Amberdean Hainesworth ran his thumb along the edge of the vellum sheet, skimming the trade manifest again.

"Three crates of Harkine root, two casks of Teffelow extract, and no documentation on the iron shipment. Again."

Across the room, a balding retainer with ink-stained sleeves cleared his throat. "The vendor claims the crates were lost in a transit ambush, my lord. Bandits near the north pass."

The parchment landed on the surface with a quiet snap.

"They always claim bandits," he muttered. "Convenient excuse. Raise the tariffs for anyone operating out of the north pass. Make it painful enough and they'll remember how to hire protection."

The retainer bowed lightly and made a note.

Amberdean leaned back in his seat. His study was dim and richly adorned; the room held rows of ledgers, a bottle of old wine half-finished on the shelf, and a soft fire crackling in the hearth. Outside, the evening sun crept over the town of Eiyuria.

"I'll need the ledgers for the holdings by tomorrow," he added.

"Yes, my lord."

"Also," he added, voice trailing, "have someone check on the old storage house near the grain silos. There've been reports of squatters taking residence there again. Such filth, the lot of them—"

The words died in his throat. A sudden pulse shivered through the room. It was faint, but unmistakably present.

The fire dimmed and shadows seemed to stretch within the room.

Amberdean rose slowly, while his retainer stood frozen still.

Then, the lantern by the door went out. Followed by another, and another. It was a like hiss, air being drawn through stone.

The retainer had turned pale. "My lord—"

"Leave," Amberdean said. It wasn't a request, but a command.

The man obeyed at once, vanishing through a side passage and closing the door behind him. The study fell into silence as the man left.

Amberdean leaned back in his chair, hand resting on his lap. The wood floor creaked softly beneath his weight. The fire in the hearth had grown low, but he made no move to stir it. He simply stared at the door, waiting.

Then, without sound, the temperature shifted.

No creak of a door; no wind to whisper. One by one, the candles on the wall flickered and went out. From the far corner of the room, shadows bent inwards and rose.

A figure emerged from them—cloaked and veiled. Their presence was quiet, but oppressive. Eyes like polished gold shined beneath the hood, each iris etched with delicate winged shapes that fluttered slowly.

Amberdean then stood, slowly. Rather than bowing, he inclined his head, his hands clasped behind him.

"I wasn't expecting you so soon," Amberdean said, voice monotone, but respectful.

"You were not meant to," the figure said simply. It was a male's voice. Smooth, but also masked.

Amberdean hesitated. "If this is about the numbers—"

"It is," the envoy replied. "The offerings from here have dwindled. Significantly."

There was no change in the man's tone. It was hard to actually notice a tone. But the words he spoke, spoke of agitation.

Amberdean drew in a breath, steeling himself. "Yes. I… made changes to the orphanage several months ago. It wasn't yielding the results you asked for, as you are aware."

The Godsworn said nothing, but the golden eyes never blinked.

Amberdean continued, a touch faster. "Two hundred orphans passed through my care. Of those, only a few ever showed potential from what you told me. With the resources pouring into keeping that place running, it was extremely inefficient. Both for the operation, and for the results you seek."

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

"And you thought it was a good idea to stop operations? A decision you think you are allowed to make by yourself?" the Envoy asked.

"I repurposed the building," Amberdean admitted. "My son needed a place to practice his skills. He's approaching 10 years old now and needed a place to grow. I couldn't justify keeping the orphanage up and running, feeding all those orphans when nothing viable was coming through. I do have small compartment there still, housing a few, but not as many as before."

The room seemed to chill upon his explanation. Yet, he didn't falter. Or, if he did—he didn't let it show.

"I do have a solution. One that will be beneficial to us both."

The Godsworn remained silent.

Amberdean actually wished the man spoke. Silence meant uncertainty.

"I've formed a contract with a group called the Veiled Ones using my connections. They're efficient and unscrupulous, but hard to contact. As long as they're paid, they handle almost any task. Ones of more… radial nature. I have a deal with them, where they'll focus on collecting children with stronger linages. The minor nobility, the rich merchant families, traveling heirs—all those sorts. You will get much less offerings, but the ones you will receive—they'll be of much higher quality."

He pasued for a moment. Gauging the Godsworn's reaction. When he noticed that the man didn't react, he continued.

"If potential is all you care about, then most of the orphans you received were deemed unusable and obsolete, correct? At least with these new offerings, you will have much less trash to dispose of. And a much higher rate of return. As long as the payments keep coming through to me, I'll be able to manage and oversee this new operation."

He spoke quieter on the last portion.

The Godsworn took a slow step forward, the fabric of his cloak whispering across the floor.

"You misunderstand the nature of what we seek," he said at last. "Ascended potential is not trained. It cannot be bought or bred by design. It ignites, like lightning striking dry earth. It is rare, unpredictable, but also divine."

Amberdean said nothing, his posture stiff.

"And yet," the envoy continued, his tone shifting ever so slightly, "you have done well. Statistically, those born to higher bloodlines—the true nobility, they are the ones kept safest, educated best, and tend to spark brighter than gutter orphans."

Amberdean's shoulders relaxed a fraction.

The envoy tilted his head. "Tell me. Have any of your new offerings included true nobility? Not just lesser houses?"

Amberdean straightened his posture. "Not any that I have sent yet. However, the Veiled Ones sent word a week ago. They intercepted a boy during an expedition in the hill provinces. His father was of noble lineage; he was slain in the ambush. The boy was captured and awaiting transport to my care."

The envoy's lips curved beneath the veil. The lights from the man's eyes barely lit his face enough to see. Just barely.

"Good," he said. "Very good. Continue that work. The payments will remain steady. If these results continue, they may even increase."

The room warmed slightly.

"As for the orphanage…" The envoy waved a hand, dismissing it like smoke. "Its absence will be tolerated, so long as the new path yields stronger vessels."

Amberdean gave a low nod. "Of course."

"Once we have enough candidates," the Godsworn said, "and the gods descend, you will be granted the Rite. You will become one of us. A bearer of true divinity. A true Godsworn, dedicated to the truth of this world."

The Godsworn's gaze remained steady. "You've done well. A noble child… that is no small offering."

Amberdean inclined his head, the tension in his shoulders easing only slightly.

"Such lineage," the envoy continued, "carries weight. Their bloodlines are watched by the divine; all intertwined, whether they know it or not. The more pure the blood, the brighter the beacon when they awaken. This boy… he may serve well. As all are given by the Gods, and as their right, all shall go back to the Gods."

Amberdean didn't dare smile, but he allowed the silence to stretch, until the envoy's voice resumed.

"Keep looking. Do not grow complacent. If any others cross your path, especially those of higher prestige, those of true noble stock—they must be taken. I don't care how. But they must be alive and intact. Their potential is not always visible until tested."

"I understand," Amberdean said quickly. "Any who cross my path. I'll see to it."

The firelight flickered, dimmed, then flared again as the shadows twisted and collapsed inwards. The air grew still.

"Should anything happen, you know how to contact us. The Gods will support their followers. And as Godsworn, we support those who swear allegiance to the cause. As long as you are dedicated, you have our support."

A lone vibration pulsed through the room, following the envoy's final statement.

Amberdean was alone once more. The warmth of the room returned slowly, but the chill in his spine did not. He finally straightened, his muscles and body relaxing. It was stressful talking to any of the envoys. But it was solace to him, that he was doing a good job.

Using that orphanage of hers was a blessing. Something he had missed out on for so many years because of that meddling roach. But ever since he left—Amberdean had gotten everything he wanted. Even that stubborn woman had become his.

With the Godsworn's unwavering support, abundant resources at his disposal, and command of the orphanage secured, everything had fallen perfectly into place for him.

Amberdean went back and sat in his chair. He reclined back, feet up, hands rested on his lap.

"What a foolish, foolish man," he muttered.

Only a few days remained until the noble boy arrived, along with a few others, prepped for delivery.

He smiled.

Once I obtain their Rite and I am free from this poor town—I'll make sure to see that man again—If he's still alive. If so, then Perhaps… I'll bring her corpse. For good luck.

Amberdean chuckled to himself, his own voice echoing throughout his chamber.

Thinking about the constant turmoil caused years ago was a sour memory. But now everything was fixed. He was going to become enlightened. All he needed now was a few more noble children, those of the purest blood, to directly cross his path.

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