Willam ‘Will’ Kirby was tall, his broad shoulders and easy posture commanding attention the moment he stepped into a room. With rugged good looks that seemed effortless and an easy charm that made him instantly likable, he left an impression on everyone he met. His confidence was magnetic—enough to make other men feel a pang of envy or admiration but tempered just enough to avoid outright arrogance. Women were drawn to him as naturally as moths to flame, and on occasion, so were men.

  Though he exuded self-assurance, a warmth in his demeanor kept him approachable. He had a knack for making people feel seen, his compliments genuine, and his laughter infectious. While others might flaunt their skills, he was content to appreciate others’ abilities and tactfully overlook their shortcomings. There was no need to boast; his presence spoke volumes.

  An adventurer by trade and appearance, he dressed in stylish and practical attire—tailored just enough to suggest refinement but rugged enough to withstand the demands of his work. His weapons were finely crafted but unassuming, chosen for function rather than ostentation. Each bore the marks of regular use, well-maintained yet unpolished, like a craftsman’s tools. It was clear from his movements that he knew their weight and balance as intimately as he knew himself.

  And yet, there was something enigmatic about him—a glimmer of weariness in his sharp eyes or a faint pause in his smile when the laughter died down. It was the look of someone who had seen both glory and regret and carried burdens that didn’t show on his polished exterior. A subtle contrast made him more than just a dashing hero. It made him human.

  Will carried a round of pints to the loud, raucous table, setting them down with a thud that sent foam splashing onto the wood and his companions. The jeers about his clumsiness and his mother’s virtue came swiftly, but they were good-natured, if coarse. Will chuckled, shaking his head, and took a long pull from his mug, the rough ale doing little to dull the restlessness that simmered beneath his easy grin.

  The Wretched Dog wasn’t his kind of place, but in Ilimar, it was where jobs found him. He had learned long ago that patience paid, and the right opportunity always came knocking if you were patient.

  As the men swapped bawdy jokes, Will felt the unmistakable prick of someone watching him. His gaze swept the room, landing on a figure by the door, cloaked in gray, cowl drawn low. The figure inclined his head, then slipped outside.

  “Excuse me, gents,” Will said, rising. “Nature calls.” He left the table without waiting for a response, weaving through the crowd and onto the bustling street.

  The cloaked figure waited near the corner of the building, away from prying eyes. Will approached, leaning against the wall and folding his arms. “Rugr,” he said with a faint grin.

  “Will,” Rugr replied.

  “It’s been a while. What brings you to Ilimar?”

  “I’m looking for someone.”

  “And have you found them?” Will asked, arching an eyebrow.

  Rugr smiled. “Maybe. Let’s see if he’s still the right man for the job.”

  Will chuckled. “Go on, then.”

  “I need someone to find, train, and guide two young people. Keep them safe. Keep them away from Ilimar.”

  “Babysitting? You know that’s not my thing,” Will said, his tone cooling.

  “Yeah. But I need someone I trust.”

  Will sighed. “You can trust me, but it doesn’t mean I’ll want the job.”

  “Understood. They’re in danger, and it’s a danger they won’t see coming. Others are trying to get eyes on them—the kinds of eyes that don’t blink when they find their targets.”

  Will pursed his lips. “Rugr, it pains me to say no; it really does, but I just don’t think this is the right job for me.”

  Rugr studied him for a long moment. “Do you remember the lich at Hoz Amallh?”

  Will stiffened, the grin vanishing from his face. “Fuck that bitch. And it wasn’t my choice to go in there. That was Maya’s crusade, not mine. We lost good people there, Rugr. Three lives for nothing. No amulet. No glory. And not long after, I lost Maya too.”

  Rugr nodded solemnly. “I’m sorry to bring it up, but the two I want you to find? The word is they killed the lich. About a week to ten days ago.”

  Will froze. “You’re serious? That doesn’t seem possible. Are you sure?”

  “As sure as I can be without seeing it myself,” Rugr replied.

  Will exhaled, trying to process the weight of the claim. The vengeance he’d carried like a stone in his chest had already been delivered if it was true.

  “I’ve been around. I’ve seen what it takes to even survive an encounter with something like that wretched whore. How is it possible?”

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  “Well, the girl is competent, and the young man she travels with seems a bit raw but... capable. My best guess is that together, they’re dangerous in ways the witch didn’t see coming.”

  Will sighed in resignation. “Where are they?”

  “Southwest, traveling toward Ilimar, likely trying to stay inconspicuous. You’ve got time to intercept them.”

  Will sighed. “Fine. I’ll leave tonight.”

  Rugr put a hand on his chest, stopping him. “You’ll need Maya.”

  Will’s jaw tightened. “Why?”

  “The girl is young but powerful. She’ll need both of you, but she’ll need Maya more.”

  “I feel like this will be a hard ‘no’ for Maya. Especially with me involved.”

  Rugr displayed a devious grin. “Even when you tell her the girl wields the ancient magic of the Kull?”

  Will’s eyes widened. “Kull? What the fuck? Who is this girl? How is it possible she wields the ancient magic?”

  “Her name is Kleo, and for all intents and purposes, she’s my daughter. As far as the Kull magic— I’m not sure. Much to my surprise, she started using it when she was seven. Of course, she hasn’t had any formal training, and I can count the number of people who even know that Kull magic exists on one hand.”

  “Yes,” Will nodded, “and Maya is one of them.”

  Rugr nodded. “You’ll need her experience. You know it as well as I do.”

  Will stared into Rugr’s eyes, then finally gave a sharp nod. “I’ll try. No promises.”

  “Be persuasive, Will,” Rugr said with a faint chuckle. “You’re good at that.”

  Will grunted, turning back toward the tavern. “Come on. You owe me a pint.”

  As they stepped back into the Wretched Dog, Will’s thoughts turned to Maya and the uncertainty of their reunion. Three years of silence, and now, the faintest glimmer of a second chance.

  Will walked through the quarter where Maya lived, a nice place on a hill overlooking vast swaths of Ilimar. The steady climb to the top matched the weight pressing on his chest. His jaw was tight, anxiety swirling as he rehearsed what he might say. It had been three years—three long years—since they had spoken.

  Every day since, his heart had ached with regret. Regret for not finding the strength to knock on her door, for not finding the words that might have started to mend the jagged wound between them. He had been angry, blaming her for Jerod’s death—his brother lost to that cursed witch and the ill-fated quest for the amulet. Her obsession had led them to that moment, and Jerod had paid the price.

  Yet he knew, deep down, that Maya hadn’t been at fault. Jerod had known the risks. He had convinced them both to go. If blame lay anywhere, it was likely with Will himself—for not committing, for hesitating when he needed conviction the most. That understanding had come too late; now, he carried the weight of his failures alongside his grief.

  Tonight, though, he would knock. He had waited too long.

  As he neared the house, the streets grew quieter. The homes here were spacious, well-kept, and spread apart—a stark contrast to the crowded, chaotic quarters where he stayed. Maya’s home reflected her: orderly, dignified, and out of his reach. He was happy for her, glad she had a place where she could study and write in peace. A historian now, she had turned her focus to the past, perhaps to escape the pain of the present.

  He stood at the gate, steadying himself, his emotions a storm within. Fear crept in—the fear of rejection, of seeing indifference in her eyes. After a deep breath, he approached the gate and, finding it locked, rang the bell. The clang echoed through the quiet night, jarring against his nerves. He waited, his pulse quickening as a light moved behind the window. The door opened, but it wasn’t Maya.

  “Sylvia,” Will greeted, recognizing her as Maya’s assistant. “It’s Will. I need to speak to Maya. It’s important.”

  Sylvia frowned but said nothing, retreating into the house and closing the door.

  He waited, each passing second stretching his agony. Right when he considered leaving, the gate swung open.

  Straightening his clothes, he walked up the path to the door, where he waited again. When it finally opened, it was Maya.

  She was as beautiful as he remembered—tall and poised, her fine robe draped elegantly around her, her hair pulled back to reveal sharp, intelligent eyes. Yet there was a stiffness to her posture, a guarded coolness. But her eyes… betrayed her—sadness, maybe, or something softer.

  “William,” she said without flair.

  “Hello, Maya,” he managed, his voice strained. “I’m sorry for the late hour, but I need to discuss something with you. Something you’ll find interesting.”

  She didn’t respond, her expression unreadable.

  “But first,” he continued, “I want to apologize. I blamed you for Jerod’s death, and that wasn’t fair. I failed you that day at Hoz Amalh and have failed you every day since. I know asking for forgiveness is too much, but I needed to say it. I’ve carried those words for far too long.” He bowed his head, unable to meet her gaze.

  There was a pause before she spoke, her voice soft but steady. “I do forgive you, William. We both lost Jerod that day. It’s a heavy weight for us both. Now, what is it that you came to tell me?”

  Relief swept over him as he straightened. Her posture had softened, and so had her tone.

  “Rugr found me tonight,” he said. “He has a job. Babysitting, more or less—guiding a young man and woman traveling toward Ilimar.”

  Maya raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “I hope there’s more to this story.”

  “There is,” Will said. “These two… there are rumors they killed the witch.”

  Maya’s gaze sharpened, though her face remained composed.

  “My role is to find, train, and keep them out of Ilimar. Rugr says there are dangers they don’t see coming.”

  “There are always unseen dangers,” Maya replied. “Hoz Amalh was proof enough of that. What makes this assignment different?”

  Will hesitated, then pressed on. “Maya, they killed her. If it’s true… I have to know how. I need to know after everything we lost—Jerod, us.”

  She stared at him for a long moment. “If it’s true, it’s interesting. But that doesn’t mean I’ll pack my bags and join you.”

  “Rugr thinks you’re essential,” Will said, his voice firm. “He said the girl is powerful but untrained. She’ll need your expertise.”

  Maya frowned. “What expertise could I possibly have that others don’t? The only thing remotely unique about me is my knowledge of—” Her words faltered as realization dawned. “No. That’s impossible.”

  Will held her gaze. “Rugr says she started using the magic at seven.”

  “That’s impossible,” Maya said, her voice trembling. “Nothing is more impossible.”

  “It’s what he told me, and—Rugr’s no liar.” Will insisted. “He says she needs your guidance.”

  Maya closed her eyes, steadying herself. After a long breath, she called for Sylvia.

  “Yes, madam?”

  “Prepare my bag for travel. Clothes, essentials, and leave some room for books.”

  Sylvia nodded. “At once, madam.”

  Maya turned back to Will. “Get our horses ready. We’ll leave for Midena within the hour. From there, we can make a plan.”

  Will nodded, relief mingling with apprehension as he turned to leave. Walking away, he allowed himself a small hope. Three years of silence and now, a slight chance for a new beginning.