The woman drifted amongst the crowd in the ballroom and pretended she belonged. Or perhaps she truly did. None of the men would argue otherwise. But then, they didn't see her. No, they saw a black dress that curved gently down to the ground. They saw lips touched with a hint of gloss. They saw darker skin, amethyst eyes, and hair like a deep red wine. How ironic that the features which labeled her cursed in Elysia made her seem "exotic" in Taravast.

A flute of some drink in hand, she smiled graciously at the man speaking besides her—something about tariffs and new trade routes to the south. She nodded politely, eyes flicking past him as she excused herself and wandered to the center of the room.

Supposedly Lord Treller was one of the richest noblemen in Taravast, known for hosting fabulous parties and collecting treasures from across the continent. The main hall in his estate was certainly a testament to those qualities. Three stories high, the hall was several times longer than it was wide. Around the edge of the room, stone pillars extended from floor to ceiling, supporting the two layers of balconies that ringed the hall. Beneath the second floor balcony was a recessed area filled with tables draped in white, lit by brilliant lightstones which adorned the pillars themselves. High above, the moonlight shined through a circular skylight, casting a beam of light down into the center of the room, highlighting a glass display case.

And in the display case, sat Casillian's Lyre.

The display was simple, tasteful even. The lyre was the focus, as it should have been, but the woman didn't fail to notice the faint pattern on the floor beneath the glass. Enchantments—alarms, paralytics, any attempt to break the glass would end poorly indeed. Her eyes drifted up to the balconies as well, watching the guards as they rotated in and out.

But the lyre itself was a work of art. The frame was constructed partly from ashwood, and partly from a turtle shell. That at least was fairly mundane, but the craftsmanship was exquisite, and the strings supposedly were made from the sinew of a dragon. As she inspected it, she let her fingers brush against the table beside it, lingering for a moment.

To her left, a cluster of richly dressed men laughed around a cigar case and a fresh bottle of wine. One voice boasted out above the rest.

"Yes, yes. The lyre is genuine. Believe me, I would not waste three fortunes on a forgery. It came directly from that collector, Nidhal, in Aleria."

"I heard Casillian fused it with the soul of his final lover, and she curses anyone who plays it besides him," someone murmured reverently.

It might've even been possible in some twisted way. After all, Casillian had been a lich.

"Romantic nonsense," Treller scoffed. "The real treasure is the craftsmanship. They say there hasn't been a lyrist like Casillian since the time of the kings."

Soon, she forced herself to move on, drifting instead towards an unoccupied piano towards the edge of the room.

In the back, a string orchestra was providing music for those who wanted to dance, but the woman merely listened, swaying along with the song as she rested a gloved hand lightly against the piano's polished edge. Likely it would be played at a smaller gathering, but for tonight it was unoccupied. She kept her hand there for a time, touching it to the same spot.

"Excuse me miss," came a voice beside her. "I don't believe we've met. And I make a habit of knowing who's at my employer's parties."

She turned, gracefully, and met the gaze of a man in his early thirties, with close-cropped hair and a chin touched with stubble. He almost blended in, his uniform subtle, tailored like a nobleman's, but he carried himself like a soldier, just a tad stiffer than the nobles who had been loosened with drink.

"Lady Irula," she replied smoothly, giving a slight bow of her head, finally removing her hand from the piano. "My family is hardly nobility, I'm afraid, so I doubt you'd recognize the name."

"And yet here you are."

"So I am," she replied. "And you are?"

His eyes searched her face for something more, but she offered only another faint smile. "Ford, and I'm just a humble guardsman, enjoying one of the perks of the job."

"And what a perk it is," she laughed. "I only wish I could partake in such luxuries each night. But I must ask, is there a reason you've approached me? Oh goodness. Have I done something wrong?"

"Not at all, in fact I was curious if you would be interested in a dance." He offered his hand then, though the look in his eyes suggested he already knew what her answer would be.

She regarded his hand for a beat, just enough to be polite.

"I'm afraid not." She shook her head gently. "This being my first party of this size, I find myself terribly anxious. I worry I'll stumble from nerves."

He nodded, smiling all the same. "A shame. Somehow I suspected you could alleviate my boredom tonight."

A flicker of amusement crossed her features. "I'm sorry to disappoint."

"Not at all. Enjoy the party Miss Irula."

"You as well Mister Ford."

He turned and slipped back into the crowd. But she felt as though he was keeping an eye on her still.

Good instincts that one.

It wasn't a problem though. She wasn't doing anything suspect. She wandered through the party, leaning against one of the walls as she sipped on another drink. She traced her fingers along a vase as she admired its design.

And all the while, she listened—the orchestra was truly skilled.

At some point, she vanished from the party, but other than men who had yet to drink enough courage, and the curious guardsman, no one seemed to notice she was gone.

The music played on.

***

A different woman stood atop the roof of the manor, looking in through the skylight which was lit by the moon. Or perhaps it was the same woman after all. In the end, it didn't really matter.

Rhaelza hummed a tune as she worked—one she'd heard earlier that night. The manor was built of the finest materials, and windows were heavily enchanted, reinforced by magic circles and scripts. In theory, someone could pound on the skylight all night without so much as scratching it.

But her needles were enchanted too.

Even without aura, the tips slid through glass like it wasn't even there, trimming a piece of the glass away. As the circle was completed, the piece slipped out, falling a few feet into the manor before catching, as though hanging from an invisible string.

Of course, the building was warded against break-ins. Something like this should have tripped the wards and sent the whole building onto high alert. But they didn't.

Whoops. She smiled faintly.

A moment later, Rhaelza dropped into the hole, hanging upside down much like the glass, suspended by her foot. She pointed at each of the walls and drew her fingers together, then dropped onto the line she'd formed, landing right side up on a thread of mana now overlooking the ballroom. Thankfully, she'd changed from the stifling dress into a jacket and trousers, making this sort of movement much easier.

It was quiet, the music from earlier had long since left the room. It was dark too, but her visual technique was suited for just that. And of course, she had her feelers.

In one of the balconies below, a guard shifted on his feet, scratched his leg, and adjusted his grip on the sparker in his hands. She saw it happen, and at the same time, she felt it, a faint vibration in her mind. She could feel a few dozen more shuffling around beneath her. She could feel their auras as well, only one was any real danger. The rest were practically normal if not for the sparkers they held—she'd heard they'd grown more popular since the latter years of the war, but they were not near a replacement for a true channeler. Lord Treller was too confident in his wards.

Her gaze swept downwards, to the reason she'd come. The glass display sat still in the middle of the room.

And it was completely empty.

"Ah," she whispered, a smile flickering on her lips. "Such a shame… and this could have been so easy."

She walked across the line with ease, threading two more until she was directly above the guard. Then, she descended upon him.

As her shoes clicked quietly onto the balcony behind him, he instinctively tried to turn—but of course, he couldn't. The threads, almost imperceptible around him, had tightened, holding him fast. Next, he tried to scream, but found himself suddenly unable to breathe as a noose tightened around his neck.

Rhaelza walked closer, leaning in until her lips almost brushed against his ear.

"I'm going to loosen the thread around your neck," she said quietly, almost a whisper. "So be a good boy, and don't scream. If you do…" The thread tightened just a bit more. "Nod for me if you understand."

He nodded desperately, and the thread loosened enough for him to gasp for air.

"Very good," she smiled. "Now I'd like to ask you a question. Where have they moved the lyre?"

He took a breath, preparing to speak, and she quickly tightened it again, a thin red line appearing against his neck.

"Remember, be nice and quiet for me."

As the line loosened, he let out the breath he'd taken. "It's locked up in the master vault at the end of the hall on the first floor. Only the captain has a key… Please let me go."

With that, the pressure released, and his hands went to his neck, rubbing it as his knees gave out.

"Thank you for the cooperation," she whispered. Then she leapt over the balcony, flipping in the air and landing softly on her feet.

The captain huh? Likely the stronger presence I felt further in.

"Hmm, now how to go about this?" Her musings only lasted a moment though as she felt the man begin to sprint down the walkway. He opened his mouth to shout.

"Intrude—!"

His voice cut off midway through, and there were two distinct thumps on the balcony above. But the damage was done.

Rhaelza let out a long, long sigh as the other guards began to stir, filling the quiet room with shouting and running.

She began to weave more thread, stretching her aura into dozens of thin lines across the room, each quivering with tension, ready to snap. At the same time, she drew her needles, long as daggers, each a masterwork. Then, she closed her eyes, feeling the movement all around her—in the balconies, the hallways, on the floor. Dozens of insects, already caught in her web.

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The first to arrive was a guard atop the balconies. He quickly caught sight of her and pointed the shaft of his sparker in her direction, shouting that he'd found the intruder. He didn't, however, catch sight of the near-invisible thread of mana that stretched up past his head, attached to the wall behind him.

Something bubbled up from her throat. She couldn't hold it in—the rush in her chest, the tingling in her limbs—the exhilaration of a plan going oh so slightly wrong. It left her in laughter, and she looked towards him and grinned.

He hesitated for the briefest of moments, then pulled the trigger. The room rang as the red dust within the shaft ignited. His aim was true.

But she was no longer there.

The guard choked as blood dripped through a single clean hole in his throat, and Rhaelza, now behind him, shook the blood from her needle. With a simple kick, his body tumbled over the railing, hitting the ground below with a dull thud.

Another shot rang out, but a spider was aware of everything within its web. Another thread vanished. Another guard fell, and another. Across the room, her threads tightened, and guards fell.

All except for one. The stronger aura she'd sensed further in the building…

"Perhaps now you'll take me up on my offer for a dance?"

She licked her lips, slowly facing the man that approached down the center of the ballroom.

"Well, isn't this a surprise?" she said. "To think you would be my main course."

Ford, the humble guardsman, smiled back at her dryly. "Good evening Miss Irula. Though, something tells me that may not be your name. Perhaps you'll give it to me now?"

Rhaelza took a moment to form her technique, a noose forming around him. She watched as the silk of her aura struck into his mantle, lingering for only a moment before it was drowned out by his own.

"Disappointing," he remarked. "I suppose I'll have to restrain you then."

"Oh my, and we've only just met," Rhaelza laughed. "I'm afraid to say, you're just not my type."

She flew towards him in a flash, pulled forward by one of the threads she'd woven to the wall behind him. Her needle lanced at his heart, but his own sword came up to deflect the blow, knocking it aside as she whisked past him.

Her attack came in two stages though, as a thread draped down over his body and pulled tight to cut clean through.

Once again however, the attack was dulled by the resistance of his mantle, swirling a deep blue.

His counterstroke came a moment later, a blade of sharpened water aura thrown towards her back. She leapt up and away though, landing atop one of her prepared threads, bowing it slightly beneath her feet. The waterblade flew past where she'd been before dispersing in a splash against the wall.

Ford frowned as she stood in the middle of the air. No doubt he gathered more aura in his eyes, because a moment later he seemed to catch on, looking around as he finally noticed the countless threads set throughout the room.

"You hide those well," he said.

"What good would they be if they were easily seen?"

He took a single step forward.

From his left, the piano suddenly shot towards him, bound to a marble column on his right by a thread stronger and better hidden than all the rest. While he channeled to his eyes, he couldn't dodge in time. The piano slammed into his mantle, sending his aura spraying out as it cushioned him against the crushing force. A cacophony of notes crashed through the room for an instant as the piano shattered.

"I planted that one during the party." She smiled, perched lightly on a thread above, swaying slowly. "Or didn't you notice? Could it have been you were distracted at the time?"

He forced his way out of the debris, jumping towards her again. This time it was a table which flew in his direction, though he was prepared, and knocked it aside with a mana-infused slash of his sword.

She poured mana into her technique, and each of the threads throughout the room became physical, creating a true web of razor sharp obstacles as he approached. With his eyes enhanced, he cut through them like a raging torrent. More objects flew towards him—tables, chairs, vases. She lashed out with her threads as well, controlling them to change their angle of attack, but he cut them down with fervor.

"Your threads aren't so threatening if I can see them!" He chased her through her web as she retreated, slicing through countless strands as she wove more and more, launching them out from the backs of her needles.

But with his attention stretched thin, and forced to keep mana channeled to his eyes, it would only take the slightest thing to tip the scales.

He lunged towards Rhaelza, and she desperately retreated behind another thread. He spotted it easily, slashed through it with his blade—

Only for his ankle to catch on the real trap. A second thread, even less visible, hidden just behind the first, glistened with red as he tumbled out of the air and down to the floor with a cry of pain.

Rhaelza fell gently back onto a small hammock of thread taunting him from above.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did you think all of my threads would be quite so easy to spot?" She grinned, looking at his curled form on the floor. "Just when you think you've seen through the trap, your guard goes down. That's when you have to be the most careful. I'm afraid if you want to—"

"They're different," Ford grumbled. "It's one technique, and a nasty one at that. But functionally, you have different types of threads."

Her smile fell. "It's rude to interrupt a lady while she's speaking, you know?"

"You were setting some up during the party, were you? The piano… the table… those threads are truly invisible, and they're strong, but they don't affect me directly, and they require setup. The fact you were there at all makes me think you can't do that on the fly, at least not without physical contact. Then there's the tripwires. They're what's stretching me thin. You can control their sharpness and their visibility, but there's tradeoffs. If there weren't, you'd make each one as sharp as possible, and almost invisible."

Of course. Techniques were defined by their limitations after all.

"And so what if there is?"

"It doesn't matter how sharp they are, if I can see them. But in order to see them, I have to sacrifice mana from my mantle. It's a real predicament. You're more dangerous than I thought."

"Aww," she dropped from her hammock, needles dragging across the floor as she walked closer. "Did you think you were my first?"

"Not at all. You seem like a promiscuous woman," he chuckled. "Still, I'll settle for being your last."

Rhaelza pointed her needle towards his eye. "Rude until the end. Like I said, you're not my—"

She felt a drop of water on her wrist.

Then another. Then several.

Rain?

Taking a step out of his range, her eyes flicked up. There was no hole in the roof, no storm beyond the skylight. And yet the air above had thickened into faint misty clouds, and as the room grew wet, droplets of water mana began to catch on her threads, glistening in the moonlight. Each one of her traps, her tools, her battlefield—they were exposed.

She looked back at Ford, who straightened back up. Blood still stained his leg, but he was reinforcing it with aura, meeting her eyes with a self-satisfied smirk.

"You shouldn't have played with your food, Miss. You almost had me."

Rhaelza's face twisted before she schooled it back into a smile. "But what would be the fun in that?"

Ford lunged, and Rhaelza jumped back, fleeing into her threads.

Damn it, think! She grit her teeth as he pursued her harder. She twisted out of the way, a cut across her sleeve instead of her neck. Another thread, once invisible, was severed as he pivoted. He was moving easier now, not wasting mana on his mantle, instead focusing on his physical reinforcement and techniques.

Her eyes caught on the balconies. If she retreated below them where the rain didn't fall, she would have a hidden web again. But no—she still didn't have the lyre or the key. He wouldn't chase her out of his rain now that he knew.

Unless…

She parried with her needles, desperately weaving from their eyes as he tore through more and more of her web. Even if he could see the threads, she still needed them to maneuver, and they slowed him down enough that she could stay ahead of him.

So she kept retreating, shooting threads out into the hall as her aura reserves dipped lower. At the rate she was burning through thread, she'd run out of mana quickly—and he wouldn't give her a chance to replenish.

She had to make him believe she was scrambling, which was easy, because she was. More threads cut. As she ducked behind a column, she checked her work above, her gaze hidden from his view.

His blade grazed her arm, drawing blood. She dropped low, spun past him, and launched herself further into the hall.

Except, she stumbled, losing her footing just once. But it was enough.

She tried to right herself, yanking on a thread to pull her away, but Ford saw the opportunity and took it, lunging in to finish the job.

And stepped right into it.

His limbs twisted, locked by an unseen force, and his expression immediately changed. Confusion, realization, rage.

And as it bound him, he felt it. All around them, the rain still fell.

But not here.

Rhaelza rose to her feet, blood running down her sleeve, and finally let herself look up.

There, above them, the tarp gleamed faintly in the dark. A simple weave, suspended by thin strands connected to the walls.

The fresh threads she'd placed beneath it were untouched by the rain.

Ford struggled against the threads that bound him, grimacing as he tried to break free, but they held him fast, and Rhaelza caught her breath.

The threads grew tighter, digging into the mantle he was trying to force out onto his skin. He chuckled as he shifted in place. "You win alright? Now take the damn key. That's what you're here for isn't it?"

The threads kept tightening. Unlike him, Rhaelza had no intention of making the same mistake twice.

He seemed to realize what was happening, and his smile fell away, replaced with a scowl. "Do you know who Lord Treller is associated with? The Dealers will have your head for this."

She met his eyes. "I'll take it into consideration."

His face went red as his mantle started to fade.

"You… bitch…"

Rhaelza drew her needle back, and a moment later, the job was done.

***

Rhaelza hummed a familiar song as she walked across the rooftops of the city, relishing in the feel of the cool night air on her skin. She gave the lyre in her arms a light strum, watching the strings catch the moonlight as it played a discordant sound.

"Rhaelza, are you alone?" A male voice sounded from within her jacket, low and smooth.

The rhythm of her steps slowed, then stopped as a shiver went down her spine. She pulled out the coin and could feel its faint warmth as it pulsed with a trace of mana.

After taking a second to control her breathing—lest her voice crack—she spoke.

"Yes I—" she cleared her throat, cheeks growing hot.

Get it together Rhaelza!

"Yes… I am."

"Good," the voice came back. "I trust you've been well since we last spoke?"

Was he worried about her? She resumed walking, stepping out onto a thread which stretched between two buildings.

"Well, things have been a bit boring, but I've been well. I'm actually out right now. Have you heard of Casillian's Lyre?"

"I'm afraid music is not one of my interests. But from your voice I assume you were successful?"

She strummed it once more in response.

"I wasn't aware you played."

"I don't."

There was a pause. Somewhere off in the night, a dog barked into the silence.

"I see."

Rhaelza fumbled for words, crouching down on the other rooftop to think. "I suppose you have a reason for contacting me, right? Are we gathering soon?"

"Soon," he reassured her. "But not yet. No, right now, I have a job for you Rhaelza."

Her heartbeat calmed at those simple words, and her breathing grew still. "Is this a request? Or an order?"

"An order."

There was only one reason the boss would be contacting her above all the others.

"What do you need me to steal?"

"A friend told me a story once, many years ago. The story of Liresil, and The Spirit Tree. He spoke of a vault which opens only once a year, on the summer solstice. Within the vault are artifacts unlike any others, sacred relics of immeasurable value."

"Oh?" Rhaelza smiled, as her fingers began to twitch. "And what makes you think this isn't just another story?"

The voice was quiet for a moment. Then… almost wistful. "Of anyone in Aeora, no one would know better than him. He believed it to be true, and so it must be so."

"This person, is he…?"

"No. He isn't the one."

Rhaelza didn't dare push him any further. His past was his own, and though each of them knew snippets, he remained a mystery.

"These artifacts, you want me to steal all of them?"

"Just one."

He told her of the artifact. What it was, and more importantly, what it could do. With each word, Rhaelza's smile grew, and her greed sharpened further.

"I trust in your abilities Rhaelza. I will be present in the city as well, but it is important I do not reveal myself just yet. Do not expect me to act, except in the worst case. Do you understand?"

"Oh, I understand." Rhaelza stood, and a chilling wind blew through the fresh spring air as she looked towards the west, eyes glimmering. "I'll be seeing you soon."

"Here's to our success."

The coin grew cold in her palm, but Rhaelza's body was warm. The boss was entrusting her with a job. She had a new mark, and a new destination. And if what he said was true…

The solstice couldn't come soon enough.

Rhaelza leapt from the rooftop into the empty streets below, making for her hideout. From there, she would gather what she needed, and leave Taravast behind.

The Spirit Tree awaited.

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