That drew a few gasps.
There were always rumours of someone with power. Whispers in the alleys, half-truths shared after too many drinks. But they always turned out to be fakes. Charlatans. Liars playing a long con to sell snake oil or collect donations.
"You're lying," I said, harsher than I meant to. "Why would it be a secret if it were true? If people in Danese had power, real power, it would change everything! It would change the Challenges. It could change Radan!"
Erick let out a long breath. "Exactly," he said quietly. "It would change Radan. And that's why it has to stay a secret."
"But it'd be a good change!" Morgana said, stepping forward. "It'd mean we had a better chance in the Challenges. Fewer people would die."
"And more heroes would rise," Erick added. "Potentially powerful ones. Ones stronger than the royals."
I didn't like where this was going. Erick had been kind to us. Respectful and generous. But this? This sounded like one of those grand conspiracies used to justify a hidden agenda. I didn't see the angle yet, but it was too big, too neat, to be the whole truth.
He continued, "The Houses and the royals are the top of the food chain. That's where they want to stay. If people from the lower districts started awakening with real power… it wouldn't be long before the system cracked. They'd lose control."
"But the king supports Danese," Dillon argued. "He funds the academy."
"And Danese soldiers get promoted," Morgana added. "If they're trying to keep us down, why would they do that?"
"To keep you grateful," Erick said, calm but firm. "To make it look like the system works. But those promotions? They hit a ceiling. Your best soldiers become captains. Maybe majors. But not generals. Not advisors. The academy gives you education, yes, but only just enough to stay in line. Enough to survive. Not enough to lead."
And then I got it.
This wasn't just a story. He was recruiting us for something. A cause. A movement. Maybe even a rebellion. He seemed decent, and clearly powerful, but I'd seen what happened to rebels. They didn't live long enough to win. And I wasn't interested in dying for someone else's cause.
Still, I wasn't stupid. This man was our way home. So I dodged the politics and aimed for something neutral.
"So... you really have magic?" I asked. "Can you show us?"
He studied me for a moment. His eyes held the kind of knowing that made me feel like he could see through the mask I wore. Then he smiled.
"Of course," he said. "I imagine you haven't seen much magic before?"
"Actually…" I glanced at Morgana and Dillon, who looked at me in surprise. "I have."
"At the end of the journey," I said slowly, "Alicia Santina showed up."
That earned a pair of gasps from my friends.
"No way," Morgana breathed.
I nodded. "She hit me with some kind of body-freezing spell. Stopped me mid-jump at one point. It was intense."
Dillon's eyes went wide. "So that's why your landing was so bad."
"Exactly," I muttered. "She got me while I was in the air. I couldn't even put my hands out to catch myself."
"Wow," Morgana whispered. "I can't believe you met Alicia Santina. She's a legend!"
"Hey! Don't sound so excited. She attacked me!"
Morgana rolled her eyes. "We were robbing her friends. Of course she attacked you. You're just lucky she didn't kill you."
I looked around for backup, but Dillon was too busy laughing, and Erick was hiding a grin behind his glass.
"Alright," Erick said, clearly amused. He extended a hand. "Why don't you pass me the jade rock, and I'll give you a demonstration."
I picked the jade rock up from its pedestal and passed it to Erick, excited to see what he was able to do.
The moment it touched his hand, it started to shift.
Not all at once, not like a magician's trick with smoke and flair. It was subtle at first like the surface was softening, melting beneath his touch. The edges blurred, then sharpened again, reshaping into something entirely new.
It was like watching a statue emerge from inside the rock, as if it had been there all along, hidden beneath the surface. If I hadn't already examined the thing myself, I would've sworn it was a setup.
I just couldn't look away.
He was shaping jade. Actual jade! With nothing but his hand. No tools. No chisels. Just will and touch.
It was incredible.
Now I understood why that massive statue stood outside without guards. I bet he could sense it from miles away. Looking at what he was doing here, then he probably made it in a single afternoon. If he could do this, he could locate jade deposits, churn out masterpieces, and sell them for fortunes.
No wonder he was rich.
And for the first time… I started to hope his story was true.
If someone like me could get powers… Maybe I wouldn't need to steal anymore. Maybe I could have this life.
The statue finished forming with a final ripple through the stone.
It was a king, crowned and robed, standing on the backs of huddled, bent-over people.
A little on the nose, sure, but I respected the theatrical flair.
"That was incredible!" Dillon breathed. "You're… You're really a magic wielder! And you're from Danese?"
Erick smiled, slowly rotating the jade sculpture in his hand to make sure we could see every angle. Then the shape began to shift again, smoothening back into a blank canvas.
"I am," he said simply. "Everything I told you is the truth."
"But surely people know about you?" Morgana asked, still sceptical.
"I made a deal with the royals," Erick said, his voice softening. "Back when I first awakened. They agreed to let me keep my powers, under one condition; I had to leave Danese behind. My name, my family, everything."
He paused, turning the rock idly in his hand. "They gave me a new life here. A stipend, a fabricated background, introductions to the right people. It was… an easy trade at the time."
"Because you didn't have anyone left," I guessed quietly.
He nodded. "No one to miss me. No one to miss."
It made sense. And yet… it didn't feel quite as sinister as the conspiracy he'd painted earlier. Yes, it was controlling. Yes, it was manipulative. But… they'd helped him. Funded him. Gave him a life of luxury. Not quite the villains he'd described. At least, not entirely.
"Would you make the same decision now?" Morgana asked. Her tone was gentle. Too gentle. I recognised that tone. She was digging. She must have felt the same was as me.
Erick didn't answer right away. He stared at the jade rock in his palm, watching the way the light danced across its surface as it rotated.
"No," he said at last. "No, I wouldn't."
His voice was heavier now. Tired.
"I thought they were saving me. And in a way, they probably did. But looking back… I see the truth. They gave me a choice between life with them, or death with my people. And when I took the only option I had, they wrapped it up like a gift. Made it feel like I'd won something."
He stood up, walked to the drinks trolley, and poured himself another glass.
"They gave me praise. Opportunities. Called me 'remarkable' and 'gifted.' They made me feel like family."
He knocked the drink back in one go.
"And then they started asking for things. Small things, at first. Demonstrations. Trinkets. Jewellery. I didn't mind, I was happy to oblige. After all, they were treating me well, and honestly, using my magic was – is – fun."
He looked down at the empty glass in his hand and sighed.
"I didn't realise what I'd traded until much later."
Erick walked back to the pedestal, absently rolling the jade sculpture between his fingers. I glanced at Morgana. She looked just as unsure as I was about where this story was going.
"It was lucky I did," he continued. "It ingratiated me with the elite. My pieces became popular among the socialites. It gave me value. Made me someone who would be missed."
He paused, then said, "You see, magic works in a strange way. Each of us starts with a minuscule amount. Think of it like a stomach. The more you use it, the more it expands. The more you can use."
We'd heard something like that in class. Stories of House members who ran out of magic mid-battle. Others who were legends because they never seemed to run dry. According to our instructors, magical power determined everything – the strength of your spells, your stamina, your worth.
"They want people like me to use our power," Erick said suddenly.
That caught me. My brows furrowed at the contradiction, and Erick chuckled.
"I know what you're thinking. It goes against what I was saying earlier, doesn't it?"
I gave a slow nod, not wanting to seem combative but he had clearly seen the doubt in my eyes.
"Tell me," he said, "do you know how much it costs to refill a mana battery?"
"Yeah," Dillon replied. "It's insanely expensive. Only the elites can afford it."
I was reminded once again of the extravagance displayed by Alicia using the mana lamps on a train in daylight… but then I realised it was likely she was refilling the battery herself.
Erick smiled. "Exactly. What you don't know is how draining it is to meet the demand. Magicians today are constantly asked to power technology, but they don't have the reserves for it. They can't sustain the supply."
"So… there's a mana shortage?" I asked, still trying to piece it together. "Then wouldn't they be encouraging magic, not hiding it?"
He tilted his head from side to side. "In a sense, yes. We've pushed public mages well beyond their safe limits. But that's where The Unknown come in."
That name landed like a stone. It was clearly bait. He wanted to us to ask who they were. I bit. "And who are the Unknown?"
"They're people like me," he said. "People born with magic outside the noble Houses. From Danese. Or other poor districts. But unlike me, they didn't get lucky. They didn't earn a seat at the table. They were discovered… and repurposed."
I didn't like the sound of that word.
"They're allowed to build up their magic capacity. Encouraged to. But once it reaches a certain threshold, they're taken. Sent to battery farms. And there, they spend their lives being drained. Refuel overnight, then back to it the next day. Over and over."
He looked at us all. "Imagine being forced to pull a plough until your heart gives out. That's what it's like. Slavery"
Morgana stiffened. Her eyes flicked to Dillon's, then mine. The word slavery hung in the air.
"That's… illegal," she said. "Slavery was banned in Radan generations ago."
"It was," Erick agreed. "Publicly. But not when it's useful. Not when it benefits the people in power. The king doesn't stop it because it props up the system. The elite stay elite. The machines keep running. Who cares about a few Unknowns?"
The thought sat heavy in my stomach. I wanted to dismiss it as a lie. Another grand conspiracy. But this one stuck. There was something too… plausible about it.
Brutan House had been rising fast in the ranks. Too fast. Maybe this was how.
"So you had us attack his son… as a message?" Dillon asked.
This time, Erick's smile didn't reach his eyes.
"Yes. Exactly. We wanted him to know we were fighting back."
That was a lie.
There was something more going on. I could feel it in my gut. But I wasn't about to challenge him outright. We were deep in dangerous waters, and I didn't want to be the first to make waves.
"Why are you telling us all this?" I asked carefully.
Erick gave me a look – A practiced mix of honesty and gravity.
"Because I think you deserve to know. I don't expect you to join the cause or throw yourselves into rebellion. But you should understand the weight of what you've done. The context of the job you just completed."
He leaned forward slightly.
"And… I trust you won't repeat what you've heard. Right?"
The threat wasn't shouted. It didn't have to be. It was there in the quiet intensity of his voice. In the subtle narrowing of his eyes.
This wasn't a request.
And to be honest… it suited me just fine. I didn't want to repeat any of this.
"You can count on our discretion," I said, keeping my tone light. "We don't snitch or gossip."
That earned a full smile.
"Of course," he said. "I wouldn't expect anything less."
He stood, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve.
"I hope you'll forgive me for taking up so much of your time with my rambling. Just know that your mission had far more impact than it may have seemed. You've done a great service."
Erick gave us all a once-over, his eyes sharp but not unkind.
"You're in surprisingly good condition, considering everything that happened."
"Brandon did most of the fighting," Morgana offered, shooting me a sideways glance.
"And it looks like he got away without a scratch," Erick noted, his tone mild but clearly curious. "Especially after a run-in with Alicia Santina. That's no small feat. Impressive."
I shrugged, trying to downplay it. "I've had a lot of practice. A bunch of pampered rich kids weren't much trouble. Even Alicia. She's probably just used to people bowing instead of punching. All those stories must be exaggerated."
I heard Morgana scoff.
"Oh? That's interesting," Erick said, raising an eyebrow. "Many of them follow gruelling training routines. And the Oathsworn? They devote their entire lives to protecting their lieges. You must be quite the fighter to come away so clean."
"He didn't look this clean an hour ago," Morgana said, examining me. "I think the pond must have done wonders for him."
Erick gave a small, knowing smile. "Ah, of course. That must be it."
I wasn't sure what he was getting at. It didn't feel like doubt exactly but there was something behind his words. Something I couldn't quite place. Not suspicion, not distrust… just off. Like he was testing me, or waiting for me to say something I hadn't said yet.
He clapped his hands lightly, a signal more than a gesture.
"Well then. I'll go make sure everything is in order for your grand escape. Your transport should be arriving any moment now. After that… we'll part ways."
"Thank you, Mr. Stanson," Morgana said.
He waved a hand. "Please, call me Erick."
"Thank you, Erick," I added.
He nodded once more and stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him.
As soon as it clicked shut, we all let out a breath we hadn't realised we were holding.
"Well," Dillon said. "That was worrying."
"Understatement of the year," I muttered.
We didn't waste time discussing what we'd just heard. No whispered theories or outraged questions. Just loaded glances passed between us like notes folded too tightly to open.
None of us were stupid enough to speak freely in a stranger's house, especially not one involved in a rebellion. It was far too common for people in power – or people with secrets – to have ways of listening in. Spells, hidden devices, servants who weren't really servants. I had no doubt Erick had his own methods of keeping tabs on guests.
The weight of what he'd told us, the battery farms, Unknowns, magical enslavement, it still sat heavy in the room, but not heavy enough to tip us into action. Not yet. It wasn't our cause. I mean, yeah, it was wrong. But so are lots of things. We weren't out there trying to solve them either.
From the way Morgana and Dillon kept glancing at me, I could tell they thought I was the most likely to fall in line with Erick's cause. And maybe they weren't wrong.
They had plans. Dreams of becoming traders, building something for themselves so they can escape the lives they were forced into. Joining a rebellion didn't exactly fit into their five-year plans. It wouldn't be good for business.
But me? I didn't know what I wanted anymore.