A strange feeling crept over me as I stood in the middle of the street. A pressure between my shoulders. I’d been feeling ever since I left the Bent Blade.

  The sword hummed softly at my side.

  “Something’s not right,” I thought.

  “The man in the shop,” the sword replied. “Vortigern?”

  The name caught me off guard. “No. He was unsettling, sure, but this started before that.”

  I waited for an answer as I walked. “I feel nothing. That Vortigern however… He feels familiar,” said the sword.

  I frowned. To me, he’d just been another noble with too much power and no sense of responsibility. Or at least none he bothered to carry.

  “No,” I thought. “This is different. It feels like being watched.”

  “All the time?”

  “No. Only outside. When I was in the shop, it faded. The moment I stepped back into the street, it returned.”

  “Then we should keep moving,” the sword said. “Lingering increases risk.”

  I nodded and walked on, wondering whether Jerald’s warnings had been wisdom or if they’d simply lodged too deep in my head.

  With the city open to me, I drifted through its elaborate streets, letting my pace quickened while my thoughts kept moving. I wasn’t here to enjoy the sights or lose myself in the comfort of coin and stone. Whatever I chose had to matter. It had to be worth carrying back. Worth the risk. Worth them.

  I hadn’t known the others long, but I still wanted to help. For the first time in my life, wanting to help someone wasn’t just a wish. It was something I could actually do.

  Another thought surfaced, a name.

  Celeste.

  I pictured her where I’d left her and wondered how she was holding up. Whether the scene I’d caused had shielded her or only painted a larger target on her back. I hadn’t thought of her in days, and telling myself she was fine rang hollow. At least Nick was nowhere near her. That counted for something. He’d always watched her too closely, even when we were young. Sure, everyone noticed her, but he noticed her differently.

  I pushed the thought away. Guilt and regret had sharp edges, and I couldn’t afford to bleed right now.

  Still, the feeling lingered, changing shape as I walked. It settled into resolve. I straightened my shoulders and let my steps quicken.

  I would find something useful for the others.

  I would make this trip mean something.

  The streets themselves warned me. Polished windows, thin shelves. Too many noble aspirants with far too much coin had flooded the city, snapping up anything worthwhile. What was left either carried a price meant to hurt or felt so weak it barely earned its place.

  That became obvious the moment I stepped into Alchemy and Quartz.

  I hadn’t gone three steps before a clerk was at my side, all smooth smiles and eager posture. They knew exactly who I was, or at least pretending to be.

  The shop was beautiful. Too beautiful. More gallery than store. Light spilled across crystal and glass, colours catching and slipping as I moved. Vials and stones glittered from every angle. But the centre of the room was nearly bare. Shelf after shelf had been picked clean. What remained had been pushed up, stacked along the walls in careful tiers. Shelves climbed three stories high, linked by narrow stairs and rolling bridges meant to reach whatever was still out of easy reach.

  My gaze followed them up.

  At the very top sat the elixirs that still mattered. Bottles set apart, glass catching the light, prices etched in gold. A set drew my eye at once. Gilded. Clean.

  Foundation Elixir’s.

  They looked like a refined cousin to the elixir Doyle had given us. Clearer. Sharper.

  Quietly dangerous.

  The clerk lifted an eyebrow when I asked for three.

  I didn’t stop there.

  Along the far wall, half-hidden behind a counter of dark oak, a gilded cage caught my eye. Thick bars chased with runes. Inside, a row of five crystals rested on black velvet, each a different colour. None carried a price tag. None needed one.

  The clerk followed my gaze and stiffened.

  I stepped closer. The crystals gleamed under the lantern light, throwing colours across the walls. They felt heavy just sitting there.

  “I’ll take these as well,” I said.

  The shop went quiet.

  “Those are…”

  “Just, put it on my family tab,” I said sharply, giving my best Nick impression.

  Someone behind me let out a laugh of disbelief. Another voice muttered a curse. The clerk swallowed and reached for the ledger, his hand shaking enough that the pages rasped against each other. He called out and the owner I suppose emerged from the back room. He took in the scene, the ledger, and me in a single sweep, his smile already forming.

  “A fine choice,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Very fine indeed.”

  I met his eyes and shook my head once.

  “Don’t make a big deal out of it,” I said.

  He tried to school his expression. “Of course, Sir… Of course…” It lasted about a second. “Bring them out,” he snapped, the clerk already reaching for the keys.

  The lock clicked open, loud in the stillness. One by one, the crystals were lifted free and set on the counter with care. Clean. Flawless. Colours so deep they seemed to drink in the light.

  I took all five, each a different hue, and added them to the three vials of Foundation Elixir from earlier.

  The clerk slid a sheet across the counter to formalise the paperwork. “Sign here, sir.”

  I grinned as a memory surfaced. About a year ago, Nick had filed a formal complaint against me with the Morganvale council. I still remembered how proud he’d looked, scratching his name across the page.

  I signed where the clerk pointed, copying the same looping strokes I’d seen on Nick’s complaint back home.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  Eyes stayed on me as I packed the crystals away. The rune pocket stretched and yielded with each one, the fabric warming beneath my fingers. The last crystal resisted, then slipped into place, a dull weight settling against my chest.

  I glanced back at the cage. Empty now.

  No one spoke as I left.

  So, the pocket is not endless. Good to know.

  As I passed shopfront after shopfront, something else began to bother me. There were no bookshops. A few places looked like they might once have been, their windows wide and empty, their layouts wrong for trade. One sign caught my eye, its paint peeling at the corner. Beneath it, half-hidden by sun and age, was the faint outline of a book.

  “Jerald was right,” I murmured. “Books are rare here.”

  “Maybe next time we should try the college,” the sword said.

  “Or apply after the trials,” I replied.

  Neither of us said the rest of it. The ‘if’ hung there on its own. What sounded fair on paper was already showing its rot, and with the rumours Brent and the others kept passing around, the trials were starting to feel stacked beyond reason.

  Dwelling on that wouldn’t help. Action would.

  The shops in this part of town had little left to offer me. What I carried now were expensive stones and fragile vials, and those would mean more elsewhere. Trade was the smarter move.

  “Before I go back to the rough part of town… Do you think I should change?” I asked.

  “Clothes or face?” the sword replied.

  “Both…”

  “And how would you explain where the crystals came from?”

  I winced. “Good point. But what if I run into one of Nick’s friends?”

  “You look the part now,” it said. “Tell them to leave you alone.”

  “Still…”

  The sword hummed. There was something close to amusement in it. “That other boy.”

  “What other boy?”

  “The familiar one… Vortigern.”

  I smiled despite myself. The fool had shaken my hand, and thanks to the sword, the curse hadn’t stirred.

  “Alright,” I said. “I’ll change.”

  “Test the colour rune on the coat.”

  “That too,” I agreed. “I’ll keep it quick… In and out.”

  “Try not to buy anything too big, that pocket looks like its bursting from the seams.”

  “Don’t worry about that, thank to Amelia’s wise council… I have an idea.”

  I ducked behind the same crate as before and changed. When I stepped back onto the street, the coat had darkened to deep blue, my hair blackened to match. The fit was close, but not perfect. Vortigern’s gait felt wrong. The trousers pulled as I walked, and my balance lagged a half step behind. I didn’t stop to fix it.

  There had been a shop I’d noticed earlier, not far back. An old blacksmith with a cluttered front, weapons and armour laid out in careful disorder. Some pieces gleamed. Others were worn smooth by use.

  It didn’t take long to find it again. I kept my head down as best I could, though the coat drew more attention than I liked. Eyes followed me anyway. A few people nudged each other and pointed as I passed, the attention prickling across my skin.

  Yes. Quick.

  I stepped inside and the smell hit at once. Burnt steel and old smoke, thick enough to catch in my throat. I coughed, then breathed it in again despite myself. Finding that I liked the smell.

  A few aspirants lingered between the racks, wide-eyed, fingers hovering near armour and weapons they clearly hadn’t learned to use yet.

  The shop itself felt ancient. Properly old. Shelves climbed the walls like a library, packed tight with iron and steel. In the centre stood waist-high racks of weapons and gear, each piece chained in place as if theft had once been common enough to warrant the reminder. Nothing here was polished for display. Everything had weight.

  “But why are these not bought already?”

  My sword hummed. “No idea.”

  The prices looked a bit high. But the work didn’t look particularly special. Maybe the runes are weak? Or just too old?

  Behind the counter, a burly bearded man in a blacksmith’s apron worked an armguard with a cloth, metal rasping softly under his hands. He looked up and snorted, the sound tired rather than surprised. His belly was broad, his arms thicker still, the kind that looked capable of bending steel by force alone. Yet his gaze drifted past me to the aspirants with something softer in it. Watchful. Protective. Almost parental.

  “And what brings a fancy noble such as yourself into my humble shop?” he asked. It looked like he recognised this face. Maybe I could leverage that.

  Yet there was no fear in his voice. No respect either.

  “I was wondering if you might be interested in a trade,” I said.

  “Trade?” He let out a short bark of a laugh. “Don’t you lot have your own smithies and piles of gold for your trinkets?” There was bite in the words. “Thought my northern runes were too old-fashioned for the likes of you.” He paused, eyes narrowing. “You’re not planning to turn my work into monster bait, are you?”

  I felt the eyes on me shift. A few customers slowed, listening.

  Careful, I told myself.

  “Of course not,” I said. Then, after a beat, “And I do have access to other smiths.” I reached into my coat and drew out a red crystal, letting it catch the light between my fingers. As I did, I watched the room, gauging interest, reactions. “But this isn’t for me.”

  The crystal glimmered softly in my palm, and the shop went just a little quieter.

  The blacksmith stilled. “I said no to traps,” he said. “My work is meant to be worn and used, not tossed into pits so your rich friends can laugh about it later.”

  I raised my hands. “You misunderstand.” I stepped closer, lowering my voice. “The trials are coming.”

  His eyes narrowed. “And?”

  “If the rumours are true, this year’s trials will be harder than most.” I hesitated, then went on. “I grew up with people who can’t afford their own smiths.”

  He studied me, unimpressed. “Then dress them in your family’s iron.”

  I shook my head and slipped into a noble’s tone, sharp and dismissive. “That won’t do.” I waved it off. “My father forbade me from using the smiths for the less fortunate.” I gestured around the shop, toward the aspirants pretending not to listen. “But I still want to help.”

  Something in him shifted.

  “You want to help your friends,” he said.

  I nodded.

  He looked at me again, this time with open surprise. “Seriously?”

  I nodded once more.

  He let out a long breath and studied me, slower now. His gaze dropped to the red crystal in my hand. “That’s too much,” he said, quieter than before.

  “I know.” I drew out a green crystal and held it where the forge light could find it. The surface caught and threw the glow. “That’s why I’m hoping we can work out a deal. I assume you have willing hands. And you know the right people.” I met his eyes. “First, I’ll need a delivery. Can you arrange that?”

  The green crystal changed everything. The red had earned a glance. This one held him. He turned it in his fingers, eyes narrowing as he weighed its worth. I had no idea what it was truly meant for. I only knew that the price was high enough to help.

  “How far?” he asked.

  “Brookfield.”

  He grunted. “That can be done.” He set the crystal down. “Give me a week to organise and ship it. What do you need?”

  I let out a slow breath. “We’ve got fighters and mages who need outfitting.”

  “Got their sizes?”

  I shook my head.

  He nodded once. “Then I’ll build everything with clasps and belts. Adjustable. It won’t be pretty, but it’ll hold.”

  “How many kids?” he asked.

  I hesitated. “As many as this will cover.” I kept my voice steady. I wasn’t ready to offer more.

  He leaned back and went quiet, gaze moving from my face to the crystals and back again. After a moment he reached for a scrap of parchment and began to write. The quill scratched steadily as items filled the page. Daggers. Short swords. Armour pieces. Each line marked with a small symbol that meant something only to him. The list kept growing, the page filling until he turned it and kept going, building a tally that felt far larger than I’d expected.

  When he finished, he glanced toward the side of the shop and jerked his thumb in that direction. “I’ll get Wilburn and Sibby to pitch in,” he said. “You’ll need mage gear as well. And elixirs.”

  The tight knot in my chest eased, just enough for me to breathe again.

  “Whatever you can do to help… These kids. They Ain’t from the city and their connections are limited.”

  He made a face that betrayed him, the man had a soft spot. I set the red crystal on the counter. “Can I put this down as a deposit?”

  His gaze slid back to the green one. “And that?”

  “When the delivery’s made,” I said.

  He let out a long breath, eyes narrowing as he worked the numbers in his head. I stood there calm on the surface, all confidence and borrowed authority, while inside I was guessing at every step. I needed gear for the others. Armour, weapons, training tools. I had no clear list and no real plan beyond making a deal. It was a gamble, but none of this money was truly mine, so I let the risk sit where it fell.

  “Just a moment,” the blacksmith said.

  He disappeared through a back door and left me alone with the smell of hot metal and the weight of the counter pressing into my palms. When he returned, he carried a small iron ring. He set it down between us.

  It hit the counter with a deep, solid thud that didn’t match its size.

  “This is good faith,” he said. “Proof of purchase.”

  I looked at it. Plain iron. Heavy. A rune etched into its surface, old and worn.

  “I’m out of storage rings,” he went on. “Most of the kids snapped those up first. But I still have one of these.”

  I picked it up. The metal was cool, dense, heavier than it should have been.

  “This is old Norse… A quick-change ring,” he said. “If you’re carrying clothes or have them packed away, touch the rune and picture yourself wearing the other set. It swaps instantly.”

  My eyes widened before I could stop them.

  He laughed, loud and pleased. “Impressed? The nobles have their gilded smiths and polished toys, but they don’t have many of these. This is old work. Real runes. They don’t make them like this anymore.”

  I closed my fingers around the ring and nodded, feeling its weight settle into my palm.

  “When the delivery’s ready, will you be receiving it yourself?” he asked after I gave him the address.

  I shook my head. “No. I’ll be busy, I’m afraid. I’ll pass this along to a kid I know.” I gestured to the ring. “As proof of purchase.”

  He frowned. “How will I recognise him?”

  I smiled. “You can’t miss him. Red hair. Goes by Sean.”