Soren sat hunched over the desk in his quarters, his quill scratching across the pages of a notebook. His brow furrowed as he scribbled down potential ideas, each one crossed out almost as quickly as it was written.

Across the room, Alaric paced back and forth. “This is impossible. How are we supposed to find enough ravenglass to craft a dagger? The stuff’s rarer than gold.”

Soren looked up from his notebook. “We have to think this through logically. Where would something that rare be kept?”

“If I knew that, we wouldn’t be sitting here racking our brains, would we?”

Soren tapped his quill against the desk. “We need to look somewhere public, somewhere with historical artifacts maybe.”

Alaric paused in his pacing. “Maybe an auction house. Or, what about a noble’s estate? Some of those old families have private collections, right?”

Soren shook his head. “How would we know if they even had any?”

“Fair point.” Alaric sucked in his bottom lip. “What about stealing from the Guild itself? I bet they’ve got plenty of ravenglass stashed somewhere.”

“Are you mad?”

Alaric shrugged. “It could work.”

“Raz said we can’t.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like we’re dealing with an organisation known for its integrity, are we?”

“If they catch us trying to steal from the Guild, it’s over for us. And besides, even if we could find their supply, I doubt it would be accessible to initiates like us.”

Alaric slumped onto his bed. “So what, then? We just give up?”

“Not necessarily.” He turned back to his notebook, flipping through the pages. “The museum.”

Alaric looked up. “What about it?”

“There’s bound to be some ravenglass on display there.”

“Go on.”

Soren stood. “The museum is publicly accessible. It won’t be easy, but we could scout it during the day, blend in with the visitors, learn the security routines.”

“Museums have guards, traps, big snarling dogs that will rip your throat out.”

“We’ll figure out the details once we’re in. It’s not impossible—we’ve got stealth training, lockpicking. I think it’s our best shot.”

Alaric sighed. “I hate that this is our best option. But I guess you’re right.”

Soren nodded. “We’ll scout the place first, see what we’re up against.”

“Sor, doesn’t it bother you that the Guild wants us to be no better than common burglars?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, we’re talking about theft here. Breaking into a museum, stealing a priceless artifact. How is that any different from a common criminal?”

Soren leaned back in his chair. “It’s odd. You’ve accepted the idea of killing for the Guild, but somehow stealing seems worse?”

Alaric’s eyes widened. “Accepted? I haven’t accepted anything. Killing, stealing—none of it sits right with me.”

“We have to do what’s necessary. If it means stealing, that’s what we must do. It’s all part of our training, our mission.”

Alaric shook his head. “Where do we draw the line, huh? Should we rob a child if the Guild asks us to? Kill a child? A baby?”

“Of course not! I’d never do that. There are limits.”

“But who decides those limits? I’m not happy with the idea of being a criminal. What if we’re caught? What if we get sent to prison, or worse, hanged in the public square?”

Soren moved to place a hand on Alaric’s shoulder. “We have to be careful, that’s all. If we do it right, we won’t get caught.”

Alaric shrugged off Soren’s hand. “Those laws exist for a reason. We can’t just ignore them because the Guild tells us to.”

“The Magistrates have shown they’re toothless when it comes to the Guild. They won’t touch us.”

“Maybe for the higher-ups. But do you really think they’d risk everything for the sake of initiates like us? We’re expendable, you and me.”

Soren’s jaw set. “If we do our job right, we won’t have to worry about that. We’ll be in and out before anyone knows we were there.”

Alaric sighed. “I don’t know, Sor. This all feels like we’re crossing a line we can’t come back from.”

Soren sniffed. “I think that ship has already sailed.”

“No.” Alaric met his gaze, shaking his head. “I don’t believe that.”

“We’re part of the Guild now. Our old lives, our old morals—we have to leave them behind if we’re going to survive here.”

“And what if surviving means losing ourselves in the process?”

Soren had no answer for that.

Silence stretched between them.

“We’ll find a way to do this without compromising who we are,” Soren said.

Alaric nodded. “I hope you’re right. For both our sakes.”

Soren took a deep breath. “Look, the best way to stay out of trouble is to plan thoroughly. We need to know exactly what we’re doing before we attempt anything.”

“Right. So, we’re just moving on?”

“Better that than complaining.”

Alaric glared at him. “I’m not complaining.”

“Good. Because we need to get a plan together. If we do this right, we might find a way that keeps us out of harm’s way and does the least amount of damage. We’re not looking to hurt anyone or destroy property—we just need that ravenglass.”

Alaric sighed. “You’re still talking about stealing something that isn’t ours, Sor. No matter how we dress it up, it’s still theft.”

Soren nodded. “I know. But if we’re going to be thieves, we’re going to be the best we can be. Precise, careful, leaving no trace. And most importantly, we’re not going against the Guild’s wishes. We know what the consequences of that would be.”

Alaric rolled his eyes and groaned. “Fine. You’re right, as usual. Where do we start?”

“We start in the Vault. There’s bound to be something there that can help us. And then we scout the museum.”

“Alright. Let’s do this. But Sor, we need to be extra careful. At the first sign of real danger, we bail. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Soren pulled down volumes from the Vault’s shelves, adding them to maps and books already laid out on the table. “We need to know everything we can. Layout, security, potential escape routes.”

Alaric grabbed a random book off the pile, eyeing the cover. “You really think we’ll find that in books? Sounds more like something we’d have to figure out on the ground.” He plopped down into a chair, flipping the book open with a heavy sigh.

“We start here. Build a foundation of knowledge before we step foot in the place.”

“If you say so.”

For the next hour or so, Soren immersed himself in the Vault’s vast collection of historical records and reference books.

His eyes scanned page after page, cross-referencing information and checking public records of donations and acquisitions.

Soren’s finger paused. “Alaric. I think I’ve found something.”

Alaric moved to Soren’s side. “What is it?”

“The Dagger of Ragnar Wolfsbane. It’s said to be one of his famed weapons, made of pure ravenglass.”

“Never heard of him.”

Soren shrugged. “According to this, the dagger was once paired with a matching sword, but the sword has long since been lost.” He flipped through a few more pages. “It says the dagger was part of a private collection that was donated to the museum about fifty years ago.” He looked up at Alaric. “It’s here. It’s in the museum.”

Alaric leaned in. “Does it say where in the museum?”

Soren shook his head. “No, but at least we know what we’re looking for.”

Alaric nodded. “Alright, I guess we just need to figure out where it is.”

“That’s our next challenge. We need to find out everything we can about the museum’s security measures.”

“But these books might be out of date. I think we should go and look for ourselves. Maybe that dagger’s not even there anymore.”

Soren leaned back in his chair. “That’s a good point. We’ll scout the museum. Make sure the dagger’s there. Come up with a plan.”

Stolen novel; please report.

“Now you’re talking. We’ll blend in with the visitors, study the guards and stuff.”

“Exactly.”

“We’ll get answers either way.” He clapped Soren on the shoulder. “Let’s just hope it’s worth it.”

“We should make a list of what to look for. Guard positions, security measures, possible entry points.”

“Good idea. And we need to figure out how to get a closer look at that dagger without arousing suspicion.”

“If it’s there.”

Alaric nodded. “And if it’s not?”

“We’ll figure something else.”

“We should also think about a cover story,” Alaric said. “Two young men spending hours in a museum might raise suspicions.”

Soren grinned. “I’m an artist. I’m there to study.”

“What about me?”

“You can be my lowly servant.”

Alaric gave him a playful shove. “Or, you could be mine.”

“You could be a student. Researching for a project on ancient weaponry, or something.”

“Better. It gives us an excuse to linger and ask questions without seeming suspicious.”

Soren nodded. “Let’s do this.”

He returned the books and maps to the shelves and led the way back to their quarters.

The stitches in his arm pulled as he slipped his leather-bound sketchbook into his pack, followed by a cloth-wrapped bundle of charcoals.

“Really committing to this artist role, aren’t you?”

“Role?” Soren cocked an eyebrow. “The best disguise is the one closest to truth.” He adjusted the pack’s strap to avoid putting pressure on his wound. “Besides, sketching gives me an excuse to sit and observe without drawing attention. Just remember we’re only there to look around. No heroics, no impromptu heists. We scout, we leave, we plan.”

“I know. We’re just two ordinary citizens visiting a museum. Nothing more.”

“Ready?”

Alaric nodded, pushing himself to his feet with a grimace. “As I’ll ever be.”

The Grand Museum of Welttor dominated the eastern end of Scholar's Square, its marble columns rising against the afternoon sky. Twin stone wyverns flanked the broad steps.

Soren's palm grew slick against the strap of his pack as they approached. Every visitor ascending those steps could be a Guild watcher, every guard could be reporting their movements back to Raz.

"We should circle the building first," Soren said. "Get a proper look at what we're dealing with."

They veered left, following a narrow alley that ran along the museum's eastern wall.

Here, the grandeur of the front facade gave way to utilitarian stonework.

They rounded the back of the building, where delivery wagons would make their stops. Empty crates were stacked against the wall, and a loading dock stood silent and unused.

Halfway down the western side, partially hidden behind an ornamental shrub, Soren spotted a wooden door with iron banding. A simple lock secured it.

"There. That's our way in tonight."

Alaric studied the door. "Less obvious than the main entrance. But what if there are guards inside?"

"We'll deal with that when we come to it." Soren was already noting the door's position relative to the nearby streets, the shadows that would conceal their approach.

They completed their circuit, ending up back at the bottom of the museum's steps.

"Ready to go in?" Alaric asked.

Soren nodded.

“Quite the climb.” Alaric stared up at the thirty-odd steps. “Hope my leg holds up.”

They joined the steady stream of visitors making their way up. Soren tried to keep his pace natural despite the growing tension in his shoulders.

Beside him, Alaric’s breathing grew laboured, each step causing him to wince.

Halfway up, they paused, pretending to admire the view of the square below.

“Need a moment?” Soren asked.

“I’m fine.” Alaric’s jaw was set, but his face had grown pale. “Just…longer steps than they look from below.”

They continued their ascent, Soren fighting the urge to look over his shoulder. The afternoon sun beat down on the white marble, creating a glare that made his eyes water.

A guard stood beside the massive bronze doors, his uniform crisp, his posture parade-ground perfect. As they approached, he barely glanced their way, his gaze sliding past them to the next group of visitors.

They were in.

The entrance hall soared above them, its vaulted ceiling lost in shadow despite the sunlight streaming through tall windows.

Their footsteps echoed off polished marble floors, joining the hushed murmur of other visitors.

Display cases lined the walls, filled with delicate porcelain and gleaming metals that caught the light.

“Remember, we’re just two friends enjoying the exhibits,” Soren said, adjusting his pack. His eyes tracked the movement of a guard passing between two marble pillars. “Act natural, but stay alert.”

Alaric nodded, his limp less noticeable now. “Where do we start?”

“Let’s do a general sweep first.” Soren studied a map mounted on the wall, noting the positions of stairwells and service doors. “We need to get a feel for the layout, the security, everything.”

A clerk sat behind a wooden desk to their left, recording visitors in a thick ledger. To their right, a grand staircase swept upward, its brass railings polished to a mirror shine.

Ropes of deep crimson velvet guided visitors through the exhibits, while uniformed attendants stood at strategic points throughout the space.

Maps of the museum’s three floors were displayed on brass stands, artistic renderings that somehow managed to be both detailed and completely useless for their true purpose. Still, Soren committed what he could to memory, noting how the exhibits flowed from one to the next.

They moved deeper into the museum, past glass cases filled with artifacts from the Old Empire. Each step brought them closer to their target, and with each step, Soren felt the weight of his sketchbook grow heavier against his back.

As they moved through the halls, Soren noted the positions of the guards, the flow of visitors through each room.

“Look.” Soren nodded towards a man studying a painting. “Undercover guard. See how he’s positioned to cover the entire room?”

“How can you tell?”

“His stance, the way his eyes move. He’s not here for the art.”

Soren continued moving through the museum, pausing at various displays to maintain their cover. “As far as I can tell, we’ve got two stationary guards near the most valuable pieces. Others patrolling every ten to fifteen minutes. And look there…” He nodded towards a door. “Maintenance access. Could be useful if we need cover.”

Alaric’s eyes followed Soren’s gaze. “Good catch. How long do you reckon it takes for the patrols to circle back?”

“Let’s find out.” He pretended to study a statue while keeping track of the guards’ movements in his peripheral vision.

After several minutes of observation, Soren led the way to the exhibition of ancient weapons.

“There.” He nodded towards a sleek, black dagger in a glass case. “The dagger of Ragnar Wolfsbane.”

Alaric leaned in, his eyes widening. “It’s darker than I expected. Like it’s swallowing the light.”

“Pure ravenglass.”

“How in Creation’s name are we supposed to get it out of here?”

Soren didn’t answer, his mind racing as he took in every detail of the security surrounding the dagger.

Two guards stood at the entrance to the exhibition hall, their eyes constantly scanning the room.

“We need to watch the guard rotations.” Soren moved to study a nearby sword display. “Look for any gaps in their coverage.”

Over the next few hours, he and Alaric lingered in the weapons section, pretending to admire various artifacts while keeping a close eye on the guards’ movements.

Soren couldn’t help grinning when the pattern emerged.

“What is it?”

“Every fifteen minutes, when they change positions, there’s a gap, just for a minute or so.”

Alaric nodded, his brow furrowed. “Not much time, but it might be enough if we’re fast. But what about the case? We can’t just smash it and run.”

Before Soren could respond, he noticed one of the guards eyeing them. The man began to approach, his hand resting on a baton.

“Can I help you gentlemen?” the guard asked.

Soren turned, forcing a smile. “We’re just admiring the craftsmanship.” He gestured to the dagger. “It’s incredible, isn’t it? Must be ancient.”

The guard’s eyes narrowed as he looked between them. “It is quite remarkable. But I’ll have to ask you to move along. We can’t have people lingering too long near the more valuable pieces.”

“Of course, of course. We were just about to check out the next room.”

As they walked away, Alaric let out a shaky breath. “That was too close. We’ve got to be more careful.”

Soren nodded, his mind racing with the information they’d gathered. “We know enough now. The guard rotations, the layout, the security measures. We can work with this.”

Soren led the way out of the museum, blending back into the crowd of departing visitors descending the steps.

As they moved onto the bustling street outside, Soren pulled Alaric into the shadow of a nearby building. “We’ve seen the dagger. But getting to it is going to be tough. We need to figure out how to get into that case before the guards have time to realise what’s happening.”

“We’ll need more than stealth to pull this off. But at least we know where it is now.”

“We’ve got a lot of planning to do. But we can do this. We’ve got the skills, we’ve got the information. Now we just need to put it all together.”

The dim light of the tavern’s private booth cast long shadows across the table, where Soren and Alaric sat huddled together.

Soren’s rough map of the museum lay spread before them, covered in scribbled notes.

Soren leaned forward, his fingers tracing the outlines on the map. “We need a plan—down to the second.”

Alaric sat back in his chair. “Yeah, but timing this right isn’t going to be easy. One mistake, and we’re done for.”

Soren nodded, pulling a fresh sheet of parchment towards him. With deft strokes, he began sketching a more detailed map of the weapons exhibition. “We know the guards rotate every fifteen minutes. That gives us a small window to act. If we can get into the exhibition hall unnoticed, we’ll have a short amount of time to break into the case and get to the dagger.”

Alaric leaned in, studying the sketch. “And how exactly are we going to get into the case?”

Soren tapped the end of his pencil against the map as he thought. “I’ll focus on the lock.” He glanced at Alaric. “You’ll need to handle the distraction. We’ll need to pull the guards away from the dagger for a few extra minutes.”

A slow grin spread across Alaric’s face. “I can cause a little commotion in one of the other galleries. Nothing big, but enough to draw their attention.”

Soren nodded. “Alright, here’s what I’m thinking. We enter tonight, after the last of the visitors have left. We wait for the guard rotation, then slip into the weapons room.”

“And that’s when I create the distraction?”

“Exactly. You cause a scene in another part of the museum—knock over a display, maybe. While the guards are distracted, I’ll work on the display case.”

“Then what?”

Soren’s pencil moved to another part of the map. “Then we grab the dagger and make our exit through that maintenance door we spotted.”

Alaric puffed out a breath. “It’s not going to be easy. And Creation forbid we’re caught.”

“This will work. If we stick to the plan, we’ll be in and out before anyone notices the dagger is gone.”

“It’s a good plan, but no plan survives contact with reality. There are too many things that could go wrong. What if the guards spot us? What if the lock is more complicated than you thought?”

Soren focused on the map. “There’s always a risk. But we’ve done the preparation. If anything does go wrong, we adjust.”

Alaric sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Fine. I trust you. But if things go south, we bail. No heroics, Soren. We get out of there alive, dagger or not.”

“Agreed.”

Soren’s fingers traced the cool metal of the lockpicks as he slipped them into a hidden pocket of his guild tunic.

The shelves of the Vault loomed around him, sending a chill through his body. He glanced at Alaric, who was coiling a length of rope around his shoulder.

Alaric inclined his head. “You sure about this? Maybe we should rest for a few days. Let out stitches heal a bit.”

Soren nodded, reaching for a grappling hook. “We don’t have a choice. Raz made that clear.”

Alaric hefted his own dagger, testing its weight. “And if we’re caught?”

“Then we fight our way out.”

“Fight, yes. But we don’t kill. Not if we can help it.”

Soren paused, his hand hovering over a vial of some noxious substance. After a moment, he withdrew it. “Agreed. Unless we have no other choice.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” Alaric tucked a set of lockpicks into his boot.

“We can do this,” Soren said, as much to convince himself as Alaric. “We’ve trained for this. We’re ready.”

Alaric nodded. “It’s just… this feels different, doesn’t it? It’s not training anymore.”

“I know.” Soren placed a hand on Alaric’s shoulder, feeling the tension in his muscles. “But we’ve faced worse.”

“How could I forget?”

“We survived that. We can survive this.”

Alaric took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. “You’re right. We can do this “

Soren turned back to their gear, double-checking each item. Lockpicks, rope, grappling hooks, daggers. Everything.

His hands stilled. “That dagger…it’s an ancient relic. A part of Wiete’s history. Is this really right?”

Alaric shrugged. “It’s just stuff.”

“I know, but…”

“Do you have any better ideas?”

Soren held Alaric’s gaze, but had no answer.

“Maybe when the assignment is over, we can find a way to give it back.”

Soren let out a bitter laugh. “The Guild won’t just let us hand it back.”

“It was just a thought.”

“But we can’t afford to think like that anymore. We’re not those boys from Nebel Hafen. Not now.”

Alaric sighed. “You’re right. Let’s just…let’s just finish this.”

Soren did one last check of his gear, making sure everything was secure and easily accessible. “Lockpicks?”

“Check,” Alaric patted his boot.

“Rope?”

Alaric revealed the rope inside his tunic. “Ready to go.”

“Grappling hook?”

“Secured.” Alaric tapped the hook at his belt.

“Dagger?”

They both touched the weapons at their hips.

“Alright.” Soren blew out a breath, straightening up. “I think we’re as ready as we’ll ever be.”

Alaric grinned. “Just like old times, eh? Sneaking out after dark, getting into trouble.”

“Except this time, if we’re caught, it won’t be your father or mine giving us a thrashing.”

Soren moved towards the Vault’s exit, Alaric falling into step beside him. As they reached the door, Soren paused, his hand on the handle. “Whatever happens tonight, we stick together. No matter what. Agreed?”

Alaric clasped Soren’s forearm. “Agreed. Together or not at all.”

“Remember, we’re just two friends out for a late-night stroll. Nothing suspicious about us at all.”

Alaric snorted. “Right. Just two normal lads, out for a leisurely walk with enough gear to break into a fortress.”