There was a knock on the door. The sky was already fading into dusk without them noticing. The door creaked open, and Old Tom stepped inside. He was the first to arrive, as always, his weathered face lighting up with a smile as he caught a whiff of the rimlar cake’s aroma.

“Gods, that smell! You could turn your inn into a bakery, if you wanted,” he said, his voice warm.

Theo sliced the cake and handed a piece to Old Tom. Quentin followed with a mug of ale. They watched in satisfaction as the old man chewed, the soft texture not bothering his teeth. “Mmm, feels like being a child again.”

The regulars trickled in as the sky darkened, cheering for the new addition to the menu. But Quentin told them no more than three beers per person. They pretended to grumble, but the moment he offered them slices of the creamy, sugary cake, all complaints ceased. Theo didn’t wait for instructions; he pitched in, helping Quentin serve more guests.

When everyone was settled, they baked another cake in the fireplace. Quentin handed Theo a pouch of coppers for more ingredients.

“Be sure to enjoy the festival. No rush,” Quentin said, meeting Theo’s eyes.

Theo smiled, looking almost shy. He left for the market, and it took him longer than usual to return. When he finally came back, the inn buzzed louder than before. He laid out butter, lemons, raspberries, and cream on the counter.

“Actually buying things with coppers feels strange,” Theo admitted. “It’s odd being seen.”

He moved with quick efficiency, slicing and chopping. “You could run an inn yourself,” Quentin remarked.

“Ah, no,” Theo said, shaking his head. “I’d get tired of it fast.” He glanced at the cake, took a bite, and sighed.

As the cake baked in the stone hearth, its smell turned heads. Even Ophelia, who had just walked in, closed her eyes and breathed deeply.

“Rimlar cake…” She looked at Quentin with a sparkle in her eyes. “I’d forgotten about these. Do you think you could turn them into muffins? We could sell them at the night market tomorrow evening.”

Quentin handed her a slice. She took a small bite and nodded slowly. “Hm. This restores my magic reserves better than the cookies. Should I cast some more light beams?” She winked. “It’s doing something else to my body, though. I’m not sure what.”

The inn was filled with lively chatter, everyone in high spirits. But Quentin noticed Theo lingering in a corner, silent and still.

“Everything okay?” he asked as he approached.

“I feel restless. I thought I’d be tired by now.”

Quentin took the tray from his hands and told him to step outside for some air. Theo didn’t return until late, when Ophelia helped Old Tom out the door. She stayed behind to clean.

Theo slipped back in, holding three bright potions of red, green, and purple. They glowed faintly on the counter.

“I stole these from the red soldier’s stall,” he said quietly, staring at his hands. “I was keeping to the shadows when they rounded a corner. There was no way to hide, so I just pressed myself against the wall and held my breath. They walked right by me.” He sat down as Ophelia and Quentin exchanged looks.

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“Something drew me to one of their booths at the market. Even though there were lights everywhere, the shadows were… darker, like pools of night. I wasn’t scared. I stepped into one and could hear the whispers of the soldiers, even from a distance. I crept to the booth, moving from shadow to shadow. Nobody saw me. And when I was near the stall, the shadows… merged. They pulsed, telling me when to take their wares. But once I did, the shadows faded, and the soldiers noticed. I ran like hell.”

Quentin and Ophelia stared at the glowing potions.

“Maybe the cake has some kind of magic?” Ophelia mused. “You might be a new source of power, Quentin.”

“What are they?” she asked, tapping the red potion.

“Ice curse remedy, a potent fertilizer… and I don’t know about the purple one. Purple usually means poison, or antidote.”

“This is valuable,” Ophelia whispered.

“They took it from a novice red mage caught practicing green magic. She was working with a potioneer in Brewlithe,” Theo said. “I overheard them bragging about it.”

“Green magic… Ana,” Ophelia murmured. “Yes, this is her work. I can feel it.”

Quentin turned the green potion and noticed a strange pattern on the bottom. “Wait, what’s that marking?”

“A tracker! Get it out of here!” Ophelia said, reaching for it.

“Wait,” Quentin interrupted, a sudden tug in his chest. “You two, hide upstairs.”

“We’re not going anywhere,” Ophelia said, pulling Theo behind the bar as Quentin opened Kyrrho’s vault. The vault’s cold aura brushed against him. He slid the tracked potion inside and shut it. Pain flared from his thumb, and he saw blood bead on his skin. A red circle formed on the vault’s door, etching a sigil.

“Your blood is the only key.”

Quentin turned, understanding. Outside, the soldiers’ shouts grew louder. He nodded to Theo and Ophelia under the bar. “It’s deactivated. No one can open the vault but me. But don’t steal everything you see, Theo. If you do, make sure it’s worth locking up.”

“They’ll track everything now,” Ophelia warned. “You might be the last thief this kingdom has.”

She looked at Quentin. “Theo wants to test something.”

Theo took another bite of cake. “Can you snuff out the lights?” Quentin waved a hand, extinguishing the candles in a clockwise swoop. Theo whispered, “I can still see. More than usual.”

Quentin noticed he could too. Ophelia shook her head. “I can only see your outlines, nothing more.”

Theo had Quentin light a single candle for Ophelia. Then he moved from table to table, nimble as a cat. He landed on each surface without a sound. Ophelia gasped as he did a backflip onto a chair, then crept behind her, silently presenting her staff.

“That’s how I stole from the guards.” He flopped back onto the stool, exhausted. “It doesn’t last long. Not like paladin potions.”

They were discussing the cake’s effects when drunken soldiers stumbled past the inn, muttering about prisoners on Kernuck Street. Quentin and Theo peeked out the window and spotted keys dangling from a guard’s belt.

“This is my chance to free them,” Theo whispered.

“Wait—”

“Don’t stop me. Please.”

Quentin wrapped a slice of rimlar cake and several cookies, stuffing them into Theo’s pockets. Ophelia whispered good luck as Theo slipped out. They watched him vanish into the alley, blending into shadows.

“Can you see him?” Ophelia asked.

Quentin nodded. He described Theo’s movements as he slipped past lanterns and brick walls, hood low over his face. Theo tossed a rock, distracting the guard, then snatched the keys and disappeared into the darkness.

“He’s gone. Headed for Kernuck Street.”

The fire crackled, casting strange shapes on the walls. They watched Theo’s shadow leap across buildings. Ophelia held her breath as Theo entered an abandoned mill. Minutes passed. Then Theo emerged, carrying four children and a lanky boy in his arms.

Ophelia gasped. Quentin threw open the door.

“Upstairs,” she ordered, ushering them to the rooms.

“They scattered us in three tunnels underground. I just hope I’m fast enough. Don’t drag Ophelia into this,” Theo said quietly. “They tracked us with potion markers. They were so small we didn’t notice.”

Ophelia checked the boy’s temperature. “He’s feverish from a cursed fire. I need a cleansing potion.”

Quentin immediately fetched the purple vial. He helped Theo wash the children while Ophelia tended to the boy. The children huddled close to her, comforted by her presence. Quentin knew she wanted to take them all in.