be having some very important guests. Lord Thornfield and his son will be joining us for a private meeting. I want you there.¡± Thorne felt his heart skip a beat. Lord Thornfield himself? And his son? Thorne had only seen the head of the Thornfield family from a distance, a commanding figure shrouded in rumors and whispers. His son, Kellan, was said to be quiet and reserved, the complete opposite of the Ravencourt heir. ¡°You want me at the meeting?¡± Thorne repeated, his mind spinning. ¡°Why?¡± Uncle¡¯s smile was unreadable. ¡°You¡¯re my heir, Thorne. You need to start understanding the intricacies of our plans, the true stakes at play. Besides, you¡¯ve proven yourself more than capable of handling delicate situations.¡± Thorne swallowed, a strange mix of emotions swirling in his chest. Was this trust? Genuine trust from the man who had taken him in, who had trained him, molded him into what he was today? Or was it just another layer of the endless web of manipulation that Uncle wove around everyone? ¡°I see,¡± Thorne said finally, his voice measured. ¡°I¡¯ll be there.¡± Uncle nodded, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. ¡°Good. I have high expectations for you, Thorne. You¡¯ve already come so far. Don¡¯t disappoint me now.¡± Thorne forced a smile, his mind racing with possibilities. If this was a test, he would pass it. If it was a genuine show of faith, then perhaps there was an opening, a way to gain more power, more freedom. ¡°Thank you, Uncle,¡± he said, his voice smooth and steady. ¡°I won¡¯t let you down.¡± As he left the study, his thoughts were a chaotic storm. Uncle¡¯s words echoed in his mind, the implications of this newfound trust, or whatever it was, weighing heavily on him. This meeting could change everything. But more importantly, it could be the key to unlocking more of the power and influence he so desperately craved. A small, calculating smile crept onto his lips as he walked down the corridor. It was time to show them all just how capable he truly was. CHAPTER 124 Thorne stood in his room, the dim light from the lamp casting long shadows across the walls. The mansion was quiet around him, the kind of quiet that felt heavy with anticipation. On his bed lay the coat Uncle had given him¡ªa deep blue, almost black, with silver embroidery tracing elegant patterns along the collar and cuffs. He ran his fingers over the fabric, feeling the weight of it, the fine wool lined with a hidden layer of leather. It was more than just a coat; it was armor of a different kind. As he shrugged it on, the coat settled around his shoulders like a second skin. It was a perfect fit, tailored with an attention to detail that spoke of Uncle¡¯s meticulous nature. He fastened the buttons with steady hands, his movements precise and deliberate. This was more than just dressing for a meeting. It was a ritual, a transformation. The boy he used to be, the one who had scurried through the streets of Alvar like a ghost, begging for scraps, was gone. In his place stood the man Uncle had shaped him into: confident, composed, dangerous. Thorne glanced at his reflection in the mirror. The man looking back at him was a stranger, and yet intimately familiar. His posture was perfect, his expression calm and composed. He looked every inch the young nobleman, but beneath the polished exterior was the edge of a blade, honed and ready. A shadow of a smile touched his lips as he adjusted his collar. He reached for his mother¡¯s pendant, the cool metal a reassuring weight in his palm. He slipped it back beneath his clothes, feeling it settle against his heart. It was a small gesture, but one that grounded him. He took a deep breath and left his room, the door closing softly behind him. The mansion felt different tonight, charged with a kind of restless energy. The usual calm had been replaced by an undercurrent of urgency, a tension that thrummed through the air like a barely audible hum. Thorne moved down the hallway, his footsteps muffled by the plush carpet. He passed a maid carrying a tray of wine glasses, her hands trembling slightly. She glanced at him, her eyes wide with something close to fear, before looking away quickly. Ahead, two servants whispered in hushed tones, their voices carrying the barest hint of anxiety. ¡°The Thornfields are here,¡± one of them said, his tone tight. ¡°I saw their carriage pull up just now.¡± ¡°Do you think there¡¯s going to be trouble?¡± the other asked, her eyes darting nervously around the corridor. Thorne didn¡¯t pause as he walked past them, but he felt a flicker of satisfaction at their unease. Everyone knew that Uncle didn¡¯t invite guests lightly, especially not those as significant as the Thornfields. They could sense that something was about to change, even if they didn¡¯t know what it was. He made his way to the grand dining room, pausing just outside the heavy double doors. He took a moment to steady himself, feeling the familiar weight of expectation settle over his shoulders. Then he pushed the doors open and stepped inside. The room was a study in opulence. A long table stretched down the center, set with the finest silverware and crystal glasses that sparkled under the light of the chandeliers. The rich scent of roasted meat and spiced wine filled the air, a subtle reminder of the feast that was to come. Uncle sat at the head of the table, a goblet in his hand, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he swirled the dark liquid within. Thorne approached, his steps silent on the polished marble floor. ¡°I am here,¡± he said, keeping his voice low. Uncle looked up, his smile widening. ¡°Good. Tonight¡¯s meeting is important, and I want you to be at your best.¡± Thorne raised an eyebrow, his expression calm despite the curiosity simmering beneath the surface. Uncle was rarely this forthcoming. ¡°I¡¯m listening.¡± Uncle leaned back in his chair, his gaze thoughtful. ¡°You¡¯ve come a long way, and it¡¯s time you start taking on more responsibility. The Thornfields are crucial to our plans, and I need you to observe, learn, and, if necessary, act.¡± Thorne nodded slowly, absorbing the weight of the command. ¡°What should I look out for?¡± ¡°Everything,¡± Uncle said, his voice soft but firm. ¡°Hadrian is ambitious, but he¡¯s also impulsive. He has a penchant for seeing only what¡¯s in front of him and ignoring the bigger picture. Kellan is¡­ different. He¡¯s not the leader his father is, but he has his own strengths. We need to understand him, too.¡± Thorne¡¯s eyes narrowed slightly. It was rare for Uncle to admit uncertainty. The fact that he was doing so now meant that this meeting was even more significant than he had realized. ¡°I¡¯ll be ready,¡± Thorne said, his tone steady. ¡°Good,¡± Uncle replied, his gaze lingering on Thorne. ¡°You¡¯ve done well so far. Don¡¯t disappoint me tonight.¡± Thorne inclined his head, feeling the familiar pressure settle over his shoulders. He moved to the wall, leaning against it with his ankles crossed. He activated his evolved stealth skill, Veil of Light and Shadow, feeling himself blend seamlessly into the background. He watched as Uncle took another sip of his wine, his expression contemplative. Time passed slowly, the room cloaked in silence. Then, the sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway, growing louder with each passing second. The dining room doors swung open, and Lord Hadrian Thornfield strode in, his presence filling the room with a suffocating intensity. He was a large man, broad-shouldered and imposing, with a belly that strained against the buttons of his finely tailored coat. His face was flushed, a permanent hue of red that spoke of too much drink and indulgence. He wore his vices like a badge of honor, the faint scent of expensive cologne barely masking the stale odor of alcohol that clung to him. Behind him, his son Kellan entered, a stark contrast to his father. Kellan was shorter, his build lean and almost fragile. His skin was pale, his face pockmarked and sallow, making him appear older than his years. There was an awkwardness in the way he carried himself, as if he was always trying to shrink away from attention. But his eyes were sharp, and they flicked around the room with a cautious intelligence that Thorne didn¡¯t miss. ¡°Varyn,¡± Lord Hadrian greeted, his voice loud and booming. ¡°You certainly know how to make a man feel welcome.¡± Uncle smiled, rising from his seat with the grace of a predator. ¡°Hadrian, Kellan. Welcome to my home. Please, have a seat.¡± The Thornfield moved toward the table, neither of them noticing Thorne as they took their places. Thorne observed them carefully, his eyes taking in every detail. Lord Hadrian¡¯s confidence was almost theatrical, a man used to getting what he wanted. But there was something beneath it, a restlessness that suggested he was more fragile than he appeared. Kellan, on the other hand, was quiet, his hands clenched in his lap as he avoided looking directly at his father. Uncle waited for them to settle before speaking. ¡°Before we begin, there¡¯s someone I want you to meet.¡± Thorne pushed away from the wall, allowing himself to become visible. The Thornfield¡¯ reactions were immediate and telling. Lord Hadrian stiffened, his hand twitching toward his side as if expecting an attack. Kellan¡¯s eyes widened, his mouth opening slightly in shock. ¡°This is my son and heir, Thorne,¡± Uncle said, his voice brimming with pride. ¡°He will be joining us tonight.¡± ¡°Your son?¡± Lord Hadrian¡¯s voice was incredulous, his gaze shifting between Uncle and Thorne. ¡°I didn¡¯t know you had a son.¡± ¡°There are many things you don¡¯t know about me, Hadrian,¡± Uncle replied smoothly. ¡°But yes, Thorne has been by my side for years, and I¡¯ve chosen him to continue my legacy.¡± Thorne inclined his head, a slight smile playing on his lips. ¡°Lord Hadrian, Lord Kellan,¡± he greeted them, his tone polite yet distant. ¡°It¡¯s a pleasure to meet you.¡± Kellan stared at him, his eyes narrowing as if trying to figure out how someone like Thorne could be Uncle¡¯s heir. There was a flicker of something in his gaze¡ªresentment, perhaps, or envy¡ªbut it vanished as quickly as it appeared. Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. Lord Hadrian, still reeling from the surprise, finally managed to compose himself. ¡°You certainly know how to keep secrets, Varyn.¡± Uncle chuckled. ¡°One of my many talents.¡± Thorne remained silent, his gaze drifting between father and son. There was tension there, a subtle but unmistakable current that hinted at a strained relationship. Lord Hadrian was overbearing, his presence suffocating, while Kellan seemed to shrink in his shadow. But there was more to it than that¡ªsomething deeper that Thorne couldn¡¯t quite put his finger on. ¡°Now that introductions are out of the way,¡± Uncle said, his tone shifting to one of business, ¡°shall we begin?¡± Thorne watched as the Thornfields nodded, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and wariness. He felt a surge of anticipation. This meeting was a pivotal moment, and he needed to be at his best. He could sense the undercurrents of power and manipulation at play, and he was determined to learn everything he could. As Uncle began to outline the plans for their alliance, Thorne kept his gaze fixed on the Thornfields, his mind whirring with possibilities. He could see the cracks in their fa?ade, the weaknesses that could be exploited. And he would exploit them, for Uncle¡¯s sake and his own. The conversation flowed smoothly at first, Uncle laying out the broad strokes of their plans¡ªsecuring alliances, consolidating resources, and establishing a power base in Alvar. But it wasn¡¯t long before Hadrian¡¯s impatience boiled over. Lord Hadrian Thornfield shifted uneasily in his seat, the chair creaking under his weight. His fingers drummed against the table, a rhythmic tap that spoke of his growing impatience. Uncle had just finished outlining the broad strokes of their plans, but Hadrian seemed more interested in the goblet in front of him than in the words being spoken. He reached for the drink, his hand trembling slightly, and downed the wine in a single gulp. A servant rushed forward to refill it, and Thorne noted how the man¡¯s eyes lingered on the rim of the goblet, as if contemplating whether he should drink directly from the bottle instead. ¡°Is that all?¡± Hadrian grumbled, his voice slurring just a touch. ¡°You drag me all the way here, and all you¡¯ve got are vague promises and lofty goals.¡± He sneered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and leaned back heavily in his chair. ¡°I¡¯ve spent more coin than I care to count, and what do I have to show for it? A few decrepit warehouses and rumors.¡± Uncle¡¯s smile remained fixed, but the room seemed to drop a few degrees in temperature. ¡°Patience, Hadrian,¡± he said softly, his tone almost fatherly. ¡°You have to plant the seeds before you can reap the rewards.¡± ¡°Seeds?¡± Hadrian scoffed, waving his goblet dismissively. ¡°You¡¯ve got me squandering my fortune on meaningless purchases. What am I supposed to do with warehouses, Varyn? You promised me power, not a merchant¡¯s life!¡± Thorne watched the exchange silently, his gaze drifting from Hadrian¡¯s flushed, frustrated face to Uncle¡¯s composed demeanor. There was a practiced ease in the way Uncle handled Hadrian, almost like a master puppeteer, gently tugging at the strings of the man¡¯s insecurities and desires. Uncle leaned forward slightly, setting his goblet down with a deliberate motion. ¡°Hadrian, we¡¯ve discussed this before. Control of the city doesn¡¯t come from brute strength alone. It comes from influence, from resources. You can¡¯t command loyalty with an empty purse.¡± Hadrian¡¯s jaw tightened, his gaze flicking to the side. ¡°Influence, resources,¡± he muttered, his voice tight. ¡°You sound like a damn scholar. How am I supposed to rally the nobles if all I can offer them is empty promises?¡± Uncle¡¯s smile never wavered, but there was a coldness in his eyes that made Thorne¡¯s skin prickle. ¡°You¡¯re not listening, Hadrian. You¡¯re thinking too small. Right now, you need to establish a foundation, build a base of support. That¡¯s why the warehouses are important. Control the flow of goods, and you control the city¡¯s economy. It¡¯s a subtle game, but one we must play.¡± Hadrian scowled, reaching for his goblet again, only to find it empty. His frustration boiled over, and he slammed the cup down on the table, making the dishes rattle. ¡°I don¡¯t have time for subtlety, Varyn! I need results!¡± The room went silent, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Thorne felt his pulse quicken, his fingers itching to reach for the dagger concealed at his waist. Uncle¡¯s eyes narrowed, his expression hardening. He spoke, each word dripping with icy precision. ¡°Do you think this is a game, Hadrian?¡± Hadrian blanched, his bluster fading under the weight of Uncle¡¯s words. ¡°I¡ª¡± ¡°Do you think I¡¯ve wasted my time and resources on you out of charity?¡± Uncle continued, his voice dropping to a dangerous murmur. ¡°I¡¯ve invested in you because I see potential. But don¡¯t mistake that for weakness. If you fail to deliver, I will not hesitate to cut my losses.¡± He leaned back, his gaze never leaving Hadrian¡¯s paling face. ¡°I hold the keys to your future, Hadrian. And I could just as easily throw them away. I would hate to see your house vanish, for your noble line to be extinguished...¡± Thorne moved then, slow and deliberate, pulling a dagger from his belt and flipping it casually through his fingers. The sound of the blade slicing through the air was the only noise in the room, a soft whisper that seemed to echo in the tense silence. He met Hadrian¡¯s gaze, his eyes cold and unreadable, and smiled¡ªa small, dangerous smile that spoke of violence barely restrained. Hadrian swallowed hard, his bravado crumbling as he glanced between Uncle and Thorne. ¡°I¡ªI didn¡¯t mean¡ª¡± ¡°Good,¡± Uncle said smoothly, his demeanor shifting back to the affable host in an instant. ¡°Because I would hate to see all our hard work go to waste.¡± Kellan, who had been silent throughout the exchange, finally spoke up, his voice soft and measured. ¡°Father, perhaps we should listen to what Master Varyn has to say.¡± Hadrian shot his son a dark look but seemed to deflate, slumping back in his chair. He nodded reluctantly, his eyes darting nervously to Thorne¡¯s blade before looking away. ¡°Fine. What do you suggest?¡± Uncle¡¯s smile widened, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. ¡°We need to solidify your position. First, you need to show the people that you care. The next time an aether event occurs, you will send aid¡ªfood, supplies, whatever you have available. Win their trust, and you¡¯ll have their support.¡± Hadrian looked disgusted, his lips curling in disdain. ¡°You want me to play the role of a benevolent lord? To grovel before commoners?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Uncle said bluntly. ¡°Because right now, you need them more than they need you. And once they see you as their benefactor, they¡¯ll be less likely to oppose you when the time comes.¡± Hadrian grumbled something under his breath but nodded. ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll do it.¡± ¡°Good,¡± Uncle said, his smile returning. ¡°Next, you need to secure the support of the minor houses. I have a list of potential allies. There are some that could be easily bought with a few coins. They¡¯re not as powerful as the Ravencourts or the Farroways, but their backing will be crucial in the coming months.¡± Hadrian¡¯s frustration flared again, his face reddening. ¡°More money, more bribes. You¡¯re bleeding me dry, Varyn.¡± Uncle¡¯s expression darkened, the room seeming to grow colder. ¡°It¡¯s an investment, Hadrian. One that will pay off in time. But if you¡¯d rather squander your fortune on drink and whores, by all means¡ªcontinue as you are.¡± His voice took on a hard edge, the affability stripped away. ¡°Just remember that your reputation is in my hands. And I have no qualms about destroying it if you become more of a liability than an asset.¡± Thorne felt the atmosphere shift, the air thick with unspoken threat. He twirled the dagger one last time before sheathing it, his eyes locked on Hadrian¡¯s. The older man looked away, his hands trembling as he picked up his refilled goblet and took a long drink. ¡°I¡¯ll do what you ask,¡± Hadrian muttered, his voice barely audible. ¡°Excellent,¡± Uncle said, his tone brightening. ¡°One more thing. You should consider employing some of the locals as your personal guard. Quietly, of course. A show of strength, but one that won¡¯t draw too much attention.¡± Hadrian nodded, his expression subdued. ¡°Anything else?¡± Uncle leaned back in his chair, his gaze thoughtful. ¡°There¡¯s the matter of your son¡¯s marriage.¡± Hadrian blinked, clearly taken aback. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Kellan is of age, and he needs a suitable match. Emilia Farroway would be perfect. Her family¡¯s wealth and reputation would lend you considerable support.¡± Hadrian looked uncomfortable, his eyes flicking to Kellan, who had gone still, his expression carefully blank. ¡°I hadn¡¯t thought about that.¡± ¡°Think about it,¡± Uncle said smoothly. ¡°Emilia is beautiful, intelligent, and her family is highly respected. Such an alliance would be a significant advantage.¡± Kellan¡¯s eyes met Thorne¡¯s for a brief moment, and Thorne saw the discomfort there, the flicker of something that looked like resentment. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by the same guarded expression. Hadrian shifted in his seat, looking torn. ¡°I¡¯ll consider it.¡± ¡°Good,¡± Uncle replied smoothly, his smile widening, a predator¡¯s gleam in his eyes. ¡°You¡¯ve made the right choice, Hadrian.¡± He leaned back, a picture of confidence and control, and gestured towards Thorne. ¡°And as for Kellan¡¯s social standing, Thorne here will be invaluable. He¡¯s exceptionally skilled in navigating such settings.¡± There was a note of pride in his voice, one that almost sounded paternal. ¡°He¡¯ll ensure your son is in the best company.¡± Thorne glanced at Kellan, his lips curling into a smirk. The young man met his gaze for a heartbeat, his expression inscrutable, a mixture of wariness and curiosity flickering in his eyes. Thorne could see the apprehension beneath the surface, the doubt about his own abilities to match the expectations laid before him. ¡°I¡¯d be honored to assist,¡± Thorne said, his tone light but with an edge of challenge as he held Kellan¡¯s gaze. ¡°It¡¯ll be a valuable experience, I¡¯m sure.¡± Uncle clapped his hands, and the doors to the dining room swung open, servants filing in with trays of food and pitchers of wine. ¡°But for now, let¡¯s enjoy the evening. I¡¯ve arranged a little entertainment.¡± The transition was sudden, almost jarring. The room, which had been filled with tension moments before, was now a scene of indulgence. Servants placed platters of roasted meats, glazed fruits, and delicate pastries on the table, the rich aromas mingling with the scent of wine and perfume. Dancers entered the room, their movements slow and sultry as they swayed to the soft music. Hadrian¡¯s eyes lit up, his earlier frustration melting away as he reached for a roasted leg of lamb, tearing into it with a kind of ravenous delight. Kellan, meanwhile, remained quiet, his gaze drifting to the dancers with a kind of detached curiosity. Thorne watched them both, his mind whirring with the possibilities. He leaned back in his chair, his fingers brushing the hilt of his dagger. The meeting had gone better than he had expected, but there was still much to do. The road ahead was fraught with danger and uncertainty, but Thorne felt a thrill of anticipation. Uncle had given him a role to play, and Thorne intended to play it to perfection. CHAPTER 125 Thorne stood in the center of his room, arms stretched out as a small army of servants buzzed around him like a hive of bees. One smoothed the sleeves of his midnight-blue coat, while another carefully strapped a sheathed dagger to his forearm, hidden under layers of fine fabric. A third hovered near his head, combing and tying his hair back into a neat, elegant style. A fourth servant knelt by his feet, meticulously polishing his boots until they gleamed under the soft candlelight. The days leading up to the party had been a strange blur of activity. Despite his efforts to keep busy, time had stretched and compressed in ways that left him feeling disoriented. Sparring with the guards had become a daily ritual, with Dalen especially treating each session as a personal challenge, a stubborn determination driving him to improve. It was almost admirable, though Thorne had lost track of how many times he¡¯d left the young guard sprawled on the ground, gasping for breath. In his downtime, he had frequented Jonah and Ben¡¯s shop, helping them with whatever they needed and even joining them for a few drinks at the tavern when night fell. The shop had finally opened to modest success, and seeing his friends¡¯ excitement had been a rare bright spot in the otherwise monotonous days. A servant gently tugged at his hair in an effort to smooth any stray strands. Thorne winced, earning a reprimand from Arletta, who stood by the door with her arms crossed, observing the scene with a critical eye. She stepped forward, her voice sharp and authoritative as she corrected the servant¡¯s technique. ¡°Be careful with his hair,¡± she snapped, her eyes narrowed. ¡°It needs to be perfect.¡± The servant nodded hurriedly, adjusting her grip and continuing her task with more care. Thorne sighed, his gaze drifting to Arletta¡¯s stern face. Despite the seemingly endless days, the upcoming party had arrived too quickly. And now that it was time to act and take care of his responsibilities as the heir of Uncle¡¯s empire, he felt... Restless. Restless and nervous. As the servants continued their work, Arletta¡¯s eyes seemed to pierce through Thorne, her expression hard and unyielding. Out of nowhere, she spoke, her voice carrying a note of disapproval. ¡°I don¡¯t like the boy,¡± she said flatly. Thorne blinked, confusion flickering across his features. ¡°What boy?¡± he asked, glancing at her through the mirror. ¡°The Thornfield heir,¡± Arletta replied, her tone laced with disdain. ¡°He¡¯s too weak.¡± Thorne couldn¡¯t help but chuckle at the unexpected comment, his shoulders shaking with amusement. ¡°I didn¡¯t know you had opinions, Arletta.¡± Her glare was sharp enough to cut glass. ¡°I do, and I¡¯m telling you, he¡¯ll ruin Master¡¯s plans.¡± ¡°Master¡¯s plans?¡± Thorne echoed, still grinning. A servant offered him a selection of daggers, each gleaming with a lethal promise. He chose two finely crafted blades, their hilts wrapped in dark leather, and let the servant strap them securely into the concealed sheaths sewn into the lining of his coat and waistcoat. He could hardly feel the weight of them, yet they were perfectly positioned for quick, lethal access. ¡°That¡¯s a bit dramatic, isn¡¯t it?¡± He asked, testing how easily he could take out his daggers. Arletta huffed, her arms crossing tighter over her chest. ¡°He¡¯s weak-minded. A liability. He doesn¡¯t have the spine to do what needs to be done. He¡¯ll be a problem.¡± Thorne considered her words, his expression thoughtful as he shifted his gaze to the reflection of his own face in the mirror. ¡°I¡¯m not so sure about that,¡± he said slowly, his voice musing. ¡°There¡¯s something more to him. He looks afraid, but that has something to do with his father, I think. He¡¯s hiding something.¡± Arletta snorted, a sound of skepticism. ¡°A coward¡¯s secrets are nothing worth finding.¡± ¡°Maybe.¡± Thorne¡¯s smile faded as he pondered her words, his mind turning over what he had observed. ¡°But it¡¯s too early to say if he¡¯s weak. He might surprise us.¡± Arletta shook her head, her lips pressed into a thin line. ¡°He¡¯s a fool, and fools make mistakes. We can¡¯t afford that.¡± Thorne shrugged, feeling the weight of the coat settle around his shoulders as the servants finished their work. ¡°We¡¯ll see,¡± he said, his voice light, though a shadow of doubt lingered in his eyes. ¡°For now, let¡¯s not write him off just yet.¡± The final servant stepped back, bowing slightly as they surveyed their work. Thorne turned to the mirror, taking in his reflection. The transformation was striking. Gone was the scrappy, battle-hardened fighter. In his place stood a young noble, every inch of him polished and refined, the perfect image of Lord Silverbane. The long, high-collared blue black coat he wore was made of a rich, velvet-like material that seemed to absorb the light. The intricate silver embroidery along the edges caught the candlelight, casting delicate patterns reminiscent of swirling aether. The coat¡¯s fitted cut flared slightly at the hem, giving him an imposing silhouette, while the collar and cuffs were lined with sleek black silk. Underneath, his deep charcoal shirt shimmered subtly with every movement, the fabric lightweight and almost ethereal. Small onyx buttons fastened it, gleaming against the dark fabric. Over this, a fitted waistcoat hugged his torso, the dark material only revealing its intricate pattern¡ªa motif resembling a constellation or swirling aether lines¡ªwhen the light struck it just right. Silver filigree buttons adorned the waistcoat, matching the embroidery on the coat. ¡°Isn¡¯t this a bit much?¡± he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice. ¡°I feel like I¡¯m being dressed for a coronation, not a party.¡± Arletta¡¯s gaze softened, just slightly, as she observed him. ¡°You look the part,¡± she admitted grudgingly, her voice tinged with an almost reluctant approval. ¡°Let¡¯s hope I can play it,¡± Thorne murmured, his fingers brushing over the hidden dagger at his forearm. He turned away from the mirror, meeting Arletta¡¯s gaze head-on. ¡°It¡¯s time.¡± She nodded curtly, stepping aside to let him pass. ¡°Don¡¯t get distracted,¡± she warned, her voice low. ¡°Remember why you¡¯re there.¡± Thorne offered her a crooked smile, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of anticipation and resolve. ¡°I never forget.¡± Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. And with that, he stepped out of the room, the heavy door closing behind him with a soft thud. The night awaited, and with it, the party that could shape the future of Alvar. * Thorne strode across the courtyard, the night air crisp and tinged with the scent of wet earth. His boots echoed lightly on the cobblestones, and Arletta followed a few paces behind, her eyes scanning their surroundings with her usual hawk-like vigilance. The carriage, sleek and polished, stood waiting near the gate. The horses, dark and powerful, snorted softly, their breath misting in the cool air. A lantern hung from the driver¡¯s seat, casting a warm, golden glow over the entrance. Thorne nodded to the guards stationed by the carriage, noting Dalen¡¯s small, impressed smile. The young guard had been taking their training sessions seriously, and it seemed Thorne¡¯s brutal sparring had earned him some grudging respect. Thorne gave a brief nod in return before moving to enter the carriage. Just as he reached for the door handle, Arletta¡¯s hand shot out, stopping him. ¡°Wait,¡± she ordered, her eyes darting around the courtyard. ¡°You have to wait.¡± Thorne frowned, his patience already thin from the long preparation. ¡°For what?¡± Arletta muttered under her breath, a rare look of irritation crossing her usually composed features. ¡°Where are they? Master will hear of this.¡± Thorne¡¯s frown deepened. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± ¡°Master gave orders that you are to be escorted by bodyguards,¡± she said briskly, still scanning the courtyard as if expecting someone to materialize out of thin air. His eyes narrowed, his tone sharp. ¡°Bodyguards? Who exactly?¡± ¡°The Lost Ones.¡± A cold fury washed over him, his jaw tightening as the memories flooded back. ¡°I don¡¯t want anyone from the guild following me around,¡± he hissed, his voice low and dangerous. Arletta met his glare evenly. ¡°These are Master¡¯s orders, Master Thorne. I can¡¯t do anything about it.¡± He gritted his teeth, his hands clenching at his sides as he struggled to control the anger simmering beneath the surface. The guild was a shadow that never left his mind, a constant reminder of what he had been trying to escape. Rielle, Vance, Rhea... Rhea¡¯s words echoed in his mind almost daily, like an invisible noose tightening around his throat. Before he could argue further, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the courtyard. Two figures emerged from the shadows, their silhouettes dark against the lantern light. ¡°There you are,¡± Arletta snapped, her voice cutting through the silence. ¡°You¡¯re late.¡± ¡°Wasn¡¯t our fault,¡± a familiar voice replied, casual and unbothered. ¡°We weren¡¯t told about the mission until a few minutes ago.¡± Devon stepped into the light, his lean form and smirk instantly recognizable. Thorne felt a surge of d¨¦j¨¤ vu. Devon had been one of the good ones among the recruits, and they had been through hell together. He still remembered battling together in the catacombs, fighting off a horde of undead. It felt like a lifetime ago. But Thorne barely registered Devon¡¯s presence. His eyes were drawn to the second figure standing beside him. Rielle. She stared back at him, her face an emotionless mask, her eyes hard and unreadable. A cold realization settled in Thorne¡¯s gut. This complicated things. He could deal with Devon, with his lazy grin and nonchalant attitude. But Rielle? His heart twisted, a mix of anger, pain, and something he couldn¡¯t quite name knotting in his chest. He had thought he was done with her, that he had moved on. But seeing her now, so close, brought everything rushing back¡ªevery betrayal, every secret she had kept from him. Arletta¡¯s voice broke the tense silence. ¡°You will accompany Lord Silverbane to the Lockridge estate and ensure his safety throughout the evening.¡± Thorne forced himself to look away from Rielle, his voice clipped. ¡°I don¡¯t need them.¡± ¡°They¡¯re not here for you, Thorne,¡± Arletta said sharply. ¡°They¡¯re here because Master ordered it. It¡¯s for his peace of mind, not yours.¡± After some small hesitation, she added almost reluctantly, ¡°and a show of power...¡± Of course... Thorne¡¯s hands itched to grab one of his daggers, to lash out, to do something. But he forced himself to take a deep breath, his mask of deceit settling over his face like a second skin. He couldn¡¯t show weakness now, not in front of them. ¡°Fine,¡± he bit out, his voice cold. ¡°Let¡¯s get this over with.¡± He turned and climbed into the carriage, his movements stiff with barely contained anger. Devon followed, his casual demeanor betraying none of the tension in the air. Rielle hesitated for a moment before stepping in after them, her expression still impassive. The door closed behind them with a soft click, sealing them inside the small, confined space. Thorne leaned back against the plush seat, his mind racing, his heart pounding. This was going to be a long night. Inside the carriage, the atmosphere was thick with unspoken words and tension that crackled like static in the confined space. Thorne stared out the window, his fingers absently tapping against his knee, the rhythm betraying his inner turmoil. The ride felt excruciatingly long, each bump in the road a reminder of the awkward silence between them. Devon, ever the one to fill uncomfortable silences, cleared his throat. ¡°So, uh, quite the night for a party, huh?¡± He glanced between Thorne and Rielle, his smile strained. Thorne didn¡¯t bother looking at him, his gaze fixed on the passing buildings. ¡°Yeah,¡± he replied curtly, the single word carrying an edge that cut off any further attempt at conversation. Devon scratched the back of his head, his grin faltering. ¡°Right... I heard the Lockridges throw a good bash. It¡¯s probably gonna be... fun.¡± Thorne could hear the effort in his voice, the attempt to make things less tense. But he wasn¡¯t in the mood for it. Not tonight. ¡°Where¡¯s Cassandra?¡± he asked, his tone flat. Devon blinked, taken aback by the sudden question. ¡°She¡¯s... ok,¡± he said slowly, his eyes flicking to Rielle, who sat silently, her gaze fixed on the opposite wall of the carriage. ¡°She¡¯s busy with missions. All of us are. Now that the last trial is almost upon us, everyone tries to get a little bit stronger before then.¡± Thorne nodded, not really caring for the details. He just needed something to focus on that wasn¡¯t the twisting emotions churning in his gut every time he glanced at Rielle. The rest of the ride was spent in tense silence, each of them lost in their own thoughts. It didn¡¯t take long to cross the winding streets of the noble quarter and reach the Lockridge estate, but it felt like an eternity. Thorne¡¯s nerves buzzed, and he forced himself to take slow, even breaths as the carriage rolled to a stop. Stepping out, Thorne adjusted his coat, taking in the sight before him. The Lockridge estate was buzzing with activity. It was a far cry from the quiet, subdued affair at the Langston brunch. This was closer to the Valewind celebrations he was accustomed to¡ªthough still lacking the full, chaotic energy he had come to expect. A couple of carriages waited idly by the main entrance, their occupants already mingling inside the courtyard. Servants scurried around with lanterns in hand, their faces drawn and tired, while a few nobles chatted animatedly, their laughter carrying through the night air. The courtyard was utilitarian, with none of the decorative frills that adorned the other noble estates. Instead, it bore a stark, almost military appearance, with a barracks situated along one side, its stern facade showing the Lockridge family¡¯s martial prowess. As Thorne walked into the courtyard, flanked by Rielle and Devon, he noticed several men and women clad in armor loitering around. Some were nursing drinks, their boisterous laughter echoing in the crisp air, while others were engaged in drills, even at this hour. This was the famed Lockridge army¡ªat least, a small part of it. They carried themselves with the easy confidence of seasoned warriors, their movements sharp and precise. A servant wearing the Lockridge livery rushed forward to greet him, his manner deferential but hurried. Thorne followed, feeling the weight of several pairs of eyes on him as he passed the small clusters of nobles who had yet to join the party inside. Whispers followed in his wake, but he kept his head high, his expression composed and unreadable. They approached the massive double doors, flanked by two imposing guards clad in gleaming armor. The doors themselves looked formidable, as if they could withstand a siege, a clear display of the Lockridge family¡¯s might. Thorne¡¯s Veil Sense flared, and he noted, with some surprise, that both guards were above level 40¡ªa testament to the strength and discipline that the Lockridges instilled in their forces. He kept his expression smooth, betraying nothing of his thoughts as the massive doors swung open with a creak of ancient hinges, revealing a dazzling spectacle beyond. Behind him, Devon let out a low whistle. ¡°Now that¡¯s the high life,¡± he muttered, his eyes wide as he took in the scene. Thorne¡¯s lips twitched in a faint smile, his eyes scanning the crowd, already calculating. This was going to be an interesting night. CHAPTER 126 Thorne was surprised by the effort put into the party. Banners bearing the sigil of House Lockridge¡ªa helmet adorned with a long spike on top¡ªfluttered gently above the guests, casting long shadows on the marble floor. Garlands of autumnal leaves draped from the vaulted ceiling, their warm hues adding a splash of color to the otherwise austere hall. The music of a string ensemble drifted through the air, soft and elegant, yet the notes felt somewhat hollow in the vastness of the room. The hall itself was expansive, almost too large for the gathered nobles of Alvar, and despite the lively decorations, it had an air of emptiness. Several tables lined either side of the room, each set with silver platters filled with delicacies, but the space between them was yawning. The nobles moved in small groups, their voices subdued, their laughter occasional and reserved. At one end of the hall, a troupe of jugglers and fools entertained a cluster of guests. Their faces were painted in bright, garish colors, their clothing exaggerated with oversized ruffles and bells that jangled with every movement. They performed acrobatics, tossing flaming torches back and forth, drawing polite applause and the occasional genuine laugh from the onlookers. It was a spectacle meant to amuse, to distract from the underlying tension that seemed to permeate the evening. Thorne¡¯s eyes roamed over the crowd, noting familiar faces from Lady Langston¡¯s brunch. There was Lady Langston herself, her face a careful mask of politeness as she conversed with a stout man who looked vaguely familiar. The Lockridges, as expected, were the center of attention. Lady Elena Lockridge, a tall, imposing woman with sharp features and an air of command, stood near the head of the room, conversing animatedly with a small group of older nobles. Her son, Bastian, the birthday boy and heir to the house, was surrounded by a gaggle of younger nobles, his expression one of barely concealed boredom as he nodded and smiled at their fawning compliments. Thorne couldn¡¯t help but notice the stark difference between the nobles of Alvar and those of Valewind. There was a simplicity, almost a bluntness, to the way they carried themselves. They weren¡¯t used to the elaborate games of power and intrigue that the nobles of Valewind reveled in. There was no need for it here in this small city where there was little to be gained through scheming. They were content, or had been until the recent turmoil that Uncle had so carefully sown. The Lockridges, the Thornfields, the Ravencourts¡ªall pawns in Uncle¡¯s grand design, though most of them didn¡¯t even realize it yet. His eyes landed on Lord Thornfield, who stood near the center of the hall, his laughter booming over the soft hum of conversation. He was holding a goblet of wine in one hand, gesturing animatedly with the other, his face flushed and his eyes slightly glazed. It was clear that he had already indulged in the night¡¯s offerings, and Thorne could see the way his gaze kept drifting towards the female servants, his interest in them far outweighing that in the conversation around him. By his side, much more subdued and reserved, was his son, Kellan, looking uncomfortable and out of place despite the elegant but plain woman who stood beside him. Her resemblance to Kellan was uncanny¡ªhis mother, no doubt, Thorne thought, observing the quiet way she seemed to watch over her son, her eyes flicking to Lord Thornfield with thinly veiled disdain whenever his voice grew too loud. Thorne¡¯s attention shifted as the large double doors of the hall swung open, and a new wave of guests entered. He recognized the Farroway the aging patriarch leading the way with his wife on his arm, followed by their daughter, who cast a furtive glance around the room before settling her eyes on Thorne. He gave her a polite nod, but his mind was already elsewhere, searching for the Ravencourts. But they were nowhere to be seen. He wondered if their absence was intentional, a calculated move to make a grand entrance and remind everyone that they were still a force to be reckoned with despite the recent struggles between their house and the Thornfields. He turned slightly to address Rielle and Devon, who stood a few steps behind him. They were both dressed inconspicuously, their dark clothes blending in with the more muted tones of the evening attire around them. ¡°Make yourselves invisible,¡± Thorne murmured, his voice low and steady. ¡°You know what to do.¡± Devon nodded, his eyes sharp and alert. ¡°Casualties?¡± he asked quietly, his tone giving away none of the anxiety that simmered just beneath the surface. Thorne shook his head. ¡°We don¡¯t need anyone dying tonight. Just observe, gather information. Don¡¯t make any mistakes that we¡¯ll have to clean up later.¡± Devon¡¯s mouth twitched in a brief smile. ¡°Understood.¡± With that, he melted into the crowd, his movements almost unnaturally fluid for a man of his size and build. He disappeared quickly, becoming just another shadow among the many that flickered along the walls. Rielle lingered for a moment longer, her eyes locking onto Thorne¡¯s with an intensity that was almost palpable. There was something unspoken between them, a tension that neither seemed willing to acknowledge openly. Thorne held her gaze, his face carefully neutral, though inside he felt a complex mix of emotions¡ªresentment, curiosity, maybe even a flicker of something like regret. Rielle¡¯s lips parted slightly as if she wanted to say something, but then she simply gave a small nod and turned away, disappearing into the crowd just as Devon had. Thorne watched her go, his mind racing with thoughts he quickly suppressed. He couldn¡¯t afford to be distracted, not now. With a final sweep of the room, Thorne adjusted the cuff of his dark, tailored coat and took a deep breath. Time to play the part. He wove through the crowd with practiced ease, offering polite nods and smiles to the nobles who glanced his way, their eyes curious, some even appraising. He could feel the weight of their scrutiny, the unspoken questions hanging in the air. Who was this young lord, and what was he doing here, flanked by two strangers who seemed to belong more in the shadows than in the light of this gilded hall? It didn¡¯t matter. Thorne knew that his presence here was meant to cause a stir, to draw attention. He was the outsider, the unknown factor that everyone would be trying to figure out tonight. He could use that to his advantage. Thorne plucked a glass of wine from a passing servant, the dark red liquid swirling like blood as he moved towards the Thornfields. He didn¡¯t join the conversation but lingered close enough to catch snippets of their exchange. Lord Thornfield¡¯s booming laughter echoed across the hall as he regaled a small group of nobles with tales of a past duel that Thorne suspected was more fiction than fact. His anecdotes shifted from exaggerated battles to his opinions on the best wines and ales, each declaration more pompous than the last. Thorne fought the urge to roll his eyes. The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Kellan noticed him hovering and frowned slightly before turning back to the conversation. Thorne raised his glass in a subtle, mocking salute, but the young Thornfield didn¡¯t seem to notice. He appeared more focused on the intricacies of the wine his father was describing than on Thorne¡¯s presence. Despite Lord Thornfield¡¯s obnoxious storytelling, Thorne observed something curious. Whenever a new guest entered the room, the lord¡¯s eyes would flicker towards the entrance, his shoulders stiffening for a moment before loosening in apparent relief. Was he expecting someone? Perhaps dreading the arrival of the Ravencourts or, more likely, Uncle? The thought brought a smirk to Thorne¡¯s lips. He filed the observation away, another piece of the puzzle falling into place. The rest of the guests paid Thorne little mind. Occasionally, he felt a curious glance or a lingering stare, but their interest quickly waned. He debated moving around the hall, seeing what useful information he could glean. The most interesting secrets often lay hidden in the quiet corridors and darkened rooms away from the main festivities. Maybe there were documents about the Lockridge army''s numbers or their economic situation, something that could tip the scales in Uncle¡¯s favor. He was just about to slip away when a hand clamped down on his shoulder, spinning him around forcefully. Thorne had to rein in his instincts, his muscles tensing for a split second as he turned to face a pair of bespectacled eyes, wide with excitement. ¡°It¡¯s you!¡± the young man exclaimed, his voice bubbling over with enthusiasm. Thorne blinked, struggling to place the face in front of him. Then it clicked¡ªthe young man he had saved from the aether golem. The scholar''s eyes shone with barely contained excitement as he launched into a torrent of words, his speech almost incoherent in his haste. ¡°I can¡¯t believe it! The aether waves, the aether constructs, the wild conjuctions of magic¡ªI¡¯ve been thinking about it nonstop! What caused them, what could sustain such powerful manifestations? But then I saw you! I didn¡¯t know that the savior of the merchant district was the southern lord everyone¡¯s talking about!¡± He paused only to take a quick breath before continuing, his gaze unwavering, almost unnervingly intense. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have guessed someone dressed like you would be such a fine fighter! Are you an adventurer as well? I saw you use magic! Do you have aether skills? Maybe spells? I¡¯ve been pestering my father to send me to the Meridia Academy in the capital, just like he did, but he says it¡¯s too much money. I¡¯d prefer Aetherhold, of course, but that¡¯s a wild dream! If Meridia is expensive, I can¡¯t even imagine what the payment for Aetherhold would be!¡± Thorne remained silent, his expression controlled as the young man¡¯s words poured out in a seemingly endless stream. He waited patiently, letting the scholar exhaust himself. When the young man finally stopped to take another breath, Thorne raised an eyebrow and spoke in a cool, measured tone. ¡°Thorne Silverbane,¡± he said, inclining his head slightly. ¡°Pleased to make your acquaintance.¡± The young man¡¯s eyes widened, and he slapped his forehead in sudden realization, his cheeks flushing red. ¡°Where are my manners? I¡¯m Valen Moreau.¡± He looked thoroughly embarrassed as he continued, ¡°I got so excited when I saw you that I forgot my manners. It¡¯s not every day you see someone fight with such artistry, especially someone our age! So tell me, do you have skills that use aether? I¡¯ve been studying aether since I was a kid, unfortunately, I only possess scholarly and social skills, but I have a few that are very useful.¡± He straightened proudly, and Thorne struggled not to smile at the young man¡¯s earnestness. ¡°I have the ¡®Lore of the Elements¡¯ skill,¡± Valen said, his eyes lighting up. ¡°It allows me to identify elemental aetheric signatures and understand the fundamental properties of any magical construct I study. And I have ¡®Aetheric Insight,¡¯ which helps me analyze aetheric phenomena and break down the mechanics behind them. Oh, and ¡®Aetheric Histories,¡¯ which is more academic, but it¡¯s fascinating to learn how aether has shaped civilizations!¡± Thorne didn¡¯t know whether to laugh or cry. The young man¡¯s intensity was both amusing and overwhelming. He hadn¡¯t expected such a whirlwind of enthusiasm, especially not at a noble¡¯s birthday party. Valen¡¯s eyes were alight with excitement, his words pouring out faster than Thorne could process them. ¡°What did it feel like?¡± Valen continued, leaning in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. ¡°When you fought the golem, I mean. Did you sense its aetheric core, or was it more of an instinctual thing? Oh, and the way you manipulated the aether¡ªwas that innate, or have you trained to control it? Did you use a specific focus, or was it purely raw manipulation? I¡¯ve read theories about how different methods can affect the stability of the construct¡¯s form¡­¡± Thorne blinked, momentarily taken aback. This was more than just curiosity. Valen seemed almost...obsessed. The fervor in his eyes reminded Thorne of the deranged scholars he¡¯d heard about, the ones who pushed the boundaries of magic and science so far that they broke themselves in the process. ¡°Valen,¡± Thorne said slowly, choosing his words with care. ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯m the best person to discuss this with.¡± Valen waved his hand dismissively. ¡°Nonsense! You¡¯re the perfect person! No one else in this city has had such a direct encounter with aether constructs! Besides, the way you fought¡ªit¡¯s like you have an innate understanding of aetheric structures. I¡¯ve been trying to study something like that for years, but it¡¯s all theoretical! You have practical experience!¡± Thorne glanced around, hoping no one was overhearing this conversation. The last thing he needed was for someone to start wondering why a supposed southern lord knew so much about fighting aether beasts. ¡°I¡¯ve...had some training,¡± he said cautiously. ¡°But it¡¯s more intuition than anything else.¡± ¡°Intuition!¡± Valen¡¯s eyes practically sparkled. ¡°That¡¯s amazing! Do you think it¡¯s something you were born with, or did it develop over time? I¡¯ve read accounts of people developing unique aetheric abilities due to prolonged exposure, but those cases are so rare. Were you exposed to concentrated aether at a young age?¡± Thorne resisted the urge to groan. This conversation was quickly spiraling out of control. Valen was like a dog with a bone, and Thorne didn¡¯t know how to shake him off. ¡°I really couldn¡¯t say,¡± Thorne replied, his tone as polite as he could manage. ¡°It¡¯s not something I¡¯ve thought much about.¡± ¡°Fascinating,¡± Valen murmured, more to himself than to Thorne. He fished a small notebook from his coat pocket and started scribbling furiously, his eyes darting back and forth between Thorne and his notes. ¡°I¡¯ll have to run some calculations on aetheric exposure and skill development. I wonder if there¡¯s a threshold for spontaneous manifestation or if it¡¯s more gradual¡­¡± Thorne sighed, trying to maintain his composure. ¡°Valen, maybe we can discuss this later?¡± Valen looked up, blinking as if he¡¯d forgotten where he was. ¡°Oh, of course! I didn¡¯t mean to impose. It¡¯s just...you¡¯re such a fascinating subject! I mean, aether skills are rare in Alvar! At least they used to be, now new aether skills seem to pop out every day. You must have some incredible stories.¡± Before Thorne could respond, the grand doors at the far end of the hall swung open again, drawing everyone¡¯s attention. Lord Thornfield¡¯s shoulders tensed more than usual, and Thorne felt the change in the atmosphere as the Ravencourts finally arrived. Leading the group was Lord Edric Ravenncourt, tall and imposing, his graying hair pulled back in a severe ponytail. Beside him walked his eldest son, Alaric, his handsome features marred by a scowl that only deepened as he surveyed the room. He exuded a kind of raw, magnetic energy that drew the eyes of everyone around him. But it was the young woman trailing behind them, her face partially hidden by a delicate veil, who caught Thorne¡¯s attention. Selene Ravencourt, looking every bit the noble lady with a composed, almost ethereal grace. Thorne felt a surge of satisfaction. The game was about to begin in earnest, and he was ready. CHAPTER 127 The air in the grand hall was thick with tension as the nobles of Alvar chose their sides. Thorne could almost see the line forming between the two factions: on one side, the Thornfields, and on the other, the Ravencourts. He surveyed the room, noting with dismay how the majority of the nobles gravitated toward the Ravencourts, their animated conversations and laughter indicating their allegiance. Lady Elena Lockridge stood near the entrance, her commanding presence unmistakable. She greeted Lord Edric Ravencourt with a warm smile and a firm handshake, exchanging a few pleasantries. It was clear there was a mutual respect between them. However, after the initial greeting, she stepped back, not fully committing to either faction. Thorne''s eyes narrowed as he noticed Selene Ravencourt by her side, the young woman looking up at Lady Elena with something akin to admiration. The bond between them was evident, and it was something Thorne would need to consider moving forward. The Viremonts, wealthy and influential, maintained their distance as well. Lord Damien Viremont stood with a small entourage, his sharp eyes watching everything with a calculating gleam. He was speaking quietly with his son, Dorian, who looked every bit the carefree noble but had a certain wariness in his eyes. They were clearly observing the scene, waiting to see which side would offer them the greatest advantage. Lord Gregory Farroway was another figure who kept his distance, though his presence was felt. He was deep in conversation with a few minor lords, his expressions neutral, his words careful. Thorne knew the Farroways valued their trade interests above all else, and they would not be easily swayed without significant incentive. Amidst all this, Lord Edric Ravencourt stood out, a figure of quiet dignity. He was the picture of nobility, his every gesture exuding a calm authority. In stark contrast to him was Lord Thornfield, who, despite his best efforts, looked like a fish out of water. His loud laughter and boastful stories about past duels and fine wines did little to endear him to the other nobles. Thorne couldn''t help but feel a pang of frustration; the Thornfields were doing themselves no favors tonight. Yet, it was Alaric Ravencourt, the handsome and charismatic heir to House Ravencourt, who commanded the most attention. Every young noble seemed drawn to him, hanging on his every word. Thorne noticed the way the young women watched Alaric with admiration, while the men seemed eager to be part of his inner circle. But Alaric¡¯s attention was elsewhere¡ªhe had eyes only for Kellan Thornfield, and his gaze was filled with thinly veiled contempt. Kellan, on the other hand, looked like he wanted to disappear. The Thornfield heir was hunched slightly, his hands fidgeting with his wine glass. He avoided meeting Alaric¡¯s gaze, his shoulders twitching nervously whenever someone approached him. Thorne couldn¡¯t help but sigh inwardly. It was an insurmountable task to make Kellan look respectable, much less worthy of leading Alvar. Thorne glanced back at Alaric, whose eyes still bore into Kellan with a murderous intensity. The Ravencourt heir''s reputation for having a temper was well known, and it was clear that Kellan¡¯s mere presence was enough to set him on edge. The contrast between the two heirs couldn¡¯t have been more stark. Alaric, with his confident stance and easy charm, was everything Kellan was not. But confidence could easily turn to arrogance, and that was something Thorne could use. He pondered the situation, a plan beginning to take shape in his mind. Kellan didn¡¯t inspire confidence, true, but he could inspire something else¡ªsympathy. If Thorne could maneuver things in a way that made Alaric look like the aggressor, it would put Kellan in a more favorable light, at least in the eyes of the more neutral nobles. Thorne¡¯s eyes narrowed, his mind racing through possible scenarios. He knew that provoking Alaric would be easy. The man was already bristling with anger, and it wouldn¡¯t take much to push him over the edge. All Thorne needed was the right moment, the right words, and he could turn the tables on the Ravencourts. A satisfied smile played on Thorne¡¯s lips. This could work. If he could make Kellan appear sympathetic, a victim of Alaric¡¯s aggression, it might just be enough to sway a few key nobles to their side. He would have to play it carefully, but the opportunity was too good to pass up. Thorne¡¯s scheming was interrupted by an enthusiastic voice beside him, pulling him back into the present. Valen Moreau appeared, his wide-eyed gaze fixed on Thorne with an almost childlike excitement, oblivious to the strained atmosphere in the room. ¡°Lord Silverbane!¡± Valen¡¯s voice was bright and eager, trying to get his attention, completely out of place amid the tense undercurrents of the party. ¡°I just have to ask¡ªwhat do you think is causing the aether waves? Have you noticed how they¡¯ve been fluctuating recently? It¡¯s unprecedented! I¡¯ve been working on this theory¡ª¡± Thorne held up a hand, stifling a laugh at Valen¡¯s single-mindedness. ¡°Valen, now¡¯s hardly the time,¡± he said smoothly, his eyes drifting across the room. He could see the subtle shifts of allegiance forming, the clear line dividing the party into factions around the Thornfields and Ravencourts. ¡°There are more pressing matters at hand tonight, wouldn¡¯t you agree?¡± Valen followed his gaze, confusion clouding his features. ¡°Pressing matters? You mean the feud between the families? Yes, yes, I suppose it¡¯s important, but just think about the implications of the recent aether fluctuations! It could mean something significant. I¡¯ve been documenting every occurrence, and the patterns are just¡ª¡± Thorne took a step closer to Valen, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. ¡°Valen, did you hear what they¡¯re saying about Alaric Ravencourt?¡± He cast a furtive glance around them, ensuring they weren¡¯t being overheard. ¡°Apparently, he¡¯s been squandering the family¡¯s fortune. Some ill-advised investments in rare wines.¡± Valen blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in topic. ¡°Alaric? Really? That doesn¡¯t sound like him. He¡¯s usually so...¡± He struggled for the right word, his brow furrowed in thought. ¡°Reckless?¡± Thorne offered, his tone light but laced with suggestion. ¡°You know how these things go. Rumors spread, and before you know it, everyone¡¯s talking about it.¡± Valen¡¯s eyes widened, his mind clearly racing. ¡°But if that¡¯s true, then the Viremonts... They¡¯d be furious! They control most of the wine trade in Alvar. If Alaric¡¯s actions threaten their business¡ª¡± Thorne smiled, pleased with how quickly Valen had picked up on the implications. ¡°Exactly. And you know how sensitive the Viremonts are about their trade. They might see it as a direct insult.¡± Valen nodded slowly, his gaze darting across the room to where the Viremonts were standing, their expressions carefully neutral. ¡°This could cause quite a stir.¡± ¡°It¡¯s just a rumor, of course,¡± Thorne added, his tone deliberately casual. ¡°But you know how people love to talk. It¡¯s fascinating how these things can spread, don¡¯t you think?¡± Valen nodded again, his eyes distant as he processed the information. ¡°Yes, fascinating... But what if it¡¯s not just a rumor? What if there¡¯s some truth to it?¡± Thorne shrugged, a faint smile playing on his lips. ¡°Who knows? But if there is, it could make tonight¡¯s gathering very interesting, don¡¯t you think?¡± Valen looked as if he wanted to ask more, but Thorne excused himself with a polite nod, leaving the young scholar to mull over the seeds he had planted. Thorne watched him for a moment, feeling a spark of satisfaction. One pawn was in motion. As Thorne moved through the crowd, he kept his eyes and ears open, scanning the room for more potential pawns. He noticed two servants huddled in a corner, their voices hushed but their expressions animated. Thorne focused his enhanced hearing, catching snippets of their conversation. ¡°¡­ did you see her with him last night? If Lord Hadrian finds out¡ª¡± He filed the information away for later use, his gaze drifting over to where the noblewoman in question stood, her expression serene and composed, unaware of the whispers circulating behind her back. Scandals were potent tools, and it seemed there was already one waiting to be exploited. His eyes then fell on Devon, lurking near the shadows with his usual guarded demeanor. Thorne made his way over, the crowd parting subtly before him as he moved. ¡°Find anything interesting?¡± Thorne asked quietly when he reached Devon, his tone casual despite the intensity in his gaze. Devon nodded, his eyes flicking around to ensure they weren¡¯t being watched. ¡°Rifled through the Lockridge study. Found a few documents that might be useful. Financial records, troop movements¡ªnothing concrete yet, but it¡¯s a start. Rielle¡¯s searching upstairs, but there are guards everywhere. It¡¯s slowing us down.¡± Thorne nodded thoughtfully, his mind already working through the next steps. ¡°Good. But I need you to do something else now.¡± He leaned in closer, lowering his voice. ¡°Start spreading a few whispers among the servants. Something about Alaric Ravencourt mismanaging the family¡¯s fortune, and Kellan Thornfield is the one that found it out. You know the drill¡ªmake it sound plausible, but keep it subtle.¡± Devon didn¡¯t question the order, simply nodded and disappeared into the crowd with the ease of someone used to blending into the background. Thorne watched him go, then turned his attention back to the room. He spotted a group of younger nobles gathered near one of the large windows, their faces flushed with excitement and curiosity. None of them belonged to particularly influential families, but their eagerness made them perfect targets. Ambitious and eager to climb the social ladder, they would seize any opportunity to curry favor with the more powerful houses. Thorne slipped into their midst with practiced ease, his presence drawing curious glances. He greeted them with a warm smile, engaging them in light conversation before steering the topic toward Alaric Ravencourt and Kellan Thornfield. ¡°You know,¡± he said, his tone conspiratorial as he leaned in slightly, ¡°I heard Kellan was talking about Alaric earlier. Said something about how he¡¯s nothing more than a ¡®brash child playing at war.¡¯¡± Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. The group exchanged glances, their eyes widening as the rumor took hold. Thorne could almost see the wheels turning in their heads, each of them calculating the potential benefits of spreading this information. ¡°Really?¡± one of them whispered, his voice tinged with disbelief. ¡°He actually said that?¡± Thorne shrugged, his expression deliberately nonchalant. ¡°That¡¯s just what I heard. But you know how these things go. People love to talk.¡± They nodded, murmuring among themselves, the seed planted and already beginning to grow, his skill Echoes of Truth making it all sound real. Thorne excused himself with a polite smile, feeling the tension in the room shift as the rumor began to circulate. The carefully laid threads of his plan beginning to tighten around Alaric Ravencourt. As he scanned the room for his next target, he was suddenly intercepted by a familiar figure. Selene Ravencourt appeared before him, her eyes bright and inquisitive, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. ¡°Lord Silverbane!¡± she greeted, her voice light and playful, completely unaffected by the undercurrent of tension in the party. She seemed blissfully unaware of the invisible lines that had been drawn between the factions. Thorne blinked, momentarily taken aback by the ease with which she moved through the gathering, her presence like a burst of sunshine cutting through the dark clouds of the room. She really was unlike any girl he had met. Her beauty was effortless, natural, without the excessive polish of the Valewind socialites like Seraphina Valmont, who always seemed to radiate perfection. But neither did she resemble the hardened, wary recruits he had grown up with in the guild, whose lives were etched in their eyes and every move they made. Rielle¡¯s face flashed briefly in his mind, her fierce gaze and unyielding stance, but he pushed the thought away, focusing on the young woman in front of him. Selene waved her hand in front of his eyes, her smile widening as she tried to gain his attention. ¡°Lord Silverbane? Are you with me?¡± Thorne blinked again, the corners of his mouth tugging upward in a genuine smile. ¡°My apologies, Lady Selene,¡± he said smoothly. ¡°I must admit I was momentarily... mesmerized by your beauty.¡± Her cheeks flushed a delicate pink, and for a moment, she looked almost vulnerable, her confident demeanor faltering as she stuttered, ¡°Oh! I¡ªthank you, my lord. That¡¯s... very kind of you to say.¡± Thorne watched her with quiet amusement, enjoying the sight of her caught off guard. It was a rare sight to see a noblewoman like her so disarmed by a simple compliment. She managed to regain her composure quickly, though, and she cleared her throat, her eyes meeting his once more. ¡°I¡¯m glad you¡¯re enjoying yourself,¡± she said, a note of genuine pleasure in her voice. ¡°I hope this party is more to your liking than the last one. I know how grand the gatherings in Valewind can be, and I wanted to create something that would feel... familiar to you.¡± Thorne¡¯s eyebrows lifted in mild surprise. ¡°You organized this?¡± She nodded, her expression turning conspiratorial as she leaned closer. ¡°I may have convinced Lady Elena to host the party. She¡¯s a close family friend, you see. I even helped with the decorations.¡± She glanced around, her gaze lingering on the banners and garlands that adorned the hall. ¡°It¡¯s not quite like Valewind, but I thought I could add a bit of that charm here.¡± There was a hint of uncertainty in her voice as she looked down, the confident noblewoman giving way to a young girl seeking approval. Thorne opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, an older gentleman approached, his voice booming as he struck up a conversation with Selene, praising her father and his leadership. Thorne took a step back, his expression impassive as he watched Selene handle the conversation with grace, filing away the information about her father for later use. She nodded and smiled politely, but Thorne could see the flicker of irritation in her eyes, the subtle tightening of her jaw as the conversation dragged on. Eventually, she managed to end the conversation with a tactful comment and turned back to Thorne with a radiant smile, as if the interruption had never happened. ¡°So, Lord Silverbane, what do you think of the decorations?¡± she asked, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. Thorne opened his mouth to respond, but once again, he was interrupted, this time by another man who seemed intent on monopolizing Selene¡¯s attention. Thorne clenched his jaw, irritation flickering through him as he watched the man talk animatedly about some business venture, completely oblivious to the fact that Selene¡¯s attention was elsewhere. He waited patiently, his eyes never leaving Selene¡¯s face as she nodded along, her smile growing strained. Finally, she managed to excuse herself, turning back to Thorne with an exasperated huff. ¡°They just won¡¯t let us speak in peace,¡± she muttered, her frustration palpable. Before Thorne could respond, she grabbed his hand, her touch sending a jolt of surprise through him. ¡°Come on.¡± ¡°Where are we going?¡± Thorne asked, his eyes darting around the room as she led him through the crowd, weaving expertly between the clusters of nobles. ¡°Somewhere quiet,¡± she replied over her shoulder, her grip firm and insistent. Thorne hesitated, his mind racing. He had a mission. He couldn¡¯t afford to be distracted, not now, when everything was in motion. And yet, despite himself, he found his resolve wavering, his feet moving of their own accord as he allowed her to lead him away from the bustling hall. They slipped through a side door, the noise of the party fading behind them as they made their way down a dimly lit corridor. Selene pushed open another door, revealing a small, enclosed garden. It was intimate, almost secretive, the soft glow of a few carefully placed lanterns casting a warm, gentle light over the space. The air was cool, a light breeze rustling the leaves of the neatly trimmed bushes and trees. Thorne glanced around, taking in the serene beauty of the garden. It was a stark contrast to the lavish, crowded hall they had just left, and he couldn¡¯t help but feel a strange sense of calm settle over him. The shadows danced around them, the moonlight filtering through the leaves, casting soft, dappled patterns on the stone path. Selene released his hand, turning to face him with a shy smile. ¡°It¡¯s nice, isn¡¯t it?¡± she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper. ¡°I found this place a few years ago. Hardly anyone comes here.¡± Thorne nodded, his eyes lingering on her face, the way the soft light illuminated her features, casting her in an almost ethereal glow. For a moment, he forgot about the party, the rumors he had spread, the plan that was set in motion. For a moment, it was just the two of them, standing in the quiet, moonlit garden, the rest of the world fading away. ¡°It¡¯s beautiful,¡± he murmured, his voice low and genuine. He wasn¡¯t sure if he was talking about the garden or the girl standing before him, her eyes reflecting the soft light of the lanterns, her expression open and unguarded. They stood there in silence and for the first time in a long while, Thorne felt a sense of peace. But it was fleeting, a fragile thing that he knew would shatter the moment they stepped back into the reality of the party, the reality of their lives. Selene looked down, her fingers fiddling with the hem of her dress. ¡°I just wanted to thank you,¡± she said softly, her voice trembling slightly. ¡°For saving me from all those stuffy conversations back there. It was starting to get unbearable.¡± Thorne chuckled, the sound low and warm. ¡°I should be thanking you,¡± he replied, his lips quirking into a small smile. ¡°You¡¯ve given me a much-needed reprieve.¡± She looked up at him then, her eyes searching his face, as if trying to read the thoughts hidden behind his carefully constructed mask. Thorne felt his heart stutter in his chest, the intensity of her gaze making it hard to breathe. He had been around beautiful women before, had charmed them, deceived them, but this was different. Selene was different. ¡°Why do I get the feeling you¡¯re not like the other nobles?¡± she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper. Thorne¡¯s smile faltered for a brief moment, the weight of her words settling heavily on his shoulders. He took a step back, the mask slipping back into place, hiding the turmoil that churned within him. ¡°Perhaps because I¡¯m not,¡± he said lightly, his tone carefully neutral. ¡°But then again, neither are you.¡± She blinked, surprise flickering in her eyes. Then she smiled, a slow, genuine smile that made something in Thorne¡¯s chest tighten painfully. ¡°I suppose you¡¯re right,¡± she murmured, her voice soft and full of unspoken truths. They stood there for a while longer, the silence stretching between them, comfortable and yet charged with something unspoken, something fragile and dangerous. But then, as always, reality intruded, the distant sound of laughter and conversation drifting into the garden, reminding them of the world that awaited them beyond the sanctuary of the garden walls. ¡°We should go back,¡± Selene said reluctantly, her eyes lingering on his face, as if she was memorizing every detail. ¡°Yes,¡± Thorne agreed, though his heart ached at the thought of stepping back into the chaos of the party. But he had a mission, a plan to execute, and he couldn¡¯t afford to be distracted. They made their way back to the hall in silence, their steps slow and measured, as if they were savoring the last few moments of peace before they returned to the storm that awaited them. Selene paused at the door, her hand lingering on the handle as she turned to look at Thorne, her eyes searching his face. ¡°We should enter separately,¡± she suggested softly, her voice tinged with a trace of regret. ¡°It wouldn¡¯t do for us to draw too much attention.¡± Thorne nodded, his expression neutral. ¡°Of course. I¡¯ll wait here for a moment.¡± She gave him a small, strained smile, her eyes lingering on his face for a heartbeat longer before she turned and stepped back into the hall. Thorne watched her go, the elegant sway of her dress and the way she seemed to light up the room as she rejoined the throng of nobles. She was a puzzle, one that he couldn¡¯t quite figure out yet, and as much as he tried to push her from his mind, she lingered, like a shadow that wouldn¡¯t fade. He stayed where he was, leaning against the cool stone wall, his thoughts a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. The garden had felt like a dream, a moment of peace that had no place in the world of deceit and violence he had grown up in. He couldn¡¯t afford to be distracted, couldn¡¯t let himself be pulled into whatever it was that lingered between them. There were more pressing matters at hand. Thorne¡¯s ears perked up as he picked up the faint sound of hushed voices, the tone sharp and angry. His instincts flared, the years of training taking over as he activated his Veil of Light and Shadow, his form melting into the darkness as he blended seamlessly with the shadows. He moved silently down the dimly lit corridor, the voices growing clearer with each step. At the end of the corridor, just a few steps away from the main hall, he saw them. Lord Thornfield and his wife, her back pressed against the cold stone wall, her face pale and terrified. His face was flushed, eyes unfocused and wild, a dangerous glint in them as he loomed over her, his large frame casting a menacing shadow in the flickering light. Thorne remained hidden, his breath barely more than a whisper as he watched the scene unfold before him. He knew he should look away, should leave them to their private misery, but something kept him rooted to the spot, a sense of foreboding curling in his gut. ¡°You little slut!¡± Lord Thornfield hissed, his voice low and venomous. His hand shot out, grabbing her by the arm and slamming her against the wall with a jarring force that made Thorne¡¯s breath hitch. Lady Thornfield gasped, her eyes wide with fear, but she didn¡¯t cry out. ¡°Did you think I didn¡¯t see you slipping away with that man again? Did you open your legs for him again?¡± The slap came without warning, the sound echoing through the empty corridor like a thunderclap. Lady Thornfield stumbled, her head snapping to the side, but Lord Thornfield didn¡¯t let her fall. His hand shot out, grabbing her by the hair, pulling her back up with brutal force, his fingers digging into her scalp. ¡°I swear to the dead gods, I will kill you!¡± he snarled, his voice shaking with rage. ¡°I will kill you, your lover, and your bastard son of yours! I will kill everyone you love!¡± Thorne¡¯s eyes widened as the words sank in, his heart hammering in his chest. Bastard son. His mind raced, pieces of the puzzle falling into place. Kellan Thornfield, the shy, awkward young man who looked nothing like his father, who flinched at the slightest sign of violence. The son Lord Thornfield despised, the one he had dismissed as a weakling, unworthy of the Thornfield name. He wasn¡¯t just a disappointment. He wasn¡¯t even his son. Lady Thornfield began to sob, the sound raw and desperate as she clutched at her husband¡¯s arm, her nails digging into his flesh as she begged. ¡°Please, Hadrian, please,¡± she cried, her voice breaking. ¡°He¡¯s just a boy. He¡¯s innocent. Please, I¡¯ll do anything. Just don¡¯t hurt him. Please.¡± But Thorne wasn¡¯t listening anymore, his mind focused on one thing, one cold, hard truth that sent a shiver down his spine. Kellan Thornfield was a bastard. Damn it. This changed everything. CHAPTER 128 Kellan Thornfield was a bastard. Thorne¡¯s gaze shifted to Lord Thornfield, who was still gripping his wife¡¯s hair, his face twisted with rage. The man was a fool, a drunken fool who couldn¡¯t see past his own nose, who was so blinded by his own anger and jealousy that he was willing to throw everything away, even the precarious hold he had on his own house. He was a liability, one that could easily be manipulated, but now... now he was a threat. To Kellan, to the Thornfield¡¯s fragile alliance with Uncle, to everything they had been working towards. Thorne¡¯s jaw tightened, his hand twitching towards the hidden dagger at his side. A part of him wanted to step out, to put an end to this pathetic display of violence, but he knew he couldn¡¯t. Not yet. He had to play this carefully. If he revealed himself now, it would only complicate things further, draw attention to something that needed to be kept hidden. He had to wait, had to bide his time. He watched as Lord Thornfield finally released his wife, shoving her away with a sneer of disgust. Lady Thornfield crumpled to the ground, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs as she curled in on herself, the epitome of despair and broken dignity. Lord Thornfield straightened, his chest heaving as he ran a hand through his disheveled hair, his eyes darting around the corridor as if he suddenly realized where he was, how exposed they were. For a moment, Thorne thought he would turn, would walk away and leave her there, but then something shifted in his eyes, a flicker of fear and desperation that made Thorne¡¯s stomach churn. He reached down, grabbing her arm and hauling her to her feet with surprising gentleness, his voice low and urgent as he whispered something in her ear. She nodded, her movements jerky and mechanical, like a puppet on strings, and he wrapped an arm around her, guiding her back towards the hall. Thorne stayed perfectly still, his breathing shallow as he watched them go, his mind a whirl of thoughts and possibilities. This changed everything. Kellan was already a weak link, a liability, but if this got out... if anyone found out that he wasn¡¯t even a legitimate Thornfield, it would be the end of them. The end of Uncle¡¯s plans, the end of any hope they had of taking control of Alvar. But it was also an opportunity, a weapon that could be wielded with devastating precision, if used correctly. Thorne¡¯s lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile as he melted back into the shadows, his mind racing with the possibilities. He needed to find Uncle. They had a new piece on the board, and it was time to decide how best to play it. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm the storm of emotions raging inside him after the revelation he had just witnessed. He straightened his coat, brushed a hand through his hair, and then stepped back into the hall. It felt as if the entire atmosphere had shifted in his brief absence. The tension in the room was thick, almost tangible, buzzing with a kind of suppressed energy that hadn''t been there before. He swept his gaze across the hall, taking in the clusters of nobles, the muted conversations, and the glances that darted around the room. It seemed that everyone had picked up on the change. The room hummed with whispers, the air crackling with anticipation. Thorne realized that the rumors he had seeded had spread like wildfire in the short time he¡¯d been gone. He had underestimated Alvar¡¯s elite. They may have seemed restrained and above petty gossip, but he had underestimated their appetite for scandal. He was scanning the room, assessing the reaction, when a familiar figure moved into his line of sight. Kellan Thornfield, looking utterly distraught, was making a beeline towards him. Thorne tensed, bracing himself. As Kellan approached, his worried eyes flashed with a look of intense animosity. Without preamble, Kellan hissed, ¡°Is this your doing?¡± Thorne raised an eyebrow, his expression perfectly neutral. ¡°I don''t know what you''re talking about, and let me remind you that we shouldn¡¯t be seen together. We aren¡¯t supposed to know each other.¡± But Kellan was too worked up to heed his warning. His voice rose, barely controlled. ¡°Forget all that! Are you behind all those rumors about me badmouthing Alaric? Are you trying to get me killed?¡± There was genuine panic in Kellan¡¯s voice now. His eyes darted around the room, landing on the Ravencourts, who still looked oblivious to the growing tension. Thorne, however, noticed the subtle shifts in the crowd around them. The admiration that had surrounded Alaric Thornfield had thinned, replaced with suspicion and curiosity. It was working. Thorne had to suppress the triumphant smile that threatened to show. Instead, he offered Kellan a pleasant, almost placating smile, his eyes never stopping their survey of the room. ¡°Go back to your parents, Kellan, and let me do my job.¡± Kellan¡¯s frustration bubbled over. He leaned in, his voice a whispering shout filled with desperation. ¡°Your job is¡ª¡± Thorne¡¯s eyes snapped to Kellan¡¯s, his gaze like ice. ¡°That is enough.¡± The command in his voice was so cold and authoritative that Kellan flinched, as if physically struck. Thorne leaned in slightly, lowering his voice to a dangerous whisper. ¡°Go back to your parents and do not approach me unless I instruct you to. Now leave.¡± Kellan¡¯s jaw tightened, a flash of defiance lighting his eyes. But he was too shaken, too overwhelmed, and after a tense moment, he turned on his heel and walked away, casting one last, hateful glance back at Thorne. Thorne watched him retreat, his mind already calculating the next steps. Kellan was proving to be more volatile than he¡¯d anticipated, but that wasn¡¯t necessarily a bad thing. Unpredictable people were easier to manipulate, Uncle had said so; their emotional instability made them malleable, susceptible to suggestion. And right now, Kellan was on the verge of breaking. He needed to maintain control, not just of Kellan but of the entire narrative swirling around them. The nobles of Alvar had proven to be more eager for drama and scandal than he had anticipated, and now the rumors were spiraling out of control. Thorne took a deep breath, centering himself. He needed to refocus, to make sure that everything was still on track. The revelation he had stumbled upon moments ago still sent a shiver down his spine. Kellan wasn¡¯t just a weak link; he was a ticking time bomb. If anyone found out about his true parentage, it would shatter any hope of uniting the Thornfield name with the power and legitimacy they needed. But the potential leverage... The opportunity to use this information, to twist it to his advantage, was tantalizing. Thorne scanned the room, his sharp eyes noting the subtle shifts in the crowd. The rumors had taken hold fast. A thrill of satisfaction ran through him as he realized just how effective his strategy had been. The Ravencourt heir, Alaric, was now at the center of a smaller but more tightly knit circle. The nobles around him were watching him closely, their expressions a mix of fascination and wariness. Alaric¡¯s face was set in a mask of strained politeness, but there was a fire in his eyes, a barely suppressed rage that Thorne knew would soon reach a boiling point. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. Across the room, Lord Thornfield was slumped in a chair, his hand gripping a glass of wine so tightly that Thorne was surprised it hadn¡¯t shattered. Lady Thornfield stood beside him, her face pale and composed, though her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen from recent tears. Thorne felt a flicker of pity for her but quickly pushed it aside. He couldn¡¯t afford to be distracted by emotions. She was a pawn in this game, just like everyone else. His eyes roamed the room, searching for more potential allies¡ªor threats. The Lockridges stood to one side, Lady Elena¡¯s sharp gaze scanning the crowd with the practiced ease of a general assessing the battlefield. Bastian Lockridge was nowhere to be seen, which was unsurprising. Thorne suspected the young lord had already found some unfortunate soul to challenge to a duel. Dorian Viremont was lounging near the wine table, a lazy smile on his lips as he chatted with a group of younger nobles. Thorne made a mental note to speak with him later; the Viremonts¡¯ wealth and influence could be pivotal in what was to come. Thorne¡¯s attention was drawn to Selene, standing near her father. Even from a distance, he could see the tension in her posture, the way her shoulders were drawn up, her movements quick and agitated. She was speaking rapidly, her hands fluttering through the air as she gestured animatedly, trying to make her father understand something. Her eyes were wide, pleading, almost desperate, but Lord Ravencourt¡¯s expression remained stony. His lips were pressed into a thin line, his eyes flicking back to his son every few seconds, a deep frown etched onto his face. It was as though the weight of her words didn¡¯t penetrate his hardened exterior. Thorne¡¯s gaze shifted to Alaric, who stood a few paces away, his back rigid, his fists clenched so tightly at his sides that the knuckles shone white. A young woman leaned in close to him, whispering something into his ear, her voice too low for Thorne to hear. But he saw the effect immediately. Alaric¡¯s face darkened, his skin flushing an angry, mottled red. His eyes narrowed, the fury in them flaring to life like a fire stoked to a raging blaze. He whipped around, his gaze locking onto Kellan with a murderous intensity that made Thorne¡¯s breath catch. It was a look Thorne knew well, that blind, seething hatred that threatened to consume everything in its path. It was the kind of anger that made men do reckless things, the kind of fury that made people dangerous. Thorne¡¯s pulse quickened, anticipation thrumming in his veins as he watched the scene unfold. Alaric¡¯s jaw tightened, the muscles working beneath his skin as the woman whispered something else. Her lips moved quickly, urgently, her eyes darting nervously between Alaric and Kellan. Whatever she was saying, it only fanned the flames of his rage. Alaric¡¯s gaze never left Kellan, his breathing growing heavy, each exhale a ragged, trembling sound. Then, with a roar of pure, unadulterated fury, Alaric launched himself forward, his face twisted into a mask of rage. The woman grabbed his arm, her fingers digging into his sleeve as she tried to hold him back, but he shook her off with a vicious snarl. He barreled through the crowd, his eyes fixed on Kellan like a predator zeroing in on its prey. Nobles scattered out of his way, their indignant murmurs rising like a tide as they were shoved aside. The atmosphere in the hall shifted sharply, the festive air evaporating as the tension grew, palpable and electric. Lord Ravencourt, his face a mask of shock and dismay, called out, his voice booming over the din. ¡°Alaric, stop!¡± But Alaric was beyond listening. His ears were deaf to everything but the roar of blood in his veins, the pounding fury that demanded he act, demanded he strike. He shoved people out of his path with such force that a few stumbled, catching themselves on tables and chairs, their eyes wide with alarm. The Ravencourt entourage trailed after him, their expressions ranging from shock to fear as they tried, and failed, to restrain him. The room seemed to hold its breath, every eye in the hall fixed on the unfolding scene, the air thick with the promise of violence. Before anyone could react, Alaric reached Kellan. He grabbed him by the collar, his fingers bunching in the fabric of Kellan¡¯s jacket, and yanked him around. Kellan¡¯s eyes widened in shock, his mouth opening in a wordless gasp, but he had no time to defend himself. Alaric¡¯s fist crashed into his face with a sickening crunch. The sound echoed in the hall, a sharp, brutal crack that sent a shiver through the gathered crowd. Kellan crumpled to the floor, blood spraying from his nose, his limbs sprawling awkwardly on the marble as gasps and shrieks erupted from the spectators. For a heartbeat, there was nothing but stunned silence. It was as though the entire room had frozen, suspended in the aftermath of the violence. Kellan lay there, clutching his nose, blood flowing freely between his fingers. Alaric stood over him, his chest heaving, his eyes wild, feral. He looked like a man on the edge of madness, his rage consuming him, driving him beyond reason. ¡°How dare you speak my name?¡± Alaric shouted, his voice shattering the silence, raw and furious. His words were a blade, slicing through the air. ¡°How dare you spread those lies about me?¡± He gestured around the room, his hand trembling with the force of his anger. ¡°But that¡¯s what the Thornfields are, isn¡¯t it? Foul-mouthed snakes, every one of them! Liars, deceivers, and murderers!¡± His voice rang out, clear and unyielding, every syllable laced with venom. Thorne¡¯s expression remained impassive, but inside, he was practically humming with excitement. This was going even better than he had hoped. Alaric¡¯s rage was like a wildfire, and Thorne had only needed to provide the spark. Now it was spreading, consuming everything in its path. Faces turned, expressions ranging from shock to horror to morbid fascination. It was as if the whole hall had been drawn into the vortex of Alaric¡¯s wrath, unable to look away from the unfolding spectacle. Lord Ravencourt pushed through the crowd, his face pale, his eyes wide with something close to panic. He lunged forward, grabbing his son¡¯s arm, his voice a desperate command. ¡°Alaric, stop this madness!¡± he pleaded, his tone firm but edged with a tremor of fear. ¡°This is not the place.¡± But his words fell on deaf ears. Alaric shrugged off his father¡¯s hand, his gaze locked on Kellan¡¯s crumpled form, his eyes blazing with hatred. ¡°I won¡¯t let them get away with this any longer, Father. They killed Mother. They destroyed our family. And now, he dares spread lies about us?¡± His voice broke on the last word, the pain and rage twisting together in a vicious snarl. Selene stood behind them, her face drained of color, her eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears. She wrapped her arms around herself, her shoulders trembling as she called out to her brother, her voice small, pleading. ¡°Alaric, please,¡± she whispered, but he didn¡¯t hear her. His world had narrowed to a single point, and nothing, no voice, no reason, could reach him now. Lord Thornfield, swaying slightly, his voice slurred and dismissive, suddenly cut through the chaos. ¡°Ravencourt, control your crazy son!¡± he sneered, stumbling as he tried to straighten his jacket. He waved a hand in Alaric¡¯s direction, his disdain palpable. ¡°This is a party, not a street brawl.¡± Lord Ravencourt¡¯s jaw clenched, his mouth thinning into a hard line, but he didn¡¯t respond. His focus was entirely on his son, his voice low, almost pleading. ¡°Alaric, please. This isn¡¯t the way.¡± Kellan, who had been struggling to sit up, his mother¡¯s hands fluttering uselessly around him, finally managed to push himself to his knees. His face was ashen, blood smeared across his cheeks and chin, his eyes wide and glassy with fear and pain. ¡°Alaric, please,¡± he croaked, his voice barely more than a whisper. Thorne¡¯s lips twitched, the barest hint of a sneer forming. Kellan¡¯s weakness was almost pitiful. Almost. But it was exactly what Thorne needed. A weak opponent invited sympathy, and sympathy was a powerful tool. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze intent as he weighed each word Kellan spoke, calculating the impact. ¡°We shouldn¡¯t fight. What happened... what happened to your mother was a mistake. A grave mistake, but it¡¯s in the past now. We¡ª¡± ¡°Mistake?¡± Alaric roared, cutting him off. His voice reverberated through the hall, raw and broken, filled with a pain so deep it seemed to crack the air around him. ¡°You call killing my mother a mistake?¡± His eyes blazed, his body shaking with the force of his rage. Selene called his name again, her voice cracking with desperation, but he didn¡¯t even glance at her. His focus was entirely on Kellan, his hatred a living thing that seemed to pulse and throb in the space between them. Thorne watched it all with a cold, detached interest, leaning casually against the wall, his wine glass held loosely in his hand. A satisfied smile played on his lips as he took in the chaos he had orchestrated. This was power, true power. Not the brute force of fists and steel, but the subtle, insidious control of words and whispers, the ability to shape events, to pull the strings and watch as everyone danced to his tune. It was intoxicating, more exhilarating than any battle, more thrilling than any victory. But even Thorne was taken aback by Alaric¡¯s next words, the challenge that sent a ripple of shock through the room, the tension snapping like a taut rope finally giving way. ¡°I call Kellan Thornfield to a duel to the death!¡± CHAPTER 129 Thorne leaned back against the wall, his eyes scanning the room as pandemonium erupted. Gasps and cries of outrage filled the air, the scandalous declaration sending shockwaves through the gathered nobles. Conversations erupted in hushed, urgent whispers as the ramifications of the challenge began to settle in. Thorne¡¯s mind raced, dissecting the possible outcomes. He didn¡¯t care much whether Kellan Thornfield lived or died; the boy was a weak link in their grand scheme. Removing him could rid them of a potential scandal that would jeopardize everything they had worked for. With Kellan out of the picture, that damning secret would die with him, ensuring Lord Thornfield¡¯s silence. They could still use the threat of exposure to control the man, but without Kellan, their leverage would weaken. But there were other consequences to consider. Without an heir, the Thornfield family would be left vulnerable. Sympathy would likely shift to the elder Thornfield, especially if his son fell victim to Alaric Ravencourt¡¯s rage. That, too, could be useful. Alaric¡¯s reckless challenge had painted his family in a poor light. Thorne could see it in the room¡¯s atmosphere, the way the nobles recoiled from Alaric¡¯s aggression. In a single rash moment, he had turned everyone against the Ravencourts, even those who might have sympathized with his grief. The elder Ravencourt seemed to recognize this as well. He was desperately trying to rein in his son, his voice rising above the din. But Alaric was beyond reasoning, his eyes locked on Kellan with murderous intent. His eyes shifted to Kellan, who looked like he was about to faint. The boy¡¯s face was ghostly pale, his eyes wide and pleading as he looked to his mother for help. His lips moved soundlessly, trying to form words, but nothing seemed to come out. He glanced around the room, his gaze skimming past the other nobles as if searching for a friendly face, for someone to step in and save him. But everyone seemed to turn away, averting their eyes from the pitiful spectacle. Kellan was alone, more isolated than ever. Thorne leaned back, folding his arms, his expression calm and composed, but beneath the surface, his mind was a flurry of cold calculations. He noted the reactions of the other nobles¡ªsome with shock, others with a glimmer of morbid fascination, and still others who exchanged brief, knowing glances. This was a spectacle none of them would forget. The Viremonts stood off to the side, whispering among themselves with smug, self-satisfied smiles. Their eyes glittered with amusement, as if they were watching a particularly entertaining play unfold. They had no love for the Thornfields, and Alaric¡¯s outburst was clearly something they found more than a little gratifying. In contrast, the Farroways maintained a cool, disapproving distance. Lord Farroway¡¯s lips were pressed into a thin line, his eyes flicking between Alaric and Kellan with a look of detached judgment. Emilia Farroway, standing beside him, looked equally unimpressed, her gaze steady and calculating. They were clearly weighing the implications of this display, considering how it might affect their own position in Alvar¡¯s delicate political web. Meanwhile, the Langstons, once proud and powerful, seemed to be shrinking into the background, their expressions wary and guarded. Lady Rosalind Langston¡¯s eyes darted around the room, taking in every detail, every reaction, as if trying to gauge which way the wind was blowing. Her heir, Sabine, stood beside her, her face carefully blank, though her eyes glittered with a barely concealed interest. They were distancing themselves from the conflict, but they were also watching, waiting to see who would come out on top. Thorne¡¯s gaze returned to Kellan, who was now being held up by his mother, the woman¡¯s face twisted with fear and desperation. He was trying to speak, his voice breaking with panic as he stammered out apologies, excuses, anything to placate Alaric¡¯s rage. The tension mounted, a thick, suffocating presence that hung over the hall like a storm cloud. Thorne watched as Elena Lockridge, the host of this disastrous event, stepped forward. Her jaw was set, and her eyes burned with a fierce resolve as she placed herself between Alaric and Kellan. Her presence was commanding, and for a moment, it seemed like she might succeed in quelling the storm. ¡°Alaric, this is not the time or place for such actions,¡± she said, her voice firm but measured. ¡°You will not turn this celebration into a bloodbath.¡± But Alaric was deaf to reason, his eyes never leaving Kellan¡¯s. ¡°This has nothing to do with you, Lady Lockridge,¡± he snarled, his voice a low, dangerous growl. ¡°This is between me and him.¡± Elena¡¯s eyes flicked to Lord Ravencourt, but the man looked utterly defeated, his attempts to calm his son having failed completely. She turned back to Alaric, her expression hardening. ¡°You are in my house, Alaric Ravencourt. I will not have this barbarity under my roof.¡± But Alaric seemed set on his course, his rage blinding him to the consequences. ¡°Stay out of this,¡± he spat, his hand dropping to the hilt of his sword. ¡°Or I will see to it that you regret it.¡± There were horrified gasps at his words, the shock rippling through the crowd like a wave. Even Thorne felt a twinge of surprise at the raw, unbridled hatred in the young man¡¯s voice. Alaric was beyond reason, beyond control. He was a weapon, one that could either destroy them all or be turned to their advantage. Lady Thornfield, tears streaming down her face, stepped forward, her voice breaking as she pleaded for mercy. ¡°Please, Alaric, I beg of you. Show mercy. He¡¯s just a boy. He didn¡¯t mean¡ª¡± ¡°Silence!¡± Alaric roared, his eyes blazing with fury. ¡°Your words mean nothing to me, woman. Nothing!¡± He turned back to Kellan, his voice dripping with venom. ¡°You will pay for what your family has done.¡± Elena Lockridge sighed, her shoulders slumping as she realized there would be no reasoning with him. She cast one last, regretful glance at the elder Ravenncourt before she straightened, her voice cold and formal as she spoke. ¡°Very well,¡± she said, her tone carrying the weight of finality. ¡°If there is to be a duel, it will be conducted in the courtyard. I will not have blood spilled in my hall.¡± The room was silent for a moment, the weight of her words settling over them like a shroud. Then, slowly, the crowd began to move, the nobles whispering among themselves as they made their way towards the doors. Thorne remained where he was, his eyes on Alaric¡¯s rigid back as he stalked after Kellan and his mother, a dark smile playing on his lips. This was turning out better than he could have ever hoped. Thorne followed the crowd as they poured out of the hall and into the courtyard, the air thick with anticipation. Whispers and murmurs spread like wildfire, noble heads huddled together as they speculated about the upcoming duel. A frigid breeze swept through the open space, tugging at the elaborate dresses and finely tailored coats of Alvar¡¯s elite. The torches lining the courtyard flickered, casting wavering shadows on the stone walls. The courtyard itself was spacious, bordered by tall, imposing walls that seemed to loom over the gathered nobles. The ground was packed earth, and at the center was a circular stone platform, typically used for training bouts by the Lockridge soldiers. Tonight, however, it would serve as the stage for a far more dangerous spectacle. Thorne maneuvered through the crowd, his eyes scanning the throngs of people until he spotted Devon and Rielle on the periphery, their expressions tense. They met his gaze for a moment, a silent exchange passing between them. Everything was under control¡ªfor now. Satisfied, Thorne shifted his attention back to the center of the courtyard. Lady Elena Lockridge stepped forward, her commanding presence instantly silencing the crowd. She looked every inch the warrior she was known to be, her posture straight, her gaze hard and unyielding. She stood between Alaric and Kellan, her hand resting lightly on the hilt of the sword at her hip, a reminder to everyone present that she would brook no nonsense here tonight. ¡°Lords and ladies of Alvar,¡± she began, her voice clear and strong. ¡°We are gathered here under unfortunate circumstances. But a challenge has been issued, and we will see it honored, as is our tradition.¡± Her eyes flicked to Alaric, who stood to her right, the fury still simmering beneath his stoic expression. ¡°This duel is to be conducted fairly, without interference or deceit.¡± Her gaze swept over the crowd, daring anyone to object. No one did. She turned back to the two young men before her. ¡°You are to fight with honor, and you are not to use any active skills.¡± She spoke directly to Alaric, her tone carrying a subtle warning. ¡°This will be a contest of skill and strength alone.¡± The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. Alaric¡¯s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as he gave a curt nod. Kellan, on the other hand, looked as if he might be sick. He glanced over at his father, who was leaning heavily against one of the columns, a smug smile on his face as he watched his son prepare for what could very well be his death. Lady Lockridge gestured to one of her soldiers, who stepped forward holding two swords. They were simple, unadorned blades, but the steel gleamed under the torchlight, sharp and deadly. She handed one to Alaric, who took it with a grim expression, testing its weight before nodding in satisfaction. When she offered the second sword to Kellan, his hand trembled as he reached for it. He looked at the blade as if it were a viper ready to strike, his knuckles white as he gripped the hilt. He glanced around the courtyard, his eyes flicking to the assembled nobles, all watching him with varying degrees of interest and disdain. Thorne caught his eye for a brief moment, and he gave Kellan a small, almost imperceptible nod. It was a gesture of encouragement, though he doubted Kellan would take it as such. The boy looked like a cornered animal, all flight and no fight. Thorne almost pitied him. Almost. Lady Lockridge stepped back, giving the two combatants space. ¡°This duel will continue until one of you yields or is unable to fight.¡± She paused, her eyes lingering on Alaric for a moment longer. ¡°Remember, no active skills. Fight with honor, or not at all.¡± Alaric sneered, his eyes never leaving Kellan. ¡°Oh, I intend to fight with honor, Lady Lockridge. I intend to fight with honor and deliver justice for my family.¡± Kellan swallowed hard, raising his sword into a clumsy guard position. The blade wavered slightly in his grip, his lack of training evident in every movement. Alaric¡¯s smile widened, a predator scenting blood. Lady Lockridge stepped back, raising her arm. ¡°Begin!¡± The courtyard fell deathly silent, all eyes on the two young men as they began to circle each other. Thorne leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing as he watched Kellan¡¯s every move, every twitch of his muscles. He would need to find a way to turn this around if he wanted to survive. And if he didn¡¯t... Well, Thorne thought as he took a slow sip from his wine, he would just have to find another way to salvage the Thornfields¡¯ crumbling facade. Alaric launched himself at Kellan with a ferocity that bordered on madness. His strikes were wild, powerful, each one driven by a rage that seemed to burn through him like wildfire. His sword sang through the air, crashing against Kellan¡¯s blade with brutal force. Kellan struggled to keep up, his movements awkward and uncoordinated as he backpedaled desperately, his sword raised more in defense than attack. ¡°You think you¡¯re better than me, Thornfield?¡± Alaric snarled, his voice a harsh growl as he swung his sword in a wide arc. Kellan barely managed to deflect the blow, his feet stumbling over the uneven ground as he tried to find his balance. ¡°You think your family can just do whatever they want and get away with it?¡± Kellan¡¯s eyes were wide with fear, his breaths coming in short, panicked gasps. He tried to speak, tried to explain, but his words were lost in the clash of steel and the roar of Alaric¡¯s rage. ¡°Alaric, please¡ª¡± He didn¡¯t even get the chance to finish as Alaric¡¯s sword slammed into his, the force of the blow nearly knocking the weapon from his hands. ¡°You¡¯re nothing!¡± Alaric shouted, his voice echoing across the courtyard. He drove Kellan back, his strikes relentless, each one more vicious than the last. ¡°Your family is nothing! Murderers and liars, all of you!¡± The crowd watched in horrified fascination, their murmurs growing louder with each brutal strike. Alaric wasn¡¯t just trying to win; he was trying to destroy Kellan, to humiliate him in front of everyone. The young Thornfield¡¯s desperate attempts to defend himself were pathetic in comparison, his movements slow and clumsy as he tried to fend off Alaric¡¯s onslaught. Alaric lunged forward, his sword aimed at Kellan¡¯s chest. Kellan barely managed to twist out of the way, the blade slicing through his sleeve and drawing a thin line of blood. He staggered back, his eyes wide with pain and fear as he clutched his arm. ¡°Please, Alaric, listen to me! We don¡¯t have to do this!¡± But Alaric didn¡¯t hear him. He was beyond reason, his eyes blazing with fury as he swung his sword again, the blade catching Kellan across the shoulder. Kellan cried out, stumbling back as blood seeped through his tunic, staining the fabric a dark red. He tried to raise his sword, tried to defend himself, but his movements were sluggish, his strength failing him as he struggled to stay upright. Thorne could hear the whispers in the crowd turned to gasps of outrage, the spectators exchanging glances of horror and disgust. This wasn¡¯t a duel anymore; it was a massacre. Even those who had initially sided with the Ravencourts were beginning to look uneasy, their faces pale as they watched Alaric tear into Kellan with unrestrained brutality. It was working. The scene unfolding before them was turning the tide of opinion, casting Alaric as the aggressor and Kellan as the victim. But it wouldn¡¯t matter if Kellan died here. Thorne¡¯s mind raced as he weighed his options. He needed to end this, now, before Alaric did something that couldn¡¯t be undone. He scanned the courtyard, his eyes flitting over the crowd until they landed on the flickering torches lining the edge of the courtyard. An idea sparked in his mind, a plan forming in the space of a heartbeat. He scanned the faces in the crowd and found Rielle and Devon standing where they had been earlier, eyes fixed on the unfolding duel. Thorne pushed his way through the crowd, shoving people aside as he rushed towards them, urgency driving his movements. When he reached them, he spoke quickly, his voice low and intense. ¡°We need to stop the duel. There¡¯s no time. I need you to set fire to the barracks, make it look like an accident. It needs to be big enough to disrupt everything but not too dangerous. Do you understand?¡± Rielle and Devon exchanged a glance, their expressions hardening as they nodded. There was no hesitation, no questions. They turned and disappeared into the shadows, moving with the silent efficiency of seasoned operatives. Thorne took a deep breath, his eyes darting back to the duel as he made his way closer to the fighting pair. Kellan was in bad shape, blood covering his face and clothes. A deep cut ran from the top of his head to his ear, the crimson staining his pale skin. He looked like he was on the verge of collapse, his legs trembling as he tried to stay upright. Alaric, on the other hand, seemed almost at ease, a cruel smile playing on his lips as he toyed with his opponent, his movements controlled and precise. He was enjoying this, savoring every moment, like a cat playing with a dying mouse. He circled Kellan, taunting him with vicious jabs and slashes, each strike drawing blood and pained gasps. Thorne¡¯s heart pounded in his chest, his eyes flicking between the duel and the edge of the courtyard, waiting for the signal. The seconds stretched into agonizing minutes, each one feeling like an eternity. He was ready to intervene if he had to. Alaric¡¯s sword swept in a wide arc, catching Kellan on the back as he tried to retreat. The force of the blow sent Kellan sprawling to the ground, his sword clattering uselessly next to him. He lay there, gasping for breath, his face twisted in pain as he struggled to push himself up on his hands and knees. Alaric stood over him, a look of triumph on his face as he raised his sword high. ¡°This is your end, Thornfield,¡± he sneered, his voice dripping with malice. ¡°You and your family¡ª¡± Just as the blade was about to connect, a sudden explosion rocked the courtyard, the ground shaking beneath their feet as a burst of crimson light filled the night sky. Screams erupted from the crowd as everyone turned to see the source of the commotion. Flames licked the sky, the barracks at the edge of the courtyard engulfed in fire, the heat from the blaze washing over the assembled nobles. Panic rippled through the crowd as people began to scatter, their shouts of fear and confusion filling the air. Lady Lockridge¡¯s eyes widened in shock, her composure slipping for the first time as she turned to Alaric, her voice sharp with anger. ¡°Stop this at once!¡± Thorne felt a surge of satisfaction as he watched the scene descend into chaos. The duel was forgotten, the crowd scattering in all directions as servants and guards rushed to contain the blaze. Alaric hesitated, his eyes widening as he glanced at the fire, the distraction breaking through his murderous focus. But then Alaric¡¯s eyes fixed on Kellan, his chest heaving with rage. He took a step forward, his grip tightening on his sword as he prepared to deliver the final blow, the fire and chaos around them forgotten in his single-minded fury. Thorne watched, his heart pounding as he realized what was about to happen. Alaric wasn¡¯t going to stop. He was going to kill Kellan, right here, in front of everyone. And if that happened, all of Thorne¡¯s careful planning would be for nothing. He moved without thinking, his hand flicking out as he used his Invisible Threads skill. The spectral lines of aether wrapped around Alaric¡¯s sword, tugging it just enough to throw off his aim. The blade missed Kellan¡¯s neck by inches, slicing through the air with a hiss as it struck the ground beside him. Alaric stumbled, his eyes widening in surprise as he looked down at the blade embedded in the dirt, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He seemed to realize, for the first time, where he was, what he was doing. He looked up, his gaze flicking to Kellan¡¯s bloodied, terrified face, then to the horrified faces of the onlookers. Lord Ravencourt was there in an instant, grabbing his son¡¯s arm and pulling him back, his voice low and urgent. ¡°That¡¯s enough, Alaric. It¡¯s over. Come with me, now.¡± Alaric resisted for a moment, his body tense with lingering fury, but then he let out a shuddering breath and allowed himself to be led away, the fire in his eyes dimming as the reality of what he had done seemed to sink in. The Ravencourt guards closed in around them, forming a protective barrier as they guided the shaken heir away from the scene, their faces grim. Kellan lay on the ground, his chest heaving as he tried to push himself up, his eyes dazed and unfocused. Lady Thornfield rushed to his side, her hands fluttering uselessly around him as she whispered frantic reassurances, her face pale with fear. Thorne watched it all unfold, a sense of satisfaction curling in his chest as he leaned against a pillar, his hand still tingling with the lingering sensation of his aetheric manipulation. The duel was over, but the night¡¯s events had set in motion something much larger, a shift in power. He had played his part well, and now, it was time to see how the pieces would fall. CHAPTER 130 Thorne and Dalen sparred in the courtyard, their swords clashing in a rhythm that spoke of long hours of practice. Dalen was putting up a decent fight, but Thorne was only half-invested, his mind still turning over the events of the previous night. He parried Dalen¡¯s strike with ease, letting his body move on instinct while his thoughts drifted. ¡°Come on, you¡¯re holding back!¡± Dalen panted, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword. ¡°Where¡¯s that famous fighting spirit that has me eating dirt every single battle?¡± Thorne smirked but didn¡¯t respond. He could tell Dalen was getting better, but there was still a long way to go. ¡°You¡¯re improving, but you need to focus more on your footwork. It¡¯s sloppy,¡± he advised, his voice almost bored as he sidestepped Dalen¡¯s next attack and knocked his sword away with a quick flick of his wrist. Dalen stumbled back, nearly losing his balance. ¡°I know, I know,¡± he muttered, frustration lining his features. ¡°But it¡¯s not like I¡¯ve had as much training as you.¡± Thorne raised an eyebrow, watching him carefully. ¡°That¡¯s no excuse. If you want to get better, you have to put in the work. You can¡¯t rely on the fact that you¡¯re wearing armor and have a few defensive skills.¡± Dalen¡¯s expression turned sheepish. ¡°Yeah, well, you¡¯ve got all those fancy active skills. I¡¯ve seen what you can do, even without them. I¡¯m just trying to keep up.¡± Thorne paused, considering his words. It was true; most of his victories didn¡¯t rely solely on his skills but also on the ruthless training he¡¯d endured since joining the guild. ¡°You think it¡¯s all about the skills?¡± he asked, lowering his sword slightly. ¡°They help, sure, but without a solid foundation, they¡¯re worthless. What skills do you even have?¡± Dalen looked uncomfortable, glancing away. ¡°I... I don¡¯t have any offensive skills. Just some defensive ones, like you said. Armor Boost, Reinforced Guard. Stuff like that.¡± Thorne frowned. ¡°So you¡¯re a sitting duck unless you¡¯re wearing armor.¡± Dalen¡¯s shoulders slumped. ¡°Yeah, pretty much.¡± ¡°Why haven¡¯t you unlocked any combat skills?¡± Thorne asked, his voice sharp. ¡°You¡¯ve been working here long enough, and I know you¡¯ve had opportunities.¡± Dalen shifted uncomfortably, avoiding Thorne¡¯s gaze. ¡°I guess I just... I don¡¯t know, I never got the chance. Or maybe I wasn¡¯t good enough.¡± He looked up then, meeting Thorne¡¯s eyes with a mix of defiance and embarrassment. ¡°Besides, I never thought I¡¯d need them. I¡¯m just a guard.¡± Thorne stared at him for a long moment, his eyes narrowing. ¡°That¡¯s a dangerous way to think, Dalen. You¡¯re not just a guard. You¡¯re working for Uncle. And that means you¡¯re a target.¡± Dalen swallowed, his expression growing serious. ¡°I know. I just... I want to get better. But it¡¯s not that easy.¡± Thorne nodded slowly, feeling a strange sense of responsibility. ¡°You have to train every day, harder than you¡¯ve ever trained before. Push yourself. You can¡¯t rely on your armor forever. If you don¡¯t unlock some combat skills, you¡¯re going to be a liability.¡± Dalen looked thoughtful, nodding slowly. ¡°You¡¯re right. I¡¯ll do it. I¡¯ll train more.¡± ¡°Good,¡± Thorne said, his voice firm. ¡°Because if you don¡¯t, you¡¯re as good as dead.¡± Dalen¡¯s eyes widened slightly at the harsh words, but he nodded again, determination hardening his features. ¡°I understand. I''ll give it my best.¡± Thorne nodded thoughtfully, lowering his sword. ¡°How did you end up working for Uncle? He could have used some of his... other guards.¡± The younger man shrugged, looking down at his feet. ¡°My mother knew him. She used to work for him years ago, before she got sick. When I needed a job, she asked him if he could find something for me to do. I started out running errands, then ended up here.¡± He glanced up at Thorne, a faint smile on his lips. ¡°It¡¯s not what I thought I¡¯d be doing, but ever since I started working here, my ma and sisters have had food on the table every night. Can¡¯t complain about that.¡± Thorne nodded, feeling a strange pang of empathy. He wasn¡¯t used to feeling anything but suspicion or indifference towards others, but something about Dalen¡¯s straightforwardness struck a chord with him. Maybe it was the fact that he had been around secretive and scheming people for so long. It was refreshing to be with someone so earnest for a change. "You''re lucky to have a family to take care of.¡± Dalen¡¯s smile turned a little sad, and he nodded. ¡°Yeah, I guess I am. They¡¯re good people. And Uncle... he¡¯s been good to us. I¡¯d do anything for him.¡± Thorne felt a strange sensation in his chest, almost like regret, but he pushed it away, focusing back on their training. He knew better than to get attached, to anyone. ¡°Then let¡¯s make sure you¡¯re ready for anything.¡± He lunged forward, his sword slicing through the air, but pulled back at the last moment, just as Dalen¡¯s blade came up to meet his. The younger man looked surprised, his eyes widening as he realized he¡¯d almost countered Thorne¡¯s attack. Thorne finally called for a break, noticing the sweat dripping from Dalen¡¯s face and the way his shoulders sagged with exhaustion. ¡°You¡¯re getting better,¡± he said truthfully. Dalen¡¯s face lit up with a small, grateful smile. ¡°Thanks. Means a lot, coming from you.¡± Thorne shrugged, leaning on his sword. ¡°Don¡¯t get used to it.¡± They both laughed, a rare moment of camaraderie that felt oddly comforting. Thorne glanced up at the sky, feeling lighter than he had in days. The sweat and physical exertion had driven away the shadows that had clung to him since the duel, clearing his mind and giving him some much-needed clarity. But then, as if summoned by his stray thoughts, he remembered the chaos of the morning. Arletta had woken him at dawn, her face urgent as she relayed Uncle¡¯s summons. Thorne had barely had time to splash water on his face before he was ushered into the study, where Uncle had been waiting, his expression a thunderstorm of barely-contained fury. He¡¯d recounted everything¡ªLady Thornfield¡¯s secret, Kellan¡¯s near-death experience, the documents Devon and Rielle had found. Uncle had listened in silence, his eyes dark and calculating. When Thorne finished, Uncle had only given a curt nod before dismissing him, leaving Thorne feeling strangely adrift. The clatter of swords brought him back to the present, and he turned to see Dalen watching him curiously, his head tilted to the side. ¡°What?¡± ¡°You¡¯re thinking again,¡± Dalen said, raising an eyebrow. ¡°Never a good sign.¡± Thorne smirked, shaking his head. ¡°Maybe you¡¯re right. Let¡¯s keep going. I need the distraction.¡± Dalen nodded eagerly, raising his sword, but just as Thorne was about to step forward, he noticed movement at the courtyard gate. Two figures stood there, and it took him only a moment to recognize them: Lady Rosalind Langston and her granddaughter, Sabine. Dalen¡¯s eyes widened in recognition as well, and he quickly sheathed his sword, his back straightening. ¡°Lady Rosalind,¡± he muttered under his breath. ¡°What¡¯s she doing here?¡± ¡°Your guess is as good as mine,¡± Thorne replied, his gaze never leaving the two women. He could see the tension in their postures, the way they glanced around the courtyard as if expecting someone to jump out at them. Dalen shot Thorne a quick, nervous look. ¡°I should go get Arletta.¡± Thorne nodded absently, his attention focused on the Langstons. ¡°Do that.¡± Dalen hesitated for a moment, his eyes flicking between Thorne and the noblewomen before he turned and rushed into the house, his footsteps echoing through the courtyard. Thorne watched him go, then turned his gaze back to the Langstons. Lady Rosalind was speaking quietly to the guards, her expression a mixture of irritation and impatience. She looked every inch the formidable matriarch, her sharp eyes scanning the courtyard as if searching for hidden threats. Beside her, Sabine stood with her hands clasped in front of her, her gaze fixed on Thorne. There was a hint of curiosity in her eyes, a glint of something almost playful, but her posture was tense, her shoulders stiff as if she was bracing herself for something unpleasant. Thorne felt a pang of annoyance. The last thing he needed right now was to deal with more noble politics. But he forced himself to remain calm, his expression carefully neutral as he observed them. Dalen reappeared moments later, Arletta following close behind. Her face was calm, her eyes assessing as she approached the Langstons. She greeted them with a respectful nod, her voice polite but distant. ¡°Lady Rosalind, Lady Sabine. We have been expecting you.¡± Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Lady Rosalind¡¯s gaze flicked to Thorne, her lips thinning slightly before she turned back to Arletta. ¡°We need to speak with your master.¡± Arletta nodded, her expression not changing. ¡°He is waiting for you. Please, come in.¡± As they entered the courtyard, Lady Rosalind¡¯s eyes met Thorne¡¯s again, and she gave him a brief, almost imperceptible nod. Thorne returned the gesture, his expression giving nothing away. Sabine, however, lingered for a moment, her gaze lingering on him with open curiosity. Thorne could see her whispering something to her grandmother, and his heightened senses picked up her words clearly. ¡°I¡¯ll wait here. I want to see what he¡¯s like.¡± Lady Rosalind gave a curt nod, her attention already turning back to Arletta as they continued towards the house. Sabine, however, turned back to Thorne, a polite smile on her lips as she approached him. ¡°Well, this should be interesting,¡± Thorne muttered to himself, lowering his sword as he watched her approach. He could already see the calculation in her eyes, the way she was studying him, weighing him. She stopped a few paces away, her smile widening slightly as she inclined her head. ¡°Lord Silverbane, I presume?¡± Thorne raised an eyebrow, his Mask of Deceit skill kicking in, smoothing his expression into one of polite curiosity. ¡°Lady Sabine. To what do I owe the pleasure?¡± Sabine¡¯s smile didn¡¯t falter, but her eyes were sharp as they met his. ¡°I¡¯ve heard a lot about you. I thought it was time we finally met.¡± Thorne leaned against a small statue, his sword resting casually over his shoulder as he studied her. She was younger than he¡¯d expected, her features delicate but her eyes sharp and calculating. There was a confidence in her stance, a self-assurance that told him she was used to getting what she wanted. He couldn¡¯t help but feel a flicker of curiosity. What did she want from him? ¡°Is that so?¡± he replied smoothly, his tone light. ¡°And what, exactly, have you heard?¡± Sabine¡¯s gaze flicked around the courtyard before settling back on him. ¡°Oh, the usual gossip,¡± she said with a casual wave of her hand. ¡°A mysterious southern lord, arriving out of nowhere and becoming Master Varyn¡¯s favored guest. And now, apparently, the talk of Alvar.¡± Her smile turned playful, but there was a gleam of something else in her eyes. ¡°You¡¯ve been making quite an impression, Lord Silverbane.¡± Thorne¡¯s expression didn¡¯t change, but his mind was racing. She was probing, testing his reaction, trying to gauge just how much of a threat he posed. He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. ¡°People love their gossip, don¡¯t they? I assure you, Lady Sabine, there¡¯s nothing mysterious about me. Just a man trying to make his way in the world.¡± Sabine¡¯s eyes narrowed slightly, but her smile remained. ¡°I¡¯m sure,¡± she murmured. ¡°But I must admit, I was surprised to see you speaking with Lady Selene Ravencourt last night. She¡¯s not usually so... friendly with strangers.¡± Thorne¡¯s gaze sharpened slightly, but he kept his voice light. ¡°Selene? She was kind enough to show me around the party. A gracious host. Why? Did I step on some local toes by talking to her?¡± Sabine¡¯s smile widened, and she took a step closer, her voice dropping slightly. ¡°Not at all. It¡¯s just... curious, don¡¯t you think? A Ravencourt and a Thornfield supporter, getting along so well?¡± Thorne felt a flicker of irritation but kept it buried deep. She was digging, trying to provoke a reaction, but he wasn¡¯t going to give her the satisfaction. Instead, he gave her a bemused smile, raising an eyebrow. ¡°Thornfield supporter? I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t follow. I don¡¯t recall pledging my allegiance to anyone.¡± Sabine¡¯s eyes gleamed with amusement, but there was something colder beneath the surface. ¡°Oh, come now, Lord Silverbane. You¡¯re staying with Master Varyn, aren¡¯t you? Everyone knows he¡¯s backing Lord Thornfield. So, naturally, you¡¯re involved as well.¡± Thorne leaned back slightly, his smile widening as he felt his Mindguard skill pulse in the back of his mind, warning him. Sabine was using a skill on him, something subtle and insidious, trying to influence his thoughts. He felt a brief pressure against his mind, like a whisper in his ear, but it dissipated quickly. A moment later, a notification flashed before his eyes. Skill Level Up: Mindguard! He felt a surge of satisfaction but kept it hidden, his expression as smooth as ever. ¡°Interesting theory, Lady Sabine, but I assure you, my relationship with Master Varyn is... complicated. I¡¯m hardly his puppet, if that¡¯s what you¡¯re implying.¡± Sabine¡¯s smile didn¡¯t waver, but her eyes flashed with something like annoyance. ¡°Of course not. I would never suggest such a thing.¡± She tilted her head slightly, her gaze thoughtful. ¡°But it does make one wonder... What is your role here, Lord Silverbane?¡± Thorne gave her a lazy shrug, his smile widening as he leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t you like to know?¡± Sabine blinked, momentarily caught off guard, before she let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. ¡°You¡¯re very good at this, you know. I almost believe you.¡± Thorne chuckled, straightening up and gesturing towards a nearby table under the shade of a tree. ¡°Why don¡¯t we sit down? It seems we have a lot to discuss.¡± Sabine hesitated for a moment, then nodded, following him to the table. Thorne motioned to Dalen, who was watching them from a distance, and the guard quickly approached. ¡°Could you call for a maid? We¡¯ll need some refreshments.¡± Dalen nodded, casting a wary glance at Sabine before hurrying off. Thorne watched him go, then turned back to Sabine with a pleasant smile. ¡°Please, have a seat.¡± She did so, folding her hands neatly in her lap, her eyes never leaving his. ¡°You¡¯re quite the gentleman, Lord Silverbane. I¡¯m impressed.¡± ¡°Only when I want to be,¡± he replied lightly, sitting across from her. ¡°So, Lady Sabine, what brings you here today? I assume it¡¯s more than just idle curiosity.¡± Sabine¡¯s smile turned coy, her fingers toying with the edge of her sleeve. ¡°Well, you know how it is. One must stay informed, especially in times like these.¡± Thorne nodded, his eyes thoughtful. ¡°Of course. Information is power, after all.¡± ¡°Exactly,¡± she agreed, leaning forward slightly. ¡°And I find it fascinating that you¡¯ve managed to position yourself so... strategically. Associating with Master Varyn, getting close to Lady Selene... It¡¯s all very... interesting.¡± Thorne felt his irritation rise again but kept his tone light. ¡°Is that so? I wasn¡¯t aware that having a few polite conversations was considered ¡®strategic¡¯.¡± Sabine¡¯s eyes glinted with amusement, but there was a sharp edge to her smile. ¡°Perhaps not. But one can never be too careful, don¡¯t you agree? After all, alliances are shifting every day.¡± Thorne tilted his head slightly, watching her carefully. ¡°And what about you, Lady Sabine? Where does House Langston fit into all of this?¡± Sabine¡¯s smile faltered slightly, her gaze turning wary. ¡°We¡¯re... observing. Waiting to see how things unfold. It¡¯s a precarious situation, after all.¡± Thorne nodded slowly, his mind racing. She was being cautious, which was to be expected, but there was something else there, something she wasn¡¯t saying. He decided to push a little further, leaning back in his chair and giving her a casual smile. ¡°I see. And have you observed anything... interesting?¡± Sabine¡¯s eyes flicked to the house behind them, then back to him, her expression guarded. ¡°More than I expected, to be honest. It¡¯s... surprising, how quickly things are changing.¡± Thorne raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. ¡°Is that so? What changes are you referring to?¡± Sabine hesitated, then shook her head, her smile returning. ¡°Oh, nothing specific. Just... a feeling.¡± Thorne narrowed his eyes slightly. She was playing a game, and he didn¡¯t like it. But he forced himself to remain calm, his smile never faltering. ¡°Feelings can be dangerous, Lady Sabine. They can lead to all sorts of misunderstandings.¡± Sabine¡¯s eyes darkened slightly, but she nodded, her tone cool. ¡°Yes, they can. But they can also reveal a lot about a person.¡± Thorne wanted to roll his eyes but kept his expression as smooth as ever. ¡°True enough. But I prefer to deal in facts.¡± ¡°Facts are useful,¡± Sabine agreed, her gaze steady. ¡°But they¡¯re not always the whole story.¡± Thorne watched her carefully, feeling the tension between them. She was probing, testing him, trying to find a crack in his armor. But he wasn¡¯t going to give her anything. Not yet. ¡°Well,¡± he said finally, his tone light, ¡°I suppose we¡¯ll just have to wait and see how things unfold.¡± Sabine¡¯s smile widened, but there was a hint of frustration in her eyes. ¡°Yes, I suppose we will.¡± Dalen returned then, a maid following behind him with a tray of tea and refreshments. Thorne watched as she set the tray on the table, his mind still racing with possibilities. Sabine was hiding something, he was sure of it. But what? He picked up his teacup, his eyes never leaving hers as he took a sip. ¡°I must say, Lady Sabine, you¡¯re quite the conversationalist.¡± Sabine let out a soft laugh, picking up her own cup. ¡°I do try. But I think you¡¯re much better at this than I am, Lord Silverbane.¡± Thorne gave her a lazy smile, his mind already working on his next move. ¡°We all have our talents.¡± * Sabine stayed for close to an hour, pushing him and testing, never letting him ease up. She was relentless, her questions veiled in pleasantries, her gaze sharp and calculating. Thorne maintained his composure, keeping up the charade of polite conversation, but it was exhausting. By the time she left, accompanied by her grandmother, he felt drained, like he¡¯d been in a battle of wits rather than a simple conversation. As they disappeared down the path leading out of the estate, Thorne watched them go with narrowed eyes. Sabine Langston was no idle gossip, she was shrew and cunning, and she had an agenda. What that agenda was, he wasn¡¯t sure yet, but he had a feeling he¡¯d find out soon enough. He shook his head, letting out a long breath. ¡°She¡¯s like a blood hound,¡± he muttered under his breath, the irritation in his voice clear. ¡°Won¡¯t let go once she¡¯s got a scent.¡± He stretched, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension that had settled there during their conversation. He didn¡¯t like her. She was too clever by half, and she clearly didn¡¯t trust him, which was fair enough. He didn¡¯t trust her either. But he wasn¡¯t about to let her rattle him. He had other things to worry about, like finding out what had transpired between Uncle and the Langstons. He made his way inside the house, his steps purposeful as he headed towards Uncle¡¯s study. He needed answers. When he reached the hallway outside the study, however, he was met by Arletta, her expression unreadable. She stepped in front of the door, her arms crossed over her chest. ¡°You can¡¯t go in,¡± she said firmly. Thorne raised an eyebrow, his irritation simmering beneath the surface. ¡°I just want to speak with him for a moment.¡± ¡°He¡¯s busy right now,¡± she replied, her tone leaving no room for argument. ¡°You¡¯ll have to wait.¡± Thorne clenched his jaw, but he didn¡¯t push it. He knew better than to cross Arletta, especially when Uncle had given her a direct order. Instead, he let out a frustrated sigh and turned on his heel, pacing back down the hall. For the rest of the day, he waited restlessly, finding himself sulking in the hallway in front of Uncle¡¯s study, his mind racing with questions and half-formed theories. People came and went, some unknown, some familiar from the guild. He even saw a couple of his former classmates accompanied by elder members, their expressions blank and professional. Whatever was happening behind those doors, it was important. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest as he watched the comings and goings with narrowed eyes. What the hell was going on in there? And why was he being kept out of it? It was late at night, long after the household had settled into an uneasy quiet, when the study door finally opened. Thorne straightened, his eyes locking onto Arletta as she stepped out, her expression weary but composed. ¡°Master will see you now,¡± she said quietly, her gaze meeting his with a hint of sympathy. Thorne didn¡¯t waste any time. He nodded curtly and strode past her, his heart pounding in his chest as he entered the study. Uncle was seated behind his desk, a mountain of papers spread out before him, his face drawn with lines of fatigue. He looked up as Thorne entered, his eyes narrowing slightly before he leaned back in his chair, gesturing for him to come closer. ¡°Thorne,¡± he said, his voice measured, ¡°come in.¡± Thorne approached the desk, his eyes scanning the papers scattered across the surface. Maps, letters, lists of names and numbers. It looked like the aftermath of a battlefield, the remnants of some grand strategy laid bare. Uncle watched him for a moment, then reached for a letter lying on top of the pile. He held it up, his expression unreadable. ¡°You¡¯re delivering this to the Thornfield fool.¡± CHAPTER 131 Thorne stared at the letter in Uncle¡¯s outstretched hand, his confusion barely concealed behind a carefully neutral expression. ¡°You want me to deliver this?¡± His voice was measured, but the unspoken question hung between them. Why him? Uncle leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking softly as he steepled his fingers under his chin. The candlelight played across his face, highlighting the faint amusement dancing in his eyes. ¡°Yes, Thorne,¡± he replied, his tone almost indulgent. ¡°You¡¯re my heir, after all. It¡¯s time Alvar sees that.¡± Thorne¡¯s gaze shifted to the letter, his mind racing. ¡°But why me?¡± he pressed, his voice low. ¡°Surely there are others¡ª¡± ¡°Others,¡± Uncle cut in, a hint of exasperation threading through his words, ¡°wouldn¡¯t have the same impact.¡± He leaned forward, his eyes locking onto Thorne¡¯s with an intensity that brooked no argument. ¡°You need to be seen, Thorne. Last night¡¯s events were your doing, your plan. You¡¯re not just some southern lord playing at politics. You¡¯re a force to be reckoned with.¡± All this praise left Thorne conflicted. A part of him, no matter how small, relished being acknowledged, being seen as someone of consequence. It was a dangerous temptation, this craving for validation that had always lingered, buried deep within him¡ªthe small boy who had once starved for any scrap of praise, any sign that he was more than just a tool to be used and discarded. But another part of him, the part that had been forged in the crucible of Uncle¡¯s manipulations and betrayals, knew better. He had been under this man¡¯s thumb for too long to trust the seemingly newfound confidence and trust Uncle was showing. This was, after all, the same man who had torn him from his life, twisted his path, and reshaped him into something deadly. Uncle was not to be trusted; Thorne was painfully aware that if it suited his plans, he would have Thorne sacrificed without a second thought, discarded like a broken pawn. He was caught between the child he had once been, desperate for recognition, and the man he had become, who knew that everyone lied, everyone deceived. His instincts screamed at him to be wary, to question everything, but the soft, insidious voice of that desperate child whispered that maybe, just maybe, this was real. That he was more than just a tool to Uncle now. The conflicting thoughts swirled in his mind, the two sides of him locked in an unending war. He pushed them down, burying them deep, where they couldn¡¯t distract him. He had to stay focused, keep his wits about him, especially now. He couldn¡¯t afford to be swayed by kind words and calculated smiles. ¡°And the letter?¡± he asked finally, his voice carefully neutral. Uncle waved a hand dismissively, as if the contents were of little consequence. ¡°It¡¯s Lady Langston¡¯s demands. If she¡¯s to support Thornfield¡¯s claim to power, she wants... incentives.¡± Thorne raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. ¡°Incentives?¡± Uncle¡¯s smile was thin, almost mocking. ¡°Titles, lands that currently belong to the Ravencourts, a generous dowry for her granddaughter, and a guaranteed seat on the council once the dust settles. She wants her family¡¯s glory restored, and she¡¯s willing to back Thornfield to get it.¡± Thorne let out a low whistle, his lips curling into a wry smile. ¡°Quite the wish list.¡± ¡°She¡¯s not one to settle for scraps,¡± Uncle agreed, his tone dry. ¡°But she¡¯s not wrong. She¡¯s poor as a fisherman''s wife, but she has the ear of every noblewoman in Alvar. Every noblewoman listens to her whispers and respect her opinions. If we secure her support, we secure the hearts and minds of those who might otherwise waver.¡± Thorne nodded slowly, the pieces falling into place. ¡°And if Lord Thornfield refuses?¡± Uncle¡¯s eyes gleamed, a dark, dangerous light flickering in their depths. ¡°Then you remind him of last night¡¯s events, of how you single-handedly turned a party into a political spectacle. Show him the power you wield, not just through force, but through manipulation. He knows who you really are, Thorne. He knows you¡¯re not just a puppet on a string.¡± Thorne¡¯s fingers tightened around the letter, feeling the weight of it, the potential it held. ¡°And if he still resists?¡± Uncle¡¯s smile turned razor-sharp. ¡°Then you make him understand that refusing Lady Langston is a mistake he can¡¯t afford. She may not have wealth or an army, but she¡¯s a master of courtly intrigue. And if that¡¯s not enough...¡± He leaned back, his eyes never leaving Thorne¡¯s. ¡°Remind him that you¡¯re not just my heir. You¡¯re the boy who bled Alvar dry last night. You¡¯re the shadow that makes the powerful tremble.¡± Thorne felt a chill run down his spine at Uncle¡¯s words, but there was a thrill there too, a dark satisfaction at the power he held, the role he was being given. He couldn¡¯t trust Uncle¡ªhe knew that. But that didn¡¯t stop the flicker of pride, the whisper of that needy child within him, still aching for approval. ¡°I understand,¡± he said, his voice steady. ¡°I knew you would,¡± Uncle said, his gaze softening ever so slightly. ¡°You¡¯ve grown, Thorne. You¡¯re ready for this.¡± Thorne nodded, slipping the letter into his coat. This was more than just a message. It was a test, a chance to prove that he wasn¡¯t just Uncle¡¯s pawn. He was a player in this game, and he was ready to show Alvar¡ªand Lord Thornfield¡ªjust how dangerous he could be. ¡°I¡¯ll take care of it,¡± he said quietly, a steely resolve in his tone. ¡°I have no doubt,¡± Uncle replied, his smile almost proud. ¡°Now go. Lord Thornfield may be used to waiting, but he¡¯ll be more pliable if you catch him off guard.¡± * Thorne tucked the letter securely inside his coat, adjusting it once more as he exited the mansion. The night air was crisp and biting, the kind of cold that seeped through even the thickest layers of clothing. A stiff wind swept through the courtyard, rustling the bare branches of the trees and sending a shiver down his spine. He pulled his coat tighter around him as he made his way toward the gate, his thoughts racing ahead to the coming confrontation. But as he approached, he spotted two familiar figures standing in the moonlit courtyard. Eliza gave him a cheeky grin. ¡°What¡¯s the matter, Thorne? Don¡¯t you want a little company for a night stroll?¡± Her voice was teasing, but there was a glint of seriousness in her eyes. Thorne groaned audibly, pinching the bridge of his nose. ¡°Not again,¡± he muttered. The last thing he needed was another babysitting session. He had half a mind to send them away, but after last night¡¯s events, and remembering how helpful Devon and Rielle had been, he hesitated. Eliza might be a pain, but she was competent. He glanced at the other assassin¡ªa man in his mid-twenties whom he recognized from the guild but had never interacted with. With a resigned sigh, Thorne muttered, ¡°Fine,¡± and motioned for them to follow. ¡°But keep quiet.¡± Eliza¡¯s grin widened, and she fell into step beside him. ¡°This is Tom,¡± she said, nodding to the silent man beside her. ¡°He¡¯s been with the guild for years, but you probably haven¡¯t seen much of him. He¡¯s more of a... behind-the-scenes kind of guy.¡± Tom merely nodded, his eyes already scanning the streets around them with a practiced, wary gaze. Thorne could tell he was experienced, the way he moved with a quiet confidence, his attention sharp and focused. They walked in relative silence through the winding streets of Alvar. The wind picked up, gusting through the narrow alleys and tearing at their cloaks, carrying with it the promise of rain. Heavy clouds gathered overhead, blotting out the stars and casting the city in an oppressive darkness. It felt like the whole world was holding its breath, waiting for something to break. Thorne found himself oddly grateful for the quiet; it gave him time to collect his thoughts, to plan his approach. But, of course, Eliza couldn¡¯t stay quiet for long. She began peppering him with questions, her curiosity seemingly endless. ¡°So, how¡¯s the guild been treating you? Haven¡¯t seen you much since you became ¡®Uncle¡¯s Heir, the spider prince.¡¯¡± She exaggerated the title with a mocking lilt. Thorne groaned internally, keeping his face impassive. ¡°Busy,¡± he replied shortly, hoping she would take the hint. She didn¡¯t. ¡°What about Rielle? And Jonah? You¡¯ve seen them, right? How are they doing?¡± Another sigh. ¡°They¡¯re fine, Eliza. Busy, like me.¡± But she continued, asking about everything and everyone¡ªfrom the guild¡¯s current affairs to the new recruits, to how many drinks Jonah could still down in one sitting. Thorne found himself answering more out of habit than anything else, his mind elsewhere. Tom, on the other hand, remained completely silent, his attention never wavering from their surroundings. As they made their way through the twisting streets, the first few raindrops began to fall, splattering against the cobblestones and dotting their cloaks with dark spots. The wind howled around them, the rain growing steadier, soaking through Thorne¡¯s coat and chilling him to the bone. He pulled his hood up, grimacing as the rain intensified, a heavy, unrelenting downpour that turned the streets into a slick, treacherous maze. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. When they finally reached the Thornfield estate, Thorne was almost relieved. The manor loomed before them, an imposing structure of dark stone and heavy shadows, designed to impress and intimidate. It hadn¡¯t changed much since the last time he¡¯d been here, the night he¡¯d stolen that letter... He pushed the memory aside, forcing himself to focus. He frowned as he noticed the conspicuous absence of guards at the gate. His eyes flicked to Eliza, who mirrored his confusion, and then to Tom, who murmured under his breath, ¡°I don¡¯t like it.¡± Thorne shrugged, though his senses were on high alert. ¡°Let¡¯s see what¡¯s going on.¡± He pushed the heavy, wrought-iron gate open, the hinges creaking loudly. They moved silently up the gravel path to the entrance, the grand manor looming above them like a dark sentinel. Thorne raised his hand and knocked sharply on the door. The rain poured down around them in a steady sheet, drumming against the stone walls and pooling in the cracks of the cobblestones. A few moments passed before the door swung open to reveal a maid, her face pale and drawn, her eyes wide with what looked like a mix of fear and uncertainty. She blinked rapidly as she took in Thorne¡¯s presence, her gaze darting to the two figures standing slightly behind him. Thorne offered her a polite nod. ¡°Thorne Silverbane, sent by Master Varyn. I¡¯m here to see Lord Thornfield.¡± The woman¡¯s eyes widened further, and she glanced nervously over her shoulder, as if expecting someone to appear behind her. ¡°Oh... I... um, please, wait here. I¡¯ll... I¡¯ll inform Lord Thornfield.¡± Before Thorne could say another word, she slammed the door shut in his face, leaving him standing there, stunned. He turned to Eliza and Tom, who looked just as bewildered. ¡°This is odd,¡± Eliza muttered, her brow furrowed. Tom¡¯s gaze was still sweeping their surroundings, his stance tense. ¡°I don¡¯t like it,¡± he repeated, his voice low. Thorne nodded slowly, his unease growing. Something was off. The absence of guards, the maid¡¯s nervousness... It all felt wrong. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm. He couldn¡¯t let his guard down, not here. Not now. Whatever was happening, he needed to stay sharp, to be ready for anything. He glanced back at the door, rain streaming down his hood, his hand unconsciously resting on the hilt of his hidden dagger. The maid returned, her expression flustered as she glanced around the vast entrance hall. ¡°Lord Thornfield will see you now,¡± she said, her voice barely above a whisper. ¡°Please, if you¡¯ll wait a moment, I need to... gather a few things for him.¡± She looked nervously at the ground as if expecting him to refuse. Thorne frowned, watching her scurry away. It was unusual, and his instincts prickled with unease. The grand entrance hall felt strangely empty, devoid of the usual bustle of servants. It was almost eerie. He glanced around, taking in the dimly lit space, the echo of his boots on the polished floor almost too loud in the silence. Lightning flashed outside, casting long shadows across the marble floor, and a moment later, thunder rattled the windows in their frames. The storm outside only heightened the uneasy feeling gnawing at Thorne¡¯s gut. Something was wrong. Leaving a guest waiting like this was a significant breach of etiquette. Arletta would have had a heart attack if she saw such a lapse in protocol. The maid finally returned, carrying a tray laden with bottles of liquor. Thorne raised an eyebrow, the oddity of it not lost on him. Who prepared for a meeting with such an array of drinks? And more importantly, why did she seem so nervous? With a hurried glance around and a quick tilt of her head, she whispered, ¡°If you would follow me, my lord.¡± Thorne nodded, his unease growing with each step. He glanced back at the two Lost Ones stationed by the door. Eliza caught his eye and mouthed, ¡°We¡¯ll be waiting here.¡± Thorne turned and followed the maid up the grand staircase, his footsteps muffled by the thick red carpet. The bottles on the tray clinked with each step, and he found himself wondering how none of them had shattered yet. The climb seemed endless, the storm outside growing more violent. He could feel the vibrations of the thunder through the wooden banisters. As they reached the second floor, Thorne spotted another figure at the end of the hall. A maid was meticulously dusting the frames of a series of portraits, her movements precise and careful. The faces in the paintings stared down at him with eyes that seemed to follow his every move, long-deceased ancestors of the Thornfield family. The tray rattled louder as they approached the maid, and Thorne winced as the bottles teetered dangerously. The nervous maid stumbled on the edge of the carpet, her eyes widening in horror as she watched the tray tilt precariously. Before Thorne could react, the second maid moved with an almost supernatural speed, snatching the bottles from the air with practiced ease. The maid righted herself, her face burning with embarrassment as the other woman glared at her, placing the bottles back on the tray. ¡°Will you be careful, woman?¡± the maid hissed, her voice a harsh whisper. ¡°The lord will be furious if you destroy his favorite vintage.¡± The first maid nodded, her gaze fixed on the floor. ¡°Yes, of course. I¡¯m sorry.¡± Thorne coughed delicately, breaking the tension. ¡°Shall we continue?¡± The embarrassed maid bobbed her head quickly and resumed her unsteady pace, leading Thorne down the hall. He could hear her muttering under her breath, cursing her own clumsiness. Thorne¡¯s eyes narrowed as he followed, his senses on high alert. Something was definitely off. The whole house felt... wrong. They finally stopped in front of a large, intricately carved door. The maid knocked softly, but without waiting for an answer, she pushed it open and stepped inside. Thorne followed her into the room, only to be met with a scene that made him blink in surprise. Lord Thornfield was in the middle of putting his shirt back on, his chest still exposed as he fumbled with the buttons. Behind a modesty screen, a young woman ducked out of sight, clutching her bare breasts with a gasp. Thornfield¡¯s head snapped up, his face flushed with anger as he saw Thorne standing in the doorway. ¡°What the hell is this?¡± he roared, his voice echoing off the walls. ¡°Can¡¯t you knock?¡± The maid, looking as if she might burst into tears, hastily set the tray of bottles on a nearby table and fled the room, leaving Thorne alone with the fuming lord. Thorne watched as Lord Thornfield glared at him, his eyes bloodshot and unfocused. He was still fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, his movements clumsy and jerky, a far cry from the composed noble he tried to present to the world. Thorne remained silent, holding the letter aloft, waiting for the man to collect himself. Thornfield finally straightened, his gaze flicking to the letter with a mix of disdain and curiosity. ¡°You have a lot of nerve, boy,¡± Thornfield sneered, snatching the letter from Thorne¡¯s grasp. ¡°Barging in here like you own the place.¡± He tore open the seal with a quick, angry motion, his eyes scanning the contents. Thorne watched him closely, his ears pricked as he caught the soft rustle of clothing from behind the screen. He focused his hearing, and to his surprise, he detected a second set of breathing. Another woman, hidden somewhere else in the room. How many mistresses did this man have? ¡°Lady Langston¡¯s terms,¡± he muttered, his voice dripping with contempt. ¡°I¡¯m not some common merchant she can barter with.¡± Thorne remained still, his expression carefully neutral. ¡°Lady Langston is offering a partnership, my lord. It would be unwise to dismiss her so quickly.¡± Thornfield¡¯s eyes snapped up, narrowing at Thorne¡¯s calm tone. ¡°Partnership? Is that what she calls it? Demanding land and titles, as if I owe her something.¡± He scoffed, his fingers curling around the edges of the letter, crumpling it slightly. Thorne could see the tension in the lord¡¯s posture, the way his hands trembled as he held the letter. He was putting on a brave face, but the cracks were beginning to show. Thorne¡¯s gaze flicked to the tray of bottles the maid had brought in. It wasn¡¯t just anger fueling Thornfield¡¯s tirade; the man was deep in his cups. The smell of alcohol was heavy in the room, mingling with the faint scent of perfume that clung to the young woman hiding behind the screen. ¡°My lord,¡± Thorne said, his voice smooth, almost gentle, as if he were speaking to a skittish animal. ¡°Lady Langston is willing to support your claim. That is no small thing. She may lack wealth, but her influence is considerable.¡± Thornfield¡¯s lips curled into a sneer. ¡°Influence? What good is that when I need soldiers, not gossiping old hens?¡± ¡°Soldiers follow those who have the support of the people,¡± Thorne countered evenly. ¡°And Lady Langston has the ear of every noblewoman in Alvar. She can sway opinions, turn the tide of favor. It¡¯s a rare opportunity.¡± Thornfield¡¯s sneer faltered, his gaze shifting back to the letter. He muttered under his breath, his eyes darting over the lines of text as if searching for a hidden message. Thorne took a slow step closer, keeping his movements deliberate, non-threatening. ¡°I understand your frustration, my lord,¡± he said softly. ¡°It seems as though everyone is demanding something from you. But Lady Langston¡¯s offer isn¡¯t just a demand¡ªit¡¯s a lifeline.¡± ¡°A lifeline?¡± Thornfield barked out a bitter laugh. ¡°You think I need a lifeline from that withered old crone?¡± Thorne¡¯s lips curved into a subtle smile. ¡°I think, my lord, that you¡¯re a man who knows how to play the game. You see the bigger picture. And the bigger picture here is that Lady Langston¡¯s support could tip the scales in your favor.¡± Thornfield¡¯s eyes flicked up to meet Thorne¡¯s, suspicion mingling with curiosity. ¡°And why should I trust you, of all people? You¡¯re Varyn¡¯s little errand boy. Why should I believe a word you say?¡± Thornfield glared at him, his mouth opening, ready for another insult but Thorne cut him off, his voice low and calm. ¡°Need I remind you, my lord, that last night¡¯s events were quite... tumultuous? It¡¯s amazing what a few whispers can do to set the world on fire.¡± Thornfield¡¯s eyes widened, his face paling slightly. He tried to muster a sneer, but Thorne could see the fear lurking behind his eyes. ¡°You... you dare insinuate that you had something to do with that? With that debacle?¡± Thorne¡¯s lips curled into a subtle, knowing smile. ¡°I¡¯m saying that those who understand how to use the tools at their disposal can turn any situation to their advantage.¡± Thornfield flinched, his eyes flicking back to the letter. He seemed to be weighing his options, his mind racing as he considered Lady Langston¡¯s terms. ¡°And what if I say no? What if I refuse her ridiculous demands?¡± Thorne tilted his head, his gaze never leaving Thornfield¡¯s. ¡°Then you¡¯ll find yourself very alone, my lord. And I don¡¯t think that¡¯s a position you want to be in right now.¡± Thornfield''s face twisted with indecision, his eyes flicking back and forth as if searching for an escape. He finally let out a harsh breath, his shoulders slumping slightly. ¡°Damn her. Damn all of you,¡± he muttered, more to himself than to Thorne. Thorne took a step back, his demeanor shifting back to one of calm professionalism. ¡°It¡¯s a difficult decision, my lord, but I believe you¡¯ll make the right one. You have too much to lose otherwise.¡± Thornfield glared at him, but there was a flicker of fear in his eyes, a realization that he was being backed into a corner. ¡°You think you¡¯re very clever, don¡¯t you?¡± Thorne¡¯s smile was cold, calculated. ¡°I think, my lord, that I understand what¡¯s at stake. And I think you do too.¡± There was a long moment of silence, the air between them crackling with tension. And then, with a weary sigh, Thornfield picked up the letter again, his eyes scanning the demands with a newfound seriousness. ¡°She wants too much,¡± he muttered, more to himself than to Thorne. ¡°Damn her, she always knows how to twist the knife.¡± Thorne¡¯s attention shifted to the far corner of the room as he heard another rustle, the sound too loud to be just the women moving around. His instincts screamed at him to move, but before he could react, something glinted in the dim light, a flash of metal cutting through the air. A dagger, flying straight toward Thornfield¡¯s head. CHAPTER 132 The blade glinted in the dim candlelight, death speeding toward Lord Thornfield. Thorne¡¯s instincts screamed at him, and he barely had time to react. His hand shot up, the Invisible Threads of his skill grasping at the knife in midair, yanking it off its lethal course. The dagger embedded itself into the wall behind Thornfield with a heavy thud, the hilt vibrating from the impact. Lord Thornfield flinched, his eyes widening as he took in the situation, but Thorne had already moved. The assassin launched himself at Thorne, his movements a blur of black and steel. Thorne ducked under a vicious slash, rolling across the floor and coming up in a crouch, his eyes narrowing as he sized up his opponent. This wasn¡¯t a common thug¡ªthis was someone trained, someone deadly. The man¡¯s stance was perfect, his grip on the dagger sure and steady. He was dangerous, but Thorne didn¡¯t let that intimidate him. Thorne activated Burst of Speed, his vision narrowing as his world slowed, everything sharpening to a razor¡¯s edge. He dashed forward, his own daggers drawn, the blades slicing through the air as he aimed for the assassin¡¯s throat. The masked figure reacted with uncanny speed, deflecting Thorne¡¯s strike and countering with a knee aimed at Thorne¡¯s ribs. Thorne twisted, narrowly avoiding the blow, but the assassin followed up with a rapid flurry of slashes, the blades whistling past Thorne¡¯s ears as he dodged and parried. The two assassins moved like shadows, their blades a blur of flashing steel as they clashed. Thorne spun, his foot hooking around a small table and sending it crashing into the assassin¡¯s legs. The man leaped back, flipping over the obstacle with ease, his eyes narrowing in irritation as he landed lightly on his feet. Thorne didn¡¯t give him a chance to recover. He activated Lethal Flurry, his hands a blur as he unleashed a rapid succession of stabs and slashes, forcing the assassin to retreat. His blade flashed out in a vicious arc, slicing through the air where the man¡¯s chest had been moments before. The assassin twisted to the side, his movements almost liquid as he avoided the blow, but Thorne¡¯s follow-up strike caught him off guard. With a growl, Thorne slammed his shoulder into the man¡¯s chest, sending him crashing into a heavy bookshelf. Books and trinkets toppled to the ground as the assassin staggered back, but he recovered quickly, launching himself forward with a snarl. He activated a skill, Shadow Step, his body flickering and disappearing for a split second before reappearing behind Thorne, his dagger aimed at Thorne¡¯s spine. Thorne sensed the shift in the air and dropped to the ground, rolling away as the dagger sliced through the space he had just vacated. He came up on one knee, his hand raised as he activated Knife Fan. A volley of daggers shot out from his outstretched hand, the blades whizzing through the air toward the assassin. The man cursed, his body blurring as he used Evasion to dodge the deadly projectiles, but one of the knives still caught his arm, a dark stain spreading across the fabric of his sleeve. The assassin¡¯s eyes blazed with anger as he launched himself at Thorne again, his movements wild and unpredictable. They crashed into the wooden desk, Thorne¡¯s dagger cutting through the air as the assassin ducked and spun, his own blade slashing out in a counterattack. Thorne felt a sharp sting as the knife grazed his shoulder, but he didn¡¯t let it slow him down. He activated Bloodletting, his blade slicing through the man¡¯s forearm, cutting deep. The assassin grunted, blood spraying from the wound as he stumbled back. Thorne pressed the advantage, his strikes relentless as he drove the man toward the corner of the room. The assassin kicked out, catching Thorne in the stomach and sending him staggering back, but Thorne activated Burst of Speed again, closing the distance in the blink of an eye. He brought his dagger down in a savage arc, aiming for the man¡¯s neck. The assassin raised his arm, the blade catching him in the shoulder instead. He cried out, his grip on the dagger faltering as he tried to block Thorne¡¯s next strike. Thorne twisted the blade, pulling it free and slamming his knee into the man¡¯s gut. The assassin doubled over with a gasp, but his hand shot out, grabbing a small statuette from the nearby table and hurling it at Thorne¡¯s head. Thorne ducked, the statuette shattering against the wall behind him, shards of porcelain raining down as he lashed out with his foot, catching the assassin in the chest and sending him crashing into the bookshelf again. The assassin¡¯s head snapped back, his body going limp for a moment before he shook his head, struggling to stay conscious. Thorne¡¯s eyes darted to the other side of the room, his senses on high alert. He could hear the panicked breathing of the woman hiding behind the screen, but there was something else, another sound coming from the shadows near the wardrobe. He narrowed his eyes, his Critical Eye skill activating as a new figure appeared in his vision. There¡ªanother assassin, barely visible in the darkness, a glint of steel catching the light as he shifted. Thorne¡¯s heart skipped a beat as he realized the second attacker¡¯s intention. He was aiming for Thornfield. ¡°Look out!¡± Thorne shouted, but it was too late. The hidden assassin threw his dagger, the blade flying toward Thornfield¡¯s heart with deadly precision. Thorne activated Invisible Threads again, his hand jerking to the side as he pulled at the air, redirecting the blade¡¯s path. It missed Thornfield by a hair, instead slicing through the air and embedding itself in the chest of the mistress, who had stumbled out from behind the screen, her eyes wide with shock. ¡°No!¡± Thornfield screamed, his voice breaking as he lunged toward her, catching her as she fell, blood pouring from the wound. Thorne¡¯s heart pounded as he turned back to the first assassin, his grip tightening on his dagger. The man¡¯s eyes flicked toward the door, then to his wounded ally, and Thorne knew he was about to make a break for it. ¡°Not so fast,¡± Thorne growled, activating Backstab. He dashed forward, his dagger plunging into the man¡¯s side, twisting as he pulled it free. The assassin gasped, his body convulsing as he staggered back, his eyes wide with shock. But he wasn¡¯t done yet. With a final, desperate effort, the assassin lunged at Thorne, his dagger aiming for Thorne¡¯s throat. Thorne¡¯s eyes flashed as he activated Lethal Flurry, his body spinning as his daggers slashed out in a whirlwind of steel. The assassin¡¯s eyes widened in horror as Thorne¡¯s blades cut through his defenses, carving deep wounds into his chest and arms. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. The man stumbled back, his body crumpling to the floor as blood pooled around him. He gasped for breath, his eyes unfocused as he reached out, his hand trembling. Thorne didn¡¯t wait to see the light leave the man¡¯s eyes. He turned to the second assassin, his gaze locking onto the man as he stood frozen in the shadows. Thorne¡¯s lip curled into a snarl as he lunged forward, his daggers raised. The second assassin¡¯s eyes widened as he scrambled back, his hand fumbling for another dagger, but Thorne was on him in an instant. He activated Bloodletting again, his blade slicing through the man¡¯s arm, severing tendons and muscle, blood flowing unnaturally fast. The assassin screamed, his dagger clattering to the floor as he clutched at his ruined arm. Thorne didn¡¯t give him a chance to recover. He kicked out, his foot connecting with the man¡¯s knee, shattering the joint. The assassin collapsed, his scream turning into a choked sob as he looked up at Thorne, his eyes filled with terror. ¡°Who sent you?¡± Thorne demanded, his voice low and deadly as he pressed the tip of his dagger to the man¡¯s throat. But the assassin only shook his head, his lips moving soundlessly as blood poured from his wounds. Thorne¡¯s eyes narrowed, his grip tightening on the hilt of his blade. He didn¡¯t have time for this. There could be more assassins, more threats to Thornfield and Uncle¡¯s plans. He pushed the dagger deeper, the man¡¯s breath hitching as he choked on his own blood. ¡°Who?¡± Thorne repeated, his voice a deadly whisper. The assassin¡¯s eyes fluttered shut, his body shuddering as he exhaled one last, ragged breath. Thorne cursed under his breath, pulling the blade away as he stood, his eyes scanning the room for any other threats. Lord Thornfield was on the floor, cradling the mistress¡¯s lifeless body in his arms, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Thorne¡¯s eyes lingered on the scene for a moment before he turned away, his mind racing as he tried to piece together what had just happened. This was more than just a simple assassination attempt. Someone was sending a message, and Thorne intended to find out who. Thorne tried to calm down, his mind racing to piece together what had just happened. Assassins¡ªskilled and coordinated¡ªhad infiltrated the Thornfield manor. But where had they come from? As far as he knew, the Lost Ones were the only guild operating in the city. The few remaining gangs Uncle hadn¡¯t yet crushed were more inclined to street brawling than to carrying out precision strikes like this. He forced himself to take a steadying breath, his eyes flicking over to Lord Thornfield, who was now hunched over, quietly sobbing as he cradled the body of his mistress. The pathetic sight stirred something like disgust in Thorne¡¯s chest. He had to keep this fool alive, no matter how much he despised the man¡¯s weakness. Thorne strained his ears, tuning out the lord¡¯s muffled sobs, trying to catch any sounds from the rest of the manor. There had to be more assassins lurking in the shadows. The explosion that killed the mistress would have alerted the guards, but the manor was oddly silent. Were they already dead, or worse, compromised? The lord¡¯s whimpering grew louder, his sobs turning into wretched cries, and Thorne¡¯s eyes snapped back to him. He glared, his patience fraying. ¡°Pull yourself together!¡± he snarled, his voice sharp and commanding. Lord Thornfield barely reacted, his eyes wide and unfocused, his hands trembling as he brushed a strand of hair away from the lifeless woman¡¯s face. Thorne¡¯s teeth clenched. This was pointless. He turned his attention back to the door, his senses straining for any sign of movement. The faintest whisper reached his ears, and he stiffened, his eyes narrowing as recognition dawned. It was the maid¡¯s voice. The one who had reprimanded the other for almost dropping the wine bottles. His mind raced, and a terrible realization struck him. ¡°Take cover!¡± he yelled, his instincts screaming at him to move. He lunged toward Lord Thornfield, grabbing the man by his collar and yanking him down just as the door exploded inward with a deafening roar. Thorne was thrown back by the blast, his body slamming into a bookshelf. The impact rattled his bones, pain shooting up his spine. His Aetheric Skin skill absorbed most of the damage, but his health plummeted as a chunk of his health points disappeared. Dust and debris filled the air, mingling with the acrid scent of smoke and charred wood. He bit back a curse. His ears rang from the force of the blast. He shook his head, blinking through the dust and debris as his vision swam. He spotted Lord Thornfield, a pathetic figure huddled against the wall, small cuts marring his face and hands from the debris. The man¡¯s eyes were wide with terror as he scrambled backward, his chest heaving in barely suppressed horror, as the realization of the danger truly sank in. But Thorne had no time to deal with him. Four figures moved through the gaping hole where the door had been, their forms cloaked in shadows. One of them hurled a small metal sphere into the room, and Thorne¡¯s instincts screamed at him to move. He dove to the side just as the sphere exploded, thick black smoke billowing out and filling the room, reducing visibility to zero. His Veil Sense flared to life, tingling along his skin, feeding him information about their levels. They were all in their mid-twenties, except for the maid, who was slightly stronger at level 28. He had the levels on them, but there were four of them, and they were coordinated. He gritted his teeth, knowing what he had to do. He had to give it his all. He activated Aether Surge, feeling the familiar rush of power flood his veins, heightening his senses and sharpening his reflexes. The world around him slowed, his perception expanding as he let his Aether Vision take over, the world shifting into shades of blue and gold and he peered through the dense smoke. The figures of the assassins shone like beacons in his vision, bright outlines with dense aether swirling inside. He didn¡¯t hesitate. He drew a dagger from his belt and hurled it at the nearest outline. The blade sliced through the smoke, striking true. A strangled gasp escaped the assassin¡¯s lips as he crumpled, clutching his throat, blood spraying across the floor. Thorne moved, his body a blur of motion as he turned invisible with his Veil of Light and Shadow skill. He slipped through the smoke, a ghost among shadows. With one hand, he tagged another assassin with Invisible Threads, feeling the ethereal strands wrap around the man¡¯s limbs. The assassin stumbled, his movements jerky and disjointed as Thorne pulled the threads taut. Activating Stealth Strike, Thorne surged forward, his dagger plunging into the man¡¯s back, right at the glowing red point highlighted by his Critical Eye skill. The man didn¡¯t even have time to scream before his body went limp, collapsing in a heap. The two remaining assassins spun around, their forms tense and wary. Thorne crouched low, his breaths controlled and silent. He could hear their harsh breathing, the uncertainty in their stances as they glanced around, trying to find him in the smoke-filled room. ¡°You said it was just a child!¡± one of the assassins spat, his voice tinged with fear. ¡°Not a killer!¡± ¡°That was the info I had,¡± the other woman, the fake maid, muttered, her tone laced with frustration. She drew her blade, the weapon gleaming in Thorne¡¯s enhanced vision. ¡°I¡¯ll deal with him. You take care of the rich fool.¡± Thorne¡¯s eyes narrowed. The rich fool was his responsibility, his task. And no one, especially not these amateurs, would take him down tonight. He tightened his grip on his dagger, his body coiled and ready to strike. The odds were still against him, but he relished the challenge, the thrill of it thrumming in his veins. He had already taken down two. Two more wouldn¡¯t be a problem. He just had to be smart, fast, and ruthless. And he couldn¡¯t afford to make any mistakes.