Erith's hands trembled as he gripped the rope, the iron grapple at its end swaying unsteadily. His pulse pounded in his ears as he crouched.

From behind a wooden crate near a stone shed, he scanned the Morvathi estate’s garden for any sign of movement. The silence that fell between patrols was as unsettling as the soldiers themselves.

What the hell was I thinking? Why did I say I could do this?

Breaking into a fortress. For some guy? For Maeric?

Brilliant, Erith. Just brilliant.

Erith eyed the balconies that stretched out from the estate's second floor. He checked his surroundings one final time before pressing forward.

Firelight stretched across the estate wall, catching Erith’s eye. He threw himself back behind the crate as footsteps staggered closer.

Pulling his legs close to the crate, he loosened the black cloth around his face, letting the cool night air brush over him.

A soldier walked along the garden pathway, torch in hand, sword at his side. He drifted toward the iron fence bordering the garden, gripping one of the bars.

Beyond the fence, the land dropped into a sheer fall—a scar left on the hillside where ground once held firm. Below, Verael stretched out in a vast sprawl of rooftops and winding streets, dotted with distant torchlight.

Finally, the man turned back down the pathway, the light of his torch receding against the garden shed.

When silence filled in around him, he moved.

Darting across the garden, he stopped short of the estate wall where vines snaked up a weathered wooden trellis.

He tugged at the frame, testing its strength. His eyes traced the path to the balcony above. Fingers searching for a grip among the vines, he pressed his weight against the wood.

He gave a small jump—feeling for any weakness, any sign the trellis wouldn't hold.

This should get me up to their rooms…when the time is right. For now, I need to get the hell out of here.

Erith stepped back from the wall, took one last look, then slipped away toward the fence, vanishing into the shadows.

Almost there...

He crept along the fence, following the slope of the hillside, until he reached a patch of trees across the iron bars.

Erith unfastened the rope around his shoulder and swung the grapple toward the top of the fence, where it met the iron bars with a soft clink.

Without hesitation, Erith pulled himself up the rope. He swung a leg over the top, careful to avoid the spokes atop the fence, and threw himself over the bars.

The moment his feet hit the ground, he bolted toward a patch of tall trees.

Erith moved carefully, focusing on each step to keep them muffled. Beyond the trees, the tall outer stone wall came into view.

He searched for any signs of guards walking the grounds before approaching a tall oak on the edge of the woods, its branches stretching over the peak of the stone wall. He uncoiled his rope and wrapped it around the trunk of the tree.

With a last glance toward the path, he tightened the rope around his waist and began to climb.

Erith perched on a branch stretching out toward the stone wall, squinting at the dark alleyway between two wooden buildings. In the shadows atop the roof, barely visible, a small figure shifted.

He raised a hand, waving at Amun, before inching his way down the branch.

Erith's gaze fixed on the gap between him and the wall. Too far, but not far enough to hesitate.

He swallowed hard, then jumped.

Shit.

The moment his feet left the branch, he knew he had overcompensated. Only one foot caught the wall at the wrong angle, and the weight of his body twisted.

Falling head-first backward, there was nothing to grab.

He closed his eyes, bracing for impact—

A crack split the air.

The air around him sheared. Stone shattered beneath his skull.

Erith lay still, breath hitched in his chest. Slowly, he blinked, staring at the fractured cobblestone where his head should have split open.

He picked himself up, shaking off the moment.

Then, without another thought, he ran into the alley.

The moment he reached cover, his stomach churned. The rush, the fall—all of it caught up to him at once.

As Amun dropped down from a nearby banister, Erith doubled over and vomited onto the stone.

Amun slowed his steps. "Well, that's not great."

Erith wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "These practice runs are going to kill me."

Amun raised an eyebrow. "Speaking of things that are going to kill you—how did you just fall that far, land on your head, and not die?"

Erith exhaled, still catching his breath. "Ah... well, it's using a bit of Kaida and Mura. When you weave them together—"

"Right. Your godly magic,” Amun cut in. “If you're done dying, let's get going."

Erith pulled the black cloth from his face, stuffing it into a bag slung over Amun's shoulder.

For a while, they crept through the alleyways in silence as they worked their way back to the Ropewalks.

Amun cast a glance at Erith before breaking the quiet. "Can I ask you something?"

Erith met Amun's eyes and nodded.

"Is it weird?" Amun kept his voice low. "I mean... having power like that? I saw you fall and thought, 'That's that’. But you stopped your own death." 

He shook his head slightly. My mum and Rin say, 'the world's full of firsts’... but that? What's that like? Being the first?"

Erith turned the question over in his mind before speaking.

"I don't know if I'm really the first..." Erith caught Amun's skeptical gaze."But yeah I've been reminded my entire life that I'm not exactly common."

They took a few steps before Erith continued.

"It's not something I've thought about in a while—until lately. Maeric looked terrified of me, asked if I intended to harm Aldarath." A quiet, humorless laugh escaped him.

Erith’s steps faltered, and Amun halted too. "Imagine that—someone looking you in the eye and asking if you mean to destroy an entire kingdom?"

"Thatch made sure I never forgot what I could do. Every single day was training." Erith sighed and started walking again.

"Even then, I always felt there was more to explore. But I never thought much beyond that. Never really thought there was some purpose to it."

He hesitated. "Well, maybe I did. Maybe I just thought I could ignore it."

Amun gave him a look, one eyebrow slightly raised.

Before he could say anything, Erith cut in. "Don't get me wrong. I knew something was there. Thatch reminded me every damn day growing up—if I told anyone, I'd be risking my life."

Without thinking, he continued, "Elian always said I'd end up strapped to a table in a dungeon in Aldasi if I let it slip."

Amun's steps slowed. "Who's Elian?"

"He was..." Erith's thoughts caught up to him. He struggled with the words.

"Someone I needed to tell."

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