“Next,” Tithus said, tapping the scroll once as if concluding a thought, “we will address the remaining conditions. As you are minors, punishment will be applied under the appropriate statutes.”

  My spine straightened. There was more coming.

  “This one is uncomplicated.” His gaze slid across us without interest. “A curfew will be enforced. No wandering after dark.”

  Jerald inclined his head once.

  “From sundown to sunup,” Tithus continued, “you will remain in your assigned rooms until the trials conclude. Rune-locks are mandatory.”

  Rob shot upright. “What?”

  Tithus didn’t raise his voice. He simply looked at him.

  “Don’t make me increase the duration,” he said.

  Rob sank back into his chair. Amelia’s elbow found his ribs before he could try again.

  Tithus rolled the scroll closed with a soft snap. “Any further infractions… any… and you will be stripped of all runed items and elixirs.”

  He paused, just long enough.

  “That includes usage during the trials.”

  Rob’s face flushed red, fury trapped behind clenched teeth. Nick, by contrast, looked amused, his mouth curved in quiet delight, eyes bright.

  With that, Tithus turned and left, having delivered both a sentence and a narrow escape in the same breath.

  We sat there for a moment, the silence heavy, shared confusion slowly hardening into resolve. Whatever trap had been laid for us, we weren’t stepping into it quietly.

  I expected Nick to follow the Justiciar out.

  He didn’t.

  He lingered instead, watching us.

  Waiting.

  Or maybe just enjoying the view.

  “What do you want now?” Rob asked, looking up at him with open contempt.

  Nick smiled. Friendly on the surface. Thin underneath.

  “Oh, nothing dramatic,” he said lightly. “I just need a favour from the barracks commander.”

  His eyes slid to Jerald.

  Jerald’s jaw tightened. “Yes?”

  Nick produced a folded note and flicked it open just enough to show a seal. “I’ve been authorised to continue my participation in the troll hunt.”

  Jerald’s shoulders sagged, the weight of the morning finally catching up to him. He let out a slow breath. “Fine. Meet me outside. I’ll see you assigned to one of the patrols.”

  Nick’s smile didn’t falter. “That won’t do.”

  The words landed softly. Intentionally.

  “The order specifies that you accompany me,” he said. “Personally.”

  Nick sneered. “I’m afraid your little group will have to manage without their guardian. Daddy duties, and all that.”

  Rob stiffened beside me.

  Jerald’s gaze cooled. “Fine,” he said evenly. “You’ll ride with my squad. But that still means you answer to me.”

  Nick dipped his head, the gesture neat and empty. “Of course. Orders are orders.”

  Jerald motioned toward the exit. “Outside.”

  “Yes, sir,” Nick replied, the word stripped of any respect.

  As he turned, he glanced back at us, grin sharp and deliberate. “Good luck in the trials.”

  His laughter followed him out of the tent.

  The canvas settled behind him.

  I exhaled slowly. “Well,” I said, “that didn’t sound ominous at all.”

  “Sounded like a complete bastard,” Rob exhaled.

  Amelia managed a small smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

  Jerald returned a moment later. He looked older somehow. Quieter.

  “Alright,” he said, tugging at his glove. “I’ll be escorting the little shit for a while.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched. No humour in it. “You three keep your heads down.”

  He slowed when he really looked at us.

  Just three kids standing there. Too still. Too quiet.

  “I know it’s hard,” he said, his voice lower now. “It wasn’t always like this.”

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  He tipped his chin toward the tent opening. The canvas stirred in the breeze, restless.

  “This place used to work,” he went on. “Not cleaner. Just kinder… fairer.”

  His gaze returned to us, steady and unreadable. “Somewhere along the way it slipped. Now we’re all caught in it.”

  He didn’t wait for an answer.

  He pulled Amelia into a brief hug, gave Rob a firm pat on the back, then met my eyes. He held them a moment longer than the others. Not a warning. Recognition.

  Then he turned and left the tent, carrying his duty with him and leaving us with the quiet understanding that whatever came next, it wasn’t going to fix itself.

  The moment he was out of earshot, Rob snapped.

  He kicked one of the chairs hard enough to send it skidding across the canvas floor. “Oh, this is fucking shit,” he spat. “What do we do now?”

  Amelia held it together for a heartbeat longer, then her shoulders shook. She turned away, scrubbing at her eyes, but it was already too late.

  Rob’s anger vanished just as fast. He stepped in, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Hey,” he said quietly. “It’s okay. I’m sorry… We’ll figure it all out.”

  I watched them from where I stood, the weight of it pressing in. The system. The debt. Nick. The clock ticking toward the trials. Somewhere beneath it all, a thought had been taking shape ever since the tunnels.

  But I needed answers first.

  “Um,” I said. “Quick question.”

  They both looked at me.

  “That Justiciar,” I went on. “He said if we cause more trouble, we lose access to runed items during the trials.”

  I hesitated. “That means if we don’t… we can still use them. Right?”

  Amelia nodded without hesitation. “Of course. It’s tradition. Has been since rune crafting became formalised.”

  Something clicked.

  I nodded slowly, the pieces settling into place. Nick would be riding patrol with Jerald for the foreseeable future. Distracted. Watched. Out of position.

  It was risky.

  Very risky.

  But it was a chance.

  “I think,” I said carefully, “I might have an idea.”

  Rob raised an eyebrow. “You might?”

  “It’ll take time,” I added. “And it’s not exactly safe.”

  That got his attention.

  “Alright,” he said. “Then start talking.”

  I shook my head. “Not yet. Just… know that whatever I’m thinking might bend a few rules.”

  “No,” Amelia cut in at once.

  I raised both hands. “It’s not what you think. And I don’t even know if it’ll work.”

  I took a breath. “For now, let’s head back. Train. That’s something we can do.”

  Reluctantly, they agreed.

  We started the walk home, and I broke the silence with questions aimed at Amelia. Too many of them. About the city and how it worked. Where the nobles came and went. Where they liked to linger. Who they spoke to. How they traded. How they moved when they thought no one was watching.

  At first, she answered without hesitation, slipping into familiar rhythms. But every so often her eyes flicked toward me, narrowing slightly, like she was beginning to realise this wasn’t idle curiosity.

  Rob barely spoke. He walked with his head down, flexing his right hand again and again, as if expecting a blade to appear through sheer will.

  By the time we reached the house, I’d heard enough.

  Not everything I wanted. Just enough.

  The plan taking shape in my head wasn’t safe. It wasn’t clever in the way clever plans usually were. It depended on timing, blind spots, and a willingness to step somewhere I probably shouldn’t.

  That had never stopped me before.

  We split up soon after. Amelia and Rob went to find Doyle and pass on the news. I watched them disappear down the corridor, then turned toward the training room, already sorting through what I’d learned.

  I still had questions. Dangerous ones.

  And if the answers were what I thought they were, then this wasn’t just about me anymore.

  The door closed behind me.

  The sword in my hand shifted, its surface darkening as the familiar blackened sheen crept across the metal. I lowered my gaze to the runes etched along its sides, their lines catching what little light remained.

  “You heard all of that,” I said.

  “Of course.”

  The answer came flat, immediate.

  “Good,” I said quietly. “Then I’ve got questions of my own.”

  A pause. The faintest ripple of something like amusement brushed through the hum.

  “You always do,” the sword replied. “Go on.”

  I turned the blade slightly, studying the markings. “What do you know about runes?”

  The answer didn’t come right away.

  “That,” it said at last, “is not something I have knowledge of.”

  I frowned and lifted the sword a fraction. Runes covered its surface. Old. Cut deep, as if meant to last longer than the metal itself.

  “But these.”

  “I feel them,” the sword replied. “The way one feels a limb. Present. Familiar.”

  My fingers tightened around the grip.

  “You understood the rune of holding,” I said. “The transformation too. You changed yourself. You changed me.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you understand them.”

  “No.” The word came clean and certain. “I respond to them.”

  The hum deepened, settling into something slower, more considered. “There is a difference.”

  The sword fell quiet again, its presence steady in my hand. “As I said,” it replied, “once a rune becomes a part of me, I can feel it. Like a new limb under my control.”

  I frowned. “So, that means we both don’t know the basics?”

  I glanced down at the blade. “You’re ancient. I figured this would be… familiar.”

  “No,” it said. “Rune craft is a recent discovery.” The hum shifted. “Northern. Sculpted, not forged.”

  “Yeah. That tracks.”

  I let that sit for a moment, then exhaled. “We’ll worry about the history lesson later.”

  I rotated the sword in my grip. “This transformation rune. Can the magic be altered?”

  “In what way?”

  “Could I change into someone else?” I asked. “Not just this form.”

  “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On contact.”

  The word settled.

  “Those who have been touched,” the sword said, “leave an impression.”

  The blade shimmered. Its surface flowed and reshaped, dark metal giving way to clean steel. When it stilled, I recognised it. The training sword it had shattered before, whole again now. Polished. Unmarked.

  I didn’t move.

  For a long time, I’d kept my distance from people. Stayed on the edges. Fear had made that easy. I’d always thought it was for my own sake.

  Turns out, it hadn’t been.

  Another thought pushed its way through.

  “But this one,” I said carefully. “The red-haired guy. I’ve never touched him.”

  The hum faltered. Just enough to notice.

  “For that,” the sword replied, “I do have an answer.”

  I nodded once. “I figured.”

  I drew in a slow breath. “That answer can wait.”

  I tightened my grip on the hilt. “For now, I’ve got two questions that matter more.”

  “Ask.”

  “The chamber below,” I said. “You stopped me from entering it.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  There was no hesitation this time. “You are not ready.”

  I let that settle. My fingers tightened slightly around the hilt.

  “Do you know what’s down there?”

  The sword hummed as it tried to find the words.

  “I felt a presence,” the sword said at last. The hum deepened. “Something vast. And other lesser. All connected. Asleep.”

  A chill crept up my spine. I pictured the door again. How close I’d come to opening it.

  “…Thanks,” I said quietly.

  “As I have said,” the sword replied, “no thanks are required.”

  I nodded. “Right. Bound.”

  Silence lingered between us.

  “One more thing,” I said. “I don’t fully understand how the transformation works. But you seem to.”

  “Yes.”

  I moved toward the window and caught my reflection in the glass. It was faint, warped by the light, but recognisable enough. Red hair. A face still carrying the softness I’d worn for too long. Bruised. Tired. Too aware of itself.

  I raised the sword slightly. Its weight settled into my grip like it belonged there now.

  “Then,” I said, keeping my voice low, “let’s test it.”

  “You wish to alter your form,” the sword said. “To appear as another.”

  My mouth curved into a smile and I closed my eyes.

  The memory rose without effort. Height looming overhead. Pale hair catching the light. A fist coming fast and heavy. The dull crack of impact. The brief, ringing emptiness that followed.

  Pain, sharp and personal.

  The sword hummed, deep and approving.