The town had grown restless after the inferno consumed the Grand Nexus Library. Sebas avoided the chaos in the square, retreating to the guild-provided inn on the outskirts. The evening air was heavy with ash, and every sound seemed sharper than usual—the shuffle of boots on cobblestone, the distant chatter of townsfolk, the creak of a sign swaying in the wind. Yet, beneath it all, Sebas felt a subtle presence.

He didn’t dare look over his shoulder, but every instinct screamed that someone was following him. His palm tingled where Tiameth’s mark had burned itself into his skin, the faint glow of the sigil hidden beneath his glove. Whatever bond he now shared with the Dragon Queen, it had left him unnervingly aware of danger. The shadow trailing him was no ordinary thief or town guard. This was a predator.

Sebas reached the inn, its warm light spilling onto the darkened street. He slipped inside, passing through the common room quickly and heading for the stairs. The muffled din of laughter and clinking tankards offered no comfort. He climbed to his room, his hand brushing the doorframe as he entered. A flicker of flame danced at his fingertips, extinguished as quickly as it had appeared. Tiameth’s voice echoed faintly in his mind, a whisper of approval.

He had barely closed the door when the presence made itself known. A figure melted out of the shadows, stepping into the dim lamplight of the room. He wore dark, unassuming clothes, his face partially obscured by a hood. Yet his movements were too deliberate, too fluid for a common spy.

“Sebas,” the man said, his voice smooth and low. “You’ve caused quite a stir.”

Sebas tensed, his hand drifting toward the dagger at his belt. “Who are you?”

The man chuckled softly. “Someone who’s very good at remaining unseen. But since we’re being cordial, you may call me Marek.” He leaned casually against the wall, his eyes glinting beneath the shadow of his hood. “Eighth son of Lord Hallen, though I doubt that means much to someone like you.”

Sebas narrowed his eyes, his mind racing. Marek’s movements betrayed training far beyond that of a mere noble. This was someone accustomed to moving in darkness, unseen and unheard. “What do you want with me?”

“Questions,” Marek replied simply. “The fire, the mark on your hand, the way you walked through the town like a man who’s found something worth dying for. It’s intriguing, to say the least.”

Sebas tightened his grip on the dagger, though he didn’t draw it. “And if I refuse to answer?”

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Marek smiled, a wolfish grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Then I’ll have to get creative. But let’s not waste energy, shall we? You’re not the only one who’s made a deal with powers beyond this world.”

The room seemed to darken, Marek’s presence growing heavier, more oppressive. Sebas’s pulse quickened, his connection to Tiameth flaring to life. Flames flickered at the edge of his vision, and he realized with a start that the fire was his own.

“Interesting,” Marek murmured, his gaze flicking to the embers that danced around Sebas. “Perhaps this will be more entertaining than I thought.”

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The tension between them grew, the silence punctuated only by the distant sounds of the inn below. Sebas weighed his options, knowing that any false move could spell disaster. Marek’s posture was relaxed, almost casual, but there was an unmistakable precision in the way he stood—balanced, ready to strike.

“Who sent you?” Sebas asked, his voice steadier than he felt.

“No one,” Marek replied, his tone almost amused. “I came of my own accord. You’re not the only one drawn to chaos, Sebas. Some of us have been trained to seek it out.”

“Trained? By who?”

Marek tilted his head, studying Sebas with a predator’s patience. “That’s not important. What matters is what you’ve become—and whether you understand the consequences.”

Sebas felt a flicker of anger, the flames at his fingertips growing brighter. “I don’t need a lecture from some noble playing at being a spy. If you have something to say, say it.”

Marek’s grin widened, sharp and calculating. “Very well. You’ve made a pact with something far older and far more dangerous than you realize. Power like that doesn’t come without strings, and the Dragon Queen’s threads are notoriously hard to cut.”

Sebas bristled, but he forced himself to keep his voice calm. “And what do you care? You don’t know anything about me.”

“Don’t I?” Marek’s eyes gleamed. “An orphan raised under the Church of Alexander, the first human god. A soul binder without a soul to bind, scorned by your peers and left to scrape by on the guild’s pity. You’re an open book, Sebas—and now, you’re a book that’s caught fire.”

The mention of the church sent a jolt through Sebas, memories flashing unbidden. The cold stone walls of the orphanage, the rigid sermons, the faces of the other children—faces he hadn’t seen in years. He clenched his fists, the flames dying down. “What do you want from me?”

Marek stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I want to know what you’re going to do with that power. Are you going to burn this town to the ground? Or are you going to rise above the chaos and become something more?”

Sebas met Marek’s gaze, the weight of his words sinking in. For the first time, he saw something other than amusement in the rogue’s eyes—something akin to curiosity, or perhaps even hope.

“I don’t know,” Sebas admitted, his voice quiet. “But I’m going to find out.”

Marek nodded, a faint smile playing at his lips. “Good answer. Just remember, Sebas: chaos doesn’t choose sides. It devours everyone equally. If you’re not careful, it’ll devour you too.”

With that, Marek melted back into the shadows, leaving Sebas alone with his thoughts—and the faint, lingering scent of smoke.