"Leo! What in the blazes…?" Arael's voice, distant and sharp, pierces the cosmic reverie.
Her voice, like an alarm, anchors me back to the material place. The swirling cosmic dance of souls and stars collapses inward, and the small, dim room of the brothel snaps back into existence around me. No longer floating, I stand rooted on the sheets, the ancient parchment still radiating a soft hum.
Arael stands a few feet away, further than I remembered her being. Her hand now around the hilt of her blade, eyes now wide with fear and utter bewilderment.
"Did you see it? The world of the endless?" My eyes focused on the paper.
Arael arches an eyebrow, voice dripping with disbelief. "See what, exactly? All I saw was you levitating like you'd lost your mind, glowing like some half-cooked lantern." She glances around the room, shivering. "And then—great, the room goes pitch black. Real comforting, Leo."
I look at her; her eyes are fixated on my bone-white hand. "Arael," I pause. "It was beautiful, like an endless stream of souls, and between it was a lingering power that tied them all together." Then following her sight onto my own skeletal hand. "threads" the word hangs. "Threads, I felt like I could just grab one and rip the soul back to the living." A small chuckle escapes me. "What an unimaginable power."
Leo sits heavily, rubbing his temples. "But still, it's still so far, a distance almost unreachable. I just… saw it. Felt it."
Arael snorts, but her tone softens. "Welcome to the club. The first time I fought a mage, I nearly lost my eyebrows. Burned them right off. Spent two months looking surprised."
Locking my eyes with Arael, I let the weight of the promise hang in the air. "You wanted opportunity," I say, extending my sharp-boned hand towards her. "Then I will give you all that you seek. Follow me down this path, and I will give you much more. I'll give you the kingdom." My eyes steeled with resolve.
She doesn't answer right away. Her stare lingers on my hand, then flicks to my face, searching for a hint of jest. I see conflict behind her eyes—a flicker of uncertainty, pride, even longing. Seconds tick by. "A kingdom," she repeats, voice softer now, as if testing the shape of the word. She lets out a slow breath, her fingers drumming restlessly on her hip. "You don't even know if this will work, do you?"
"No," I admit. "But I'll try. And if you stay, you'll have a say in how it's built."
She studies me for a heartbeat longer, then—reluctant, but with a half-smirk—drops her hand from her dagger. "Alright, Pretty Boy. I'm not promising loyalty, just that I'll see where this leads. And if you do get a kingdom, you'll need someone to keep you from getting your head lopped off. Lucky for you, I've always wanted to see if I could pull off a regal wave."
My hand was still hanging in the air. "What are you, scared of the hand?" I laugh. "We have to shake hands to confirm the partnership!" I joke.
"I ain't coming near that thing, even with a shit stick." She joins in the laughter. "It gives me the creeps. Like, will it go back to normal, or will it always be like that? Because if not being seen next to you could be slightly embarrassing."
"Honestly, I'm still not too sure. This kind of magic is relatively new to me. But I bet if I wanted, I could find a way." Examining the hand. "I kind of like it though, maybe makes me look more intimidating, don't you think?" now waving the skeleton hand in the air.
"Anyways, Arael, we must rest. Tomorrow will be the start of our epic adventure to conquer the land! And together we shall be a great calamity!" My hand thrusted in the air.
She snorts, rolling her eyes. "Well, we aren't sharing a bed, yet, pretty boy. I'll be sleeping on the couch."
A moment of quiet settles between us, the adrenaline of plans and banter giving way to the heavy fatigue of the day. I look around the cramped room, lit only by the dying embers in the hearth. Arael busies herself checking the locks and peering through the curtains—a practiced wariness in every movement. She tosses her pack near the couch and stretches out, boots still on, arms folded behind her head.
For a while, neither of us speaks. The silence is companionable, broken only by the muffled sounds of the brothel below and the rhythmic creak of Arael shifting to find a more comfortable position. I watch her, wondering if she's already regretting her decision—or if she's simply too stubborn to back out now.
Eventually, I curl beneath the covers of the blanket, my hands gripping the scroll. A soft, almost instinctual hum runs through my veins, and it pulls me in a direction. I can feel it, the scroll begging me to travel northward. A glimpse into the void revealed the threads that connect the souls, but it's as if there exists a thread here in the mortal plane that connects this scroll to another. And with Arael, we will see where it will lead.
••
Follow this man for the promise of a kingdom. Madness, perhaps—but intriguing all the same. I stare out the window, stars scattered above, and wonder: what did he truly see? Souls glittering like galaxies, a river of light. And that bone hand—unnerving, but it hardly seemed to faze him. Just another side effect, he said.
I could disappear now. Slip out the door while he clings to that scroll, lost in dreams I'll never share. I tried to read it myself—just blank parchment staring back, like it's mocking me. Why is it always these wizards with their secrets? My whole life, I've relied on muscle and grit, not tricks or spells. My fists clench, nails digging into my palm as I remember every job, every debt, every time I had to keep my head down or bite my tongue. But the thought of a kingdom burns in my mind: no more hiding, no more scraping for coin. Freedom, real freedom—a word that feels almost dangerous to wish for. Isn't that what I want? To finally shrug off the invisible chains that have held me down?
But am I just trading one master for another? Relying on a man's promise, hoping he'll pull me up with him? No. My jaw tightens with resolve. If I stay, I'll carve my own place. I'll stand beside him, not behind, and make damn sure I'm seen. Holding onto that stubborn fire in my chest, I let the quiet of the night finally take me.
••
Morning seeps into the room on a tide of birdsong and haze. I blink awake, blanket tangled around me, and find Arael sprawled across the couch, half her body dangling off, hair a wild mess. She looks deeply asleep—awkward, but oddly peaceful. I almost smile. Maybe I was right to trust her, after all.
I try to slide out of bed and tiptoe toward the door, thinking I might slip away for a bit of breakfast—or a little trouble. But the floor creaks, and suddenly Arael jerks upright, eyes snapping open. Quick as a cat.
I startle, giving a choked yelp, then try to cover it up with a lopsided grin. "Morning," I manage, voice cracking.
Arael runs a hand through her hair, trying to flatten a stubborn cowlick. "So, I steal the scroll for you, and now you're sneaking out? Planning to ditch me?"
"Run off? Never. I was just going to see if breakfast was included, or maybe if they'd let me upgrade to a room with fewer mysterious stains," I say, grinning. "Maybe a pricing for entertainment."
She snorts. "Men. You're all the same—always thinking with your stomach… or something else."
"I don't know if I mentioned this before, but" a nervous laughter escapes. "We uh—or me at in the very least, have run out of funds, or at least very close."
I hold out the pitiful handful of coins, bracing for her reaction. She just stares at me, impassive, eyes narrowed. The silence stretches. I half expect her to throw something at me, but she just lets me stew.
Then, unexpectedly, she bursts out laughing. It's sharp and loud and absolutely contagious. I bark out a laugh too, the tension breaking between us.
She wipes a tear from her eye. "You talk like some grand adventurer—promising kingdoms and glory—yet you can't even pay for breakfast. You look as if you were born of nobility."
"We've got the scroll! That must count for something, right?" I say, trying to sound confident.
"And if it weren't for the pretty light display, I would leave you."
"So, you're sticking with me, then?" I ask, a little surprised.
Arael shrugs. "Not yet. I'll stick around as long as it suits me. But if things go sideways, don't be surprised if I just take the scroll back—by force if I have to."
I can't help but laugh. "If this adventure falls apart, you're welcome to the scroll, Arael. But it won't. I promise."
She waves me off. "Go on, spend your last coins on whatever you want—ale, women, I don't care. Adventure has a way of finding gold if you're desperate enough. Just don't try to run. I'll be waiting by the door."
"You really going to wait for me? I might be a while," I tease.
"I doubt it, pretty boy."
Shortly after, I meet Arael just as she said, at the front of the velvet embrace. She jokes, arms crossed, that she was proven correct, but me a prideful man admits to nothing, especially her accusations. We count up my pitiful stash—thirteen bronze coins, three silver. She refuses to chip in, of course. "That's barely enough for a few days," I mutter. "We'll have to make it stretch."
We slip into the bustle of the city. "The cloaked men will search for us, but only at night. They move in the shadows, for as long as we move swiftly through the day, we should be safe from them, but be careful which place you might go, surely, they will search for you, searching through taverns and such. The brothel, however, should be safe for us; they would not expect a woman in such a place."
Arael, not wasting time nor truly asking, demands, "Who were those men? You've only tiptoed around details, but if I must travel with you, I must know."
I explain to Arael as we walk through the stands and food vendors of the city. I keep my voice low. "They're a death cult, Arael. I've tracked them for months—most are pathetic, dabbling in old magic. But recently, rumor spread they'd found something dangerous. That scroll—they were moving it east, back to their stronghold. We got lucky. If we're quick, we can stay ahead. Fate may be in our favour for the timing of everything, such as our meeting was nigh perfect."
We wander through the crowded lanes, stopping for cheap street food—flatbread, spiced meats, sticky fruit. For a while, we almost pass as ordinary travelers. Arael keeps her guard up, but sometimes I catch her smiling at a joke or rolling her eyes at my attempts to haggle. Underneath her armor, I sense something softer, though she'd never admit it.
"Arael catches me watching her. "What? Got something on my face or are you just admiring me?" she says, eyebrow cocked.
"Just lost in thought," I say, then add, "—or maybe just lost in your eyes. Depends on which answer gets me punched."
She snorts. "Worry more about your coin purse than my eyes, lover boy."
I wink at her. "Relax, I have a plan. I always do. Though sometimes it even works."
As we wander, I tell her about the duel I saw yesterday—the way this city rots from the top down, all greed and corruption. "Captain Darius is a good man, but Lord Marco? He's, our target. We'll rob the rich and use their gold to buy our shot at greatness." She gives me a look, skeptical but not dismissive. "Tonight, we hide. The cult comes out after dark. Tomorrow, you scout Marco's manor, and I'll gather what we need for a proper heist. Sound fair?"
We finish our meal and make our way back through the city, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across cobbled streets. The crowds have thinned, but the city guards are out in greater numbers now—bronze breastplates gleaming, hands resting on sword hilts as they watch the flow of people. Arael falls into step beside me, her posture casual but her eyes darting to every uniform. We keep our conversation light, blending in with the merchants and townsfolk, careful not to draw attention. One guard gives us a long, suspicious look as we pass, but I flash him a lazy smile and keep moving, heart pounding until we turn the next corner and the tension eases.