Erith’s hands trembled as he gripped the rope, the iron grapple at its end swayed unsteadily. His pulse pounded in his ears as he crouched.

Peering around the wooden crate, he scanned the garden for any sign of movement. The silence that fell between patrols was as unsettling as the soldiers themselves. 

Exhaling sharply, Erith fastened the rope around his shoulder and tucked the grapple against his chest.

What the hell was I thinking? Why did I say I could do this? 

Breaking into a fortress. For some guy? For Maeric? 

Brilliant, Erith. Just brilliant.

Erith eyed the balconies that stretched out from the estate’s second floor. He checked his surroundings one final time before pressing forward.

A flicker against the estate wall caught his eye—he barely had time to react before throwing himself back behind the crate.

Footsteps staggered closer. Firelight stretched across the garden, creeping toward where Erith hid.

Pressing himself tightly against the crate, Erith forced his breath steady. He loosened the black cloth around his face, letting the cool night air brush against him.

The soldier walked slowly along the garden pathway, torch in hand, sword at his side. He walked toward the iron fence where there was a clearing between the towering trees.

Stopping at the fence, the soldier gripped one of the bars lightly as he looked beyond. 

Just past the iron bars, the land dropped into a sheer fall—a scar left on the hillside where ground once held firm. Below, Verael stretched out in a vast sprawl of rooftops and winding streets, flickering with distant torchlight.

Time felt suspended. Erith barely breathed as the soldier lingered. Finally, the man turned, walking back down the garden path. The light of his torch receded against the garden shed where Erith hid, legs pulled close against the crate.

Erith waited, listening intently on the fading footsteps. When silence filled in around him, he moved.

Darting across the garden, he reached a wall where vines snaked up a weathered wooden trellis.

Tugging at the frame, Erith tested its strength, his eyes tracing the path to the balcony above. Fingers searching for a grip among the vines, he stepped forward, pressing his weight against the wood. 

He gave a small jump—feeling for any weakness, any sign the trellis wouldn’t hold.

Erith stepped back from the wall. He took one last look, then slipped away toward the fence, vanishing into the shadows.

Almost there…

He crept along the fence, following the slope of the hillside, until he reached a patch of trees across the iron bars.

Erith unfastened the rope, swinging the grapple toward the top of the fence. It met the iron bars with a soft clink.

Without hesitation, Erith pulled himself up, gripping tight as he climbed the rope. Careful to avoid the spokes atop the fence, he swung a leg over, throwing himself over the bars.

The moment his feet hit the ground, he bolted for the trees.

Erith moved carefully, focusing on each step to keep them muffled. Through the trees, the tall outer stone wall came into view.

He peered out from the cover of the trees, searching for any signs of guards walking the grounds.

Keeping low, he approached a tall tree on the edge of the woods, its branches stretching over the peak of the stone wall. He uncoiled his rope and wrapped it around the trunk of the tree.

With a last glance toward the path, he tightened the rope around his waist and began to climb.

Erith perched on a branch stretching out toward the stone wall, squinting at the dark alleyway between two wooden buildings. In the shadows atop the roof, barely visible, a small figure shifted.

He raised a hand, waving at Amun, before inching his way down the branch.

Erith’s gaze fixed on the gap between him and the wall. Too far, but not far enough to hesitate.

He swallowed hard, then jumped.

Shit.

The moment his feet left the branch, he knew he had overcompensated. Only one foot caught the wall at the wrong angle. He slipped, the weight of his body twisted. 

Falling head-first backward, there was nothing to grab.

He closed his eyes, bracing for impact—

A crack split the air.

The air around him distorted. Stone shattered beneath his skull.

Erith lay still, breath hitched in his chest. Slowly, he blinked, staring at the fractured cobblestone where his head should have split open.

He picked himself up, shaking off the moment.

Then, without another thought, he ran into the alley.

The moment he reached cover, his stomach twisted. The rush, the fall—all of it caught up to him at once. 

As Amun dropped down from a nearby banister, Erith doubled over and vomited onto the stone.

Amun slowed his steps. "Well, that’s not great."

Erith wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, breath uneven. “These practice runs are going to kill me.”

Amun raised an eyebrow. “Speaking of things that are going to kill you—how did you just fall that far, land on your head, and not die?”

Erith exhaled, still catching his breath. “Ah… well, it’s using a bit of Kaida and Mura. When you weave them together—”

Amun cut him off. “Right. Your godly magic. Got it.” He motioned ahead. “If you’re done dying, let’s get going.”

Erith pulled the black cloth from his face, stuffing it into a bag slung over Amun’s shoulder.

For a while, they crept through the alleyways in silence as they worked their way back to the Ropewalks.

Amun cast a glance at Erith before breaking the quiet. “Can I ask you something?”

Erith met Amun’s eyes and nodded.

“Is it weird?” Amun kept his voice low. “I mean… having power like that? I saw you fall and thought, ‘That’s that.’ But you stopped your own death.” He shook his head slightly. “My mum and Rin say there are people out there who can do things, sure, but doing that?”

“Rin says, ‘the world’s full of firsts’... but what’s that like? Being the first?”

Erith didn’t answer right away, turning the question over in his mind before speaking.

“I don’t know if I’m really the first…” Erith caught Amun’s skeptical gaze.

“But yeah I’ve been reminded my entire life that I’m not exactly common.”

He paused before continuing.

“It’s not something I’ve thought about in a while—until lately. Maeric looked terrified of me, asked if I intended to harm Aldarath.”  A quiet, humorless laugh escaped him.

“Imagine that? Imagine someone looking you in the eye and asking if you mean to destroy an entire kingdom?”

“Thatch made sure I never forgot what I could do. Every single day was training.” Erith sighed.

“Even then, I always felt there was more to explore. But I never thought much beyond that. Never really thought there was some purpose to it.”

He hesitated. “Well, maybe I did. Maybe I just thought I could ignore it.”

Amun gave him a look, one eyebrow slightly raised.

Before he could say anything, Erith cut in. “Don’t get me wrong. I knew something was there. Thatch reminded me every damn day growing up—if I told anyone, I’d be risking my life.”

Without thinking, he continued, “Elian always said I’d end up strapped to a table in a dungeon in Aldasi if I let it slip.”

Amun’s steps slowed. “Who’s Elian?”

“He was…” Erith's thoughts caught up to him. He struggled with the words.

“Someone I needed to tell.”

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