The memory ripped free from my mind as I stumbled back to the real world, tearing the sword from the stone as I fell. The blade clanged against the floor. The weight of it all crashed into me at once. The crunch of bone. The stink of rot. The sight of torn bodies. It hit like a shot to the heart.

  Bile surged up my throat. I swallowed hard and forced it back down, breathing through the sickness. Even so, the cold still clung to me. The screams still echoed.

  I looked at the blade. Sure, that it had wanted me to see that.

  A warning, perhaps.

  The image of the barkeep twisted by the curse lingered in my thoughts. It had happened long ago, yet the sight shook me to the core. Would that be my end as well. Would the curse one day claim me the same way.

  It had happened so quickly. Yet my scars hadn’t ever moved, not changed, yet they were unmistakably the same. They felt the same. Looked the same.

  And the Immortal… He scared me the most.

  Everything about him spoke of age. Not just old, but ancient. Older than man. Older than memory. I wondered if he had once been a god, or something even further removed.

  I slowed my breathing. Time moved around me, though I barely felt it pass. I focused on the room, on the weight of my body, on the truths I had just learned.

  I glanced at the blade once more. Unsure whether it would pull me back again, I slid it into the scabbard at my hip.

  As I did, the pressure of my curse eased, just a little.

  I pushed myself upright on unsteady legs and made my way through the tunnels toward the kitchen. My stomach churned. I needed something solid, something to anchor me. When I entered the kitchen, I reached for a bread roll from the counter just as the door slammed open.

  “Seriously, I fucking hate that guy,” Rob snapped as he stormed in, anger rolling off him. He snatched the bread from my hand and tore into it. “That smug bastard. Who does he think he is?”

  “Uh… hey, man,” I said, a beat too slow. I took another roll from the pile. There were plenty. I had to steady myself before the question came out. “Who?”

  “That princely blond asshole. What a…”

  “That’s enough, Robert,” Doyle said sharply as he stepped into the room.

  “But you heard what he called her. If I ever get the chance, I’ll fucking…”

  “ROBERT.”

  Rob made a tight, strangled sound in his throat.

  “Calm yourself,” Doyle said.

  Rob hurled the bread roll aside and threw his arms up, his face flushed red. He stormed past us and up the stairs, swearing with every step.

  I had seen him frustrated before, but this was different. This anger carried weight, tight and barely contained.

  “Did something happen?” I asked quietly.

  Doyle nodded and set his wide-brimmed hat on the bench. His shoulders slumped, as though whatever fire he had left had finally guttered out. He did not even bother to scold Rob for the mess.

  “The youth Jerald brought with him,” Doyle said with a weary sigh. “He was an especially cruel one. Said some truly awful things about our young mage friend.”

  “Amelia?”

  He nodded. My back stiffened.

  “Who would say anything bad about her? She’s a complete sweetheart.”

  Doyle nodded again. “So I thought. But it seems someone in the city has taken a dislike to the poor girl.”

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  I searched for a reason and found none. I barely knew either of them well enough to judge. “What did he say?”

  Doyle sighed. “Before she came to stay with me, she lived on the streets.”

  My chest tightened. “You said she didn’t always have food before coming here. I just… I didn’t think…”

  “It is not the sort of thing spoken of lightly,” he said, choosing his words with care. “It seems she is known in the city, and someone has been spreading a particularly nasty rumour.” He paused, then continued quietly. “They claimed she worked the streets at night to survive.”

  “Seriously?” quickly understanding the nastiness of the implication. “That’s bloody horrible! And so, obviously bullshit.”

  Doyle nodded. He looked worn down, as if he had carried this kind of sorrow for decades and learned there was no clean way to set it aside.

  “Our Amelia had a hard childhood,” he said. He glanced at me, weighing whether to continue, then sighed and went on. “The Fairchilds, or rather her cousins, have been feuding with her side of the family for decades. Then when she was orphaned and needed somewhere to stay, they made sure she found no shelter at all. Not even the city orphanage would take her.”

  “Why would they stop an orphan from going to the one place meant for that?” I asked.

  Doyle rubbed at his brow. “They could not kill her outright, and they dared not act in a way that would bring shame on the family. So, they chose another path. They cut her off. Made certain no one would help her.”

  “That seems like a lot of effort for one little girl.”

  “Well… There was money involved,” Doyle said quietly. “A great deal of it. And where money gathers…”

  “So do assholes,” I finished.

  He let out a tired chuckle and nodded, the sound carrying more resignation than humour.

  “Unfortunately, I have seen it far too often. Humans can be remarkably cruel when they choose to be.”

  The words settled heavy in my chest. I couldn’t argue. Old memories surfaced, sharp and unwelcome, of stones thrown by laughing hands years ago.

  “So, when did Jerald take her in?” I asked.

  “Around the same time, he learned the truth,” Doyle replied. “As you can imagine, information in the city has been tightly held these past few years.”

  I nodded. “And controlled.”

  “Control the information,” Doyle said softly, “and you control the people.”

  A door slammed somewhere above us. We both looked up.

  “I should check on them,” I said.

  Doyle offered a small, tired smile.

  I headed upstairs and found Rob sitting on the floor outside Amelia’s door. The fire had gone out of him, leaving him quiet and still, waiting without a word.

  “She in there?” I asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “She, okay?”

  He shrugged.

  I sat down beside him and crossed my legs. I recognised the silence for what it was. Rob’s anger had burned itself out, leaving only the quiet that comes after, when there is nothing left to throw at the world.

  On the other side of the door was a different kind of quiet. Not spent, but guarded. The kind that closes in on itself, where shutting the world out feels safer than letting anyone see what remains. Where wanting someone nearby is easy, but opening the door to them is not.

  So, I stayed with Rob and we waited.

  Nearly an hour passed before the door finally creaked open. Amelia kept her head lowered and did not look at us as she stepped aside to let us in.

  The room was not what I expected. It was easily the busiest space in the house, yet also the most ordered. Oak barrels had been cut in half to hold raw earth, stone, sticks, and water. Books and parchments lay stacked in careful piles. Everything was labelled. Everything placed with deliberate precision, each item given a reason to exist exactly where it did.

  “I brought you something,” Rob said softly.

  He drew an apple from his pocket and placed it gently into her hand. She barely seemed to register it. She drifted to her bed and sat down, quiet and small. Her fingers worried at the red skin of the fruit before she finally looked up at us.

  Her eyes were red from crying.

  “You okay, Am?” Rob asked.

  She offered a faint smile that fooled no one. Rob sat beside her on the bed while I pulled a chair closer and settled into it. I stayed quiet. I knew there was nothing to say. Being there was enough.

  Time passed in silence. We listened to birdsong drifting in through the window and watched the village move below, life carrying on as if nothing had happened.

  “Thanks, guys,” she said at last, wiping at her eyes. The tears were gone now, replaced by a careful sort of bravery.

  Rob straightened.

  “Want us to set a pack of bog bandits on him?” he asked.

  A real smile touched her lips, a brief spark lighting her eyes. She let out a soft laugh and shook her head.

  “It’s okay. Nick’s just an asshole,” she said. “But he isn’t the source of everything.”

  The name hit me cold. I held my breath, hoping it was only a coincidence, even as a familiar anger began to coil in my gut.

  “Your cousin?” Rob asked.

  She nodded.

  “She started the rumours. I know it,” Amelia said quietly. “She heard I was going to compete in the trials, and now the whole family is against it.”

  Rob leaned back, a spark returning to his eyes. “Well, there’s your solution.”

  “Yeah?” she asked.

  “Beat the trials,” he said. “Show those brown-nosers you can kick ass.”

  Amelia let out a small laugh that sounded more tired than amused. Then her gaze drifted to the materials laid out around her room.

  “I’ll need a lot more training,” she said. “I can barely meet the requirements to enter, let alone pass.”

  “We can help with that,” Rob said, turning to me. “Right, Sean?”

  I grinned, my eyes tracing the elements she had arranged with such care. “Definitely. We’ll figure something out.”

  Rob’s grin widened. “I found a new spot where the vermin have been hiding. So tonight, we train.”

  A flicker of excitement ran through me, chased close behind by fear.

  Amelia chuckled. “Doyle will not be happy if he finds out.”

  Rob grinned. “Then let’s make sure he doesn’t!”