I woke up at the inn for the last time.

  It was too cozy, too familiar, which only made the heaviness in my chest worse. Tomorrow, there wouldn’t be another morning here.

  When I walked into the common room, Lucy was already there, perched at a corner table like she’d been waiting. Well… okay, that was our plan. She was waiting. She sipped from her mug alone, posture loose but her eyes watching people.

  I slid into the seat beside her with a grin. “Morning, pirate.”

  Her face lit up at the greeting. “J—Charlie!” The stumble tripped out of her mouth before she could catch it, and the faint blush on her cheeks betrayed her annoyance with herself. She quickly covered it with business. “Scouting on the test servers is getting…”

  “Annoying?” I guessed, raising a hand in a practiced motion. A moment later, my favorite drink appeared with the satisfying clink of clay on wood. I didn’t even trust the inn’s tea today without double-checking, so I cast Identify just to be safe.

  Perfect. Just the right amount of punishment in a cup.

  Lucy’s gaze shifted, a flicker of concern threading her words. “What about your class? You can’t fight without one.”

  I wrapped my fingers around the mug; the heat seeping into my skin, and drew it close. The steam curled against my face with a sharp ginger bite. Taking a slow sip, I let the bitter-earthy sting coat my tongue before setting it down. I craved whiskey so much. But no. “I’ve got a plan. Don’t worry. It should work.”

  She didn’t buy it.

  Her glare was flat, steady, the look only Lucy could manage… equal parts captain’s discipline and friend’s disapproval. “This operation has a lot of moving parts. Every should… should be gone.” She finished her beer with a grim swallow, then forced a smile. “I won’t pester you. You do you, no matter what’s going on. So, grandmasters.”

  I plucked the honey stick from the tray, dipped it, and took a mouthful of the tea, the sweetness softening the burn. “Yeah. Any new info?”

  Lucy shook her head, her braids shifting with the motion. “The area’s glitching. Any testing’s useless! We don’t know what’s a system glitch and what’s a real bug. But I still pulled everything I could.” She shrugged, like it was nothing, though the exhaustion in her voice betrayed her. “Purple, white, or green are a bust. Nothing new.”

  I nodded, not surprised. I’d expected the test servers to throw errors around them anyway. “Those three are the strongest houses.”

  Lucy flagged down the innkeeper for another mug. When it came, she glanced at my tea with a smug little smile and—without asking—leaned over to take a sip. I narrowed my eyes at her, but she just looked delighted at her own audacity.

  “So, three small masters, then,” she said.

  I paused, frowning. “Wait. What makes them grandmasters anyway? I never questioned it. Everyone just called them that, so I… went with it?”

  Lucy laughed, a quick bright sound that chased away my morning heaviness. “We don’t have time for deep political debate!”

  Lucy took another mouthful of her beer, foam clinging to her lip. “TL;DR for me?” I asked, widening my eyes with my best fake puppy-dog look.

  Lucy snorted mid-swallow, then choked outright, the beer going down the wrong pipe. She doubled over, coughing hard enough to rattle the table.

  I flicked my fingers, sending a quick heal her way. The golden shimmer wrapped around her chest, and just like that, the coughing stopped.

  She sucked in a shaky breath, wiping her mouth with the back of her sleeve. “Damn, Lil’ Char, magic’s weird.”

  I grimaced. Great. Half the reason I healed her was because I’d hoped she’d forget that nickname. But nope. Lodged in like a bar song you couldn’t unhear.

  “But yeah,” she went on, gesturing vaguely with her mug. “You’ve got a lot of great houses in this city. Each with a history stretching back before Altandai even existed. Six of them decided they were… I dunno, better than the rest. So they started calling themselves dragons. Over time, they overshadowed everyone else. So the leader of a house? Master. Leader of the city? Grandmaster. Does it make sense?”

  She drained the rest of her beer with a last gulp, as if punctuation.

  “Mm-hm. Crystal clear.” I swirled the tea in my mug, watching the honey catch in the steam. “So all I need to do is make the red, yellow, and black dragon masters… gone, right?”

  Lucy was already halfway into another pour. She didn’t bother speaking… just gave a lazy nod as she tipped the mug to her lips.

  “Any dirt on them?” I pressed.

  She shook her head, swallowing. “Nope. Not much. They aren’t as bad as Purple, though. Black Master’s a prick, sure, but not evil. More into admiring his coin pile than abusing slaves.”

  “That’s… almost wholesome,” I muttered. “If you squint.”

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  Lucy raised a brow but kept sipping.

  “And the other two?” I asked.

  “Yellow runs fights. Makes slaves brawl for coin, rakes in profit off the bets.” Her mouth twisted, with a flash of disgust slipping through. “Red Dragon’s the youngest of them. He’s obsessed with magic… likes spells more than politics. People in his house whisper he’ll run them straight into ruin.”

  I leaned back in my chair, tapping the rim of my mug with one finger. “So basically, I’ve got a gambler, a hoarder, and a wannabe wizard.”

  “Sounds about right,” Lucy said dryly, and took another drink.

  “Okay, that’s everything for me… I think?” I finished my tea and pushed back my chair, the legs scraping against the wooden floor as I stood. But before I could move away, Lucy’s hand shot out and caught my sleeve.

  “Lil’ Char,” she whispered, eyes narrowing. “What about the ordinary people? How’ll they know? The ring isn’t loud enough. Our brass will wait for a signal, sure, but the others? The slaves won’t even know they’re free…”

  I flashed an impish grin, the kind that usually got me in trouble. “Taken care of that.”

  Her suspicion deepened, eyes narrowing as she leaned in. She slipped into her pirate drawl, the one she used whenever she lately wanted to needle me: “This cap’n clueless. How?”

  I rolled my eyes. “In the demon realm, they’ve got these circles they make for fights, right?”

  Lucy nodded solemnly, even though she’d never set foot there. She was a good friend like that… pretending she understood my nonsense so I didn’t have to explain it twice. Made me want to pat her on the head.

  “It’s simple,” I went on. “You point the runes at an energy source; mana stones, blood, whatever works. I used to use mana stones, and bang.” I clapped my hands together, startling a drunk at the next table. “Big holo in the sky. Impossible to miss. So… take care of the barracks for me, and I’ll handle the fireworks.”

  Lucy grinned, all teeth. She raised her mug high, then dipped her head in exaggerated ceremony. “Aye aye, my queen!”

  I couldn’t help it—I laughed, bowing my head in return. Then I glanced toward the cluster of players by the door, their armor dented, their cheeks flushed from ale. “Make sure this inn survives, alright?”

  Their nods came sloppy but earnest, half-tipsy loyalty shining through the haze.

  I drew a long breath; the weight settling in my chest. The air smelled of bread, smoke, and spilled beer. Cozy. Familiar. And about to be assaulted by demons.

  It was almost go-time.

  The square was almost too quiet. Empty stone stretched in every direction, neat lines of cobbles glaring under the pale morning light. The silence that felt staged, like someone had swept the place clean just for me.

  Except for the guards and there were plenty of them.

  I narrowed my eyes, adjusted my cloak, and strolled toward the nearest post with the most casual air I could muster… like I was just out for a royal morning walk. My tiara wasn’t exactly perched on my head, but the attitude? Yeah, that was there.

  “Excuse me,” I called, approaching a guard leaning against his halberd. “What’s going on here?”

  The man stiffened instantly. His armor wasn’t shiny parade gear; this was functional, dented in places, straps pulled tight for proper work. His face was youthful, but his eyes… wary.

  Too wary.

  “My lady,” he said politely, bowing slightly, “the square is restricted today. Orders from the top. Please return to the primary thoroughfare.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “Restricted? I don’t remember giving that order.”

  He didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink. “Forgive me, Lady, but these are city orders, not yours. There is danger. For your safety, you cannot proceed.”

  I leaned forward just a fraction, letting a hint of steel into my tone. “Do you know who I am?”

  His lips twitched as if he wanted to smile but wisely didn’t. “I know. That’s why I am being extra careful. You may not enter. It is not safe.”

  Not rude. Not defiant. Just immovable. The perfect polite wall.

  Well, damn. Guess throwing my queen card around didn’t work here. I could push harder, but the guy had the calm stubbornness of a mule. And I had better things to do than argue with polite mules.

  “Fine,” I said at last, with a sigh dramatic enough to make sure he’d remember it. I pivoted on my heel, cloak flaring just right—always leave them with some flair—and walked away.

  My mind brushed my inventory, searching. Quicksilver.

  Cool, liquid light pooled into my hand as I summoned it, a glimmering drop that refused to fall. This wasn’t for stabbing or drinking. No, this one was for art.

  The all-circus kind of art.

  I found a bench at the edge of the square, plopped down, and lounged like I had nothing better to do than people-watch. My eyes, though, never left the massive stone in the middle.

  All I had to do was focus on the stone, feed it a little mana, and sit back.

  So I did.

  The quicksilver hummed in my palm as I pushed energy into it. The drain was nothing… a mild tug at the edges of my mana, like tipping out the first shot of a bottle. Then the silver shimmered, liquefied fully, and dissolved into nothing.

  And then the world lost its damn mind.

  Light erupted in the center of the square, blinding white at first, then fracturing into reds, blues, and golds. A roar of sound followed… like mountains cracking, like storms breaking. Shapes spiraled upward, arcs of fire and color spinning against the washed-out morning sky. Crackling bursts boomed one after another, rattling the windows of nearby homes.

  Hell hadn’t just broken loose. It had rented the whole venue and was hosting a festival.

  Every guard in sight froze. Some shielded their eyes; others shouted, scrambling toward the spectacle. None of them looked at me. I slipped off the bench, adjusted my cloak, and walked calmly toward the square like I belonged.

  Nobody glanced my way. All eyes were skyward. The fireworks danced wildly above the stones, wrapping the square in a ring of shimmering distraction.

  Perfect.

  I angled off before I hit the main plaza, slipping into the shadow of a narrow side street. My fingers brushed the mana keystone at my belt, and the door I stopped at pulsed faintly in recognition. With a soft click, the lock unlatched.

  I slid inside.

  “Hi!” I chirped, stepping into the dim interior and shutting the door behind me.

  The room was wide, bigger than the inn’s common hall, its air buzzing with hushed voices. A long table dominated the center, with maps and half-empty mugs scattered across it. People were gathered around, my people, faces turned toward a wide window where the light-show outside painted the glass in neon.

  I found random chair and sat down as if I owned the place.

  Wait, do I?

  “You were supposed to fire it after you got here!” Lola snapped, pacing near the window. Her hair was a mess, her expression steadier than her words. “When you said fireworks, I didn’t expect… this. These can kill people! Thank Saevrin we don’t have anyone there.”

  Her eyes stayed glued to the display, anxiety sharpening every syllable.

  “Beautiful,” Mister Pancake murmured, appearing at my side like some breakfast spirit. He was chewing something happily, crumbs dotting his sleeve. “I hope they come.” He held out a muffin… green, of all colors. “Muffin?”

  I blinked at it, then shrugged and took a bite. The sweetness hit first, cloying, then something else; spiced, herbal, but unlike anything I’d tasted before. “Woah. What’s this?”

  He beamed, as if I’d just complimented his life’s work. “Local merchant sold me the most impressive herbs. His words. I overpaid, but they truly taste great, right?”

  He spread his hands wide, quoting like scripture: “The cracked roll may hold the sweetest crumb.”

  I laughed through a mouthful of green muffin, crumbs falling onto my lap.

  “Can we focus on what’s going on out there and not on baker secrets?!” Lola’s voice cracked as she whirled on us, finally tearing her gaze from the window. Her face was pale, lit by the kaleidoscope glow of the fireworks.

  But Pancake Monk only smiled, nibbling on his own green abomination of pastry.

  I leaned back in my chair, wiping sugar from my lips with the back of my hand. The boom of another burst rattled the glass behind Lola. Outside, the sky looked like it was bleeding colors. Inside, the table of commanders stared at me, waiting.

  The plan had started. The bait was lit. And if saw right the grandmasters came.

  “My time.”