Hours passed in silence, the ship’s swaying lulling Naethan into a restless half-sleep. He could hear the distant murmurs of the sailors above, the occasional creak of the planks, and the rhythmic crashing of waves against the hull. Yet his thoughts refused to settle.

What was inside the box? Why had Felix von Rothenburg chosen him for this task? The magician’s words echoed in his mind: There are things better left undiscovered.

Naethan clenched his fists. He had no choice but to deliver the box. Felix had made that abundantly clear. Yet the mystery gnawed at him. Was it worth the risk? Would the Archmage of Valmor even help him? Or was he just another pawn in a game he didn’t understand?

The pull inside him was faint now, almost as if the loop were waiting for him to take a step. It hadn’t disappeared—he could still feel its distant tug—but it no longer controlled him.

Cautiously, Naethan moved through the dim cargo hold. The faint rays of light filtering through the cracks in the wood offered little visibility. His mind was heavy, consumed by questions about the box and Felix’s intentions. Then, his foot caught on something—or someone.

“Ow!” A sharp cry shattered the silence. Naethan froze, his heart racing. He had clearly overlooked someone.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered hurriedly, his voice low. Squinting into the darkness, he tried to make out the shape before him.

“You’d better be,” came a defiant reply, followed by the sound of a blanket being thrown back. A figure emerged—a boy, not much younger than Naethan, with messy hair and dirt-streaked clothes. “Are we there yet?” the boy asked, squinting at Naethan with narrowed eyes.

Naethan blinked in surprise. “I thought you were a rat.”

“Well, thanks for that,” the boy said, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t look much better yourself.”

“Shh!” Naethan quickly raised a hand, his voice a hushed whisper. “Keep your voice down. I don’t want to get caught.”

“Relax.” The boy waved him off and stood up. “With all the noise from the sea, no one will hear us. Besides, they’re too busy getting ready for arrival to bother looking for rats—or us.”

Naethan couldn’t deny that the boy had a point. He let some of his tension ease. “You might be right.”

“I’m Finn,” the boy said finally, extending a dirty hand.

“Uh, Naethan,” he replied, hesitating before shaking it. The grip was brief, firm but not hostile.

“What are you doing here?” Finn asked, his tone casual, as if he already knew the answer.

Naethan eyed him skeptically. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Finn grinned broadly. “Easy—I’m here to become a mage.”

Naethan snorted in disbelief. “Become a mage? You do know you need a recommendation letter for that, right? And no offense, but you don’t exactly look like you’re on friendly terms with many mages.” He gestured at Finn’s ragged clothing.

Finn’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “What does that matter? You don’t look like much either.”

Naethan shrugged. “Fair enough. Do you have a recommendation letter?”

Finn hesitated briefly. Naethan caught the fleeting look of mistrust that crossed his face. Then Finn tilted his chin up slightly, almost defiantly. “My master saw potential in me and wrote me one. What about you?”

Naethan studied Finn, unsure whether to believe him. But what could he say? That his own letter had landed him in a situation he barely understood?

“Yeah, I have one too,” Naethan admitted finally, reluctantly.

“That’s great,” Finn said with a wide grin. “Looks like I already know a future mage.”

Naethan nodded, but before he could respond, loud thudding from above interrupted them. Voices echoed down through the deck.

“They’re coming! Let’s hide,” Naethan hissed.

Finn nodded, and the two of them quickly crawled under the dirty rags scattered around the cargo hold. The stench was sharp and musty, and Naethan had to stifle a cough.

The door to the cargo hold creaked open, and heavy footsteps followed. Two men entered, their voices deep and loud.

“I want all this unloaded by 6 p.m. We’re heading back to Nikosia tomorrow.”

“Understood, will do,” the second man replied.

Naethan held his breath, his heart pounding in his throat. The footsteps gradually receded, and the door closed with a dull thud.

“How are we going to get out of here?” Naethan whispered, his voice barely more than a breath.

Finn’s eyes glinted in the darkness. “Leave that to me,” he said quietly, disappearing into the shadows.

Naethan waited, tension buzzing through him. He could feel his hands trembling as he strained to hear any sound. Minutes passed, dragging endlessly. Suddenly, a soft call broke the silence.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

“Naethan, now!”

He crawled out from his hiding spot and followed Finn as quickly as he could. When he reached the door, he stopped abruptly. A sailor lay unconscious on the ground, his body heavy and motionless.

“How did you do that?” Naethan whispered, disbelief evident in his voice.

Finn shot him a mischievous glance. “I have my tricks. Now hurry.”

They made their way to the railing, ducking low and creeping cautiously toward the ramp. Naethan’s heart hammered against his ribs as he carefully measured each step on the slick planks. Above them, the sailors’ voices mingled with the rhythmic crash of waves against the ship’s hull.

“Stay low,” Finn whispered, crawling ahead. His eyes darted nervously, scanning for any sign of danger.

Naethan nodded, even though Finn probably couldn’t see it. The weight of the box in his pocket seemed to grow heavier with every step, a constant, oppressive reminder of what was at stake.

Suddenly, Finn stopped. Naethan, right behind him, nearly stumbled into him. “What is it?” he asked hoarsely.

“Look ahead. See them?” Finn gestured with a slight nod toward two men standing by the ramp, deep in conversation. One wore a harbor guard’s uniform, the other a burly sailor with a crate on his shoulder.

“Damn,” Naethan muttered, his throat tightening. “What do we do now?”

Finn grinned slightly, as if he’d been waiting for this question. “Stay here. Let me handle it.”

“What? Finn, wait!” But Finn was already gone, slipping silently past a crate and disappearing from Naethan’s view.

Naethan stood frozen, his heart racing, thoughts chasing each other in his mind. What was that boy planning? Before he could think further, a loud crash rang out. A stack of barrels near the railing toppled over, hitting the ground with a resounding clatter.

“What the hell?” one of the men shouted. “Did you see that?”

“No, but we’d better check it out,” the other replied, and both of them ran toward the noise.

Finn reappeared beside Naethan, a self-satisfied grin on his face. “Now or never.”

“Did you do that on purpose?” Naethan asked as he hastily followed Finn.

“Of course. Who else? Come on, the ramp’s clear.”

The two of them crouched and hurried down the ramp, the wood creaking faintly under their feet. Naethan could almost feel the solid ground of the harbor beneath him when a gruff voice called out behind them: “Hey! You there!”

Finn reacted immediately, grabbing Naethan’s arm and pulling him into a narrow alley. “Don’t panic,” he whispered, throwing a glance at Naethan that somehow managed to be reassuring. “I’ve got this.”

Before Naethan could protest, Finn yanked a loose rope from a nearby stack and quickly tossed it into a corner, where it entangled with a pile of empty crates. As the men rounded the corner, they tripped over the mess, cursing loudly as the crates crashed to the ground.

“Let’s go!” Finn didn’t give Naethan time to think, dragging him further into the shadowy streets of the harbor.

They eventually reached a quieter part of the docks, far from the bustling activity. Naethan leaned heavily against a wall, breathing hard, while Finn stood with his hands on his hips, grinning at him.

“So, what now?” Finn asked finally. “As far as I know, the academy’s admissions ceremony isn’t for two days. What’s your plan until then?”

Naethan straightened up and shrugged. “We could share a room at an inn.”

Finn blinked in surprise. “You want us to share a room?”

“Why not?” Naethan offered a faint grin. “I’ve got enough shards. Felix von Rothenburg gave me enough to last a whole month.”

Finn’s eyes widened before he burst into laughter. “A whole month? Well then. But you’re paying.”

Naethan laughed along. “Fair enough. I’ll pay.”

Finn clapped him on the shoulder. “I think I like you, Naethan.”

The city of Valmor spread out before them, a labyrinth of winding streets and towering buildings illuminated by floating magical lanterns. The salty scent of the harbor mingled with the sweet aroma of magical herbs sold at small stalls lining the main road.

Naethan stopped and glanced around uncertainly. “Now what? We need a place to stay, but I have no idea where to start.”

Finn snapped his fingers and pointed toward a narrow alley barely wide enough for a carriage. “Down there. I know an inn that shouldn’t be too expensive.”

Naethan raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? And how do you know that?”

Finn shrugged. “You hear things when you’re on the move. Trust me, this alley leads right to it.”

Naethan followed him but kept his gaze alert. The alley was narrow, lined with timber-framed houses whose shutters were painted in various colors. The ground was damp, and somewhere nearby, water trickled.

“You seem to know your way around,” Naethan remarked, keeping his tone casual.

“Instinct,” Finn replied without looking back.

Naethan remained silent, but a faint skepticism gnawed at him. Finn navigated the city as if it were familiar to him—behavior that didn’t quite match someone who claimed to be “just a future mage.”

After a few minutes, they reached a small inn with a wooden sign swaying gently in the wind. The name was barely legible, the wood weathered, but warm light shone through the windows.

“Here we are,” Finn said, turning to Naethan as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Naethan studied him for a moment before nodding. “All right, lead the way. Let’s see if this place is as good as you say.”

“Trust me, you won’t regret it,” Finn replied with a cheeky grin before pushing open the door.

----------------------------------------

Finn had been right. Naethan sank into the soft pillows with a satisfied sigh. His full stomach and the scent of roasted goose made him feel drowsy. The meal of wild roast goose had been a treat, and Naethan couldn’t help but praise Finn.

“Hey, Finn.”

Finn was lying on the bed, one hand resting casually on his stomach, half-asleep. He opened one eye. “What?”

“Do you think the Archmage will be at the initiation tomorrow?”

Finn snorted softly and sat up halfway. “Oh, the Archmage himself? Sure, he’s got nothing better to do than waste his time on rookies like you.”

“You’re probably right,” Naethan murmured. He pushed the blanket aside and stared at the ceiling. “But I’ve always wanted to see him. I’ve heard he’s impressive.”

“Impressive?” Finn’s mouth twisted into a crooked grin. “The old geezer turned everything upside down with his Implicatio Fortunitas. A completely new magic system—so simple even beginners can grasp it. And the old shamanistic traditions? He made them look like child’s play.”

Naethan remained silent. In his mind’s eye, he pictured a man whose fame reached even the walls of this modest inn.

“Sounds like you’re not a big fan,” Naethan remarked cautiously, trying to read Finn’s expression, though the flickering lamp beside the bed cast more shadows than light on his new companion’s face.

Finn leaned back, his eyes half-closed. “Like him? No. Respect him? Maybe. The Archmage is a genius, no doubt about it. But geniuses…” He paused as if deciding how much to reveal. Then he shrugged. “…have a habit of doing things others don’t understand. And they often leave a trail of broken lives behind them.”

Naethan frowned. “That sounds pretty bitter. Have you met him before?”

“Maybe.” Finn’s voice was quiet, almost a whisper. “Maybe not.” He waved a hand dismissively, as if to brush the topic aside. “What does it matter? You’ll see him yourself tomorrow if you’re lucky,” Finn said as he leaned back into his pillow. “But if I were you, I wouldn’t get my hopes up.”

Naethan frowned, but before he could respond, Finn closed his eyes and murmured, “Geniuses are rarely what they seem to be.”

Naethan stayed awake a while longer, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. The crystal in his pocket suddenly felt heavier, almost like a burden he wasn’t sure he could bear. But he had no choice. The Archmage of Valmor was his only hope—or his downfall.