Thorne descended the steps of Uncle's estate, the heavy embroidered coat hanging from his shoulders a constant reminder of the role he had been forced to play. The black fabric with its golden flame-like spirals was not simply attire, it was a message, loud and clear.

Uncle's heir. The face of the Lost Ones.

The courtyard was quiet but not empty. A line of guards flanked the gates, their uniforms crisp, polished to perfection despite the lingering scent of ash and the blood still staining the edges of their boots. The gate itself, once barred by iron and chains, creaked open the moment he approached. The guards didn't just move aside, they bowed. A deliberate, synchronized motion, heads lowered as if he was a figure worthy of reverence.

Thorne's lips curled in the barest hint of a smirk, though it never reached his eyes. So this is what power looks like, Uncle?

He didn't acknowledge them further, only the subtle twitch of his gloved hand as he adjusted his sleeves. Dressed for war, but in a different sense now. His eyes scanned the courtyard. Sid stood near the waiting carriage, his sharp features unusually composed under a formal black coat, the silver spiral pinning his cloak the only reminder of his deadly profession.

But it wasn't Sid who caught Thorne's attention. It was the dozen Lost Ones flanking the carriage, silent and statuesque, their identical cloaks a visual declaration of power. No Thornfield soldiers. No Viremont men. The message was unmistakable, Uncle's authority was absolute, and Thorne was his chosen heir.

What a spectacle, Thorne thought, his smirk sharpening as he approached the carriage. He slowed, gaze sweeping over the display with mild disdain. "Well, Sid... quite the show of power."

Sid shrugged, unbothered. "Uncle's orders. A little protection never hurts. After yesterday, you're a high-priority target. Everyone knows who you are now."

Thorne's stomach twisted uncomfortably at that. He thought of Selene, did she know? Had she heard the whispers already? Could she even look at him the same way after what he had done?

But there was no time for those thoughts now.

Thorne's gaze narrowed, the lingering ache of his wounds only fueling his irritation. "So I'm to be paraded around like a prize? What's next, trumpets?"

Sid's lips pressed into a thin line, ignoring the jab. He gestured to the carriage.

A fine, elegant vehicle, built from dark mahogany with gold-trimmed panels bearing the Lost One's crest. Everything was pristine, as though it had been polished for hours. The contrast between the destruction he had passed on his way here and this opulence was almost insulting.

Jory, who had been lingering at the edges of the conversation, reached for the door to open it for Thorne.

Thorne paused before entering, glancing over the gathered Lost Ones. Their expressions were unreadable, but he noticed the subtle shift in posture when he spoke, the way some straightened, the flickers of recognition in their eyes. They were waiting for his word. Judging. Weighing his presence. Testing him.

And he passed.

Without breaking stride, he approached the carriage door but halted again, turning slightly. "We're not going to the governing building. We're stopping at the northern gate first."

A ripple spread through the assembled Lost Ones. Some exchanged brief glances, uncertain. One, a scarred older man who had been with the guild for years, shifted as if he were about to protest.

Sid exhaled through his nose, tension coiling in his shoulders. "Thorne, we have orders..."

Thorne cut him off with a sharp look, his glowing eyes narrowing. "I'm aware of Uncle's orders, Sid. I'm giving you mine. You will escort me to the barracks first. Then, and only then, will we go to the celebration."

There was a beat of silence so profound Thorne could hear the creak of leather from the Lost Ones' gloves as they tensed. He felt the weight of their scrutiny pressing on him, the unspoken challenge in their stares. Would he back down? Would he yield like some weakling?

He didn't.

Sid's gaze lingered for a moment longer, searching his face, before he gave a slow, measured nod. "As you command... young master."

There was finality in the words, an acceptance.

They obeyed.

The scarred man bowed his head. The others shifted slightly, their postures easing, no longer questioning. They would follow him.

Thorne felt a surge of satisfaction, a flash of that same addictive power he had experienced when Riley and the recruits followed his orders without question. This was what Uncle had. This was what control felt like. And they thought they owned me?

He climbed into the carriage, the interior plush with dark velvet seats and polished wood. He had just begun to settle when he noticed someone else climb in behind him.

Jory.

The servant hesitated on the threshold, then awkwardly closed the door behind him.

Thorne's eyes narrowed. His voice turned cold, cutting like a blade. "Where do you think you're going?"

Jory hesitated, visibly trembling under the weight of his gaze, but Sid interjected, raising a hand in mild defense.

"Relax. It's Uncle's orders. He's your valet now, attending to you during the festivities."

Thorne's brows lifted. "Since when do I need a valet?"

Sid's voice interrupted. "Since you became this," he gestured at the embroidered spirals on Thorne's sleeves. "You're not just Uncle's ward anymore or some obscure noble from a faraway land. You're his public heir. Appearances matter."

Thorne's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

"You've got a title now Thorne, like it or not. And you need to act the part."

Thorne's lips curled into a sneer, but he said nothing, simply gesturing sharply for Jory to sit. The young servant did so, swallowing hard, clearly unsure if he'd made the right decision.

Sid, for his part, grinned slightly as he sat opposite from him, knocking once more to signal the driver. "Don't worry, Jory. If he stabs you, I'll make sure the funeral is closed casket."

The wheels creaked, and the carriage jolted into motion.

Thorne sat back, the weight of his hidden treasures pressing against his ribs. The streets blurred past the windows, the scent of burning wood still lingering faintly in the air.

You're not just Uncle's ward anymore.

He flexed his gloved fingers, the hidden daggers strapped beneath his coat pressing against his skin, a silent promise.

No. But I'm still playing the long game.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

The carriage jolted roughly as it navigated the half-destroyed streets of Alvar, its wheels clattering over broken stone and debris. Thorne stared out the window, watching the ruined city pass by, but his attention was only half on the destruction. His focus was on Sid.

The older man shifted slightly, his cloak rustling with the movement. Thorne's sharp eyes caught the brief flick of his remaining hand, the smooth twist of his wrist as something small and sharp glinted in the dim light. A dart.

It struck Jory's leg.

The young valet didn't even flinch. A few heartbeats passed, then his head lolled to the side. His breath slowed, lips parting slightly as his eyes closed. The soft sound of his snoring filled the cabin.

Thorne arched a brow, turning his gaze back to Sid with cool detachment. His lips curled in a sardonic smile. "I would've preferred if you had stabbed him with something sharper."

Sid's glare could have carved stone. Without a word, he reached into his coat and withdrew a small crystal, pressing it between his fingers. Aether flared, and a shimmering translucent dome expanded outward, encasing the carriage's interior. The street noise dampened, the echoes of the city beyond dulled to a low hum as the aether barrier settled into place.

Thorne waited.

Sid's jaw clenched, the muscles working beneath his stubbled skin. "What are you up to?"

The words hung in the charged air between them, and Thorne tilted his head with exaggerated curiosity. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

And he truly didn't. He had many. Aetherhold. The mysterious man from the capital. The purple crow marked on his skin. Selene. The stolen artifacts hidden beneath his clothes, each humming with latent power. His plans to dismantle Uncle's empire from within, one careful thread at a time.

There were so many lies, so many shadows converging and Sid's piercing gaze felt too close, too knowing. Yet, even now, Thorne clung to them. Secrets were his armor. The moment they slipped free, so would his control.

Sid's glare intensified. "Don't play dumb with me. You defied Uncle. Publicly. That little stunt back at the gates? You think no one noticed? The Lost Ones did. When word reaches his ears, and it will, you'll be a dead man."

Thorne shrugged, glancing out the window again. His glowing eyes reflected faintly in the glass. "Uncle has more pressing matters on his plate. I didn't defy him for the thrill of it, Sid. I need to get to the barracks."

Sid's scowl deepened, his fingers curling into a fist. "So you can see your friends? That's a foolish risk. You can check on them tomorrow. Or the day after. You know he's watching you, Thorne. Every step you take, every person you talk to, it's all being reported back."

Sid nodded towards the unconscious Jory as if to make his point.

Thorne said nothing.

Because Sid was right.

But that feeling, that gnawing, unrelenting sense of dread, wouldn't leave him. If he didn't see Darius and the others tonight, he wasn't sure he would again.

Sid exhaled sharply and shook his head, muttering under his breath. "Stubborn idiot…" Then, his voice dropped, urgent. "Fine. Listen carefully. We don't have much time."

Thorne blinked, drawn back by the sudden shift in tone. Sid wasn't scolding him anymore, he was worried. Afraid.

"Take this." Sid reached into his coat, drawing out a folded scrap of parchment. He pressed it into Thorne's hand, his grip firm. Thorne unfolded it cautiously. The words Nameless Wind were written in tight, precise script.

A ship's name.

Sid's voice was a low whisper. "A ship leaves for the Emerald Shores in a week. I got you a place on it. One chance, Thorne. After what happened here, Uncle's grip on you is going to tighten. You'll be his heir in truth, or you'll die. He's already decided to keep you close. Too close. But there's a way out. Take it."

Thorne stared at the name on the parchment. His mind raced. The full moon. Aetherhold. Two days after the full moon. His deadline was fast approaching. He didn't know what would happen if he stayed past it, only that he couldn't be in Alvar when it came.

Sid's voice hardened. "When you reach the Shores, ask for the Snake Pit. A woman named Calliope will be waiting. She'll hide you. She knows how to keep men like us safe."

Thorne's head snapped up, narrowing his gaze. "Who is she?"

But before Sid could answer, the crystal pulsed. The shimmering dome faltered, cracks spiderwebbing across the barrier before it shattered completely with a burst of dissipating aether.

The sounds of the city rushed back in. The creak of wheels. Distant voices. The rumble of stone being cleared.

Sid grimaced, tucking the depleted crystal back into his cloak. His one good hand fell to his dagger, as if he expected prying eyes already.

Thorne clenched the parchment tighter in his gloved fist. So many questions. So many loose ends.

Nameless Wind. A ship. A chance.

But why did it feel like every choice he made only tightened the noose around his neck?

The carriage jolted again as it turned sharply, and Sid met his gaze one last time.

"Don't tell anyone, Thorne."

His voice was steel.

And Thorne didn't.

*

The carriage rolled to a halt in front of the northern gate, the towering structure of the barracks casting a long shadow across the broken streets. The signs of the battle still lingered, scorch marks on stone, shattered weapons discarded in the gutters, and the lingering scent of blood carried on the damp morning air.

Jory was still slumped in the corner, his gentle snoring the only sound within the enclosed space. Thorne glanced once more at his sleeping valet before Sid's voice cut the silence.

"We really shouldn't be late for the gathering," Sid muttered, voice tight with warning. His single hand fidgeted at the hem of his cloak, the stump of his missing hand flexing as if the phantom limb still ached. "Uncle won't take kindly to being made to wait."

Thorne nodded absently but made no move to leave. Instead, he cracked the door open slightly, his glowing eyes scanning the broken square. The strange, gnawing sense of urgency was stronger now, twisting deep in his chest like a warning he couldn't name. Something was wrong. Something was coming. He just didn't know what.

He exhaled slowly. "Riley," he called, his voice carrying just loud enough to stir the shadows around the nearby buildings.

A figure detached itself from the gloom, silent as a wraith. Riley, pale and expressionless beneath his hood, bowed his head in respect. "Master?"

Thorne's gaze sharpened. "Find Jonah. Bring him here. Quickly."

Riley nodded once, no questions asked, before vanishing back into the maze of debris and ruined stone, his presence fading as if he had never been there at all.

Thorne settled back into his seat, fingers drumming against the hilt of a hidden dagger. The feeling grew stronger, something pressing on his mind like a whisper just beyond the edge of his perception. Why? He couldn't explain it. He just knew.

Sid was watching him now, his gaze hooded and intense. He didn't speak, but every few moments, his hand drifted back to his missing arm, a faint twitching at the stump as if the pain was rising with his tension.

Minutes passed. Then movement outside.

Riley returned, and behind him trailed Jonah and Ben. Jonah looked confused, a small frown marring his face as he kept glancing around warily. Ben, as usual, clung close to his side, his expression more anxious than puzzled, his eyes darting from the carriage to Thorne's face. Thorne could sense Eliza's core, hidden somewhere behind them, watching silently.

Thorne turned back to Sid. "I need the crystal."

Sid's face hardened. "Thorne, you know it hasn't fully recharged. It might not hold..."

"It will have to be enough."

Reluctantly, Sid fished out the aether crystal from inside his cloak, the small shard dim but still pulsing faintly.

Thorne stepped out, his boots crunching on loose gravel as he faced his friends. Jonah, looking even more perplexed, opened his mouth to speak.

Thorne infused the crystal with his own aether, causing it to shudder in response. The air thickened as a trembling barrier formed around the three of them, a dome of swirling light that flickered dangerously thin, veins of strain spiderwebbing through the aether construct.

"What..."

Thorne ignored him. He reached into his coat and pulled out the bulging pouch of gems and coins he had collected over the years. Without preamble, he shoved it into Jonah's hands.

The man nearly dropped it, the weight catching him off guard. "What the... Thorne, what is this?!"

"Just listen." Thorne kept his voice calm, urgent, but calm. His fingers curled briefly over Jonah's, pressing the pouch into his grasp. "Inside is enough to start over. Open another shop, move somewhere safer, whatever you want. It's yours. But you need to leave Alvar. All of you."

Jonah blinked. "Leave? What are you..."

Ben signed rapidly, his hands moving with frantic precision. What's wrong? Why? What happened?

Thorne clenched his jaw, the words boiling beneath his skin, refusing to surface. He didn't have answers, just instinct, raw and unrelenting. "I don't know. I just have a bad feeling... A really bad one. And I don't get those lightly." His gaze drifted over the broken city around them, the rising tensions in the streets. "Something's coming. What happened yesterday... It was just the beginning, not the end. If you stay here, you'll die. I know it."

Jonah's face twisted in frustration. "Thorne, you're not making sense! What are you talking about..."

"Just listen!" Thorne's voice broke, the sheer intensity startling even himself. He exhaled sharply, his control slipping as his eyes brightened, veins of silver-blue aether flaring faintly beneath his skin.

Ben signed more slowly, And what about you?

Thorne's lips parted, but the crystal between his fingers cracked with a sharp snap, the barrier flickering once, then vanishing as the dome collapsed. The magic dissipated into harmless motes of light, leaving them vulnerable and exposed.

Jonah looked around, eyes narrowing. "What was..."

"It's done." Thorne muttered, stuffing the spent crystal back into his coat and turning back toward the carriage. His heart pounded in his chest, that awful feeling still twisting in his gut, telling him that time was running out.

He barely noticed Sid's expression as he passed him the crystal. Sid, who watched him with narrowed eyes, his lips pressed thin.

Sid didn't speak. But he didn't have to.

He already knew that something was wrong.

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