The night air of Evermist carried a faint metallic tang, the smell of old magic, rain on stone, and burning oil from a thousand floating lanterns drifting over the canals.

Thorne walked at an easy pace down the narrow street, flanked by Velka and two of her people. Their steps echoed between half-empty warehouses, the kind of forgotten district where the city's glamour gave way to soot and silence. Behind them, Humus's hideout sank back into shadow, its faint wards dissolving against the skyline like smoke. Ahead, the lights of the city proper shimmered across the water, domes, bridges, and towers glowing with enchantments that refused to sleep.

He adjusted the strap of his dimensional pouch, feeling its weight against his hip. It wasn't supposed to feel heavy. The enchantment removed most of it. But there was something about knowing how much coin sat inside that made it feel heavier anyway.

He'd walked away from that meeting richer than expected, richer than he'd planned to show. Of course, he could have pushed for more, but that wasn't the point. Perception mattered. Take too much and you looked desperate. Take too little and you looked naïve. He'd taken just enough to make Humus wonder whether he'd misjudged him.

At least he could breathe again. For the first time in weeks, the ledger of his life looked almost respectable. Enough gold to fund the next step. Enough to buy favors, pay bribes, and maybe even rest for a few nights without checking every shadow. He'd left loose ends deliberately, the kind of uncertainty that made people underestimate you.

One had to sell menace like perfume, sparingly, and only in the right places.

His Veil Sense stirred at the edge of awareness. Two faint presences, trailing behind. Not close enough to be a threat, but close enough to be deliberate. They'd been following since they left the outskirts.

He didn't mention it. No need to spook the leonid before he had to.

The road curved over one of Evermist's lesser canals, where thin magical lights drifted like fireflies under the arch. The reflection of runes flickered across the water, scattering when they passed. Velka broke the silence without looking at him.

"I don't trust you."

Thorne smirked, keeping his eyes on the road ahead. "That's fair. I wouldn't trust me either."

Her tone was rough, edged with something between threat and curiosity. "You're dangerous. Unpredictable."

"Thank you," he said lightly. "That's quite a compliment."

"If you didn't have your magic," Velka continued, "I'd have cut you in half."

Thorne turned his head just enough to meet her eyes. "I admire the confidence. But you haven't seen me fight with blades yet."

That made her hesitate. "Blades?"

He nodded once. "Magic's new to me. I'm better with steel."

One of her men swore softly. Velka blinked. "How is it possible to be that powerful… if you've barely used magic?"

Thorne smiled faintly. "What can I say? I'm special."

He could practically feel her curiosity tightening into suspicion. "Don't worry," he added, "your boss is probably having someone look into me already. When the reports come back, you'll learn how special I am and that I have friends in high places."

He didn't say which high places. He didn't need to. The thought of the Empire's name trickling down to Humus's desk was almost satisfying enough to make him grin.

"You know," he said after a pause, "I hope we get to fight one day. I've heard leonids are excellent warriors. Strength stat through the roof, isn't it?"

Velka bared her teeth, claws sliding from her fingers with a faint metallic click. "We can fight now."

Thorne laughed softly. "Tempting, but I have things to do. This is where we part."

She narrowed her eyes but didn't move.

He gave a small nod toward the brighter part of the city ahead, toward the bridges and towers that marked the line between crime and civility. "I'll see you soon. I'll bring more goods."

That had been Humus's only stipulation, that he return soon with another shipment. The halfling had called it "building a foundation." In truth, it was just his way of keeping leverage while he still thought he had it. Thorne would indulge him. For now.

He took a few steps away before pausing, as if something had just occurred to him.

"Oh," he said, glancing toward the alley beside the canal and the rooftop above it. The shimmer of an illusion flickered there, a fake sign of a bubbling cauldron, concealing movement. "Tell your boys not to follow me."

Velka's brow furrowed.

Thorne pointed lazily, first toward the alley, then to the roof. "I'll lose precious seconds trying to shake their trail, and frankly, I'd like to sleep at some point tonight."

Velka growled, a deep rumble that vibrated through the air.

Thorne smiled. "Goodnight, Velka."

He turned and walked off, crossing the glowing bridge toward the heart of Evermist. The air changed as he entered the livelier districts, cleaner, warmer, touched by the scent of fruit wine and burning crystal from the upper markets. Floating lights drifted lazily through the air like luminous petals. Magic was so thick here it buzzed against his skin.

He let himself think, only a little. Thinking too long was an indulgence that made patterns obvious to others.

The plan rested on three pillars: Humus's interest, Brennak's ruin, and the Empire's shadow.

He'd won the halfling's curiosity and accepted his price. Now came the hard part, bending the game so the outcome suited him without revealing the shape of his hand.

He felt the presence of the tails fade from his Veil Sense. Whether Velka had called them off or they'd lost their nerve didn't matter.

At least for tonight, he was alone.

His dimensional pouch hummed faintly when he brushed it with his hand. Heavy with coin, reagents, and opportunity.

Thorne stepped onto another bridge, this one made of translucent crystal that pulsed faintly beneath his boots, and looked out across the city. Towers glimmered above the water, and the moonlight danced over a hundred spell-lit domes.

He could feel the pulse of the city, alive and shifting, a place that fed on ambition and devoured the unprepared.

"Alright," he murmured under his breath, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Round two."

Then he vanished into the maze of Evermist, and the ripples of his passing faded into the light.

***

The further Thorne went, the quieter Evermist became. The hum of lanterns and canal chatter faded behind him, replaced by the rush of wind and water. The city's elegant towers gave way to crooked stone paths, half-sunken piers, and old mooring posts overgrown with moss. Ahead, the river delta opened like a wound in the land, a place where Evermist ended and the Primordial Forest began.

Fen hadn't exaggerated. This was the edge of civilization.

The air here was thick, heavy with moisture and power. The currents snarled together, splitting and merging in a dozen directions. The water wasn't clean, it shimmered faintly, like molten glass under moonlight. Aether ran through it in unpredictable currents, and every few seconds the surface broke with a hiss of blue steam.

Small boats were anchored along the bank, half-buried under tarps and stacked crates. The craft themselves were crude, reinforced planks, rune-etched hulls. Whenever the water slammed into them too hard, sigils along their sides flared to life, projecting thin golden barriers that rippled under the impact before fading again.

The sight almost looked alive: boats breathing, wards flaring in rhythm with the river's pulse.

Thorne crouched behind a line of boulders, cloak pulled close, watching. A handful of men milled about the shoreline, guards, haulers, maybe smugglers on rotation. They kept glancing toward the water, restless, as though waiting for something. There were wagons on higher ground, crates half-unloaded, but no buildings. No warehouse. No permanent structure that could hide the scale of Brennak's operation.

He frowned. So where are you storing it?

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

The cargo told the truth. Marked barrels of imported oil. Sealed crates stamped with guild insignias. The kind that were supposed to go through the city's customs wards. Thorne's jaw tightened. Fen had been right. Brennak was laundering contraband under legitimate trade. All of it funneled through this ghost-dock.

He extended his Veil Sense, letting the thin, invisible threads of awareness stretch across the area. The river was loud with energy; aether danced over every surface, distorting his read. Still, he felt the faint signatures, a dozen men, low-level aether traces, ordinary smugglers. No major enforcers, no mages. Good.

He was about to move closer when the ground trembled.

At first, it felt like thunder rolling through the soil. Then came the second impact, heavier, closer, a deep, shuddering rhythm that swallowed the sound of the river.

The men by the boats froze.

Another crash followed, then another, like the beat of war drums echoing through trees.

Thorne rose slightly from his cover, eyes narrowing toward the forest. The treeline was dark and dense, the branches twisting upward like claws and then, somewhere deep within it, something moved.

A massive trunk snapped like dry bone. Leaves exploded outward. The sound came again, deafening this time, a charge.

"By the stars!" one of the smugglers yelled.

The forest split open.

A herd burst through, hulking shapes with hide the color of burned obsidian. Their bodies looked forged rather than born, rippling with veins of dull aetheric glow. Where a head should have been, each creature bore a single enormous horn, curving forward like a siege ram, veins of light pulsing along its length.

They moved like avalanches on legs.

The first of them hit the invisible barrier that marked Evermist's border, and the night erupted.

A flash of golden light flared across the entire horizon. Sigils older than the city itself screamed awake, burning through the darkness, forming a dome of shimmering radiance that turned night into day. The impact shook the air, a deep, metallic clang echoing through the valley.

Thorne shielded his face, eyes wide. The brilliance of the wards reflected in the river below, setting every ripple aflame.

The beasts slammed again, bellowing in rage. Their horns struck the barrier, sending arcs of energy skittering through the light like molten veins. Each blow sent waves of power rippling outward, so strong he could feel them in his bones.

The smugglers were shouting now, scrambling back toward the boats and crates. One tripped; another dropped his lantern, sparks spilling across wet planks.

Thorne didn't move. He was transfixed.

This was the first time he'd ever seen the city's wards in action, not the tidy, invisible kind that protected courtyards or private homes, but the ancient network that kept Evermist alive. It wasn't just a defense system; it was a living wall of magic, as vast and old as the continent itself.

Without it… He swallowed hard. Without it, the city wouldn't last an hour.

His Veil Sense flared uncontrollably. A pulse of raw aether slammed into him from the wards, nearly shorting his concentration. Images flickered through his mind, impossible geometry, old sigil patterns older than any written language. Power so refined and alien that it refused to be understood.

He tried anyway. He reached for the structure, attempted to read its layers, the weave of energy holding it together, and hit resistance. The wards pushed back, firm but not hostile, a quiet refusal written into their code.

Too ancient. Too advanced.

They didn't want to be read.

The beasts struck again. A surge of gold and white cut through the darkness. Thunder cracked, and every rune in the valley lit up like a constellation. The smell of ozone filled the air.

Thorne's heart pounded. His hand gripped the rock in front of him until his knuckles whitened.

He tried to gauge the beasts, calling Veil Sense, but nothing appeared. His ability couldn't pierce the ward's radiance. Whatever protections the barrier used, they shielded both sides completely.

So that's why the city sleeps easy.

He exhaled, long and slow, eyes never leaving the blazing wall.

He exhaled slowly, eyes fixed on the blazing wall. The assault dragged on for several minutes, the ground trembling beneath every impact. No one moved. Every man on the shore, every thief and smuggler, stood frozen in the golden light, waiting to see if the wards would finally give.

The barrier held. It always did.

At last, the herd retreated, vanishing into the forest as abruptly as they'd appeared. The trees creaked, then stilled, the distant thunder of their steps fading into nothing. The glow of the wards dimmed, gold giving way to silver, then to darkness. Night returned, hesitant at first, as if unsure it was welcome.

Down by the water, a collective sigh rippled through the gathered men. Someone laughed nervously. Another spat into the river, as if to make sure the world was still real.

"Stars," one of them muttered, rubbing his arms. "Every time it happens, I think it's the one that'll break through."

"Yeah," said another, his voice shaky but trying for casual. "Imagine that happening when the next shipment comes in."

His companion let out a tired snort. "Wouldn't that be just our luck?"

"Three days from now, right?"

"Mm-hm." The first man nodded, crouching beside a crate to check its seal. "Brennak's boys want it ready by then. Says the powder's gotta be kept dry, and the next batch's comin' straight from the hills, not the docks. He's sending someone special this time, a handler. You know what that means."

"Means we get to haul half the load ourselves and don't get paid extra."

The first man laughed quietly, shaking his head. "You're learning."

A moment of silence followed, broken only by the hiss of the river. Then one of them yawned, stretching until his back cracked. "Alright, I'm done. Gonna wake Orin, my shift's over."

"Lucky bastard," his companion grumbled, adjusting his coat. "Go on then, before the beasts change their minds."

The man chuckled, picked up his lantern, and trudged toward the jagged rock formation at the edge of the shore. Thorne's eyes tracked him absently, until the smuggler walked straight into the stone wall and vanished.

Thorne blinked. What the hell…?

He stared for several seconds, his mind trying to reconcile what he'd just seen. There had been no distortion, no flicker, just solid rock one moment and empty air the next.

"How did I miss that?" he muttered under his breath.

He closed his eyes and let his Veil Sense spread again, careful this time, measuring every pulse and current of aether around him. The first sweep was faint, too many conflicting traces from the wards still humming in the distance. But when he focused, filtered the noise out, the illusion practically screamed at him.

The ambient aether bent slightly, flowing around something that shouldn't exist, a distortion pattern too clean, too deliberate. He followed it, tracing the subtle ripples, and found more.

Not one entrance. Half a dozen.

All hidden within the uneven rise of the delta, each cloaked in identical glamours. The sigils were buried deep, woven into the rock itself, pulsing faintly in response to the nearby wardline's residual energy.

The realization hit him with a mix of admiration and irritation. The crafty bastard dug himself another market.

He could picture it now, tunnels, chambers, storage rooms, all connected beneath the surface. A perfect smuggling hub right under the city's nose. The waterways above served as camouflage; the real trade happened below, invisible and protected by ancient rock and clever enchantments.

Thorne shook his head, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. "Dwarves," he muttered. "Always digging holes where they don't belong."

He crouched lower, eyes flicking between the hidden entrances. The men had calmed, starting to move crates again, unaware they were being watched.

The wards still hummed faintly behind him, the echo of their earlier brilliance rolling through the air like the aftershock of a storm. Thorne straightened, the faint shimmer of his cloak merging with the dark.

"Three days," he whispered. "Plenty of time."

He turned and slipped back toward the city, leaving the delta behind, its secret tunnels humming quietly beneath the rushing river.

By the time Thorne reached the gates of Aetherhold, the night had begun to pale. The stars above Evermist were fading, washed out by the faint glow of dawn creeping over the horizon. The city behind him still slept, unaware of what had stirred at its edges, of the beasts that had tested its walls or the smugglers digging beneath its skin.

His boots were wet, his cloak heavy with river mist, and his eyes burned from hours of focus. The enchanted archway recognized his aether signature and whispered open with a faint hum. Cool, perfumed air drifted out to meet him, carrying the faint scent of wards and polished marble.

Aetherhold. Different world, same city.

He crossed the silent courtyard, the cobblestones shimmering faintly under the academy's night wards. His reflection moved beside him on the mirror-like surface of the water channels, ghostly and pale. Every step felt heavier.

Two hours before sunrise. Enough time to sleep, if he were the kind of person who could still sleep.

The Umbra Common Room was half-lit when he entered, not by lamps, but by magic. Dozens of conjured lights drifted lazily through the air, shifting from violet to gold, casting moving shadows across silk banners and velvet chairs.

There was music too, faint, echoing from a crystal that hovered near the ceiling, playing a song that sounded both refined and a little drunk.

A party, or what was left of one.

Students lounged across couches and carpets, laughing too loudly, their robes loosened, their composure long gone. These weren't just any students, they were the scions of the most prominent families in the world. A Cesefian prince arguing good-naturedly with a daughter of the Crimson March. A Silverveil heir making flame butterflies for a laughing crowd. Someone had frozen wine midair into floating spheres, and another was lazily plucking them out of the air with a flick of telekinesis, sipping each before letting the rest drift back up.

Magic for entertainment. Power for display.

The most privileged scions of the world playing at rebellion in one of the safest places in the world.

Thorne stopped just inside the doorway, the sounds washing over him like a memory from another life. His clothes were damp, boots streaked with mud. The faint scent of smoke clung to his coat. He didn't belong in this picture, not tonight.

A girl he vaguely recognized, some noble from the southern isles, glanced at him, eyes flicking to his state before sliding away again. To her, he was probably coming back from some late-night duel, or a tryst in the city. None of them could imagine where he had really been.

He stood there a moment longer, the noise and laughter blurring at the edges of his mind.

Hours ago, he'd been crouched in mud at the edge of the Primordial Forest, watching monstrous beasts slam against the city's ancient wards, feeling the air crack with power that could erase entire districts. He'd been tracing smugglers, uncovering Brennak's network, walking through danger that could swallow him whole.

Now, here he was, in a gilded room where the biggest risk was spilling enchanted wine.

It felt like two different lives stitched together by mistake.

The dutiful student of Aetherhold, polite, clever, promising.

And the shadow in the slums, Uncle's legacy, the boy who survived by deception, still working in the dark to bring down men like Brennak.

He wanted to laugh. Or maybe sleep. Or both.

Thorne exhaled, ran a hand through his hair, and crossed the room without a word. A few heads turned, but no one stopped him.

As he climbed the stairs to his room and finally closed his door, the last notes of laughter faded.

He stood in the quiet for a long moment, staring at his reflection in the small mirror across the room, the glow of aether in his eyes finally subsiding.

"Two lives," he muttered, voice low. "Let's see which one wins first."

He dropped his cloak onto the chair and collapsed onto the bed fully dressed.

Sleep claimed him before the light could.

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