Chapter 1: A Dubious Teacher

(664 A.C.)

Dusk was falling, and it was time to close up shop. Arthur stood up from his seat behind the sales counter and stretched. Its wooden top was cluttered with jars of his flashiest, cheapest goods to entice buyers right before they completed their purchase. Around the shop were half a dozen other wooden tables crammed with crates and piled with trinkets. A few people still browsed the magic shop, plains with brown and black hair that marveled at the items with wide eyes and felt at the change in their purses. Arthur rang the bell he kept under the counter, drawing their attention.

“Five minutes to closing,” he announced. Their faces tightened under the pressure of what to do, but eventually he had them lined up, struggling to keep a hold of all the items in their hands. He totalled them all up, and when all the customers were heading down the dark street, Arthur had a happy stack of silver and copper marks. He grinned and dropped them into the coinpurse at his hip before making his rounds of the shop. The vibrant paint on the items was looking good tonight–just as well, then, since Arthur really didn’t feel like going out to buy some more. The glittery enchantments on some of the goods would need refreshing, but that could wait until the morning. He yawned and took the key out of his pocket as he made his way to lock up for the night.

Halfway to the door, there was a knock. Arthur stopped, frowning, certain he had imagined it. Who would knock on the door to a shop? A shop in a less than stellar part of town as night was descending no less? He didn't have any suppliers coming by tonight, right? No, it would be too early for that anyhow. Baffled, he waited another moment, and sure enough, there was another bout of knocks, louder and more insistent. Arthur crept to the door, hand darting to the wand in his belt. Was it an angry but polite customer demanding a refund? No, they’d just barge in. Had the police found him? But then, if it were the dogs, they wouldn’t knock either, would they?

He cracked the door, then opened it fully. Shivering in the winter night was a little urchin girl with blonde hair, nothing but threadbare shirt and trousers to protect her from the cold. But when she looked up at Arthur, her golden eyes were full of fire. “T-This is a m-magic shop, r-right?” she asked through chattering teeth.

Arthur raised an eyebrow and quickly casted his gaze around the empty street. There was a single drunk stumbling down the other side of the narrow, cobbled road, his hazy shadow wavering across the stones under the light of the full moon. Most of the other shops around him had already closed–or at least their windows were dark and their doors shut tight. Other than that, nothing and no one. “Where are your parents, girl? Do you even have any?”

She scowled. “Y-You a mage or n-not?”

Arthur furrowed his brow, unimpressed. “Not one for manners, are you?”

She rubbed at her arms, knees knocking together from the force of her shivering. “I’ve walked forever in the winter with no coat to find a magic shop with a real mage in it that wasn’t a total snob,” she hissed, the words falling out of her mouth in a cascade that Arthur was just barely able to catch. She let out a small puff of air that billowed in a white cloud in front of her. When she spoke again, her tone was much less jagged. “S-Sorry if I’m not in a very good m-mood.”

Arthur considered her for a moment, then considered just slamming the door in her face for another, before deciding he wasn’t terribly busy. He could entertain her until she was no longer entertaining. “Well, what is it you want, then?”

Her golden eyes lit up as she grinned. “I want to learn magic so I can become the Archmage!”

Arthur slammed the door shut.

A squawk of indignation sounded on the other side before the girl started pounding on the wood with one tiny hand. “Hey!”

Well, she was going to draw some rather unwanted attention if she continued like that. Arthur sighed and cracked the door open again, peering down at the girl. She snatched her hand back and glared up at him again.

“I have no use for an apprentice,” he told her. “Never wanted one in the first place. You should keep looking, girl.”

He went to close the door again, only for the girl to stick her foot in the opening. She yelped, eyes welling up with tears when it struck her slippered foot, but she gripped the door with one hand all the same and tugged it open another fraction. “I’m willing to work. I was willing to come all this way, and I’m willing to move on, I guess, but I really don’t want to do that so at least give me a chance before turning me away. You run this shop, right?” She pulled on the edge of the door again, but Arthur didn’t let it budge another inch. “I could help around the place. Come on, please? Pretty, pretty please?”

Arthur didn’t care much for children or begging or begging children–in his line of work, that was a story that usually got you stabbed in the back–but there was something to be said of tools being useful. He was certain he could find something for the girl to do, some purpose to serve.

In fact, he had the beginning of an idea...

He raised a hand to his chin, quickly adding flesh to the skeleton of a plan taking shape in his mind. He needed to know a couple of things about this girl, he decided, if he was to even consider it.

“What about your parents?” he asked.

The girl, for all her bluster and fire, suddenly wouldn’t meet his eye. “What about them?”

Arthur didn’t care much for that answer. “Did you run away?” He didn’t need anybody to come snooping around, accuse him of kidnapping their child or anything else. She didn’t answer right away, and Arthur felt his patience running then. “Did you?” he pressed.

She scowled again. “I lived on the streets before I started looking for a teacher, alright? In Tiulipa or whatever. My parents aren’t in the picture.”

Tiulipa? That was the nearest city over–still nearly a hundred miles away. Impressive, if she really did come all that way. She certainly looked like she was from the streets, too. The pale colors of her threadbare clothing was barely discernible under all the filth, but somehow her face managed to be dirtier. He wouldn’t be surprised if she was sporting fleas in that greasy, blonde mane of hers.

“And you’re not diseased or anything?” Arthur asked, wrinkling his nose. He wasn’t old, no matter what those annoying urchins down the street at the church said. He had no idea how their eyes were so sharp–it had only been a single gray hair among his crop of pale orange and yet they cajoled him until he gave them a reason to run. But that was neither here nor there. At thirty-one, he was, perhaps, not young enough to have such strapping health anymore. He didn’t need this girl barging in and getting him sick.

“No,” she said petulantly, like she was slightly offended Arthur even asked. Surely no one could blame him though–she certainly smelled like the bad end of an alley. It might have been years since the official end of everything surrounding the Necroplague, but one could never be too sure. The girl was pale and frighteningly skinny, but maybe not unnaturally so–considering it was the middle of a cloudy winter with no doubt little food to be spared for young, orphaned urchins.

He doubted she was lying or even just trying to mislead him. The girl had been nothing but forthright so far. Too forthright. It made his skin crawl.

He raised a brow at her. “And what makes you think you, or any street trash, could one day become the Archmage? Do you even know the first thing about magic?” It was possible, given that her hair was blonde instead of brown or black, but people could still be born with golden locks, even if it was uncommon.

“I can learn,” the girl said with far too much confidence. But that was good. Arthur could use that.

Not her claiming she could learn. Gods, no. He didn’t plan on teaching her anything about magic if he could help it. It was just easier to manipulate the ignorant and naive.

Arthur nodded, allowing a slight smirk. “You’re in luck, then,” he said, opening the door fully and motioning her inside. “I could use a hand around the shop. Don’t see why I couldn’t teach you a thing or two along the way.”

She blinked up at him in surprise, golden eyes shining. “Really? Really really?” Her face split in a grin, reminding Arthur of the sharp smile of a pixie. “I won’t make you regret it! I’ll become the strongest mage ever, and I’ll be the Archmage and help lots of people, and–and I’ll make you glad you took me in. Just you wait!”

With bated breath, he thought, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he smiled again. “Come in, then, you’re wasting the heat of my crystals.”

The girl gasped, springing forward and turning about herself. Her gaze snagged on the red fire crystals hanging from their glass casing on the ceiling, then on the small viewing orb set into the wall behind the counter that currently displayed one of the tropical beaches of the Rizen Archipelago inside its glass surface.

The only two things down here that held any real value, and they’d gotten her attention. Not that they were exactly subtle, but still. Maybe Arthur would have to keep a closer eye on her than he thought.

“What’s your name then, kid?” Arthur asked her, finally shutting the door and locking it.

She picked up one of the baubles from the table nearest to her, a leathery fan made to look like the gray, bat-like wing of a pixie. “Wanily.”

Arthur strode over to her in two quick steps and snatched the item from her. Her lip jutted out in a pout but her eyes narrowed in a glare as he pointedly folded it back up and stuck it in its vase with the rest of them. He adjusted them just so before arching a brow at her. “You have a last name, Wanily?”

She shrugged, reaching for another little good on the table. “Not that I know of.”

He grunted, slapping her hand before she could grab anything else. She shot him that half-pout, half-glare look again. “Wanily it is, then,” he said, sending her a sharp look. The girl–Wanily–huffed and crossed her arms.

It was an odd name to be sure, not one he had ever heard of in Dryan before. But then, her eyes were golden like the Nanshee. Maybe some Nanshee couple gave their child the name before pulling a disappearing act. But, then, why was she here, in Dryan, on a completely different continent than the faraway, desert nation? It was a curious little puzzle–how did a Nanshee child end up on the other side of the world with no parents and a desire to become the Archmage?

It tickled Arthur's mind, but he didn’t quite care enough to ask. If all went according to the plan alchemy in his head, it wouldn’t make much difference. He moved on to the next issue at hand. “My name is Trevor Ren.” A fake, and if she just came to this city, she wouldn’t be able to tell anybody his exact location either. “You’ll have to sleep down here for the night,” Arthur continued. “I don’t have an extra room for you to stay in.”

It wasn’t a lie, exactly, even if Arthur wouldn’t have a problem lying to this child. There was only his bedroom and his storage room upstairs. He would be staying in his bedroom, obviously, and he didn’t trust the girl enough to put her up in his storage room. There were some valuable–and questionably legal–items up there. She could stay down here with his plethora of baubles, fire crystals she couldn’t reach, and the viewing orb. If she could figure out a way to pry the viewing orb out of the wall without waking Arthur up in the process, he might be impressed enough to just let her run off with it.

Wanily turned her head back and forth, peering around the shop. “What, should I just sleep behind the counter or something?”

Arthur shrugged, already moving toward the stairs. It certainly wouldn’t weigh on his conscience–it would be better than the cold stones outside. “That’s up to you. Just don’t touch my stuff.”

“Suits me just fine. See you in the morning, Master.” She walked around to the sales counter, standing on her tiptoes to rest her chin on the top.

“Yes, see you,” Arthur drawled. He stopped at the foot of the staircase. “And if you touch anything I’ll throw you out and set the constable on you.” No, he wouldn’t, he couldn’t risk that kind of attention. But she didn’t need to know that. Not that she seemed very worried anyways.

“Yeah, whatever, I’m not gonna touch your stuff. Can I have a blanket?” she asked, watching him from the corner of her eye.

“That would be touching my stuff.”

Wanily let out a loud sigh but didn’t press it. She turned her gaze to the shop, and just before Arthur went to continue up the stairs, she spoke again. “Hey, this place is pretty cool, huh? How’d you get it?”

“I’m flattered,” he deadpanned. “But that sounds like a question for the morning when my patience isn’t worn thin by an urchin that just barged into my store and demanded I give her lessons and a place to live.”

Wanily huffed, “Okay, that’s fair.” Her head disappeared below the counter, then, and the floorboards creaked, the telltale sign of a body settling on the wood and trying to get comfortable. Just as the creaking stopped, she called, “Goodnight!”

Arthur groaned inwardly. He headed up the stairs only to come back down and throw a pillow and folded blanket down at the girl. She shot upright but relaxed when she realized what had happened. She smiled at him, a real, wide smile that made Arthur suppress a shudder.

“Cut that out, it's creepy,” he muttered. The girl was too genuine for Arthur's taste, but she would serve his purposes. The least he could do was give the thing a pillow for the few nights she'd spend in his company. “And go to sleep,” he called over his shoulder, finally heading up to his own bedroom for the night.

What a headache. Hopefully, the money in the end would be worth it.

Arthur wasn't the most upstanding man, he knew this and accepted it, was proud of it even. But despite his questionable morality, he had never killed anyone. It was one of the few things he refused to do–lying and cheating and stealing were things all on their own but murder was quite another.

But the next morning, one little girl was making him question his beliefs.

“Can you teach me something now?” she asked from across the shop, broom slowing as she looked up.

Arthur leaned his elbows on the counter and rubbed his temples. “Keep sweeping,” he gritted out. Wanily stepped around and did precisely two more strokes before poking her head up again. “No, not right now,” he hissed before she could even ask. She threw her head back down and went back to sweeping. He would have to go tonight instead of tomorrow–he didn’t know how much more of this he could take.

“Can’t you teach me something just real quick?” She had stopped again, broom towering above her. She stamped her foot, and Arthur was already imagining the scuff he'd find there later. “You said you’d teach me magic in the morning.”

“I said I’d answer your questions in the morning. At this point I might not even do that.”

She clamped her mouth shut. Her huge, golden eyes, like mini suns, begged him instead. He couldn’t say he felt much compassion for the child, but it wasn’t like he was doing much else at the moment. “Fine, put that broom away and come over here.”

She squealed in delight and ran to thrust the broom in the corner. She dashed around the cluttered tables–giving Arthur a small heart attack–and slammed to a stop in front of the counter. She hopped up and down, grinning from ear to ear.

Arthur withheld a sigh. Maybe he could give her something to spend her energy on.

He pulled out one of the rocks from a jar on his left. “Turn this rock into ice.”

Wanily froze, her smile disappearing. “But I don’t know any magic.”

Arthur nodded, tapping the stone. “Yes, but you have a bit of natural talent for magic. Your hair suggests as much.” Her hand darted to her blonde locks, brow furrowed. “Even people without any magic know that much. Hair color is indicative of magical ability.” He pointed to his own head of pale, sunset orange hair. “I have a pretty standard hair color for mages. The only higher colors are red, pink, blue, and purple.”

While he was talking, Wanily stared hard at the glittery stone. “This isn’t working,” she announced.

He sighed, “Were you even listening to me?” She shrugged, and Arthur ran a hand down his face. “Alright, well, just keep trying. Focus on the stone, think about it turning to ice.” He paused, fighting a smile at Wanily’s silence as she focused on the little rock. “It might take a few hours. Days, even.”

He was, of course, neglecting to tell her anything actually substantial about magic. Everyone knew about hair color–or he had thought as much, anyway. What did her parents even teach her before fucking off and leaving their child to beg on the streets of a city in a foreign land? Either way, he couldn’t be bothered to give her any sort of real magic lesson. If she wanted to learn about new magic or what kind of conduits were better for which spells or even just a basic light cantrip, she’d need to go somewhere else.

And soon, she would be.

She snatched up the rock and puffed out her chest, breaking Arthur from his musings. “I can do it." She began to walk away but stopped and whirled back around. “Wait, isn’t this a magic rock?”

Arthur’s gaze darted to the glittery piece of costume. The paint on it was brand new and probably wouldn’t flake anytime soon. It would only need to last a couple days anyways, if everything went according to plan. “Er, yes it is. It amplifies magic. It should make your task a little easier.”

She smiled, holding it out in front of her. “Bringing me on wasn't a mistake, Master, and I'll prove it! By tonight this stone will be ice!”

“Sure,” Arthur drawled. “Flip the sign to open on your way out. Be back before the sun sets to clean up shop.”

“Aye aye!” Wanily affirmed, skipping out the door. There was a slight rubbing sound as she flipped the sign, and then it was still.

Arthur let out a sigh of relief. The stone should keep her preoccupied while he got everything set up, though that'd have to wait until later. For now, he tended his shop.

It was the middle of the week and the weather was poor, so business was slow. A few plains, a tired, far from home white that left as quickly as he came, and a rare red that asked if he had anything of actual value and left with griffin beaks. Nothing out of the usual. Too short a day, and the door clicked open again, Wanily not even looking up from the rock in her hand as she entered.

Still, there was silence. Arthur smiled. “How's it going, Wanily?” he called.

She wrinkled her nose. “Still not night,” she replied and sat on the floor, back leaning against the counter.

Arthur grunted. “Well, I'm going out. I'll lock up the shop, you just stay here and try not to burn it down. Sweeping around would be nice too.”

“After I turn this to ice,” she mumbled, brow furrowed, golden gaze boring into the rock. Arthur wouldn't be surprised if he saw smoke from a flame rising up under that fierce glare instead of ice. He left her to it, fairly certain she wouldn't do anything he'd need to worry himself about. He still locked the door to the storage room and took his coin purse, tucking the bag into the pocket of his long coat and dawning his wool cap as he set out into the dusk.

Elsgrove was by no means a bustling city even in the best of times. The busiest it got was during the harvest seasons around the ends of summer and fall, when farms in the south of the country sent some of their goods north, Elsgrove’s central location in Dryan making it a natural stop along the way. As Arthur understood it, the soil near Elsgrove was particularly good for blueberries and strawberries, too, as well as many herbs. All of these factors led to the development of the city. But he wasn’t really sure–he was no farmer or cartographer–and didn’t particularly care. The city had enough business for him while simultaneously not undergoing much scrutiny, and that was all that mattered.

All that to say he didn’t pass many people on the streets as he made his way to his destination. The seventh constellation, Pyll, twinkled above him at the moment, the long oval with its vertical line splitting it down the middle taking up the northern end of the sky, across from where the waning moon glowed. That meant it was late enough for most stores to already be closed, which meant most people were probably settling into their homes for the night. Except for people, like Arthur, who were headed to a tavern.

He came to a small bar with its sign sticking out into the road–the Kappa's Kreek, both K's written in an enchanted purple paint that glittered in the night. There was a tall, muscular man standing outside with arms crossed, long trench coat concealing his body and the no doubt countless weapons that were stowed there. One always had to take extra precautions when mages were involved.

The plain looked down at Arthur. “Proof?” he rasped in a voice like a rockslide.

“Where’s Treven?” Arthur asked, frowning. That was the usual bouncer. A good enough bloke in Arthur’s opinion seeing as he never glanced twice when Arthur came by.

“He hadn’t been very careful recently,” the man said. He drew himself up. “So I’ll ask again: proof?”

Arthur rolled his eyes. He held out his hand and muttered, "A man who knows my face is a pain, so I must show him a little bit of flame." A fire spluttered to life in his palm as he finished the spell. It wasn't anything much with such an unorthodox casting, but it was enough for the bouncer. Mages only, and he had proved himself a mage.

“Could have just asked me to take the hat off,” Arthur grumbled as the man nodded for him to go ahead.

The bouncer shook his head. “Getting dye is easier than learning magic. Now get in before I kick you back to the hole you slithered out of.”

Arthur adjusted his cloak and stepped in. He probably could have taken the bouncer, but he wasn't one to push his luck. Besides, he needed to get in here. His business partners frequented this place–more than he did, at any rate.

There were several people scattered around the interior of the tavern, heads of mint green to shocking white to shining silver chattering in small groups around equally small tables. On the right, a fireplace roared, bringing welcome warmth after the chill of the outside. A single burly brunette ran around serving drinks, all smiles and boisterous laughter when she stopped to hand out tankards or converse with a patron. Another woman with soft green hair, younger than her compatriot, tended the bar, making drinks in a practiced flurry of motion.

Arthur caught her eye as he moved toward the door leading to the back, and she gave him a smirk and a nod. Tugging on the front of his cap, he opened the door and stepped inside.

This was where the real business lay. The back room was smaller than the front, with a larger bar and wider tables, making the space feel even more cramped. There was no fire in this room, only fire crystals in glass sconces along the walls. The heat they brought was different from a regular fire–steady and not warmer depending on distance to it, instead staying the same temperature within the radius it affected. In a larger room, they might create cold spots arranged as they were, but in this space, it made everywhere pleasantly warm.

A dozen more people were squeezed into this room. The heads of hair were higher than in the front. Instead of greens and whites, there were more silvers and oranges, like him. A couple of them glanced at Arthur when he strode in, but no one gave him much mind. He was a regular after all, and he had a bit of a reputation too. The no fun, no risk kind.

Well, that'd change tonight.

Arthur sat down at a small table jammed in the corner directly below a sconce of fire crystals. A tavern girl he didn’t recognize with blonde hair, probably a new apprentice of the owner or one of the patrons, approached with a large smile. “Whatcha’ doin’ tonight?” she asked, voice sweet as taffy.

Arthur waved a hand. “You're new so I'll only tell you this once. Don't put up fake smiles with me. I can't stand it.” Her smile instantly vanished, replaced by a look of relief. “Just point me to Kakren. And get me some Lishan White.”

She nodded and gestured to one of the more crowded tables with four people playing cards. Two of them had orange hair, one silver, but the one had pink. He was also the burliest of the others, with a hard face and an intensity in his eyes that was downright unsettling. It looked like he was winning, too.

Typical. Kakren always acted so serious, so set on how much was in his pocket, but he was good at knowing the time for a calculated risk. It was what made him such a good partner.

Arthur stood to the side until the game was over, the other three groaning as they handed over their copper pieces, Kakren grinning all the while. When he caught sight of Arthur hovering, he waved him over. One of the women with orange hair was just leaving and nodded to her seat. Arthur took it with a nod of his own. He didn't recognize her, but if she knew Kakren, she couldn't be bad company.

Kakren leaned back, counting his earnings with one hand, holding a glowing cigar with the other. Each mark made a soft grinding sound as he slid them across the wooden table.

Kakren. It was nothing more than an alias after the old god of fire and the sun, meant to be intimidating. Arthur thought he didn't need the name to help with that.

“What're the plans tonight, kid?” Kakren asked in his gruff voice. He motioned for one of the others to deal the cards. A feathery ruffling filled the air as the silver shuffled them.

“It’s been twelve years since I got out of my apprenticeship,” Arthur grumbled, accepting his hand. Rubbish, per usual. “I hardly think I’m a kid anymore.”

Kakren chortled. “Aw, Arthur’s all grown up, yeah? Who here has the pink hair, kid?”

Arthur rolled his eyes. He hated it when Kakren brought that up as if it actually made him a superior mage. Which, technically, it did–not that Arthur would ever admit that. “You still want to pull–” he leaned in, the red next to him pulling his hand away with a glare– “that Golden Light heist?”

Kakren raised an eyebrow as he placed his bet, twenty copper pieces in the middle. Arthur tossed in five just for kicks and giggles. The other two just shook their heads with wry smiles and threw down their hands. They had been even worse off than Arthur. “Thought you said that was too risky for your tastes?”

“Something’s come up,” Arthur replied. The tavern girl came back with a frosted mug of milky Lishan White. She set it down on the table carefully before being called to another group, and Arthur paused to take a swig of it. The full, nutty flavor clung to the back of his throat as he continued, “Little urchin with blonde hair that wanted an apprenticeship. Can’t have been on the streets too long, damn girl would trust a convict still in his prison uniform. If she were at the wrong place at the wrong time...”

Kakren thoughtfully added a full silver piece. He took a long drag on his cigar. “You gonna fabricate somethin’ to give her, I’m guessing?”

Arthur nodded, adding another conservative five coppers. “It’d be enough to cover our tracks, especially if I gave her some hair dye.”

Kakren shook his head. “No good. I gotta leave soon. It’d have to be tonight, kid.”

Tonight? Arthur let a slow sigh out through his nose. He’d need at least a few hours to make a fake of the artifact they had their eyes on. And how would he convince Wanily to dye her hair? He was sure she hadn’t listened to his explanation of hair color, but that didn’t mean she wouldn't sense something was up if he was too insistent.

“Something wrong?” Arthur asked.

Kakren shrugged. “Eh, I’ve stuck around too long as it is. Mutts might catch a whiff of my scent, you know how it is. I bet you plan on running after this.”

“The whole point of roping the kid into this was not to have to skip town,” Arthur said with a shake of his head. Kakren puffed his cigar and added the rest of his earnings from the night. Arthur grimaced, considering. He probably had a good hand if he was playing so cocky. “Look, I could probably make a passable fake in a couple hours. The blonde hair isn’t great but it’ll just have to do.”

“Don’t worry so much,” Kakren said with a shake of his head. “With the money we’d get, even by splitting it, both of us could move to the next country over and still live a life of luxury. You know what the average artifact goes for, right?”

Arthur tapped the back of his cards with one hand, hiding the quickly muttered cantrip by taking a swig of his drink. "Fools play for free, I’d like some money." He added another five copper pieces and cleared his throat. “It’s not how much the prize is worth that makes the thief,” Arthur replied. Kakren tossed down his hand with a smug grin. Four of a kind. Arthur displayed his hand. A straight flush. "It’s about not getting caught.”

Kakren’s expression fell as Arthur scooped up his winnings, though there was a mischievous, knowing gleam in his eyes. “Bah, fine. I’ll give you a few hours to prepare. How does Hessen sound?”

Hessen, the second daystellation. Each arrangement of stars appeared at regular intervals of time, marking the beginning of each hour. Or maybe creating each hour? Whatever–semantics.

If it was Pyll, the seventh constellation, now, it would be five hours until Hessen. Or, Arthur figured, a little less since it had already been Pyll when he left his shop. Still, even if he only had four hours, by the math in his head, he probably only needed three to make a fake of the artifact. It wouldn’t be enough time to convincingly dye Wanily’s hair–if he could even get her to agree to dying it to a higher magic indicator–but maybe Kakren was right. If Arthur planted the fake on her, they might not look twice at the fact she was no older than ten and had blonde hair. Stealing an artifact was quite the crime–even as a child, she’d be sent to Festra, the most heavily guarded mage prison. People didn’t come back from Festra.

The fake would lose its enchantments after a few hours, of course; illusion spells didn’t last very long. But by then, Kakren would already have the artifact off and sold, and even if they interrogated Wanily after the fact–which was unlikely, she’d be long shipped off to rot in a country where the Dryans would no longer have jurisdiction over her as a prisoner–there would be no proof that Arthur was involved in stealing it. If the police investigated him, he might get caught with parts from magical creatures that he technically shouldn’t have, but a lot of the people in this city could be made to turn a blind eye to that for the right price. And Arthur would certainly have the funds for that if it came to it.

Besides, what did any police officer honestly, truly care if an artifact was stolen? The only people who could even use them had to have enough magic for blue or purple hair, which was few and far between. Usually, they just sat in a king or queen’s vault and looked pretty. The Golden Light was one of the few artifacts that remained in a museum, available for viewing to the general populace. Not that it would be for much longer.

It probably would be fine. Maybe not completely foolproof, but with Wanily in the equation, Arthur should be able to steal the artifact, sell it, and pin it on her. By the time anyone was the wiser, there’d be no way to track him down. He could stay in this city with his little shop, living the lifestyle he’d found to suit him best.

Nodding to himself, Arthur said, “Hessen would be great. Where should we meet?”

Kakren cupped his chin in thought. “There’s a church not too far from the museum. Would be a good place to meet up and for you to leave your little helper. You know it, yeah?”

The church would be relatively inconspicuous, which was probably why Kakren suggested it in the first place. It wouldn’t be strange for Wanily to hang around it since the Church of Amera was known to house the poor and needy–though they would probably already be full on a frigid winter night like this one. Which would only make Wanily’s loitering outside of it more believable. And as long as Arthur and Kakren made themselves scarce quickly, he doubted they would garner any attention.

Arthur nodded again, standing. “Meet at the church at Hessan.” There was a relatively simple spell he could cast that would be able to give him a sense of the appearance of the stars–he wouldn’t be late unless he ran into complications with his enchantments or with Wanily.

Kakren grinned sharply, all crooked teeth, and raised the back of his hand to his mouth, fingers flaring out. It caught Arthur off-guard for a moment, as it always did, before he hastily–and rather sloppily–returned the gesture. People in Dryan didn’t typically acknowledge the old gods like that, but, well, Kakren wasn’t from Dryan. Arthur wasn’t sure exactly where he was from, but for him to care enough about the old gods to bid Arthur farewell like that, it was probably Fris or Kra’xen. They were the only countries Arthur knew of that really cared about the old gods anymore.

Arthur collected his winnings before chugging down the rest of his drink, relishing in the warmth in his belly and the buzz in his head. He tipped his hat to his colleague and took his leave before the other people at the table realized there was any discrepancy with the playing cards.

He flicked the silver mark he’d won off Kakren to the tavern girl as he left. She fumbled to catch it, the tray of drinks on her shoulder sloshing dangerously, but she managed to grip it in one hand without anything spilling. He nodded to her and continued on his way.

“Thanks for the tip!” she called after Arthur, her voice muffled at the end by the door swinging shut behind him.

He tipped his hat to the bartender as he passed, then once again at the tavern girl in the front of the house. She whistled at him, flashing him a cheeky grin as she wove her way between tables. Arthur ducked out before it could go any further. He didn’t know either of the women’s names, and no matter what either of them thought of him, it was better for both parties if it stayed that way. Plausible deniability and all that.

The walk back to his shop was peaceful, the chill of the night refreshing after the heat of the bar. It gave him time to mull over the enchantments he would need to cast for the fake, the order and the magnitude of each one, and what each spell would require. Illusion spells didn’t typically need words as conduits, relying more on wand work and other items, typically glass, particularly beads of glass. Arthur kept plenty handy for enchanting the goods in his shop, and they’d work just as well for a higher level illusion spell.

Wanily was still sitting in the same spot, staring at the rock when he came back. She didn’t even look up when he came in. But when he opened his mouth to say something, she beat him to it.

“I know,” she bit, scowling. “Maybe–Maybe this is a little harder than I thought it would be.”

For the briefest moment, Arthur almost felt a little bad for how he was playing this girl. She had walked all the way from Tiulipia to find him. All she wanted was to learn magic, and, for whatever reason, become the Archmage. She had come, she had trusted him, and he was going to throw her away.

The moment was, again, brief. She would learn an important lesson from this, after all. In the end, the only person you could trust was yourself.

“Keep at it,” he said, heading toward the stairs. He glanced around the shop, but, true to her word, it looked like Wanily hadn’t touched anything. Even, he noted with some irritation, the broom. She must have gotten up at some point though since she now sat on the pillow he’d given her last night instead of just the hard floorboards. He pushed the thoughts from his mind. “I’ll be upstairs working on a project. Do not disturb me, alright?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Wanily muttered, glaring at the rock laid in her palm once more.

Arthur hesitated. “And try to get some sleep,” he said carefully. “I have an appointment with a fellow mage tonight, and I think you’d benefit from tagging along. It won’t be for a few hours, though, so make sure you’re rested.”

Wanily shrugged, never once tearing her gaze from the rock. “Sure,” she said.

Arthur scowled. Was she even listening? Whatever, it didn’t matter. If she didn’t do as he said, she’d be the one to pay the price when she was dead on her feet later. She certainly had a long night ahead of her.

He went upstairs, then, to start working on the fake. His room was too modest for his tastes with just a bed, a dresser, and a table crammed with papers, but that would change after tonight. He was thinking some personal fire crystals to start, maybe even get some type of fancy enchantments, the kind that were out of his class.

He sat at his desk and pulled out several pieces of paper, his wand, and some glue from the top drawer. The glass beads he needed for the illusion spells were hidden behind the false back of the drawer, right next to the schematics for the Golden Light. He wasn’t completely sure what it did, but he couldn't use it so it didn't matter.

Still, the demand for artifacts was high. For prestige, for bragging rights, and, Arthur supposed, for military might. It all made prices steep.

Some ended up in museums or personal collections. There was usually a lot of fuss about them, lots of criminals that eyed them and then just as quickly hustled away when their guards noticed them. But that's what was so good about Arthur and Kakren–Arthur masked their movements with an illusion, then, if push came to shove, Kakren worked his much less refined magic. The violent kind.

He started with some extra sheets of paper for the base of the counterfeit. He folded them until they were the right length and shape, resembling a faceted eye. This artifact was no doubt created by the actual god Kakren and was probably meant to look like the sun.

Once the shape was right, he pulled out his wand and ran back through the spells he would need to cast in his head. First, he’d need something to adjust the weight, then add the golden base, the metallic sheen, then all the little red dots hugging the sharp edges of the artifact. He nodded to himself and took a deep breath. He, like almost every mage, used the magic of the new gods, aptly named new magic. Not so taxing, not as powerful, but also not so tedious. Conduits could be used to access the magic required for a spell, making it easier to cast. New magic also had the advantage of not needing to be fed magic to continue the spell; any illusion he crafted would be able to stand on its own. Not for forever, but he just needed long enough for the plan to unfold.

He came back downstairs at the showing of the first daystellation, Aura, five starry circles hugging the horizon to the north. He found Wanily dozing, still sitting against the counter. He nudged her with his foot, holding the fake under his arm. “Time to go.”

She blinked awake and rubbed at her eyes. “What time is it?” she complained loudly. Arthur opened his mouth to answer–withering or genuine, he didn’t even know–but she just petulantly answered, “Too early!”

She looked up at him then and slowly climbed to her feet, gold eyes wide. Arthur followed her line of sight, but of course it was fixated on the pseudo artifact. “What's that?”

“Questions later. Do you want to learn to be a mage or not? I have an appointment to keep.” He spun on his heel and left without another word, not checking to see if she was following–but he didn’t have to. Of course she was. She was perfectly gullible like that.

He heard her light footsteps on the stone behind him as he walked to the rendezvous point. It was a little more than a mile of city streets away, taking them through the cold, dead of night. Arthur was already thinking ahead–of exactly how he would pull off this heist and where he would go after. He wouldn’t head back to his store once the heist was complete. He’d probably lie low on the other side of town, or maybe leave completely until things settled down. Kakren would have a plan–he was always the one in charge of what to do after the mission. He was also the one with the buyer lined up, though Arthur was the one responsible for working out the details of the plan itself.

When they arrived at the church, Kakren was nowhere in sight. Arthur stepped into the alley formed by the church and what he was pretty sure was a bakery. Wanily followed him without a moment of hesitation, but her time on the streets must have done her some good. She immediately moved to rest against the still-warm bricks of the bakery, a little sigh of relief escaping her when she did so.

As early in the morning as it was, the constellations would appear too close to the horizon for him to see which was currently in the sky. Just looking at them wouldn’t give him any sense of when the next one was set to appear anyhow. Instead, he muttered, “I am no Tressia that controls the flow of time, so grant me the position of the stars with this simple rhyme.”

Sometimes new magic was flashy with bursts of light or flashes of color, but this spell wasn’t. To an outsider, it would look like nothing at all happened. But to Arthur, he got an exact measurement of how long it was until the next daystellation appeared. Seven minutes and twenty seconds, counting down steadily in the back of his mind for a few more seconds before he lost it. That explained why Kakren was still absent.

“What was that?” Wanily asked, because of course she did. “Was that a spell? What did it do? Was the fact it rhymed important or–?”

“It was a spell to check the time,” Arthur said, figuring that the best way to shut her up was to just answer her question as quickly as possible.

“That’s cool! Can you teach me? Do I just have to say the words, or is there like, something special you have to do with it? I know I wasn’t able to change the rock to ice, but maybe–”

“Enough, Wanily,” Arthur snapped. He took a deep breath, trying to ignore her crestfallen expression. “I can show you after I’m done with my business, alright? Just wait.” That should be enough to appease her.

“Oh. Alright,” she said, hugging herself. Arthur thought for a moment that she might still be upset, but then he noticed the shivers racking her frame. Of course. She still didn’t have a coat.

She didn’t say anything about it though. She hadn’t said anything on the walk over, perfectly content to follow Arthur through a freezing city in the dead of night. Did she really not suspect anything? Or did she just not care? But why wouldn’t she say anything about the cold?

Maybe she was used to it. She’d lived on the streets before this. He doubted there was anyone in Tiulipia that cared whether or not she froze to death on their sidewalks. And Arthur–he didn’t care, not really, but–

He sighed and set down the fake artifact to shuck off his coat. It was long, made of thick cotton, good quality. Curse me for a fool, Arthur thought, offering it to the damn girl.

She stared at it with her big, golden eyes, before her gaze dragged up to him, bewildered at the edges. Arthur held it out more insistently, and for once, Wanily shut her mouth and just took it. She didn’t put it on properly–because of course she didn’t–shoving her arms through the holes so that the back rested against her front like a blanket. The bottom of the coat flared out on the dirt around her feet, forming little rolls in places. Her back was still pressed against the bricks of the bakery.

She beamed at him. “Thanks!”

Arthur withheld a sigh and suppressed a shiver. It was too damn cold, but, well. Wanily was going to be out here longer than him. With the money he’d get after this, he could buy thousands of coats, even better than that one.

That’s what he told himself, at least.

He was saved from answering by footsteps approaching the mouth of the alley. Arthur tensed and then immediately forced himself to relax. If it wasn’t Kakren, appearing nervous would only make him look more suspicious.

It was Kakren, of course, because at this time of night, there wouldn’t really be anyone else around. The man’s hulking mass blocked most of the alley entryway, and he flashed them a sharp smile when he stopped.

“Ah, the new apprentice, huh? Nice to see you, kid,” he said, crossing his arms. He turned to Arthur and subtly nodded to the fake still at his feet.

“Hi! The name’s Wanily. What’s yours?” Wanily asked as Arthur scooped the fake back up and stepped closer to her.

“Here,” he said, hoping the object would distract her from asking any more questions about his associate.

It did. She took the fake, turning it back and forth. Scrutinizing it, though Arthur couldn’t even begin to fathom why. “Hey, this has a lot more magic in it than that rock did, huh?”

Arthur frowned. He glanced at Kakren, who wore a similar expression. Was she just guessing that more enchantments went into creating it than the other items in his shop? But then, did she suspect that it was some type of fake? If she did, she didn’t look very concerned about it.

Not knowing what to make of it, Arthur opted to ignore her question. “I need you to wait here with that, alright? Kakren and I will be back shortly.”

Wanily cocked her head but didn’t tear her gaze away from the false Golden Light. “What, is this, like, a test or something?”

“Sure is, kid,” Kakren said. “You’re a smart one, ain’tcha?”

Wanily grinned, her eyes crinkling with it. “You bet!”

Humble, too, Arthur thought, rolling his eyes. “You have to concentrate on it,” Arthur said, tapping its top. “It will make it easier to access your magic. You have to think of it and only it, and when we come back, you can stop. Understand?”

Wanily was still staring at it, her only response a little hum. Did she ever listen to anything people told her? Maybe that was the reason her parents left her behind. Just too gods-damn annoying.

“Good girl. Keep at it,” Kakren said, turning and motioning Arthur to follow. Arthur nodded, and they left Wanily behind in the alley with the fake, making their way toward the museum. Kakren nudged Arthur with his elbow, a smirk on his face. “You look a little cold there, kid. What happened to your coat?”

Arthur scowled even as a little heat rose to his cheeks. Thankfully, it was too dark out for Kakren to be able to notice it. “Shut up,” he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets. He was losing feeling in his fingers, proving that it was too fucking cold. He should have just kept the stupid coat.

Kakren chuckled, noticeably quieter than usual. They were approaching their target and didn’t need to draw any extra attention. “Going soft, are ya?”

“I told you to shut up about it,” Arthur hissed, which only made Kakren laugh again. “It won’t make any difference soon.”

Kakren grunted. He veered into another alley, Arthur on his heels. “Right about that one,” he said with a shrug. “So? You gonna cast the illusion or what?”

Arthur sighed, his breath billowing out in a white cloud in front of him. He took his wand from his belt along with a handful of glass beads from a pouch at his side. The spell could work with just the two conduits, but it lasted longer with the words to go with it. “Shield us from the eyes of any who would take a peek, and grant us the lightest cloak, that of invisibility.”

Light flared in a circle around them–nothing to be done about it, if someone saw, they saw–and while Arthur could still see his body and Kakren, he knew that both of them were now invisible. The spell extended to their clothes and any items they held too, though it might not extend to the artifact due to its magical nature. At least, invisibility spells had never worked on enchanted items when he tried it before, so Arthur figured the same applied to artifacts.

It would be fine. If they were spotted on the way out after they had already nabbed the artifact, Kakren could take care of any guards that tried to do something about it. The most important part was just getting to the artifact unseen.

They’d still have to be careful. There were spells that could dampen or even completely mute sound, but Arthur had never been able to get his hands on the complete castings for them. Anyhow, he knew of one that required rubies to perform even the basic casting, and he didn’t quite make enough money to be spending it on expensive spell components he didn’t even know how to fully use.

They left the alley, Arthur taking the lead this time. It was just another street over to the museum, and if Arthur’s intel was correct–which it was, he’d staked out the place enough times to know–there would be an exactly one minute opening at one of the windows on the east side. One of the guards that patrolled the outside of the museum would have just turned the corner past the area, the other would be on the west side, and while the guard on the third floor would be right above them, they just needed to get inside. They would go in through the first floor window, Kakren using a spell he knew to turn the glass back to sand–quieter than breaking the window, and if they avoided breaking it, it wouldn’t trigger any enchantments that might alert the guards or otherwise put the museum on lockdown. Arthur would be able to make the sand invisible–not for very long, but long enough–and cast an illusion to make the window still appear normal. Illusion spells required a good amount of magic to cast though. He would only have a couple spells left in him after that.

From there, they would have exactly three minutes until the invisibility of the sand wore off, and another forty-eight seconds until the round of the guard on the first floor would bring him by the window, no doubt alerting everyone in the building that something was amiss. In that time, Arthur and Kakren would need to get to the third floor and snatch the artifact without alerting the guards on the second or third floors. Arthur knew the path of their rounds, too, though, so he would be able to lead Kakren past them.

In theory, once they had the artifact, it would be easier to just break a window on the third floor and jump out. At least, it would be easier if they had any way of slowing their fall or otherwise ensuring they could walk away from it. Unfortunately, Arthur specialized in illusion magic, Kakren specialized in fighting magic, and neither of them knew much outside of those fields. There might have been potions that could help, but, despite selling the more hard to come by ingredients, Arthur had no knowledge of potion-making himself.

It didn’t matter. Once Arthur had the artifact, they just had to get out. They should be able to get down to the second floor without running into any of the guards on the third floor, but even if the duo escaped their notice, they would quickly discover the fact that the artifact was missing. Arthur anticipated that when they reached the second floor again, things would get dicey. That was, of course, when Kakren would step in and handle any guards that stood in their way. Most of them would have red or lower hair–if they could use magic at all. They shouldn’t stand a chance against Kakren’s higher, pink level magic.

When the guards on the second floor spotted them or the guards on the third floor found the artifact missing–whichever came first–they would no doubt put the museum on lockdown. Arthur didn’t exactly know what that would do considering he had never seen it before, but it should only affect the exits of the building–the windows and doors. Luckily, one of the windows would already be empty of any glass. They should be able to use it to get back out, just like that.

It would be Kakren’s turn to take the lead, then. He would bring them someplace nearby to lay low, away from the police. Likely a safehouse with a basement or otherwise hidden room. Wanily was situated not too far away from the museum, so the police should find her long before they even get an inkling as to which way the true culprits went. The fake Arthur made was a perfect replica, so they should take it–and her–without any further questions. She’d be sent away, the illusion would fall apart in a few days, and by the time they realized they’d been duped, Arthur and Kakren would already be rich and Wanily would be sitting in prison, unable to offer them any concrete information on who actually committed the crime–if any Dryan officials could even question her at that point.

Arthur felt a small twinge in his chest thinking about it. Guilt, he decided, was not a good look on him.

Soon, it wouldn’t matter. He’d be rich, and she’d be gone. She’d get food and bed in prison, unlike she had on the streets. It would probably be a dream come true for her.

Except that her dream was to learn magic.

Arthur shoved the thought from his mind and focused on the task at hand. The girl didn’t matter anymore. Whether he failed or succeeded here, he didn't plan on ever seeing her again.

Arthur and Kakren approached the stone wall surrounding the museum, and Kakren offered Arthur a boost up. Without a word, he hooked his hands together, allowing Arthur a point to launch himself up, aided by Kakren pushing up at the same time. Arthur grabbed onto the top of the brick wall and hauled himself up so he straddled it.

Kakren backed up a few steps to get a running start. Despite his bulk, he managed to be relatively quiet as he launched himself forward, taking two leaping steps up the wall before gripping Arthur's waiting hand. Arthur bit back a strained grunt and lifted until Kakren could get his other meaty hand on the top of the wall. He pulled himself up and over, and Arthur pushed himself down onto the other side of the wall after him.

The guard was just rounding the corner to walk along the east side of the building where they were. Once he rounded the other corner, they could make their move.

Arthur crouched next to Kakren, settling his weight on the balls of his feet. The grass underfoot was mostly dead thanks to it being the middle of winter–which meant it would make more noise when they walked on it. They'd need to hurry, but they couldn't be too loud either.

The guard's torch blazed in the night, bobbing with each of his steps. Arthur watched with anticipation itching under his skin, tracking each and every step, calculating how many more it would take him to reach the corner.

Twelve steps. Seven. Three. Once the head of the torch rounded the corner, Arthur gave the signal to move forward. He kept low but moved quickly, prowling toward the window they needed to go through.

Kakren knew the plan, too, of course, they had worked on it together months ago when they first thought about pulling the heist off. Arthur had been the one to back out a couple days before they were supposed to put the plan into action. Still, Kakren followed his lead now. It wasn't trust–people didn't trust each other in this business–but he respected him, maybe. Even if he still insisted on calling him a kid.

They stepped on the lawn around the museum, moved across the stone path hugging the building, and finally reached the window. Fifteen seconds. They had another forty-five to go.

Arthur nodded, and Kakren nodded back. He reached into the large pouch on his hip and pulled out five short rods. Arthur wasn't entirely sure what they were made of, but it had to be some specific material that aided the spell he needed to cast.

Kakren arranged them in a pentagon on the ground and touched one fingertip to the dead center of the shape. With his other hand, he pulled a wand from his belt and tapped the end to the window above then.

The clarity of the glass warped into a light brown before it fell in a great cascade of sand with the sound of a whispering waterfall. Arthur's heart thudded in his chest as he strained his ears. There was no shout of alarm, no running footsteps. No one had heard.

He let out a short breath, but nothing more. They didn't have the time to waste. Grabbing more glass beads from his side, Arthur gripped his wand and, just as Kakren did before, touched it to the sand that had fallen on the outside of the building. It let out another small flash of pure white light, and Arthur knew it had gone invisible even if he could still see it. He was the one that casted the spell, after all. It was Kakren who would have a harder time avoiding it.

He stood and vaulted across the windowsill into the museum, using the sand on the other side to deafen his landing. He looked around as Kakren did the same, but, just as there should be, there were no guards in sight, no telltale footsteps. He crouched down to treat the sand inside as he had that outside, and then the duo stepped onto the dark blue carpet running through the corridor, using it to muffle their steps.

Arthur led the way to the staircase, stepping off the carpet exactly once and holding his breath to allow a guard to pass right by them, none the wiser. He shared a look with Kakren, both of them nodding, before they continued up to the second floor.

The staircase to the third floor was on the opposite side of the building from the staircase that brought them to the second floor. It would have been much easier if they were joined together, but maybe that was the point. It had been one minute. They had two left. They needed to keep moving.

Arthur crept along the carpet on the second floor, much like he did the first, Kakren right on his heels. They managed to get to the staircase to the third floor without spotting so much as the torchlight from another guard.

So far, so good. They had exactly twenty-eight seconds to reach the artifact and take it before the invisibility spell on the sand wore off. They had a little wiggle room after that until the guard should see it, but Arthur would prefer to have the artifact in hand before that.

The artifact was in a room off to the right end of the floor. Arthur led the way through the other rooms and corridors until they reached it, a small, secluded room designed only to hold a few people at a time. And, behind a simple rope, the Golden Light sat on a stone pedestal in all its utterly resplendent glory. Even if it had no magical properties, the sheer amount of gold and jewels making the thing up would fetch quite the price.

Kakren let out a low whistle, and Arthur hit his arm, raising a finger to his lips. Kakren merely shrugged and gestured for Arthur to pick it up. Arthur let out a silent huff and did so.

A shrill shriek pierced the silent night the moment he touched its cool, metal surface, like agony given a voice. Arthur just about jumped out of his skin before cursing vehemently.

“Shit,” Kakren swore, swiping the Golden Light and shoving it in Arthur’s arms. “Just stay behind me, kid,” he said over his shoulder, his massive form already barreling out of the room.

Arthur sprung into action after him, clutching the artifact to his chest. This was fine–just a small hiccup. So the guards were alerted the moment they took the artifact. It didn’t matter. Kakren could still fight his way through them, they could still get to the window, still make their grand escape.

A guard skidded to a stop in front of them in the corridor leading to the staircase, her torch held high above her black-haired head and a sword drawn at their side. Probably from the third floor if she got here so quickly. Kakren didn’t even bother with a spell, looping his fingers through his brass knuckles without missing a beat. The guard’s eyes were wild, unable to see anything except the artifact in Arthur’s hands. She must have been listening to their footsteps because once Kakren was in striking distance, she went for a wide slash in an arc in front of her, but Kakren was surprisingly mobile for such a large man. He dove under her attack and popped back in her face with a vicious grin that she couldn’t see–right before his fist connected with her face with a loud crunch. She fell like a scarecrow toppled over by a great gust of wind, her sword hitting the rug on the ground with a dull thud. Kakren nodded to the stairs, and Arthur wasted no time following him down to the second level.

Three more guards waited for them, two with silver hair and wands in hand, the last with a crossbow and a pair of strange glasses. Arthur would bet everything he was about to get for the artifact that those glasses were enchanted to enhance his sight. The two mages hesitated, but the one with the glasses locked eyes with Arthur and brought up his crossbow.

Shit. He could see them? They’d have to kill him–he’d seen their faces, knew that there was more than one of them, too.

Arthur threw himself down just as the man fired, the crossbow bolt lodging itself into the stone where Arthur’s head had been a split second before. Thankfully, Kakren noticed the man’s magically enhanced sight and went for him.

The man went to load another crossbow bolt as he darted back. “There’s–!”

That was all he was able to get out. Kakren had ripped out the crossbow bolt from the wall and used his wand to send it flying, straight through the man’s throat. He gurgled for a moment, eyes glazing over, before he collapsed in a heap of limbs and gushing blood. Arthur felt vaguely sick looking at him. He’d never had the stomach for violence like this. At least Kakren had spared him from being the one to deal the killing blow.

The mage next to the dead man screamed, gripping her wand close to her chest before her eyes darted forward to approximately where Arthur had fallen. To the Golden Light.

“R-Reveal to me–” The woman stuttered out, aiming her wand at Arthur. Trying to remove his invisibility.

At the same time, Kakren pulled a red flower from one of the pouches on his belt and crushed it in his hand. From the tip of his wand, a blast of fire shot out, hitting the space on the floor between the mages and exploding. They went flying in different directions, one landing further down the corridor and one hitting the wall with a resounding crack. He fell to the ground after a delay, like he was peeled from it. Neither got up.

He didn’t waste a second. Arthur scrambled to his feet and raced behind Kakren to the next staircase. Kakren stopped at the bottom, suddenly, and threw his arm out so that Arthur all but crashed into the wall. Arthur bit back a curse when he saw four more guards approaching, feet pounding as they ran right past them and up the stairs. As he and Kakren continued their hasty retreat, Arthur distantly heard the guards curse above them, shouting and trying to rush back down the stairs.

It was too late. Arthur and Kakren were out the window and over the wall, quickly darting down another street and putting as much distance between themselves and the museum as possible.

They’d really done it. They’d stolen an artifact.

Arthur was so self-satisfied, he didn’t think of a little girl huddled in an alley. Not at all.

———

Wanily was freezing, even with Trevor’s big coat. She stuck her hands in her armpits, but that just made the rest of her shiver too. She yanked them back out and curled her fingers until she couldn’t feel them anymore. She tried placing her hands against the wall, but it was lukewarm at best. She shuddered violently and curled up tighter on herself, clutching at Trevor’s coat. She wished Mage Trevor would hurry. She knew he hadn’t told her to call him that, but it just seemed like a dream. Mage Trevor. Her teacher.

So why had he left her out in the cold? Wouldn’t a good teacher have taken her along? She knew he was out committing crimes–no upstanding mage would have taken in an urchin as an apprentice–but that was fine with her as long as he taught her magic. He probably just wanted her to keep his front tidy, but there was nothing stopping her from picking tidbits up along the way. He’d said stuff earlier about hair color, right? She’d known that people with black hair didn’t have any magic, but she hadn’t known the other stuff.

She pulled at her short blonde locks. He said she should have a–what had he said? She couldn’t remember but he made it sound like a good thing. Which means she should have been good at magic, right? So far she hadn’t been able to do anything. She had been able to sense the magic in Trevor’s shop. It was like the magic was a mist, and she could see it permeating most of the little baubles like something alive. Most of the items in there were probably fake, but maybe he had cast spells on them to make them look real? She had probably sensed that.

She sighed, but that only made her mouth cold too. Was she here to help with some kind of job? Maybe an urchin would be less suspicious than a carrot-headed mage.

She held her hand in front of her and furrowed her brow. She had seen mages summon little fires in their hands before. It seemed to be the standard proof they knew magic. But they had to say magic words to get it to appear, right? Well, maybe if she tried really hard it would work too. She concentrated, imagining a little red fire burning toasty warm in her hand. She sat there for several minutes before sighing again and letting her hand fall away. No good. Maybe she wasn’t cut out to be a mage.

She shook her head to fling the thought away. She didn’t remember her parents–didn’t remember anything past a few months ago–but that sounded like something a parent would say, right? Shake your head to fling the thought away.

Well, anyway, she would be a mage. And she wouldn’t be just any mage, she’d be the mage. The Archmage. The other street children in Tiulipia had told each other stories about him, a man that had complete mastery of magic, roaming the world as he pleased, helping the poor and needy, and getting so much money from it. The other kids really cared about that last part, but Wanily was more interested in the magic and helping people.

Even the thought made her giddy. Archmage Wanily. She’d be the best. Her enemies would quake in fear and she’d help so many people.

She waited and waited. She was supposed to be concentrating on whatever Mage Trevor had given her, but it was just so cold.

She didn’t know how much time had passed, but eventually, she heard shouting. She didn’t mind it, figuring there was a tavern or something nearby and late-night drunks had started a fight or whatever. Except, the shouting kept getting closer, soon accompanied by the patter of footsteps on stone as people ran around. Wanily frowned and slunk deeper into the alley. She wasn’t sure what was going on, but it probably couldn’t be good. Maybe it was because of whatever Mage Trevor went to do with that big guy?

It would be okay. He would come and collect her, and they would go back to the shop.

She waited. The shouting kept getting louder and closer. Mage Trevor was nowhere to be seen.

The guards found her like that, clinging to the whatever-it-was, still waiting. He–

He hadn't come back for her.

He'd left her there with a fake on purpose.

Oh, Wanily thought. So that’s how it is.

They shouted at her to drop it. She did so. They told her to stand up and show them her hands. Wanily did that too, not making a peep. They bound her at the wrists, told her she was smart for not trying to resist. She just glared at the ground as they pushed her out of the alley.

“What were you thinking, kid? You’re going to be locked up for a long time,” one of the men said. His dumb, easy voice reminded her of Trevor, and suddenly she was a blaze of fury. She stopped dead in her tracks, taking the guards by surprise, before dashing out to the corner of the street, where she’d watched him turn and leave her behind. One of the guards shouted to catch her, but when they saw she didn’t go far, they just latched a hand around her arm, hard enough to bruise, and began dragging her away.

She wouldn’t let this break her.

She had already endured so much. She wouldn’t let anything break her.

“I’m going to be the greatest mage!” she shouted down the street where she’d last seen the traitor. The men were looking at her like she was mad, but she didn’t care. “I’m going to be the best and it won’t be because of you! You hear me, bastard!? I’m going to become super strong and then you'll wish you taught me!”

“Oh, shuddup,” the closest policeman snapped, smacking her on the back of the head. She saw stars, but she still shouted obscenities until they shoved her into a carriage and locked the door. One of them jumped in front to direct the horses, and another hung onto the back, keeping an eye on her from outside. He didn’t need to bother. She just sat inside and fumed.

So what she was being sent to prison?

So what she’d been betrayed?

So what–so what everything?

She hadn’t needed anyone these last few months. She could take care of herself. She’d get out of the prison and she’d teach herself magic, and she’d become the best mage in the whole world. She would do it. She had to do it.

And, one day, she’d come back and give Trevor a piece of her mind. She’d make him regret the day he decided to throw away the girl that would become the greatest mage to ever live.