Zalthorian Rumul Drayveth Tharn Orellis the XXIV, the king of Crystalholm, was at a loss. No matter what he attempted the st year and a half, the situation was getting worse and worse. If he was ho with himself, the situation had been bad for a long time before that. When he asded the throne of Crystalholm, he ied ay treasury and heavy debts to The Golden Reliquary. His aors were inpetent in managing the kingdom’s funds, and the extensive remodeling of the paly worsehings.

  He sighed deeply and looked out the window at the garden.

  His mistake was heeding terrible advice, leading to signifit losses in tax revenue—most notably from demanding pza permits on top of the higher city tributes and selling bazaar permits, both of which had a substantial ive impact. On top of these blunders, tless minor decisions, seemingly insignifit on their own, pouhe problem and created an eveer mess. Now, he was forced to hire meraries and adveo stop the nobles’ fighting from spilling into the streets, but he did not know where to find the moo pay them.

  His hands shook. He yearo go down to the dungeon and personally break the neck of that fool traitor, Damarion Fusil. How somebody with the ptroller of Estates css at level 26 be so foolish and cause so many problems?

  It was not enough that he used furusted to him as a ptroller to build his new ridiculous spire, the tallest spire iy; he then lost the rest of the funds. On top of that, he collected dirt on aristocratic families to bckmail them ahem under his thumb. Zalthorian ched his fists in a the imbecile.

  Now, almost all the noble families iy were fighting each other, trying to clear their name on one hand and recover their lost funds oher. And that wasn’t the worst part. Crystalholm used to have a bance, but not anymore, and that was the biggest problem. The Southern ptroller of Estates, Marquess Eldric Therion Valenmar Cresthall of Pemisor, held sway over all the noble families below him in the south of Crystalholm. The Northern ptroller of Estates, Marquess Lorian Drakemir Vaeloran Tristfall of Crystaledge, held sway over all the noble families below him in the north of Crystalholm.

  Those three financial tita each other in ched prevented each other from gaining too much strength and influenow, with Damarion Fusil stripped of his titles and imprisoned for treason, the other two juggernauts were eying Crystalholm as if the rest of the try were a feast spread before them, ripe for ption. And the fighting noble families didn’t make matters easier. Instead of presenting a united front to keep those two hungry wolves at bay, they were too busy fighting each other.

  Zalthorian prayed daily to the Two-Faced Father that the fighting wouldn’t reach the streets. The treasury couldn’t afford the repairs it would entail. On top of that, after the arrogant bastard attacked the Wizard Spire, the wizards annouo the king they wouldn’t be ing to his aid, and the mages sided with the wizards.

  Every night, before Zalthorian fell asleep, he fantasized about taking the rest of the funds ireasury, ging his appearance, and immigrating to Soria as a humble mert. After all, he had the css as a family secret tradition—not that it helped any of them make better financial decisions.

  Shosh Hamion sat at his desk in the small office above the Mana-Infused Bakery, staring at the folded part in his hands. It was an official dot, a deed, making him the owner of the Silverhaven Skyrest, a 35-floor luxury hotel t above Crystalspire. The deed stated Lord Damarion Fusil as the ptroller of Estates, but it listed Shosh as the owner, firming the fact with his name in bold bk.

  Earlier that day, he had found a ached to the deed, tucked beh a pile of financial reports. The handwriting was unfamiliar, but the message was clear:

  “Mr. Hamion,I apologize for the trouble at the bakery and for embarrassing you in front of your son. I never meant to disturb your life or your business. As an apology, please accept the deed to the Silverhaven Skyrest in pensation. I know this won’t make up for what happened, but I hope it gives you and your family a better future. Now, you will have two busio leave for your children. Take care of the core—its pce may not be in a bakery but somewhere far grander.—JohnP.S. I still think you should tell your kids about the core.”

  John, whoever he was, had given Shosh one of the most prestigious properties iy. It wasn’t just an inn—a luxury skyrest reserved for the wealthy and powerful. It felt unreal.

  He had told no one about the deed yet. If wot out that a simple baker owhe Silverhaven, people would ask questions—ones he wasn’t ready to answer.

  The note also mentiohe dungeon core hidden in the bakery feions. It ihe baking with mana, drawing ers from across the ti. But John had suggested Silverhaven would be a better home for the core. Moving it and g the skyrest wouldn’t be easy.

  That evening, Shosh gathered his children around the table. “Our family has run the bakery feions,” he began. “But there’s something you don’t know. Something we’ve kept secret for a long time.” He pulled out a glowing orb—the dungeon core. It shimmered in the dim light.

  Jerel, his son, gaped. “What is that?”

  “This,” Shosh said, “is why our bakery has thrived for so long. The core infuses our ovens with mana, but it’s time for it to proteething greater.”

  Astha, his daughter, narrowed her eyes. “Why are you telling us this now?”

  “Because things are ging. Someo me a deed to the Silverhaven Skyrest.”

  Weeks ter, Shosh stood before the t Silverhaven. The legal battle had been as grueling as expected. Nobles vied for ownership, questioning his rights. But Shosh stood firm, knowing he had prepared for this moment. It had cost him more than time and patience—a siderable sum of gold discreetly passed as a “gift” to the Truth Mage. Not a bribe, but enough to ensure a favorable interpretation of the deed.

  After weeks of hearings, Shosh was summoo the throne room. The Truth Mage stepped forward. “You must swear on two points,” he said. “First, that Lord Damarion Fusil was only the ptroller of Estates and not the owner. Sed, that you, Shosh Hamion, are the rightful owner of the spire.”

  Shosh nodded, his throat dry. “I swear, Lord Damarion Fusil is only the ptroller. And I am the rightful owner of the Silverhaven Skyrest.”

  The Truth Mage scrutinized him, but Shosh kept his outward posure steady. After all, now he was the owner.

  The Truth Mage urning to the king. “It is the truth,” he decred. “Shosh Hamion is the rightful owner of the Silverhaven Skyrest.”

  The king leaned back, sidering, then gave a single nod. “Then so be it. The Silverhaven Skyrest belongs to Shosh Hamion.”

  Relief flooded Shosh. The spire—his spire—was officially his.

  But the work was just beginning. Shosh hired a team of wizards to inscribe protective ruhroughout the Silverhaven, weaving a web of magical defeo ward off intruders and dampeion magic.

  The st step was the e ritual. Late one night, Shosh led a wizard into a secret celr beh the bathhouse. The clowing faintly, pulsed in his hands. As the wizard ted, the runes glowed, binding the core to the spire and sealing the e.

  When Shosh opened his eyes, Silverhaven wasn’t just a skyrest—it was a fortress, protected by the core’s power.

  Shosh smiled. The Silverhaven symbolized more thah now. It was his family’s legacy.

  In the following days, Shosh told his childrehing—the core’s new role, its protes, and their responsibilities. They didn’t just manage a bakery anymore. They now held a powerful position as the Silverhaven’s owners.

  Sister Fartay sat in her offid wept—not from sorrrief, but pure relief and joy. For years, she and her fellow sisters of the Triple Goddess had fought daily to keep the two orphanages running. It wasn’t easy to keep the orphanages running in a try devoted to the Two-Faced Father, where they celebrated fighting prowess and crafting achievements, but often overlooked nurture, bance, and the cycle of life—the very essence of the Goddess.

  But one day, the Goddess sent them a helping hand. First came a generous supply of desperately needed household essentials. Yet, the greatest blessing was the books.

  Now, they had enough to educate their children, them the ce for a brighter future. And the a books, sold for a vast fortune, secured the orphanages’ survival for many years to e.

  So, Sister Fartay sat, prayed, a—her heart full of gratitude and joy.

  Adi hummed to himself as he worked in his shop. His fiips brushed the vibrant fabrid the stacked etics. The store was quiet. Only the soft k of gss bottles broke the silence as he rearrahe perfume dispy. It was early m, and the hustle of Crystalspire hadn’t made its way into his part of the city yet. He relished this calm before the storm of ers arrived.

  He went to the ba to get more items for the dispy and g the s table. A perfume bottle perched atop a folded part caught his attention. It hadn’t been there when he’d closed the store st night.

  He froze, his heart skipping a beat. His eyes darted around the shop, sing fns of an intruder. But everything else was as he had left it. He ioward the table with careful steps.

  First, he picked up the bottle with a shaking hand, feeling its familiar weight and shape. The gss shimmered in the dim light, refleg a myriad of colors. He brought it closer to his face, inhaling the soft, floral st. It erfume from the new batch he had purchased retly—but who had pced it here?

  Adi set the bottle down, his curiosity piqued. He turo the folded part beh it. Unfolding it, his breath hitched as he saw the official seal at the top. His name, written in precise calligraphy, stared back at him.

  Deed of OwnershipThe et of SecretsAdi Abay

  His hands trembled as he reread the words, struggling to believe them. It seemed impossible. Since he stopped being a courtesan, he had worked under someone else’s trol for years. His supporter had taken a signifit cut of his profits. It limited his ability to run the business on his own terms. But now, here it was—the deed, in his name.

  “What… how…” he murmured, rereading the dot as if the words might ge.

  A surge of emotions flooded him: relief, disbelief, aion. For the first time in years, he experienced genuine freedom. He hugged the deed, bounced on his heels, and gracefully pirouetted in the ba, squealing ihe whole time.

  But who could have dohis? Who had left this deed here, along with the perfume—almost as a token of gratutions?

  His mind raced back to ret events. Could it have been John? The peculiar mert with more secrets than a locked vault? Adi couldn’t imagine anyone else with the power and the audacity to do something like this. It had to be him. He was a wizard, after all, not only a mert.

  After his glee subsided, he sat on the floor, deep in thought. All his life, he had dreamed of immigrating to Azureas, buying an apprenticeship, and being a fabric designer. He weighed the pros and s and made up his mind.

  It took him a month to sell all the ret and old merdise. Every day, he blessed John in his heart and prayed for his safety. Not only for the deed but also for the fantastic merdise that flew off the shelves. , he sold all the dispys and furniture and discreetly tacted the manager of the Potion Emporium. They approached Lord Damarion Fusil several times about purchasing the building that housed The et of Secrets, but the lord always refused.

  After selling his modest one-room apartment and the et’s building, he hired a group to escort him to Azureas to start a new life. On the way, one adventurer became his lover. Upon reag Azureas, he went to the temple of the Two-Faced Father and lit a dle for his friend and beor, John. As he watched the fme flicker, Adi reflected on how a ce meeting with John had ged his life. A brief enter had grown into something bigger and opened doors he hought possible. He realized that small as, like John’s, could create vast ges. ges that could reshape his future and that of everyone around him.

  The badger lived happily ever after in the forest, enjoying life with four healthy legs and no worms. Still, he couldn’t help but miss television and those eborate meals of smoked and grilled snakes.