I didn't sleep. Which was fair—dead people don't nap.
Instead, I stayed up staring at five words scratched into the bottom of Audric's will:
"Do not trust the Queen."
So that's where the bar was. Royalty: off-limits. My wife: possibly a murderer.
And me? A broke actor with a fake identity, fake powers, and a very real deadline.
[Reminder: five days left to conjure a miracle or get murdered by a bureaucrat. Tick tock, Broadway boy.] Glyph chirped.
"So what's the play?"
[Step one: fake a relic. Step two: sell it to someone dumb with money. Step three: don't die.]
"And if they're not dumb?"
[Then sell harder.]
I dug through Audric's mansion at sunrise. Well, mansion was generous. More like a looted film set after the apocalypse.
All I found were:
One empty relic case Two tax notices One letter that said "We know the crown is fake, Audric." And a box labeled "The Eternal Ember (DO NOT BLOW OUT)"—which was, naturally, very blown out.
[Oh cool. You faked a divine flame and didn't even back it up. Iconic fraud behavior.]
"Let's remake it."
[You've never held fire. You can't 'Prop Master' heat.]
"So I fake the container, not the flame."
I remembered an old perfume bottle from a short film I did—Saint Clara's Sins, unreleased due to "creative differences" and a literal small fire.
I held my breath, reached for that memory, and summoned:
[Prop Master: Activated.]
A glowing vial thumped into my palm. Opalescent glass. Gold trim. Warm light flickering inside—fake, of course. Just tinted liquid and a glamor spell Audric must've memorized before dying.
[You've made a holy relic out of bath oil and lies. Slay.]
Now for the hard part: a buyer.
Enter Brother Callum, the kind of junior clergyman who tried to weaponize piety for profit.
We met in a back alley behind the chapel, because nothing says "divine blessing" like meeting someone next to a barrel of expired turnips.
"You said you had a fragment of the Eternal Ember," Callum hissed, glancing around. "That's impossible."
"That's what they want you to believe," I said, letting the vial glow dramatically beneath my cloak.
[Oof. You're giving 'the truth is out there' energy. Dial it back, X-Files.]
"This relic was passed to me during my recovery," I lied. "The gods chose me as its keeper."
Callum hesitated, then pulled out a coin purse. "I'll need proof."
[Here it comes…] Glyph muttered.
Callum drew a small, rusted trinket from his robes. It looked like a finger bone dipped in copper.
"This is the Bone of Oath. Ancient truth relic. If you lie while touching it, it burns you."
He tossed it to me.
It hit my palm like a challenge.
[Bad idea. Very bad idea. Your entire life is a lie wrapped in drama school debt.]
"No big deal," I muttered.
[That's the title of your memoir.]
I gripped the relic. Heat sparked under my skin—tiny, sharp.
"The flame was given to me… by divine will."
Nothing.
"I have not forged it."
Still nothing.
"I am Audric Solvane."
The relic sizzled, then smoked.
"Kidding!" I yelped, tossing it back. "Kidding, obviously! I'm just—uh—testing your faith!"
Callum blinked.
"The relic… reacted."
"To your doubt, Brother. Shame."
[You gaslit a priest. New high score.]
He frowned, but he didn't walk away. He just looked… intrigued. Like I was dangerous, but potentially profitable.
"I want to test the flame," he said. "If it reacts to sin, I'll double my offer."
Crap.
I had no idea how Audric's old glamor spell worked. The glow could be heat-triggered, voice-activated, or pure improv.
"Alright," I said. "But sin first, payment later."
"Of course."
He held out his hand. "Bless me."
I uncorked the vial and tipped a drop onto his palm.
The liquid fizzled, sparked gold… and then the vial screamed.
"HOLY SH—"
The alley flashed with light. Steam hissed. Callum fell to his knees, sobbing.
"The flame… burns through me!" he wept. "I—I feel cleansed!"
"Obviously," I said, corking the bottle like a magician sealing his finale.
[WHAT WAS THAT?!] Glyph shouted. [That wasn't you. That spell was reactive. Did Audric booby trap the relic??]
"I thought it was just glitter water!"
Callum shoved the coin purse into my hands and ran off shouting about divine mercy.
I stared at the glowing vial.
"Glyph… that didn't feel like me. That felt like him."
[Yeah. And if that's Audric's old magic still working through your body—who knows what else is hiding in there.]
My hand trembled. The gold light in the bottle pulsed once, like a wink.
[Plot twist: your scam has a soul now.]
"Great. I've accidentally created a sentient fake relic."
[Meet your new sidekick: Glorified Lava Lamp.]
I stashed the coin purse, the vial, and what remained of my dignity back inside my cloak and headed home—only to freeze at the front gate.
The cloaked figure from the funeral stood there.
Still. Watching.
"Hey!" I called.
They turned and vanished into the alley.
I ran after them—sprinting, cloak flapping, Glyph shouting GPS directions like a broken Google Maps in my skull.
[Left! Left! No, your other left!]
But they were gone.
In their place, tied to the handle of my door, was a note.
Handwritten. Elegant script.
You're not Audric. But you're more interesting.
Dinner. Tonight. Castle Vesche. Wear something that can bleed.
—Her Majesty
[Aaaand we've unlocked the Romance Death Route.]
"So the Queen knows," I said.
[And she's into it.]
"Think it's a trap?"
[One hundred percent. But it's also a callback. Remember that line in the will? 'Don't trust the Queen.']
[So obviously, you're going.]
END OF CHAPTER 3