Gael hesitated, glancing out onto the stone balcony. In the distance, he could just make out the forges firing up as the sun began to rise around them. The city was waking.

  But inside these walls, time felt slower. Measured. Like it belonged to someone else.

  Do you believe in destiny?

  It should have been an easy question to brush off. He'd spent years scoffing at the idea—he was where he was because of his choices, not because of some unseen force.

  And yet.

  He thought about the countless times he should've been caught. The way things always seemed to bend in his favor. The way even now, standing in front of Madam Ores, he felt like he was on the edge of something bigger than himself.

  "I think people like to believe in destiny when they want to justify where they are," he said carefully. "Good or bad, it makes things easier."

  Ores watched him, her expression composed yet expectant. Behind her, the faint glow of the sconces cast elongated shadows along the walls, the opulence of her chamber at odds with the feeling of quiet scrutiny pressing down on him.

  Vess, standing just behind him, let out a soft scoff. "Destiny's just a word people use when they don't want to admit they've lost control." Her voice was sharper than she probably meant it to be, but the fire behind it was unmistakable.

  Ores's eyes flicked to Vess, then back to Gael, a small smile forming at the edges of her lips. "Interesting," she mused. "You two see the same thing, but from different angles."

  Gael kept still, watching her as much as she was watching them. Was this just conversation? Or was she testing us?

  Vess crossed her arms, shifting her weight onto one foot. "What does it matter?" she challenged. "Did you ask just to hear us talk in circles, or is there a point to all of this?"

  Ores chuckled softly, the sound almost indulgent. "There is always a point, little ember."

  Vess stiffened at the nickname, but Ores only leaned forward, resting her hands lightly on her cane. "You came here for a purpose. And now you wish to prove yourselves, to be useful to me."

  Gael didn't let his expression waver. That was what they wanted—what they needed. A way closer.

  Ores tapped a single finger against the polished wood. "Consider this your first opportunity."

  "There's a man," she continued. "He has something I want. Something he shouldn't have in the first place."

  Gael listened, silent and still. Vess, on the other hand, was already leaning in, waiting for details. Ores smiled. "I need it retrieved. Quietly, if possible. Messy, if necessary." Her gaze flickered between them, measuring. "Do this for me, and I'll know you're more than just words."

  Gael felt Vess stiffen beside him, anticipation thrumming beneath her skin.

  "Who?" Vess asked.

  Ores's smile deepened. "A collector, one who doesn't understand the value of what he's hoarded."

  She gestured lazily toward the door. "You'll find the details waiting for you in the study. Consider it a test if that will help your performance." She paused before continuing "And if reward is what drives you still, know that you will be compensated well if you succeed where others have failed me."

  Gael met Vess's gaze. No need for words. They finally had their way in.

  As they turned to leave, Ores's voice trailed behind them, casual, almost playful. "And Gael," she said, her tone light, "I wonder what you'd call it when someone isn't just where they are, but exactly where they're meant to be?"

  Gael's breath caught for just a moment, a flicker doubt creeping up on him. He kept walking.

  They left the chamber in silence, stepping into the dimly lit corridors of the estate. Only when they were far enough away did Vess exhale sharply, rolling her shoulders. "She's toying with us."

  Gael didn't answer right away. Ores wasn't a mind reader. She couldn't know why they were here.

  Could she?

  

  

  Lukas had been waiting long enough to get impatient but not long enough to do anything about it. He leaned against the table, arms crossed, trying not to fidget as Lurras stood nearby in his fancy new military uniform. The room was dim, the air thick with the scent of old parchment and candle smoke.

  Then the door groaned open, and Gael and Vess stepped in, their expressions set in that careful way Lukas recognized—like they were bracing for impact.

  "Took you long enough. What, did you serenade her?"

  Gael shot him a look—somewhere between exasperation and something unreadable.

  "She offered us a job," he said, running a hand through his hair.

  Lurras tapped a finger against the parchment in front of him and slid it forward. "You impressed the Madam enough to be given a real task. One that will likely get you killed."

  Well, don't sugarcoat it.

  "You're going to be stealing from the largest collector of magical artifacts in all of Sacyr."

  "Berron Lenesh."

  Lukas stopped breathing. His stomach twisted before his mind could catch up, a cold, sinking feeling settling in his gut. Across the room, even Vess—who never let anything shake her—twitched.

  Berron Lenesh. "Shit," Lukas muttered.

  Gael tilted his head, frowning. "The warlord of Jesarin?"

  Lurras nodded. "Ores has had her eye on something in his collection for a long time. Every attempt to acquire it has ended in failure."

  Lukas barely heard him. His mind was already pulling up stories—Lenesh's men weren't just brutal. They enjoyed making examples out of thieves. Bodies hung from the old watchtower for weeks. People still whispered about the last crew that tried to steal from him.

  "You might think it's his influence, his fortress, or his personal guard that makes him untouchable," Lurras said. "But no—it's because Berron Lenesh is a paranoid bastard. He trusts no one outside his inner circle. If we sent our own agents, he'd see it coming." He gestured at them. "You, on the other hand..."

  Lukas's jaw tightened. He wasn't an idiot—he knew what that meant. If they got caught, no one would come looking. No one would care.

  Gael must have had the same thought because he stayed silent. Vess, however, looked ready to bite Lurras's head off. Gael placed a hand on her arm before she could snap. She stilled. Barely.

  He's always been good at putting out her fire.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  "And what will we be stealing from a warlord?" Gael asked, his tone incredulous.

  Lurras turned the parchment toward them. Lukas leaned in, eyes tracing the lines of the crude but detailed sketch at the center of the page—a circular emblem with strange markings carved along the edges. In the middle, an inky gemstone sat, heavy and dark.

  "The Sealing Stone of Udir," Lurras said. "A relic from the old world. It was once used to forge unbreakable bonds." His finger tapped against the parchment. "No one knows how to wield it anymore, but the artifact still holds immense power."

  Lukas frowned. "So, let me guess. Lenesh keeps it locked up in Jesarin's vault?"

  Lurras didn't even blink. "If only it were that simple."

  Lukas huffed. It never is.

  "Lenesh is meticulous. His collection isn't just stored in one place. He moves pieces constantly, cycling through different strongholds and private safes to ensure no one knows where anything is for too long. Attempts to steal from him in the past have ended in disaster."

  Gael exhaled sharply, but his eyes were sharp, calculating. "Then we find out where it's being kept."

  Lurras nodded approvingly. "Exactly. And quickly. Ores isn't the only one with interest in this artifact, and if someone else gets to it first, this entire job will be worthless."

  Vess's arms remained crossed, her jaw tight. "And how do you suggest we figure that out? Lenesh doesn't exactly host open house tours of his vaults."

  Lurras smirked. "You three clearly have your ways."

  "Right," Vess said flatly. "And when we end up in pieces because we poked the wrong hornet's nest, you get to pretend you never sent us?" Her tone was sharp, edged with something close to fury.

  "How convenient."

  Lurras didn't so much as blink. "You came here looking for work. This is the cost."

  But Gael's mind was already running ahead, fitting the pieces together. They needed to get close to Lenesh's operations, find a weak link. A merchant, a guard, someone who had seen the collection up close. He turned to Vess and Lukas, already seeing the same realization settle in their eyes.

  Lukas sighed. "I hate when you get that look."

  "Then let's get moving," Gael said, rolling up the parchment. "We've got a warlord to rob."

  

  

  The creaking of the hideout's old wooden floorboards was a familiar sound, one that usually meant safety. Gael exhaled, finally allowing himself to drop onto his favorite battered couch in the corner of their cramped den. The lantern light cast soft, flickering shadows, making the space feel smaller, more intimate—a stark contrast to the vast, elaborate halls of Ores's home

  Vess was the last to enter, tossing her charred cloak onto the floor. "That," she said, rubbing the burn on her forearm, "was an absolute mess."

  "We're alive, aren't we?" Lukas countered, shaking his damp hair out and pulling over a crate to sit on. "And we got out in one piece, and only slightly bruised."

  Gael ran a hand down his face, exhaustion settling in now that the adrenaline had worn off. "Speak for yourself. Lurras wasn't holding back."

  "Yeah, no thanks to you nearly getting yourself cut in half." Vess flopped onto the couch beside Gael, her usual sharp edges dulled just slightly now that they were out of immediate danger. "Next time, try dodging."

  Lukas let out a tired chuckle. "Noted." But he was already digging through their provisions, tossing a dry roll toward Gael before taking one for himself. "So, what now?"

  Gael caught the roll but didn't immediately eat it. Instead, he turned it in his fingers, deep in thought. "Now, we wait."

  Vess raised a brow. "Wait? That's your grand plan?"

  Gael nodded. "Ores knew what she was doing when she pulled us into this. A job like this takes time, and she'll understand that. Until then, she'll find ways to keep us busy. Maybe smaller tasks, maybe more tests, but she won't just leave us alone." Gael tore the roll in half handing it to Vess.

  Vess exhaled through her nose, taking a satisfying bite. "Great so more time with that treacherous witch. More danger."

  "More opportunities," Gael corrected, a tired but knowing smirk tugging at his lips. "We just have to make sure we survive them."

  Gael chuckled, the weight of the night still pressing on his bones, but for the first time in hours, he let himself feel the small comfort of their hideout. No gangs, no knights, no looming threats. Just the three of them, an exciting new opportunity, and a plan waiting to unfold.

  Vess groaned, throwing her head back against the couch. "Sleep now, survive later. Gods, I need a bed."

  "Then sleep," Lukas said, kicking his feet up onto the crate. "We'll just talk over you."

  Vess cracked an eye open and glared. "You mean yell over me?"

  "Same thing," Lukas replied, smirking.

  Gael exhaled through his nose, flipping absently through his Cantrip Book where it lay beside him. The forest-green cover, worn soft from years of use, felt familiar beneath his fingers. The golden inlaid rim gleamed under the lantern light, the inscription at the bottom catching his eye as it always did: "For G.L."

  Lukas leaned over, eyeing the book like a cat spotting something to swat. "You still lug that thing around?"

  Gael didn't even look up. "Obviously."

  "How long have you even had it?" Lukas reached for it lazily but Gael pulled it just out of his reach.

  Gael shrugged. "As long as I can remember."

  Lukas gave an exaggerated whistle. "And you've actually read all of it?"

  Gael arched a brow. "It's not that long."

  Lukas scoffed and reached over before Gael could stop him, flipping through a few pages. "Ugh. Half of this is just explanations. 'Controlled Essence Application,' 'Magi-sanctioned General Use Cantrips'—this is all boring stuff."

  "That boring stuff is what has gotten me this far," Gael said, yanking the book back.

  Lukas smirked. "Then show me how far exactly that is.."

  Gael closed the book with a quiet thump, considering. Then, a slow grin spread across his face. "Alright, it's been a while since we had a proper Cantrip Duel."

  Lukas lit up, already moving to the empty corner of the room they usually used to duel.

  Vess groaned, eyes still shut. "You two are ridiculous. I don't know where you get the energy."

  Gael took position across from Lukas, lifting a hand. "Ready?" Lukas shook out his hands, his usual playful grin flickering into something sharper. "Born ready."

  Gael moved first, extending his hand toward Lukas with casual ease.

  A controlled gust of wind kicked up around him, sending dust scattering in soft swirls.

  Lukas inhaled sharply and—tried.

  He muttered the same incantation Lurras had demonstrated that night. He could feel it—the shape of the spell, the pull of essence—but grasping it was like catching smoke in his fingers.

  Gael's wind surged toward him.

  Lukas planted his feet, pushed his essence outward—the spell stuttering as he forced it forward.

  A weak pulse rippled in the air. Not enough. Gael's wind hit him with a sharp whoosh, knocking him back a step.

  Lukas cursed, shaking out his hands. "Damn it—"

  Gael tilted his head. "Learned something from that old knight huh?"

  Lukas nodded. "I almost had it."

  Vess snorted. "Almost doesn't count."

  Lukas shot her a look before resetting his stance. His fingers twitched at his sides, frustration bubbling—but not in the way that usually led to reckless decisions. This wasn't just about winning. It was about proving he could do it.

  Gael readied another spell, fingers moving instinctively through the motions. "Again?"

  Lukas' smirk returned, sharper this time. "Again."

  Nearly twenty minutes and four failed attempts later, a very tired-looking Lukas shifted his stance, readying himself for another round. Gael could go for hours, but he worried about his friend's essence reserves. Yet, with a determined nod, Lukas made it clear—he wasn't backing down until he succeeded.

  An idea struck Gael. He reached into his coat pocket, fishing out his well-worn cantrip book, and tossed it toward Lukas.

  "Page forty-six. The one with the bent corners," he said.

  Lukas caught it with one hand, rolling his shoulder as he flipped to the right page. His brow furrowed, lips moving as he tested the unfamiliar syllables.

  "Zephara…?" He shot Gael a look. "What is this?"

  Gael smirked. "The same cantrip I’ve been blasting at you for the last twenty minutes." He stretched his arms overhead, letting out an exaggerated yawn. "I just don’t have to say it anymore."

  Lukas exhaled through his nose. "One of the perks of mastering all that boring stuff, huh?"

  "Among others."

  Lukas ran a hand down his face before glancing back at the page. "Okay, but what does this have to do with—"

  His fingers twitched against the paper. "Oh."

  Gael grinned as he saw the realization creep across Lukas’ face.

  "You just figured it out, didn’t you?"

  Lukas slapped the book shut. "How the hell am I supposed to say that backwards?"

  He tried it under his breath, but the syllables tangled like knotted string. He scowled, muttering something unintelligible before shaking his head.

  Gael chuckled. "Looks like you’ve got some ‘boring stuff’ to learn, huh?"

  "Just do it again. I've got this." Lukas rolled his shoulders, grounding himself like a fighter before a bout.

  Gael didn't hold back this time. He set his feet, weight balanced, palm extended. A sharper burst of air shot toward Lukas—quick, controlled, impossible to dodge.

  "Araphez!"

  Lukas had been close before, the spell nearly folding in on itself before slipping free. But this time, he gritted his teeth and forced it—his voice steady, no hesitation—

  The air twisted. The gust collapsed on itself mid-flight, breaking apart like a wave crashing against an invisible wall.

  For a moment, everything stilled. The air around them felt wrong—charged, like the moment before a storm.

  Lukas stared at his hands. Specks of black essence dripped from his fingers, dissipating like ink in water. Then, a slow grin spread across his face.

  "Ha! It’s as easy as that!"

  "Great. Now he's never going to shut up about it," Vess muttered, pinching her temples.

  Lukas was too busy celebrating to hear her. "Did you see that, Gael? A perfect spell negation. I might be one of them prodigies!"

  Gael let out a low whistle. "Impressive. Now please, never cast that on me again. It feels... wrong." A numbness forming across the hand he used to cast the spell.

  Before he could explain, the sound of hurried footsteps pulled their attention to the entrance. Two teens—Lander and Soren, the last members of their crew—stumbled inside, panting, wide-eyed with fear.

  Vess instantly straightened, all drowsiness forgotten. "What the hell happened to you two?"

  Soren wiped sweat from his brow. "We should be asking you that! First, you disappear for over a day, then when you get back, a huge knight in full plate starts asking for you by name."

  Silence.

  Gael's stomach twisted. No one should know they were here.

  Vess was already reaching for her knives. "Bounty hunter?"

  Soren hesitated. "Didn't look like one. More like... a messenger."

  Gael and Vess exchanged a glance.

  Then, before anyone could stop them, all three rushed outside.

  ————————————————————--

  Standing at the alley's entrance, arms crossed, looking thoroughly unimpressed—was Lurras.

  Despite the blistering summer heat, he wore his full rune-plate. Drops off sweat running down his face. Lurras tilted his head. "You are not easy to find."

  "That's kind of the point," Vess shot back. "It's a hideout." She folded her arms, mirroring his disdain pound for pound. "So, if you're here to beat our asses again, just get on with it."

  Lurras sighed. "Not today." He pulled something from his cloak—a sealed scroll, the wax stamped with a sigil of a crane. "Your first task."

  Gael took it, eyes flicking over the seal. "A job?"

  "A heist, to be exact." Lurras shot Gael a pointed look before continuing.

  "There's a collector in the city. A lord with very expensive taste. Real piece of shit if you ask me. But he owns something we need to get to Lanesh."

  Then he said the name.

  Lord Ambrose Farnum.

  Lukas froze.

  Gael saw his expression shift—first to shock, then to something darker.

  Lurras continued, oblivious. "He's a private collector. Keeps a vault in his estate, full of rare artifacts. Getting our hands on a specific one will buy us entry into the annual bidding auction—"

  Lukas let out a quiet, almost breathless laugh. His fingers curled into a fist, nails digging into his palm.

  "Maybe there's some justice in the world after all," he murmured, but there was no humor in his voice—only something sharp and cold.

  Why did that name sound so familiar?

  And then it clicked. Ambrose Farnum. The pompous lord who had thrown both Gael and Lukas into the fighting pits.

  The man Lukas hated more than anyone in the world.