Silas lay in his tent, eyes wide open, staring up at the fabric ceiling as if the answers to his frustrations were hidden there. Sleep evaded him, his thoughts swirling with the memories of recent battles. He couldn’t shake the gnawing doubt creeping into his mind—the stark contrast between how easily he had handled the nobles and their guards at Bitter Creek and how overwhelmed he had felt during the ambush at Amberwood Grove. The Soulweavers at Amberwood Grove had danced around his attacks, leaving him bruised and struggling to keep up.

He sat up, brushing his fingers through his hair, frustration bubbling within. Why had it been so much harder?

It wasn’t just the enemies being stronger this time. Two things stood out. First, he had never fought a real battle against a Soulweaver before. At Bitter Creek, Kael and Uncle Chen dealt with the Soulweavers while he dealt with the guards and nobles who were frightened enough to piss their pants. They weren’t real adversaries.

The second, more damning realisation: his timing.

The battlefield had been chaotic in the battle against the nobles’ guards, and the soldiers were clumsy under the influence of Emphatic Manipulation. Silas had been able to take his time, creating Elemental runes with seconds to spare, executing powerful attacks while the enemy flailed. Similarly, at Darkwood Hollow, Rowan and Layla had bought him precious time to craft his runes, allowing him to unleash his magic with devastating results and ultimately dealing a severe blow to the reanimated corpse.

His fingers drummed against the ground in agitation, and his brow furrowed as he replayed the fight at Amberwood Grove in his mind. Layla had been restrained, Rowan lost in illusions, and he himself was—too slow. Too predictable. His enemies had read his every move before he could even finish a rune.

Each rune he created either stored or directed a particular element’s magic precisely. That precision was necessary, especially when fighting alongside others. Spark, Dust, and Breeze were powerful, but none of them could control their magic perfectly—especially in the chaos of battle. This hadn’t been an issue when he fought alone, but with Rowan and Layla nearby, the wild elemental forces could easily harm them.

That was where the runes came in. They contained his magic, directing it safely and accurately. But each rune took precious seconds to create—time his enemies could use to predict his next move. The second cause of his failure: timing. The noble’s guards had been disoriented, giving him the luxury of time to form his runes.

Unable to sit still any longer, Silas threw off the covers and stepped outside, his mind racing. The cool night air met his skin like a splash of cold water, jolting him into sharper focus. He needed space to think, to plan—to fix what had gone wrong.

“Spark, Breeze, Dust,” Silas called softly, summoning his familiars.

They appeared before him in the quiet night. Spark crackled with energy, Breeze floated in her soft glow, and Dust rolled gently at his feet. Each had great potential, but it wasn’t enough anymore. He needed more than raw power—he required efficiency.

“I’ve been thinking about the last fight,” Silas began, pacing before them. “The problem wasn’t just power—it was timing. I can’t take seconds to make runes in the middle of combat; it’s too slow. But… there’s also the issue of control.” He glanced at each of them. “Your elemental magic is strong, but without runes to guide it, there’s a risk of it hitting my allies instead of the enemy.”

The familiars exchanged glances. Spark spoke first, his voice crackling with energy. “Runes… take time. But… if you… make them… before battle… add magic and... store them?”

Dust hummed, its voice soft like shifting earth. “Maybe… we take them… to Elementis. Store there. But… hard to control. Hard for Breeze… even.”

Silas frowned, intrigued but confused. “You’re saying you can take the runes back to your realm and store them there?”

Breeze floated closer, her ethereal glow calming his frustration. “Yes… we can try.”

The idea sparked something in Silas. A rune array could allow him to store more magic for powerful attacks, but it also meant a more complex, time-consuming preparation. Still, it was a start. “Let’s give it a shot, then.”

He began carving a rune array in the air, each rune etched with wind magic. It was a slow process, but once he completed it, he stepped back.

“What kind of... magic do you want,” Breeze asked Silas.

“Make some Wind Edges, fill the array to its maximum capacity,” Silas responded after thinking for a moment.

Breeze nodded and filled the array with Wind Edges. After the process was complete, the array glowed with a soft green light, which was ethereal and dangerous at the same time.

Silas grew worried rather than happy seeing this. He couldn’t help but ask, “Breeze, can you even take something like this back? Don’t do it if it’s too dangerous.”

Breeze giggled and said, "It’s sweet of you to worry... But we’ll… see what happens, won’t we?"

Then, the glowing lesser spirit inhaled deeply, absorbing the rune array into her body. She shimmered for a moment, then vanished, returning to Elementis. Silas waited in the silence, worried as his heartbeat quickened. Moments later, Breeze reappeared, her glow brightening as she released the array.

The runes sprang into existence, and Silas activated them. Devastating Wind Edges shot forward, tearing through the forest with a buzz. Trees were sliced in half and splintered, leaves and debris swirling in the air.

Silas stood dumbfounded, but before he could process the destruction, Rowan and Layla burst out of their tents, panicking. Rowan’s eyes were wide, alarm quickly turning into exasperation as he glanced at the devastation.

“Silas!” he shouted, his voice groggy but alarmed. “W–What the hell are you doing?”

“We’re trying to sleep!” Layla snapped, rubbing her eyes.

Before he could explain, they pounced on him. Rowan landed a kick on his butt and Layla landed a couple of half-hearted blows on the back of his head until he crumpled in laughter. Their scolding was interrupted by their own amusement. After a few more grumbles, they finally headed back to their tents.

Still full of mirth, Silas turned to Breeze, who hovered nearby. “So, how many of these rune arrays can you store?”

Breeze shook her head, her light dimming. “Only one. It’s… too big... and hard to control.”

Silas nodded, already thinking ahead. “One array is still something. We can work with that.” He glanced at Dust and Spark. “And what about you two? Can you do the same?”

Dust and Spark exchanged looks. “Fill runes... yes,” Dust said slowly. “But... not take them... to Elementis… like Breeze.”

“I see,” Silas muttered, considering his options. If Breeze could store one rune array, he could at least keep her ready with a mighty wind attack. But for Dust and Spark, he needed another solution.

With a resigned sigh, he began carving more runes—one for earth magic and another for fire. By the time he finished, exhaustion had settled into his bones. His magic reserves were mostly drained, but Dust and Spark filled the runes with elemental energy, their forms shimmering faintly as they imbued the arrays with power.

Silas stared at the two arrays before him. “Since you two can’t take these back to Elementis, I guess… I’ll carry them myself. I’ll need to be careful with them and maintain a certain amount of magic as reserves so they don’t go out of control.”

Grimacing, he began etching the runes onto his arms, the symbols glowing faintly against his skin. The cold night air chilled him as he stripped off his shirt, but the discomfort was worth it. When the runes were finally in place, he smiled wearily.

“Now I’ve got three grand attacks—wind, earth, and fire—and I can activate them whenever I need to and control them however I want.”

Feeling more prepared than he had in days, Silas finally lay down, exhaustion tugging him into sleep. Tomorrow would bring its own challenges, but now, with the power etched into his skin, he was ready.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

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Two weeks had passed since Silas, Rowan, and Layla left Amberheart, their journey to Ironvale long and tiring. The endless horizon of flat plains and rocky hills slowly led to the bustling trade city perched on the Eastern Border of Amberfell. The sun set as they arrived, casting a fiery glow over Ironvale’s towering stone walls, the city’s gates standing tall and imposing against the backdrop of the endless desert beyond. On the other side of that border lay the Great Golden Desert, a part of the Solara continent and the domain of the Raet Empire.

Ironvale itself was a busy hub, the last bastion of order before crossing into the lawless expanse of the desert. Traders bustled about the city gates, their camels and carts laden with goods from Solara, the sun-baked continent that bordered Amberfell. The air here carried the scent of spices and sand, tinged with tension. The desert was notorious as a haven for thieves, murderers, and all manner of scoundrels—enough to keep the city’s security tight. Ironvale’s guards frequently patrolled, their armour polished and weapons at the ready, keeping a sharp eye on every caravan entering the gates, a stark contrast to the lawless freedom of the desert.

Ironvale’s architecture had developed into a unique blend of Amberfell’s sturdy designs and Solaran influences, resulting in a functional and artistic cityscape. The streets were lined with buildings constructed from pale sandstone and weathered brick, with smooth, rounded edges that softened their imposing forms. The rooftops featured domes and minarets that stretched upward, echoing the vast openness of the desert sky. Many buildings sported arched windows with carved stone frames, allowing light to filter in through latticework, creating patterns of shadow and light within.

This fusion of cultures had extended to clothing as well. The people of Ironvale wore loose, layered garments in flowing silks and linens suitable for the desert climate. Solaran accents such as wide, embroidered sashes, headscarves, and beaded jewellery had become popular. Many residents donned colourful turbans and veils for protection from the sun and as a fashionable statement. Wealthier citizens incorporated precious stones and metals into their accessories, while leather sandals adorned with intricate patterns were worn for comfort in the hot, arid streets.

Silas could feel the tension in the air as they approached. He scanned the faces of the people they passed—most seemed weary but focused, the kind of focus that came from living so close to danger. The group had discussed their strategy along the way, refining it with every mile they covered. Now that they were here, it was time to implement their plan.

“We’ll split up like we talked about,” Rowan said, his voice steady as they stopped just outside the gate. “Layla, you’ll stay in one of the quieter inns. Silas and I will take a room at another place across town.”

Layla nodded, adjusting her hood to obscure her face from curious eyes. “I’ll lay low for now,” she said. “But remember, if you need me, don’t hesitate to come find me.”

Silas remained silent, but he exchanged a look with Rowan. Their cover stories were simple: Rowan would pose as a travelling merchant, and Silas would be his assistant, conveniently mute to avoid unnecessary conversations. Layla would remain out of sight for now, slipping into the background as they worked.

The city gates loomed closer as they entered Ironvale, the heavy wooden doors creaking as caravans passed through. Silas observed the traders from Solara—tall men with bronze skin and brightly coloured robes, their faces covered with scarves to protect them from the desert sun. Their eyes darted cautiously, aware of the guards watching their every move. The Raet Empire’s reputation followed them everywhere they went, and in a city like this, people were always on edge.

They secured their entrance with minimal fuss, the guards merely took a second glance at Goldie and Trickster. The trio along with Goldie and Trickster made their way through the winding streets of Ironvale. The city was alive with the sound of traders haggling, horses snorting, and the clatter of wagon wheels on cobblestone. Silas could smell the scent of spices, leather, and dust in the air. It was a place of opportunity and danger, and they had to tread carefully.

Rowan led them to their first destination, a modest inn called ‘The Camel Toe,’ located near the city’s southern market. Rowan couldn’t help but chuckle, “What the hell kind of name is that?”

The innkeeper was a round, bearded man who barely spared them a glance as they paid for a single room. They kept their interaction brief, and Rowan played the part of the slightly harried merchant perfectly.

Once their things were settled, they ventured to the second inn, this one was called ‘Sunlit Harbour’ this one tucked away in a quieter part of town near the north wall. It was smaller and less crowded, just what Layla needed to remain unnoticed. Silas watched as she disappeared into the dimly lit doorway, giving them one last nod before retreating to her room.

Rowan cast a glance over his shoulder as they left Layla at the inn. She could handle herself, he knew that. Still, the weight of their trial—and the silence in the streets at dusk—made him uneasy.

After that, Silas and Rowan went back to their inn. They wasted no time in collapsing onto the beds. The soft mattress beneath him felt like a blessing after weeks of rough terrain and sleepless nights. This was The city felt safer than the wilderness, and exhaustion soon claimed them both.

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The following day, after a much-needed rest, Silas and Rowan ventured out to the city’s markets and taverns, their plan in motion. As this was supposed to be a covert operation, Goldie and Trickster were left behind at the inn. Rowan’s merchant persona allowed them to blend in effortlessly. Dressed in well-worn travelling clothes, he fit the seasoned merchant role despite his young age. Silas, posing as his mute assistant, kept his head down, his eyes alert for any sign of trouble.

They made their way toward one of the larger taverns near the marketplace. It was noisy, filled with traders, workers, and caravan guards—exactly the type of people they needed to talk to.

Silas, with a piece of cloth wrapped around his forehead, remained close to Rowan’s side, playing the role of his silent bodyguard. Rowan introduced him as “my assistant, who can’t speak” to anyone who asked. They ordered two glasses of mead, keeping their ears open for any useful information.

At first, the conversations around them were the usual—talk of trade routes, the rising prices of goods, and complaints about the desert’s harsh conditions. But after a while, Rowan began to ask subtle questions, dropping hints about the strange disappearances they had heard about. He mentioned that he had a cousin who went missing a few months ago, supposedly near the border, and that he was trying to gather any information about what had happened.

With that, he made his way to the counter again and asked the waiter about the latest caravans. The man shrugged, uninterested, but the mention of the missing people caught the attention of a few merchants who were resting at the tavern. One of them, a grizzled man with a scar running down the side of his face, leaned over.

“You’re asking about the disappearances?” the man said, his voice low and gravelly. "No one likes talking about it," the merchant muttered, taking a swig of his drink. "Bad for trade, but... hell, it's bad for everyone. We’ve lost good people to whatever’s happening out there.”

Rowan nodded, his expression concerned but not overly surprised. “I’ve heard rumours of caravans going missing, but no one has told me what’s really going on.”

The merchant hesitated, glancing around the tavern before lowering his voice further. “If you ask me, it’s more than just thieves or raiders. There’s something else... some say it’s slavers from the desert. The Raet Empire’s always had a taste for that kind of trade, but it’s gotten worse lately.

Silas kept his face neutral, his hands clenching into fists as he stood behind Rowan. Inside, though, he felt a surge of anger. Slavers. The idea that people were being taken and sold like cattle sickened him, but he kept his emotions in check, focusing on the task at hand.

“We’re just merchants like you,” Rowan said carefully. “ We’re just trying to stay safe out there. Anything we should be watching for?”

The man rubbed his chin, his eyes narrowing. “If I were you, I’d stay away from the caravans coming from the desert. Some of them ain’t what they seem. And watch out for the officials around here. They act like they’re keeping things under control, but there’s whispers that some of ’em are in on it.”

Rowan thanked the man, slipping him a few coins for his trouble. They stayed in the tavern a little longer, listening to more conversations and gathering bits of information here and there.

Next, they stopped at a busy market stall, where Rowan casually engaged the merchant in conversation while Silas pretended to inspect a selection of goods. Their first bit of helpful information came in the form of a passing comment from a pair of local workers standing nearby.

“Did you hear about Farah? She vanished last week,” one of the men whispered to the other.

“Aye,” the second replied, glancing around nervously. “They say she was seen with one of those desert traders before she disappeared. Same as the others—just gone, no trace.”

Silas kept his expression neutral, listening closely as Rowan continued his conversation with the stall merchant. Farah, another victim. The name added to a growing list of disappearances—mostly women, but a few men too—whispered about throughout Ironvale. The mention of desert traders being linked to the abductions was troubling but aligned with their suspicions.

They quickly conveyed the new information to Layla with the help of the communication stones.

Silas and Rowan picked up more fragmented stories as they moved through the crowded market. A young woman named Sarai had vanished a month ago, her family too poor to mount any real search effort. Rumours suggested she’d been working near the desert border, close to where traders from Solara set up camp. Several other names cropped up in similar conversations—most were women, but there were a few mentions of men who had gone missing under strange circumstances.

Layla was given information about every victim, and she was to meet their families to continue investigating.

By the time the sun began to set, Silas and Rowan had gathered enough information to suspect a pattern. It seemed clear that many of the disappearances had ties to the desert traders, but no one dared speak openly about it. Fear hung in the air like a heavy shroud, and any mention of those who had gone missing was met with nervous glances and whispers.

That evening, they met Layla at a small, nondescript tavern near the city’s outskirts. She had spent the day visiting families of the missing, gathering personal accounts of their loved ones’ last sightings. Her expression was grim as she sat down at their table, lowering her voice to a whisper.

“It’s worse than we thought,” she began, her tone edged with concern. “Most of the families I spoke to mentioned desert traders, just like you said. They also talked about officials—city guards and gatekeepers—being involved. Some say they’ve seen guards turning a blind eye when certain caravans pass through.”

Silas and Rowan glanced. The disappearances were no longer the work of a few rogue traders. There was corruption deep within the city itself. Their next steps needed to be executed with thorough planning and preparations.