The air around Aetherhold smelled like parchment, old magic, and faintly burnt silver — that unique tang that clung to institutions too old to remember the cost of their own brilliance.

  Wade was waiting where the campus wall met the outer gate, leaning against the ironwork fence with a fresh travel coat slung over his shoulders and a grin sharp enough to slice glass. The sunlight caught the new metal badge pinned to his chest — an etched spiral flanked by a runic border, humming with quiet enchantment. In his other hand was a wax-sealed scroll. Certificate parchment, crisp and heavy.

  Wade held them up like a street vendor showing off illegal wares.

  “Official. Documented. Government-approved,” he said. “Think they’ll forgive all the alchemy charges now?”

  Kael snorted, then gave the smallest smile — a rare one, unguarded. “Doubt it. But you look like someone who could get away with murder right now.”

  “I’m working on it,” Wade said, slipping the scroll into his coat.

  Kael stepped closer, eyeing the badge. “Fancy enchantments on that guy. You know what it does?”

  “Soul-bound, can’t even imagine how much it costs to make these.”

  A pause stretched between them. Not awkward — just full.

  Kael took a breath.

  “I’ve made up my mind.”

  Wade tilted his head.

  “I’m in,” Kael said. “Let’s do it. Adventurers, Guild members. Off the leash.”

  Wade blinked once.

  Then his grin widened until it looked like it might split his face in two.

  “You serious?”

  Kael nodded. “I’ve got enough coin to get us started. And it seem smart to have a big strong academy certified mage to protect me in my travels.”

  Wade let out a sharp, amused breath. “Two mages, huh? You know how weird that is? Guild crews if they even can usually roll with one caster, who couldn’t tell you the first damn thing about the Spiral.”

  Kael’s eyes narrowed, the smirk curling slow. “Then it seems like we’ll be a hot commodity.”

  They started walking — not toward anything in particular, just away from the Academy and the old stories stuck to its stones. The sun hung low behind the copper rooftops, painting the streets in warm brass light.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  “So,” Wade said, glancing over. “You’ve got your affinity. You’ve got the badge now in spirit. But what can you actually do?”

  Kael gave him a sideways look. “You mean besides get expelled and manipulate documents?”

  “I mean in a fight, or a ruin, or a vault.” Wade flicked his fingers. “What’s your role, oh master of the Decay Spiral?”

  Kael exhaled through his nose and cracked his neck.

  “I’m not artillery. I can’t throw fireballs or lightning spears. My magic’s quiet, at least for now.”

  Wade raised an eyebrow, interested.

  “I can weaken doors. Decay locks. Strip wards if I’ve got time. I don’t blast through barriers — I removed them. Quietly and deliberately. You want into a ruin? A vault? A sealed tomb? I open it — and no one hears it coming.”

  Wade stopped in the street and stared at him.

  Then burst out laughing. Not mocking — full-body, euphoric laughter, the kind that turned heads and made a street vendor duck behind his cart.

  “We are going to make so much fucking money.”

  Kael grinned — sharp, crooked. “Yeah. I think so.”

  They walked along the southern canal for a while, skimming loose plans between them. Kael wasn’t very familiar with the Guild but Wade knew some of it — his cousin had joined a mixed-crew years ago and lost two fingers before making enough to retire.

  Kael listened, silent.

  Then said, almost offhand, “I’ve been thinking about wine.”

  Wade blinked. “Sorry, what?”

  “With my magic. I think I could — eventually — speed up the aging. Refine the ripening. Maybe even tailor the taste by timing decay and fermentation ratios.”

  Wade looked at him like he’d just confessed to building a bomb in a bakery.

  “You’re serious.”

  Kael shrugged. “Not now but maybe one day. After we’ve got a vault full of gold and enough scars to make people nervous at parties.”

  Wade made a face somewhere between horror and admiration. “I want naming rights.”

  Kael nodded. “Deal.”

  The sun dipped lower. The edges of the sky started bleeding red and violet. They found themselves on one of the old stone bridges that crossed the western river — the kind carved centuries ago, with weather-worn gargoyles and chipped inscriptions.

  They leaned against the railing. Below, water sloshed softly, carrying old spells and new sins downstream.

  Kael didn’t speak right away.

  Then: “No matter what jobs we take, who we end up working with, how stupid this gets — we keep each other alive.”

  Wade squinted at him. “You mean a real pact?”

  “I mean a promise.”

  Wade looked down at the river. Then back at Kael. His expression shifted — not playful, not performative.

  “Alright. Partners.”

  Kael raised an eyebrow. “Not friends?”

  “Friendship is a fickle bond that can be torn apart by something stupid, partners make money.”

  Kael smirked. “Fine. Partners who occasionally save each other from horrible magical death and swords in the back.”

  They both spit over the railing and shook hands — grimy, calloused, mage-scarred hands.

  As the last of the sun dipped away, they turned back toward the city’s interior.

  “We need gear,” Kael said.

  Wade groaned. “We need money first. Unless you’ve got a merchant uncle I don’t know about.”

  Kael shrugged. “We’ve got enough to start.”

  Wade looked at him sideways. “You holding out on me?”

  Kael just kept walking. “Call it an investment. Don’t worry — I believe in myself.”

  They reached the square outside the Adventurer’s Guildhall as the city lights began to flicker to life. Dozens of others milled about — warriors in mismatched armor, mages in travel cloaks, beastkin selling potion kits off folding tables.

  Kael looked at Wade, and together, they stepped through the front doors.