The outer rings of Bastian transformed into a different world after dark.

The bustling market stalls and crowds receded, replaced by darker elements: hooded figures conducting whispered deals, stray creatures prowling the shadows, and the occasional flash of steel in darkened alleys.

Silas moved carefully through the streets, trying to look confident despite his nerves.

Bonereghard floated beside him, the skull's purple flames casting eerie shadows on the nearby walls.

"Which location first?" Silas asked, studying the bloodstained map.

"The warehouse district," Bonereghard replied, his purple flames flickering as he spoke.

"Most criminal enterprises require storage space. And do try to look more authoritative. You're supposed to be controlling me, not the other way around."

Silas straightened his shoulders and pointed dramatically. "Right then... uh, follow me, skull servant!"

"Perhaps with slightly less theatrical flair," Bonereghard sighed. "We're aiming for intimidating, not performing in a street play."

"Remember," Bonereghard murmured, his voice barely audible, "we're looking for information about last night's visitors. But do try to be subtle. Your grandfather had a tendency to kick down doors and demand answers, which, while effective, tends to attract unwanted attention."

"Right," Silas whispered back. "Subtle. Got it. Any ideas?"

"The simplest way to move unnoticed," Bonereghard mused, "is to be someone everyone wants to avoid but is universally feared, like a tax assessor."

Silas frowned. "A tax assessor?"

"Exactly." The skull's purple flames flickered with amusement. "Nothing makes people more nervous than official paperwork. And nothing makes them more willing to play by the rules, or be quick with bribes, than the threat of an audit."

"But won't they check my credentials?"

"My dear boy, no one questions a man with a clipboard and an air of bureaucratic authority. Trust me on this." Bonereghard's purple flames flared. "Besides, most of these operations are barely legal to begin with. The mere suggestion of a thorough examination of their books tends to loosen tongues remarkably quickly if you give the appearance of being willing to 'look the other way' when things are untoward."

An hour later, Silas found himself walking into the warehouse district wearing his most formal clothes.

He carried a leather portfolio full of official-looking documents. Bonereghard floated beside him, now presenting himself as an "official audit companion construct."

The first warehouse manager took one look at Silas's clipboard and immediately started sweating.

Silas adjusted his posture, channeling every memory of stern authority figures he'd encountered. The warehouse manager's nervous energy told him Bonereghard's approach might actually work.

"Good evening," Silas said, keeping his voice crisp and official.

"I trust you understand why we're here." He flipped open a stack of mostly blank papers, scanning the documents as if they held grave importance.

The manager wrung his hands. "I... we weren't expecting an inspection at this hour."

"Precisely." Silas raised an eyebrow, mimicking Bonereghard's most withering look.

"Recent events have necessitated a thorough review of all operations in this district. I'm sure you understand."

Bonereghard's purple flames cast dancing shadows across the warehouse ledgers spread on the desk. The skull remained silent, adding to the tension.

"Everything is in order, I assure you," the manager stammered. "Though if there are any... discrepancies, I'm sure we could discuss them."

Silas kept his face carefully neutral, though his heart raced.

This was exactly the opening they needed. He glanced at the papers, then back at the manager.

"A private discussion might be... appropriate." He tapped his quill against the ledger. "Lead the way."

The manager nodded quickly and gestured toward a small office at the back of the warehouse.

Bonereghard's skull followed silently, purple flames casting long shadows across stacked crates and barrels.

Inside the cramped office, the manager closed the door and pulled out a small pouch that clinked with coins.

Silas raised his hand, stopping him. "Before we discuss any arrangements," he said, channeling Bonereghard's practiced disdain, "I'm particularly interested in any unusual activities from last night. My records show some... concerning movements in this area."

The manager's face went pale. "Last night?"

"Yes, last night. Multiple individuals were observed entering and leaving this district. Some met with rather unfortunate ends near the Beckham Estate." Silas leaned forward slightly. "I trust you understand the gravity of being associated with such events."

Sweat beaded on the manager's forehead. His eyes darted between Silas and Bonereghard's floating skull.

"I... that is... some men did rent space here yesterday. Paid in advance. I didn't ask questions."

"And these men?"

"They spoke about a job at the old estate. Said they had business with the new heir." The manager swallowed hard. "I swear, I didn't know they meant harm. They claimed they were just delivering a message."

Silas leaned back, maintaining his stern expression despite his racing heart.

"And who did you say authorized this inspection again?"

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The manager's brow furrowed. "I... you didn't mention-"

Bonereghard's flames suddenly erupted, filling the small office with violent purple light.

The skull's eye sockets blazed as shadows danced across the walls. The manager stumbled backward, knocking over a stack of papers.

"The truth," Silas commanded, grateful his voice didn't shake. "Now."

"Kelso!" The manager's words tumbled out. "They said it was a job from Kelso Whitmire. I swear I didn't know what they were planning. He has connections all over the outer rings. When his people want something, you don't ask questions."

Silas kept his face neutral, though his mind raced at the revelation.

He'd never heard of Kelso Whitmire, but clearly Bonereghard's reaction meant something. The skull's flames had subsided to their usual flicker, but the manager remained pressed against the wall, trembling.

Silas noticed Bonereghard's flames flicker with recognition at the mention of Kelso Whitmire.

He kept his stern expression fixed on the manager, but his mind raced with questions.

"You may go," Silas commanded, maintaining his bureaucratic facade.

The manager scrambled out of the office, leaving papers scattered across the floor.

Once alone, Silas turned to Bonereghard. "Who's Kelso Whitmire?"

"Ah." Bonereghard's flames dimmed slightly. "A rather unpleasant reminder of your grandfather's past conflicts. Kelso holds a senior position within Bastian's administration—one of those tedious bureaucrats who manage the city's inner workings from the comfort of the inner ring."

"And he had something against my grandfather?"

"More accurately, he coveted what your grandfather possessed. Dewalt commanded creatures of remarkable power—beings that Kelso could only dream of controlling. Many of those creatures still reside in the estate's archives, dormant but intact."

Silas frowned. "So these weren't just random thugs trying to rob the place?"

"Like not." Bonereghard's skull tilted slightly. "Kelso has spent years attempting to access the estate's collection. Your grandfather's death likely presented what he saw as an opportunity—a new, inexperienced heir who might not understand the value of what he inherited."

"The monsters in the archive," Silas said. "Are they dangerous?"

"Of course," Bonereghard laughed. "Dewalt was an Archmage; everything he touched was dangerous."

The skull drifted closer, its flames casting dancing shadows across the scattered papers.

"Archdukes of Hell bound in contracts of blood and soul. Primal Dragons from before the age of man. Elder Things that crawled from depths better left unexplored. Your grandfather had quite the collection, all safely archived within the estate's vaults."

Silas's mouth went dry. He'd known his grandfather was powerful, but this... this was beyond anything he'd imagined.

No wonder someone like Kelso would want access to the estate. The power contained in those archives could reshape the world.

"How many?" Silas asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Hundreds," Bonereghard replied. "Not all as terrible. All waiting in their magical stasis, ready to be awakened by one who bears Beckham blood. Though I wouldn't recommend attempting any summonings until you've mastered something more basic than a sewer slug."

Silas's mind reeled at the revelation. Hundreds of powerful creatures, all locked away in the estate's vaults.

He wasn't just dealing with debts and taxes—he was responsible for keeping these dangerous beings contained.

"And Kelso thinks he can just walk in and take control of them?" Silas asked, trying to wrap his head around the situation.

"Not quite so simple," Bonereghard replied. "The creatures are bound by blood contracts to the Beckham line. But there are... ways around such things, given enough resources and determination. Neither of which Kelso lacks."

Silas ran a hand through his hair, thinking of the bodies Bonereghard had left scattered across the estate grounds. "Those men he sent, were they supposed to murder me? Or just rob the property?"

Bonereghard pondered briefly. "Plunder the property. Without a member of the Beckham bloodline, access to everything else crumbles."

The thought of armed men breaking into his home was bad enough, but knowing they'd been after the estate's secrets made it worse.

His grandfather's legacy wasn't just wealth and property—it was power beyond imagination, locked away in vaults he hadn't even seen yet.

"So they wanted to steal what they could before I took control?" Silas asked, watching Bonereghard's flames flicker in the dim office.

"Likely. The estate's defenses were weakened during the transition period. Once you claimed your inheritance and the wards recognized you as the rightful heir, their window of opportunity closed."

Bonereghard's skull tilted slightly. "Though I suspect they underestimated the estate's remaining security measures."

Silas thought of Bonereghard's battle form, the way he'd dispatched the intruders with terrifying efficiency.

The skeletal butler had seemed almost eager for the fight.

"You knew this might happen," Silas said. It wasn't a question.

"I've served the Beckham family for generations. There are always those who seek to claim what isn't theirs."

Bonereghard's flames pulsed. "Your grandfather made many enemies, and more than a few allies who became enemies when they couldn't access his power. Kelso is merely the most persistent of them."

Silas's eyes widened as the pieces clicked together. "The taxes, is that why they're so high? Another way to try and take control of the estate?"

"Ah, now you're thinking like a Beckham." Bonereghard's flames brightened. "Thousands of gold in back taxes, thousands more in inheritance fees. Rather excessive for an estate that generates its own power and requires minimal upkeep, wouldn't you say?"

Silas slumped against the office wall.

He was caught in something far bigger than unpaid taxes.

"So Kelso has connections in the tax office?"

"Senior position within Bastian's administration," Bonereghard reminded him. "The beauty of bureaucracy is how easily one can manipulate it. Inflate a few assessments, 'discover' some missing payments, add compound interest at punitive rates..."

"And either I pay impossible amounts, or the estate gets seized." Silas felt sick.

All those hours worrying about gold, and it had never really been about the money at all.

"Precisely. Though seizing an estate with such particular inheritance requirements might prove... challenging." Bonereghard's skull drifted closer.

"Still, the pressure of impossible debts can force even the most reluctant heir to consider selling certain assets. Particularly if they don't understand the true value of what they possess."

"What do you suggest?" Silas asked, turning to Bonereghard's floating skull. "We can't just wait for more attacks."

"There are several approaches," Bonereghard replied, purple flames flickering thoughtfully.

"We could attempt to gather evidence of Kelso's manipulation of the tax system, though bureaucrats tend to cover their tracks well. Or we could focus on strengthening the estate's defenses—your grandfather left quite a few inactive security measures that could be reactivated with sufficient mana."

"What about going public?" Silas suggested. "If we exposed what he's trying to do—"

"And reveal the existence of the archive to every power-hungry mage in Bastian?" Bonereghard's flames dimmed disapprovingly. "That would only multiply our problems. No, this requires a more... delicate touch."

The skull drifted closer. "First, we need to understand exactly what Kelso knows about the estate's contents. These warehouse thugs were just the beginning—we need to trace the connection back, find out who else is involved."

Silas nodded slowly.

The idea of more investigating made his stomach churn, but Bonereghard was right. They needed information before they could act.

"And the tax situation?"

"Leave that to me," Bonereghard's flames brightened with what might have been amusement. "I've dealt with Bastian's bureaucracy for generations. There are... alternative methods of handling such matters."

Silas sighed. "And in the end, everything comes back to tax fraud."

"Not fraud," Bonereghard corrected, his flames flickering with indignation. "We've already been over this. Creative financial management. There's a distinct legal difference."

"Right." Silas pushed away from the wall. "And I'm sure the tax collectors would totally understand that difference while they're dragging us to prison."

"My dear boy, one only goes to prison if caught. And in several centuries of service, I have yet to be caught." The skull's flames swirled with what might have been pride.

Silas rubbed his temples, processing everything he'd learned.

His grandfather's legacy was far more complicated than a rundown estate and some unpaid taxes.

"We should head back," he said, gathering the scattered papers from the floor. "I don't want to leave Diog alone too long, especially now that we know what we're dealing with."

"A wise precaution," Bonereghard agreed, his skull bobbing slightly. "Though the Gemini are more than capable of handling any further intrusions."

Silas tucked the papers into his leather portfolio, maintaining his stern tax assessor facade as they exited the office.

The warehouse manager practically dove behind a stack of crates to avoid eye contact.

Outside, the evening air helped clear Silas's head.