The failed assassination was still painted across Nexus like a fresh wound.
Every holo-feed replayed the images: masked killers lunging through a plaza, Gorvoth's hammer crushing ribs, Niamh's furious hand scattering poison, and the silver-haired child who froze blades in mid-air as if time itself obeyed him.
The Guild's plan had collapsed in front of the entire city. Instead of fear, the streets carried a dangerous kind of admiration — the kind that grew into legends.
Whispers threaded through every level of Nexus:
"The boy with frost in his veins stopped the knives."
"Not even the Spire could silence him."
"Maybe the Guild fears him more than they admit."
Inside his shop, however, Jade sat quietly behind the counter, silver-blue hair spilling over his blindfold as he sorted vials into neat rows. The faint glow of alchemical lamps painted the shelves, bottles shimmering with soft color — crimson for vigor, azure for mana restoration, gold for vitality. Behind the shop's public front, the hum of distillers and the faint hiss of stasis-chambers filled the hidden lab where he worked.
To customers, it looked like a modest operation. But to Jade, this was his fortress.
The bell over the door chimed.
Niamh glanced up from her stitching in the corner, always watchful. Her eyes softened when she saw who entered: the Beta woman from weeks ago — the one who had once stood trembling before three mocking Guild alchemists, clutching Jade's potion as if it were her only hope.
But today, she was not trembling.
Her face carried exhaustion, yes — lines of years spent in the slums never faded easily — but her eyes were bright with something new. Relief. Gratitude. Pride. And beside her walked a boy.
He couldn't have been more than ten. Lio.
Jade recognized him instantly, though he looked nothing like the sick child who had once struggled to breathe. His skin had color now, sun-kissed instead of sallow. His frame, though slim, was wiry with energy, like a coiled spring ready to launch. He had short, unruly black hair that seemed to fight every attempt at order, and sharp brown eyes that scanned the shop with quick curiosity. A thin scar traced his jaw — a mark of the illness that nearly took him, now only a memory.
"Alchemist Jade," the woman said, voice trembling with emotion. "I… I had to bring him back. To show you."
The boy stepped forward without hesitation. "You saved me." His voice was clear, steady, carrying none of the weakness that once haunted his lungs. "The Guild said I wouldn't live. But you proved them wrong."
Jade tilted his head, his blindfold shifting just slightly as his dual irises gleamed faintly beneath. "You look well, Lio."
The boy grinned, all teeth and fire. "Better than well. Strong. I can run now. I can fight. I can breathe." His gaze burned. "And I want to help you."
Niamh raised a brow. "Help him? You're a child."
"So is he," Lio shot back, nodding toward Jade. "And look what he's doing. Why should I sit at home while the Guild keeps trying to kill him?"
The shop went still. Even Gorvoth, who had come in to lean against the wall with his usual air of quiet vigilance, rumbled low in his chest at the boy's words.
The Beta woman wrung her hands, clearly torn. "He begged me, Alchemist. He said he owes you his life. I can't stop him anymore."
Jade studied Lio in silence. His Clairvoyance flickered, threads of truth unfolding:
[Name: Lio]
Age: 10
Level: 8
Talent: Keen Senses [D]
Status: Healthy. Determined. Unyielding.
The system whispered more — his essence was raw but steady, the kind of foundation that, given years, could shape into steel.
Finally, Jade spoke. "Help is not given freely. It must be earned."
Lio's chin lifted. "Then let me earn it. Let me run messages, fetch herbs, guard the door — anything. You saved me once. Let me fight for you now."
Niamh sighed, muttering under her breath about stubborn boys, but Jade only smiled faintly, a flicker of frost curling at his fingertips before vanishing.
"Very well," Jade said softly. "From this day, you'll serve here. But know this, Lio — loyalty is heavier than debt. If you stand with me, you'll share in my enemies."
The boy didn't hesitate. He dropped to one knee, placing his fist over his chest in a gesture older than the city itself. "Then I share them."
For the first time in weeks, Jade felt the corners of his mouth curve in something real.
Niamh groaned. "Goddess help me, I've got two little fools to look after now." But the fondness in her eyes betrayed her words.
The woman clasped Jade's hands, tears slipping free. "Thank you. Not just for saving him — for giving him a future."
When they left later, the shop was quieter, but it was no longer the same. A new thread had been woven into Jade's fate — a boy who had been left for dead by the Guild, now standing by his side.
Outside, however, Nexus simmered with rumors. Credits changed hands in shadowy deals, merchants whispered of embargoes, and unseen hands tightened around Jade's supply chains.
The Guild's first knives had failed. But their next weapon would not be steel.
It would be hunger.
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The Guildhall of Alchemists was not a modest building. Its ivory-white towers pierced into the smog-choked skies of Nexus City like ivory needles, adorned with holo-sigils of the flame and mortar—symbols of craft, monopoly, and pride. Within, the air hummed faintly with filtration charms and light-crystals, keeping out the grime of the streets. It was a fortress of influence, as much a palace as it was a workplace.
And tonight, it felt like a nest of hornets.
The assassination in the plaza had failed. Whispers from the Inner City were already spreading through the data-streams and the slums: the boy survived, unscathed, radiant. Worse—credits were pouring into his little shop. Potions with his mark were now being sought not only by slum-dwellers but even by minor bureaucrats and officers.
Failure here was unacceptable.
Inside the Guild's council chamber, 4 seats curved around a crescent table of obsidian glass. Three were filled, all facing the woman who stood before the holographic ledger, her crimson hair glowing like molten wire beneath the overhead lights.
Karren.
Her amber eyes blazed with Alpha dominance, her voice slicing through the murmurs.
"Three times," she spat, "three times this child has been allowed to humiliate us. First at the examination, where he trampled on our apprentices. Then at the hearing, where our accusations collapsed. And now—now our blades failed before half the damn city."
She slammed a crystalline vial onto the table, the liquid inside shivering with unstable reagents. None of the seated dared to flinch.
From the shadows at the far end,on the highest seat at the dias, a lazy chuckle rolled out.
"Your anger is delicious, Karren."
Councilor Draven lounged in his seat, dressed not in robes of craft but in a dark tailored suit with threads that shimmered faintly with mana insulation. He wasn't Guild by oath, but his presence carried heavier weight—the bridge between the Alchemist Guild, and the powers that ruled Nexus City.
Where Karren's fury burned hot, Draven's smile was cold.
"You speak as though the boy's existence is our failure. But perhaps, it is our opportunity."
One of the older Masters, a heavyset man with golden tattoos etched across his bald skull, frowned. "Opportunity? He makes a mockery of our standards. Worse, he draws customers from our doors. Even scavengers whisper his name."
Draven swirled a goblet of synth-wine, voice honey-smooth.
"Every city thrives on narrative. The people believe what we tell them to believe. If blades fail, then words will do the cutting."
Karren's lip curled, but she didn't dismiss him. She had learned long ago that Draven's silken tongue carried more weight than a dozen daggers.
He leaned forward, placing the goblet down. The glass tapped the table, sharp as a gavel.
"Discredit him. Paint him as a fraud. Whisper that his so-called 'miracle potions' are stolen, unstable, even dangerous. A single death pinned on his wares, and the crowds will scatter. And when officials begin their 'routine inspections'…" his smile sharpened, "…his little shop will collapse under regulation before it ever threatens us again."
The chamber filled with murmurs,some Masters nodding slowly. Bureaucracy was the guild's oldest poison.
But Karren's eyes burned hotter.
"You speak of whispers and papers, Councilor, but this boy is not ordinary. You felt it, all of you, when he walked into the hearing hall. His aura bends the air. He is no Beta child, I would swear on my lineage. And yet the city swallows his story like sugar."
One of the women on the council, grey-haired with a voice like sand, muttered, "He cannot be more than seven. Whatever he is, he should not be our equal."
Karren slammed her palm against the table. "He should not be breathing. And yet he is."
The vial cracked beneath her hand, leaking drops of glowing liquid onto the obsidian. The fumes hissed, but she ignored it.
Draven merely smirked. "And your obsession deepens."
Her head snapped toward him, fury flashing. "That boy is a threat. If he rises unchecked, our Guild will not merely lose profits—we will lose relevance. What use are centuries of craft when a child makes us relics overnight?"
Draven's smirk softened into something more thoughtful. He swirled the goblet again, then set it aside.
"Then we must use both blades and tongues. Let the Ash Rats harry his steps in the alleys. Let our influence tighten the noose through licenses and taxes. Let rumors spread in every tavern and holo-feed. When the city begins to doubt him, his allies will shrink."
He leaned forward, eyes glinting.
"And when he finally stumbles, we will be there with proof of his fraud, to burn him out root and stem."
Silence pressed the chamber. One by one, the Masters nodded, the weight of their pride outweighing hesitation.
Karren exhaled slowly, tension sharp in her shoulders. "Very well. We turn the city itself into our blade. And if this fails again, if the boy still rises…"
Her smile was a snarl. "I will not wait for politics. I will burn his shop to ash myself."
Draven only chuckled, lifting her hand to his lips with mock chivalry. "And that, my fiery Karren, is why I adore you."
She jerked her hand away, though not before her eyes betrayed the faintest flicker of heat.
.....