Thorne felt bone-tired. The kind of weariness that didn't just sit in the muscles but hollowed you out from the inside. Last night's training with Marian had left him wrung dry, and even his high Spirit attribute wasn't enough to patch over the drain. Every step through the day felt like dragging iron chains. Every breath reminded him of the way aether could leave you gutted when you forced too much of it through fragile mortal conduits.

By the time Battle Magic & Spell Augmentation rolled around, he could barely hold Ashthorn steady. His attempt at the shielding spell fizzled once, twice, then collapsed outright on the third try, flickering to ash sparks.

"What in the Seven Stars is wrong with you?" Cassian Revenaire snapped across the dueling floor, eyes flashing like he wanted to take the failure personally. "It's a simple barrier. A first-year barrier."

Thorne didn't bother answering. He just gritted his teeth, tried again, and felt the lattice crumble before it even finished forming.

The rest of his classes blurred by in a haze. If not for the others, he might have actually fallen asleep at his desk.

"You look like death," Elias stage-whispered as they filed out into the courtyard, his ears twitching with glee. "And not in the sexy brooding way, either. What happened? Did you..." his eyes widened, scandal-bright, "sleep with Isadora? No, wait. Better. Did Amira throw you into a pit of vipers as punishment for ruining her party?"

Thorne gave him a flat look, but Elias was already warming up, theories tumbling out of him one after another.

"Or maybe, hear me out, you snuck into the Arcanum vault and accidentally unleashed a demon made of parchment and overdue essays. That would explain why you look like you haven't slept in a week."

Thorne rubbed his temple. "Elias…"

"What? I'm just trying to help solve the mystery of your tragic, hollow eyes."

Nyssha, by contrast, was disturbingly precise. Her obsidian form gleamed faintly in the sun as she tilted her head at him. You have aether fatigue, her voice brushed against his mind, cool and direct. Were you experimenting with a new spell?

When he nodded, distracted, she began recounting in perfect detail the occasions she had fatigued herself attempting ritual work, dates, times, the precise sequence of symptoms she had noted, even how long the effects had lasted. She might as well have been reading from a ledger.

Lucian had joined their little knot somewhere along the path, though Thorne wasn't sure when. His shirt was half-unbuttoned, as usual, his grin a little too sharp, but his attention, for once, wasn't on Thorne. He was staring at Nyssha with the intensity of a scholar glimpsing a forbidden manuscript.

"So you always speak like this?" he asked, fascination bleeding through. "Directly, I mean. No words? Just… into the mind? And your society is structured around that?"

Nyssha hesitated, shifting her gaze toward Thorne. Do you want me to converse with him? she asked privately. What is the level of your friendship, so I can adjust accordingly?

Thorne groaned under his breath. "Just… do what you want."

She inclined her head and turned her flame-like eyes on Lucian. Darklings view speech as sacred. It is used for ritual, for covenant, for naming. Not idle chatter. We prefer thoughts. They cannot lie.

Lucian's grin widened, intrigued rather than put off. "Fascinating. Do you mean you're incapable of deception? Or is it simply… culturally impolite?"

Elias leaned in, eager to stir the pot. "He is asking if you'd see right through him if he tried his usual charming lies."

Lucian's head snapped toward Elias, who smirked innocently.

Both, Nyssha added without hesitation, ignoring the tension. We do not waste energy on lies. They corrode memory. Truth is cleaner.

Elias let out a low whistle. "You hear that, Thorne? We should get her to sit in on our exams. Imagine the chaos."

Thorne closed his eyes briefly. "Please don't give her ideas."

Lucian, however, looked more enthralled than ever. "And this, what you're doing now. Talking to all of us? Or just some?"

Nyssha's response was simple: You all hear me now.

Elias jumped, looking around like a lunatic, as if trying to find where the voice in his head was coming from "Okay, nope, not used to that."

Lucian only chuckled. "Remarkable."

If you dislike it, I can adjust.

"Oh no, don't stop," Elias said quickly, waving his hands. "I like hearing voices in my head. Makes me feel less alone."

Thorne pinched the bridge of his nose, bone-tired, fighting not to laugh.

Nyssha, of course, didn't laugh. She simply filed the information away. Then I will continue. It is efficient.

Lucian opened his mouth, already forming another question, but Thorne cut him off with a tired sigh. "Both of you, let her breathe. She doesn't exist to feed your curiosities."

Nyssha tilted her head toward him. It is all right. I prefer clarity. Their questions are not offensive. I can choose when to answer.

Elias smirked at Thorne. "See? She likes me more than you."

Thorne stared at him flatly. "Elias, I don't think she likes anyone."

Nyssha considered that for a moment. That is inaccurate. I find you tolerable.

Elias slapped a hand over his heart as if he'd been declared king of the world. "Tolerable! You all heard it."

Lucian barked a laugh, Nyssha stared unblinking, and Thorne finally gave in and laughed, quiet, weary, but real.

***

The Astral Hall glittered as always, its vaulted dome full of shifting constellations that spilled pale light over the long rows of tables. Students laughed, traded stories, and ate from plates that never seemed to empty. Thorne dragged his feet on the way in, fighting to keep his eyes open after the morning's gauntlet of classes. Lucian, of course, looked like he'd just rolled out of someone else's bed, shirt half-unbuttoned, smirk firmly in place.

"There," Lucian nudged him, nodding toward the Aegis table. Elias was gesturing wildly with both hands, Nyssha sitting across from him like a carved idol, only the faintest tilts of her head betraying she was asking questions into his mind. Elias would pause mid-rant, nod, then answer the silence like a lunatic on parade. "Do you think the Aegis brood will mind if I sit down?"

Thorne shrugged, shoulders heavy. "I'm an honorary Aegis sometimes."

Lucian arched a brow. "Really?"

"Yes," Thorne muttered, too tired to dress it up. "When I can't be bothered with Ronan and Vivienne."

Lucian barked a laugh. "Gods, that's cold."

"Not cold. Just… true."

Lucian shook his head, still grinning. "You're impossible."

Thorne looked at him. "What's with your fascination with Nyssha anyway?"

Lucian's smirk softened into something genuine. "First time I've ever seen a darkling. Let alone talked to one. They're fascinating, like living statues. I've read about them, but I never thought I'd see one up close."

Thorne gave him a sidelong glance. "She's not a display piece."

"I know. Doesn't make her less interesting."

They reached the table. Elias spotted them instantly and waved like a flag, nearly tipping his goblet over. "Finally! You two walk slower than priests at a funeral."

Nyssha turned her head, flame-lit eyes fixing on Thorne as he sat down. You look more tired than you did this morning. Is this normal for you?

"He's fine," Elias answered aloud, still grinning. "I already diagnosed him earlier. It's either a broken heart or secret poison training."

Lucian dropped lazily onto the bench beside Nyssha. "Careful, Elias. Keep talking over her like that and she might decide you're unworthy of thought."

"She already told me I'm tolerable," Elias shot back proudly. "Which is basically the highest compliment I've ever gotten in this school."

Nyssha inclined her head gravely. It is true.

Thorne couldn't stop himself from smirking at Elias's preening.

The food appeared on their plates, roasted fowl dripping with glaze, steaming vegetables, fresh bread and for a moment, conversation dipped as they ate. Then, like a pebble into a pond, a new presence rippled into their circle.

"Mind if I sit?"

Isadora.

She hovered at the edge of the bench, her expression hesitant in a way Thorne wasn't used to seeing. She'd been avoiding him since the party. Now, with half the Astral Hall watching, she lowered herself gracefully into the space beside Elias, the table seeming to shift around her like a current bending to a stone. More than a few men from nearby benches openly stared.

"Thorne," she greeted brightly, too brightly, her smile just a little too wide. "You look… well."

Thorne narrowed his eyes but said nothing, watching her settle.

Her attention flitted almost immediately to Nyssha. "And you must be… oh stars, I don't remember seeing you at the party."

Nyssha tilted her head. You did not. You were intoxicated beyond function. It was unlikely you would have remembered even if I had introduced myself. My given name is Nyssha.

The silence that followed was absolute. Elias's shoulders shook as he fought not to laugh. Lucian leaned back, openly grinning, waiting for the explosion.

Isadora blinked, then gave a tinkling laugh that rang a little too high. "Well… fair enough, I suppose. I was celebrating."

Yes, Nyssha agreed without malice. Your veins glowed with poisoned light. You collapsed.

Thorne pinched the bridge of his nose. Elias lost the battle and snorted into his cup.

"Direct," Lucian murmured appreciatively. "I like her."

Isadora cleared her throat, still smiling though her cheeks had gone pink. "I... well... pleasure to meet you, Nyssha."

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

And you, Nyssha said evenly. Though I do not yet know if it will be pleasurable.

Elias outright wheezed, pounding the table with his fist. "Gods, this is the best lunch I've had in months."

Thorne shook his head, but despite himself, he felt something in his chest ease. It was ridiculous. It was awkward. And it was the closest thing to normal he'd had since the party.

"Nyssha," Elias said, trying to keep a straight face, "you have to stop, Isadora's going to melt from embarrassment."

I do not believe she will melt, Nyssha answered calmly. Though her face does appear hotter than usual. Perhaps a fever.

Lucian chuckled low. "No fever. That's just pride and humiliation colliding."

Isadora sniffed, straightening her back. "At least I'm not talking to invisible voices like Elias."

"I'll have you know," Elias said, puffing up, "I'm talking to one of the most brilliant people in the school. You just can't hear her."

"That makes you sound even more insane," Isadora said sweetly.

Thorne rubbed at his temple. "All of you are insufferable."

"Finally, something we can all agree on," Lucian said, raising his goblet.

The group laughed, even Nyssha in her strange, toneless way that brushed the edges of their minds. For a brief moment, the noise of the hall faded, and it felt like they were simply… friends.

But Thorne's eyelids were dragging, his bones heavy. He pushed his plate away. "I'm done. If I sit here any longer, I'll fall asleep on the table."

Lucian looked up sharply. "Skipping classes?"

"Yes."

Lucian frowned. "Thorne..."

Thorne waved a hand dismissively. "Relax. If I don't get some sleep, I'll be useless at Argessa's tonight. And unlike some of you, I actually work."

Nyssha blinked at him, her head tilting in that unsettling way. You labor?

"Labor," Thorne echoed flatly.

Yes. A student who fights and labors. Curious. It is… grounding.

Isadora leaned her chin on her palm, lips curling into a lazy smile. "So working-class of you, Thorne. A man of the people. How quaint."

Elias let out a bark of laughter. "By the gods, I'm going to choke. Can you picture him in a tavern apron?"

"I will kill you," Thorne muttered without heat.

He stood, gathering himself, and despite the exhaustion pulling at him, he managed a small bow of mock-formality to the table. "Try not to destroy the hall while I'm gone. I'd like to come back to it in one piece."

Lucian still looked faintly worried, but Thorne was already walking away, his steps heavy but purposeful. The noise of the Astral Hall faded behind him as he made for the quiet solitude of his room.

***

The plaza at the foot of the Staircase of Light was always alive, but today it seemed to thrum with extra energy. The white-gold stairs that tethered Aetherhold to the world below pulsed faintly overhead, every ripple of its radiant surface casting moving shadows across the city. Market criers shouted over one another, their voices amplified by whisper-charms that made their words slip uncomfortably close to the ear. Stalls brimmed with wares that gleamed faintly with enchantment, quills that scribbled without ink, crystal vials that hummed softly when uncorked, bread rolls kept steaming hot by woven glyph-paper. The air carried the scents of spiced meats, caramelized fruits, and acrid aether-smoke from tinkers' booths.

Thorne moved through the crush with easy familiarity, his senses sharp again after his nap. He brushed off hawkers trying to shove "memory stones" and "quick-learn scrolls" into his hands, keeping his focus. His boots struck a small arched bridge, its cobblestones glowing faintly with every step, sigils beneath the stone responding lazily to the weight of passersby. Evermist never let you forget you lived in the shadow of magic.

The upscale merchant district loomed ahead, all polished fronts and clean wards humming faintly in the doorframes. Here, illusions gleamed above each shop, alchemy flasks bubbling over one, a stylized book that flipped itself endlessly above another, a clockwork serpent coiling around an artificer's signboard.

Thorne bought his supplies with the quick efficiency of someone used to counting every coin: powdered ironroot and ashcaps for Alchemy, a replacement copy of Principia Elementa for his spell theory class, and a pouch of rune-stubs for Construct Theory.

He was tucking the last into his dimensional pouch when he felt it, fingers brushing clumsy at his belt. Thorne turned smoothly, pivoting with the muscle memory of someone who had grown up surviving such tricks. The hand withdrew instantly. A flash of movement, bare feet slapping stone, and the culprit bolted through the crowd.

Thorne exhaled through his nose, a faint smile tugging at him despite himself. That run. That panic. He'd been that boy once, darting through Alvar's slums with Jonah or Eliza at his side, laughing with stolen bread in hand. The memory soured almost instantly, bitter as rot. He shook his head sharply, cutting it off before it could drag him down.

The boy hadn't gone far. Thorne spotted him again in a narrow alley that spat back onto the main street. Twelve, maybe younger. Greasy blond hair, pale eyes sharp with hunger, darting from mark to mark. Thorne's gaze followed his line of sight and landed on a tall, thin man in layered robes, the sort favored by city magisters. Soft-featured, harmless-looking at first glance. But Thorne's eyes caught the glint of a wand half-peeking from his pocket, the careless angle of someone who didn't look careless at all.

Thorne's stomach tightened. Bad target. If the boy tried it, he wouldn't walk away whole.

Thorne slipped into the alley like a shadow, his steps silent even without effort. The boy hadn't noticed him yet, too busy measuring his mark. Thorne's hand shot out and clamped onto the skinny wrist before it could twitch toward the robed magister.

The boy yelped, eyes snapping wide. He tried to jerk free, but Thorne didn't loosen his grip.

"You've got sharp eyes," Thorne murmured, voice low enough that only the boy could hear. "But not sharp enough. Look again. The weave of his robes, see the faint shimmer? Enchanted. And that wand half showing?" He tilted his head slightly. "Not sloppy. Bait. He wants someone to try."

The boy's face drained of color. His eyes darted to Thorne's face, recognition sparking. "You're the one... Earlier..."

"Mm." Thorne finally let go. The kid rubbed his wrist nervously, too shaken to bolt.

"You want to eat tonight?" Thorne asked. "You need a safer target." He scanned the flow of bodies, then pointed toward a merchant waddling under the weight of jewelry and silks, his coin pouch bouncing with every step. "That's what you're looking for. Someone so busy flashing their wealth, they forget to guard it."

The boy frowned, still uncertain. "I can't... he's too..."

"Watch," Thorne cut in. His lips curved into a thin smile.

He let the crowd swallow him, his body fading from sight as Veil of Light and Shadow wrapped around him. The world warped slightly around his form, bending glances away. A breath later, his muscles coiled, Burst of Speed carrying him forward in a blur.

His fingers moved without thought, old instincts sliding back into place like they'd never left. Sleight of Hand. Pickpocketing. Skills he hadn't touched in years, but muscle memory didn't fade. His hand brushed the merchant's belt, the pouch came free, and he was gone again before the man even shifted his weight.

Thorne reappeared at the mouth of the alley, veil dropping, the sudden presence making the boy jump back against the wall. He dangled the heavy pouch once, then tossed it at the kid's chest.

"Here," Thorne said flatly. "Try not to get yourself killed before you learn the difference."

The pouch hit the boy in the chest with a heavy clink. He clutched it like he expected Thorne to snatch it back, his narrow eyes darting with suspicion.

"Go on," Thorne said, leaning casually against the alley wall. "Count it. I won't bite."

The boy hesitated, then loosened the drawstring just enough to peek. His breath caught at the sight of gold. He quickly tied it shut again, holding it like treasure and trap in one.

"…Why?" he asked finally, his voice rough with mistrust. "You could've turned me in. Or taken this for yourself."

Thorne's mouth tugged into a wry half-smile. "Because I've been you."

The boy blinked.

"I grew up in Alvar," Thorne continued, voice low, even. "Back alleys, gutters, the whole thing. I ran with kids who had nothing but quick fingers and quicker feet. Stole bread, coin, whatever we could just to make it to the next day." His gaze drifted, briefly distant. "Most of them didn't make it. Wrong mark, wrong night, wrong guard. One mistake and it's over."

The boy shifted uneasily, eyes narrowing, though his grip on the pouch never loosened. "So what, you're some noble now? Playing hero?"

Thorne chuckled, dry and humorless. "Do I look like a noble to you?" He straightened, the shadows of the alley clinging to his frame like a second skin. "No. I'm still what I was, just better at hiding it."

The boy studied him, suspicion fighting with curiosity.

"What's your name?" Thorne asked.

"…Fen," the boy muttered.

"Fen." Thorne repeated it like weighing a blade. "You want to live long enough to be more than a pickpocket who dies in a gutter? Stick close. I can show you more than cut-purses and coin pouches. But it comes with rules."

Fen snorted, trying for bravado, though his voice cracked. "What rules?"

"One, you listen. Two, you don't talk about me to anyone. Three..." Thorne leaned in slightly, his glowing eyes catching the boy's in a way that made Fen swallow hard. "You never steal from me again."

The silence stretched, broken only by the bustle of Evermist a street away.

Finally Fen gave a crooked grin, all sharp edges covering the tremor in his hands. "Sounds better than starving."

Thorne nodded once, satisfied. "Good. Then you'll be my eyes in the streets. You hear whispers, you see things, people coming, going, strange movements, you bring them to me."

Fen hugged the pouch closer. "And I get to keep this?"

"Consider it your first payment," Thorne said. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, "Don't get stupid with it. Spend it all at once and every cutthroat in Evermist will know you're carrying gold."

Fen's grin widened, half-admiring, half-nervous. "You really were one of us."

Thorne's expression flickered at that; memories he didn't care to carry surfacing for an instant before he pushed them down. "Once," he admitted. "Now I'm something else."

He turned back toward the crowded street, cloak shifting. "Come on, Fen. We've got work to do."

The crowd pressed like a river around them as they made their way down Evermist's main street, the air heavy with the smell of spice, perfume, and too many bodies. Fen trailed at Thorne's side, still clutching his pouch of coin like it might vanish if he loosened his grip.

As they wove through the current of people, Thorne let the silence stretch a while before asking, "Anything interesting happening in Evermist these days?"

Fen perked up at the question, clearly pleased to be treated like he knew something valuable. "Depends what you call interesting. City Guard's been shaking down the market square, sayin' there's counterfeit talismans going around. Some rich merchant's daughter ran off with a hedge wizard, half the west district's laughing about it. Oh, and..." He lowered his voice conspiratorially, "... Humus has been sniffing around again. Opened a new front near the Moonwater Canal. Everyone's saying he bought the place out overnight."

Thorne's gaze sharpened. Humus. The name was familiar. Someone who could play an important role in his plans. He wanted to know more but he said nothing, only nodded for the boy to go on, though his mind was already filing the rumor away like a blade sheathed in velvet.

Thorne broke the silence first. "Your first assignment."

Fen perked up, then tried to smother it under a shrug. "Yeah?"

"Find me where the fancy ladies go to buy books."

Fen blinked at him, confused. "Books?" He said it like the word tasted strange on his tongue.

Thorne smirked. "Yes, books. You know, paper, words, stories. Try to keep up."

The boy frowned, brow creasing as he stared at the cobbles like they might hold the answer. Then, slowly, his face lit up with recognition. He caught himself almost grinning, quickly turning it into a scowl. "I… might know a place."

"Lead on," Thorne said.

Fen led him through a narrower street lined with polished shopfronts, all gilt-trimmed windows and wafts of lavender perfume. They stopped before a little store nestled between a jeweler and a tailor's shop. The sign was painted with delicate vines and flowers, and the display window was dressed in soft fabrics and gilt-edged tomes.

Thorne's smile widened. Exactly the sort of establishment he'd hoped for.

"Good work," he murmured. "Now, wait outside."

Fen blinked, glancing at his own ragged clothes and dirty fingernails, and seemed to understand without Thorne spelling it out. His face soured anyway.

Thorne just arched a brow. "Consider this a test."

The boy's eyes narrowed suspiciously. But he said nothing.

Inside, the shop smelled of parchment and roses. A middle-aged woman with hair pinned in an elaborate twist looked up from behind the counter, her expression already softening at the sight of him. Thorne's cloak was cut from rich fabric, his boots polished, his entire ensemble the picture of a young lord who knew his worth. With Sculpted Persona active, every angle of his face carried just the right balance of charm and refinement, his smile calculated to disarm. The woman's nose didn't wrinkle; instead her eyes widened slightly, and her voice warmed at once.

"Welcome, my lord," she said, almost too eagerly.

Thorne inclined his head, polite but detached, as though he'd heard such greetings a hundred times before. "I require a book suited as a gift for a lady. Preferably illustrated."

She bustled away to fetch it. Thorne waited, eyes half-lidded, watching through the glass pane as movement flickered outside. Fen shifting from foot to foot, eyes darting at every passerby.

Through the rose-tinted glass, Thorne's eyes kept drifting to the street beyond Fen's restless figure. At first, he only wondered whether the boy would bolt now that he had coin in his pocket, that was the real test, could he be trusted? Then something else caught his eye.

Movement. Not Fen. Across the street, a shape too still amid the shifting press of bodies. A man, or something wearing the shape of one, stood with head tilted just slightly in their direction, as if listening for a sound no one else could hear. By the time Thorne blinked, the figure had melted back into the flow of the crowd.

His pulse went cold. His smile at the shopkeeper didn't waver, but beneath it his jaw clenched, and that familiar murderous pressure rose sharp and bright behind his ribs.

But when the shopkeeper returned, and Thorne thanked her with a smile as smooth as silk, he slid the tome into his satchel and stepped back into the street...

... and there Fen was. Still waiting. Awkward, defensive, glaring at the glares of passing nobles who clearly disapproved of his filthy presence.

Thorne let himself smile genuinely this time. "Thank you, Fen."

Fen blinked at him, shoulders slumping in something that looked almost like relief.

"You can go now," Thorne added.

The boy's face fell. "You don't… need me anymore?"

Thorne shook his head. "Not right now. But I will. Soon. Where can I find you?"

Fen rattled off an alley and a landmark in the lower quarter. Thorne nodded, committing it to memory.

"Good. Now go." He made a shooing motion with one hand.

Fen hesitated only a moment before dashing off into the crowd, the pouch bouncing against his chest.

The moment the boy vanished, Thorne's pleasant façade slipped away. His eyes hardened, expression cutting like a blade. The glow beneath his lashes flared, bright and cold.

Another piece moved into place.

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