The next time Thorne opened his eyes, the world greeted him with a muted haze. Strength, faint but present, pulsed through his body. A shadow of his usual vitality but enough to remind him he was alive.

  He lay still for a moment, unwilling to break the fragile peace. The ache in his muscles and bones was not from bruises or wounds but from something deeper, a hollowness carved by his overuse of aether.

  Aether.

  The thought made him grimace. It was a double-edged sword. It could empower him, elevate him to heights of strength and skill he could scarcely dream of before, but it demanded repayment, leaving him drained to the point of collapse. He flexed his fingers experimentally. They responded sluggishly, as though his limbs belonged to someone else.

  The faint sound of hurried footsteps jolted his senses. The sharp crack of the door shutting reached his ears a second later. Thorne didn’t need to open his eyes to know it was Jory. The man’s anxious gait was unmistakable, and no doubt he was rushing off to inform Arletta, or worse, Uncle.

  Thorne exhaled heavily, his chest tight with lingering frustration. He stretched gingerly, testing the boundaries of his recovery. Even the simple motion felt like pushing against lead weights.

  Damn it.

  He cursed himself for not realizing sooner how critical his Spirit stat was. If he’d poured more points into it earlier, this aftermath might not have been so crippling. Aether demanded balance, and so far, his priorities had been dictated by survival. Strength, Dexterity, Agility, all essential to staying alive, but Spirit? He’d treated it like an afterthought, and now he was paying for it.

  His thoughts spiraled, but the faint creak of the door snapped him back to the present. His eyes shot open.

  A figure stood at the threshold, half inside, half out.

  Sid.

  He lingered there for a moment, his posture unusually hesitant. His gaze locked onto Thorne, and his expression shifted, a mixture of relief and something else Thorne couldn’t quite place.

  “So,” Sid said at last, his voice low but laced with something Thorne couldn’t quite place. “It’s true.”

  Thorne pushed himself up slightly, his muscles protesting the movement. “What’s true?” he rasped, his voice dry and unused.

  Sid’s gaze swept over him, lingering on his eyes. “That you’ve turned into a bloody lantern, that’s what.” He stepped fully into the room, letting the door creak shut behind him.

  Thorne was about to retort when his attention shifted to something else. His words caught in his throat.

  Then, he saw it.

  The loose sleeve.

  Sid’s right arm ended just below the shoulder. The fabric hung loose, empty. Tied off neatly but unmistakably.

  “You…” The words came out unbidden, raw and heavy. “Your hand.”

  Sid gave him a thin, humorless smile. “Noticed that, did you? Took me a while to notice too, what with all the screaming.” His tone was light, almost flippant, but the shadow behind his eyes betrayed the truth.

  Thorne swung his legs over the side of the bed, his body sluggish but his mind racing. “Sid, I...”

  “Don’t.” Sid cut him off, his voice sharp. “Don’t start with the pity or the apologies. Not from you.”

  “I wasn’t going to,” Thorne shot back, though his voice wavered slightly. “I just… I should’ve been there. I could’ve...”

  Sid barked a short laugh, the sound devoid of warmth. “What, saved the day? Maybe grown another arm for me while you were at it?” His expression softened slightly as he stepped closer. “You did more than enough, kid. You killed that thing. You saved my life.”

  Thorne’s jaw tightened. “Doesn’t feel like enough.”

  Sid sighed, running his left hand through his hair. “It rarely does.”

  Thorne tried to speak again, but Sid waved him off with his remaining hand. “Don’t,” he said gruffly. “It’s not your fault. Hell, it’s probably better this way. Less weight to slow me down, right?”

  The attempt at humor fell flat, and they both knew it. Thorne’s eyes lingered on the tied-off sleeve, and a heavy silence filled the room.

  Sid cleared his throat, breaking the tension. “Anyway, you’re awake. That’s what matters.”

  But Thorne couldn’t look away. The sight of Sid, Sid, who had always seemed untouchable, unbreakable, missing a part of himself felt like a blow. “Sid…” he tried again, his voice low.

  “I said don’t,” Sid cut him off sharply. His gaze hardened, but there was no malice in it. “I’m still here, aren’t I? Still breathing? That’s what counts.”

  Thorne nodded reluctantly, his hands curling into fists at his sides. The guilt gnawed at him anyway, digging its claws deeper with every passing second.

  They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the battle and its aftermath pressing between them. Thorne finally broke the stillness, his voice hesitant. “What happens now?”

  Sid’s gaze turned distant, his shoulders sagging slightly. “Now? Now I figure out how to hold a damn dagger with one hand.” He smirked, the expression fleeting. “And you figure out what the hell you’re becoming.”

  Thorne frowned, his hand instinctively moving toward his pendant. “I’m fine.”

  “Are you?” Sid arched an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe. “Because I don’t remember you glowing like a bloody star before.”

  Thorne’s fingers tightened around the pendant. “It’s… new.”

  “New.” Sid repeated the word slowly, his tone skeptical. “Right. And those new eyes of yours? I don’t suppose they come with instructions?”

  Thorne looked away, his jaw clenching. “I’m managing.”

  Sid let out a low whistle. “Managing, he says. You know, for someone who nearly turned himself into a corpse, you’ve got an awful lot of confidence.”

  “It’s not confidence,” Thorne snapped, his voice sharper than he intended. “It’s survival.”

  Sid stepped closer, his movements deliberate. "You don’t look half-dead anymore, but you’ve looked better.”

  Thorne forced a smirk, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Feeling marginally less like I got trampled by a herd of aether beasts. Progress, I guess.”

  Sid snorted, the sound almost amused. “Yeah, well, you gave us all a scare. Arletta’s been pacing like a damned vulture, waiting for you to wake up.”

  The mention of Arletta brought Thorne’s thoughts back to reality. The looming presence of Uncle, there was no time to linger on guilt or regret. He straightened slightly, his expression hardening. “What’s been happening while I was out?”

  Sid’s face darkened, the shift in his demeanor immediate. “Plenty,” he muttered. “But you’ve got bigger problems right now.”

  Thorne’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

  Sid watched Thorne’s reaction carefully, his expression unreadable. “He knows,” he said, his voice low but certain.

  Thorne frowned, his heart skipping a beat. “Who knows?” he asked, though he already suspected the answer.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “Uncle,” Sid replied, leaning back in his chair with a weary sigh.

  The room seemed to tilt for a moment, the words striking Thorne with the force of a physical blow. His throat tightened. “What?” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

  Sid gave him a pointed look, the kind that said stop being an idiot without needing to use words. “About you, of course,” he said, his tone firm. “I always suspected he knew. Think about it. When you were little and did all those impossible things, the feats no one else could pull off, not even the older cousins, he never once looked surprised. Not once. It was like… he expected it from you.”

  Thorne swallowed hard, his hands curling into fists in his lap. The memories came rushing back unbidden: Uncle watching him from the shadows, his expression always calm, always calculating.

  “I never dared to ask questions,” Sid continued, his tone quieter now, tinged with a note of regret. “But I always tried to read between the lines. And now…” He paused, his gaze sharp as it fixed on Thorne. “Now I’m sure.”

  Thorne’s breath quickened, his chest feeling as though it were being squeezed by an invisible hand. “How?” he managed to croak out. “How are you sure?”

  Sid exhaled heavily, leaning forward. “He never once asked me about the incident,” he said, his voice calm but deliberate. “Not a single question about your powers, your skills, or what really happened that night. That’s not like him.”

  He straightened and gestured vaguely with his hand. “It’s true that half the city saw the explosions of aether, all those flashy displays of power. But we were too far away from the city for most people to make out the details. Only the most skilled scouts could have seen clearly what was happening here. And most of them probably thought it was just the aether beast, not you.”

  Sid’s gaze hardened. “But Uncle? He’s not like most people. I’m sure he had some of his spies among the crowd, and they would’ve seen everything. Far-off or not, they would’ve known. And if they didn’t, he’d make them find out. That’s who he is.”

  Thorne sat frozen, the room around him blurring into nothingness. He felt as though his skin had been stripped away, leaving him exposed and vulnerable.

  All those years, the nagging thought had lingered at the back of his mind: Uncle could know. Uncle might know. And now it felt like that lingering shadow had coiled itself around his throat, tightening its grip.

  He’d always wondered why Uncle had chosen him, out of all the orphans he could have picked. Over the years, he’d convinced himself it was because Uncle saw something in him, a twisted reflection of himself, a successor to his dark legacy. But now…

  Had he known all along?

  Had this all been part of some plan?

  Thorne’s hands trembled, but he quickly stilled them, his face a mask of forced calm. “And if he knows…” he whispered to himself, trailing off, his mind racing with the implications.

  He swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper. “What now?”

  Sid leaned back in his chair, the expression on his face unreadable. His eyes closed briefly, and when he opened them, there was a steely resolve. “Now, we plan your escape,” he said simply. “I’ve already started making inquiries. We’ll get you out of Alvar, as far away from him as we can.”

  Escape. The word rang hollow in Thorne’s ears. He clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms. “What do you mean? What kind of inquiries?”

  Sid sighed, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “There are two possible routes I’ve found so far. One, you catch a ship heading straight for the Emerald Sands. It’s a long journey, but it puts you on the opposite side of the world from him. The problem is, I haven’t found any ships making the trip any time soon. Trade routes to the sands are unpredictable at best, and you’d stick out like a sore thumb once you got there.”

  Thorne frowned, his chest tightening. The Emerald Sands… the name conjured images of vast deserts, golden cities, and an alien culture far removed from everything he knew. But the idea of running that far didn’t sit well with him.

  “What’s the other option?” he asked.

  “The other route,” Sid said, rubbing the back of his neck, “is White Harbor. From there, you can head north, cross the Frost Veil. It’s treacherous, but it’s a damn good way to lose anyone tracking you. Uncle’s influence doesn’t reach that far.”

  Both options felt perilous, filled with unknowns and dangers. Why should he flee halfway across the world, leaving everything he knew behind, when there was a simpler solution? A solution that had burned in his mind ever since the battle with the aether beast.

  Thorne’s jaw tightened, and he shook his head. “No.”

  Sid arched an eyebrow, his expression darkening. “No?”

  “I’m not running,” Thorne said firmly, his voice low but steady. “Why should I? Why should I leave everything behind, live like a fugitive, when there’s another way?”

  “Another way?” Sid’s voice was sharp, his tone edged with disbelief. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking.”

  Thorne’s gaze was unyielding. “Why not? I can end this. End him. Right here, right now.”

  Sid’s reaction was immediate. He surged to his feet, towering over Thorne, his face a mask of anger and frustration. “Are you out of your bloody mind?” he hissed. “You think it’s that simple? You think you can just waltz into his domain and kill him?”

  “Why not?” Thorne shot back, rising to his feet despite his body’s protest. The hollowness in his core was a faint whisper compared to the fury building within him. “You’ve seen what I can do, Sid. I fought that beast and won. I’m stronger now, stronger than ever. The aether… it’s mine to command.”

  Sid laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “You don’t get it, do you? You’ve tapped into power, sure, but you’re still learning. Do you even know the limits of what you can do? Or what it’ll cost you? Because I promise you, Thorne, it will cost you.”

  Thorne’s fists trembled at his sides, his anger threatening to boil over. “I’m done living under his shadow. I’m done running, Sid. All my life, I’ve been afraid of him, afraid of what he might do if he ever found out. But now? Now I can face him. Now I can win.”

  Sid’s expression darkened further, and for a moment, the room was thick with tension. Then, his shoulders slumped, and he let out a heavy sigh. “You think this is about power, don’t you?” he said quietly. “You think because you’ve got the aether on your side, you can just make him disappear. But this isn’t about strength, Thorne. It’s about the web he’s spun, the people, the influence, the reach he has. You kill him, and that web doesn’t just vanish. It tightens. Around you. Around anyone left standing.”

  Thorne faltered, his resolve shaken but not broken. “So what, Sid? I’m just supposed to run? Spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder, waiting for the next knife in the dark?”

  Sid stepped closer, his gaze piercing. “Sometimes, running isn’t about fear, Thorne. It’s about strategy. Live to fight another day, that’s what we do. You want to win? Then you need to play the long game.”

  Thorne stared at him, his chest heaving with the weight of his emotions. The anger, the frustration, the deep-seated hatred that had festered for years… it all threatened to consume him. But beneath it all, Sid’s words found a crack, a place to settle.

  Thorne’s fists clenched, his nails digging into his palms. He couldn’t look away from Sid’s piercing gaze, but the anger bubbling inside him refused to be contained.

  “Strategy?” Thorne scoffed, his voice sharp with bitterness. “Is that what this is? Letting him keep his claws in me while I bide my time? Sounds more like protecting him to me.”

  Sid’s face hardened. “Watch your mouth, boy,” he warned, his tone low and dangerous.

  “No, you watch!” Thorne’s voice rose, his frustration spilling over. “How can you defend him? You know what he’s done to me! What he’s made me do! How he’s used me, lied to me, twisted me into this… this thing!” He gestured wildly at himself, the glow of his swirling eyes briefly intensifying.

  “I’m not defending him!” Sid barked back, his voice finally rising to match Thorne’s. “But you don’t know what you’re saying. You think charging in blind is going to fix anything? You’d only be playing into his hands!”

  “Why?” Thorne shot back, stepping forward, his face inches from Sid’s. “Why are you so desperate to stop me? What does he have on you, Sid?”

  Sid froze. The mask of frustration he wore cracked, just for an instant. But it was enough. Thorne caught it, caught the shadow in Sid’s eyes, the hesitation, the flicker of guilt that flashed across his face.

  His breath caught in his throat. “He is blackmailing you,” Thorne whispered, realization dawning.

  Sid’s lips pressed into a thin line, his face stony.

  “You lied to me,” Thorne said, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and hurt. “I can’t believe I keep falling for it every time! Everyone is lying to me!” His shout rang through the room, the vibrations of his voice matched by the ambient aether trembling around them.

  The air grew heavy with energy, static crackling in the space between them. Sid’s hair began to rise, the ambient aether responding to Thorne’s emotions like a coiled storm.

  But Sid didn’t flinch. He stepped closer, his one hand shooting out to grab Thorne by the collar. “Stop acting like a child, Thorne!” he snapped, his voice cutting through the charged air.

  Thorne struggled against Sid’s grip, but the older man held firm.

  “You still don’t trust me?” Sid growled, his voice fierce but not unkind. “After everything I’ve done for you? After all the times I’ve kept you safe, stood between you and every threat that’s come your way?”

  Thorne stopped fighting, his chest heaving as his anger warred with the lingering vestiges of trust he had for Sid.

  “I’ve protected you more times than you can count,” Sid continued, his voice softening but still carrying its edge. “Not because I had to. Not because I wanted something from you. But because I wanted the best for you. Always.”

  Thorne glared at him, his jaw tight. “Then why the lies? Why the secrets? What aren’t you telling me?”

  Sid hesitated, his grip loosening slightly. His voice dropped, almost pleading. “Yes, I have a secret. But it has nothing to do with you, Thorne. Nothing that changes what I’m doing to help you.”

  Their eyes locked, and for a moment, Thorne saw something raw in Sid’s expression, something beyond the frustration and anger.

  There was regret. Pain.

  “Just trust me,” Sid said quietly, his voice steady now, as if he were making a promise. “Give me until the next full moon. By then, you’ll be out of Alvar. You’ll be free of him. I swear it.”

  Thorne searched Sid’s face, his emotions in turmoil. The tension in the room hung heavy, the vibrating aether finally beginning to calm.

  “Fine,” Thorne said at last, his voice low and cold. “But if you’re lying to me again…”

  Sid released him, stepping back, his face unreadable. “I won’t,” he said simply.

  For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, a precise knock shattered the stillness, sharp and commanding, like a blade striking stone. The door opened before either could react, and Arletta stepped inside, her stride as purposeful as ever. She didn’t wait for an invitation; she didn’t need one.

  Her sharp gaze flicked between Thorne and Sid, taking in the taut tension that hung in the room like an invisible thread pulled too tight. Her expression was unreadable, her features a mask of practiced neutrality, though her eyes gleamed with a subtle curiosity.

  Her gaze finally settled on Thorne, her head tilting just slightly as if she were assessing him, weighing whatever unspoken battle he and Sid had been engaged in. Her voice, when it came, was smooth, deliberate, and laced with that familiar tone of authority.

  “Uncle is waiting for you.”

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