image [https://img.wattpad.com/06e124859c23de7e4871e20df9de78785e1f012a/68747470733a2f2f73332e616d617a6f6e6177732e636f6d2f776174747061642d6d656469612d736572766963652f53746f7279496d6167652f62695758616f70306e364b2d57513d3d2d313531353533313933382e313832313331623265636163366533303134333238363132353232312e6a7067]
Three years ago..
In the shadowed corner of the urchin den sat a wisp of a girl, nearly lost among the debris scattered across the floor. Gael wouldn't have noticed her at all if not for the way her gaze seemed to latch onto him the moment he stepped inside. Even among the street-hardened kids, her stare made her stand out. It was sharp, unrelenting, and impossible to ignore. Whenever their eyes met, even briefly, Gael could feel her attention like a cold hand on the back of his neck. Unsettling, to say the least.
The others were no help when he asked about her. Hard stares and tight-lipped silence were all he got—until he found Lander.
Lander, wiry and battered, looked older than the rest—maybe sixteen or seventeen. He was the kind of kid who traded in whispers and secrets, the sort who'd sell you the time of day if it meant filling his belly. He was a walking ledger of rumors, and tonight, he wore the price of his trade: a swollen black eye and a split lip that made his grin look more like a grimace. Gael couldn't help but wonder who'd managed to land a blow on someone like Lander. He sank down beside Gael, wincing as he settled onto the floor.
"Name's Lander," he said, jerking his chin toward the girl in the corner. "Heard you've been askin' about Vess."
So that was her name. Vess. It fit her—sharp and short, like the way she looked at Gael, equal parts curiosity and contempt.
"I am," Gael admitted.
Lander's puffy face lit up, though the expression seemed to cost him. "Lucky for you, I know a thing or two. Lived just past Lenter-lane before... well, before it happened." He kissed the back of his thumb, a superstitious gesture that didn't match his usual swagger.
"Before what happened?" Gael asked, leaning in.
"You're new here, ain't ya?" Lander didn't wait for an answer. "Figured. Nasty business with her family. Over in Rakan District. Slaughtered, they were. Little over a year ago." His voice dropped, and his eyes flicked to Gael's meager sack of belongings. "Her name was Vanessa Emberlin. Before, anyway...now she only responds to Vess."
Gael pulled the sack closer, instinct tightening his grip. "I've got nothing to trade."
"Don't need coin," Lander said, his gaze sharpening. "I trade in secrets. Like the one you've been sittin' on since you stumbled in here, bloody and screamin' about magic." He leaned closer, his breath sour. "What happened that night?"
A flash of memory—red rage, a body falling, the taste of fear—surged through Gael.
"Or," Lander added quickly, "somethin' else. Your choice."
Gael swallowed the anger rising in his throat. "No. It's a fair trade." His voice was low, barely above a whisper.
"I killed that lord—the one who supposedly fell from his window."
For a moment, a bitter flash of regret mixed with raw adrenaline surged through him. He knew the words would ignite whispers, earning him grudging respect on the streets long before the enforcers arrived. Yet even as his heartbeat steadied, he couldn't ignore the tremor of uncertainty in Lander's shocked gaze.
"You?" Lander said finally, a smirk tugging at his busted lip. "A scrawny kid like you? What are you, eleven?"
"Twelve," Gael snapped, straightening his shoulders. It didn't help. He still felt tiny under the much larger boys scrutiny. "I caught him off guard." he finished weakly.
Lander chuckled, then winced, touching his swollen face. "Kid, if you're lyin' to me—"
"I'm not." Gael's voice was firmer now, though his hands trembled. "I've held up my end. Believe me or don't. That's your choice."
Lander stared at him for a long moment, his light brown eyes searching for something Gael couldn't name. Then he shrugged, the motion careful, as if his bruises protested every movement.
"Alright, kid. Let's talk about Vess." He paused, considering, then added, "That bought you two questions. I'll answer 'em to the best of my abilities. Truthfully." When Gael gave him a skeptical look, Lander raised a hand, his tone suddenly solemn. "On the Father's honor," he said, almost reverently.
Two questions. Gael knew he shouldn't waste them, but the same words kept bubbling to his lips until he couldn't resist any longer.
"Why does everyone act so weird when I ask about her? What's she done to make them so nervous?"
Lander leaned back, his expression shifting as if he were weighing how much to say. He closed his eyes, composing himself, and when he spoke, his voice was low, almost a whisper. "Depends on who you ask. Some say she stole fire magic from her parents and burned them alive—along with half the street." He shivered despite the warm, musty air of the den, his fingers absently tracing the edge of his busted lip.
Gael frowned. "And if I asked you? Do you know the truth?"
Lander's eyes flicked open, sharp and calculating. "Well, that's the hard bit. Even me, with all my vast knowledge—" he gestured grandly, though the effect was ruined by his wince, "—only have rumors to go by."
"That's fine with me," Gael said quickly.
Lander nodded, then closed his eyes again, as if summoning the story from some deep, dark place. "Some say her parents were killed by a powerful underground kingpin. The fire was just a cover-up." His voice caught for a moment, and he swallowed hard before continuing. "But I was there that day. The flames... they were unnatural. Burned for hours, even with water magi trying to stop 'em. Nothing worked. Not until it burned itself out."
Gael's breath hitched. "And she survived that?"
Lander's lips curled into a grim smile. "She did more than survive it. When the fire finally died, well into the morning, the only thing left standing was Vess. Curled up in a ball, passed out cold, surrounded by ashes. And not just ashes of the buildings—ashes of the people who'd tried to stop her. Or so the rumor goes."
Gael's stomach twisted. He could almost picture it: the charred remains of Lenter-lane, the eerie silence after the flames, and Vess, small and fragile-looking, lying untouched in the center of it all. It didn't make sense. None of it did.
"That's one, kid," Lander said, pulling Gael back to the present. "You've got one more."
Gael took a moment to think, turning over the possibilities in his mind. He wanted more than just rumors—something concrete, something real. If Lander was as religious as his oath to the Father implied, maybe he'd honor it with more than half-truths. Gael leaned forward, his voice low but deliberate.
"Does she ever talk about what happened? Or does she just sit there, staring daggers at everyone, tight-lipped?"
Lander scratched the back of his neck, his expression shifting as if weighing how much to say. "I've never seen her talk, not to me, anyway. Tried chatting her up when she first got here. She ignored me for ten minutes straight before I gave up. Got the sense she's not the... chatty type."
Gael frowned, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. "That's all I get? Really?"
Lander shrugged, a sly grin tugging at his split lip. "Hey, it's not my fault if you ask shit questions, kid." He held up his hands in mock surrender, then sighed, relenting. "Fine. She's only been here a month, so I don't know everything. But nobody knows where she's been since the fire last year. One day, she just showed up—no explanation, no nothing. Just that red blanket of hers and that... blank stare."
Gael glanced over at Vess, his stomach tightening as he caught her eye. Her gaze cut through him, sharp and unrelenting, as if she could see every secret he'd ever tried to hide. He looked away quickly, but the weight of her stare lingered, leaving him exposed. If he wanted real answers, he'd have to go to the source. But the thought of approaching her, of stepping into the path of that piercing gaze, made him shiver.
"And with that," Lander said, breaking the tension, "our transaction is complete!" He performed a quick, intricate hand gesture with his fingers—a flourish that seemed almost ceremonial—before bowing slightly, his bruised face twisting into a grin. "Pleasure doin' business with you, kid."
And just like that, Lander was off, weaving through the den to start another "transaction" with the another urchin. Gael was left alone, his mind buzzing with questions and a gnawing sense of inevitability. There was only one path forward now, and it led straight to her.
After what felt like an eternity of gathering courage, Gael finally stood and approached Vess. He moved slowly, cautiously, as if she were a startled cat that might bolt—or worse, lash out—at the slightest provocation. Her red blanket was draped over her shoulders like a cloak, and her piercing gaze was fixed on some distant point, though he could feel the weight of her attention shift to him as he drew closer.
"Mind if I join you?" he asked softly, his voice quieter than he'd intended. For a moment, the only sound was the gentle rustle of the den. After a few seconds of silence, the girl nodded, her eyes never leaving his.
"You know, they say it's rude to stare," Gael remarked as he leaned back against the wall, a few feet away from Vess. She matched his words with a silence that dragged on for a painfully long moment before Gael cleared hit throat, the awkwardness becoming too much.
"Is it true?" she asked, her voice a mere wisp, raspy with disuse.
The softness of her reply startled him—he hadn't heard a word from her the entire week he'd taken shelter here. How could she possibly know anything about him when they haven't even met? He paused, rubbing his chin. "Everything they say about me is always true," he continued, forcing a small smile that flickered uncertainty. "Unless it's negative—then it's just hearsay."
Next came a sound he cherished—a simple snort, quickly followed by a few seconds of pure, unguarded laughter. Even Vess seemed taken aback after the fact; her pale cheeks flushed as she hastily closed her mouth and looked down at her feet.
"So not only does she talk—she can laugh!" Gael teased.
"I'd almost forgotten what that sounded like..." Her gaze drifted as she slowly raised her hand to her lips, testing her lips a few more times.
"Is it true you have killed someone?" The question, stark against her youthful tone, had caught Gael off guard. In that split second, he noticed a fierce spark in her eyes—a fire that wasn't there a moment before—drawing him in.
"Gael hesitated. He had already sold that truth to Lander, and he knew the rumors would spread like wildfire by week's end. Still, facing this intense girl, he could manage only one word.
'Yes."
He should explain—should justify what he did. But the truth was as simple as could be: he was a killer, one born of necessity but a killer nonetheless.
Vess studied him for a long moment, her slender fingers idly twisting the tassels of her blanket as her sharp amber eyes seemed to strip him bare.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
"How did it feel when you did it?" she whispered gently, the question barely more than a breath.
Gael fell into silence, his thoughts pulling him back to that brutal moment. In the heat of it, the act had been consumed by raw adrenaline—the kind of clarity that only comes when life feels like it's hanging by a thread, and every fiber of instinct screams to survive. There had been no room for guilt, no space for reflection; just an unfeeling certainty that he'd done what needed to be done.
After a long pause, he finally spoke, his voice low, deliberate, as if the words themselves were more difficult than the memory. "In that moment, it felt as if I was... untouchable. Like I was the one in control of everything." He stared down at his hands, fingers curling slightly as a faint tremor began again.
"But the moment it was over, it just... flattened out. Like it never mattered. Like the weight of it hit, but I couldn't feel it anymore. "He closed his eyes, the image of the man's eyes flashing in his mind—the fear dancing across the man's face, the moment he knew Gael had the upper hand.
Vess sat in the heavy silence, her piercing gaze unwavering as she watched him, the world around them still and tense. Slowly, with an almost deliberate grace, she set the blanket aside—its familiar weight no longer enough to keep her hidden, even from herself.
Her fingers, pale and steady, reached into the worn leather pouch at her side, pulling out a half-burned letter. Its elaborate gold script—once pristine now marred by fire—still spoke the name at the bottom with unmistakable clarity: "Madam Ores."
For a long moment, the crinkling parchment was the only sound either of them heard in the dimly lit room. Vess traced the edges of the letter, the blackened corners of history shifting uneasily between them. The weight of it, of all it represented—her past, her purpose, her future—pressed down on her chest, constricting the space between them.
Gael's gaze locked onto hers, and in the quiet of the moment, their unspoken understanding passed between them—both bound by past actions, pulled irresistibly toward an ending long set in motion by unknown forces.
Vess’s slender fingers, pale and trembling slightly, placed the letter on her lap. The flickering light from a nearby lantern caught the sharp angles of her face—her high cheekbones, the faint burn mark that traced a jagged path from her left cheek down to her neck, disappearing beneath the collar of her threadbare shirt. It was a reminder of the fire that had claimed her past, a scar that seemed to pulse with the weight of her memories. Her amber eyes burned with a fire Gael couldn’t quite name, and though she was small, almost fragile-looking, there was a hardness to her, like a blade forged in a storm. Her red blanket, now pooled around her, seemed to mirror the intensity of her gaze, as if it too were alive with the weight of her resolve.
Gael watched her, his breath shallow, the air thick with unspoken words. He could feel the gravity of the moment pressing down on him, the kind of tension that made the world seem smaller, sharper, as if everything else had faded away.
Then, so softly it almost went unheard, Vess parted her lips and whispered, "I will end her."
The words hung in the air, sharp and unyielding, like the edge of a knife. Gael’s chest tightened, and for a moment, he hesitated. He didn’t know Ores, didn’t know what she’d done to deserve Vess’s hatred. But he knew the look in Vess’s eyes—the cold, unwavering clarity of someone who had nothing left to lose. It was the same look he’d seen in his own reflection the night he’d killed the lord.
And though a part of him wanted to pull away, to distance himself from the violence he’d tried to leave behind, another part of him felt drawn to her, like a moth to a flame.
“I’ll help you,” he said, his voice low but steady. The words surprised him, but once they were out, they felt inevitable, as if they’d been waiting to be spoken all along.
Vess’s eyes flicked to his, and for the first time, he saw something other than anger or pain in her gaze—something like hope, fragile and fleeting. But just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by that familiar intensity. She nodded once, a silent acknowledgment, and the world around them seemed to snap back into place.
In the dim light of the den, surrounded by the shadows of their pasts, the two of them sat in silence, the weight of their shared purpose settling over them like a storm waiting to break.
Vess clenched her fist harder, the sharp pressure of her nails sinking into her palm [https://img.wattpad.com/a07be53fa3b792c8df085b359925b5a55ac39d20/68747470733a2f2f73332e616d617a6f6e6177732e636f6d2f776174747061642d6d656469612d736572766963652f53746f7279496d6167652f75794c7976727572387a79762d413d3d2d313531353533313933382e313832313737363033353664636162343931323431363239393931392e706e67?s=fit&w=1280&h=1280]
Vess clenched her fist harder, the sharp pressure of her nails sinking into her palm. The urge to act—to pull out the hidden blade she kept beneath her sleeve, but she forced herself to stop.
The sight of the woman in front of her sent a raw, burning rage through her veins. Everything they'd worked for was on the verge of being undone, and yet, all she could think of was striking the frail woman across from her. But no matter how good it would feel, she knew she had to be patient.
Vess' thoughts flickered briefly to the way the woman had positioned them—alone, without Lurras at her side. If she'd felt vulnerable, she wouldn't have left them in a room alone with her. It was clear: there was confidence in her composure, in knowing she could handle two street kids who were more reckless than skilled.
Vess's mind raced, each thought tumbling over the next, sharp and frantic. What if this was their only shot—her team's one chance, without that lap dog of hers and his fancy Rune-Plate complicating everything. Who could say when they'd ever get another opportunity like this?
The gnawing urgency clawed at her chest, pushing her to act, to do something, anything. But amidst the panic, the knot in her stomach tightened, making it harder to breathe. Beyond the pressure of the moment, there was a deeper, more suffocating frustration—a fiery anger she hadn't been ready for, burning hotter than even her desire for revenge. What enraged her the most, though, was seeing that woman again, Her too-pleased smile, the way she seemed so satisfied to see Vess again—it felt like some twisted version of kinship.
Her thoughts spiraled, and Vess's vision began to blur at the edges. She felt the familiar rush of cold sweat bead on her forehead, her breath catching like shards of glass slipping past her throat. She could feel her heartbeat thundering, out of control, as the strangling panic closed in. And then, as if the world had sharpened into a razor's edge, she caught herself.
No, she wouldn't let it happen again. Not like before. Not with Gael. He knew better than to trust her completely, he was playing her, just like all the others—just like all their marks. Her breath steadied with effort, but the weight of the moment still pressed into her chest.
Vess forced her focus inward, retreating to the quiet sanctuary of her youth—a vast, still pond reflecting a bright blue sky studded with immaculate white clouds. Each step in her mind sent gentle ripples across the water, yet the surface remained serene. When she opened her eyes again, both Gael and Ores watched her with expectant intensity.
"Vess, are you okay?" Gael whispered, his voice low as he flicked his index finger inward twice—a signal checking if the plan was still on.
Vess slowly unclenched her fists, noticing a thin trail of blood trailing down her hand. Instinctively, she tucked her hands into her pockets and forced her expression into one of controlled neutrality—a blend of fear and reverence, precisely as they had practiced.
"Sorry, Madam—I missed what you said. Could you repeat it?" she asked, her tone measured and even.
Ores shifted her cane back to her side before reclining into her luxurious throne, a seat that dwarfed the frail old woman herself. "I asked how the young heir to the Emberlin trading dynasty ended up resorting to thievery on the very streets her ancestors helped build?"
"I asked how the young heir to the Emberlin trading dynasty ended up resorting to thievery on the very streets her ancestors helped build," she inquired, her tone laced with controlled amusement.
"If you recall, the Emberlin's unfortunately suffered a terrible accident a few years back—nasty business," Vess replied, her hands tensing in her pockets. "The following months were... challenging. I found myself in desperate need of something more than just a burned legacy."
She was going off-script now and she could sense Gael's intense gaze, the worry etched into his expression that always irked her despite its well-founded nature. With deliberate effort, she unclenched her fists and withdrew them from her pockets, offering a small, furtive gesture of reassurance with her index finger—a silent confirmation that their plan remained intact.
"Then," pausing dramatically, just as Gael had shown her "I found Gael—and he showed me the joys of thieving." Vess flashed her best impression of Gael's confident smirk and shot Ores what she hoped was a winning grin.
Ores shifted her cane back to her side and reclined into her luxurious throne—a seat that should have made the frail old woman seem diminutive, but instead somehow made her look impressive. "I see. Well, I do hope your thieving is better than your spell casting—you know exactly how poorly that went last time," Ores remarked dismissively, turning her attention back to Gael.
Vess's stomach tightened at the words.
That BITCH!
Under Ores's unrelenting gaze, Gael's eyes flickered with a trace of nervousness before his tension eased—he seemed to recognize that she wasn't about to leap across the table and strangle Ores. He pressed on, his voice suddenly oily with ambition.
"Your knight told us you needed our unique 'skillset'—that you'd be willing to employ us," Gael declared, his eyes glinting with greedy resolve. To Vess, he appeared every bit the audacious thief, desperate to prove himself.
Ores sighed and let her hand glide over a scroll, unclasping it as it unfolded, an elaborate red script written across the golden parchment. "A skillset you put on full display today when you made a fool of Lord Kiron's elite guards," she said. "A grievance, I hear, that forced three of his personal guards into early retirement." Her hand signed the bottom of the scroll before moving to the next repeating the process.
"I don't see the problem. They gave a good chase and brought home the gem with proud looks on their faces—"—Ores cut him off sharply. "A clear fake, easily shattered under real scrutiny. But you knew they wouldn't notice, didn't you, Gael? In fact, if I was a betting woman id say you knew exactly who you were stealing from today" A dangerous glint flashed in her eyes as she scrutinized him.
Gael paused, and for a heartbeat his carefully maintained mask slipped, sending an unexpected flutter through Vess's heart. Quickly, he recovered, seamlessly continuing their rehearsed script. "I assume you'd prefer the very best on your side—not some half-wit common pickpocket. We do our research before we strike, and we only take from those who won't be left destitute when we're done."
Ores scoffed, her tone dripping with derision. "How very noble of you. I suppose you redistribute the wealth amongst the common folk, then?"
"If by 'common folk' you mean our crew, then yes—we do quite a bit of that," Gael replied, punctuating his words with a small, almost theatrical bow.
"Once you work for me, however, you'll be using those skills for a higher purpose than simply amassing wealth, young man," Ores declared, her voice cutting through their banter like a sharpened blade.
That remark was rich coming from someone whose opulent sitting room could have fed an entire crew for a year. It was evident she had never known want, yet she judged them for stealing to survive. Gael brushed a stray lock of hair from his eyes—a subtle gesture betraying his annoyance.
"I'm not sure what calling could be higher than accumulating large sums of wealth," Gael said, his tone laced with a hint of defiance. "But.. I'm open to finding out."
Vess watched as Ores let out an exasperated sigh. In one fluid motion, the woman rose from her desk and closed the distance between them faster than Vess had ever imagined possible—so precise, she seemed to glide rather than walk.
"What do you know of me, Gael? Surely you've heard the rumors since your arrival in Jesarin," Ores inquired, her voice a mix of challenge and quiet amusement.
"Well, clearly you are stinking rich," Gael replied, sweeping a hand around to emphasize the opulence surrounding them. "But beyond that, all I know is that you get things done that others either can't or won't."
A subtle smile crept across Ores’s face as she leaned on her cane, momentarily reclaiming the familiar guise of the frail old woman Vess had once known. "Walk with me, young man," she said, extending her hand forward. "I'll show you a bit of what I do, so you may one day find a calling more worthy than coin."
Without so much as a glance in Vess’s direction, Madam Ores guided Gael toward the far end of the chamber, her cane tapping lightly against the polished floor. She gestured at various paintings and pointed out particular koi she was especially proud of, her voice carrying the practiced ease of someone accustomed to admiration. Gael chuckled—an honest, unguarded sound that grated against Vess’s nerves more than she cared to admit.
This was going to be much harder than she had imagined.
image [https://img.wattpad.com/87b79890e440f75f1426a543d267f49507e74283/68747470733a2f2f73332e616d617a6f6e6177732e636f6d2f776174747061642d6d656469612d736572766963652f53746f7279496d6167652f5a6c4b6d4157524758714c6277673d3d2d313531353533313933382e313832323533346632376263623438613837383231333439303332342e706e67]
Gael had to admit, Madam Ores was disarmingly charismatic. Her wit was razor-sharp, her stories effortlessly engaging, and every question he asked was met with an answer so clever and charming it felt impossible not to be drawn in. Vess had warned him about this—that Ores was a powerful magi and that her influence had a way of making you like her without a single spell being cast. At the time, he’d assumed Vess was exaggerating.
Now, he wasn’t so sure.
“I have to ask—what could a woman as rich as you possibly need a crew like ours for? I’d imagine you could just buy any trinket you had your eye on.”
Ores stopped before a large set of scrolls, mounted like an elaborate mural, each one depicting a breathtaking scene of the each of the four Realms. The artistry was exquisite—every brushstroke painstakingly detailed, as though the landscapes might shift if he looked too closely.
“You’d be right,” she said, her voice carrying the quiet satisfaction of someone accustomed to getting what she wanted. “I paid nearly four thousand Gin to have this commissioned and transported here. Coin is not the bottleneck of my enterprise, Gael. Now, why don’t you take a guess at what is?”
Her sharp, clever gaze settled on him, weighing his reaction. He recognized the test for what it was, but how was he supposed to answer when he barely understood what she even did to accumulate such wealth?
Still, he wasn’t about to back down.
“Well—the obvious answer would be things so valuable they aren’t for sale,” he said, tilting his head toward her. “Like that little gem we swiped earlier.”
Gael expected a pleased nod, maybe even a smirk of approval at his answer. Instead, Ores merely tilted her head, watching him as though weighing something far greater than the words he’d just spoken.
"An obvious answer," she agreed, her tone smooth, "but not exactly the right one, and yet not fully wrong either."
She turned back to the mural, running a delicate hand along the parchment, her fingers tracing the winding rivers and towering spires painted across the scrolls.
"The things I desire aren’t just rare, Gael. They’re beyond the reach of coin. Tell me—what is more valuable than wealth? What stands in the way of even the most powerful figures in the Realms?"
Gael frowned, considering. The test continued, it seemed, but he wasn’t sure if the answer she wanted was some abstract philosophy or a practical reality. He glanced at Vess, half-hoping for a clue, but she was watching Ores with thinly veiled disdain.
"Knowledge," he guessed. "Or… maybe influence? The kind of power that gets people to move without coin?"
Now, a slow smile crept onto Ores’s lips. "Better." She gestured for him to follow, stepping away from the scrolls. "Walk with me."
Gael hesitated, his hand twitching at his side. For a heartbeat, he felt the weight of Vess’s gaze on him, a silent reminder of the promise they’d made. He remembered the way she’d looked at him in the urchin den, the way her voice had cracked when she whispered, “I will end her.” That promise had bound them together, and now, standing here in Ores’s opulent chamber, it felt like a chain tightening around his chest.
But there was something about Ores—the way she spoke, the way she carried herself—that made it impossible to look away. She was offering him something he had barely dared to dream of, and the temptation was almost too much to resist.
“Alright,” he said finally, his voice quieter than he’d intended. He stepped forward, falling in step beside Ores, but the weight of Vess’s gaze followed him, a silent reminder of the promise they’d made
Ores led him past towering bookshelves and gilded lanterns that flickered with soft golden light, pausing before a display case filled with relics—an array of impressive objects, each as intricate as the Catalyst.
"These," she gestured at the collection, "are not just artifacts. They are keys. Some open doors to places long forgotten. Others to knowledge buried by time. But the most precious among them—" she reached into her pocket pulling out the Catalyst, tapping it once as it began to hum."—unlock people."
Gael raised a brow. "People?" His eyes drawn to the glow of the Catalyst.
Ores turned to him, her expression unreadable. "You misunderstand what power truly is, boy. It is not simply magic. It is not wealth. It is not even control. It is knowing where to place your faith. Knowing who to empower and when." closing her hand around the gem and sequestering it back into her elaborate robe.
Gael had no response to that.
"Coin can buy a great many things Gael," she continued, stepping closer. "And yet you will find it cannot buy trust. Nor can it buy loyalty. And it certainly cannot ensure that those with the strength to change this world will ever have the chance to do so." Ores shook her head "Coin is a tool, a useful one yes, but a tool nonetheless"
Gael exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of her words settle in. He didn’t fully understand what she was getting at, but he knew enough to recognize a shift in the conversation. She was no mere hoarder of magical artifacts—she was a woman with a purpose. And, more importantly, she seemed to think he had a role to play in it.
"So tell me, Gael," Ores said, her voice quiet but firm. "What is your ambition? You and your crew, you scrape by, taking jobs, making enemies. But for what? Gold? Survival?" She shook her head. "You’re better than that. I think you know you’re better than that."
Gael clenched his jaw, suddenly uncomfortable.
"You want to know why I need a crew like yours?" Ores stepped past him, her cane tapping against the floor as she moved toward a set of doors leading to a moonlit balcony. "Because history doesn’t favor the strongest or the richest, Gael. It favors those who dare to take the first step and use their gifts."
The words struck something deep in Gael’s chest, a flicker of something he wasn’t ready to name. He shot a glance at Vess, but she was already looking away, her expression unreadable.
Gael felt a strange weight settle in his chest, heavier than the pouch of stolen coin at his belt. He had always believed that power belonged to those who took it. But now, for the first time, he wondered if it also belonged to those who knew where to place it.
As Ores stepped onto the balcony, her silhouette framed by the moonlight, Gael glanced back at Vess. Her arms were crossed, her expression unreadable, but her eyes burned with a quiet intensity that sent a shiver down his spine. For a moment, he felt torn between the woman who had given him purpose and the one who promised him something greater.
Then Ores’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and deliberate. “Tell me, Gael—do you believe in destiny?”
The question hung in the air, heavy with implication. Gael hesitated, his gaze flicking between Ores and Vess. Whatever answer he gave, he knew, would change everything.