[Helga's POV – Flashback, Years Ago, Yartar – Dockside at Dusk]
I remember the first time Yorz let me go with her on one of her deals.
Didn't talk to me for the first two days after we left the guild.
Not a word. Not a nod. Just walked ahead, long strides down muddy alleys, steam-filled streets, and salt-bitten docks while I followed three paces behind like a mutt trying to prove I had teeth.
It wasn't even a job. Not really.
Just a basic prisoner exchange, one of our fence-runners got too greedy and pissed off an up-and-coming gang calling themselves the Legion. Yorz offered a trade. They accepted.
Simple.
Boring.
But to me? It was everything.
The first time she let me see something. Do something. Even if it was just to stand there and breathe the same blood-warmed air as her. I was young, raw. Still mostly fists and attitude. Thought the world worked if you just hit it hard enough.
She didn't see it that way.
Yorz was quiet. Cold. Always watching ten moves ahead like the rest of us were still learning the rules to a game she'd already mastered.
She never yelled. Never flinched.
Just existed in this eerie stillness that made everyone else seem loud.
Back then, I hated it. Told myself.
"I don't want to be her'
Thought it meant she didn't trust me. Thought I had to earn something she'd never say out loud.
I didn't realise until years later…
That's how I talk to Fin now.
That same distance. That same silence. Like if I keep my voice even and my thoughts sealed, he'll somehow stay safer. Like closeness makes the cut hurt more when it finally lands.
But back then, all I knew was that we were crouched near the edge of Yartar's lower docks, waiting for Legion's runners to show with our girl.
And that I hadn't slept the night before.
Because this was my chance.
My first real mission under her.
My first step toward becoming someone who mattered.
The dock creaked under our boots.
Fog was rolling in off the river, curling low around crates and pilings like fingers reaching for the ankles. The only light came from a pair of sputtering lanterns, hung on rusted nails at either end of the dock. They did little to push back the dark.
Across from us, the Legion waited.
Five of them. All armed. All grinning.
Their leader stood at the centre, arms spread, posture loose, like this whole thing bored him.
He was tall. Lean. One of those faces that looked like it had been punched more than kissed. His coat was stained with drink, his shirt unbuttoned to the navel, revealing too many rings, too much sweat, and zero sense of shame.
"Yooooooorz," he drawled, dragging her name out like he was chewing on it. "Still playing queen with your little girl gang, huh?"
Yorz didn't answer.
Didn't flinch.
Didn't blink.
I stood just behind her. Still. Silent. Watching everything.
The man laughed and nudged one of his men. "Look at this. She brings the trainees now. What's next, you got a daycare hidden in your murder hole?"
Still no reaction.
He tsked. "C'mon, babe. Don't tell me you're still mad about that card game. You should be thanking me. I gave your girl here a free lesson in losing."
Yorz's expression never changed.
Cold. Blank. Like she hadn't even heard him.
The Legion leader clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. "Whatever. This whole show's boring now."
He turned and yanked something, something, forward from behind him.
A girl.
Thin. Small. Maybe sixteen at most. Short dark hair, beaten clothes, wrists bound. There was dried blood on her temple and a spark in her eyes that hadn't dimmed yet.
Even through the bruises, she looked furious.
He shoved her forward like she was trash. She stumbled, caught herself, and spat in the Legion leader's direction.
"Feisty," he said with a mock-swoon. "You sure you don't wanna trade her back?"
Yorz stepped forward once.
No words.
She caught the girl, Reina, whose name would turn out to be, with one hand, and pulled her behind her without ceremony.
She motioned with two fingers.
That was my cue.
I stepped forward and tossed the bag over, not even a full-grown woman. Just some petty runner of ours who sold the wrong spice to the wrong buyers. Hardly worth the trade.
One of the Legion thugs caught her.
The leader sighed.
"Done already? No drinks? No clever threats? Nothing?"
Still, no answer from Yorz.
"Gods," he muttered, turning around. "No wonder your crew's got no balls. You're all just frozen cun—"
Crack.
A sound like a twig breaking under a boot.
It took me a second to realise it came from his leg.
Yorz was standing where she'd been before.
But he wasn't.
He was on the dock, screaming, gripping his knee.
Reina looked stunned.
I… hadn't even seen her move.
Neither had anyone else.
The leader was still screaming, clutching his shattered kneecap, when Yorz moved again.
No fanfare.
No warning.
Just motion, a blur of grey cloak and clean angles, as she dropped one Legion thug with a palm to the throat. Another turned to run, but her boot caught the back of his knee, collapsing him into the dock. He didn't get back up.
A third lunged.
She stepped inside the arc of his swing, caught his wrist, and twisted.
Snap.
His blade hit the wood with a clatter.
In six seconds, four of them were down.
Unmoving.
The last one, the leader, tried to scramble back, dragging himself across the wood like a slug leaking arrogance.
Yorz followed slowly.
No rush. No heat.
She crouched beside him, one knee clicking softly against the boards.
He spat blood and snarled through gritted teeth, "You think this'll scare the Legion? I've got backers. You kill me, they'll gut your whole—"
She reached forward, almost gently, like a lover brushing hair from a face.
Her fingers closed around his chin and temple.
"No more noise," she said.
And twisted.
Crack.
His body slumped.
Yorz stood. Adjusted her glasses. Picked up the bag of spice we'd traded and tucked it under one arm like it had always belonged to her.
No blood on her cloak.
No rage in her eyes.
Just… quiet.
I stared.
Everyone stared.
Even Reina, bruised and breathless, looked like she'd just watched a god peel off a mask.
I swallowed.
Something clicked in me then, something low and cold and reverent.
And for the first time, I thought:
"Maybe I do want to be her."
[Present – Yorz's Office, The Hand of Yartar Guildhall]
"Helga."
Her voice hadn't changed.
Neither had the room, still plain stone walls. Still, the wide desk with its scattered maps and open ledgers, neatly stacked documents, and a single brass pen sitting parallel to the edge.
Still her.
Yorz gestured with two fingers toward the chair across from her. "Welcome home."
I didn't move right away.
Didn't speak.
Just stepped forward, let the door shut behind me, and dropped into the seat like I hadn't just time-travelled a decade in reverse.
The silence that followed wasn't awkward. Not at first. Not for us. It was the kind of silence that settles in when you already know the shape of the other person's breathing.
But then Yorz leaned back.
And tilted her head just slightly.
"You came back."
Not a question.
But she was watching me carefully, too carefully.
I met her gaze and shrugged. "Yeah."
"You're not the type to… return."
I offered a dry smile. "Guess I'm evolving."
Her expression didn't shift. "We thought you died."
"That was the point."
She glanced toward one of the side ledgers, fingers twitching toward it like she needed something to do.
"With the Cult," she added. "Word was you'd gone full zealot. Drowned in the river. Or burned in a failed summoning. Depends on who you ask."
I looked down at my gloves, flexed my fingers once, then back up at her. "I left that life behind."
Yorz nodded slowly, but I could tell she was still chewing on the thought. Not out of disbelief, she never wore emotions that loud, but like she was flipping puzzle pieces over and over, trying to find the edge pieces first.
Then she said, "Because of him?"
My shoulders stiffened. Just a little.
Not enough for most people to see. But Yorz was never most people.
I sighed through my nose. "You know about Fin."
She allowed herself a blink. "I know about everything in Yartar."
Of course she did.
"Is that a threat?" I asked.
"No," she said, without even a breath's hesitation. "It's a reminder."
I leaned back in the chair, arms crossing over my chest. "Then yeah. It's because of him."
Yorz adjusted her glasses, as though that answer had confirmed something she'd already half-decided.
"I met him," she said calmly.
That pulled my attention like a blade across glass.
"When?"
Her fingers tapped once on the edge of the desk. "A few weeks back. He was at the marketplace. Looked out of place. I keep an eye there for street thieves, mostly. But something about him… stuck out. I approached him myself."
My stomach coiled.
"And?" I asked. "What did you see?"
Yorz shrugged lightly, as if it weren't important. "Just a kid. Dirty shoes. Sharp eyes. Didn't flinch when I got close, that was unusual. Most kids his age freeze or lie."
"Sounds like him," I muttered.
She reached for a small drawer, slid it open, and pulled out a folded scrap of parchment.
The letter.
"I gave it to him directly," she said. "Didn't recognise anything special at the time. Unarmed. Just a child with good posture and too much silence."
She folded her hands over the parchment. "He was cute."
I snorted before I could help it. A real, unexpected bark of a laugh.
Yorz raised one brow. "What?"
"It's just…" I shook my head, unable to suppress the curl of my lips. "Hearing you say something like that. I think that's the first time I've ever heard you use the word cute."
"He was," she replied flatly. "He reminded me of you."
That shut me up.
Yorz tilted her head again, studying me the way a jeweller studies a hairline crack in a gem. Not for beauty, but for weaknesses that mattered.
"You've changed."
I rolled my eyes. "No shit."
"Your stance. It's different."
"Everything's different."
A pause.
"He doesn't know, does he?"
My eyes narrowed. "Know what?"
"Who you used to be, what you did for this guild?"
I didn't answer right away.
Yorz didn't press.
She never pressed. That was part of the danger. She'd just let the question hang in the air like smoke, waiting to see how long it'd take to choke you.
"No," I said eventually. "He doesn't know."
Her gaze dropped to the edge of her desk again, voice softening, just a hair. "He will."
"I know."
"Do you?"
I looked away. Out the high window above her shelves, where sunlight was barely starting to stretch across the eastern rooflines.
"I'm not asking you to forgive me," I said. "I'm not asking anyone for anything. But I'm here now."
Yorz nodded once. "And that counts for something."
I met her eyes again.
And for a second, just a second, I thought I saw something human flicker behind the glass and grey.
It passed quickly.
She pushed the letter across the desk toward me, but didn't let go. "He's going to be a problem, you know."
"I already knew that," I said.
"Not for you," she replied. "For the people watching him."
My jaw clenched.
"Then they should watch their backs."
Finally, she released the parchment.
"I see the fire's still in you," she said.
I stood slowly. "It's been waiting."
Yorz reached down.
"Would you like a drink?"
She said it casually, flat, measured, but I caught it.
The faintest quirk at the edge of her lips.
Not a smirk. Not sarcasm.
A smile.
Gods, that was rare.
I blinked once. Not at the offer. But what did it mean?
Because in all the years I'd known her, back when I was just another bruised recruit clawing her way up through the bloody teeth of this guild, I could count on one hand the times Yorz had offered something without a motive.
This wasn't a strategy.
This was… human.
I nodded slowly. "Yeah. Sure."
She rose from her chair without another word, moved to the shelf behind her desk, all thick wood and dustless bottles lined up like soldiers. She pulled one free from the centre. Dark blue glass. No label.
She poured two fingers each into short, wide glasses. No clink. No wasted motion.
She handed me one.
I took it.
The smell hit first. Sharp, with something sweet under it. Familiar. Old.
I held it to my lips, sipped, and felt my throat catch fire.
Gods, I'd forgotten how strong her tastes were.
I coughed once, and she didn't say anything. Just sat down again across from me and drank hers like it was water.
I wiped my mouth on the back of my glove and leaned back. "Still hoarding the good stuff, I see."
"Guild perks."
I scoffed.
Another pause. Not tense, but not comfortable either. Just quiet. The kind that sat between two people who'd both bled for something they thought was worth it once.
She set her glass down with a soft click.
"You're staying, then."
I took another sip of the drink. Let it burn. Then leaned back with a short breath.
"Temporarily."
Yorz gave no visible reaction. No nod. No disappointment. Just absorbed the answer like it was expected.
Then she reached into her desk drawer again. Not for a weapon. Not for a letter.
This time, it was a map.
Unfolded. Soft at the edges. Marked.
She turned it slightly, angling it toward me.
"Your boy's been busy."
My eyes narrowed. "You've been watching him."
"Tracking," she corrected. "Not watching."
I scoffed. "Big difference?"
Her gaze didn't waver. "One's passive. The other's protection."
My jaw clenched, but I didn't argue.
Because I knew her.
Knew how she worked.
If she'd wanted Fin dead, I wouldn't be sipping expensive liquor in her office.
"It started after the first incident in the Northern Mountains. The wolf sightings."
I sat up straighter, the weight of the glass heavier in my hand.
She tapped a few inked circles on the map. "Your boy's been slipping out at night. Out of the city. In through the alleys. Onto rooftops. Good footing. Better than a street kid should have. He's careful. But not careful enough."
I frowned. "And you didn't tell me?"
She raised a brow.
"Would you have listened?"
I didn't answer.
Because no, I wouldn't have.
Not then.
Not before seeing for myself how much stronger he'd gotten.
Not before waking up to find him not where he was supposed to be.
She continued, her voice still level. Still neutral.
"A few nights ago, one of my scouts followed him to Elmer Academy."
My breath caught.
"He snuck in. Was inside for over an hour."
I felt the cold slip down my spine.
"Why?"
"I was hoping you'd tell me."
I shook my head. "I don't know."
She studied me again. Carefully. Her eyes flicked just slightly to the side, the way they always did when she was working through ten layers of risk.
"Didn't look like he took anything or kill anyone."
I held back a bitter laugh. "That we know of."
"Still," she went on, "he came back alive. Alone. No injuries. No signs of fear."
I looked down into my drink.
"You think someone's training him?"
"I think," Yorz said slowly, "he's adapting."
I didn't like that answer.
Fin had always been sharp. But now… it was different. Like something under his skin was pulling strings faster than I could follow. I didn't know what it was, but it terrified me.
Because I didn't give him that.
No one did.
And that meant someone else had.
"You didn't try to stop him?"
"He didn't need stopping."
That made me pause. I looked at her. Really looked.
And for the first time since I walked into this office, I saw a flicker of something new in her eyes. Not curiosity. Not amusement.
Respect.
She poured herself another drink. Didn't offer me one this time.
"He's going to break something important one day."
I downed the rest of my glass.
"Good."
...
[Fin's POV - Yartar, Helga's Home]
We were standing in front of something important, which was now broken.
And not metaphorically.
Shards of blue-and-white ceramic littered the floor like a spilled offering at a temple. It even looked dramatic. There was a single flower still intact in the middle of the wreckage, swaying like it didn't understand what had just happened.
"…That was her favorite vase, wasn't it?"
I didn't answer right away. Just stared at the wreckage with a sinking feeling.
"Yup."
"You're sure?"
"Positive."
She scratched her cheek awkwardly, her posture slowly shifting from defensive to sheepish.
"You said she didn't like frilly things. That she was all swords and scars."
"She is. Except for that one vase."
"Of course. The one thing in the whole damn house."
Silence settled for a moment. Then I turned to her with a glare.
"Also, this is your fault."
She balked. "My fault? You're the one who punched me through a tree and left me unconscious in a bush like a sack of potatoes!"
"You tried to kick me in the throat the second you woke up!"
"I was disoriented!"
"You screamed and flung a chair at me!"
"A very reasonable response after getting cheap-shotted into the forest!"
Ali hummed in my head, sounding far too amused. "You know, in some cultures, destroying sacred household items is how people apologise. Maybe you're just ahead of the curve."
I muttered under my breath, "Not helping."
Stephanie tilted her head. "What?"
"Nothing. Just talking to myself."
She gave me a look. "That's new?"
"Sadly, no."
I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose, staring down at the evidence of our combined chaos.
"Okay. This can still be salvaged."
She raised an eyebrow. "You gonna fix it with glue and hope she doesn't notice?"
"I'm gonna fix it with glue and pray to every god in Faerûn she doesn't notice."
She smirked. "Sounds like a plan."
I crouched to pick up the largest shard, careful not to cut myself. It was one of the base pieces, curved, heavier, with Helga's name carved into the underside. My stomach sank.
She knelt beside me.
"…Sorry," she said, a bit quieter now. "For waking up like that. Reflexes. I didn't know where I was."
I shook my head, still looking at the shard.
"It's alright. I did punch you across a forest clearing."
"Yeah. You really did."
There was something beneath her tone, a grudging mix of awe and irritation.
"How… did you do that anyway?"
I paused.
"I train a lot."
She gave me a flat look.
"That wasn't just training."
Ali, unhelpfully again: "Well, technically—"
I coughed loudly. "Look, it's not magic magic, alright? It's just… a weird energy thing. Picked it up recently."
"You're gonna have to teach me that."
"Sure," I lied immediately.
I heard Ali chuckle. Again.
Stephanie stood, brushing herself off. "Let's at least get the pieces off the floor before she gets back and thinks we've been swordfighting indoors."
"We weren't that far off."
We both turned back to the mess.
"I'll grab the broom."
"You know where it is?"
"Nope."
"Cool. We're doomed."
...
[Helga's POV - Yorz's Office, The Hand of Yartar Guildhall]
Yorz set her glass down, the soft clink echoing louder than it should've in the stillness.
Then she said, "The Academy."
My eyes narrowed.
Yorz continued, matter-of-fact. "My scouts have picked up whispers. Disappearances. Students vanishing from rosters. Faculty filing false reports. Magic energy readings are spiking at odd hours. Doesn't take a genius to guess where it's leading."
"Cult," I said without hesitation.
Yorz nodded once, she leaned back slightly in her chair, fingers tapping idly against the polished wood.
"I assume your return wasn't a coincidence," she said. "The boy's part of it. But not all."
I nodded slowly. "I found something."
Yorz didn't look surprised. "At the party?"
"Yes", I nodded. "The academy's involved."
That made Yorz's fingers stop, her expression didn't change. Not even a flicker of surprise.
"You saw that on your own?" she asked.
I gave her a look. "Don't sound so shocked."
"I'm not." A pause. "I'm just… impressed. You've been out of the game a while."
I ignored her comment, "You think it's a hub?"
"I think it's more than that," Yorz said. "It's a breeding ground. And if we wait much longer, it's going to become a cathedral."
The words sat between them for a long breath.
Then Yorz stood, pulling a folded map from a drawer. She smoothed it across the table, fingers trailing the parchment until she pointed to a building near the academy's inner wall.
"There's an auxiliary faculty hall here," she said. "Supposed to be abandoned. Used for storage. But my scouts say the lights never go out."
"We go in?"
Yorz's eyes flicked up. "You. Me. Reina."
The plan wasn't a bad one. The three of us together could slip through wards, break locks, and fight if needed.
But I didn't miss the subtle shift in tone when Yorz said "you."
"You're not the only one who's noticed something off about your boy."
My head turned slightly, her voice calm but firm. "He's strong. But not reckless."
Yorz's lips twitched — not quite a smile, not quite mockery.
"Strong enough to kill a dire wolf corrupted by soul magic? At seven years old?" she said. "That's not strength, Helga. That's something else."
My jaw clenched.
"He survived. That's what matters."
"I'm not disagreeing," Yorz said smoothly. "But maybe it's time you talk to him. Find out what's really happening under your roof."
I stared at her, unmoving.
Yorz met my gaze without blinking.
"No one's hurt him," Yorz said simply. "Not a hair. But I know where he goes. I know how he moves. And I know he's hiding something."
I didn't respond right away.
Then, with a sigh, leaned over the map.
"Fine. We'll pay the academy a visit."
Yorz nodded. "Tomorrow night. Quiet."
I turned to leave.
Just before the door, Yorz called after me.
"And Helga… when you're done deciding if he's your son or your soldier—"
I paused.
Yorz didn't finish the sentence. She didn't have to.
...
[Fin's POV - Yartar, Helga's House; Dining Table]
Stephanie dumped was remaining of the vase out the window, she then groaned loudly.
I turned from the window, watching as she stirred, one hand lifting weakly to her forehead, the other flopping uselessly off the side of the couch.
She blinked slowly. Once. Twice. Then winced.
"Ow… what the hell hit me? A bear?"
I smirked. "Close. A fist. Comes with attitude and excellent hair."
Her eyes narrowed just enough to confirm she was coming around.
"You really just punched me?"
"Technically, yes," I said, stepping closer. "But in my defence, you called me a cheater and then tried to incinerate me."
"You were cheating!" she shot back, trying to sit up but failing halfway. "That weapon-copying thing was totally unfair."
I shrugged, leaning against the armrest. "Welcome to life. It's rarely fair."
She gave me a dry look. "You punched me into a tree, Fin."
"Again, in my defence—"
"Don't you dare say 'light punch' again," she cut in, groaning as she sat up fully, clutching her side. "Gods. You fight like a monster now."
I rubbed the back of my neck. "Sorry. Kinda forgot how strong I've gotten."
That earned a raised eyebrow. "Seriously? You 'forgot'?"
"Hey, I've had a rough couple of months."
She blinked at that. The fight faded from her face for a moment.
"Yeah," she said more softly. "Me too."
Silence settled in between us. Not heavy. Just… long.
I looked at her again, really looked, and saw someone who'd walked farther than she was ready to. Stephanie had always had fire, even back in the village. But now it was tempered, sharpened at the edges.
She stared around the room, taking in the shelves, the old furniture, and the worn rug.
"So," she said, voice quiet, "this is where you live now?"
I nodded. "Yeah. With my mom. Sort of."
"Sort of?"
"She's... complicated."
Stephanie leaned back against the couch cushion, arms crossed, letting out a breath. "I missed this, you know."
I blinked. "Getting punched into bushes?"
She gave me a lazy glare. "No, idiot. This. Us. Talking. Yelling. Laughing. Getting beat up and pretending we're not."
A beat passed. Then I said, "You didn't get beat up that bad."
She laughed — a short, real one.
"Thanks, Fin."
I stood up, glancing toward the kitchen. "You want something to eat?"
"You gonna cook?"
"I can try."
Her smirk came back. "That's a no, then."
"Alright, fine. You can heal and mock me at the same time."
She closed her eyes again with a half-smile. "Perfect."
Stephanie's eyes stayed closed for a long while.
The rise and fall of her chest slowed, almost like she was going to drift off again. But I could tell she wasn't sleeping, just thinking.
When she spoke next, her voice was softer than before.
"Fin, after the fire? What really happened?"
I didn't answer right away.
My jaw tightened. The air felt heavier now, like the walls themselves had leaned in to listen.
"I thought you were dead," she continued. "Everyone did. The farm was gone. No one saw you or your mom again…"
She opened her eyes and looked at me. Really looked.
"You don't just vanish after something like that. Not without a reason."
I ran a hand through my hair, staring at the floorboards between us.
"We ran," I said quietly. "That night… everything went to hell. We didn't know what else to do."
Her brows pulled in. "Did you see who did it?"
I nodded once, slowly. "I saw more than I ever wanted to."
Another silence.
She didn't push. Just waited.
So I kept going.
"I considered trying to go back after. But there was nothing left there. Ash and smoke. That was it."
Stephanie's voice was barely above a whisper. "And your mom?"
"She made sure I got out," I said. "That's all that matters."
I didn't tell her the rest.
Didn't tell her about the System.
The Points.
The Gacha rolls.
How I'd clawed my way into power, not through training or birthright, but by grinding like some insane RPG protagonist with no save points.
No. That wasn't for her.
Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
But I could tell she wasn't done.
Sure enough, her next words followed carefully.
"And the strength?" she asked. "The way you move, the way you see attacks… That's not normal, Fin. Not for someone our age."
I met her eyes, watching her carefully.
She wasn't accusing.
Just… confused. Maybe even a little hurt.
I shrugged. "I've been training. Pushing myself."
"Alone?"
"Mostly."
Her lips parted like she wanted to argue, to call that impossible. But she didn't. Not yet.
Instead, she pulled her legs up onto the couch, crossing them beneath her as she studied me.
"Are you learning magic?"
I hesitated.
"…Sort of."
"Sort of?" She arched a brow.
"I don't know what to call it," I said. "It's not like what you were using out there — that dance-fighting spell stuff. It's something else. Comes from… inside."
She tilted her head, intrigued despite herself. "You mean like sorcery?"
I opened my mouth.
Closed it again.
I could feel Ali's presence in my head.
"Something like that," I said.
I shifted on my feet, letting the silence stretch just long enough to think.
Then I asked, "So… what now? You ran all this way to find me. What're you planning on doing?"
Stephanie blinked at the question, like she hadn't quite thought that far ahead. Her shoulders lifted slightly in a shrug.
"I don't know," she said. "I figured I'd figure it out once I got here."
"Real solid plan."
"I didn't exactly have time to map out a five-year strategy, Fin," she said, tossing a pillow at me. I caught it easily. "I left with nothing but a dagger, a cloak, and my guts."
I nodded slowly. "And now?"
She hesitated — just for a second — before saying, "I was hoping I could stay. Here. With you."
The words hit harder than I expected.
I blinked. "You… want to live here?"
"Not forever. Just for a bit," she said quickly. "Just until I figure things out. I don't know anyone else in Yartar. I barely made it here in one piece."
My mouth opened, closed, then opened again.
"I don't think that's a good idea."
Stephanie's brow furrowed. "Why not?"
"Because this place, me, I'm not exactly safe right now."
She looked around the quiet house, then back at me, clearly sceptical. "Fin, you're living in a cottage in the woods with a tea kettle and a bookshelf full of gardening guides. You don't look dangerous."
"Yeah, well," I muttered, "danger doesn't always knock."
Something dark crossed her expression. "What do you mean?"
I didn't answer right away. I glanced at Ali, still floating just behind her, who gave me a shrug and a look that screamed. This is your problem.
So I sighed and sat down on the edge of the couch.
"There's stuff going on," I said. "Stuff I can't explain. People are watching me. Bad people."
Stephanie tilted her head. "Like… bounty hunters?"
"Worse," I said. "Cult remnants. Magic freaks. People who want things I have."
Her lips parted in disbelief. "You're serious."
"Dead serious."
She fell quiet for a long moment. Then, softly:
"Are they after you?"
"…Maybe."
Stephanie leaned forward. "Then all the more reason you shouldn't be alone."
I stood up again, pacing. "You don't get it."
"Then explain it to me, Fin!"
"I can't," I snapped, then immediately regretted the sharpness in my voice.
She flinched. Just a little.
I looked away.
Ali folded her arms, her gaze unreadable.
"I just…" I ran a hand down my face. "I don't want you getting caught in something you can't walk away from."
"You don't get to make that call for me," she said quietly.
"I do when I'm the one who gets people killed."
The words hung there. Bitter. Raw.
Stephanie stared at me, something shifting behind her eyes.
She didn't press. Didn't argue.
Just said, "Then let me stay for tonight. One night. You can figure out the rest tomorrow."
I sighed, defeated.
"…Fine, but if Helga asks, you threatened me with a knife"
"Thank you," she said, voice barely above a whisper.
I started toward my room. "But you're taking the couch."
"Oh, absolutely not."
"Too late. Dibs."
The door clicked softly behind me as I stepped into my room.
Finally.
I kicked my boots off in one lazy, half-hearted motion. One landed near the wall. The other sort flopped sideways into a pile of laundry I wasn't planning to deal with anytime soon.
I peeled off the outer tunic, tugged on a worn shirt that hung loosely from my shoulders, and let myself sink into the creaky mattress. The frame groaned. So did my spine.
"System," I muttered.
A familiar shimmer blinked into view — crisp blue panels hovering just above my eyes, faintly glowing.
[No new items. No new quests. No messages.]
"Huh," I mumbled. "Quiet night."
Ali's voice hummed into existence beside me, her tone dry.
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
"It kind of is. I could use something to punch."
"Or you could sleep. Like a normal child."
"You mean like you?"
"I don't sleep."
I waved the screen away with a flick of my hand and rolled onto my back.
"I've been thinking," I said, staring at the ceiling. "I want to go back. To the Academy."
There was a pause before she replied.
"...Back? As in sneak-in-again-and-risk-dying back? Or a new flavour of reckless?"
"I didn't get what I needed last time."
"You nearly got sealed inside a cursed stairwell by a cultist who may or may not be your sister."
"Keyword: nearly."
Ali sighed, that synthetic, exasperated hum of hers vibrating just above my left ear.
"I'm open to strategy," I offered. "Come on. You love planning."
"Fine," she said, with the tone of someone reluctantly doing the dishes. "You're underleveled, underinformed, and your stealth is better suited for forest traversal than enchanted hallways. Your sword glows like a dying star, and your cursed energy flares when you're emotionally compromised."
"So…?"
"So maybe wait a week and stop punching Bladesingers in the face."
"That was self-defence!"
"That was showboating."
"I won!"
Ali didn't answer. I could feel her judgment like static in the room.
To fill the silence, I added, "Besides, you've got no fashion sense."
"What?"
"This nightshirt? It's Helga's. Old, soft, broken-in. Practically a family heirloom."
"You look like a melted sack of wheat."
"You're just jealous."
"Of what? Your tragic taste in pyjamas?"
"At least I wear things. You don't even have a body for me to make fun of."
I let that one sit in the air, smug, stretching my arms behind my head with a grin.
No reply.
"Ali?" I said, blinking up at the ceiling.
Still no answer.
I frowned. "You're not sulking, are you?"
More silence.
Then something shifted.
The air above my chest thickened, like someone had just poured magic directly into the room. I sat up slightly as blue light crackled in the space over me, forming rings of arcane geometry in the air. Glyphs spun. The lines shimmered, snapped together, and collapsed inward.
And then—
She appeared.
Hovering an inch above the floor, light spilling off her skin like the sun filtering through ocean water.
Hair long, wind-tossed, a chestnut wave streaked with gold and firelight. Skin is warm-toned and radiant. Her eyes, deep, electric blue, fixed on mine with a mix of amusement and challenge.
She wore a draped, flowing teal-blue garment, light as air, cinched at the waist and falling just shy of glowing. Everything about her shimmered, not in some ethereal ghostly way, but like she'd always belonged here. Like the world had just been waiting for her shape to fill the space.
My mouth parted.
Words didn't come.
Ali smiled, and it was just this side of smug.
"Speechless?" she said.
I blinked.
"Wh—"
She stepped forward, light footsteps not making a sound.
"I figured, if you're going to keep insulting my nonexistent fashion, I might as well give you a frame of reference."
I sat up straighter on the bed, completely stunned.
"You... you have a body."
"Construct," she corrected, spinning once like a dancer. "Hard-light projection. You're not the only one evolving, Fin."
I stared.
"…You're gorgeous."
Ali tilted her head. "I know."
Silence.
Then I slapped a hand over my face and groaned.
"Oh no."
She laughed, actual laughter. Like chimes in the wind, like water hitting warm stone.
I looked through my fingers.
"You're never gonna let me live this down, are you?"
She grinned. "Not even a little."
I stared at her, still trying to process what had just happened.
A glowing woman stood in my bedroom, looking like the kind of goddess bards wrote songs about and smirking like she already knew the ending.
Ali crossed her arms, one brow raised.
"Well? Are you going to gawk all night or ask me how I did it?"
I blinked.
"…I hate you."
She smiled.
"No, you don't."
...
End of Chapter