The capital's arcane market district pulsed with energy. Floating glyph-lanterns cast a soft, ambient glow over cobbled streets, while vendors shouted prices for enchanted tools, elemental scrolls, and magical trinkets. The scent of roasted nuts mingled with the faint ozone of charged runes in the air.
Near the quieter end of the plaza, a young woman stood poised in front of a crystal vendor's stall, her long black hair gently shifting in the breeze. A polished arcane rifle was strapped securely to her back, its silver-etched plating catching glints of magical light.
She leaned in slightly, examining the crystals on display pale blue, faintly glowing, cut to uniform sizes.
"These are improperly cut," she said softly, almost to herself. "Their containment fields are unstable. Likely to misfire under sustained output."
The vendor blinked in confusion. "Uh... they're standard grade, my lady. Perfectly usable."
She merely adjusted her glasses.
Behind her, a tall, tanned man groaned audibly, slumping against a nearby lamppost like it had personally betrayed him.
He was shirtless beneath an open black jacket, spiky black-brown hair jutting in every direction. His ever-present grin was slowly being replaced with a dramatic scowl of boredom.
"Why," he muttered, loud enough for the plaza to hear, "do errands take so long.....?"
She didn't look back. "Because these 'errands' are what keep my rifle from overheating and exploding in the middle of a fight."
"I'd fix it. Or throw it. Or toss you like a javelin." the man said.
"You'd miss." the girl said.
He grinned, clearly enjoying the jab. "But you'd land. You always do."
Nearby nobles gave them a wide berth. A fruit vendor froze mid-sale, whispering nervously to a customer. "That's a Kingmaker... and the Candidate, I think."
The man stretched with a yawn that revealed a bit too much smugness. Then he froze.
His head tilted. Eyes narrowed. He sniffed the air like a dog catching the scent of prey.
She noticed immediately. "...What is it?"
He grinned, his tone suddenly gleeful. "I smell a beast."
"A monster?" she asked, already reaching for her rifle.
"No." He pointed into the crowd. "A person. Someone strong. Scarred. Wild. Like they fight with pure instinct and don't care who's watching."
"Please don't—"
Too late.
He was already striding off, eyes locked on something or someone with the excitement of a child spotting a dragon.
She sighed, pressing a palm gently to her temple.
"I really hope he's not about to tackle a stranger in the middle of the capital."
The man let out a loud, excited shout as he launched himself into the crowd. "Yahoo!!!"
Ethan browsed through the arcane market, moving from stall to stall with cautious curiosity. He squinted at rune-inscribed tools and glowing crystal trinkets, trying and failing to make sense of any of them.
"I don't even know what half of this stuff does…" he muttered.
Omen's voice rang out in his thoughts, annoyed. "We should've just gone to the food market. At least then I'd be full while you're wasting time."
"I'm not hungry," Ethan said aloud, glancing toward the alley that led to the food stalls. "And you'd probably burn through all the money I have left."
"That's why you should've taken the money the villagers offered you," Omen shot back.
"I couldn't. It didn't feel right." Ethan paused, glancing at a rack of glowing metal rods that resembled incense sticks. "Besides, I'd get fat if all I did was eat."
"You're in constant training. You'd lose it all by lunch."
Suddenly, the air shifted. A blur of motion dropped down from above fast, reckless, and smiling.
Ethan's instincts kicked in. In a heartbeat, he drew his short sword and swung upward, narrowly deflecting a downward strike from a gleaming spear.
The clang of metal on metal rang out. The attacker grinned mid-air, still descending.
"Nice....!!" the stranger laughed, landing with a thud and sliding back in a crouch.
Ethan stared, caught off guard. A man stood before him with a wild grin and no sense of personal space shirtless, with an open jacket and abs like he punched boulders for breakfast.
"...What the hell?" Ethan muttered, shifting into a defensive stance.
"You're like a beast, aren't you?" the stranger said, still smiling wide.
Ethan blinked, lowering his stance a little. "What?"
Before he could say anything else, the man leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "You're a Kingmaker too, right? Let's have a quick match. Just for fun."
Ethan's brow furrowed. "What's wrong with you?"
Around them, the nearby crowd began to scatter. Vendors ducked behind their stalls. Civilians hurried out of the way.
Without warning, the man lunged forward again, this time with a controlled strike from his spear, no hesitation.
Ethan reacted fast. He ducked, twisted his body, and grabbed the spear's shaft, yanking it toward himself to throw the man off balance. In the same motion, he pointed his short sword forward, ready to counter.
The man let go of his weapon mid-pull, hopping back with ease and landing a few steps away.
His smile widened.
"No form. No elegance," he said with a chuckle. "Just raw instinct and pure lethality."
He folded his arms. "I was right. You really are a beast."
"I'm Solus," he said with a grin. "Kingmaker of House Valan. What's your name, beast?"
Ethan exhaled, eyes still guarded. "Ethan Peirce. Kingmaker of Duskmere."
Solus grinned wider and reached his hand out, his spear flew back to him like it was magnetized, slapping into his palm with a sharp clang. He grinned, letting it rest across his back.
Before he could strike again, a loud thwip! cut through the air.
A dart embedded itself in Solus's side. His eyes widened for a moment then a brief jolt of electricity pulsed through his body. Stunned, he staggered.
Then came the smack.
The butt of a rifle cracked against the back of his head.
"Enough," a quiet, unimpressed voice said.
A young woman stepped forward, lowering her weapon. She adjusted her glasses, gaze cool and sharp.
Patrol guards rushed onto the scene, weapons ready. But they hesitated as she raised a small crest.
"House Valan," she said simply. "I apologize on behalf of my Kingmaker."
One of the guards groaned. "Fifth time this week. One more incident, and we'll be filing a formal complaint with the council."
The young woman bowed her head deeply, cheeks flushed in embarrassment.
"I understand. It won't happen again."
The young woman turned to Ethan, clearly embarrassed. Her tone softened with a slight bow of her head.
"My apologies. He tends to… act before thinking. I'm Iria Valan. Candidate of House Valan."
Ethan sheathed his short sword, rubbing the back of his neck. "Uh… it's fine. Really. No one got hurt, so…"
On the ground, Solus groaned. "That was so unnecessary…"
"It was your actions that were unnecessary!" Iria snapped, clearly irritated.
Iria turned to Ethan once more, still clearly flustered. "To properly apologize… would you join us for lunch? As compensation. For… everything."
Ethan blinked. "Uh. Yeah, sure. That sounds… fine. Thanks."
"Sweet! I'm starving!"
Solus suddenly shot upright, brushing dust off his pants like nothing happened. He slung an arm around Ethan's shoulders, grinning wide.
"Let's go, Beast. Time for a feast!"
Ethan gave a look halfway between amused and mildly panicked.
Iria sighed, deeply, from the depths of her soul. She didn't say anything, but the look in her eyes said it all: This is my life.
They headed to a fancy buffet restaurant not far from the plaza. As they entered, Solus kept his arm slung over Ethan's shoulder like they were lifelong friends.
"I'm starving," Solus declared. "Beast, you better have an appetite."
Iria visibly winced at his volume. Heads turned. Some patrons whispered, alarmed at the sight of two visibly armed young men and a girl carrying an arcane rifle.
They took a corner table. Iria remained to reserve the spot while Solus practically dragged Ethan toward the buffet.
"Meat! Just meat!" Solus cheered, stacking his plate with reckless abandon.
Ethan noted his choices: no vegetables, no bread, just meat piled sky high.
Omen chuckled from within. "He's got excellent taste."
Ethan returned with a modest plate. Solus dropped into his seat with a grin, and Iria joined them shortly after, her plate neatly portioned with vegetables, grains, and fruit.
As they began eating, Iria sighed.
"I apologize," she said, looking at Ethan. "I should've put a leash on him. Though it would've snapped the moment he found something interesting."
Solus laughed. "Hey! Don't be like that. Beast over here's got moves!" He pointed with his fork. "You fight like an animal in a man's skin. Were you born in the wilds?"
Ethan shook his head, chewing. "Pure instinct. Nothing fancy."
Iria looked up. "It didn't look like just instinct. You processed things faster than most trained soldiers. That isn't something to brush off."
She paused, pushing her glasses up. "Speaking of which… rumors are already spreading."
Ethan blinked. "Rumors?"
"The subjugation. The operation under the capital." Iria's tone was composed, but analytical. "You were part of it, weren't you?"
Ethan hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. I just… tried to stay alive. Help where I could. Ceris did most of the real work."
Solus snorted. "Pfft. Council this, council that. You guys rocked that syndicate! Saw it in the plaza crystal—Boom! Blam! Epic!"
Iria gave him a tired look, but turned back to Ethan. "They say the prisoners witnessed something, odd soldiers collapsing before they realized anyone had entered. They described someone moving like a shadow. Slipping past, silent and swift. Like a trickster."
Ethan blinked. "...A trickster?"
Iria nodded. "That's the word that's been going around."
Ethan scratched the back of his neck, unsure how to respond.
Solus, already chewing through another slab of grilled meat, perked up.
"Oho? Trickster, huh?" he grinned. "I like it. Got a ring to it."
Iria gave him a sidelong glance. "Says the man they call the Reckless Spear of Valan."
Ethan raised a brow. "Reckless Spear?"
She sighed, clearly used to this. "Because he jumps into fights without a plan. Or permission."
Solus gave a short laugh, completely unfazed. "What's the point of planning if I can finish it in a flash?"
"You never finish it," Iria muttered, stabbing a piece of broccoli with surgical precision.
Solus pointed a finger toward Ethan, still smiling. "But that's what makes it fun. You and I, we're just built different, Beast."
Ethan gave a lopsided smile, not entirely sure if that was a compliment or a warning.
Solus tore through the last of his mutton chops like a beast unchained, one in each hand. He pointed one greasy bone at Ethan like it was a training blade.
"With both arms this time!" he mumbled, mouth still full of meat. "We finish our fight after this!"
A few heads turned from nearby tables. Iria slowly set down her teacup with a sigh sharp enough to cut glass.
"Must you be this loud in public?" she muttered, covering her face with one gloved hand.
Solus didn't even blink. He just kept chewing, still pointing the meat-bone like a dueling dagger.
"Honestly..." Iria shook her head, then turned her attention to Ethan. "We need to pick up some arcane crystal for my rifle. The stock in the manor's armory is outdated." She paused, offering a faint smile. "Would you care to join us?"
Ethan blinked, a little surprised by the sudden invitation. "Ah... thanks, but I actually commissioned something a while back. Should be ready by now."
"I see," Iria nodded, polite as ever. "Then take care, Trickster."
She stood, grabbing Solus by the collar with a practiced tug. "Come on, Spearhead. Leave the plate."
"But it still has flavor!" he protested, gnawing one last time.
"We're going."
And with that, she dragged him still clutching the bones out of the restaurant, their exit as chaotic as their presence.
Ethan watched them go, lips twitching into a tired smile. For once, the title didn't feel too heavy.
Ethan made his way through the winding streets of the capital toward the House of Threads. The shop stood out even among the arcane boutiques and artisan stalls, an elegant tailoring establishment etched with glowing filigree that pulsed faintly with magic. The sign above the door shimmered subtly.
A bell chimed softly as he pushed open the door.
"Ahh, Master Ethan, Just in time, Your item is ready." Varen Thorne said with a courteous nod.
He gestured toward a velvet-lined display case, and as the lid lifted, a single coil of thread shimmered beneath the enchanted light. It pulsed with a rich blue glow, the texture impossibly smooth and fine, like spider silk infused with arcane essence.
"This thread," Varen began, his tone carrying a quiet pride, "is unlike anything else in the capital. It cannot be severed by ordinary blades; only the sharpest of enchanted edges might even leave a mark."
He reached out, gently lifting a portion with gloved fingers. It shimmered like liquid magic.
"It can bear the weight of a medium-sized dragon without strain. Its tensile integrity is unmatched. And should it ever be severed, which I assure you, is unlikely it will regenerate over time."
Varen set the thread back into its case and clasped his hands behind his back, expression proud yet composed.
"This may very well be the finest work I've ever completed," he said with a faint smile. "And I take great pride in knowing you chose the House of Threads for such a commission, Master Ethan."
Ethan gave a small bow of gratitude. "Thank you. I promise I'll use it to its fullest potential."
Varen's prideful smile deepened ever so slightly. He stepped forward, opening the shop door for Ethan with a graceful motion.
"Then I look forward to hearing the tales it threads into the world," he said warmly. "Thank you for your patronage, Master Ethan. I hope it won't be your last."
After leaving the House of Threads, Ethan made his way toward the outskirts of the city where the old smithy stood Smith and Thongs, the same shop where he had first put the prototype.
As he entered, the familiar clang of tools on metal greeted him. Behind the counter, Galan looked up and gave a satisfied nod.
"It's ready," Galan said with a calm smile. "And Vix's been itching to show it off."
He led Ethan to the back room, where the buzz of enchantment and toolwork mingled in the air. The moment they stepped inside, Vix spotted them.
"You're here! Finally!" she beamed, practically bouncing as she grabbed a cloth-covered item from the workbench.
Without wasting a moment, she unveiled it, a sleek, thin gauntlet with elegant black plating and silver engravings, shaped to fit the forearm comfortably without restricting motion. It pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat beneath the surface.
Ethan pulled out the spool of arcane thread he received from Varen Thorne.
Vix's eyes widened. "Ooooh! Look at this craftsmanship, did you rob a noble or something?"
Ethan chuckled. "Commissioned it."
"Even better." She immediately took the thread and wove it into the device with precision, linking it to the internal mechanism. Then she fastened the gauntlet snugly onto Ethan's left arm.
"Alright, Ethan," she grinned, stepping back. "Press the button on your palm to activate. And aim well."
She pointed to a reinforced armor stand at the far end of the room.
Ethan raised his arm, focused, and pressed the concealed button in his palm.
Thwip!—the thread launched from his wrist in a blink, streaking across the room and embedding into the chestplate of the armor stand with a sharp, magical click.
He blinked in surprise. "That's... fast."
Vix nodded with smug pride. "Fifteen steps, maybe more depending on your stance. More than enough to disrupt an enemy's guard."
Ethan flexed his arm slightly, testing the tension. For once, the gauntlet didn't feel like a clunky tool, it felt like it belonged.
This was no longer just a prototype. It was a weapon.
Ethan looked between the two Tinkerfells, a smile tugging at his lips. "Thanks, both of you. Seriously."
Vix gave him a quick thumbs-up. "You better come back soon, got it? That gauntlet gave me so many ideas, I might just have a few prototypes lying around with your name on them."
Galan chuckled softly, arms crossed. "Thank you as well, Ethan. You've given her something to focus on,something that drives her. You're always welcome here."
By the time he reached the manor gates, he barely had the energy to nod at the guards. He trudged through the halls, up the stairs, and collapsed onto his bed without even bothering to take off his boots.
Sleep claimed him instantly, pulling him into the kind of deep, dreamless rest that only exhaustion could bring.