The guards gave them a look as they approached the city gates; two muddy kids, streaked with dried blood and carrying bulging satchels.

  One leaned in for a closer look, nose wrinkling. “Open up.”

  David nodded, saying nothing.

  He stretched the satchel out, showing all the gore inside.

  The guard cursed as the smell hit his nose. He waved his hand as he turned his head away.

  They slipped through without further inspection.

  Their first stop was the Mason’s Retreat.

  The usual sounds of laughter and clinking mugs echoed from inside. David pushed the door open, and warmth and light spilled out.

  One of the silver-haired girls noticed them and waved. “Finally back for that ste—”

  Her eyes landed on Sophie’s bandaged arm. Then on David’s limp. The bulging satchels. The smile faded from her face.

  “...Viera’s in the back,” she said, voice quieting.

  Viera’s office was lit with the same low lamp as always. She looked up from her ledger, quill poised.

  “Well, well. What’s this?” She leaned back in her chair as they set the goods on the table one by one.

  Sophie pulled out the bulb first. Both she and David winced as they saw how badly damaged it was.

  Viera raised a brow, then bent closer to inspect it. Her lips pursed.

  “Ghora bulb, huh? Big one.” She tapped a bruised patch along the side. “Could have been sixty. You’re getting five.”

  David’s stomach dropped. Bastard monsters cost us so much money.

  “Sorry,” Sophie muttered. David didn’t blame her one bit.

  He opened the satchel, monster parts threatening to spill out of it.

  Viera blinked.

  “...Alright. Place it on the ground. If you stain my table, you’ll never see the sky again.”

  She bent down, examining the glistening carapace and still eye sockets.

  “A hunter-killer? How did you two get it, pray tell.”

  David and Sophie exchanged a glance.

  “We were attacked,” he said. “Out there. It jumped us! We had to fight back.”

  “Mm-hm,” Viera said. “And you two just… took it down. Alone. And cleanly cut off its head with gathering daggers.”

  “Yeah,” Sophie chimed in as David grew red in the face. “It jumped on me. Marco got the kill.”

  Viera looked at them both with dry amusement. Then, slowly, she leaned back in her chair.

  “Nasty bastards, you know? They mimic harmless game, wait for idiots to get close.” Her eyes settled on David’s bandaged fingers. “Strong men rarely survive such an ambush.”

  David could feel Sophie’s anxiety like a physical thing. She wasn’t used to keeping secrets this big.

  Viera smiled, dropping the tension in her voice. “Good for you.”

  David blinked.

  “There’s a bounty on these freaks,” she said, rifling through a side drawer. “With the bulb? Fifty. Don’t spend it all in one place.”

  Sophie let out a breath that came out as a laugh. David nearly stumbled.

  Viera stacked coins into two uneven piles. She grabbed David’s wrist before he could scoop them.

  Her eyes flicked between their many wounds. “You’re bringing me steady income. Don’t die.”

  David gulped, but the warning was quickly forgotten.

  They left her office grinning like idiots, but they didn’t stop for stew, incurring the silver-haired girl’s dismayed pout.

  Crazy as the day has already been, they still had things to do. Sophie took five coins and went to buy food for the refugees.

  David drew water from the well, refilling the barrel in their room, then cleaned his wounds and reapplied the bandages.

  Back on earth, he’d be bed bound with this amount of blood loss. Here? Just keep rigorously applying healing draughts and you’d regenerate in no time.

  Still, flesh was still just flesh and for once, David felt too tired to train.

  He didn’t feel like reading or learning, either. He stood by the window, staring toward the giant building of the academy that scraped at the clouds.

  Soon, they would be citizens. They would achieve the seemingly impossible.

  Maybe one day, he could even look down upon the city from the marble spires?

  If you dream, dream big, right? David chuckled as he imagined himself attending lectures about magic.

  -=-=-

  Later that night, Aura frowned as she looked at David’s bandaged fingers. “I can’t believe you tried to grab a Ghora’s tendril without thick gloves.”

  “My fault,” Sophie said, her head downturned. “I was too slow to warn him.”

  Bert clicked his tongue. “You both…” He yawned. “Need to be more careful.”

  “All’s well that ends well.” Aura said. Her eyes, filled with worry, had large bags under them. But David could swear he saw some silent pride in them.

  They didn’t mention the claws. Or the scythe. Or even the monster itself.

  Aura and Bert were much too tired to notice or dig deeper. The work camp was sucking their souls out, which only made David’s resolve harder.

  And with Sophie now steadily on his side?

  The next few days passed in a rhythm.

  Wake up. Enter the woods. Retrieve weapons. Gather. Hide the weapons again. Sell to Viera. Sleep.

  They still avoided fights. But if push came to shove, they knew they would do better.

  He could unleash the claws, without worrying about being discovered while Sophie had a long reaching weapon.

  But those were just matters of safety. David, for a first time in a long while, felt kinship.

  Romuald sipped a glass of wine, sculpting his newest figure; a long-haired, delicate woman in marble.

  His hands followed the invisible lines he was yet to unravel from the piece of stone.

  Between the chiseling and using mana to define the soft edges, he was completely absorbed, paying no mind to his advisor, Edden, who sat quietly in the corner reading from an old tome.

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  The doors burst open, tearing through his cherished serenity.

  Zael, closest of Romuald’s assistants, stepped inside. "A herald from the capital wishes to warn you of elven spies coming from the empire, my lord!"

  Romuald didn’t look up. "Old news. They will wait."

  He wanted to make good progress on the girl’s nose today.

  Not ten minutes later, Zael returned.

  What is this? Did everyone band together just to annoy me?

  "Vennevar sends their response, my lord!"

  Romuald raised his brow. "Is it affirmative?"

  "No."

  Eh, of course. "Then it can wait."

  Romuald returned to sculpting. Getting the intricacies of a human nose right was no simple feat. It was the foundation of how a face was going to look.

  He was always ready to spend days on that part.

  Moments later, Zael burst in again and Romuald could feel the veins on his forehead bulging. "My lord, House Kira sent another letter."

  Romuald stopped mid-chisel. He let the mana fizzle out then took a deep breath. "Zael, you know how I value your dedication.” He smiled at the younger man. “But if you dare open these doors one more time and the city isn't on fire, I will have you thrown off the balcony. Now kindly leave—and thank you."

  The doors closed in a hurry.

  “Edden.” Romuald raised his head toward his advisor. "Would you be a dear and receive them?"

  The older mage sighed deeply but closed his tome and left without complaint.

  Romuald, satisfied, returned to his work.

  Some time later, Edden came back, visibly exhausted.

  Since he had already made him take the brunt of the work, Romuald paused his craft and adopted a more serious attitude. "So?"

  "The capital wants donations for the upcoming war. Again."

  Upcoming? No longer ‘possible’? Romuald frowned. "Did the Empire cross the Burned Lands already?"

  "No."

  Romuald let his shoulders sag. False alarm. A war too soon could spell disaster for him. He needed a few years… A year at the minimum.

  “And about our friends to the south?”

  "Vennevar has devolved into a pack of nouveau knights. Your digsite has little chance of yielding swords, so they offer no support in guarding it. They’re consistent, if nothing else."

  Romuald rolled his eyes. We’ll have to abandon it during eclipses. Risky, but maybe I can spin that to my advantage.

  He gestured for Edden to continue.

  "Lastly, House Kira threatens population control if we don’t accept more refugees. Their letter appeals to your conscience. I found it inspiring. Didn’t think they knew the word."

  Romuald drained his wine and pressed a hand to his forehead.

  He could still hear the screams of people run down by monsters. But that wasn’t something he could share, not even with Edden.

  “We have no room for more.”

  He clapped his hands twice.

  A perfectly sculpted golem entered the room and refilled his glass. A young man in alabaster. One of the better faces I did. That nose had turned out especially well, if he said so himself.

  He emptied the second glass just as fast.

  "I swear, one day I’ll go around and replace all those idiots with golems. The country would finally regain its prosperity."

  "You would have done that already if you could."

  That much is true.

  Still, if it weren’t for the damn rebels… he might have already had enough sway to upturn the damned council.

  At the very least, he wouldn’t be forced to let so many people die.

  Unfortunate.

  Aura stood in the open-air workshop, hands stained with powdered herbs. She was mass-producing regenerative draughts; a special formula to ease the effects of mana overload.

  The Academy used it by the barrel.

  She had been at it for over two weeks now. Dawn to night.

  At least they didn’t force her to go over her limits. Just below the limit was good enough.

  The ache in her limbs had long since become background noise. But she couldn’t stop.

  If she took it easy, they could be kicked out of the city.

  Ever since she summoned the fire elemental, her body had been fragile. Her aptitude for controlling mana had slowly returned with rest, but a different scar remained.

  What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger? She’d punch whoever said that.

  She was afraid. Not of the power, but of the cost. Of losing it all. Deep down, she knew she might never reach the heights she once aimed for.

  The dean had always warned her: ‘Ambitious alchemists live to twenty.’, and she was almost twenty-nine, a vial of imperfect frostfire as her magnum opus.

  But at least she was safe. They all were. No more monsters. No more long nights. The rules here weighed heavy… but they protected.

  She wiped down her station.

  It wasn’t a fulfilling life, but would she throw it all away just to try and make her mark on history?

  Her heart knew the answer. Somewhere along the way, family became more important than fame.

  Bert was already waiting nearby, arms crossed. His work was more physically intense, so they let him out a little earlier.

  Still, he waited for her.

  She smiled, despite her exhaustion, and they walked home together.

  Aura opened the door to the rich, familiar smell of soup, but something was different.

  A wonderful scent of roast wafted in from the fireplace. The table was decorated with fresh flowers. A small feast waited.

  She blinked rapidly. Did I inhale too many extracts today?

  Sophie and Marco stood behind the table, beaming with pride. Their faces were bruised and Marco’s hands bandaged, though they tried to hide it.

  Aura opened her mouth to say they didn’t need to do this, that they should rest, recover. But something stopped her.

  She could use the help. More than she was willing to admit.

  Bert didn’t hesitate. He walked to the table and began preparing to eat.

  "We wanted to make something special," Sophie said. She had seemed distant since the Goddess’s Rest. Aura hadn’t found the time to ask.

  I’m glad she’s doing better.

  "What’s the occasion?" Aura asked.

  Marco walked over, tugged gently at her skirt, and guided her to the table. He used to do that all the time when he was younger. Now, at eleven, it had grown rare… but it still warmed her heart all the same.

  Once both she and Bert were seated, they were served slices of a beautiful roast, spiced just right. The meat looked perfect.

  How did they afford all this…?

  "We have an announcement," Marco said, trying to prop himself up on his hands like a miniature town crier. "We’ve been making money to help out."

  Aura smiled, touched. "That’s wonderful. Even a few coins would help so much."

  Bert nodded, chewing. "How much did you make?"

  "Five hundred silver coins," Marco said, deadpan.

  Aura choked. She almost spit out her food, but managed to swallow with effort. "Stop joking, Marco. That’s not funny."

  Sophie and Marco exchanged looks.

  They walked over to the corner, where a box had been tucked behind a few sacks. Marco lifted it onto the table with a thud.

  It clinked loudly. The table rattled. Aura’s water tipped over.

  Half-standing, she leaned to peek inside.

  A gasp escaped her as her hand moved to cover her mouth.

  It was nearly full of coins.

  "How? What? Why?" Her mind spun. She remembered the bruises. She looked toward her husband. Bert sat frozen, fork halfway to his mouth.

  He doesn’t know either?

  Her mind raced, to the bandages drying near their beds. To the weird stains on their pouches. Were they hunting? Going into the deep forest?

  She wanted to tell them it was wrong. Too risky. That they should have come to her first.

  But she couldn’t bring herself to. Marco was just like her when she was younger.

  Even with Bert, they were boxed in by rules—carefully designed to keep them inside the system.

  Aura walked around the table and pulled both her children into a hug.

  Somehow, they had found a way out.

  Enough money for citizenship. Even if only one.

  "How did you make that much?" Aura asked, her voice still unsteady.

  David beamed. "We've been selling herbs to a fence named Viera. We were skirting the rules. We didn’t tell you until we had enough to make it worth it. We didn’t want you to worry."

  Bert slammed his fork down. "We are sacrificing so much to keep you safe. Why would you throw that away?!"

  Sophie didn’t flinch. Her tone was calm, but firm. "Exactly because of that. We can pull our own weight."

  Bert stared at her, taken aback. But he said nothing.

  Aura spoke more gently. "I’d rather work my whole life like this than see you two judged and sentenced for smuggling."

  David smirked. "You won’t have to! We can buy citizenship and never break the law again."

  Aura opened her mouth, but no argument came. It was already done.

  Placing her hands on her hips, she tried to sound stern through a weary smile. "You two did amazing. But you better tell me next time you plan something like that... or else!"

  Laughter filled the room. Bert gave a grunt that might have been a chuckle. The tension melted.

  “If we gain citizenship, they’ll take this room from us.” Bert chimed in, calmer now, but still as worried as ever. “And we’d have to live apart.”

  “We’d need to save and buy all four at once–” Sophie’s face fell a little.

  “That’s only the case if it’s for me or father.” Aura caressed her cheek. “You made the money, dear. it’s only right that one of you goes first.”

  David’s caught and Sophie’s eyes on him. He motioned, as if to say, ‘I will be the first.’

  She nodded and so it was decided.

  They ate, teased one another, and spoke like they hadn’t in weeks.

  When the plates were empty, they cleaned together, and got ready to sleep.

  David sat there silently, as he watched Aura and Bert doze off. Their faces, for the first time in a long time, were free of worry.

  Tomorrow they’d buy that citizenship.

  It was worth every wound. Every risk. Every lie.