Alph trudged through the upper district's cobbled streets, yesterday's frustrations still gnawing at him. Hours hunched over dusty tomes in the library had yielded nothing; every Tier 0 variant profession was either unattainably difficult or pointless. The morning and afternoon at Grimforge Smithy had at least distracted him. While Varrick procured supplies for his father's expedition, Alph kept the forge fires burning, organized tools, and swept the workshop until his shoulders ached.

  Shadows stretched past the sixth bell as he approached the familiar training hall. Inside, Nylessa was already warming up with her daggers.

  Alph stepped onto the training hall's worn wooden floor, pine shavings still clinging to his boots. Nylessa stood at the center, a single wooden dagger in hand. She twirled the blade, her posture relaxed but alert. Alph unsheathed his twin wooden daggers, gripping them in reverse, palms facing outward. Their edges caught the lantern light, throwing thin slices of brightness across the scarred boards.

  Nylessa struck first, driving her dagger tip toward Alph's left shoulder. He pivoted, reverse-grip blades arcing outward in twin slashes that sparked Twin Strike. Wood clacked against wood where their weapons met.

  She jerked back, baring her teeth in approval. "Clean," she said, her praise sharp as her blade's edge, "still obvious."

  Alph adjusted his stance. Nylessa surged forward, delivering a rapid double thrust. He anticipated the second blade and sprang. At the final heartbeat, he activated Flicker. His legs blurred into a streak, and he vanished from Nylessa's sight. He reappeared a fraction of a meter to the left; his wooden daggers flashed as he cut the space she had just stepped into.

  Wood cracked against wood, the sound bouncing off stone walls. Nylessa twisted, her wrist flicking the dagger toward his midsection. Alph's momentum stalled. The sudden snag destroyed his center of gravity, and her follow-up thrust hooked his right ankle, dropping him to the floor with a dull thud.

  She stood over him, her dagger tip a breath from his chest. "Exceptionally good today," she breathed, surprise cracking her usual bravado. Today's fluidity contrasted sharply with the clumsy exchanges two days prior.

  She leaned closer, her eyes glittering. "Advanced to Tier 2?" she asked, curiosity lacing each syllable.

  Alph pushed himself to a sitting position. The wooden daggers clinked softly against his forearms. He hesitated. The truth was too close; Thief merging with Rogue, Nylessa did not need to know that.

  "No advancement," he answered, his tone even. "I just handle my movements better. I finally learned to execute Flicker correctly."

  Nylessa straightened, her grin spreading wide. She slapped his shoulder. "See? Knew you'd get better. I'm a fine mentor," she boasted, tapping her own chest with the flat of her wooden dagger. "Faster, smarter, better fighter than yesterday. All thanks to me."

  "Yeah, yeah." Alph climbed to his feet, brushing grit from his knee. "You taught me well." He rolled his shoulder, feeling the ache settle. "Thank you. Let's rest."

  The spar paused. They lowered their daggers, breathing in the rhythm of the hall, the wooden boards creaking beneath their weight. Nylessa settled onto a low bench, swinging her leg lazily. Alph rested his daggers against his thigh. He swallowed, the words forming slowly.

  "I won't be available for a while," Alph said quietly.

  Nylessa's brow furrowed. "Why?" The confidence drained from her voice. "You're leaving?"

  He hesitated. "Personal reasons." The words landed flat, even to his own ears.

  Nylessa’s dagger tapped his chest. "Don’t dodge me."

  Her voice sharpened. "Whatever it is, it can’t be more important than training. You’re finally moving like a real Rogue."

  She jabbed him again. "Tell me. You owe your mentor that much."

  He met her eyes. No word on the smithy. Nothing about the apprenticeship. "Personal matters stay personal," he repeated, voice flat and final.

  Nylessa’s dagger jabbed his ribs. "No. Tell me."

  Her voice cracked. "I'm this close to advancement. I can't have my sparring partner vanishing over personal matters." The tip of her blade pressed harder. "Spill it, or I'll break your legs to keep you here."

  Tears welled. The threat dissolved into something raw. "Please."

  Alph exhaled, shoulders slumping. "Fine. I’m apprenticing at Grimforge."

  Nylessa’s dagger stilled. "Grimforge? That old relic? Good choice for laying low."

  "Haldrix Grimforge," he said, nodding. "The runesmith, true artificer in the smithy. He’s heading out for an expedition. Wants me along as a helper."

  "Hold on," Nylessa said, her dagger dropping. "You're pretending to be an apprentice at that dump of a smithy, but now the actual runesmith wants you to tag along as a real one?"

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  A snort escaped her. "That’s the dumbest thing I’ve heard all week."

  Alph shrugged. "It is what it is. That’s why I can’t make practice."

  Nylessa’s dagger tapped his arm. "Where’s this expedition?"

  "Titan’s Wound."

  Her blade stilled. Her eyes glazed over, fingers twitching like she was flipping through pages in her mind.

  Alph’s gaze sharpened. "Nylessa."

  She didn’t answer.

  "Nylessa." His voice cut through the silence. "What’s wrong?"

  Her voice dropped. "Rook saw bounties in the guild. Tier 3 and 4 contracts. Anyone involved in the excavation at Titan's Wound."

  She met his eyes, narrowed to slits. "Haldrix Grimforge goes there, he's a target."

  Her jaw tightened. "You tag along as his helper? You're collateral, I don’t want to see you get hurt, Alph. You’ve become… reliable.”

  Alph swallowed. Haldrix was his only lead on repairing the broken core. If the old man died on this expedition…

  The wooden daggers bit into his palms as his fists tightened. "I have to go." His voice held steady. "I already promised. I can't back out now."

  Nylessa stared at him. Her shoulders loosened, but the tight line of her mouth didn't.

  Neither of them spoke.

  Alph rose, wooden daggers still in his grip. He turned toward the exit. The heavy doors groaned as he pushed through, and he paused at the threshold. Val Karok's streets pressed in beyond, thick with foot traffic and the clatter of cart wheels on stone. He barely registered any of it. His mind was already at Grimforge, in the heat and soot of the old man's furnace.

  He stepped out. Nylessa's warning followed him like smoke.

  On the way to the smithy, Alph weighed the matter in his head. He couldn't reveal the assassination bounties directly; that would raise questions about how he'd learned such information. He couldn't stay silent and refuse Haldrix's offer either. That would mean walking away knowing full well what awaited the old runesmith. There had to be a better solution.

  Alph stepped into the smithy; twilight bled through the grimy windows, painting the forge in hues of deep orange and long shadows. Varrick, his burly frame silhouetted against the dying light, hunched over a heavy oak counter, a ledger open before him. He meticulously counted a small pile of copper and silver coins, his brow furrowed in concentration as he tallied the sparse inventory of raw materials. A familiar pang of guilt struck Alph.

  The door chimed.

  Varrick’s head snapped up from the ledger. "Back already?"

  Alph pulled off his hood, folding it against his arm. "Nothing worth sticking around for."

  His gaze darted past Varrick to the crates stacked near the back. Those were the new supplies for Haldrix’s expedition. "How's the prep?"

  Varrick exhaled through his nose, thumb working over a coin. "Fine. For him." The ledger slammed shut. "Coin's running thin. Again." His voice dropped, raw with frustration. "Why now? Why ever?"

  Alph hesitated, fingers tapping the counter. "Varrick, you really think this expedition’s safe?"

  Varrick didn’t look up from the ledger. "Safe? Lad, I’m sending Thorfin and Rugnir with him. You think I’d do that if it was a stroll through the market?"

  Alph nodded. "Then why not hire more security? Haldrix is a Tier 4 Artisan. He should have a proper escort."

  Varrick's frown cut deep, and Alph caught the shift instantly, the tightening jaw, the protective edge sliding into place. He'd stepped wrong.

  "I'm not saying Thorfin and Rugnir aren't up to the task." Alph raised a hand. "But ruins are unpredictable. Just two bodyguards might not be enough."

  Varrick's brows softened. "You don't have to worry about it, lad. The guild promised a Tier 5 adventurer team on site." He waved a hand, dismissive. "Won't be much danger."

  The knot in Alph's chest loosened a fraction.

  Then Varrick's eyes narrowed, fingers going still on the coin. "Hold on. Why all the questions about my father's expedition?" He leaned forward, studying Alph the way he studied a suspect weld. "Why the sudden curiosity?"

  Alph's fingers drummed against his thigh. "I… Haldrix asked me to join. As an assistant."

  Varrick's expression cracked, something raw flashing across his face.

  Alph pushed forward, forcing lightness into his tone. "I'm only going as his assistant. Someone needs to make sure he eats." He offered a weak grin. "We need him for the smithy, right?"

  Varrick’s fingers dug into the workbench, the wood groaning under his grip. "Well, that..." His beard twitched, jaw working like he was chewing on the words. "I can’t stop you from following my father."

  A sharp breath hissed through his nose. "He’s an Artisan. Same as you want to be." His thumb scraped over a scar on his palm, eyes locked on Alph. "But don’t forget—you’re my apprentice. Not his."

  Then came the laugh, rough and sudden, like a hammer striking an anvil. Varrick’s shoulders shook, but his eyes stayed dark. "Aye, you’re right. Leave him to his own devices, he’d starve down there." The laugh died, thin and sharp. "Then what? Guild protection gone. Smithy lost."

  His fist hit the bench. Wood dust puffed into the air. "Can’t have that."

  Varrick's shoulders sagged. The fight bled out of him, leaving behind something hollowed and tired.

  Alph exhaled. The accusation he'd braced for never came. No word of disloyalty, no betrayal read into the request. Varrick's expression stayed clouded, raw around the edges, but it held no suspicion. Only resignation, and something close to understanding.

  Varrick's voice cut through the silence, rough as a file on rusted iron. "Don't just stand there, boy. You want to chase my father's shadow? Start by clearing this floor. Now."

  Alph hoisted a crate. Splinters caught against his palms, the scent of damp pine and old tar filling his lungs. He shifted the weight, tightened his grip. "I'm moving."

  Varrick slammed the ledgers shut. The heavy leather covers met with a finality that echoed through the shop. He swept the coins off the desk and into the pouch, their metallic clink sharp and frantic.

  "Like a snail on a cold morning," he muttered, though his glare lacked its usual edge. A scarred finger jabbed toward the scrap pile. "Stack those right. This isn't a goblin's hoard."