Theo was gone by morning and returned at sunset, his arms full of new loot: more crop seeds and potions from various stalls. "Not as good as the one I grabbed yesterday, but they'll work in a pinch." He placed them on the counter, his words casual. Quentin said nothing, silently storing the items in the vault, where the enchanted dagger gleamed softly in its golden bowl.
Later, Theo came back with a strange assortment—blue eggs speckled with black, a jug of milk, thick sticks of butter, and a jar of sugar. Quentin helped him set it all down.
“These I actually bought,” Theo said, a grin tugging at his lips. “With copper coins... stolen from the red soldiers’ pouches. Still sneaky in the daylight, just not as smooth. Good thing they're too distracted by the festivals to notice.”
They baked in silence after that, the warmth of the oven softening the edges of their shared tension. The scent of rising dough filled the air, but the quiet between them felt heavy, unsettled. Finally, Quentin broke it.
“Theo, you could stay here. Work with me. You’ve got skill, and I wouldn’t try to change who you are. You’d still be you, just… with a place to call yours. No need to run, no need to steal.” Quentin’s voice was measured, but the offer was genuine. “A room, free of charge. You can even bring your friends if they need a place.”
Theo's grin faltered. He stared at the floor for a moment, as if weighing something heavier than the suggestion itself. “That sounds... good,” he mumbled, barely above a whisper.
Quentin clapped a hand on Theo’s shoulder. “Whenever you’re ready.”
But Theo's gaze lingered on the walls, the darkened corners of the inn. “Something about this place, Quentin. I can't explain it, but... I don’t think we can stay forever.”
Quentin nodded, not pushing for more.
As they worked, a faint vibration hummed through the room. It drew Quentin’s attention to the vault. The dagger, once resting, now hovered in the air, humming with energy. Quentin reached for it carefully, feeling its strange pulse. He carried it to Theo, holding it out.
“This dagger... it’s special,” Quentin said softly.
Theo’s eyes widened as he took it, feeling the weight in his hands. “Is it enchanted?”
“Feels that way.”
Theo twirled it between his fingers, moving with a natural grace. “Almost like a wand,” he muttered, his fingers spinning the blade like it was an extension of him. For a moment, his eyes flashed—purple, then red—before Quentin interrupted.
“Try it on the bread.”
Theo raised a brow, then brought the blade down cleanly. The loaf split perfectly in two, not a crumb disturbed.
“No way,” Theo breathed, staring at the blade.
“Keep it,” Quentin said quietly. “It’s yours now.”
Theo blinked, startled. “You sure?”
“I think the dagger’s chosen you,” Quentin replied, eyeing the soft gleam of the blade.
Theo smiled, slipping the dagger into his belt. “You’re a strange innkeeper, Quentin.”
The air around them seemed to shift, lighter somehow, as if the inn itself approved. Quentin sensed the magic within the walls stirring, responding to Theo’s presence. Whatever was happening here, it was beyond coincidence. The inn was evolving, adapting, and Theo—just like the enchanted dagger—was now woven into its strange design.
As they set aside the last of the baked goods to cool, the door creaked open. Ophelia stepped in, her gaze flicking between them, landing on the dagger in Theo’s belt.
“What did I miss?” she asked, one brow raised.
Theo smirked. “Quentin gave me an enchanted dagger.”
----------------------------------------
For nights after that, Theo returned with a satchel full of trinkets—vials of blue elixirs, silks, and herbs he’d gathered from the outskirts of Hepfin. Quentin watched him quietly, wondering how much longer this game of thievery and magic could continue. Meanwhile, outside, the crops in Emrelle’s Chamber thrived. The soil, enriched by the goddess's touch, still needed tending, but under Quentin’s care, the green shoots grew stronger.
One night, Theo brought back something different: an ivory comb with teeth that shimmered like glass. He tossed it to Quentin without ceremony.
“For the vault.”
Quentin turned it over, the faint scent of jasmine and saltwater clinging to it. “Where did you get this?”
“Took it off a merchant who didn’t even know what he had. Said it was cursed.”
“And you thought it was a good idea to bring it here?” Quentin’s voice was half-serious.
Theo shrugged. “We already have a cursed dagger.”
“Enchanted,” Quentin corrected, glancing at the dagger now always resting on Theo’s hip. The boy seemed attached to it, and it gleamed with a quiet hunger whenever he touched it.
“We’re collecting quite the assortment,” Quentin murmured, placing the comb beside the other oddities.
Theo grinned. “Yeah, well, I figure we’ll need it all soon enough.”
Quentin frowned. “Need it for what?”
Theo’s grin faltered slightly, but he said nothing, just slipping the dagger back into its sheath.
___
They found themselves sitting together at one table in the inn, near the fireplace; Quentin, Theo, and Ophelia, dipping fresh cheese bread from the market fair bakery into steaming bowls of stew. Quentin listened as Theo opened up to Ophelia, sharing tales of the games he and his friends used to play before the red soldiers descended on their lives. The warmth of the festival helped ease the boy's usual wariness and the two of them exchanged sympathetic glances.
Theo suddenly turned to Quentin, a mischievous grin creeping onto his face. “What about you, boss? Got any stories to share?”
Ophelia’s eyes flicked toward him, curious.
Quentin shrugged. “No stories worth telling. I woke up here one day, bound to this inn,” he replied. “But I like it well enough.”
Theo smirked but said nothing, dipping his bread into the stew. Ophelia leaned forward, her eyes thoughtful. “Why don’t you join us, Quentin? There are no customers tonight. Everyone’s off enjoying the entertainment at the plaza.”
Quentin smiled, shaking his head. “You two go on. Ophelia, your students are probably excited to see you. And Theo, your friends deserve a night of fun. Just stay out of sight, up on the rooftops.”
The two exchanged uncertain glances as Quentin began packing a small bag of snacks; cookies and slices of Rumlar cake. “Here, take these with you. Share them around.”
Ophelia grinned, taking the bundle. “I’ll bring you back some butter, milk, maybe a few spices,” she said.
Theo gave a wry smile. “And I’ll... well, you know, grab whatever I can.”
A long while after they left, Quentin closed the windows and doors, retreating to the fire. He whispered softly, “Show me.”
The green flames flickered to life, revealing a vision of Ophelia and her students clapping for a troupe of jugglers and animal tamers in the square, while Theo sat nearby, sharing his snacks with the other urchins. Quentin sighed, watching the scene of temporary peace.
___
Later that evening, a town crier's voice cut through the festive air, rattling Quentin’s focus. He stood near the fireplace, wiping down the counters, but his attention drifted as the announcement echoed from outside. They had captured the leader of the thieves' den and planned to execute her that very night—burned in the town square as an example to all.
Quentin felt Theo stiffen beside him, pale fingers gripping the hilt of his dagger. His eyes were wide, unfocused, like prey caught in a trap.
“We won’t let anything happen to your leader,” Quentin said quietly, watching as Theo remained frozen in place. He knew the boy well enough by now. If he touched him, he would bolt.
Quentin whispered to the inn, asking it to lock Theo inside. The inn responded swiftly, sealing the exits with quiet precision. Theo didn’t notice, his mind elsewhere, lost in fear and anger.
The innkeeper returned to his tasks, the sound of crackling fire, clinking cutlery, and splashing water filling the space. But soon, Ophelia’s footsteps pounded from the alley, and she burst through the wooden door. The inn let her in, though it kept Theo from leaving.
If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
She rushed to Theo, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him back to awareness. “We will not let this happen. Do you hear me?” Her voice was fierce, her eyes blazing. “I will send beams of light to tear down every red soldier if that’s what it takes.”
Quentin, observing from the side, knew the cost of such magic. Her power was immense, but a spell like that would drain her life force. He pulled out a fresh tray of cookies, the sweet scent at odds with the dire conversation. “You might need these then,” he said, hoping the light tone would dissuade her.
Theo’s voice was low, trembling. “She was a mother to all of us. She gave us shelter, helped us hide from the soldiers, even built the tunnels we used to escape.”
Ophelia bit her lip, her eyes softening. She understood; the weight of caring for those who couldn’t fend for themselves. It was a burden she carried for her students too.
Theo’s grip tightened on Ophelia’s arm, his face set with grim determination. “You won’t need to use your magic. It’s time I fought back.”
Ophelia’s brow furrowed in concern. “What are you going to do?”
Theo glanced at the dagger, then at Quentin, his silent plea clear. He didn’t want to be stopped.
Quentin studied him, realizing that despite Theo’s youth, the boy had already lived a lifetime survivng. Everyone born under the Red Army’s rule was already fighting. This was no different.
Finally, Quentin nodded. “We’ll do it together.”
The three of them stood in silence for a moment, the weight of what they were about to attempt pressing down on them. But in that shared glance, a plan began to form—one that would lead them into the heart of Brikkenbale to save Theo’s leader from the Red Army’s flames.
—
“Wish me luck,” Theo whispered as he slipped into the night, his voice barely audible over the din of the festival. It was the final night of celebration, a grand spectacle that would soon be sullied by the Red Army’s cruelty. The thought of it tightened Theo’s grip on the dagger hidden in his cloak.
Ophelia had stuffed her satchel with cookies—her way of replenishing magic for the inevitable battle ahead. "I’ll be ready if you need me," she had said, but for now, she was with her students. She needed to protect them first and return to the plaza to prevent the execution. If she were to be found out during that time, then so be it. She had made arrangements for the mother superior to care for the orphans in her stead. Theo would have to rely on his own skills.
As Theo navigated the dark alleys toward the market fair, he saw the red soldiers hauling a cage, dragging it through the square with their commander at the helm. The sight made his stomach churn. Inside the cage were people—his people—those who had lived in the underground tunnels, hiding from the soldiers' wrath. Tonight, they were to be incinerated as part of a grotesque display of power, a message to the citizens of Brikkenbale that resistance was futile. All this, Quentin saw on his scrying fireplace.
Theo’s heart pounded as he watched the soldiers position the cage at the center of the square. The alleys around him were blocked off by more red soldiers, forcing the gathered crowd to witness the grisly spectacle. Ophelia was there again, not far off, clenching her staff, her fingers twitching as if she was ready to unleash a blinding light on the soldiers. But Theo knew she couldn’t risk exposing herself just yet.
The air grew heavy as the red soldiers began their cruel show, raising torches and jeering. Theo’s blood boiled, but before he could act, all the lights in the square were snuffed out in an instant. The crowd gasped as darkness enveloped the scene.
In that shadowy veil, Theo moved like a ghost.
And then something happened at the inn. Quentin felt like a bolt unlocked, and he saw the door swing open. he stepped out slowly, into the night, the cold wind on his face. he stepped a little beyond the inn’s porch, out into the empty street. Then a couple steps farther, farther… until he was at the plaza's edge. But as he tried to step beyond the alley, he felt being whipped back and knew that this was the limit Hepfin’s force had given him.
Quentin watched from this distance, eyes sharp as Theo ate a whole Rimlar cake and invoked a name. Kyrrho, god of mischief, god of thieves, trickster god of shadows. And the god heard Theo, because his dagger glowed–the one from the vaults, and Theo’s hair began to glow faintly white, a strange magic rippling through him. And Theo struck, the dagger slicing and cutting. One by one, the red soldiers fell silently in the dark, their throats slit with precision. Theo’s movements were fluid, his dagger a gleaming whisper in the blackness. And then the people screamed and fled and there was chaos. Ophelia held her ground, trying to make sense of the situation, looking for any wounded innocent. She did not see Theo making quick work of the men guarding the cages. She only saw the youth running from the cages Theo unlocked. She only saw Theo directing all of them to her.
“Go to the cleric with the yellow hair! Follow her inside the inn, go!” She shared a look with Theo, and Theo nodded at her, urgently.
She swallowed and told everyone to follow her as she lit the crystal of her staff and pointed the light to the dark alleyway towards Hepfin’s cradle. The prisoners bumped into Quentin, who snapped his fingers to open the inn’s door. He watched as all of them filed into the inn. Now that they were safe, he turned his attention back to the plaza. Ophelia was staring at the red soldiers lying lifeless on the ground, wondering in awe and pity how a boy like Theou could have had the skill to end all these well-trained soldiers.
Quentin, meanwhile, saw Theo bend over the great enchanted lock in the giant cage keeping his mother figure. The lock that did not yield to his crafty fingers.
Theo fumbled with it, anger bubbling inside him. He didn’t yet have the skill to unlock such powerful magic. His frustration grew as the seconds ticked by, speaking to the leader, who was an old stout woman.
“Go, my boy. Take the others from their cages and save yourselves,” the old woman said, touching Theo’s face, her fingers old against his young skin.
Theo shook his head and used Kyrrho’s dagger to pick the enchanted lock. “You’re coming with me, Laia.” But Kyrrho’s influence was waning, the young thief’s white hair turning back to black.
A great ball of flame hit the concrete near them and it was such an explosion to cause the cage to topple over and Theo to be blown away. Ophelia screamed and readied her staff, but the red commander pointed one finger to the cage and summoned a spherical concentration of fire blast.
“I will end them all before you even summon one pillar of light, Sister,” the man said, smiling.
Ophelia stopped summoning, and the crystal’s glow faded. Quentin kept back, retreatign back to the shadows. He waited.
The Red Army commander stepped forward as Theo recovered, a malicious grin on his face. Ophelia moved. She ran to step in front of Laia’s cage, her staff at the ready to blast the commander away. But he was not interested in them anymore.
The commander raised his hand, conjuring a flame that hovered in the air, casting light over the square. Theo crept back to the shadows, now that the commander’s full attention was on him.
“Well done on slaying my men. Such talent does not go unnoticed,” the commander said, letting the light of his fire burn away the shadows where Theo was hiding. “Come with us, young thief. And we would make sure you would not hunger or steal again.”
No response. The commander’s flame floated, unmoving, casting long shadows across the plaza. Theo seized the opportunity, throwing Kyrrho’s dagger with deadly accuracy. It struck the commander’s arm, and he screamed, hurling a ball of fire toward Theo in retaliation. Theo dodged, rolling to the side as the flames passed by harmlessly.
Quentin watched intently, his eyes narrowing as he noticed something strange. The commander’s flame sputtered, flickering weakly. The dagger Theo had thrown was glowing faintly; sapping the commander’s magic, and weakening his reserves. It seemed to drain the very life from the flame.
Realizing his magic was faltering, the commander, eyes wild with desperation, turned toward the cage, about to ignite the bars in a blaze of crimson fire.
Theo’s heart stopped. Laia and Ophelia would be burned alive. Ophelia needed more time to summon a devastating beam.
"You must be quick," a voice whispered in his ear, a voice not his own. Quentin heard it too. Theo’s eyes widened. He felt a surge of energy ripple through him, the remnants of the Rumlar cake still coursing through his body, boosting his stealth and strength in the darkness.
Quentin, from the shadows, saw what was happening. He tossed a piece of the cake toward Theo, and Ophelia saw. She understood the dire situation, and whispered a wind spell under her breath, blowing away some of the flames that had begun to creep up the cage and knocking the cake onto Theo’s waiting hand. He chewed the whole thing, swallowed, and was rejuvenated. His hair turned white once more.
Theo moved swiftly, slicing through the commander’s limbs with ruthless efficiency. The commander screamed and swore and cast his destructive flame, but they all sputtered out, leaving the commander increasingly vulnerable. The commander snarled, his red eyes locking onto Theo as they squared off.
“You’re nothing but a stain on this kingdom!” the commander spat, his voice filled with venom.
“A stain that shall strike you down,” Theo said smugly.
With a swift motion, Theo threw his dagger. It landed true, striking the commander’s wrist. The man howled in pain as his flame flickered out completely, his magic cut off. Theo lunged forward, the dagger poised for the final strike. The dagger found its mark, sinking deep into the commander’s neck. He crumpled to the ground, dead.
Theo stood over the body, breathing heavily, the weight of what he’d done settling on his shoulders. His leader and the other captives were safe, but the cost had been high.
Ophelia gathered him in his arms, and once he had recovered, used the last bit of Kyrrho’s influence to unlock the cage and set Laia free.
___
Back at Hepfin’s Cradle, they all gathered in the warmth of the fire. Theo, Ophelia, and the rescued children huddled together, their bodies exhausted. Quentin moved through the room, feeding them warm food and washing away the grime of battle. Ophelia did her best to heal their wounds, her healing powers soothing their aching limbs.
As they ate, Theo sat back, talking to Laia, and hugging his friends, all wearing torn and shabby dresses. Quentin directed them to the washroom and he alone cooked the stew for everyone who was tired, scared, and injured. Once every one of the underground tunnels and sewers was putting spoons on warm bowls, he carried Ophelia’s stew from the counter and placed it across her table.
She groaned, wincing, as she ate. After a few bites, she said, “I asked them to go to the orphanage, but they said that they would go back to the underground tunnels and seal off all the entrances. They said they had a hideout somewhere and some powerful people from Brewlithe were actually planning to aid them. That was how some of the red soldiers caught them. But Laia said that everything was fine now.”
They looked at her direction. She was telling Theo not to worry, and telling him how he got so strong, and that he must look after himself for a while. Later, Theo came to their table and said, “Could I stay here, for a while? I meant what I said earlier. I want to do my part to end this madness.” He looked at Ophelia. “So that no one should steal to survive.”
Ophelia and Quentin stared at him. They nodded. “Grab yourself some stew and go to bed.”
The night wore on, and though the fire crackled warmly, the memory of the red commander’s death lingered in the air. Their battle was far from over. Right now, thought, Quentin was preparing Theo’s room. On the shelves, he laid out Theo’s thieving trophies; a bright stone, bags of copper, and other baubles the other children had given him as a memento.
Quentin looked at this new room and how it adjusted to suit the young thieve’s taste. Inside, the room is modest yet inviting. The walls are paneled with dark, aged wood, lending the space a sense of quiet concealment. Flickering candle sconces cast soft, amber light that barely reached the corners, creating plenty of shadow for one who preferred to remain unseen. The bed, nestled against the far wall, was low to the ground with thick woolen blankets in deep burgundy and forest green, perfect for burrowing into after a long night of slipping through alleys.
Beneath the window, which is covered with thick, velvet curtains, sat a sturdy wooden chest with hidden compartments, ideal for stashing stolen trinkets or secret supplies. A small desk rested against another wall, cluttered with maps, quills, and vials of ink; tools for planning the next heist or marking escape routes.
The room smells faintly of leather and old parchment, with a hint of something spicy; perhaps incense or an herb to ward off unwanted intruders. A hidden alcove behind a sliding panel offers a discreet exit, leading directly into the shadows of the back alleys, allowing Theo to come and go unseen. He need not use the main entrance anymore.
Quentin smiled and closed the door.