He tried to ignore the flutter in his gut. It is just a check-up, he told himself. But he hadn't forgotten the attempts on his life back in Aurelia, or the endless interest from factions like Lady Vesna's. It was hard not to see threat in every new face, even kind ones. Connor took a slow breath, focusing on the smells of the infirmary—the sharp bite of etheric disinfectant and undertone of sage—and attempted to relax.
"Begin whenever ready," Sela said evenly from her station near the door. One boot apart, arms folded loosely behind her back, she looked every inch the sentry. But when Connor's eyes met hers, she gave the slightest nod of encouragement. He held onto that.
Magister Ilse's hands moved in a practiced series of gestures. At once, a cluster of crystal orbs suspended around the chair flared to life, rotating lazily. Pale light rained in moving speckles over Connor's torso. The younger healer stepped forward with a slim wand-like instrument and a strip of silk.
"May I place this over your eyes, Sir Connor?" the novice asked in a trembling whisper. The strip, Connor realized, was a blindfold. "It will protect your vision during the scan," she added hastily.
A blindfold. He almost laughed at the irony—yet another layer of obscurity. But the girl looked mortified to even ask, so he just nodded. "Of course. Thank you for warning me."
She exhaled in relief and gently tied the silk across his eyes. Darkness bloomed, and his other senses sharpened. The faint tang of her floral soap lingered as she withdrew.
"We'll check your aetheric channels first," Magister Ilse explained from somewhere to his right. "You may feel a slight tingling. Novice, initiate the diagram."
"Yes, Magister." A series of clicks sounded as the novice adjusted something near the chair. Connor felt a sudden presence—a gentle pressure probing just above his skin, like warm raindrops that never quite landed. Tiny hairs on his arms rose. The pressure circled his head, then chest, then lower to his toes. Wherever it passed, a residual warmth remained.
He realized he was holding his breath only when the device clicked off. "Channels clear," reported the novice. "No blockages in primary meridians."
"Excellent," said Ilse. "No wonder you have been progressing with magic use. Now for the core vessels."
There was a pause, and then a cooler sensation swept through Connor's limbs, as if he'd stepped into a mountain spring. His headache—the dull throb at the base of his skull that he'd come to accept as background noise—spiked briefly. He winced. Immediately, the sensations ebbed.
"Apologies, Sir Connor," Ilse said, her tone concerned. "The resonance can be uncomfortable. We'll be quick."
"I am alright," he murmured, though a chill had settled in his fingers. He gripped the arms of the chair to hide a slight tremor.
"Detecting elevated arcane saturation in the cranial region," the novice noted. "Magister, the readings around his frontal lobe—"
"Yes, I see it," Ilse interrupted gently. "That old injury, perhaps?" Her voice pitched louder, addressing Connor. "Have you experienced headaches or dizziness since your journey here?"
Connor hesitated. "I… yes. Fairly often, actually." Honesty felt right with healers. "It's like a pounding behind my eyes, especially after I… after I do certain things." He wasn't sure how much the Council wanted these medics to know of his abilities, but presumably they'd been briefed.
He felt Ilse's cool fingertips against his temple, even through the blindfold. A soothing wave of aether rippled forth from her touch, easing some of the lingering pressure. "This may help. We'll apply a focused relief spell shortly. It appears the aether channels in your mind have been under intense strain. That's not uncommon in sudden onset of magical ability." She withdrew her hand. "One more deep scan, Sir Connor. You might taste iron—do not be alarmed."
Before he could respond, a low thrumming filled the air. Connor's mouth flooded with a bitter metallic tang, like pennies on his tongue. He grimaced. Through the cloth, he caught the flicker of bright light. The scanning orbs whirled faster now. His skin prickled fiercely at the barrage of magic washing over him.
Then, as quickly as it began, it was over. Connor exhaled, unaware he'd been clenching his jaw. The blindfold was untied and lifted away. He blinked against the return of white light.
Magister Ilse offered a kindly smile. "All done with the scan. You handled that exceptionally well."
He managed a faint grin in return. "I have had some practice enduring discomfort of late."
Her eyes searched his, perhaps noting the shadows of exhaustion there. She nodded knowingly. "Understandable." With a flick of her wrist, she summoned a hovering slate inscribed with glowing runes—displaying the results, no doubt. "The good news: you are in overall fine health. A bit of elevated stress markers, but nothing a restful environment will not mend."
Sela cleared her throat pointedly from near the door, as if to promise that restful environment would be enforced.
Ilse went on. "The aether saturation around your frontal region is notable. Essentially, your mind has been handling more magical influx than it is adapted for. The migraines are a side effect. We have skilled pain-easers here; we can mitigate that for you."
She exchanged a glance with the novice, who stepped forward holding what looked like two thin metal rods, each engraved with a series of tiny interlocking runes. The novice's hands shook slightly until Ilse laid a steadying hand on her shoulder.
Connor eyed the devices warily. "Mitigate how?"
"With your permission, we'll apply a dual-spell treatment," Ilse explained. "Think of it as a layered healing—one sigil sequence to reduce the inflammation in your aetheric channels, and another to bolster your natural resonance so it flows more smoothly. Combined, they should grant you relief without dulling your abilities. It is temporary, but can be repeated as needed."
Layered healing, combined spells… Connor's attention snagged on the phrase. One to do the primary work, another to stabilize and augment. He hadn't considered that approach for his own magic. A memory flashed of himself scrawling crude push-pull sigils in the margins of notebooks back at Lilygarden, trying them separately, never together. Could it be that simple? Use two in concert, to amplify one effect or to modulate it?
He realized Ilse was waiting for his answer. "Yes, alright," he said quickly. "I would be grateful."
The medics moved with efficient coordination. Ilse raised one engraved rod near the side of his head, while the novice held the other near his heart. At Ilse's nod, twin incantations were spoken in gentle harmony. The runes on the rods glowed: one a soft green, the other a pulsing amber.
Warmth blossomed inside Connor's skull, spreading like spilled honey down his spine. At the same time, a cool tingling radiated outward from his chest, meeting the warmth halfway. The contrasting sensations twined through him. He let out a gasp—pleasant this time. It didn't hurt; in fact, it felt like a sigh after long-held breath. The ever-present weight behind his eyes lifted, little by little, until he felt… nothing. Gloriously nothing. No headache. No tight band squeezing his brain.
He blinked back sudden, inexplicable tears of relief. "The pain… it is gone," he whispered, touching his fingertips to his temple as if to find the ache lurking there. It was not.
The novice beamed. Ilse gave a pleased laugh. "Excellent. The relief should last a day or two. When you feel the pressure returning, let us know immediately and we will administer another treatment. In time, your channels may adapt and strengthen on their own, especially with regular meditation and careful practice."
"Thank you," Connor said fervently. To have a clear head, even briefly—it was a gift he hadn't realized would mean so much until this moment. "Truly, thank you."
"It is our honor," Ilse replied softly. She began to pack away the equipment, the examination evidently concluded. The younger healer gathered the instruments, moving more confidently now that the procedure had succeeded.
Sela stepped forward, her boots clicking firmly. "Magister, Novice—on behalf of Asterholt's Council, thank you for attending to our honored guest."
Both medics bowed again, but this time the novice snuck a shy peek up at Connor. "We are so happy to help you, sir," she blurted, blushing furiously at her own boldness. "If there is anything—"
Magister Ilse cleared her throat gently. The girl clamped her lips, mortified. Connor offered her an understanding smile. "I will remember. You have both been wonderful."
With that, Sela guided him out of the chair. Connor's legs wobbled slightly as he stood; not from weakness but from the sudden lightness in his body. The absence of pain was almost disorienting. He felt… buoyant. Focused.
The double doors whispered open to let them out. "Take care, Sir Connor," Ilse called as they departed. Sela inclined her head gratefully as she ushered Connor back into the hallway.
The corridor felt a touch less cold now. Or perhaps that was him. Connor flexed his fingers, marveling at the clarity pulsing through his thoughts. Already, half a dozen ideas sparked in his mind—images of runic sequences and circuits interlacing like puzzle pieces. If two spells could work in tandem to ease pain, what might two of his kinetic sigils do, paired creatively? What of three? The possibilities glimmered tantalizingly.
He almost didn't notice the small cluster of figures at the far end of the rotunda, huddled as if pretending to study the marble statues. Five young women in varying guild uniforms stole poorly disguised glances toward him and Sela. Some were whispering behind their hands; one simply stared outright, eyes wide.
The moment Sela's gaze swept over them, however, the onlookers scattered like pigeons, robes flapping. Connor caught a giggle echoing as they vanished down an adjoining hall.
A hot flush crept up his neck. It wasn't the first time since arriving last night that he had been the object of curious stares. All through the brief welcome reception in the landing bay—between frantic security checks and hush-voiced introductions—dozens of eyes had followed his every move. Now even the citadel's own staff could not resist sneaking a peek at the male mage in their midst.
"Apologies," Sela muttered beside him. "That was out of line." She watched the last of the bystanders disappear around a corner. "I will inform the Council to better secure these halls during your movements."
Connor wasn't sure how to feel. Embarrassed, certainly. But also a bit guilty—those women hadn't meant harm, only to satisfy their curiosity. It felt wrong that even a harmless glimpse of him must be policed. "They were just curious," he said quietly, resuming their walk. "I cannot blame them for that."
Sela pressed her lips thin. "Perhaps, but you are owed privacy and respect." She briskly led him into a side passage that spiraled upward, a transparent lift waiting at its base. As they stepped inside the cylindrical car, a panel glowed. Sela spoke a command word and the doors slid shut. The lift began its ascent with a gentle lurch.
Through the glass of the elevator, Asterholt's inner workings revealed themselves in a dizzying vertical panorama. Connor's breath caught. Bridges of black steel crisscrossed a cavernous central shaft, connecting dozens of floors. Gears the size of cottages turned methodically along rail systems ferrying cargo. Far below, the fountain glimmered like a tiny star. Above, a vaulted ceiling was etched with an immense circular rune that pulsed faintly with power—the city's primary ward, he guessed. All of it engineered, fortified, and sealed away from the outside world.
His world now. His second sanctuary since arriving in Aurelia. Safer, perhaps, from external threats—but also more isolated. Connor felt Sela's watchful presence and the weight of all those invisible eyes upon him. He pressed his hand against the cool glass wall of the lift, staring outward as they rose. In the reflection, he barely recognized his own face: a young man drawn and pale, yes, but with a new spark in his grey eyes. Determination.
"How do you feel?" Sela asked softly. She stood at his shoulder, following his gaze out across the monumental view.
He answered honestly: "Clear-headed. Better than I have in a long time." He hesitated, then added, "And… overwhelmed."
Sela nodded. "Understandable. Asterholt can overwhelm even seasoned soldiers. We are a far cry from Lilygarden's gardens." Her tone gentled at the mention of their previous haven. "But you will adjust. You have done remarkably well so far, Connor."
He wasn't sure what to say to that. The compliment warmed him—Sela wasn't one to offer praise lightly. Still, he swallowed against a lump in his throat. Adjust. To being confined yet again, under stricter guard than ever. To being the cause of frightened giggles and council decrees.
At length, the lift slowed to a stop on a high floor. The doors slid open to reveal a quiet hallway carpeted in deep blue runners. Sela led him out, her boot steps muffled now. "These are your quarters," she said, gesturing to a set of onyx-inlaid double doors ahead. Two female sentries flanked the entry, clad in the navy-and-silver livery of Asterholt's Honor Guard. They snapped to attention as Sela and Connor approached.
Sela returned their salute. "At ease. Has anyone entered the suite?"
"No, Captain," one guard replied. "Matron Yara left some welcome provisions earlier, but aside from that, all is secure."
"Thank you." Sela pushed open one door, and inclined her head for Connor to step through.
He entered his new sanctuary. The doors shut behind with a soft thud, leaving Sela and him alone in a spacious antechamber. It was as luxurious as any he could imagine: high ceilings with filigree moldings, a plush sitting area, shelves carved into the stone walls—and true to Asterholt's style, one entire side of the suite was a window of seamless black glass looking out over the city skyline. Afternoon light filtered through, tinted charcoal, lending the room a hushed twilight ambience.
Yet for all its beauty, Connor felt a pang of hollowness. It wasn't home. Just another safe cage. His eyes drifted to the shelves—stocked with scrolls and books—and a sturdy oak desk complete with quills, ink, and arcane drafting tools. The provisions Yara brought, he presumed. At least they hadn't left him with nothing to occupy his mind.
Sela removed her gloves and tucked them into her belt. "I'll be stationed right outside. Two guards at the door at all times as well." She said it matter-of-factly, but Connor didn't miss her careful glance, gauging his reaction. "If you need anything, ask us. Otherwise, you are advised to remain within these quarters unless escorted. It is for—"
"My own safety," Connor finished quietly, moving towards the window. His reflection moved with him, a ghost in dark glass. Beyond it, Asterholt stretched in tiers and spires, disappearing into mist at its edges where the fortress met the mountainside. "I know. It's all to keep me safe from those who want me as their prize." Lady Vesna, the cartel, the mysterious cult that whispered of male aether—so many claws at the door. The reality was, stepping outside these walls put him and those around him in mortal danger. He knew it. But accepting it was another matter.
Sela stepped closer, stopping a respectful few paces away. "This arrangement is temporary. The Council will convene soon to discuss longer-term measures. They are… taking every precaution in the interim."
He could imagine. Lock down the precious male mage. Hide him from the world. Even limit his interactions with their own citizens to prevent any possible incident or leak. "I understand," he said. His voice sounded distant in his own ears. "May I at least explore within the citadel? Under guard, of course."
Sela hesitated. "Certain areas, perhaps, with clearance. But for now, the directive is to keep you to this floor and the floor below. That includes the infirmary and a small library annex for your use. Anywhere else would require express permission." She delivered it calmly, but he could hear the regret under her professionalism. She hated it too, this sequestering.
Connor closed his eyes briefly. Two floors. In a city of hundreds. It was suffocating. The clarity in his mind flared with frustration now. He understood the fear driving these decisions, but knowledge caged up did no one any good. They were so afraid of losing him that they would let him wither in isolation instead.
No. He wasn't going to wither. He would grow. Quietly, yes, carefully, yes—but he would not let their fear or his own keep him helpless.
He turned back to Sela with a faint smile to hide the turmoil beneath. "A library annex, you say? That sounds like a fine starting point." His attempt at lightness drew a relieved half-smile from her.
"I thought you might approve of that particular amenity," she said. "Matron Yara ensured it was stocked with texts you might find engaging. History, basic aether theory… introductions to our guild structures. Light reading."
Connor inclined his head. "Please thank Matron Yara for me, when next you see her. I appreciate her thoughtfulness." He'd only met Yara briefly upon arrival—a stately woman with ink-stained fingers who had welcomed him with a surprisingly grandmotherly hug. The memory brought a small warmth to his chest. At least some here saw him as a person, not just a bargaining chip.
"I will. She'll be pleased." Sela clasped her hands behind her back. "I will let you settle in. Supper will be brought to you within the hour. If you do not mind, I will take my post outside now."
Connor nodded. "Of course. And Sela—" He paused, searching for the right words. "Thank you. For everything. I know this isn't easy for you either."
Sela's composure softened. "It is my duty and my honor to guard you, Connor. No need to thank me. But… you are welcome." With that, she stepped out, the heavy door closing with a click.
Silence, warm and thick, settled over the chamber. Connor remained where he was, the faint reflection of himself superimposed on the vista beyond. Asterholt's towers knifed upward, and flitting shapes of patrol skiffs drifted between them like lazy bumblebees. Farther out, beyond the fortress walls, the jagged silhouette of mountains cut along the horizon under a pale sky. A beautiful prison, but a prison nonetheless.
He pressed his palm flat to the black glass. It was cool, unyielding, giving not an inch under his touch. Just like the layers of protection around him: well-intentioned, impenetrable, and utterly stifling.
A few floors below, a distant bell tolled the hour. Connor stood there until its echoes faded, lost in thought. The med-mages had lifted his pain and shown him a glimpse of possibility. Sigils working in tandem. Runes compounded to more than the sum of their parts. That was knowledge he could use—knowledge he intended to pursue. Because if he couldn't step outside these walls anytime soon, perhaps his mind could range further, deeper. Maybe power and understanding were keys that could open even a fortress of glass.
He had allies, he reminded himself. Sela at the door, loyal and vigilant. Matron Yara, sympathetic and wise. Others too, perhaps, waiting in the wings: that timid novice healer who genuinely wanted to help, or the curious clerks who snuck glances. And Marisela, far away in Aurelia, who he knew would be praying for his well-being. He wasn't alone. Not truly. And maybe, just maybe, there were friends here he had yet to meet.
Connor's fingers curled slightly against the window. His reflection in the dark glass looked back at him, resolute. They meant to keep him safe, to hide him from danger. But safety without freedom was just gilding on the bars. He refused to remain a passive prize to be guarded. If knowledge was leverage, he would seize it. If power was the price of freedom, he would pay it.
No more helpless days. No more blindly waiting for rescue. Within these walls, he would find a way to grow stronger—quietly, yes, but relentlessly.
His breath fogged the glass as he leaned forward. Outside, Asterholt's city lights were beginning to glimmer in the early dusk. Somewhere out there, threats lurked unseen. But opportunities, too. The path to his future was veiled, its shape uncertain, yet it lay before him if he dared to search.
Connor drew back and exhaled. Resolve settled like stone in his gut. Sanctuary always came at a price. He was done paying with inaction.
He allowed himself one final, silent vow, the words blazing in his mind like a brand: This cage will not hold me forever.
Chapter 11: Runes Under Glass
A thin plume of blue-white steam hissed from a cracked valve, carrying the scent of hot metal and ozone through the dark workshop. Shadows danced in the orange glow of a single aether-lantern set low on a bench. The air was stifling here beneath Asterholt's citadel: a claustrophobic medley of machine oil, dust, and the faint tang of old blood that clung to the tools of monster-hunters. Glass display cases lined the walls, their interiors glinting with faintly luminescent runes etched on fragments of armor and weaponry. Each rune shone like a caged star behind the protective glass, promising secrets to any bold enough to peer inside.
Connor pressed himself against a column of shelved conduits, listening hard. Distantly, the clank of a shifting automaton echoed somewhere above them in the vault-like chamber—regular, unalarmed. No other sounds of pursuit. His pulse was a drumbeat in his ears nonetheless. In the dim lantern light, he could just make out Thea's silhouette as she knelt by an open panel of a disassembled convoy engine across the bench. A smudge of grease streaked her cheek. Nearby, Zara stood watch by the heavy door, her hand on the hilt of a curved short sword. All three were tense, hearts in throats, poised on the knife's edge of discovery.
If they find us here… Connor steadied his breathing, pushing the thought away. Focus. They had risked too much to falter now. He wiped sweat from his brow with a sleeve and crept back to Thea's side.
Thea glanced up, brown eyes catching a glint of lantern light. Beneath her anxious excitement lay steadfast resolve. She silently passed him a slender brass tool—a screwdriver of sorts—taken from her satchel of contraband supplies. Connor's fingers brushed hers as he took it, and he felt a slight tremor. Whether the tremble came from her nerves or his own, he couldn't tell.
"Almost got it," she whispered, barely a breath of sound. Her voice, usually bright and chipper during their library discussions, was now constrained to a razor-thin edge of concentration. She nodded at the half-exposed rune circuit board in front of them. "Just one more latch."
Connor tightened his grip on the tool. The object before them was a segment of rune-inscribed crystal array—salvaged from one of the armored transports that had borne him here. After the convoy's harrowing journey, several vehicles had limped into Asterholt for repairs. This workshop held the wounded pieces of that battle: scorched plating, a bent cannon barrel, even the cracked cylinder of a reactor core. Matron Yara's influence had quietly unlocked the door for them tonight, but the rest—getting in unseen, gathering tools, and daring to pry open sealed tech—was on their shoulders. On his shoulders.
Zara's low whisper drifted from the doorway, urgent. "Be quick. Shift change in ten minutes." In the orange glow, her silhouette was as still and sturdy as a statue, but Connor caught the glint of her eyes flicking between the door's seam and them. Ever the sentry.
He nodded, though she likely couldn't see it clearly. With careful hands, he inserted the screwdriver's tip into the final latch holding the glass cover over the rune circuit. It resisted, stuck fast with years of enchantment and grime. Connor exhaled slowly, recalling the breathing exercises Marisela had taught him for steadying nerves. The faint bitter scent of the bone powder dusted over the glass filled his nostrils—a concoction Thea had sprinkled to reveal the otherwise invisible linking sigils beneath. Ground leviathan bone, fine as talc, shimmered across the surface in ghostly patterns. Patterns he was desperate to decode.
He pressed gently, twisting. The latch gave with a soft snap. A panel of crystal the size of a dinner plate lifted free, revealing the delicate lattice of runes etched into its underside.
"Got it," Connor breathed, a thrill of triumph curling in his chest. He set the glass aside, careful not to clink it against the metal housing. Beneath, the heart of the mechanism lay exposed: a matrix of interlocking sigils inscribed on a circular disc of polished bone—titan bone, if the scorched opalescent hue was any indication. Faint lines of silver connected each rune, forming a web.
Thea leaned in, her face inches from the array, lips parted in wonder. "Stars above," she murmured, voice trembling on the exhale. "It's beautiful."
Connor silently agreed. There was an artistry here he had only glimpsed in passing when these engines roared to life. Now, up close, he could see how the runes weren't isolated elements but part of a unified design. Push runes, pull runes, stabilization glyphs—each feeding into the next in loops and whorls. The bone disc was dense with them, far more than any single-purpose charm would carry.
No wonder the transports could repel titan-class beasts. These circuits layered magic in tandem, weaving multiple effects together. Much like the med-mages had done for his headache, he realized with a spark of insight. Compound sigils working in concert.
Thea carefully withdrew a rolled parchment from her satchel and spread it on the bench. "I will sketch the layout," she whispered. Her earlier nerves had melted into scholarly focus; Connor watched her produce a charcoal stick and begin copying the rune shapes at an almost feverish pace. Despite the hush, he could hear the faint scratch of charcoal on paper, and with each stroke Thea's confidence seemed to grow. She was in her element.
Zara left her post by the door to join them silently, footsteps soft on the stone floor. Even she couldn't resist a peek. Connor moved slightly to give her a view. Zara's dark braid slipped over her shoulder as she bent, eyes narrowing at the intricate markings. A small grunt of appreciation escaped her. "Looks like a whole nest of worms," she observed under her breath.
Connor bit back a smile. "Worms that can bite," he replied just as softly. He pointed to a particular spiral of sigils at the array's edge. "This section controlled the kinetic discharge, I think—the push-back force. See these three runes bound together? They are variations of the base push sigil, but each angled differently. And here—" he indicated a cluster opposite "—pull sigils, likely anchoring the device to the vehicle frame so the recoil wouldn't flip it."
Zara shook her head in faint amazement. "If you say so. I'll take your word, Connor." She placed a gauntleted hand lightly on his shoulder, a gesture of encouragement. "Just make sure you two get every detail you need. We won't get a second chance at this."
He understood. By morning, the mechanics would return, and this whole workshop would be under watchful eyes. If any suspected that Connor might be dabbling in things beyond a meek study, the Council would lock down everything tighter than ever. They had to get it right, now.
As Thea sketched furiously, Connor produced his own notebook from an inner pocket. He had taken to carrying it since arriving—part diary, part science journal. Under the faint lantern glow, he began jotting down observations: how the silver inlay connected runes in series and parallel, where the bone was thinnest from repeated enchantment stress, how slight variations in rune shape might modulate output. Each note felt like a door cracking open in his mind, revealing a glimpse of a vast library of possibilities.
Minutes slipped by. Beads of sweat formed on Connor's temple from the concentration and the stagnant heat. But the work was intoxicating. His earlier fear was subsumed by the joy of discovery and the camaraderie of two allies by his side in this secret pursuit.
"Finished," Thea whispered at last, laying down her charcoal. The parchment now bore a careful reproduction of the rune lattice, annotated with tiny letters and arrows where she'd guessed at layering. Despite the rush, her work was impressively detailed.
Connor examined the sketch, nodding slowly. "This is excellent." He traced a finger over Thea's drawn lines, comparing to the original array. "Once we're out of here, I can try to model how the energy flows through these. Maybe simulate a smaller version on paper."
At that, Thea flashed him a quick, excited smile—one that made her youthful face seem even brighter in the low light. "I have some ideas on how to test it safely, using low-charge crystals," she murmured. "We could—"
A sudden dull thud echoed from the corridor outside. All three froze. Zara reacted first, snuffing the lantern with a swift pinch of its wick. Darkness dropped like a blanket. Connor's heart jumped to his throat.
In the gloom, a slit of light appeared beneath the workshop door and grew brighter. Approaching footsteps. A muffled voice. Someone was right outside.
Zara pressed close to them, her whisper almost imperceptible. "Guards."
Connor's pulse roared in his ears. He swiftly but silently placed the crystal cover back over the rune array, pressing it down until the latch clicked. If they saw an open engine panel, it would raise questions. Thea rolled up her parchment with trembling hands and tucked it into her satchel, trying to quiet the crinkle of paper.
The footsteps halted just beyond the door. Through a narrow gap in the frame, a beam of light from a carried lantern sliced into the workshop, illuminating motes of dust. Connor held his breath, muscles taut. Beside him, he felt Thea's arm brush his; she was shaking. He covered her hand gently with his own, willing calm into her. Please, please keep walking.
A key jangled. The door handle rattled as someone tested it. Zara had re-engaged the lock after they entered, and for a terrifying second Connor feared the guard would find it bolted and summon help. Who locks an empty workshop? He swallowed, mind racing. They needed a distraction—something to lure the patrol away before they investigated further.
Without daring to speak, Connor slipped his hand free of Thea's and extended it toward a stack of metal canisters on a shelf across the room. He narrowed his eyes, summoning the now-familiar tingling in his fingertips. Slowly… gently… He coaxed the energy within, shaping it with a thought—a subtle push, not a violent shove.
A single canister teetered, then toppled from the shelf and struck the stone floor with a clang that reverberated loudly in the confined space.
At once, the light under the door jerked away. "What was that?" barked a gruff female voice from the hall.
"Sounded further down, near the coil furnace," answered another. The glow of the lantern swung, spilling through the gap as the figures hurried off. Their footfalls grew fainter, drawn by the noise.
Connor allowed himself to breathe again. The darkness remained, but the immediate danger had passed. He could feel Thea's eyes on him through the gloom, wide with astonishment at what he'd just done. Even Zara looked impressed, her white grin briefly visible as she gave a silent chuckle of relief.
He offered a tight, shaky smile in return, though they likely couldn't see it. His heart was still racing, and his fingers tingled from the controlled exertion. It had been a small trick—toppling one canister—but entirely intentional and precise. A week ago, he might have knocked the entire shelf over by accident instead. Progress.
Zara wasted no time. She tugged on Connor's sleeve and then Thea's, guiding them away from the center of the workshop. In the absence of the lantern, the only light was a faint blue glow from a few dormant rune-inscribed objects. It was just enough to navigate by.
Moving as one, they slipped through the maze of benches and equipment toward the secondary exit—a maintenance hatch Thea had unsealed earlier. Connor's toe caught on an uneven floor stone and he stumbled, but Zara's strong arm steadied him before he could fall into a rack of sprockets. He muttered a thankful apology.
At the hatch, Thea felt along the wall until her fingers found the outline of the panel. There came a soft series of clicks as she manipulated the wards she'd temporarily disabled on their way in. The metal hatch slid open, revealing a narrow service corridor beyond, lit in intermittent crimson by the low-power night runes that lined the floor.
One by one they slipped through. Zara went last, pulling the hatch closed behind them and spinning the wheel lock until it was secure. They exchanged looks in the ruddy gloom. In the distance, boots on metal rang out— the guards, still searching in the adjacent room. But no shouts of alarm came their way.
Connor exhaled a long breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. It emerged as a shaky laugh, quickly stifled. Thea squeezed his arm, and he felt her release tension as well, a tiny laugh of her own escaping. In that moment of shared relief, their eyes met, and Connor realized he was grinning. Despite the danger, he felt more alive than he had in days.
Zara gave a low whisper, the closest she'd come to a celebratory cheer: "Well done." She clapped him once on the back, then started down the service corridor, leading them away from the scene of their crime. Thea and Connor followed close, soft footfalls echoing in the confined space.
They walked in silence for a minute, ears straining for any sign of pursuit. None came. At a junction, Zara peered around the bend then motioned them onward. The passage would deposit them near the laundry rooms—quiet at this hour—where they could blend into the shadows and slip back toward the residential wing.
Connor's mind buzzed with excitement and lingering fear. The rolled sketch in Thea's bag felt like treasure burning a hole in his conscience, and his notebook in his pocket was heavy with stolen knowledge. They had done it. They had broken the rules—in fact, shattered them—and gotten what they came for. The taste of rebellion was intoxicating and a little terrifying.
As they neared the end of the passage, he found himself whispering, "We have it. The lattice design." It wasn't a question, but he needed the reassurance spoken aloud.
Thea patted her satchel, her smile visible in her voice. "Safe and sound. We got everything."
Zara added quietly, "Let's secure it properly once we're back. Then we plan next steps. Carefully." Ever pragmatic, she kept her exuberance in check, but Connor could sense her pride in their success.
Connor nodded, though a flicker of guilt tugged at him. Sela and the others who cared for him had no idea what he was up to tonight. He could imagine their disappointment—or horror—if they knew he'd snuck into an off-limits armory to tamper with dangerous tech. And yet… he felt no regret. The Council's restrictions might keep his body safe, but his mind needed to roam free, to question, to learn. Tonight had proven that in spades.
At the corridor's end, a final grate barred their way back into the main citadel halls. The trio paused. Through the slats, moonlight from an open skylight spilled across the marble of a side atrium. All was quiet. Zara pressed her ear to the grate and listened intently. Satisfied, she nodded and set to work loosening the catch.
Connor's pulse had finally begun to slow. The adrenaline of the last half hour ebbed, leaving him simultaneously exhausted and elated. His hands were still steadier than he expected as he watched Zara lift the grate and hold it aloft for them. One by one, they stepped through, emerging behind a cluster of potted night-bloom lilies whose fragrance sweetened the cool air.
They were out. Home free, or as close to it as one could hope.
Thea carefully closed the grate, wiping any trace of their tampering from its edges. Then she turned to Connor, eyes shining even in the dark. "We should get you back to your suite before the next patrol."
"Right," he agreed quietly. Yet for a moment, he hesitated. He glanced back down the shadowed corridor they had left, as if expecting alarms to suddenly blare or guards to appear at their backs. But the silence held. They had pulled it off.
Zara placed a reassuring hand on the small of his back, urging him forward into the atrium. "Keep moving, hero," she teased under her breath. "Save the reflection for when we're not one door away from a guard post."
Connor ducked his head, a slight flush coloring his cheeks at the casual endearment. Hero—hardly. If anything, he felt like a lucky thief making off with prize loot. But her tone was fond, and it warmed him.
Together, they slipped down a side hallway lit by softly glowing mosaics, each depicting constellations and legendary beasts of Asterholt's history. The citadel around them slept on, oblivious to the quiet victory in its midst.
At last, they reached a junction that would take Thea and Zara to the dormitory annex and Connor back to the male quarters with minimal overlap. They paused in the shadows.
Thea turned to Connor, concern creasing her brow now that the rush was fading. "Get some rest," she whispered. "Tomorrow, you can start working on that model. And… be careful. The med-mages said not to strain yourself too hard yet."
Her earnest worry touched him. He managed a reassuring smile. "I will be careful. And thank you—for everything tonight. I couldn't have done any of it alone."
Thea's cheeks darkened a shade, and she looked away briefly. "We're a team now, right? Connor, Zara, and Thea against the world." Her attempt at levity rang with genuine feeling beneath.
Zara chuckled softly. "A small team, but a fierce one." She gave a playful salute. "I'll walk Thea to her quarters, then circle back to check the hall by your suite, Connor. Just to make sure none of our dear guards noticed you missing."
Connor winced at the thought. They'd been so careful—he'd left a decoy lump under his bedcovers, a trick gleaned from an old adventure novel. Still, if Sela discovered his absence… He pushed the worry aside. So far, so good.
"Until tomorrow, then," he said. He had to force himself to turn and walk the last stretch alone. Each step away from his friends felt strangely heavy; in the short time since forming this secret pact, he had come to rely on their presence.
At the final corner, he glanced back. Thea offered a tiny wave, and Zara flashed him a quick thumbs-up before both slipped away into another hallway. Connor watched them disappear, a faint ache of gratitude and concern intertwining in his chest. Chosen allies, indeed.
He drew a careful breath and stepped into the corridor leading to his chambers. Only a few more yards. With every stride, his mind raced ahead, already planning the morrow's work. He yearned to spread out Thea's sketch and his notes, to overlay them and begin constructing a miniature model of the rune lattice. He could test energy flow with negligible charges, refine the design, see if he could recreate that push-pull effect on a smaller scale. Even on paper, even as theory—this was a step toward understanding his own power. Toward mastering it.
He reached the grand doors of his suite. The two guards stationed there—Nima and a newer watchwoman he knew only as Pell—snapped to attention. Connor's heart lurched, but he forced a calm nod. "Good evening," he murmured, praying the low light would hide the sweat on his brow and the smudges of dust on his sleeves.
Nima smiled politely. "Could not sleep, Sir Connor? It is rather late for a stroll." Her voice held no accusation, only mild surprise and concern.
"I woke and felt restless," Connor lied smoothly, tamping down the guilt twisting in his stomach. It helped that the concern in Nima's eyes was genuine. "Thought a short walk might clear my head. I apologize if I caused any worry."
"Not at all," Pell said quickly, blushing as she remembered to avert her gaze respectfully. "You are free to roam these halls as you please, sir."
A pang went through him at the half-truth of that statement, but he mustered a grateful smile. "Thank you. I think I will retire now."
Nima opened the door for him, bowing her head. "Rest well."
Inside, Connor quietly shut the door and sagged against it for a moment, closing his eyes. By some miracle or grace of fate, their illicit excursion remained undiscovered. His heart still thumped from the residual danger, but exhilaration swelled in him. Tonight he had stepped beyond the black-and-white lines of permission and prohibition. He had seized knowledge with his own hands, outside the confines of what was allowed. And it felt… good. Liberating.
He crossed the darkened sitting room to the desk where a lone candle burned low—left by Sela, perhaps, in case he woke. Its gentle light fell upon a blank sheet of parchment. Without even removing his coat, Connor unfurled his notebook and began, with shaky hands, to sketch anew the pattern they'd copied. His memory was afire with it.
The lines flowed from his charcoal pencil in sure strokes. Here a vector of force, there an anchoring loop. He worked quickly, quietly, and when he finished, a rough schematic stared back at him. The first kinetic lattice model, born illicitly in the midnight hours, captured on paper.
Connor set the pencil down, hand cramping, and allowed himself a long look. A smile slowly claimed his lips. This was no finished invention, not yet. But it was a beginning—a map to possibilities.
Outside his window of black glass, the moons hung high, bathing the world in silver. Connor rolled his shoulders, wincing as the tension of the night made itself known in a dozen sore spots. The med-mages' headache remedy still held; his mind, though tired, was blissfully clear. Clear enough to absorb what they'd learned and what it meant.
He brushed a thumb over one of the runes he'd drawn. The silver-white powder of ground bone still dusted his cuff; a tiny evidence of the venture. So much had nearly gone wrong. Yet, in the hush of his sanctuary, Connor felt a fierce sense of accomplishment. For the first time, he had taken a truly independent step toward mastering his fate.
They had broken the rules and returned unscathed. But the night was not without cost—a cost he could feel in the trembling of his limbs and the lingering adrenaline that would likely chase away sleep for hours. Knowledge always exacted a price, but to him it was worth paying.
Connor carefully folded Thea's sketch—she had secreted it onto his desk during a brief rendezvous after he'd parted from the guards, a precaution in case her quarters were searched—and tucked it between pages of his notebook. Their research, their rebellion, safe under lock and key. For now.
At the edge of his desk lay another object: a fist-sized scale, deep black and ridged—a titan's scale from the beast that had attacked their convoy. A reminder of the threats lurking beyond these walls. He lifted it, feeling its surprising lightness for its size, and placed it atop his new schematic. The scale's glossy surface reflected a distorted image of the runes beneath.
In that distortion, Connor saw the symbol of what they faced: unknown dangers, but also untapped strengths. The scale was a trophy of a monster defeated, and perhaps a hint of power that could be harnessed. One day, he would not just hide behind walls and guardians; he would stand and fight if needed, armed with knowledge like this.
A soft knock sounded at his door—Sela's coded two-beat rap. Likely checking on him at this late hour. Connor quickly slid the notebook and papers into a drawer and went to admit her, schooling his features into an approximation of weary innocence.
As he crossed the room, he realized his hands were still trembling, but not from fear. From exhilaration. He flexed his fingers and took another calming breath, the way Marisela taught him. The trembling eased.
He had taken his first step beyond passive protection tonight. It would not be the last.
With that thought steady in his heart, Connor opened the door to face whatever came next.
Chapter 12: Picture Day
A thin breeze filtered through the high garden lattice, carrying with it the perfume of sun-warmed jasmines and a hint of the spice market beyond the citadel walls. Afternoon light poured in golden through the slats above, painting shifting patterns over the marble courtyard floor. In the distance, a bell rang out the late hour, its chime mingling with the soft rustle of leaves and the distant hum of Asterholt's city engines. Connor stood in a pool of sunlight near a trickling fountain, rolling a small copper coin across the backs of his fingers in a continuous dance. The metal was warm from his touch, glinting each time it flipped into the light.
He exhaled slowly, focusing on the coin. The world around narrowed to that single object and the subtle push-pull of his will. The coin hovered above his knuckles—just for a heartbeat—before gravity reclaimed it. Connor frowned in determination and tried again. This was delicate work, far removed from the desperate bursts of force he'd employed in crises. Here, he aimed not to shove or yank, but to cradle, to guide with feather-light precision. Sweat beaded on his temple despite the mild day. A week ago he would have been nursing a headache by now, but the med-mages' treatments and his own practice were paying off. No pain, just a steady fatigue building behind his eyes.
On the third attempt, the coin arced up from his index finger and hovered a full two seconds before dropping neatly into his open palm. Connor couldn't help a small grin. Two seconds, and he hadn't even needed to throw his hand out or grit his teeth. It felt as natural as plucking an apple from a low branch.
"A solid improvement," came Captain Sela's approving voice from a few paces away. She leaned against a stone pillar at the courtyard's edge, arms crossed as she watched his training. The hint of a smile touched her lips. "You have been diligent."
Connor let out a breathy chuckle, rubbing the coin between his fingers. "Baby steps. But I will take the victories I can." He flicked the coin in the air playfully, caught it. The movement was manual this time, the conjured stillness broken. "Thank you for convincing the Council to allow me this recess. Fresh air does wonders."
Sela inclined her head. "Even the most cautious cage must admit its occupant needs sunlight." The word cage hung between them, uncomfortably honest. She cleared her throat. "Besides, the inner garden is secure. Shielded from outside view and warded against intrusions."
Her reassurance was meant kindly, but Connor still glanced upward at the lattice canopy. It was enchanted to look opaque from the outside, or so he'd been told, and the wards were supposed to repel any unrecognized aetheric devices. Still, after weeks sequestered indoors, being under even filtered sky felt oddly exposing. Perhaps he was being paranoid, but he couldn't shake the sense of unseen eyes.