55

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Theodore sat before Matthew, the guildmaster of the Merchants Guild—or at least, this branch of it. Punching out the final details of their deal, Theodore extended his hand, and Matthew shook it—his grip was firm.

“It’s a pleasure doing business with you, Guildmaster Matthew,” Theodore said, his voice steady despite the excitement bubbling within him. After all, this deal would make the soap hit the market even wider. His soap would soon be poised to revolutionize hygiene across the kingdom.

Matthew’s eyes twinkled. “The pleasure is all mine, my lord! I must say, your product has caused quite a stir among our members. It’s not often we see such innovation in something as... common as soap.”

Theodore nodded. “Thank you. I believe that even the most ordinary things can be extraordinary with the right approach.” He paused, his gaze drifting to the ornate doors behind Matthew. “If I may ask, where are the soapmakers? I’d like to begin instructing them on the process as soon as possible.”

The guildmaster chuckled, running a hand through his graying beard. “Eager, aren’t we? They’re just down the hall, waiting for your expertise. But before we proceed, I want to ensure we’re clear on all aspects of our agreement.”

Theodore’s expression grew serious. “Of course. As stipulated in the contract, the Merchants Guild will have rights to distribute my soap throughout the kingdom. In return, I’ll receive a fair percentage of the profits and retain full ownership of the formula.”

Matthew nodded, his fingers drumming lightly on the parchment. “And what of... potential competitors? We’ve invested heavily in this venture, my lord. How can we be certain others won’t simply copy your product? You have already signed up with the Montague Merchants Guild, too...”

A shadow passed over Theodore’s face, his voice dropping. “I assure you, Guildmaster Matthew, that won’t be an issue. I trust the Montague Merchants’ Guild, and I’ve taken precautions. Should anyone attempt to replicate it without authorization, well...” He leaned in closer, his eyes hard. “Let’s just say I have the means to see them legally executed by the king himself.”

For a moment, silence hung heavy in the air. Then Matthew threw back his head and laughed, the sound echoing off the chamber walls. “By the gods, there’s no need for such dramatics! Your secret is safe with us. We’re [Merchants], not thieves.”

Theodore allowed himself a small smile. “I’m glad we understand each other.”

“Indeed we do,” Matthew said. “Now, there’s one last matter to address. I’ll be forwarding our agreement to the main branch of the Merchants Guild for final approval. Standard procedure, you understand.”

Theodore nodded. “Of course. You have my full support in that regard.”

With a final handshake, the deal was sealed. As Theodore watched Matthew gather the documents, Theodore smiled internally. Good. This was more than just a business transaction; it was the first step towards a cleaner, healthier kingdom. And he would be at the forefront of that change.

As he turned to leave, Matthew called out, “Oh, and Lord Theodore? Welcome to the guild. I have a feeling we’ll be seeing great things from you in the years to come.”

Theodore smiled. “Thank you, Guildmaster Matthew. I intend to exceed even your highest expectations.”

***

Theodore sat cross-legged on a plush cushion, his brow furrowed in concentration as he listened intently to Derrick’s words. The older man’s voice filled the air as he explained the intricacies of magical theory. The lesson concluded and Derrick smiled. “You’re making remarkable progress, my boy. Your aptitude for magic is truly impressive.”

“I have an excellent teacher to thank for that.”

The [Mage] chuckled, rising slowly to his feet. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Theodore. But I’m afraid our time is up for today. Remember to practice those meditation exercises I showed you. They’ll help sharpen your focus and heighten your sensitivity to mana.”

Theodore stood as well, bowing slightly to his mentor. “I will. Thank you again for everything.”

As Derrick gathered his things and made his way to the door, Theodore called out, “Same time next week?”

The old man turned. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

With a final wave, Derrick disappeared into the hallway, leaving Theodore alone with his thoughts. He stretched, feeling the satisfying pop of his joints as he worked out the stiffness from sitting for so long.

Theodore walked to the window, gazing out at the town of Holden below. The sun hung low on the horizon, painting the sky in brilliant hues of orange and pink. He took a deep breath, savoring the moment of quiet reflection. So much had changed in such a short time. From a simple soap-maker to a guild member, from a novice to a budding [Mage]. The path ahead was uncertain, sure—filled with challenges and opportunities in equal measure—but as Theodore stood there, watching the world go by, he felt a sense of... calmness.

After a long time, he truly felt at home.

***

The earth trembled beneath Baron Montague’s feet like a living extension of his will and power. Around him, the forces of the Night Whispers lay scattered and broken, their black-clad forms little more than smudges against the ravaged landscape.

Montague stood tall, his weathered face set in a grim expression. Despite his years, there was no hint of fatigue in his stance, no tremor in his hands as he surveyed the battlefield. His eyes—sharp as a hawk’s—locked onto a hulking figure emerging from the chaos.

Brutus “The Hammer” Graw charged towards Montague with a roar that shook the very air. His massive hammer swung in wide, devastating arcs. However, Montague did not flinch. He did not retreat. Instead, a small smile played at the corners of his mouth.

A predator’s grin eying its prey. For it spoke of battles won and enemies vanquished, Brutus visibly seemed to slow down, but with a growl, the man closed the distance. Montague’s hands moved as he used his skills. The ground beneath Brutus’s feet suddenly shifted, sand turning to glass in an instant. The brute stumbled, his momentum carrying him forward as his footing betrayed him.

Montague’s voice cut through the din of battle, calm and measured. “Is this truly the best the Night Whispers can muster? I wonder why Thomas didn’t deal with you guys any sooner—he alone would’ve been enough.” He sighed. “Why must you bother an old man like me?”

Brutus snarled, regaining his balance and charging once more. “You know nothing of our power, old man! I’ll crush you like the insignificant bug you are!”

The baron’s eye twitched, and his pupils narrowed, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. “Don’t interrupt when I talk, child.”

With a gesture that seemed almost lazy, Montague called forth his true power. The earth split open at his command, and from its depths rose a torrent of molten rock. The air shimmered with intense heat as rivers of magma snaked across the ground, cutting off Brutus’s advance.

Brutus’ eyes widened in shock and fear. “Impossible! You... you’re an earth [Mage]! How can you control magma?”

Montague stepped forward, the sea of lava parting before him like obedient servants. “Did you really think someone of my standing would be limited to a single element? Your ignorance is matched only by your arrogance.”

Brutus’s mighty swings were met with walls of hardened lava, his every step hindered by suddenly unstable ground. And all the while, Montague pressed his advantage, hurling spears of obsidian and waves of scorching magma. It was over in moments. Brutus fell to his knees, bruised and broken. Montague stood over him, disappointment etched on his face.

“Weak. Utterly weak,” the baron spat. “I’m surprised Thomas didn’t deal with you lot sooner.”

Brutus, his breath coming in ragged gasps, looked up at Montague with hateful eyes. “You... you don’t understand. We’re not just some common bandits. We’re—”

His words were cut short as Montague crushed his head with a boulder, ending his life. Brutus’s massive form toppled backwards, his eyes staring sightlessly at the smoke-filled sky.

Montague sighed, suddenly looking every one of his years. “Now an old man like me needs to deal with all this nonsense,” he muttered, shaking his head. “As if I didn’t have enough to worry about with harvest season approaching.”

Surely, if someone from outside heard him, they’d wonder where his priorities lay. But truly, for the baron who’d lived long, harvest season indeed matter more than some random organizations.

He turned, surveying the devastation around him. The battlefield was silent now, save for the occasional groan of a wounded Night Whisper or the pops of still-cooling lava.

Montague closed his eyes for a moment—and sighed.

Suddenly, the sky erupted in a brilliant flash of light. Montague’s hand instinctively went to shield his eyes, but he forced himself to look, to witness. A massive, intricate pattern of light stretched across the heavens, connecting the lands of Westford, Argent, Holden, and Corinth in a glowing web of magical energy.

“By the gods,” Montague whispered, calm yet curious. “What manner of sorcery is this?”

As quickly as it had appeared, the light faded, leaving Montague blinking. Whatever had just happened, he knew in his bones that it meant more work for an old man like him.

***

In a dimly lit chamber deep within the heart of Westford, Thomas stood over the battered form of Alden Luther. His fists, raw and bloody. He’d just done a brutal interrogation. Yet despite the beating, a grin spread across Alden’s bruised face.

“You think this pain means anything to me?” Alden spat, blood staining his teeth. “You have no idea what’s coming. None at all. We failed! We did! But do you know what that means?!”

Thomas frowned. “What are you babbling about, you treasonous dog?”

Before Alden could respond, a blinding light flooded the room. Thomas whirled around, his eyes widening as he saw the magical pattern etched across the sky through the small window.

“No,” he breathed.

Alden’s cackled behind him manically. The sound was so garroting it echoed off the stone walls.

“Witness,” Alden screamed. “Witness our failure—!”

Thomas knocked him out with a brutal slam.

***

Roland stood at attention outside Theodore’s chambers. His posture was perfect. He was thinking, at the moment, about—

A flash of light caught his peripheral vision. Roland turned, his training kicking in as he assessed for potential threats. What he saw instead left him breathless. The sky itself seemed to be on fire, crisscrossed with lines of magic that pulsed with otherworldly power.

***

“Jack, look!” Rosemary gasped, pointing towards the sky visible through the window.

They stood transfixed, as the magical light show played out above them. When Rosemary looked back, Jack was already gone, running out of the workshop, the toward slammed behind him—and toward Lord Theodore.

***

Theodore stood by the window; his eyes fixed on the sky. The massive magic circle hung there, impossibly vast. Its intricate patterns told a story he was now beginning to understand. He sighed heavily.

“So that’s how it is,” he murmured to himself, “it begins, it seems.”

There was work to be done, and precious little time to do it.

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