Aster hauled the unconscious orcs into a messy heap, stripped them of their raid spoils, and reclaimed every torn cloak, stolen blade, and frightened scrap of coin they'd taken. By the time he dragged the goods back to the guild, his arms ached and his patience was thin.
The clerk counted once. Then again.
"One hundred and ninety merits."
Aster blinked. "Huh. Look at that. Crime does pay ...occasionally."
He pocketed the reward and left before the guild could decide to grow suspicious.
The alley was narrow, damp, and smelled like regret.
"Hey, young lad…"
Aster didn't slow. A bad sign.
A coin pouch sailed through the air and hit his chest.
He caught it by instinct, opened it ...and froze.
"Five hundred merits," he muttered.
"What do you want," Aster said flatly. "And no, I don't kill children. Or women."
"Oh, don't fret," the hooded figure chuckled. "That's not what I'm asking."
Aster's eyes narrowed. "Good. Because I'd have kept the money and broken your nose."
"I want you to steal something."
Aster scoffed. "I'm an assassin, not a thief."
"Yes," the figure replied calmly. "But I need someone skilled. Quiet. And very hard to catch."
The hood lifted slightly. Orange, lizard-like eyes glimmered in the dark.
"I want you to take back what was stolen from me," the figure said. "And I'll pay more when you do."
Aster closed the pouch and slipped it into his coat.
"…Alright," he said. "Talk."
"I want you to meet me at this place at dawn," the hooded figure said, pressing a folded slip of parchment into Aster's hand. "If you come, I'll give you the details."
Then they were gone, leaving the alley to its damp silence.
Aster walked home with the promise weighing heavier than the coins.
He stopped by the market and bought a whole chicken. They roasted it slowly, turning it over the fire until the skin browned and crackled, fat dripping into the embers with a soft hiss. The smell filled the house, rich and grounding. It had been far too long since they'd eaten something that felt like a meal instead of a compromise.
Eloise returned from the bakery with flour on her sleeves and warmth in her smile, setting down a small bundle of cinnamon buns.
"They were extra today," she said simply.
Rowan barely sat still. "Aster," he said, grinning, "I can read way faster now. I finished three pages before the candle even burned halfway."
Aster chuckled, carving the chicken. "Impressive. Just don't start reading contracts for fun."
They ate together, tearing into the roasted chicken while it was still steaming, cinnamon buns passed hand to hand afterward. Laughter lingered, fragile and real.
Everything felt normal.
And, mercifully, Eloise didn't ask where the merits came from.
Aster didn't tell her.
Later, when the house had gone quiet and the fire faded to ash, Aster stood by the window, fingers brushing the folded parchment in his pocket.
Dawn was coming.
And peace, he knew, never stayed long.
Aster packed slowly, careful not to wake anyone. By the time the sky began to pale, he was already on the road, towed partway by passing carts and the rest on foot.
Three hours of dust and quiet later, a tower rose before him. Too tall. Too still. As if it had been waiting.
The hooded man stood at its base.
"Alright," Aster said, stopping a few paces away. "What did you lose so recklessly that you had to hire an assassin to retrieve it?"
The man hesitated, then unfolded a drawing. It showed a simple object, a diamond-set locket, worn smooth, something engraved along its edge.
"It's very personal," the man said. "Please bring it back to me."
"If it's that personal," Aster replied, "why did you lose it in the first place? And why don't you take it yourself?"
The man's jaw tightened. "I hold a great grudge against him. And I am too weak to fight back."
Aster tilted his head. "That sounds less like care and more like regret."
"And besides," the man added quietly, "didn't you need the money?"
Aster sighed. "You are very good at that argument."
"Alright," he said, slipping the drawing away. "Where is it?"
"Underground. This tower connects to caverns beneath it."
Aster looked up at the stone stretching above them. "So I go in, go down, take a locket, and leave."
"Yes," the man said. "Do not get caught. If you do, run. You are no match for him."
Aster paused, then gave a faint smirk.
"That is reassuring."
He turned toward the tower, curiosity
tightening in his chest.
"Alright," he murmured. "I'll get your locket."
And as he stepped forward, one question lingered in his mind.
Who was him, and why did a single piece of jewelry inspire this much fear.
Aster set foot inside, moving with careful precision. He leaped and bounded through the tower's shadowed halls until he reached the cave below.
The air was damp and cold, clinging to him like a warning. Torches flickered along the walls, casting quivering shadows.
He grabbed one and stepped forward cautiously. At first, nothing moved. Then a faint glint caught his eye.
Another shimmer. He adjusted the torch, directing its light across the cavern.
Mountains of treasure sprawled before him
piles of gold and silver, sparkling gems, and heaps of merit coins stacked like miniature towers.
The air itself seemed to pull at him, heavy with magic and wealth, and he almost gasped.
At the center of it all lay an enormous green dragon, coiled like a sleeping mountain. Its scales glimmered like polished emeralds, catching the torchlight even as it rested. Each breath caused the cavern floor to tremble slightly, a gentle, ominous pulse.
Aster froze for a moment, eyes wide. Then, dry as ever, he muttered under his breath
"Well, isn't this convenient. A sleeping mountain of death guarding a pile of shiny toys. What could possibly go wrong?"
He shifted the torch carefully, stepping forward with slow precision, every instinct alert. The dragon was asleep, but one wrong move could awaken it.
The treasure beckoned, glittering, dangerous, and irresistible. Somewhere in the piles, he knew, was the locket.
Aster inhaled, letting the quiet weigh in, and muttered again, with a crooked smirk
"Alright. Time to grab the shiny thing before it decides to snack on me."
Aster tiptoed toward the treasure heap, torchlight dancing over mountains of gold, silver, and glittering gems.
His eyes locked on the locket, but his heart sank. It was tucked directly beneath the dragon's massive tail.
He inched closer, careful not to shift a coin or rattle a gem. Gently, so absurdly gently it felt like overkill, he lifted the locket. The diamond engravings shimmered. Ember, it read, etched like a mark meant to burn into memory.
He opened it and a delicate melody drifted through the cave.
A music box. Of course.
Before he could make a sarcastic comment, the dragon stirred. Its emerald eyes snapped open, glowing like molten fire. A sweep of its tail sent Aster flying across the cavern, coins and merits melting under its breath.
A screech tore through the air, rattling his bones.
Aster rolled to his feet, wincing. He darted toward the exit, only to find the dragon blocking the way, enormous wings stretching outward, claws braced.
"Really," Aster muttered under his breath, "I get one little music box and suddenly I am dinner for a giant lizard."
He stuffed the locket into his bag and drew his dagger. The dragon laughed, a deep, echoing sound. "You have no match for me, mortal."
"Well, thank you for the confidence," Aster replied, leaping at its forearm. His blade scored the scales and the dragon shrieked in pain, fire licking the cavern walls behind him. Gold melted like wax, sparks drifting in the smoky air.
He ducked under a swinging claw and darted toward a giant window high above. Clinging to the ledge, he looked down and spotted his fallen dagger. Not good enough. Not yet.
The dragon flapped its wings, creating a gust that slammed him into the floor. Pain radiated through his back as the beast pressed a foot down on him, treating him like a toy.
A glint caught his eye. A broken dagger, black with snake-like carvings, was embedded in the stone. Aster snatched it, the snake like carvings recoiled at his hands and bit him He swung into the dragon's paw and the area became inflicted with purple veins.
The energy pulsed, burning and biting, and the dragon roared, staggering back.
"How could you!" it bellowed, pain and disbelief echoing through the cave.
"Not my fault your paw is so dramatic," Aster said, scrambling to his feet. "Next time maybe hide your treasure better."
He sprinted toward the exit, heart hammering, bag clutched tight. Every muscle burned, every breath hissed through his teeth, but the melody from the locket played on. The dragon roared behind him, but Aster kept moving, sharp, fast, and just slightly amused.
"Sorry, big guy," he muttered. "I only came for a shiny toy. You can keep the rest of your emerald collection."
And with that, he disappeared into the
shadows, the locket safe and Ember's name carried with him.