Galvas stared at the floor, tracing the patterns with his eyes as Eadric Blackthorn unleashed a torrent of curses.

The words flowed over him, but Galvas’s thoughts drifted elsewhere, back to a time when his mentor, a Fullbright from one of the distinguished classrooms, scolded him for mischief he had caused with his brothers.

A small smile tugged at his lips as he realized how much Quentin, reminded him of her—stern yet capable of warmth.

Eadric’s voice, loud and accusatory, filled the room, but Galvas remained detached, his gaze locked on the blue aquarium before him. The fish moved in elegant patterns, gliding past one another in a harmony that seemed so simple, so peaceful. What a life, he thought, to swim and have no worries.

"Answer me!" Eadric's voice broke through his reverie. "I gave you a good deal to conduct the festival in the Scorchlands. You swore to support it. And now, not only have you gone back on your word, but you’ve thrown centuries of planning into chaos and insulted me before the nobles. Do you have any idea what you’ve done to my reputation?"

Galvas slowly returned to the present, his voice calm and measured. "I do feel for you, Lord Eadric. If it means anything, I sincerely apologize. My decision to recommend a different course during the council meeting was not made lightly. I had my reasons, and I trust you understand why I couldn’t tell you sooner." His explanation, however, did little to calm Eadric’s fury.

"And what did you think I would have done if you told me earlier?" Eadric growled, stepping closer. "Send assassins after you? Treat you like some lowborn thief in the night? You know me better than that, Galvas. Even now, in my anger, I would face you, not stab you in the dark. You weren’t afraid of me. You did this deliberately."

Eadric stopped pacing, standing a few feet from his son, Borrisil, who sat nearby, engrossed in his pocket device. It was only when his father asked "Why?" that Borrisil finally looked up.

Eadric’s face was twisted with a mix of anger and genuine confusion. Borrisil knew then that his father truly cared about the Whydit family.

"It doesn’t matter why," Borrisil interjected as he stood. "The deed is done. The festival will be held in the Triangle of the Abyssal Trench, as Lord Galvas demanded. We will have a say in the rules, and whoever wins will claim Lord Koleson’s Great Needle as the prize. Simple, no?"

"Yes," Galvas responded, still watching the fish. "Simple."

Borrisil shrugged and glanced at his father as if to say, Well, we tried. Eadric, shaking his head, made for the door but paused to deliver a parting shot. "I always thought you different from your brothers, Galvas. But you’re no better—just another fool with reckless ambitions. People whisper about the Whydit curse, but there is no curse, is there? Just the folly of Koleson’s children."

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Eadric left, leaving only the sound of the aquarium in the room. Borrisil lingered behind, stepping closer to Galvas. "Free, aren’t they?" he said, his voice soft.

Galvas turned, puzzled by the statement.

"The fish," Borrisil clarified with a nod toward the aquarium. "They seem free—no concerns, no complications. It must feel nice."

Galvas studied him warily, unsure of where the conversation was leading.

"But what would I know?" Borrisil added with a smile. "I’m not a fish." He approached Galvas, his tone shifting. "My father doesn’t understand your reasoning. He’s always said you were the clever one among Koleson’s brood. Right now, he’s confused, probably hurt. But I think I know why you did what you did." He paused, letting the words sink in. "The problem is, your plan might be harder to accomplish than you think."

Galvas’s face remained impassive, though he could sense Borrisil was about to reveal something significant.

"I saw the list of festival participants," Borrisil continued, pulling out his pocket device. "One name stood out—Gelvin. Ring a bell?"

Galvas’s expression didn’t change, but inwardly he bristled. He refused to let Borrisil see any reaction. "Gelvin is a minor administrator, nothing more. He dabbled in the world of rankers and quickly left it behind. He wouldn’t do anything so rash."

Borrisil raised an eyebrow. "Just as my father would never hire assassins?" He held the device closer, showing Galvas the name. "I would not dare lie to you, Galvas. He’s in the festival."

Galvas glanced at the screen, then looked away, shrugging. "I guess children can be unpredictable."

"I suppose," Borrisil said, his smile returning. He made for the door. "Lord Heltrin, I hope this festival turns out to be as entertaining as you’ve planned."

“It’s you Blackthorns that would be doing most of the planning, remember?” Galvas stated.

“Oh right”. Borrisil exclaimed with an almost gentle smile on his face.

The Helsuk sliced through the water, docking smoothly in the hangar below Gelvin’s father’s island fortress. As the craft settled, Gelvin leapt out, dragging Ella and Helletta with him, barely acknowledging the family attendant waiting to greet them. They rushed past the elegant halls of the manor, Gelvin leading them straight to his chambers.

His quarters were large and luxurious, but cluttered with half-assembled technologies scattered around. Ella and Helletta looked around with curiosity, Ella joking that there might be treasure hidden under the bed. Gelvin, meanwhile, rummaged through his drawers, pulling out books, a long leather bag, and an entangled drive.

"What are you two doing?" he asked, noticing their heads poking out from under his bed.

Ella laughed, standing up, but Gelvin paid her no mind. He led them to another room, its walls a stark blue, and began setting up his equipment.

"What exactly do you plan to do with us?" Ella asked, feigning fear. Helletta giggled, but Gelvin ignored them, focused on his preparations.

"We’re training," he said, matter-of-factly. "If you want me on your team for the festival, you’ll need to learn how to fight properly. Combat, strategy, survival—all of it. I’m not letting you two die before the first round is over." He handed them each a needle, a long, slender weapon favored in their region.

Helletta handled hers with ease, but Ella struggled with its weight. "I don’t do needles, Whydit," she said, pushing the weapon back at him.

Gelvin frowned. "If you don’t use a weapon, you’ll be dead before you can weave a single reflection."

"I’m an herbalist. Teach me those arts first. The needle’s for people like Helletta."

Gelvin stared at her for a long moment, then finally said, "You’re going first."

Ella’s eyes widened. "Did you not just hear me? I don’t fight with heavy weapons!"

"A needle isn’t heavy. If it feels that way, it’s because you lack training. On guard." Without warning, Gelvin struck, his needle moving swiftly toward her. He aimed just close enough to force Ella to raise her weapon, but not enough to harm her.

Reluctantly, she held her needle up, trembling as she faced him. Their sparring was brief and entirely one-sided. Gelvin’s strikes were precise, leaving red streaks on Ella’s arms, legs, and face. Meanwhile, she barely managed to touch the air around him.

Once it was over, Gelvin turned to Helletta. Ella, catching her breath, knew that Helletta was the real opponent he had been waiting for. And she did not like it.

Helletta took her stance, and with a sudden burst of energy, the two clashed, their needles flashing in the air like lightning.