Thorne’s mind raced as he watched the battle unfold below. The Ravencourt soldiers pressed their advantage, black and silver uniforms clashing violently with the crimson and gold of the Braddock guards. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid scent of smoke, but despite their ferocity, the Ravencourts hadn’t yet overwhelmed the estate’s defenders.

  Thorne’s glowing eyes flicked toward a cluster of guards rallying near the estate’s main entrance. Amidst their shouted orders and frantic movements, his sharp ears caught a critical exchange.

  “We’re holding for now,” one of the Braddock guards growled, his voice strained with effort, “but if we don’t call for reinforcements, they’ll breach the gates!”

  “I’ll sound the bell,” another guard replied, breaking from the group and sprinting toward the alarm bell mounted at the side of the courtyard.

  Thorne’s chest tightened. Time’s running out.

  He shifted his focus to the estate itself, scanning the sprawling compound with sharp eyes. His Veil Sense flared to life, bathing his mind in a detailed map of aetheric cores within range. His pulse quickened as he detected several strong signatures emanating from a smaller building near the edge of the estate, as well as from within the grand house itself.

  The Ravencourts might be winning now, but if reinforcements arrived, it would all be over. Thorne knew he had to act, swiftly and decisively. His glowing eyes darted across the scene, searching for an opportunity.

  Then he spotted it: a small side door tucked against the wall, partially obscured by ivy.

  Memories of Uncle’s estate flooded back, how he used to slip in and out undetected through the hidden service entrance leading to the kitchens. There’s always a back door, he thought, a grim smile tugging at his lips. Always.

  Thorne’s body moved before his mind fully registered the plan. He slipped from his perch on the nearby rooftop, descending the building with practiced ease. His fingers gripped a weathered pipe, and he slid down soundlessly, landing in a crouch. Without hesitation, he darted from shadow to shadow, his Veil of Light and Shadow skill muting his presence with each careful movement.

  The high wall surrounding the estate loomed ahead. Thorne pressed himself against the cool stone, assessing the best route up. His eyes scanned the uneven surface, catching the faint grooves where time had eroded the mortar. That’ll do.

  He scaled the wall in seconds, his gloved fingers finding purchase in the cracks. At the top, he swung his legs over and dropped to the other side, tucking into a roll to absorb the impact. He came up in a crouch, pressing himself against the base of a tall hedge for cover.

  From his concealed position, he watched the guard sprinting toward the bell, the man’s armor clinking with every step. Thorne’s jaw tightened. He didn’t like taking unnecessary lives, but this wasn’t the time for mercy. If that bell sounded, the Ravencourts would be pushed back, and his carefully laid plans would fall apart.

  Thorne crouched low behind the hedge, his glowing eyes locked onto the guard sprinting toward the bell. Every instinct in him screamed to act quickly, but haste without precision would only lead to disaster. He shifted his weight, steadying his breathing, and reached for a dagger hidden beneath his coat.

  The blade was lightweight but perfectly balanced, its edge honed to a razor’s sharpness. Thorne ran his thumb along the hilt, a small ritual to steady his nerves before a throw. The fading sunlight glinted off the polished steel as he adjusted his grip, his fingers curling tightly around the leather handle.

  The guard was halfway to the bell now, his heavy boots crunching against the gravel path. Thorne’s gaze narrowed, locking onto the man’s exposed neck. He adjusted his aim, angling the throw to ensure the strike wouldn’t create a loud clang if the blade hit armor.

  Breathe.

  The world seemed to slow as he inhaled deeply. The chaos of the battle faded into the background, the shouts and clang of metal on metal dulling to a distant hum. All that remained was the target.

  Exhale.

  Thorne let the dagger fly.

  The blade spun end over end, slicing cleanly through the air with deadly precision.

  For a split second, the guard faltered, his stride hitching as if he sensed something amiss. But it was too late.

  The dagger struck true, burying itself just beneath the man’s helmet with a sickening thud. The guard let out a strangled yelp, his hands clawing at his throat as he stumbled forward. His momentum carried him a few more steps before his legs gave out, and he crumpled to the ground in a jarring clatter of metal.

  Thorne was moving before the guard had fully fallen. He sprinted from his hiding spot, his movements swift and silent. The tension in his muscles unwound as he reached the body, his dagger still lodged in the man’s neck. Blood pooled beneath the guard, staining the gravel path a dark crimson.

  Thorne wasted no time, his hands working quickly as he dragged the body toward the hedge. The weight of the armor slowed him, but he gritted his teeth and pushed through, positioning the man’s lifeless form deep within the foliage. The hedge rustled as he straightened, ensuring the body was hidden from view.

  He crouched down, retrieving his dagger with a sharp tug. The blade slid free with a sickening squelch, and he wiped it clean on the guard’s cloak before tucking it back into his belt.

  Standing, Thorne’s eyes flicked toward the bell. The simple metal structure loomed ahead, its brass frame gleaming faintly in the waning sunlight. Not today, he thought grimly.

  He approached cautiously, his fingers tracing the mechanism. A hammer suspended above the bell’s interior was the key to its function. With deft movements, he dislodged it, the hammer clanging softly as it landed in the bushes below.

  The bell was silent now, its warning call silenced before it could sound.

  Thorne couldn’t help but smirk as the chaos unfolded. Uncle’s lessons had always been about pragmatism, why risk yourself when you could make others do the work for you? And here it was, playing out exactly as Uncle had preached. The irony wasn’t lost on him: he was using those very teachings to aid the Ravencourts, Uncle’s sworn enemies.

  Thorne allowed himself a brief moment to exhale, his glowing eyes scanning the courtyard once more. The Ravencourts still pushed forward, their forces battering the Braddock defenders with unrelenting ferocity. One less obstacle, he thought, slipping back into the shadows.

  Thorne’s eyes darted across the courtyard, locking onto the small side door that had drawn his attention earlier. The faint glimmer of hope faded as his Veil Sense painted the picture on the other side. Two guards, cores glowing steadily, standing in wait. His jaw clenched. No way in without causing a scene.

  He scanned the courtyard again, his gaze flitting from the main building to the high walls surrounding the estate. And then, there it was. Half-hidden beneath an overgrowth of ivy, the wrought-iron gate of a service entrance sat nestled against the far wall.

  A smile ghosted across his lips before fading just as quickly. This will do.

  He moved swiftly, darting from shadow to shadow, his steps barely a whisper against the ground. Years of training turned his movements into a practiced rhythm, each step calculated and deliberate.

  The gate loomed before him, its once elegant design marred by age and neglect. But his brief flicker of satisfaction was snuffed out when his eyes landed on the chains wrapped around the gate, padlocked with a heavy mechanism.

  “Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, his fingers running over the cold metal.

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  Unclasping the chains one by one would take too much time, and the noise would likely alert the guards nearby. His mind raced, weighing his options.

  Then he spotted it, a stack of barrels against the side wall of the estate, conveniently placed near the small side door. His lips curled into a grim smile. If I can’t sneak in, I’ll make them too distracted to stop me.

  Thorne crouched low, making his way toward the barrels. Each step was measured, his eyes darting toward the nearby windows and the guards stationed at the front of the estate. The clash of swords and distant cries from the ongoing battle masked the creak of the barrels as he shoved them into position.

  One barrel groaned as it tipped slightly, making him wince. He froze, listening intently for any sign that the guards on the other side of the door had noticed.

  Nothing.

  He exhaled slowly and shoved another barrel into place, creating a barricade that would keep the door sealed. The makeshift blockade wasn’t foolproof, but it would buy him time.

  Satisfied with his work, Thorne returned to the chained gate. His glowing eyes scanned the courtyard one last time, ensuring he hadn’t drawn any unwanted attention. The distant sound of clashing steel reminded him that time was running out.

  This was going to be loud. But that wasn’t a bad thing, it could actually serve as a diversion.

  He stepped back, raising his hands as he tapped into the ambient aether around him. The familiar hum of power coursed through his veins, intoxicating and thrilling. His glowing eyes flared brighter, casting a pale blue light against the ivy-covered wall.

  Aether surged to his call, swirling around him in visible motes that danced and twisted like fireflies caught in a storm.

  “Here goes nothing,” he muttered.

  The skill activated with a rush of power, his Aether Burst tearing free from his outstretched palms in a concentrated blast.

  For the first time, Thorne noticed the change. The blast, once an invisible force, now radiated a kaleidoscope of colors, brilliant and mesmerizing. The sheer force of it ripped through the chains, obliterating the padlock and sending the gate flying off its hinges.

  The crash echoed like a thunderclap, the gate sailing several meters before slamming into the wall of the neighboring estate with a deafening clang.

  Thorne stared at his hands, wide-eyed. “I actually did it,” he whispered, half in disbelief.

  Thorne’s eyes darted to the ruined gate, the aftermath of his Aether Burst still flickering in the air like the fading memory of a lightning strike. His breathing came heavy, the exertion of pulling so much power leaving a faint tremor in his hands. The aether motes surrounding him hummed in satisfaction, their colors gradually dimming as they dispersed into the air.

  He’d never noticed before, his skill transforming, the sheer force amplifying to such an extent. The glowing fragments of aether had painted the courtyard in a dazzling array of hues, and for a fleeting moment, he’d felt invincible. But reality came crashing back with the sound of boots crunching on gravel and panicked shouts from the Braddock guards.

  The heavy thud of the gate against the wall of the neighboring estate still echoed in his ears. It had flown further than he’d anticipated, crashing into the ornate stonework with an almost comical finality. Thorne couldn’t help but allow the smallest smirk to tug at his lips. That’s new, he thought, flexing his fingers as though expecting to feel some residual heat from the power he’d unleashed.

  But celebration would have to wait.

  The pounding on the door behind him intensified, fists and muffled voices yelling commands. The barrels he’d shoved into place shifted slightly with every slam, the wood groaning as if on the verge of giving way.

  And then there were the boots, growing louder and more numerous, heading directly toward him from the courtyard. His diversion had worked perfectly, perhaps too perfectly.

  Time to move.

  Thorne crouched low, slipping into the shadows beside the ivy-covered gate. The glow of his eyes dimmed as he reined in the ambient aether swirling around him, muting his presence. He cast a glance toward the advancing soldiers, their red and gold armor catching the dim light of the battlefield.

  They hadn’t seen him yet, but that would change in seconds.

  Thorne melted into the shadows, his Veil of Light and Shadow shrouding him as he slipped away from the ruined gate. The pounding boots of the Braddock soldiers echoed behind him as they rushed to investigate the disturbance.

  He moved quickly but deliberately, hugging the estate’s walls as his glowing eyes scanned for an opportunity. Time pressed heavily on him, each second ticking louder in his mind.

  And then he saw it, an open window on the third floor.

  “Damn it,” he hissed under his breath. The angle was steep, and the climb wouldn’t be easy, especially in broad daylight. But it was his only option. If he hesitated, the guards would sound the alarm, and his mission would be over before it started.

  Thorne took a calming breath, then dashed forward, his boots silent against the stone as he reached the base of the wall.

  The side of the building was a challenge even for someone of Thorne’s skill. The stonework offered little in the way of handholds, and the ivy-covered patches were too thin to support his weight. He reached for a narrow ledge, his fingers straining as he pulled himself up, his muscles coiling with practiced precision.

  Halfway up, he found a decorative arch that jutted out just enough to give him leverage. His boots slipped momentarily against the smooth stone, and he clenched his jaw to stifle a curse.

  Keep moving.

  A faint noise made him freeze, a pair of guards walking directly below him.

  “I swear I heard something,” one of them muttered, his voice tinged with suspicion.

  “You’re imagining things,” the other replied, though his tone lacked conviction. “Focus on the courtyard. That’s where the fighting is.”

  Thorne pressed himself as flat as he could against the wall, his breath held as the guards passed beneath him. He could hear their armor clinking with every step, the sound growing fainter as they moved away.

  When he was sure they were gone, he exhaled slowly, his heart pounding in his chest.

  The window loomed closer, tantalizingly within reach. Thorne adjusted his grip on the stone ledge, his fingers brushing against the wooden frame.

  He swung one leg up, finding purchase on the narrow sill, and hauled himself the rest of the way inside with practiced ease. His boots landed silently on the polished floor as he crouched low, taking a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dim interior.

  The room was empty, its elegant furnishings untouched by the chaos outside. Thick drapes framed the window, and a faint scent of lavender lingered in the air, a stark contrast to the acrid smell of smoke that filled the city.

  Thorne smiled to himself, brushing dust from his gloves. “One step closer,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

  He straightened, his glowing eyes scanning the room. The faint hum of cores from his Veil Sense told him the house wasn’t empty, but his path remained clear for now.

  It was time to move.

  Thorne’s glowing eyes swept across the room as he activated his Tracking skill. The faint trails of aether left behind by recent movement were sparse, and his Veil Sense remained quiet, alerting him only to faint cores in distant rooms. It seemed the fight outside had drawn most of the estate’s inhabitants away.

  With silent steps, he moved toward the staircase, each creak of the wooden boards beneath him carefully calculated to blend with the groans of the estate as it bore the strain of the battle outside.

  Upstairs, the opulence of the Braddock family became apparent. Thick carpets muffled his steps, and ornate tapestries adorned the walls. His Tracking skill guided him to a large double door, its wood dark and polished. Lord Braddock’s bedroom.

  The room was as grand as expected, with a massive four-poster bed dominating the space. Family portraits hung on the walls, and a gilded mirror stood opposite the window. Thorne moved quickly but thoroughly, scanning every surface and drawer for anything of value or importance.

  Nothing.

  He frowned, his instincts pulling him to the adjacent door. He slipped inside and found himself in a study, a place of business, not rest.

  The study felt more promising. A desk strewn with papers, shelves lined with thick tomes, and cabinets locked tight with brass fittings filled the space. Thorne wasted no time. He sifted through the desk first, discarding letters and ledgers as he searched for something more substantial.

  It wasn’t until his eyes fell on the far wall that he spotted what he was looking for. A large painting hung slightly askew, and beneath it, concealed but not perfectly hidden, was a safe embedded into the wall.

  Thorne smirked. “Found you,” he muttered.

  Crouching down, he pulled out his set of lockpicks, their metallic glint catching the faint light of the room. The lock was stubborn, each pin resisting his efforts.

  Click.

  Finally, the tumblers gave way.

  Skill Level Up: Lockpicking

  The safe swung open, revealing stacks of documents that radiated an aetheric signature almost identical to the one in his coat. Thorne wasted no time. He slid the forged folder into the safe, nestling it among the other papers.

  Before he could close the safe, a glint caught his eye.

  Nestled at the back was a sapphire gem the size of his fist, its facets glowing faintly with imbued aether. Thorne hesitated for only a moment before plucking it from its resting place. “Might as well,” he muttered, tucking the gem into his pocket.

  He shut the safe and repositioned the painting. It looked untouched, the perfect disguise.

  Retracing his steps to the lower floor, Thorne paused, his eyes catching the flicker of flames from the torches mounted on the walls.

  Why not?

  He pulled one from its sconce, its heat licking at his glove, and hurled it at the heavy velvet curtains. The fabric caught fire instantly, the flames devouring the lush material and climbing upward with unnatural speed.

  Satisfied, he moved to the next torch, repeating the process with ruthless efficiency. Each thrown torch ignited more of the room, the thick black smoke spreading rapidly and choking the air.

  By the time he reached the window, half the floor was ablaze. His throat burned as he coughed, the acrid smoke stinging his lungs.

  “I did my part,” he muttered, a note of satisfaction in his voice.

  With one last glance at the destruction he’d wrought, Thorne slipped out of the window, vanishing into the shadows as the estate began to burn.

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