The morning after the festival, the Shadow Quarter was unnaturally quiet. The defiance of the previous night had evaporated with the dawn, leaving behind a hangover of fear. People scurried through the alleys, their eyes downcast, the memory of Kael's impossible magic and the Guild's subsequent fury a fresh, raw wound. For Kael, the silence was worse than the noise. It was the held breath before the axe falls.
He sat with Lila in their room, the door barred. He had spent the night in a state of hyper-vigilance, expecting a squad of Enforcers to splinter their door at any moment. But they never came. It was a calculated silence, a psychological game he knew the Guild was playing, and it was working.
"They're letting us sweat," he said, his voice a low murmur as he sharpened the edge of his short blade on a whetstone. The rhythmic scrape of steel on stone was the only sound in the room. "They want us to make a mistake. To run."
"So we don't," Lila said, her voice surprisingly calm. She was sitting on her cot, mending a tear in his tunic with a needle and thread. The medicine had held, and though she was still pale, the fever had not returned. "We wait. We act as if nothing happened."
Kael admired her strength, but he knew it was a false hope. "Lila, nothing is ever going to be the same. They saw what I did. The Guild doesn't let things like that go."
As if summoned by his words, a sound cut through the morning air. It wasn't the harsh blare of a Guild horn. This was a clear, crisp trumpet fanfare, a sound of regal authority that did not belong in the filth of the Quarter. Kael was on his feet in an instant, peering through a crack in the boarded-up window.
A procession was marching down their street. It was led by a Royal Herald, his tabard a brilliant crimson silk emblazoned with the golden sun of the monarchy. He was flanked not by Guild Enforcers, but by a squad of ten Royal Guards, their armor intricately engraved and polished to a mirror shine, their movements precise and disciplined. They were a vision of absolute, untouchable power. The people of the Quarter melted back into the shadows, clearing a path for the procession as if a god had descended among them.
The procession stopped directly in front of their tenement building. The Herald unrolled a heavy scroll, its wax seal bearing the King's own crest.
"By Royal Edict of His Majesty, King Aldren!" the Herald's voice boomed, magically amplified to echo through every alley. It was a voice accustomed to grand halls, and it sounded alien and obscene here. "Let it be known that the Crown, in its infinite wisdom and magnanimity, recognizes the emergence of a unique and untamed magical talent within its city!"
Kael's blood ran cold. This was worse than an arrest. An arrest was an ending. This was something else entirely.
"In the interest of nurturing this potential and ensuring it is guided for the good of the realm," the Herald continued, his eyes finding Kael's window as if he knew he was being watched, "the Crown hereby grants a special admission to the Royal Academy to the citizen known as Kael Varenholt of the Shadow Quarter!"
A collective gasp rippled through the unseen onlookers. A place at the Academy was a prize beyond the wildest dreams of any commoner, a golden ticket to a world of power and privilege.
Kael felt a bitter laugh rise in his throat. A golden ticket to a gilded cage.
"The aforementioned Kael Varenholt is to present himself to the Royal Guard escort immediately," the Herald declared. "He will be taken to the Academy to begin his tutelage. Long live the King!"
The guards took up positions around the building's entrance, their spears held at the ready. There was no escape.
"We have to run," Kael said, turning from the window, his mind already calculating routes, weighing risks. "Now. Through the back tunnels. We can be out of the city by nightfall."
"No," Lila said, her voice quiet but unyielding.
Kael stared at her. "Lila, you don't understand. This isn't an honor. It's a leash. The Guild wants me where they can watch me, control me. They'll put me in a cell and call it a dormitory. I'll be a specimen in a jar for them to study. Or they'll arrange an 'accident' during a sparring match. This is a death sentence."
"And running isn't?" she countered, rising from her cot to face him, her small frame filled with a surprising fire. "You're a marked man now, Kael. Where would we go? To the Ashwood Forest, where beasts and bandits would hunt us? To the Daggercoast, where we'd be sold into servitude on a smuggler's ship? I would not survive a week in the wild. You know that."
"I would protect you!"
"I know you would," she said, her eyes softening. "You always have. But you can't protect me from this by running. You can't spend your whole life in the shadows, looking over your shoulder. They would hunt you forever." She took a step closer, her hand finding his. "Don't you see? This is the one thing you can't fight with your fists."
She looked up at him, her gaze clear and startlingly intelligent. "They think they are putting you in a cage. But they are also giving you a sword. The Academy… they have knowledge there. Books. Tutors. You could learn about your magic, Kael. The magic from our parents. You could learn to control it. To make it strong. You could become so strong that you wouldn't have to hide anymore."
Her words struck him with the force of a physical blow. He had only seen the trap, the cage. He had been so focused on the Guild's malice that he had missed their mistake. They were bringing him into the heart of their power, giving him access to the very tools he would need to dismantle it. It was a risk of unimaginable proportions, a suicidal gambit. But Lila was right. It was the only gambit they had left. His love for her, his duty to protect her, was at war with his deep, instinctual hatred for the people who were making this offer.
He looked from her determined face to the barred door, where the shadows of the Royal Guard stood waiting. His father's last words came back to him. Be strong. Protect your sister. What was the stronger choice? To run and condemn them to a life of fear and flight, or to walk willingly into the lion's den?
His shoulders slumped in a gesture of reluctant surrender. "You should stay with Granny Mura," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "It won't be safe for you here alone."
Lila's eyes filled with tears, but she nodded. "I will. Just… just promise me you'll be careful. Promise you'll come back."
"I always come back," he said, pulling her into a fierce, desperate hug.
The farewell at the Grimegate was a silent, grim affair. The Royal Guards formed a cordon around him, their impassive helms a barrier between him and his world. Lila stood just on the Shadow Quarter side of the gate, her small form looking fragile and lost. He pressed the last of his coins into her hand.
"For medicine. And for food. Don't go without."
"I won't," she whispered.
He looked past her, at the grimy, familiar streets, at the faces of his neighbors watching from the shadows—a mixture of envy, pity, and fear in their eyes. This was his home. His people. And he was leaving them to walk into the world of their oppressors.
He turned his back on the Quarter and didn't look back. He squared his shoulders and marched alongside his escort toward the gleaming, hostile spires of the Upper Ward, the weight of his sister's hope and his father's vengeance a heavy crown upon his head.
Chapter 7 is now complete.
Continuing with Chapter 8: The Rusty Anvil.