For the next few days, Thorne stayed away from the Elven forest. He needed time to recover, plain and simple. His body still felt like it was dragging through fog, heavy and reluctant to move. Every muscle protested, each bruise and half-healed cut reminding him of just how much he’d pushed himself. Even breathing felt like it tugged at something sore, a raw reminder of the boars’ fight and the punishment he’d put himself through with Aether Surge.
The pull to get back to the forest was still there, an itch he couldn’t quite shake. There was progress to be made, levels to gain, and each day he stayed put felt like a missed opportunity. But another, darker reason kept him in the slums—the disappearances.
Fear was everywhere now, coating the air thick as soot. Thorne had never seen the cousins like this: wary, glancing over their shoulders, each face pale and eyes darting to the shadows as though expecting something to lunge out at them. Normally, the streets rang out with their shouting, laughter, and the occasional scuffle, filling the slums with a chaotic kind of life. Now, that was gone, replaced by a tense, watchful silence. The cousins moved only in tight groups, skirting the alleys and sticking close to walls, quick to vanish at the slightest hint of movement.
Thorne wandered through the fish market a few times, observing the change. Every cousin he saw had that same look—nervous, twitchy, like they were coiled to spring. He watched as one kid tried to swipe an apple, but his hands were shaky, and he barely escaped when the vendor caught on. Another kid, barely older than him, snatched a loaf of bread and bolted, not looking back. The fear was eating away at everyone, twisting them into something jumpy and desperate.
Jonah and Ben were no exceptions. Ben had holed up in the attic, burying himself in his small alchemy book like it held some secret that could make everything go back to normal. Thorne would catch him sitting there, squinting at the faded pages, his brow furrowed like he was working out some difficult puzzle.
Jonah, on the other hand, had thrown himself into his usual business dealings with a new intensity. Thorne knew he was trying to distract himself, working to gather a few extra coins to buy herbs for Ben in an effort to lift his spirits.
He’d gotten into negotiations with the alchemist, trying to sell off the aether-infused bones and whatever else they’d salvaged from the boars. The way Jonah talked, he was convinced they’d been undersold and was determined to get them a better deal.
“Don’t worry about it, Thorne,” Jonah had assured him, his eyes gleaming with confidence. “I’ll find us a better buyer in the inner city. We’re worth more than these bottom feeders want to pay.”
Thorne had shrugged, content to let Jonah handle it. He knew Jonah could talk his way into a better deal than he ever could, and it kept the boy busy, out of the attic and out of his hair. Besides, if Jonah wanted to handle the haggle, Thorne wasn’t about to argue.
For himself, he slipped back into his usual habits, not so much out of need but because it was a way to escape the tense, stifling air hanging over everyone. He kept to the quieter parts of town, sticking to shadows, slipping through narrow alleys, and moving just out of sight, relying on muscle memory to find the best marks. It was routine, a comforting rhythm that kept his mind off the cousins’ fear and his own frustrations.
And then, when the notifications flickered in his vision, they felt like small victories, each one a brief reminder that he was still moving forward, despite everything.
Skill Level Up: Stealth!
Skill Level Up: Pickpocketing!
Skill Level Up: Pickpocketing!
Skill Level Up: Running!
Skill Level Up: Sleight of Hand!
Skill Level Up: Deception!
Skill Level Up: Escape Artist!
It wasn’t much, but he’d take it. Each gain was progress, even if it was just a small, steady beat against the gnawing dread simmering in the slums.
*
Thorne moved through the crowded market with practiced ease, his keen eyes scanning for potential targets. The hum of conversation and the calls of vendors filled the air, creating a symphony of distractions. He slipped his hand into the pocket of a well-dressed merchant, deftly extracting a small pouch of coins. The merchant continued haggling over the price of spices, completely unaware of the theft. Thorne pocketed the coins and moved on, his face a mask of innocent curiosity.
As he weaved through the throng, Thorne noticed a group of cousins huddled together in a small side alley. Their faces were drawn and anxious, a stark contrast to the bustling activity around them. Intrigued, Thorne approached, slipping into the shadows to listen in on their conversation.
One of the older boys, a lanky youth named Darius, was speaking in a low, urgent tone. "We can't just keep waiting for something to happen. We need to do something. Another cousin disappeared this morning."
A murmur of fear and despair rippled through the group. Thorne edged closer, catching snippets of their conversation.
"Who was it?" a younger girl with dirt-smudged cheeks asked, her voice trembling.
Darius sighed heavily, running a hand through his unkempt hair. "It was Carl. He worked at one of Uncle's taverns. He was so strong! He had just formed his core. Now he's gone."
Thorne felt a cold knot form in his stomach. Carl was one of the older cousins he vaguely remembered, a boy who always worked hard and was sturdier than a mule. The news of his disappearance hit hard.
"We can't keep going on like this," another boy said, his voice tight with frustration. "We're just sitting ducks, waiting for the next one to vanish. We need to stick together."
"Stick together?" a girl with a tear-streaked face scoffed. "And do what? We can barely find enough to eat. How are we supposed to fight back?"
Thorne cleared his throat, drawing their attention. "We need to be smart about this," he said, stepping into the light. "Panicking won't help anyone."
One of the boys, a tall and surly youth named Rafe, sneered. "Oh, look who it is. The prince of the streets. What do you know about anything, Thorne? Just because Uncle likes you doesn't mean you know everything."
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Thorne raised an eyebrow, his mind working quickly. "Well, Rafe, if you have a better idea, I'm all ears. Maybe you can enlighten us with your vast wisdom?"
The other cousins chuckled, and Rafe's sneer faltered. "Shut up, Thorne. Just because you're Uncle's favorite doesn't mean we have to listen to you."
"Maybe not," Thorne replied smoothly, "but at least I'm trying to come up with a plan instead of just complaining. We need to stick together and find somewhere safe to hide."
"Why don't you just run back to Uncle and let him protect you?" Rafe sneered. "You can hide under his desk while the rest of us fend for ourselves."
"Great idea, Rafe," Thorne said with a grin. "But I think I'll stick around and help out instead. Maybe you'll learn something."
"From you?" Rafe scoffed. "I'd rather take my chances."
Thorne's smile widened. "You sure about that? Because I distinctly remember you crying like a baby last week when you lost your bread to a rat."
The group erupted in laughter, and Rafe's face turned red. "Shut up, Thorne. At least I don't kiss up to Uncle."
"Yeah, yeah," Thorne said, waving a hand dismissively. "Listen, we need to lay low for a while, and find somewhere safe to hide."
"Where?" the girl with the tear-streaked face asked again, more seriously this time. "And do what? We can barely find enough to eat."
Thorne thought furiously. They didn't have many options, but there was one place that came to mind. "The sewers," he said suddenly. "I've used them before when I was being chased by the guards. It's not pleasant, but it's safe. We can hide there until things calm down."
Rafe rolled his eyes again. "The sewers? Really, Thorne? That's your big plan?"
"Unless you have a better one, yes," Thorne shot back. "It's disgusting, but it's better than getting picked off one by one."
The cousins exchanged uncertain glances, debating among themselves. "The sewers?" Darius said, wrinkling his nose. "That sounds disgusting."
"It is," Thorne admitted, "but it's better than nothing. We need to stay together and stay hidden. It's the best option we've got."
The group fell silent, each cousin’s face shadowed as they considered Thorne’s suggestion. Tension hung thick in the air. Finally, Darius nodded, his jaw clenched tight. “Alright, Thorne. We’ll try the sewers. Better than getting picked off one by one.”
Thorne felt a flicker of relief. They had a plan now, rough as it was. His gaze swept over each of them, catching the mix of fear and determination set into every face. Their eyes met his in small, unspoken acknowledgments. “We meet tonight at the entrance near the old bakery. Bring whatever you can carry, and don’t go anywhere alone,” he said, voice low but firm.
They nodded, silent but resolute, and dispersed into the crowded streets, vanishing among the market stalls and faded buildings. Left alone, Thorne felt a rare sense of purpose settle over him, filling a void he hadn’t realized was there.
He’d never had strong ties with the cousins, not with the way Uncle had kept them all at a distance from him. But he couldn’t just stand by, not with the disappearances creeping ever closer. At the very least, he could help them stay hidden and keep them moving.
As he headed back to the attic, his mind raced with ideas, piecing together anything that might give them an edge.
When he reached the attic, he felt a surge of relief to find it empty, the rare quiet filling the room like a breath of fresh air. He let himself exhale. But the peace shattered the moment he noticed a figure waiting for him at the small table in the corner. His uncle.
The sight of him brought that old, tangled mix of gratitude and resentment to the surface. Uncle was the one who’d taken him in, kept him fed, taught him the hard lessons that kept him alive on these streets. But recently, the man had changed. He was bigger, thicker around the middle, his shirts stretched tight across his shoulders like they could rip open any second. His eyes, always red-rimmed and swollen lately, held that quick spark of anger—barely contained, as if a wrong word might ignite it.
“Uncle,” Thorne greeted, masking his surprise as he stepped inside.
His uncle looked up from his ledger, his gaze sharp, calculating. “Thorne. Sit down.”
Thorne complied, his guard up as he took the chair across from him. “Uncle, there’ve been more disappearances. Another cousin went missing today. Do you know anything about it?”
Uncle waved a dismissive hand, barely glancing up from his notes. “Orphans disappear all the time, Thorne. It’s hardly a new phenomenon. I can’t be bothered with every street urchin who wanders off.”
Frustration simmered beneath Thorne’s skin. His hands clenched at his sides, and he leaned forward. “But Uncle, it’s not just random. It’s been happening too often. People are scared.”
Uncle’s face darkened, his expression sharp as a knife. “I told you, it’s none of my concern. You should focus on more important matters.”
“But—” Thorne began, but the glare his uncle gave him stopped the words in his throat.
“Enough,” his uncle snapped, his tone ice-cold. “We have more pressing matters to discuss.”
Thorne swallowed down the frustration, forcing himself to nod. He knew better than to push when his uncle’s temper was this close to boiling over. “Alright. What did you want to talk about?”
A smirk tugged at the corner of his uncle’s mouth, sharp and humorless. “It’s time for our little game. Tell me, Thorne—what have you noticed in the city lately?”
Thorne thought hard, sifting through every recent memory for details he might have overlooked. “Well, they’re still working to rebuild the ruins after the noble houses clashed. But other than that, and the disappearances, nothing unusual,” he said carefully.
Uncle’s eyes narrowed in a way that made Thorne’s skin prickle. “You need to be more observant, Thorne.” His voice was cold, biting. “The city guard has been disbanded. House Durnell now controls patrols, with the baron’s blessing, no less. Baron Elmond was only too happy to recall his troops to the capital. And do you know whose maneuvering made that possible?”
Thorne felt the familiar pang of irritation at Uncle’s smugness, but he pushed it down, meeting his gaze with a forced, agreeable smile. Using Echoes of Truth, he replied, “You have a sharp mind, Uncle. Your maneuvering is truly impressive.”
Uncle’s expression softened, pleased. Thorne could see a spark of satisfaction in his eyes as he leaned forward, that ambition flashing through. “In just a few months, Thorne, all of Alvar City will be in my grasp,” he continued, a gleam of excitement in his voice. “One, no, two issues left to handle, and then… I’ll be the most powerful man here.”
Thorne’s curiosity was piqued, though he kept his face neutral. This was Uncle at his most dangerous—driven, hungry, and already planning ten moves ahead. Thorne knew better than to ask directly; instead, he watched, noting the calculation in his uncle’s voice, the way he held himself like a king ready to ascend. To Uncle, this city was a board of pawns to be maneuvered however he pleased, each piece a step toward ultimate power.
Careful not to press, Thorne shifted topics, hoping to learn something about Sid’s condition. “And Sid?” he asked. “How’s he doing?”
Uncle’s gaze turned dismissive again, flicking over him like the question barely registered. “Sid will recover. He’s a tough man.” He paused, his face hardening. “You’d do better to focus on your own training rather than worrying about others.”
Thorne nodded, though he couldn’t shake the concern. Sid was more than just his mentor; he was a key part of Thorne’s survival and growth. But Uncle’s tone left no room for argument. Pushing him would only make things worse.
Just as Uncle opened his mouth to speak, the attic door burst open. Ben skidded inside, his face flushed and breath coming fast. He froze, eyes going wide as they landed on Uncle, then flicked to Thorne, looking for guidance.
Uncle’s eyes narrowed, flicking from Ben to Thorne with that same, icy scrutiny. “And who is this?” he asked, his tone hard and unimpressed.
“He’s a friend,” Thorne replied, standing a little straighter. “He’s been staying with me for a while.” Thorne shot Uncle a look, surprised he wasn’t already informed. Usually, Uncle knew everything.
Uncle’s frown deepened, and a look of distaste flashed over his face. “You should be careful about the company you keep,” he said, voice dripping with contempt.
Thorne felt a surge of irritation and didn’t bother to hide it. “Ben’s home was burned during the battle,” he snapped, his tone edged with anger. “He’s got nowhere else to go.”
Uncle’s expression remained as flat as stone. He rose from his chair, tucking his ledger into his arm. “Be careful on your hunts,” he said coolly, brushing off the conversation as if Ben was already forgotten.
Thorne’s jaw tightened. His uncle was already halfway to the door, but he couldn’t resist. “The Gravediggers won’t stop killing cousins until you do something about it,” he called out, voice tinged with both defiance and anger.
His uncle stopped mid-step, slowly turning to face him. For a long moment, he stared at Thorne, eyes hard and calculating. Then, without a word, he turned and left, the door closing with a soft click.
Thorne watched him go, a fierce satisfaction rising despite the tension that hung in the room. He had stood up to Uncle, and for once, made the man pause.