Thorne sat beneath the shade of a cherry blossom tree, the delicate pink petals creating a soft, ethereal canopy above him. The gazebo in which he and Alden sat was nestled in the heart of an exclusive garden, a secluded sanctuary within the bustling city of Valewind.

The garden, hidden from the public eye, was known only to the most privileged nobles of the city. Thorne marveled at the sight around him—carefully manicured lawns, winding pathways of polished stone, and ponds dotted with elegant koi fish. It was a far cry from the rough streets of Alvar, and even though he knew it was all a façade, he couldn't help but appreciate the beauty of it.

In front of him sat a small bowl of ice cream, its pale lavender hue a mystery to him until Alden had explained it was flavored with some rare flower from the distant east. Thorne had discovered the existence of ice cream only the previous day, and it had quickly rivaled even his beloved blueberry pie in taste. He resisted the urge to devour it, reminding himself to act as the cultured noble he was pretending to be, taking small, deliberate spoonfuls instead.

Alden, seated across from him, appeared at ease, though there was always a flicker of something guarded in his pale blue eyes. Ever since their meeting, Alden had taken it upon himself to show Thorne the best places in Valewind, and they had been inseparable.

Unfortunately for Thorne, Alden wasn't as naive or easy to manipulate as he had initially thought. The young noble, almost a man, was desperate for a friend, but he was also wary, his low status among the social circles of Valewind making him a pariah. The apparent dislike between him and Percy Vayne, one of Valewind's most influential young nobles, only exacerbated his isolation.

For Thorne, Alden's desperation was an opportunity, one he had exploited to the fullest over the last three days. Alden had taken him to various exclusive spots, introducing him to people and helping him get a feel for the city. The fact that Alden loved to gossip was even better for Thorne's purposes. The information flowed freely, and Thorne soaked it all in, weaving it into his growing web of lies and schemes.

Alden chuckled softly, breaking Thorne out of his thoughts. Thorne raised an inquisitive eyebrow, the picture of mild curiosity. "What's so amusing?"

Alden waved his hand dismissively, though the mirth remained in his thin face. "It's nothing. I was just remembering your duel with Percy. Still can't believe you did that."

Thorne wanted to roll his eyes, but instead, he gave a light, affable laugh, knowing that was what Alden wanted. "It was all in good fun," he replied, though he knew there had been nothing light-hearted about it.

"Fun?" Alden shook his head in disbelief. "Percy is furious. You humiliated him, Thorne. Many of us have wanted to do what you did, but no one dares. Not since he went to the academy. Since then, he's been the prince of Valewind, everyone bowing and scraping at his feet."

Thorne frowned, pretending to ponder Alden's words. "The academy?" he asked, letting confusion show on his face.

Alden narrowed his eyes, suspicion flickering in his gaze. "You know… THE academy."

Thorne's expression cleared as he nodded, his Acting skill playing its part. "Ah, of course," he said, as if the answer had been on the tip of his tongue all along. He cursed inwardly at the slip, realizing too late that he'd made a mistake.

Alden's gaze remained sharp. "I think Lord Emric goes to the academy as well. He's from your city… what's it called again?"

Thorne felt the strands of aether probing at the edges of his mind, and he fought the urge to swear.

Skill level up: Mindguard.

Damn it, he thought to himself. He had been too careless, forgetting for a moment that Alden wasn't actually his friend. He needed to right the situation and fast. This was clearly a test, and he was certain there was no Lord Emric from his supposed city.

He frowned, allowing a look of confusion to cross his features. "Emric… Emric… no, I don't believe we have a Lord by that name in my city. Perhaps you're thinking of someone else?"

Alden studied him for a long moment, suspicion still clouding his face. Finally, he relented, shrugging as if dismissing the thought. "You might be right. Perhaps he's from Redhold."

Thorne nodded in agreement, though inside, his mind was racing. He had been working hard to keep up appearances, and his social skills had been put to the test more than he'd anticipated. The last few days had been a relentless exercise in deceit, leaving him with two new and incredibly useful skills: Sculpted Persona and Tactful Deflection.

Mental & Social Skills

Acting: 31→ 36

Haggling: 10

Reading: 15

Arithmetic: 12

Mindguard: 10 → 14

Echoes of Truth: 27 → 31

Mask of Deceit: 31 → 38

Deception: 30 → 36

Sculpted Persona: 1 → 6

Tactful Deflection: 1 → 5

But even with these new tools, the challenge was immense. Every single noble in the city had social skills of their own, and Thorne had been coaxed, tricked, and manipulated more times than he cared to admit.

He had lost count of the times he had been forced to reveal something he didn't want to, to admit to things that made him vulnerable. Some of these nobles had such high levels in their skills that his Mindguard had been unable to completely shield him from their effects, leading to embarrassing situations. Once, he had been made to confess his love to a girl in the group, and another time, to show his signet. Thankfully, he had been quick enough to hide it before anyone realized it was a fake. And the last time—he scowled at the memory—he had admitted his mother was dead.

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The revelation had brought a heavy silence over the group, and for the first time, Thorne had dropped the mask of the affable and gracious noble. He had leaned forward, his voice low and dangerous, and threatened to chop the offending noble into cubes if he ever used such a skill on him again. Since then, the younger nobles had spared him from any more unpleasantness, though Thorne was certain that some of the older, more experienced ones were still trying—just more subtly.

Alden drew Thorne's attention back to the present with a thoughtful expression. "You were lucky Percy didn't start using magic in your duel. If you hadn't been quick enough to establish the ground rules, he would have roasted you with his fire spells."

Thorne raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised by the information. "Magic? I didn't realize Percy was capable of that."

Alden nodded, his expression turning bitter. "It's still a mystery how his family managed to send him to Aetherhold Academy of Arcane Arts. I mean, it's the single most prestigious institute in the world! Only royalty and the wealthiest families can afford to send their children there—families like the Aurelius, the Venaris, or the chancellor's family."

At the mention of the chancellor, Thorne froze, a long-buried memory surfacing in his mind. In the name of the chancellor… That was what the guard had said before he killed his parents. Thorne clenched his jaw, forcing down the maelstrom of emotions that threatened to break his composure. He kept his face calm, his Mask of Deceit skill working overtime to hide the turmoil within him.

"I wasn't aware the chancellor had family members in the academy," Thorne said, his tone casual.

Alden slurped on his ice cream, oblivious to the tension in Thorne's voice. "Oh yes. His daughter graduated a few years ago, but his son is set to start classes soon."

Thorne's mind raced as he connected the dots. He recalled a conversation he had overheard years ago between a merchant from the capital and Lord Durnell. They had spoken of an academy and… the Elder races. Could this academy, this Aetherhold, be where Bea was taken? The possibility made his heart pound in his chest, though outwardly, he remained calm.

"You know," Thorne said casually, "I've heard they do all kinds of studies and experiments at that place."

Alden shrugged carelessly, waving to a passing waiter. "Of course. The mages are always up to something—new spells, ancient artifacts, breeding new beasts. It's a wonder they find time to teach at all."

Thorne's hand trembled slightly, and he discreetly placed it under the table to steady himself. This was it—this was the clue he had been searching for, and yet it felt just out of reach. If only royalty and the elite could gain access to this academy, how was he supposed to get in? He seethed with frustration. He finally had a lead on Bea's whereabouts, and he couldn't reach her.

He needed a new plan. "I'm surprised Percy is even here. Is he in town for the ball?" Thorne asked, his tone deliberately innocent.

Alden gave him a bland look. "The school is in recess. You can't casually leave Aetherhold for a ball, Thorne. Valora the island, where the academy is located, is miles to the north. Without the academy's transportation, it would take Percy months to get here."

Thorne nodded as if that made perfect sense. He was beginning to realize just how far away his goal was—both literally and figuratively. But that didn't matter. He had found a path, however faint, and he would pursue it with everything he had. No matter what it took, he would find Bea, and he would make those who had taken her pay.

Alden continued to yap, his voice a constant stream of gossip and trivial anecdotes, but Thorne barely listened after the revelation about Aetherhold Academy. His mind was elsewhere, spiraling through the implications of what he had just learned. Bea, his sister, taken to that place—who knew what horrors she might have faced? His thoughts darkened, images of experiments and unspeakable atrocities flashing through his mind. He couldn't let himself dwell on it; he had to stay focused. He forced himself to respond to Alden's chatter when necessary, just enough to keep him talking, though he was barely aware of what he was saying.

Finally, their conversation drew to a close. Thorne exchanged pleasantries with Alden, their goodbyes cordial but detached. Alden, oblivious to Thorne's internal turmoil, waved him off with a casual smile and turned to leave, his constant shadow—a young servant—trailing behind him without a word. The servant, like most in Valewind, seemed to blend into the background, an unnoticed fixture in the noble's life. Alden didn't even spare a glance at Rhea and Jareth as he walked away, disappearing into the busy streets.

As soon as Alden was out of sight, Rhea began to grumble, her voice low and filled with irritation. "I don't see why we have to follow that peacock around like lapdogs. What a waste of time..."

But Thorne was too preoccupied to pay her complaints any mind. His thoughts were consumed by a single, clear goal: he had to get to Aetherhold Academy. That was where they had taken the Elder races, where they might have taken Bea. The stories his mother had told him as a child, tales of secret experiments and dark rituals, were seared into his memory. She had always impressed upon him the need for secrecy, the necessity of hiding who they were. The mere thought that Bea could be suffering because of their mother's heritage made him shiver. He couldn't allow himself to be overwhelmed by that fear, though. He needed to act, not dwell.

"Thorne?"

The voice jolted him from his reverie. He turned to face Jareth, blinking as he brought himself back to the present. "Huh?"

Jareth nodded toward a nearby bakery, its windows filled with freshly baked goods that sent warm, inviting scents into the street. "Mind if we stop here for a moment? We haven't eaten all day."

It took Thorne a moment to process what Jareth was asking, but when the realization hit, his eyes widened. "Oh! Sorry! Let me get you something."

He quickly stepped into the bakery, the smell of bread and pastries filling his senses as he approached the counter. With a practiced air, he ordered two sandwiches, the woman behind the counter practically falling over herself to serve him. She recognized the expensive clothes, the noble bearing, and rushed to fulfill his request. Within minutes, Thorne was outside again, handing the sandwiches to Rhea and Jareth, who began devouring them with gusto.

Rhea spoke through a mouthful, her voice filled with newfound appreciation. "It's nice to have so many coins. Where did you even get them?"

Thorne noticed a flicker of movement behind them, something that made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle with awareness, but he ignored it for now, focusing on the conversation. He shrugged nonchalantly, setting a leisurely pace as he started walking. "They were in my room. I have to play my part, and my part needs money."

"Must be nice to be you," Rhea commented, her tone carrying a hint of resentment. After a pause, she asked, "Do you think they'll let us keep them?"

Thorne frowned slightly, his eyes narrowing as he glanced over his shoulder, confirming his suspicions. "Keep what?" he asked, feigning ignorance.

"The coins. Or whatever we're meant to steal," Rhea clarified. "I've heard that sometimes, if a mission is successful, they let recruits keep some of the spoils."

Thorne was well aware of that. Rafe had made sure he knew all about it. After his group had completed a heist mission, the guild had allowed them to keep a portion of the stolen goods. Rafe had strutted around like a peacock for a week, boasting of his success to anyone who would listen. The memory made Thorne's lips curl in distaste.

Before he could respond, Jareth spoke up, his voice thoughtful. "I doubt it. The guild has spent a lot of coins on this mission. They'll want to break even."

Jareth chewed the last of his sandwich, his gaze distant as he considered the situation. "This mission must be very important."

Thorne nodded in agreement. This wasn't a simple mission, not just an assassination, a heist, or even simple spying. This was something completely different, something bigger. They had arrived early in the city, before the ball, and it had felt like pure chance at first, but now he wasn't so sure.

Rhea's voice cut through his thoughts, laced with confusion. "I don't get it. I mean, we have to kill someone—big deal. Just a run-of-the-mill mission."

Thorne and Jareth shared a glance, a silent understanding passing between them. Rhea's perspective was short-sighted, her inability to grasp the mission's broader implications a worrying sign. Maybe she wasn't cut out for this job after all.

"Where are we even going?" Rhea asked, frowning as she looked around at the narrow alley they were now walking through. "This isn't the way back to the inn."

Thorne sighed and stopped walking, turning around to face Rhea and Jareth. With a casual gesture, he pointed behind them. "So they can catch up with us."

Rhea's eyes widened in surprise as she turned to see what Thorne was pointing at. A group of men had entered the alley behind them, moving with a predatory purpose. They clutched a variety of weapons, their faces hard and unwelcoming.

Jareth, however, remained calm, his short swords already in his hands, a sure sign that he had noticed them long before Thorne mentioned it.

"I think I have to dial down my charm, because I am attracting admirers left and right." He said with a smirk as his hands snaked at the small of his back.

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