Kian’s ring broke.

  And Kian wasn’t happy at all.

  The ring the gods gave him.

  The one that was supposed to protect him.

  Gone.

  It hadn’t shattered with fire or sound—just a cold snap in the air and a pressure in his chest, like something sacred had been unplugged.

  Now, he felt hollow.

  Like someone had scooped out part of him and left the shell behind.

  Zeyk hadn’t noticed the exact moment.

  Nahl had.

  She’d said nothing.

  They walked in silence now, the three of them moving through forest and fog.

  The road ahead twisted like an old scar across the earth.

  They were heading toward a city called Verulith.

  A bustling trade hub.

  Old stone walls, high towers, constant noise—Kian wasn’t excited.

  But Nahl seemed certain.

  She knew someone there.

  An old friend. A scholar, apparently.

  Someone who might be able to explain what had happened with the ring...

  and the dagger.

  Kian didn’t know who to believe anymore.

  The gods were silent.

  Emotion was gone.

  Even the stars felt unfamiliar now.

  The days bled together.

  They walked through silver-fogged mornings and damp, humming nights. Sometimes they talked. Most times, they didn’t. The silence between them felt safer than the truths they didn’t want to touch.

  Crows tracked them for a day.

  A broken bridge delayed them another.

  Once, they passed a burned wagon and a bloodstained trail vanishing into the woods.

  No one spoke about it.

  Zeyk made a game of counting rabbits.

  Nahl practiced fire spells beneath her breath.

  Kian just walked.

  He kept the broken ring in his pocket, wrapped in cloth like a wound that refused to close.

  Eventually, Verulith appeared—not as a city, but a presence.

  Smoke on the horizon.

  Bells in the air.

  The scent of spice and iron drifting on the wind.

  It sat on a jagged hill like an old sentinel.

  Black stone walls. Gleaming tower tops. Flags snapping in the breeze.

  Life poured from it—wagons and horses and voices—and for a moment, Kian felt like he was watching it from far away, like a ghost peering in on the living.

  The guards barely looked at them as they entered.

  Nahl led the way through twisting roads and ivy-wrapped archways until they reached a quiet quarter, where the stone turned older and the noise faded.

  They stopped before a crooked little house wedged between two towers.

  The door was painted deep green.

  A copper wind-chime swayed above it, playing no melody.

  Nahl raised a hand and knocked twice.

  After a few moments, the door creaked open.

  An old woman squinted out at them—shoulders hunched, hair like winter frost, heavy spectacles sliding down her nose.

  “I’m not buying anything,” she said flatly, and moved to shut the door.

  “Professor,” Nahl said quickly. “It’s me. Nahl. Your apprentice, at Arcanis? The one that cultivated Kaethros?”

  The woman froze.

  Her eyes narrowed. Then widened.

  “By the gods... Nahl? Nahl Feryn? The quiet one who set her eyebrows on fire?”

  Nahl gave a cautious smile.

  “That’s me.”

  Professor Anvika tilted her head.

  “Wait a minute. Didn’t you join a cult?”

  Her smile disappeared.

  Electricity crackled at her fingertips.

  Her eyes gleamed with sudden stormlight.

  “And now you’ve brought them to my doorstep?!”

  “No, no! I left the cult!” Nahl said, throwing up her hands.

  There was a beat.

  “Oh,” the old woman said brightly. The lightning vanished. “Jolly well then. Come in. I have tea.”

  She turned and shuffled back into the house like nothing had happened.

  Nahl followed, slightly dazed.

  Zeyk and Kian lingered in the doorway, watching her disappear into the cluttered interior.

  “She’s creepy,” Zeyk muttered.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Kian frowned and nodded.

  Then stepped inside.

  Inside, the house was a mess of curiosities. Scrolls and glowing orbs littered every surface. Shelves buckled under the weight of books, bones, and things Kian couldn’t name. A faint scent of cinnamon clung to the air.

  They sat around a low, oval table in a parlor lit by floating lanterns. A kettle hissed gently in the corner while Professor Anvika rummaged through a cabinet humming to herself.

  “Do mind the imps if you see them,” she called. “I told them not to bite guests, but they’re stubborn little wretches.”

  Zeyk stiffened. “Did she say imps?”

  Nahl just smiled into her tea.

  Anvika returned with a wooden tray of steaming mugs and a tin of star-shaped cookies. “Here we are. Tea from northern peaks. And these—my famous ember-mint biscuits. Don’t worry, the spicy kick only lasts a second.”

  She passed the tin around. Zeyk hesitated, then took one. His eyes lit up after the first bite. “Okay. Okay, you’re forgiven for the imp comment.”

  “Good lad,” Anvika grinned, settling into a rocking chair that squeaked under her weight. “Now then. You three arrived right in time for the festival.”

  “Festival?” Kian asked, blowing gently on his tea.

  “Oh yes. The MageBlade Tournament. Verulith’s pride and chaos. A spectacle of combat, spellcraft, and egos. Anyone can join—street rat or scholar. Some come for fame. Others for glory. Most just for the prizes.”

  Zeyk leaned forward, suddenly interested. “Prizes?”

  Anvika chuckled. “Oh, the prizes. Gold, enchanted relics, arcane favors from Arcanis University. And this year, the top reward is... well, truly something.”

  Her eyes gleamed behind thick glasses.

  “You’ll love this—students from the university compete too. That means the bar is high. This year’s roster is vicious. Talented brats with too much power and not enough sense.”

  As she spoke, Kian’s eyes wandered across the cluttered desk near the window. His gaze froze.

  An old sketch was pinned beneath a crystal weight—an etching of a dagger. Thin, curved, etched in runes that made his ring finger throb. It looked almost identical to the blade he carried.

  “Professor,” he said slowly. “That drawing. That dagger. What is it?”

  She followed his gaze and raised a brow. “Ah. That. Soul dagger.”

  He felt Nahl stiffen beside him.

  “It’s the top prize this year,” Anvika continued. “Nasty little thing. Ancient. Said to be able to sever a soul from the body... and destroy it. Not just kill. Erase.”

  Kian’s chest tightened.

  “Sadly,” she added, taking a long sip of tea, “it only works once.”

  The room fell quiet.

  Kian glanced at Nahl. Nahl glanced at Zeyk. Zeyk, cookie halfway to his mouth, slowly lowered it.

  They all shared the same look.

  Kian cleared his throat. “Professor… we were wondering. Would it be alright if we stayed in the city for a few days? Maybe… found somewhere to stay nearby?”

  Anvika raised a white brow. “Nearby?” She looked around her cluttered parlor. “You mean not in my house?”

  “Well,” Zeyk said, eyeing a floating book that kept bumping into a lamp, “you seem… busy.”

  “I am always busy,” Anvika replied, sipping her tea. “Doesn’t mean I don’t have space. Just means I’ll complain about it while still helping you. That’s what professors do.”

  She stood up, joints cracking like twigs. “You can take the upstairs room. It used to be my familiar’s nest, but he hasn’t visited since the summoning accident. Mind the scorch marks.”

  “Wait, you summoned something in the guest room?” Zeyk said, halfway between impressed and horrified.

  “Yes. Successfully, I’ll add,” she said with a sniff. “He just didn’t like curtains.”

  Nahl gave her a grateful smile. “Thank you, Professor.”

  “Don’t thank me yet,” Anvika muttered as she shuffled off toward the stairs. “I expect payment in the form of peace and quiet. And if any of you wake me before noon, I will curse your eyebrows off.”

  “Fair,” said Kian.

  “Very fair,” said Zeyk.

  As the sound of Anvika’s footsteps disappeared upstairs, Kian leaned across the table, eyes fixed on Nahl.

  “You gotta participate,” he said.

  Nahl raised an eyebrow. “In the tournament? No.”

  Kian frowned. “What? Why not?”

  “I’m not exactly in fighting shape,” she muttered, picking at a cookie. “Also, last time I was in a tournament, I ended up setting the floor on fire and getting banned from campus events for a semester.”

  Zeyk’s eyes lit up. “Seriously?”

  “Not the point,” Nahl said sharply.

  Kian leaned in, voice softer now. “Come on, Nahl. That soul dagger… it could help us. A lot. You saw what that Herald did. We barely made it out.”

  Nahl didn’t respond immediately. She stared down into her tea like it held answers she wasn’t ready to hear.

  “I’m just saying,” Kian added, “we don’t know what we’re walking into next. But if we have something that can end one of those things—clean—it’s worth the risk.”

  She let out a breath. “Even if I agree, it’s not like they’re going to hand it over. That kind of prize means the competition’s brutal.”

  “Yeah,” Zeyk said, grinning. “So just burn them all. Problem solved.”

  Nahl shot him a look. Then sighed. “I’ll think about it.”

  Kian gave a small, hopeful smile. “That’s all I’m asking.”

  ____________________________________________________________________________

  Later that afternoon, the trio wandered through Verulith’s quieter streets. The city buzzed with festival energy—streamers overhead, merchants shouting prices, smells of roasting meats and spiced drinks wafting from corner stalls.

  Nahl led them down a cobbled path toward the university wall, half-lost in thought.

  That’s when a voice cut through the crowd. Smooth. Smug. Very punchable.

  “Well, well. If it isn’t Nahl Feryn.”

  Nahl flinched. Kian and Zeyk turned to see a tall, finely-dressed man with perfectly combed silver hair and the kind of smile that made flowers wilt.

  “Cassian,” Nahl muttered.

  Cassian clasped his hands behind his back and gave a shallow, mocking bow. “Didn’t expect to see you back here. Let alone... with such distinguished company.”

  His eyes flicked to Kian and Zeyk, oozing disdain.

  “Are these your new apprentices? Or is this part of your cult’s community outreach?”

  Zeyk opened his mouth, but Kian subtly stepped in front of him.

  “Nice to meet you too,” Kian said dryly.

  Cassian didn’t even acknowledge him. “You know, I’m surprised they let you back into the city. After everything.”

  “I left,” Nahl said sharply.

  “How noble.” He smiled like someone who never meant it. “Well, I’m here for the tournament, of course. Already qualified for the final bracket. This year’s prize is deliciously rare, wouldn’t you say? That soul dagger’s going to look quite handsome next to my last trophy.”

  He leaned in, voice just loud enough to sting. “Of course, you’d never make it past the first round. But do feel free to watch.”

  With a flourish of his cloak, he turned and walked off, cape swaying like it had somewhere important to be.

  Nahl stood frozen.

  Then she spun around and stormed off in the opposite direction.

  “Where are you going?” Kian called.

  “To sign up,” she growled. “Screw Cassian. I’m winning that damn dagger.”

  Zeyk grinned. “I like her angry.”

  Kian smirked. “Yeah. That guy’s ego may have just doomed him.”