Thorne ran a hand down his face, exhaling sharply as he forced himself to school his expression. Of all the wretched luck.

Of course, it had to be her.

Because the dead gods hadn't punished him enough. Because surviving Alvar's destruction, escaping Uncle's madness, and barely cheating death at the hands of the two most dangerous men he'd ever encountered wasn't enough suffering for one night. Now, this.

Of all the ships in the world, he had to land on hers.

His golden-eyed tormentor stood before him, arms crossed, hip cocked, her twin curved swords resting easily at her sides. The pirate turned mercenary. Blade-for-hire. And the same woman he had humiliated in front of Lord Rook.

The last time they had crossed paths, Thorne had dismantled her in a fight so thoroughly, so effortlessly, that she had been forced to watch helplessly as he confronted lord Rook. That was her job, to be Rook's protector. And she had failed spectacularly.

Now, she looked down at him like the dead gods had finally balanced the scales.

"The dead gods must really owe me," she mused, the smirk on her lips growing as she raked her gaze over his battered, half-dressed form. "They literally dropped you into my hands. Fell from the sky like a gift."

Thorne let out a slow, tired sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Right. A gift." He cracked open an eye to look at her. "Should I wrap myself in a bow for you?"

She let out a short, amused laugh, taking a slow step closer, her boots clicking against the wooden floor. "Tempting."

She was trying to get under his skin. Trying to make him uncomfortable, remind him who was in control. It wasn't working.

Thorne wasn't afraid of her. He wasn't even bothered by the fact that she had his life in her hands. He was just tired, tired of the constant complications, tired of yet another obstacle between him and Aetherhold, and most of all, tired of people thinking they had the upper hand on him.

The woman, though, seemed to think this was the funniest thing in the world.

"I had half a mind to throw you overboard," she admitted, tapping a finger against the hilt of one of her blades. "But when we discovered the small treasure you had hidden beneath your tattered clothes…" She made a show of sighing dramatically, pouting in mock sympathy. "Well, I was convinced to spare you."

Thorne blinked, his mind snapping into focus.

His treasure.

His coins. His gems.

His letter. His sphere.

Aetherhold.

His fingers curled into fists, though his posture remained languid, relaxed even. She had no idea what she was holding. The letter and the sphere were his only ticket to Aetherhold, without them, he had nowhere to go.

But first, he had to figure out where he stood.

The woman's smirk widened. "What's wrong, little lording?" she taunted, tilting her head. "Are you lost out at sea?"

Thorne exhaled slowly and pushed himself to his feet with deliberate ease, stretching his arms above his head as if he had all the time in the world.

"If I am lost," he drawled, rolling out his stiff shoulders, "then the dead gods have a cruel sense of humor."

The woman chuckled, her eyes flickering with amusement, but Thorne had already tuned her out. He was taking in everything, the way she stood, the way her hands hovered near her weapons, the way the cabin door was still wide open, and most importantly, how much space was between them.

Not much.

His gaze flicked to her swords. Her most prized possessions. The woman wasn't the kind of person who would let just anyone touch them, let alone steal from her. That meant she hadn't tossed his things overboard. They were still here.

He just had to take them back.

The woman grinned, seemingly oblivious to his thoughts. "You're not nearly as fun when you're this quiet."

Thorne hummed in response, a slow, easy smirk tugging at his lips. "Oh, don't worry. I'm sure I'll find a way to entertain you."

And he would.

Just not in the way she was expecting.

The woman pouted, jutting out her lower lip in an exaggerated fashion. "How rude of me," she drawled, tilting her head just slightly. "We've barely been properly introduced. Name's Kerke."

Thorne said nothing, only watching her with the detached patience of someone who was already deciding whether he'd let her live by the end of this conversation.

Unbothered, Kerke continued, eyes gleaming with something far too entertained for his liking. "Now, let's start again, shall we? You, falling out of the godsdamned sky, that was quite the entrance." She made a swirling motion with her fingers. "So tell me, how exactly did that happen? And what in the nine hells happened to Alvar? All those fiery comets, dead gods, the whole city looked like it was being erased from existence!"

She stepped closer, each word falling with mocking curiosity. "What were you running from, little lording? Some angry noble? A spurned lover? Or, oh..." she gasped dramatically, placing a hand over her chest, "... was it something far worse?"

Her smile sharpened, but her hands slowly drifted toward the hilts of her twin swords. "Because from what I saw, something awful happened back there. And you? You came straight from the middle of it."

Thorne didn't answer.

Didn't react.

Didn't even blink.

He ignored every single question, every bit of her pressing, every inch of her feigned amusement that barely masked the underlying suspicion.

She was testing him. Trying to see what she could pull from him.

It didn't matter.

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He had no fear of her.

He didn't even look at her.

Instead, Thorne kept his posture relaxed, his hands hanging loose at his sides, his breathing steady. His Veil Sense pulsed outward, and he nearly stiffened in surprise.

It felt… stronger.

Deeper. Sharper.

A side effect of his Veilbreaker trait ascending a tier? Likely. And it made all the difference.

The moment his awareness expanded through the ship, he knew everything.

There were fifty-two people on board, scattered across the different levels of the ship. Most were between levels twenty and forty, respectable for a crew of seafaring mercenaries and pirates, but none were a threat to him.

Hypothetically, they could overwhelm him.

But hypothetically, he could kill every single person on board.

And if things truly went south?

He could sink the whole ship.

His Aetheric abilities had grown to the point that the thought wasn't even an exaggeration.

Aether would answer him.

Would bend to his will.

Would destroy everything if he commanded it.

But hopefully, things wouldn't devolve into that.

Hopefully.

And that knowledge was enough to keep him perfectly, absolutely calm.

The woman's prattling continued, and still, he ignored her.

Kerke, clearly not used to being disregarded, snapped.

She narrowed her eyes as his silence stretched too long. Her smirk finally slipped, irritation flashing across her face.

"Alright, I've had enough of this little silent act of yours," she snapped.

Before he could move, her hand clamped down on his shoulder.

"DON'T. TOUCH. ME."

Thorne's voice cut through the cabin like a blade, sharp and unforgiving. Instinct roared to life inside him, his core surged, his body reacting before his mind caught up.

Aether flooded to him without hesitation, arcs of pure energy crackling across his already raw, exhausted body. His eyes blazed, the entire room casting in an ethereal blue glow from the intensity of his power.

Kerke flinched back as if burned, her hands jerking away from him like she had touched a live wire.

Her wide-eyed stare flickered to his hands, to his arms, to his face, stunned beyond words.

"What…" she muttered, barely above a breath.

Thorne turned his gaze on her fully, and for the first time, she looked nervous.

Good.

"Now," he said, his voice low, even, dangerous, a stark contrast to the storm of energy dancing across his skin.

"It's time for me to ask the questions."

He flicked his fingers, and half a dozen Invisible Threads snapped into existence, twisting, slithering, wrapping tightly around her wrists and legs before she could even react.

Kerke gasped, her body tensing as the threads restrained her, her breathing quickened, her fingers twitching, likely already trying to figure out a way to cut herself free.

Thorne's smirk was sharp as a blade.

"Try it," he murmured. "I dare you."

Thorne paced casually in the cabin as Kerke struggled against her invisible bonds, the near-invisible threads wrapping her wrists and ankles like a cruel puppeteer's strings. She fought, twisting and straining, but they wouldn't budge. Her muscles tensed, her breath came out in short, angry bursts, and then, for the first time, a flicker of something besides arrogance crossed her face, uncertainty. Maybe even fear.

"What is this?" she demanded, her voice sharper now, layered with something unsteady.

Thorne didn't answer immediately. Instead, he lifted a hand, palm up, and called the aether to him. It responded instantly. Too quickly. Too eagerly.

The motes leaped toward his fingers like embers drawn to a roaring flame, clustering and swirling as he shaped them into something tangible. It was a test. He wanted to know if his body had recovered from the brutal toll his battles had taken. The last time he'd used aether to its fullest, his body had nearly broken apart from the strain. But now… it felt different. Not easy, but manageable.

The 45 points he had poured into Spirit after his last level-ups had changed everything. He didn't feel the crushing exhaustion, the bone-deep weariness that had nearly left him unconscious after the fight with Uncle. His body was still battered, his wounds only half-healed by his Lunar Regeneration, but the sheer mental strain, the weight of wielding too much power at once, was no longer crippling.

Good. That meant he still had something left to fight with if it came down to it.

The ball of crackling aether in his palm pulsed with energy, its edges unstable, still fluctuating between its raw form and solidified matter. It was nowhere near as refined as what he'd wielded in battle, but it was more than enough to get his point across.

Kerke's eyes widened as she stared at the sphere, realization dawning across her face like a slow-moving storm.

"What..." Her voice cracked slightly. "You're a mage?"

Thorne tilted his head slightly, watching her. A smirk tugged at his lips, but his glowing eyes remained unreadable.

"But... how?" she muttered, her voice losing its edge, turning into something softer. Something almost afraid.

He stepped closer, closing the gap between them in slow, measured strides. "How long was I out?" he asked, his voice quiet but firm, his glowing eyes pinning her in place like a blade against her throat.

Kerke swallowed, her gaze flicking between his face and the volatile energy in his palm. "A day," she said quickly, almost too quickly. "Almost a full day."

A day.

Thorne exhaled slowly, barely containing the surge of relief that ran through him. He hadn't lost his chance. There was still time.

He turned his attention back to the ball of energy in his hand, experimenting with it now that he had a moment. He compressed it, watching the energy coil tighter, then pulled at its form, siphoning away small portions to see how much control he truly had. The energy shrank as he intended, losing mass, but then... He made a mistake.

Aether was unpredictable when it wasn't fully shaped.

The chunk he pulled away was too large, and before he could stabilize it...

BOOM!

A small but forceful explosion rocked the cabin, shaking the walls and sending a gust of heat outward.

Kerke screamed, flinching violently as she ducked her head. Loose papers flew off the desk. A lantern swung wildly on its hook. The air was thick with the sharp scent of aether and burnt wood.

Thorne barely blinked.

He let out an irritated sigh, shaking out his fingers as the last remnants of unstable energy crackled out of existence. Sloppy. He hadn't lost control of his own power like that in a long time.

Kerke, on the other hand, was still pressed back against the cabin wall, her fingers curling into fists. "What the hell was that!?" she hissed.

Thorne ignored the outburst. Instead, he took another step closer and asked, "Where is this ship headed, Kerke?"

She took a second too long to answer, her mind still catching up to what had just happened. But then she exhaled sharply and straightened.

"The Emerald Shores," she said quickly, her voice steadier this time. "That's where most of the crew is from."

Thorne studied her for a moment. "I thought you worked for Rook."

Kerke's mouth twisted. "Rook is dead."

Something in her voice told him she had seen it happen.

"He was caught on fire by some flying spark," she muttered, shaking her head. "I haven't seen so much destruction and death in such little time from so many different sources before. And I've seen things. I was a pirate before I became a mercenary. But Alvar?" She let out a humorless laugh. "That city is cursed. And we've had enough."

Thorne couldn't argue with her logic. Alvar had been a city of chaos long before he ever stepped foot there, but these last few years? It had been one disaster after another. Aether anomalies. Wars between nobles and assassins. Battles in the streets. Assassinations and betrayals. And then the Red Mage came and rained fire from the sky.

It was a miracle anyone was still alive.

His friends...

No. He shoved the thought away before it could take root. He couldn't think about them. Not now.

Instead, he focused on what was directly in front of him.

"I want my things back," he said, his voice brooking no argument.

Kerke hesitated.

She looked at him, then at the energy still crackling in his hands, then back at his blazing eyes.

"They're in my room," she admitted, her voice a touch wary.

Thorne nodded. He raised his hand slightly and with a flick of his fingers, the Invisible Threads disappeared.

"Let's go, then."

Kerke hesitated for a half-second before rubbing her wrists, as if making sure the bindings were truly gone. Then, with a huff of frustration, she spun on her heel and led the way.

Thorne followed, his mind already working through the next steps.

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