I was down one elixir, and the loss gnawed at me as I looked out of the alley toward the street. Still, at least the woman’s death wouldn’t be on my conscience.

  Bad luck, or bad judgement. Either way, the others would still get theirs. And if the blacksmith kept his word, more would come. I held onto that.

  “She bested you,” the sword said.

  I nodded. Even with fresh runes etched into the blade, the gap between those with blessings and those without still mattered. Runes and instinct only carried you so far when the other side could bend the world around them.

  “We need to get stronger,” I said.

  “We will.”

  I glanced down the alley. The street had grown even more crowded. Bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder, voices rising in uneven waves. There were more people than before, the noise sharper, more urgent. Something was happening.

  I could see through the gaps ahead, a knot of guards forced their way through the flow. Their armour was too clean, their posture too rigid to blend in. The same kind of guard that radiated power in the noble district. And this time there were more than just one.

  “Stand aside,” one barked parting the crowd.

  “What do you think they are doing?” I asked.

  The sword hummed… “Maybe they were searching for something?”

  “Or someone? Best not to give them a reason to look at me twice,” I said.

  A red glow flashed through the sea of people as the guards advanced.

  “I may have a solution.”

  I glanced down at the sword as it hummed softly in my grip. A section of the silver sheen along the blade dulled, peeling back to reveal the darker patch beneath. Etched there was a fresh new rune on the active side. A crooked Y, its arms branching too many times, a small circle set at its heart.

  “That’s…”

  “Want to try it?” the sword asked.

  I slowed, the pieces clicking together. A short, disbelieving laugh slipped out. “You’re serious?”

  The hum deepened.

  “Alright,” I muttered. “How? Same way as the other?”

  I focused, tried to picture the change. Nothing happened.

  “Drop the disguise,” the sword said. “Then try it.”

  I took a step away from the street. Nick’s face peeled off me like a shed skin and for a breath I was just myself again. I ran my thumb across the rune and held the thought steady.

  The world blinked.

  I was gone.

  Not fading. Not blurring. Simply absent.

  Panic spiked as I looked down and saw nothing. No hand. No blade. No outline where my body should have been. I took a cautious step forward, foot groping for stone my eyes could no longer confirm. The sensation twisted my gut, like stepping into empty air on a staircase you swear should be there.

  I stumbled, heart hammering, and fought the urge to reach for myself just to prove I still existed. “Don’t look for yourself,” the sword said. “Just walk without looking down.”

  I swallowed and did as it said.

  After a few steps, the panic eased. My balance adjusted. I stopped relying on sight and let my body take over. Still, the sensation was deeply wrong. My face, the constant edge of my vision I’d never noticed until it was gone, was missing. There was no outline. No presence.

  It felt like being hollowed out. Like moving through the world as a shadow that forgot it had once been solid.

  Like being a ghost.

  I edged toward the side of the street and watched the guards work their way through the crowd. They didn’t rush. They didn’t need to. One of them lifted a medallion and held it at chest height, eyes moving from face to face as if weighing each person against whatever the metal remembered. I had no idea what it was meant to do, but I didn’t like it.

  After a few tense moments, they seemed satisfied. The formation shifted and the group moved on, pushing deeper into the street. Whoever they were hunting, I wanted no part of it. They carried the same quiet authority Jerald did, but where he relied on presence, these men were wrapped head to toe in issued armour. Clean lines. Identical make. Runes etched into every separate plate. They looked prepared for war.

  I caught myself wondering how many crystals it would take to buy even one piece of that armour.

  “Don’t linger,” the sword warned. “Now’s your chance…”

  I nodded, instantly feeling foolish at the invisible gesture, but I moved on.

  Getting back through the crowd was harder than I expected. My heart thudded in my ears as I threaded my way through bodies, careful not to brush anyone for too long. I clipped a shoulder here and there. Each time, someone scowled at empty space or snapped at the wrong person before turning away, none the wiser.

  It felt like it took forever, but the gate finally came into view.

  The portcullis was down. I pressed myself flat against the wall and waited, breathing shallow, counting heartbeats. After a few tense moments, an expensive trader’s wagon rattled through the gate, its wheels groaning under the weight of its cargo. I slipped in behind it, matching my steps to the creak of axles and the shouted orders of the guards. On the far side of the bridge, the wagon turned away and rumbled north.

  I silently thanked my unwitting helper and moved south.

  When my boots touched grass beyond the stone, a breath tore out of me. I hadn’t realised how long I’d been holding it.

  I didn’t slow until the trees closed in and the city noise faded into leaves and wind.

  Luck, or habit, had me reaching for the small, battered key I kept tucked away in my coin pouch. The one Jearld had given me. I waited for the pull, set my direction and moved through the forest at a steady pace, cutting across the land instead of looping back along the road. I’d been moving for nearly an hour when I heard it.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  A deep rustling rolled through the forest ahead. Not the whisper of wind through branches. This was heavier. Intentional. Something large moving without care for silence.

  I slowed, then veered toward the sound, keeping low, trusting the invisibility to hold.

  The trees thinned and opened into a shallow clearing.

  Five shapes moved within it.

  Shit… Trolls.

  Not like the shambling troll we’d fought on the farm. These were bigger. Broader. Each one easily twice the Doppler’s height, thick with muscle and scarred hide. Iron bracers circled their forearms, etched with the same kinds of runes I’d seen in the blacksmith’s shop. Practical. Reinforced. Old magic, the kind the blacksmith talked about.

  My stomach tightened. Trolls with runes meant craftsmen. Trade. An economy of their own. Did they have their own cities?

  They were armed too.

  Massive wooden trunks lay nearby, stripped of branches and bound with iron bands, rope-wrapped handles worn smooth by use. Clubs fit for siege work. They chewed on something dark and charred, tearing it apart with thick fingers. Sheep, maybe. I couldn’t tell. The smell was wrong. Burnt more than bloody.

  Their voices rumbled back and forth, deep and slow, like stone grinding on stone.

  I stayed perfectly still.

  In the state I was in, I wouldn’t last a heartbeat against one of them. Five would turn me into paste.

  One of the trolls paused. Its head lifted. It sniffed the air.

  My gaze dropped to my hand. Blood had soaked through the cloth. Could it smell that?

  “Leave,” the sword urged, low and urgent.

  I didn’t argue.

  I backed away one careful step at a time, marking the trees, the slope of the ground, the broken stone near the clearing’s edge. Jerald would need to know about this.

  Only when the forest swallowed the sounds again did I let myself breathe.

  When I reached the town, I let the invisibility fall away. I shifted back into Ricky and tested the ring. In an instant, the fine clothes vanished, folding themselves into the rune pouch. I stood there shirtless; my blood-soaked top still wrapped around my hand. The pouch that had been hidden inside the coat now rested openly at my side.

  I peeked inside. The elixirs, coin pouch and crystals sat neatly beside the folded suit, still dark blue. I’d forgotten to change the colour. That could wait.

  I looked down at my hand. The cut had closed enough to stop bleeding. The runes on the sword had done their work.

  Not healed. But good enough.

  I tugged the stained shirt back on and followed the key toward the cottage.

  I eased the window open and climbed inside.

  Big brown eyes met mine at once. A tipped hat. Arms crossed tight across a brown vest with polished buttons. Doyle sat on my bed, unmoving, his stare hard enough to stop me cold. His gaze dropped to the dark stains on my shirt and lingered there, jaw tightening.

  “I, ah…” I started.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked.

  His eyes dragged over me, slow and thorough. Blood. Dirt. The way I held my hand too carefully.

  “I was…” The words tangled in my mouth.

  He leaned forward. “You’ve just crawled back from the edge of death, and you come in like this?” His voice sharpened. “It hasn’t even been a day… Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

  “No, I—”

  “Jerald has stuck his neck out for you time and time again,” he cut in. “And this is how you repay him?”

  The weight of it hit hard, straight to the chest. Guilt settled heavy and crushing. I swallowed, then shoved my hand into my pocket.

  Glass clinked softly as I pulled out a vial and held it up. Then another. My hands shook as I laid them out where he could see.

  “I didn’t go out for myself,” I said, the words tumbling over each other. “They need these.”

  Doyle froze.

  His eyes widened, fixed on the elixirs like they might vanish if he blinked.

  “They need them,” I repeated, quieter now.

  He looked up at me, expression unreadable. “And where,” he asked slowly, “did you steal them from?”

  “I didn’t exactly steal them,” I said. “Well. I kind of did.”

  His expression darkened. Not anger. Disappointment, which somehow felt worse.

  I hesitated, weighing how much truth I could afford. How much trouble I was already in.

  “So you went to the city,” he said. “Even after all the talks about how you should be avoiding it…”

  “I… uh.”

  He closed his eyes and let out a long breath through his nose. When he looked at me again, some of the tension had drained from his shoulders, replaced by something quieter. Worn.

  “The fact that you came back alive is a miracle,” he said.

  I frowned. It hadn’t felt impossible. Dangerous, sure, but manageable. “What do you mean?”

  “Jerald told me he gave you a medallion,” Doyle said. “One that’s highly illegal.”

  I nodded.

  He leaned back, eyes on the ceiling for a moment. “That kind of power, that kind of rune, it doesn’t stay quiet. Certain blessings can feel it. And runes can track it.”

  My stomach dropped.

  “You’re lucky,” he went on, “that someone didn’t throw you in irons the moment you entered the city.”

  The guards. Their own medallion that blowed red. The way they’d searched faces.

  “Oh,” I said.

  I swallowed. “Can they find me here?”

  Doyle considered that, gaze drifting toward the window and the dark line of trees beyond. “Unlikely,” he said at last. “Their attention doesn’t stretch this far.”

  Some of the tightness in my chest eased, but it didn’t go away.

  I let out a slow breath I hadn’t realised I was holding. “But what about the trials?” I asked. “How am I supposed to compete with…” I gestured vaguely at my face; at everything I was now carrying.

  Doyle didn’t answer right away. His jaw tightened. “Why do you think Jerald’s been so busy lately?” he said. “Me too. We’ve been digging. Researching. And we’re coming up short. A lot of the old records have been burned.”

  The weight of that settled heavy in my chest. I looked down, shame creeping in as I thought of how easily I’d risked all their work for my own choices.

  “Why are you trying so hard,” I asked quietly, “to help me? I mean…”

  Doyle paused. Really looked at me. “Do you honestly think he’s only helping you?”

  I frowned. “He’s not?”

  A dry laugh escaped him. “You’ve seen the other kids. You’ve heard how he broods about the war. Everything Jerald does is bigger than one person. Bigger than himself. Bigger than you.” His gaze drifted, unfocused. “He’s chasing answers to questions no one knows how to ask yet.”

  “Then why look after me?” I asked.

  Doyle hesitated. “You are the…” He stopped, exhaled, then shook his head. “Alright. Let’s be honest with each other.”

  My stomach tightened. Honesty suddenly felt dangerous.

  “Sean,” he said.

  I blinked. “Okay,” I muttered. “Sure.”

  “Jerald found you when you were very young,” Doyle continued. “In the ruins. Where the war ended.”

  I nodded slowly. “I’ve heard him mention it. Are you saying I was the only one left?”

  Doyle nodded once.

  The room felt smaller.

  “Do you know,” he asked softly, “what catastrophe happened there that day?”

  I shook my head. “Jerald never said much about where he found me. And with the pain… I don’t remember much from back then anyway.”

  Doyle studied me for a moment, then nodded. “That tracks. You were barely more than a baby. He told me he found you inside the blast radius.”

  My breath caught, and for a second the room seemed to tilt.

  He noticed. “I’m getting ahead of myself,” he said quietly. “Let me start properly.”

  Doyle shifted, settling in as if bracing for a truth he’d carried too long.

  “At the time, there were two human kingdoms,” he said. “One far to the south. This one here. They were allies. Had been for generations. Old disputes, sure, but those wars were finished long before any of us were around.”

  “Then came the war?” I asked.

  “Not like the others. This wasn’t about borders or crowns, or waves of creatures spilling from the mist. Something new tore into the Realm. Corrupted it. Old. Twisted.” His gaze flicked to the sword at my side before returning to me. “Creatures followed. Darklings, for lack of a better word. Not from this realm.”

  I went still, the pieces sliding into place whether I wanted them to or not.

  “The kingdoms rallied together,” Doyle went on. “Jerald was young then. A warrior in the army. He was stationed close to the breach when it opened.” He paused, his jaw tightening. “Whole families moved south to help. His included. We threw everything at it. Supplies, mages, soldiers. Everything we had went into sealing that tear.”

  “The Druids?” I asked.

  “Them too,” he said. “Everyone pitched in. It was victory or complete annihilation.”

  “And they closed it?” I asked, needing confirmation.

  Doyle nodded. “They did. At a cost.”

  The silence that followed felt heavier than any answer.

  “But then something happened,” Doyle said. “Inside the southern city itself. While the warriors were still celebrating the sealed breach, something else answered in its place.”

  The air left my lungs in a sharp breath.

  “When they rode home,” he went on, “they expected banners. Cheers. A city rejoicing.”

  My throat tightened. “Jerald’s family?” I asked.

  Doyle shook his head.

  “The marks on your skin,” he said quietly. “Every living thing in that city bore them. People. Animals. Even the stone, in places. The breach was sealed, yes. But something was unleashed in that city…” He trailed off.

  The room felt cold.

  “So that’s why he’s looked after me,” I said.

  Doyle nodded once.

  “You’re the key,” he said. “The only one who survived.”