"Return and New Assignments"
The gates of Cidius stood open. The guards were new — younger, stiff-gripped. Soot still marked the walls. The air held the scent of burned wood.
Aria passed through without a word.
She'd been gone a month. A solo job, far from the city — the kind she preferred. But five days ago, while she was still returning, Cidius burned.
Now the city breathed like a punched lung. Not broken, but not steady either.
She moved like shadow through the wreckage. Most barely noticed her. A few did — the coat, the rank — but no one spoke.
Near the Wielder Post, the damage deepened. Scorched roofs. Collapsed alleys. She stepped over a cracked beam without pause.
She hadn't been here.
Her path curved east, then north — toward streets less guarded.
Lorenzo's forge was scarred. Boards covered the windows. The sign hung crooked. Ash dusted the step.
She slowed as she entered, boots crunching on soot.
Inside, the air smelled of burnt oil and iron. Blade hilts had been swept into a crate. The back wall was scorched. One workbench leg was braced with bricks. A smudged list of salvaged materials hung by a bent nail.
Lorenzo sat on a low stool near the furnace, sleeve rolled up, a gash on his arm freshly salved. He was tightening the cloth with his teeth.
"You missed the fun," he said, not looking up. "Rained blades for a day or two."
Aria closed the door behind her. It clicked gently shut.
"Still breathing, if that's what you came to check."
She scanned the room — the tools, the damage, the drawer left open with nothing inside.
"Much was taken."
"Half-finished blades. Nexisteel. Some diagrams." He flexed his fingers with a wince. "Nothing I can't redo."
Her gaze lingered on the empty blade racks. Only one chipped training sword remained.
"You fought."
He gave a crooked half-smile. "Didn't plan to." Then scratched at the corner of his beard. "They hit three forges first. Stayed here the longest."
"They came for you."
"Or what I made. Same thing, probably."
She said nothing, eyes flicking to the ceiling. A hairline crack ran along one of the beams.
"They didn't get everything," he muttered. "But they took enough."
Aria's attention dropped to a dark smear near the back wall — blood, dried to rust.
"That crate," she said. "The nexisteel. You can't just remake that."
He shrugged, trying to make it look easy. "No. But worrying won't help."
A beat.
"Unless you've got a spare nexicore in that coat?"
Her jaw shifted. Barely.
Then, edged: "No one stopped them?"
Lorenzo's brows lifted. "They weren't asking questions."
Her hands curled slightly at her sides. Not fists. Just held too still.
"And the city? Too busy counting bricks?"
"Too busy not dying. They hit four places. Mine just made the most noise."
Silence stretched. The forge cracked softly behind them.
"You're injured."
He tilted his head, giving her a lopsided look. "You should've seen them."
"I should have."
That one landed like iron. She didn't move — but her shoulders straightened, like something inside her had locked in place.
"You weren't here," Lorenzo said. Not blaming. Just the truth.
Her gaze swept the shop one last time — the bench, the blood, the missing steel.
"They planned this," she said. "You. The forge."
"They got a few crates."
"No," she said. "It's more."
Then she turned, cloak brushing ash as she passed.
"I'll find them."
Lorenzo raised his eyebrows, surprised. "That wasn't an assignment."
"It is now."
Without another word, she turned toward the stairs. The wood creaked beneath her boots. At the top, she paused — just for a second — then kept going.
The forge stayed quiet.
Lorenzo exhaled through his nose. His hand dropped to his knee, fingers curling once around the bandage.
"...She's pissed," he muttered. "...Again."