The sun barely peeked through the morning haze over Montressa when the guards arrived at a small, unremarkable home nestled within the lower district. It was the dwelling of Velrik’s closest companions, now sitting uncomfortably beneath the steely gaze of the city’s enforcers, likely tipped off by Lucien.

  Elisa kept her hands folded neatly in her lap, her expression carefully schooled into neutrality. She had faced questioning before—back when Veldoran’s house had crumbled, and her freedom had come at the cost of uncertainty. She knew better than to show any signs of weakness.

  The guard captain paced before them, his scrutinizing gaze flitting between her, Mira, Dain, and Joren. His voice was measured, but an edge lurked beneath its calm surface. “Velrik is wanted by the city guard. We know he was involved in the events at the Count’s estate and he lives here.”

  Mira leaned back in her chair, affecting an air of ignorance with an exaggerated shrug. “Haven’t seen him since dinner yesterday.”

  The captain's lips pressed into a thin line. “We know he was in contact with you after last night.”

  Dain crossed his arms, his expression as unyielding as chiseled stone. “How would you know that if he never showed? Besides, I can't see how Velrik would have done anything like this.”

  Joren sighed, rubbing his temples as if the situation were a profound inconvenience. “Look, we’re just trying to get by like everyone else. Velrik does what he does, and we do what we do. Besides, all he ever does is read.”

  The captain narrowed his eyes, suspicions flaring. He didn’t believe them; however, without concrete evidence, his options were limited. After a long pause, he straightened. “If any of you hear from him, understand that harboring a fugitive is punishable by death.”

  As the guards departed, the four exchanged worried glances. They had no idea where Velrik had gone, and even if they did, they wouldn’t dare betray him.

  Lucien Dreymont stood before the king, the weight of his choices settling heavily upon his shoulders. He had done what was necessary. The Count lay dead, the corruption exposed, and soon the city would find itself under new leadership—his leadership, allowing him to fix the rampant corruption in his hometown.

  “The evidence is indisputable,” Lucien stated, laying out the final documents upon the grand table. “The late Count engaged in illicit dealings with foreign kingdoms, including the enslavement of free citizens. His crimes warranted immediate justice.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  The king, an aging man with keen eyes, studied the papers before giving a nod of agreement. “You have done well in bringing this to light, Dreymont. Montressa will have a steady hand to guide it through this transition.”

  Lucien bowed his head in acknowledgment. “I am ready to undertake that responsibility, Your Majesty.”

  With a regal gesture, the king signaled his approval. “I only expect the best.”

  Lucien exhaled, though no sense of satisfaction emerged from this victory. Velrik had become ensnared in his web—an unfortunate necessity within a more significant scheme. He had never intended to involve the boy, but there had been no other way. Now with power within his grasp, he could commence the real work of rebuilding the city from the inside out. He grew up in Montressa and would do whatever was necessary to save it.

  Velrik would despise him. That much was inevitable. But perhaps, in time, the boy would come to understand.

  Lucien hoped for that reconciliation, though he felt doubt flicker within.

  Gareth Vayne had vanished. No trace of him remained in Montressa. No whispers floated in the taverns, no sightings at the docks or the usual hideouts. He had seemingly disappeared, as though he had never existed at all.

  Some believed he had fled far beyond the kingdom, while others whispered that he had become yet another ghost lurking within the city’s underbelly, watching and waiting.

  Wherever Gareth was, whatever he was plotting—only time would unravel the truth

  Northwest of Montressa, on the northern end of Italios just beyond the sprawling city of Avarria, lay the small farming town of Orrano, nestled against rolling fields and serene forests. This place remained untouched by the chaos of the city, where life meandered slowly, dictated by the sun and the seasons rather than by politics or betrayal.

  Velrik sat upon the edge of a wooden fence, observing the town as the morning mist dissipated. The townsfolk were simple—farmers, tradesmen, and merchants traversing on their way to Avarria. The only looks he received at the moment were curious ones, questioning what he was, which suited him just fine.

  His wounds had mostly healed, though the ache in his chest remained. He had lost everything—again. His family, his home, his sense of belonging. Yet buried beneath it all was a slow-burning fury, alive and simmering within him.

  Lucien had played him for a fool. Used him. Discarded him like a pawn. Velrik had trusted him, even if only a fraction, and that trust had been shattered.

  He would not forget that.

  For now, he needed to keep his head low and gather his strength. But one day, he would return—not as a desperate street thief or an expendable rogue.

  No, when he came back, it would be on his own terms. And when that day arrived, he would have a long and hard conversation with that duplicitous bastard—Lucien Dreymont.

  Resolute, Velrik hopped down from the fence, blending into the flow of the town as just another shadow among many in this quiet little abode.

  though I will be tweaking parts to make it work for Velrik's story. Writing this story has been a great way to get my imagination going again and you can probably expect the story to continue for several volumes. The remaining volumes will probably be written in first person from Velrik's perspective, will be longer, and provide a better sense of connection with Velrik.