Viktor and Voralis moved through the lively streets, their boots tapping softly against the stone-paved road. The evening light stretched their shadows long across the ground, and a crisp breeze carried the scent of baked bread and roasting meat. The distant hum of conversations wove together into a murmur, the occasional burst of laughter punctuating the rhythm of the town winding down for the night.

  Voralis exhaled through his nose, tilting his head slightly as he scanned the homes along the street. "Alright, let's see how much your range has improved." He gestured toward a modest house, lantern light glowing behind its curtains. "How many people inside?"

  Viktor halted, closing his eyes briefly. His brow furrowed, then relaxed. "Seven," he murmured.

  Voralis arched a brow. "That was fast. And what are they up to?"

  "Two are in the kitchen. One chopping, the other stirring something—probably a stew." Viktor's lips quirked slightly. "The rest are near the fireplace. Sitting, talking. One's gesturing a lot."

  Voralis let out a low hum of approval. "Not bad. How certain are you?"

  "Ninety percent?" Viktor shrugged. "It’s a little hazy when people move around."

  Voralis gave a small nod, then pointed to another house down the lane. "And there?"

  Viktor didn't even need to close his eyes this time. "Three. Sitting at a table, eating."

  "And that one?" Voralis pointed farther now, across the street and past a small courtyard, toward a house nearly a hundred yards away. His expression was unreadable, though his eyes held a glint of challenge.

  Viktor inhaled, focusing. This one took a bit longer. His brows knit together in deep concentration. "Two," he finally said, though with less certainty. "Harder to tell, but... they’re moving slower. Kitchen, maybe. Preparing something."

  "Let’s move closer. See if your instincts hold up."

  The two strode toward the residence, their footsteps a quiet rhythm against the gravel. The air carried the distant sound of a fiddle, likely from an inn nearby. As they neared the house, Viktor flexed his fingers absently, testing his focus once more.

  Voralis threw him a sidelong glance. "Well?"

  Viktor's lips curled into a faint smirk. "Two," he confirmed. "And yeah... they’re preparing dinner."

  Voralis chuckled. "You’re getting sharper. That took less effort than before."

  "It’s strange," Viktor admitted, his tone more thoughtful now. "It’s not like seeing exactly. It’s more like... feeling. There’s a sphere around me, like a bubble of awareness. Inside it, everything is clear. But at the edges, it’s fuzzy. The further I push, the harder it is to define—but I can feel it stretching. Almost like I'm reaching through the fog."

  "It's a powerful ability, Viktor," Voralis mused. "The tactical advantage alone is worth more than any amount of gold in the right hands." He let a grin tug at the corner of his lips. "Too bad it ain't in the right hands."

  Viktor let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Funny thing is, it all started with just lock-picking. I was just 'feeling' the tumblers inside a lock. Now?" He exhaled. "Using it for that feels almost... insulting."

  Voralis smirked. "Don’t get cocky. You never know when you’ll need to get through a locked door. Quickly."

  "Sure, but at this point, I probably wouldn't even need to unlock it."

  "I guess that depends on how sturdy the door is," Voralis countered, amusement in his voice.

  They shared a knowing look before Voralis nodded back in the direction they had come. "Let’s head back. Cadugan’s session with your friends should be wrapping up soon. If we hurry, we can still make it to dinner."

  "You had me at 'dinner,'" Viktor said, grinning as they turned back toward the heart of the town.

  Viktor and Voralis returned to the dining hall, the hum of conversation washing over them like a familiar tune.

  "Good work today," Voralis acknowledged as they stepped inside.

  "Thanks," Viktor replied, stretching his arms overhead. "It was a fun session."

  "No lessons tomorrow for the recruits," Voralis continued. "And I'll be out most of the day, so might not see you until the day after."

  Viktor smirked. "You won't hear me complaining."

  Voralis chuckled. "Somehow, I expected that." He scanned the room briefly. "I'm off to find Mikos. Laters."

  "Alright, laters," Viktor said with a casual wave, already shifting his focus to finding his friends. He quickly caught sight of Soren seated at a nearby table with Arelos, looking thoroughly entertained by something.

  Across the room, it appeared a standoff was unfolding between Fenric and another recruit, Torvic. Torvic had joined late last year with a batch of fresh recruits, and from the looks of it, he was currently on the receiving end of Fenric’s wrath.

  "Didn't your mama teach you not to steal?" Fenric accused, arms crossed over his chest as he glared at Torvic.

  Arelos, seated a few feet away, let out a quiet laugh and remarked just loud enough for both Soren and Viktor to hear, "That’s ironic coming from him. He does realize that, right?"

  Viktor raised an eyebrow. "What did I miss?"

  Soren leaned back in his chair, grinning. "Fenric was upstairs and noticed his favorite mug missing. Then he walks down here and sees Torvic drinking from it like he owns the damn thing."

  Viktor snorted. "And he’s escalating it, I assume?"

  "Of course."

  Meanwhile, Torvic leaned back in his seat, unimpressed. "You calling me a thief?"

  Fenric pointed at the mug like it was an artifact of great importance. "That right there is mine, and you better hand it over right now!"

  Torvic tilted his head. "Or what?"

  Fenric squared his shoulders. "Or I'm going to erase your entire bloodline."

  Torvic blinked. "Seriously? You do realize I’m an orphan, right?"

  Fenric waved dismissively. "Bah, I’m sure you’ve got a second or third cousin somewhere."

  Torvic narrowed his eyes. "Even if I did, how exactly would you find them?"

  Fenric turned dramatically to Arelos. "Arelos?"

  Arelos sighed, rubbing his temple. "Well, theoretically, he’d probably have to start by traveling to your place of origin and ask around. Maybe check the local temple records, see if he can find any documents tracing the lineage. It’s possible, but honestly? I'd give it a fairly low success rate."

  Fenric nodded smugly, as if that settled the matter in his favor.

  Viktor whispered to Arelos, "Why are you encouraging him?"

  Arelos gave a small shrug. "I wasn’t. I was just answering the question. I always encourage people to ask questions. Especially Fenric. He should be asking a lot of questions. Seriously. A lot."

  Torvic exhaled in amusement. "Honestly, if that’s what you want to dedicate your life to, be my guest. Give them my regards."

  Soren suddenly burst out laughing. "Oh gods. I can just imagine it now. Fenric descends upon some distant third cousin’s unsuspecting family like a plague, picking them off one by one. The survivors grow increasingly desperate, visiting every temple in search of answers, convinced they’re cursed. No one can trace it back to him. Generations pass. A local legend forms. A feud erupts. Entire villages are drawn into the chaos. Centuries later, historians uncover remnants of an epic blood war… all because of a damn mug."

  Silence fell over the group as everyone stared at Soren.

  "What?" Soren asked, still grinning. "Too dark?"

  Viktor shook his head slightly. "A bit, yeah."

  Soren shrugged. "I thought it was funny."

  For a moment, nobody spoke—until Torvic let out a chuckle. Slowly at first, but it built, growing into full-blown belly laughter. The absurdity of it all seemed to hit him at once.

  The others exchanged glances before they too started laughing. Even Fenric, despite himself, cracked a grin and let out a chuckle.

  Viktor wiped a tear from his eye, shaking his head. "Entertaining though this may have been, I can recognize that stupid mug anywhere. Torvic, just hand it over and let's be done with this."

  Torvic hesitated, glancing between Viktor and Fenric, then exhaled dramatically before turning to Fenric. "Fine, take your stupid mug."

  He lobbed it at Fenric, who caught it with ease.

  "See? Was that so hard? Next time, keep your wandering fingers to yourself," Fenric grumbled, plopping back into his seat and picking up his utensils as if nothing had happened.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  He glanced over at Viktor, raising an eyebrow. "Hey Vik, you’re back early. Not often you grace us with your presence at dinner time."

  Viktor raised a hand. "Hold that thought, let me go grab food first."

  Viktor returned with a tray of food, the aroma of roasted meat and herbs drifting through the air as he settled into his seat. He took a slow breath, savoring the scent before reaching for a piece of crisped bread.

  Fenric drummed his fingers on the table. "Took your time, didn’t you? Thought you might’ve run off on another secret mission."

  Viktor smirked. "Had to make sure the food wasn’t poisoned. You know how it is."

  Soren rolled his eyes. "Please. If anyone’s poisoning your food, it’s you, with how much salt you dump on everything."

  Viktor took a deliberate bite of his potato, chewed thoughtfully, and shrugged. "Builds resistance."

  Fenric snorted. "That’s not how that works."

  Viktor smirked. "Anyways, what were you saying before?"

  Fenric tapped his chin. "Oh, right. Was just wondering what brings you back so early. Not often you have the luxury of gracing us with your presence."

  Viktor smirked. "Voralis figured we could move up the schedule a bit since I had time off from the usual training with Cadugan. Yesterday’s assignment shuffled things around."

  Soren raised a brow. "You’ve been missing a lot of sessions lately. People are talking, you know."

  Fenric leaned in, eyes glinting. "And not just idle talk either. They’re weaving full-blown legends about you."

  Viktor exhaled through his nose, amused. "Yeah? And what’s the latest fable?"

  Soren’s grin widened. "Where do I start? Some say you’re secretly related to the warden and getting special treatment. Others claim you’re being groomed to take over the whole operation. Then there’s the particularly dramatic theory that you’re being prepped for some high-level infiltration role in the military."

  Viktor chuckled, shaking his head. "That last one’s my favorite."

  Fenric nudged him with his elbow. "Come on, admit it. You love being the center of a good mystery."

  Viktor took another bite, chewed, and gave a noncommittal shrug. "Maybe a little. Keeps them entertained."

  Soren rested his chin on his fist. "If you’re not careful, they’ll start expecting you to sprout wings or shoot fire from your hands."

  Fenric grinned. "You joke, but I heard someone swear they saw you disappear into thin air last week."

  Viktor snorted. "I stepped into a dark corridor. Not exactly the same as turning invisible."

  "Details, details," Fenric waved a hand dismissively.

  Soren’s eyes gleamed. "Speaking of distractions, tomorrow’s our day off. How about a trip to the Outrider’s Den? It’s been months since we last went."

  Viktor arched a brow. "Outrider’s Den, huh? Tempting. I could use a change of scenery."

  Arelos, who had been silent until now, leaned back and stretched. "Sure. Could be fun."

  Fenric pointed a finger. "I’m in—on one condition."

  Viktor narrowed his eyes. "Let me guess. Someone you’d rather avoid?"

  Fenric sighed dramatically. "If 'he' is coming, count me out."

  Soren smirked. "Oh, you mean—"

  Before he could finish, a voice rang out from behind them. "What are you turds gossiping about?"

  They turned to find Mira grinning at them, arms folded casually across her chest.

  Viktor was the first to react, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Hey you."

  Mira tilted her head, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Hey you. So—what did I miss?"

  Viktor chuckled. "Well, for starters, Fenric was threatening to go after Torvic’s family."

  Mira raised an eyebrow, her amusement barely contained. "You do realize Torvic’s an orphan, right? Not exactly a strong bargaining chip."

  Fenric let out an exaggerated sigh and waved a dismissive hand. "Yes, yes, we’ve been over this already."

  "I mean, you did make the threat," Arelos pointed out, not looking up from his plate.

  Fenric shot him a look. "Look, at least my heart was in the right place."

  Viktor shook his head, still grinning. "Anyway, we’re heading to the Outrider’s tomorrow. You in?"

  Mira opened her mouth, but before she could answer, Fenric interjected with a scowl. "Hold on. She can come, sure, but I ain’t going if Jax is tagging along."

  Mira sighed, already exasperated. "Fenric, honestly. Will you ever get over whatever your problem is with him?"

  "No," Fenric said flatly. "Next question."

  Mira rolled her eyes. "Well, you’ll be pleased to know that Jax won’t be able to make it. But, for the record, I won’t either. I’ve got plans."

  Viktor leaned forward. "Plans? Oh, now you’ve got my attention. What kind of plans?"

  Mira smirked. "Wouldn’t you like to know."

  "Well yeah, that’s why I’m asking," Viktor shot back, mirroring her smirk.

  "And I’m choosing not to answer," Mira countered smoothly, crossing her arms tighter.

  Viktor let out a dramatic sigh. "Fine. Keep your secrets."

  Mira laughed, but then her expression turned more thoughtful. "Tell you what—how about we all meet at the abandoned house later? Say, an hour past sunset?"

  Viktor looked around at the group. Arelos gave a small shrug, unbothered. Fenric, however, crossed his arms even tighter and narrowed his eyes.

  "Will Jax be there?" he demanded.

  Mira let out a tired sigh. "I assume so, yeah. I’m definitely inviting him at least."

  Viktor elbowed Fenric playfully. "C’mon, Fen. You’re gonna have to learn to get along with him at some point."

  Fenric scoffed. "Says who?"

  "Says me," Viktor said, grinning.

  Fenric snorted. "Oh, is that so? And who, pray tell, made you king of Fenric?"

  "I did. It was a unanimous decision," Viktor said proudly.

  Mira shook her head. "You’re all idiots. Well except Arelos."

  "Hey! What did I do?" Soren protested.

  "And Soren" Mira added, rolling her eyes.

  Fenric sighed in defeat. "Fine, but he better not start anything."

  Arelos, still chewing, muttered under his breath, "If anyone’s gonna start something, I’d put my coins on Fenric."

  Fenric turned to him. "What was that? Didn’t quite catch that last bit."

  Arelos simply shook his head and resumed eating, choosing not to engage further.

  Viktor clapped his hands together. "Alright then! It’s settled. We hit the Outrider’s Den in the afternoon and then meet up at the usual spot after sundown."

  Mira nodded approvingly. "Oh, and while you're out—pick up some ‘supply.’ We’re running low."

  Viktor gave a firm nod. "You got it."

  Fenric let out a grumble. "Just so we’re clear—if Jax so much as breathes wrong, I’m walking."

  Mira smirked. "Noted. I'll tell him to start meditating the moment I see him."

  Fenric huffed, but said nothing.

  Whispers slithered through the dining hall like a slow-moving tide. Heads turned. Spoons clattered against bowls. Conversations died mid-sentence.

  "The warden's here."

  Viktor glanced up just in time to see Faros standing at the entrance, his sharp eyes sweeping over the crowd. A moment later, they landed on Viktor. Faros's expression shifted—just slightly—a quick smile, a nod, and then he was gone, slipping back through the doorway like a ghost.

  Soren leaned in, brows raised. "What was that about?"

  Before Viktor could answer, Mira smirked and gave him a nudge. "Maybe he's here to check on his long-lost nephew."

  Viktor snorted. "Shut up."

  "Or," Fenric began, dramatically lowering his voice, "maybe word’s gotten out that there’s a thief among us. A cunning, dastardly fiend who preys upon the most cherished possessions of his fellow recruits."

  Viktor rolled his eyes. "For the last time, Fen, it’s just a mug."

  Fenric gasped as though Viktor had uttered a personal insult. He cradled the battered wooden object closer to his chest. "How dare you?"

  "It’s chipped. It’s stained. It looks like it’s been through a war."

  Fenric scoffed. "Exactly! That’s what makes it special. You don’t just drink from a mug like this—you form a bond. A sacred connection."

  Mira grinned. "This is getting weird. Should we leave you two alone?"

  Viktor shook his head, amused, but his thoughts drifted back to Faros. The warden wasn’t one for casual visits, and Arelos, ever the keen observer, seemed to share his unease.

  "Whatever it is," Arelos muttered, his gaze fixed on the door, "I don’t think it’s good."

  Viktor turned toward him. "What makes you say that?"

  Arelos exhaled through his nose, rubbing his temple. "You really didn’t see it? The tension?"

  Soren shrugged. "Seemed normal to me."

  Mira nodded. "Yeah, if anything, he looked bored. Like he realized he walked into the wrong room and wanted to leave."

  "That was not boredom." Arelos shook his head. "That was urgency."

  Viktor frowned, thinking back. "Well, none of us have the honor of being the warden’s personal spy, so what do we know?"

  Arelos let out a tired sigh. "I ain’t his spy. But I know when something’s up."

  Fenric, still clutching his mug, tilted his head. "Well, whatever it is, worrying won’t change it. Might as well finish our meal before the world ends."

  Viktor smirked. "Now there’s some wisdom."

  Fenric raised his mug. "To the end of the world. And to well-loved drinking vessels."

  Mira groaned. "Please don’t toast with that thing."

  Faros strode into the dining hall, his eyes sweeping across the room. He was looking for both Mikos and Voralis, but neither were in sight. Instead, he spotted Viktor sitting at a nearby table with his usual group. He considered approaching him for a moment, but discarded the thought just as quickly—there was no time for idle conversation. He needed to find Mikos and Voralis now.

  Without hesitation, he made his way to Mikos' office and pushed the door open without knocking. Inside, Mikos and his assistant, Gavric, both looked up from their work. Mikos raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

  “Have you seen Voralis?” Faros asked, his tone clipped.

  Gavric nodded. “He went to his room a few minutes ago.”

  “Fetch him,” Faros instructed. “And make sure we aren’t disturbed.”

  Gavric barely hesitated before rising. “Of course, Warden.” He slipped out the door without another word.

  Mikos leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping idly against the wooden desk. “You’re wound tighter than a bowstring. What’s going on?”

  Faros exhaled sharply. “Let’s wait for Voralis.”

  Mikos, unimpressed, reached for a piece of parchment and held it out. “Fine. While we wait, take a look at this budget proposal.”

  Faros took it and skimmed the contents, his brow furrowing. “Do you really need this many practice knives replaced?”

  Mikos shrugged. “They’re going through them like they’re tossing them into bonfires.”

  Faros huffed a short breath. “Fine. I’ll make sure it gets approved.”

  A moment later, the door creaked open and Voralis stepped inside, his usual calm demeanor unshaken. He nodded to both men before taking a seat.

  Faros took a deep breath. “I received two messages today. There’s been a development. It’s not official yet, but the king will likely be pronounced dead tomorrow.”

  Mikos stiffened, eyes widening. “What?!”

  Voralis, simply folded his arms. “Your source—what's your confidence level?”

  “High,” Faros said. “The report suggests he passed away unexpectedly last night.”

  Mikos ran a hand through his hair. “Do we suspect foul play?”

  Faros exhaled slowly. “It’s impossible to say for certain. No official word yet.”

  Voralis tilted his head slightly. “Does it even matter? Unless it was a public death, people will suspect the Carolians regardless.”

  “Exactly,” Faros agreed. “And the timing couldn’t be worse.”

  Mikos rubbed his chin. “The Carolian boy is still too young to rule. That means a regency council?”

  Faros nodded. “Most likely with the duke in charge.”

  Voralis sighed. “That’s going to make things messy. The other dukes won’t sit idly by.”

  “They’ll see it as a blatant power grab,” Mikos muttered. “And they wouldn’t be wrong.”

  Faros leaned against the desk. “That’s what concerns me.”

  Mikos blew out a breath. “But the Carolian duke isn’t an idiot. He must know this.”

  Voralis gave a short nod. “Of course he does. But knowing him, that won’t stop him.”

  “They might not have had a hand in the king’s death,” Faros said, “but people will assume they did.”

  Mikos studied Faros for a long moment. “Something tells me you didn’t just come here to warn us of impending civil war. What was the other message?”

  Faros straightened. “The northern threat is on the move.”

  Voralis' expression darkened. “The mage?”

  Faros nodded. “He’s heading for Lycona.”

  Mikos' jaw clenched. “How soon?”

  “Two days, give or take.”

  Voralis exhaled through his nose, his fingers tightening on his arms. “Do we think he’s coming for the guild?”

  Faros shook his head. “No way to know, but we need to be ready for anything.”

  Mikos' eyes narrowed. “Suspicious timing, don’t you think?”

  Faros met his gaze. “I suspect he has the same information we do.”

  Mikos let out a low curse. “So the kingdom is about to collapse, and now we have a rogue mage making a move.”

  Voralis tapped a finger against the armrest of his chair. “What do you need us to do?”

  “The next couple of days should be quiet,” Faros said, “but increase guard numbers, especially at night. I’m pulling operatives from the field—two will be stationed here within two days.”

  Mikos nodded. “I’ll draw up a new guard schedule.”

  “Good,” Faros said. “The first message also came with a request for me to see the guild leader in person. I’ll be travelling to the capital tonight.”

  Mikos raised a brow. “How long do you expect to be gone?”

  Faros shrugged. “No specifics in the message, so let’s assume at least two weeks.”

  Mikos exchanged a look with Voralis before nodding. “We’ll hold the fort.”

  “Good.” Faros paused, then added, “And before I forget—do not speak a word of this before the news breaks.”

  “Guild’s worried about protecting the source?” Mikos guessed.

  Faros nodded. “If this leaks before the official announcement, our informant will be the first person they suspect.”

  Voralis gave a curt nod. “Understood.”

  Mikos leaned back, rubbing his temples. “A king dead, a civil war brewing, and a powerful mage heading our way. Excellent. Just the kind of week I was hoping for.”

  Faros allowed himself a dry smile. “Tell me about it.”