Veyran crouched by the hole leading down to the tunnel, his heart hammering in his chest from the sheer weight of what he was about to do. The others were settling in, exhausted from the day's efforts and brooding over Miss Ruth's ominous return. None of them noticed the Deepshy slipping away into the shadows.

He moved quickly, rappelling down the spider-silk rope they'd left dangling from the hole into the kobold's tunnel. When he hit the dirt, he started groping forward, his hands tracing the rough walls of the tunnel as he moved in the direction of the overseer's house. He realized that he hadn't been underground since he left the Deep. Now the earth swallowed him again, its weight both familiar and suffocating. The further he ventured, the more the light from the workshop dwindled, but Veyran's keen Deepshy vision could pierce the gloom. He kept following the passage until it branched into the much smaller tunnel Uiska had dug. This part forced him to crawl on all fours—the space was just large enough for the pika, which meant it was barely half his height. The damp earth clung to his clothes, dust settling into his hair and beard. By the time he emerged from the hole near the overseer's house, he was coated in dirt. But the cold air outside felt fresh, freeing.

He was out. And the prize was close.

The overseer's house loomed above him, its stone walls stretching impossibly high. Even standing at full height, he barely reached the top of the first layer of stones. It didn't matter. Magic made all things possible.

Veyran tapped the shard tied to a string around his wrist. He cast Blur, causing his form to shimmer, distorting into an amorphous haze—not true invisibility, but enough to make him harder to notice. Then, he backed up and bent his knees, took a deep breath, and pulsed magic through his tiny limbs.

Casting Jump, Veyran shot upward, launching with unnatural force. His fingers barely caught the edge of the roof tiles, but it was enough to hoist himself up. He was careful not to slip on or displace any tiles as he made his way to the window. The glass stretched between him and the room like a massive transparent barrier, the latch as wide as his arm.

Peering through the window, he saw no humans. Just the pika, curled up on a pillow inside a gilded cage that had been left open.

The Deepshy took that as a good sign. He reached up and rapped his knuckles on the glass.

Uiska jerked awake, fur bristling, ears twitching on alert. His eyes widened as they locked onto the Shy's form outside the window.

Veyran held a finger to his lips, hoping the pika would understand the gesture for silence.

Uiska hesitated, then bounded over to the window to find out what was going on. He wasn't expecting this at all.

Veyran braced himself and cast Knock. The latch clicked open. He pushed against the heavy glass, straining as he slipped inside. Landing lightly on the windowsill, he was careful to keep the wood from creaking too loudly.

Just like that, he was inside.

Uiska stared at him, whiskers twitching in bewilderment. Was this part of the plan? Reaching out through their bond, he sensed that Sylven was still asleep. Still, Uiska knew Veyran. They had just been introduced earlier after he dug the tunnel to the workshop. Was he supposed to be here? Maybe this was a secret part of their escape?

Veyran walked over to Uiska, pointing to the shard in the pika's harness, and then the one on his wrist. He was obviously asking about the arclith. Again.

Uiska hesitated, whiskers twitching nervously. He glanced toward the door, then back at Veyran. The Deepshy's eyes were intense, as if nothing would stand in his way. The pika slowly pointed to the drawer with a paw.

Veyran's stomach clenched with anticipation. He turned toward the desk—a towering structure from his perspective, its drawers massive.

Jump. With a burst of magic, he sprang upward, soaring through the air before landing gracefully on the desk. The drawer was his height, the handle a metal bar as wide as his shoulders.

He tried pulling it anyway, but there was no give. He pressed a hand against the keyhole below the handle. Another Knock spell.

The drawer shuddered, then slid open just enough for him to pull it out using the spell's momentum.

Inside were rolled-up scrolls as wide as carpets, ink bottles as large as barrels... and a nondescript wooden box. To a Shy, the box was the size of a small room. He couldn't discern a telltale glow or any clues as to its contents though. Had Uiska misled him?

The Deepshy frowned. He turned to the pika, pointing emphatically at the box. This?

Uiska nodded, with a soft chirp for emphasis.

Veyran wrestled the box open with all his strength. Inside was a large rock, coming up to his shoulders, as wide as he was tall. But, unlike how Uiska described it, the rock didn't glow. It looked just like... a rock.

He ran his hands over the stone, expecting an obvious demonstration of power, but felt nothing. He turned back to Uiska, again pointing at the harness shard, then the shard on his wrist, then the rock. Arclith?

Uiska's ears flicked in irritation. He nodded. Yes.

Veyran's stomach twisted. This didn't make sense to him. This wasn't just some ordinary stone, was it? He could almost feel his own shard resonating with it, humming with a faint energy. But the pika had said the arclith was glowing... so why couldn't he see it?

Uiska, growing more uneasy, nudged the bond with Sylven more forcefully.

Through the haze of sleep, Sylven stirred. Uiska, what's wrong?

Uiska immediately relayed what was happening. Your Shy friend who kept asking questions about the rock is here.

It took a moment for the message to sink in.

Then—Sylven jolted awake. What!?

Veyran ignored Uiska's obvious confusion and concern. He had to figure this out. The rock didn't glow. But it had to be arclith, right?

Something wafted in through the air, filtered through Uiska's sensitive nose.

The warm aroma of ink, paper, and wood that dominated the room was breached by a different scent. Heavy floral and citrus notes. A perfume meant to announce itself before the wearer arrived.

Uiska's body went rigid. His heartbeat quickened as his ears rotated sharply toward the door.

Footsteps. Measured, deliberate.

Not just any human. The overseer.

Uiska checked on Veyran—still hunched inside the drawer, fingers tracing invisible lines over the arclith's surface.

The footsteps grew louder.

Uiska scrambled toward him, chittering in alarm. Veyran barely glanced up, his focus locked onto the stone. The wood of the floorboards audibly creaked with the overseer's steps. Surely the Shy could hear that. The pika's ears flattened against his head.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

The door handle might as well have been a blade poised above them.

But Veyran was staring at his potential prize as if he could force it to glow through sheer will.

Uiska rushed up to him, gripping the fabric of his tunic with his teeth.

Veyran jerked slightly at the force of Uiska's pull but resisted.

"I just need a moment," he whispered sharply.

Uiska tensed, whiskers twitching in disbelief. He could already hear the overseer's jingling keys just outside the door.

They had seconds left.

Uiska made a snap decision. There was no more time for subtle action. He lunged, sinking his incisors into Veyran's sleeve, and yanked.

Veyran staggered backward. "What—stop that!" he gasped, batting Uiska away with his free hand.

The pika dug his teeth in deeper.

Veyran planted his heels into the box. His grip tightened around the stone, refusing to let go.

Uiska would have growled in frustration if he could. Why was this Shy so stubborn? He lunged again, biting deeper into Veyran's clothing, almost piercing skin.

Desperation lent the pika strength as he dragged the Deepshy forward and up, Veyran's toes skidding over the wood. His slim frame was easy enough for Uiska to lift—but the Shy still fought him.

"I need to—"

The door handle turned. Panic surged through Uiska.

With one last, desperate yank, Uiska heaved Veyran out from the drawer. The pika calculated his leap, it would take him right back onto his pillow. But the Shy's struggling caused his foot to catch on the drawer's lip. He pitched sideways, twisting to free himself from the pika. At the same time, the door swung open. Light spilled into the room.

Veyran landed hard on the polished surface, right in the center of the desk.

Frozen. Exposed. Nowhere to run.

A shadow filled the doorway, the silhouette tall and poised. The overseer's gaze swept the room. And then, her eyes locked onto the Shy on her desk.

"Well now," she drawled, stepping inside and shutting the door behind her. "What do we have here?"

Veyran's mind raced. He knew human speech. He'd practiced. He had prepared for this.

He swallowed hard before speaking up, "...I can explain."

From the safety of his pillow perch, Uiska's mental voice poured into Sylven's thoughts in a steady, urgent stream. "He's talking to the overseer now."

Sylven groaned. He didn't even try to run and hide!?

"They're talking in human speech. I'll try to stream over to you what I can see and hear"

Veyran felt faint, and he was grateful that his tunic concealed his trembling legs, but he forced himself to hold the overseer's gaze. He had to look confident, capable, even a little bit mysterious. Veyran stood his ground. He had expected alarm, mockery, even violence—but the main vibe he was picking up from the woman was curiosity.

He bowed slightly, just enough to show he understood the importance of her position. "Good evening, Madame Overseer," he said with as much swagger as he could muster. "I am Veyran, a Shy currently in your employ, albeit involuntarily. A pleasure to finally make your acquaintance."

Her lips curled in amusement. "Veyran," she echoed, as if testing the sound of it on her tongue. She stepped forward, looming over him. "I suppose you expect me to offer my name in return."

Veyran hesitated. He did not expect humans to care about such things. But if she was offering hers, then that meant she saw him as someone worth engaging with.

The overseer studied him intently before speaking again. "Call me... Rhiannon."

Veyran committed it to memory immediately. A name to remember. A name he could use to survive.

The overseer's expression didn't change—not outwardly. But he saw it. The shift in her posture. The slight tilt of her head. She was intrigued.

"Enchanted to meet you, Rhiannon," he dared to inject as much of his flirtatious charm, disproportionate in size and practice it may be, into his responses.

She studied Veyran with interest. Her scrutiny took in every detail—the squaring of his shoulders, the way his tiny fingers curled at his sides. But mostly his words.

"Impressive," she complimented him. "You speak our tongue well."

"I listen. I observe." He softened his tone, making himself sound just deferential enough. "I've had more than a year to do so."

The overseer's brows lifted slightly. "You've been here that long?"

Veyran gave a slow nod. "Long enough to learn. To understand." He glanced back at the rock in the drawer and began walking back towards it. "And long enough to know that I can help you...' he paused, letting the words hang in the air. '…In different ways from the others."

Rhiannon took one slow, deliberate step closer. "Different, how?"

Veyran paused just long enough to let the idea settle. "I am Deepshy."

"Deepshy," she repeated, testing the word on her tongue. "And what, exactly, does that mean?"

Veyran took another careful step backwards, inching closer to the arclith. "There are two kinds of Shy," he said. "The others who you've kept captive with me. They are Sunshy." He gestured vaguely towards the workshop. "They're our hunters and gatherers. Nomads. They understand nature, the flora and fauna living on the surface of our homelands."

Then, he stepped back down into the drawer, walking over to the rock and placing his palm over it. "But we Deepshy..." he modulated his voice with a mixture of pride and charm. "We have mastered more… esoteric skills and knowledge."

The overseer shifted her gaze to the stone. "The Deep, the world below the surface, is what belongs to us. Ours is a civilization safely hidden, fathoms underground, hewn into stone and crystal, tapping into the energy flowing through the heart of our world," Veyran explained.

"All the resources and energies within The Deep—we mine, we shape, we control." He paused, letting his words sink in, watching for her reaction. Then, he added the final piece. "We have conquered the channeling of arcane power, for purposes both miniscule or massive."

Rhiannon's eyes gleamed. She stepped closer. "Are you speaking of magic?" she asked. "Tell me more."

Veyran nodded slowly. "Yes. But let me clarify first. The Sunshy," he gestured dismissively, "know nothing about what I speak of. They know about arclith, but they cannot truly shape or wield it. Their hands are made for weapons, not for power."

The overseer's lips curved slightly. "So? What is it that brought you here this evening? How did you manage to make your way to my desk?"

Veyran laid his hand on the arclith. "I felt your stone calling me," he lied, hoping she wouldn't see through his deception. "I knew you had it in your possession. It reawakened my skills, provided me with the energy to cast magic again. Enough to sneak out and break into your lovely home," he explained.

"So, that's how and why I escaped the generous accommodations you've provided us in the workshop. The others don't even know I left."

Sylven's pulse hammered as Uiska continued sharing his viewpoint. He almost cut the thread of the bond. "How in the Deep does he think he'll pull this off!?" he couldn't keep himself from exclaiming.

"Is it betrayal?" Mara whispered, her voice edged with steel.

Sylven shook his head. "Not yet. He's spinning a story. He hasn't turned on us. He's making it sound like he got out on his own."

"We should have known he was up to something," Mara groaned.

Sylven ran a hand through his hair, barely containing his disbelief. "I can't tell if he's brilliant or suicidal."

Uiska sent back the sensation of being both tired of maintaining the stream and bored of sitting around watching Veyran and the overseer toying with each other.

Veyran focused on the arclith secured to his wrist. He let the power seep into his limbs—as much as the small shard could provide. "Magic," he said softly, casting a minor light spell. A small, bright orb floated over his hands.

To him, it was a respectable display. To the overseer? Barely better than a firefly.

Her expression remained unreadable.

He changed tactics. He lifted a finger, a faint ripple of energy dancing at its tip. A gust of wind swept over the surface of the desk. Not powerful, but enough to rustle her papers.

Rhiannon's brows lifted. "You can cast," she beamed.

Veyran nodded, a drop of sweat snaking down his neck. Good thing it was too small for her to notice.

The overseer studied Veyran with interest. Her sharp gaze swept over him—not just his stance, not just his unusual mastery of human speech, but his features. She did realize now that he was... different from the others, as he'd described himself. Slightly taller than the Shy she had seen, but slimmer, paler. His hair and eyes favored cool, muted shades, unlike the Sunshy whose tones leaned darker and warmer.

She found herself strangely drawn to his confidence, to the way he carried himself despite his diminutive stature. If he were human-sized, she thought frivolously, he might even be attractive.

But he was a six-inch-tall magic caster, and that made him even more alluring. She reached out to grab him, enclosing his torso with her hand.

She raised Veyran to her face until they looked eye to eye. "What do you want?" she asked.

He forced himself to breathe despite the pressure of her fingers around his body. He lifted his chin slightly. Neither too bold nor too meek.

"First, I want you to leave them alone," he said carefully. "The others. The Sunshy. They don't know anything about magic. They are useless to you in this regard."

The overseer's expression didn't change, but her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "And in return?"

Veyran's fingers tightened around his shard. He had already committed to this. There was no going back. "I am willing to teach you what I know."

Rhiannon smiled, flashing her teeth. She was so close Veryan could feel her breath on his skin.

Veyran forced himself to keep speaking. "I will stay here with you. Teach you about magic. How we use shards to channel and cast it. But… I'll also need to chip them off from your pretty rock down there."

She set him back down on the desk. Rhiannon admitted to herself that there was something thrilling about their potential arrangement, a puzzle to unravel, a game to play, the kind she enjoyed winning. Her silence as she considered his offer almost stretched Veyran's nerves to the breaking point. A few more seconds and he would have been tempted to cast Blur again then Jump right out of the window.

However, the overseer eventually nodded. "Very well," she said simply.

Veyran's heart rose, then immediately sank, even as he maintained his composure. He had done what he set out to do—protect the others, gain access to the arclith. His gamble worked. But at what cost? Relief warred with guilt and fear in his heart. He was now shackled to a human who saw him as little more than a tool.

As Rhiannon turned away, her perfume lingering in the air, Veyran glanced at Uiska. The pika's eyes were wide, filled with a mixture of worry and puzzlement. Through the bond, Sylven's voice echoed in Uiska's mind, sharp and urgent. What has he done?

Veyran couldn't answer. He wasn't even aware that the others already knew. But he would make sure to find a way to explain, a way to make things right. He knew he was good at this, at the give-and-take, at smiling upfront while clutching a knife at one's back. He'd better be, because he was perched on a tightrope. And the bargain was far from closed. In fact, for him it had only just come undone.

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