The climb back up the spiral staircase felt endless, each step heavier than the last. The air growing blessedly fresher as he ascended from the subterranean chill. Emerging onto the riverbank under the vast, starry sky felt like surfacing from a deep, murky dive. The cool night air, alive with the scent of river and rustling leaves, was a balm after the stagnant closeness below.

  He stood catching his breath. The settlement where he'd eaten earlier was still a significant walk downstream, but he needed to put some distance between himself and the entrance to the Black Market. He walked along the riverbank path, heading in the general direction of the settlement, for about ten minutes. Exhaustion, deep and bone-settling, washed over him.

  Veering into the trees, Aren pushed through the undergrowth until he found a relatively flat spot screened by ferns. The forest floor, soft with pine needles, muffled his steps. By the dim moonlight filtering through the canopy, he fumbled with the small tent provided by the castle servants. Fatigue made his fingers clumsy, but the promise of rest spurred him on. Finally, the simple shelter stood ready. Shedding only his boots, he crawled inside and collapsed onto the thin groundsheet, sleep pulling him under almost instantly.

  Awareness returned gently, like sunlight warming cool stone. He woke to the cheerful symphony of the forest – birdsong, the rustle of unseen creatures, the distant murmur of the river. Sunlight streamed through the tent fabric, bathing the small space in a warm glow. Much better than echoing castle halls, he thought, stretching until his joints popped satisfyingly. The deep sleep had eased the worst of his aches, leaving him surprisingly refreshed.

  Sitting up, he took a long sip from his waterskin before turning his attention to Lycas's parting gifts. He retrieved the small, heavy pouch. Inside, nestled against the weight of coin, was folded parchment. Unfolding it revealed Lycas’s crude maps: one tracing the route from Stormia to Silon, detailing roads and landmarks; the other, a closer view of Silon itself, a building near the edge circled and labeled 'Golden Ursai'.

  He poured the coins into his palm. Fifteen gold pieces gleamed dully. He whistled softly. Fifteen gold… a small fortune here. He recalled Lycas’s warning: ‘Don’t gamble it away.’ A wry smile touched Aren’s lips. Not likely, mate. This old man learned about easy money the hard way. This was operating capital, nothing more.

  He transferred the gold to his own sturdy pouch, then carefully repacked the tent and tidied the campsite, leaving no sign of his overnight stay. Shouldering the backpack – still heavy, but less daunting now – he returned to the riverbank path and set off towards the settlement.

  Okay, focus. Mission: infiltrate the Golden Ursai near Silon. Find Cato Whisperwind, a washed-up artifact expert. Loosen his tongue about 'Lot #7' and a secret auction. Dodge Lycas's enemy, Remus. Report back in ten days. He snorted. Piece of cake. First, though, I need a believable excuse for Darius to let me wander off to Silon. Self-improvement… training…

  He reached the fishing settlement. The same weathered faces glanced up, their curiosity perhaps faded by familiarity. He headed straight for the inn, drawn by the comforting smell of woodsmoke and frying fish. The stout innkeeper was wiping the counter.

  Dropping his pack with a familiar thud, Aren greeted her. "Morning. That fish smelled too good yesterday, I had to return. And perhaps a pint of mead?"

  The innkeeper chuckled. "Never too early for good mead, traveler. Fish'll be right up." She eyed him as she drew the drink. "Heading out again?"

  "Indeed," Aren said, leaning on the counter and sliding thirty copper coins across – extra tip. "Next stop is Silon. Heard anything interesting about it? Anything a traveler shouldn't miss?"

  "Silon! Ambitious journey!" she exclaimed. "I wouldn't know much myself. But talk to old Valen!" She pointed through the window towards the riverbank. "See him there? By the big willow, with the ancient fishing pole? Used to travel the trade routes, seen most of Atheria, he claims. Loves to talk, especially to travelers. He’ll tell you about Silon."

  "Valen. Got it. Thanks," Aren said, taking his foaming pint. He settled at his usual window table, sipping the smooth mead. Morning mead is growing on me. The fish arrived sizzling, just as delicious as before. He ate quickly, planning his approach.

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  Breakfast done, he ambled towards the riverbank where the old man sat, still as a heron, line limp in the water. "Excuse me," Aren said gently. "Are you Valen?"

  The old man jolted, head whipping around, eyes wide. "Eh? Yes! That's me!" he rasped. "What can I do for you, young man?"

  "The innkeeper suggested I speak with you," Aren explained. "She said you used to travel widely. I'm heading towards Silon and hoped you might share some wisdom."

  Valen's weathered face lit up. "A traveler! Silon, eh? Sit down, sonny, sit!" He patted the grassy bank beside his overturned barrel. "Silon! Takes me back!"

  Aren sat, bracing himself. Valen launched into a rambling tale of his travels, jumping from coastal cities to goblin ambushes. Aren listened patiently, nodding, gently trying to steer him back on topic during the rare pauses. Come on, old timer, the highlights please. Eventually, after a lengthy story about a river raft, Valen finally circled back. "Ah, Silon..."

  "Big town," Valen continued, more focused now. "Rich. Lots of trade. Famous craftsmen – finest work outside the capital. But the real talk?" He leaned closer conspiratorially. "Their Ether training academy. Right in the city. Got… novel methods. Different. Attracted all sorts – sellswords, nobles, scholars. Brutally hard, mind you. Pushed folk to their limits. But those who stuck it out? Came away… changed. Stronger, more attuned."

  Bingo. Aren felt a surge of excitement. An Ether academy with a unique approach. Perfect justification for Darius. It even sounded genuinely interesting for his own situation.

  "And then," Valen added sourly, "there was the Golden Ursai. Fancy casino on the edge of town. Looked like solid gold. Caravan master I joined after the raft went in flush, came out broke! Lost everything! Had to find another caravan, headed towards Wintervale, which reminds me…"

  Seeing his chance, Aren quickly stood. "Valen, that's fascinating, especially the academy! Thank you, but I need to be on my way."

  Valen looked disappointed for a moment. "Oh. Right then, young fella," he managed, his smile returning faintly. "Travel safe now! Wits about you!" He turned back to his pole, resuming his motionless watch.

  Aren nodded and walked briskly back towards the main road to Stormia. He had his cover story. Excitement fueled his steps, the prospect of a new big adventure, a clear objective, invigorating him more than simple training ever could.

  The return journey dragged. The backpack reasserted its hateful presence, settling onto his shoulders like a lead weight. The initial thrill faded into the steady rhythm of walking and the familiar ache in his legs. Riding lessons. Definitely need riding lessons, he grumbled internally, gnawing on tough jerky.

  As familiar landmarks signaled Stormia's proximity, Aren ducked off the road into the woods bordering the city. Not too deep this time. He found a cluster of weathered boulders and knelt behind them. He retrieved the Silon maps and Lycas’s gold, sealing them in a waterproof oilskin pouch. He wedged the pouch deep into a crack between the stones, hiding it with leaves and rocks. He kept only one gold coin, tucking it into his tunic pocket. No need for awkward questions at the castle.

  Satisfied, he rejoined the path. The city guards waved him through with respectful nods. The bustle of Stormia surrounded him as he headed directly for the castle, arriving as evening shadows lengthened.

  He went straight to his chambers, dropping the backpack with profound relief. A glance in the mirror confirmed the necessity of a bath. On his way, he intercepted a servant girl. "Excuse me," he said. "Could you take this backpack to storage?" He gestured towards his room. "And thank you for packing it. Perhaps just… a touch lighter next time?"

  The girl flushed but nodded. "Of course, Sir Aren."

  Feeling cleaner and lighter, Aren soaked in the bathhouse's steaming water, scrubbing away the road's grime. Dressed in fresh clothes, he entered the dining hall where the Stormborn family and Valerian were already gathered.

  "Aren! You've returned," Darius greeted warmly. "A refreshing trip, I trust?"

  "It was, Your Grace," Aren replied, taking his seat. As servants brought the meal, he offered a cleaned-up version of his trip. "Followed the river, camped out under the stars. Found a small fishing settlement." He described the inn briefly, then his chat with Valen, omitting inconvenient truths. "Met an old traveler there. Spent half the morning listening to his stories."

  Leo leaned forward. "Anything exciting happen?"

  Aren shook his head. "No trouble. Just talk. He mentioned something interesting, though." He paused deliberately. "Apparently, the town of Silon has a well-known Ether training academy. Supposedly uses very different methods. Sounded… intriguing." He let the remark hang, noting Darius’s thoughtful glance but saying no more for now.

  Changing the subject, he added, "The walk back definitely proved one thing." He looked at Valerian. "My legs are complaining. I was wondering… could we possibly add horse riding lessons to my training? Seems an essential skill out here."

  Valerian nodded promptly. "An excellent suggestion, Aren. Necessary indeed. We can begin tomorrow, after morning drills."

  "Perfect," Aren said, genuinely pleased. One step closer.

  The rest of dinner passed pleasantly. Aren joined the conversation, but his thoughts kept drifting towards Silon, a glittering casino, and the intricate game Lycas expected him to play. The first pieces were falling into place.