Marlin returned with what she had. The bundle she placed down was smaller than expected—rolled canvas, a compact set of tools, a few sealed food wraps, and a small striker-lighter tucked into a side fold. Enough to travel, but not enough to rely on.
Herold noticed immediately. He nudged one bundle, testing weight without lifting it. "…Light today."
"Some of it isn't here yet," Marlin said.
His gaze lingered on the gaps. "Then we'll not take it."
"At a lower price?",Marlin tried to persuade.
The rhythm broke. "Incomplete sets don't hold value. I take risk with the missing pieces—I account for it." Herold leaned back, casual posture, tight intent. "Or we cancel it."
Marlin adjusted the edge of the canvas with deliberate care. "You won't."
A thin pause held.
Arthur stood just behind them, already tracking the next step. Payment. His pouch had been lost even before the robbing of Herold. Herold straightened, breath catching slightly before he spoke. "…We'll come back when it's complete." "You'll pay less for what you take," Marlin replied. Another pause. Heavier. Cellis stepped in, unaware. "…We could settle the rest later, right?" "No. Nothing will be bought." Herold's hand shifted against the counter, then stilled. He didn't look at either of them when he said it. "…I don't have it, I got robbed while acting a hero." Silence followed. No, negotiation now. Marlin didn't move. "Then nothing leaves." Arthur moved before the moment hardened. He gathered what remained from earlier use—what could still be shaped. Gold resisted him. Dense. It dragged against speed, forcing control. Heat built faintly along his palm as he pressed form into it. The circle came first—simple—but the edges wavered. He tightened it, compressing the mass inward, smoothing the surface in small corrections. The weight fought for irregularity; he forced it into consistency. Time stretched. Enough. Herold exhaled once, sharper this time. "A worthless trip here." "No." Arthur stepped forward."I have a gold if you need it." Both of them turned. He placed the coin down. The sound held—solid, correct. Marlin picked it up, turning it between her fingers. The weight was right. The color held. Her thumb slowed across the surface. No marking. No mint. "…Where did you get this?" Arthur didn't answer. "All coins—regardless of origin—are verified under trade standard," Marlin said, tapping it once. "This isn't marked." A pause. "…So I can't take it." Arthur took it back. Cellis looked between them, understanding settling in. "…Then we just need someone who can exchange it." No response. She continued, firmer, "The older escort—we could handle it later with him, he must have some funds." Herold's gaze shifted, understanding the new option."…He'll be coming here anyway." He exhaled faintly. "…Other times, I wouldn't trust that." Marlin was slightly confused at the mention and waited for herold to sort things out. "But if he's coming anyway…" She understood who the older escort was and helped herold reach a decision. She pulled the bundles closer, separating what was ready. "I'll send the rest as well." Herold gathered the items into a carry bundle. "He'll clear it when he arrives." "He will." Arthur stepped back. The coin was gone from sight. Outside, the narrow passage waited. They walked a few steps in silence. Then Herold exhaled. "…That stall." Cellis glanced at him. "What about it?" He adjusted his grip. "That's where it happened. The payment." Arthur looked ahead. The path hadn't changed. But now— It had direction. >>>
They returned to the castle as the sun began its long descent, casting fractured shadows across the city's complex, layered masonry. The walk back was quiet, the weight of their empty hands pressing on them. They wound through the narrow streets of the middle ring, where the ruins of ancient stone walls were overgrown with moss, before passing through the heavy gates of the inner ring.
In the quiet of their quarters, the Knightmane pup lay huddled against its nursing mother, a small, fragile shadow in the dim light of the nursery. Quinn Furifur knelt from a distance, his eyes tracking the rise and fall of the creature's flank. He kept his presence unobtrusive, standing far enough away to avoid stressing the mother wolf.
"Its vitals are steady," Quinn murmured, his voice low and clinical, directed at the others behind him. "The breathing rhythm is consistent—no signs of respiratory distress or fluid accumulation. The nursing is effective; the mother is providing adequate nourishment, and the pup's heart rate, while naturally rapid for its species, is within the expected range for its developmental stage. It remains in a state of deep, restorative stasis, but the life force is stable."
He continued to observe for a long moment, his posture rigid and focused, before finally turning away. He looked at Arthur and Cellis, his expression softening slightly. "It will survive. The noble lineage is resilient, but it requires time to mend."
Cellis stepped closer, her eyes lingering on the tiny pup. A small twitch of its tail sent a wave of relief through her. The anxiety that had gripped her since their failure at Marlin's shop began to ease, replaced by a quiet determination. They had kept the pup alive; they could not fail now.
Leaving the pup in the safety of the castle, they made their way to the guardhouse to report the theft. The guardhouse was a stark, functional chamber near the outer gate, smelling of old sweat, iron, and stale ale. The guard on duty scoffed, a short, dry sound when they presented the case. "A mithril and five gold? If I had that catch, I'd be halfway to the border by now, not lingering in the streets of FuriFur. Who would steal such a fortune and stay?"
Herold didn't flinch. He produced his Academy badge, the silver emblem catching the dim light of the guardhouse. The guard's demeanor shifted instantly—the scoff replaced by a wary, professional curiosity. An Academy escort was not someone to be easily dismissed, even in a city as independent as FuriFur.
"We don't want your men to do the work," Herold said, his voice level and commanding. "We want permission to hunt them ourselves. We know the city's layout, and we can move without drawing the attention a full patrol would."
The guard glanced at Arthur, who stepped forward. Arthur had anticipated the guard's hesitation. Under the cover of his cloak, he had spent the walk from the castle focusing his creation ability. It had taken a toll, the familiar weight pressing down on his mind, but he had succeeded. He placed a coin on the table.
It was a piece Arthur had meticulously crafted—a perfect, near-standard replica of the local currency, complete with the intricate minting marks of FuriFur. The guard picked it up, biting the edge to test its purity, then weighing it in his palm. He turned it over, examining the detail under the lantern light. He nodded slowly, impressed by the quality. "One day. You have until sundown. Don't make me regret this."
The guard reached under the counter and pulled out a heavy parchment map, spreading it across the table.
FuriFur was a testament to architectural layering, and the map showed it clearly: three concentric octagonal walls. The central wall had long ago been absorbed into the grand castle, acting as its inner sanctum and foundation. The middle wall had succumbed to a siege centuries ago, leaving only ruins and canals where the moats once flowed. The outer wall stood as the true boundary, heavily fortified and guarded.
"The thieves can't have left the city yet," Herold muttered, studying the layout. "Not with the gates heavily guarded after the midday shifts."
"The two create conflicts and steal in the commotion," Arthur noted, pointing to a section of the map near the middle ring. It was a market crossing similar to the one where Herold had intervened in the conflict over the food bundles. "They appeared here. They should be trying to leave through this gate now, using the canal paths to avoid the main streets."
The guard nodded in agreement. "They'll use the old canal bridges. If they cross the second octagonal boundary, they can disappear into the outer slums."
"We go now," Herold said.
The chase began with a sudden, jarring shift in speed.
Herold and a squad of four armored FuriFur guards burst out of the guardhouse, the cool afternoon air whipping past them. Arthur and Cellis remained behind at the guardhouse, as they were not meant to be in the path of danger.
The guards thundered through the thickening afternoon traffic of the middle ring. The city was a maze of wooden walkways and stone arches, and the guards moved with practiced coordination. "There!" the lead guard cried out, pointing toward the canal crossing.
Two figures were darting through a gap between a fish stall and a row of low stone dwellings. One was tall and thin, wearing a tattered grey cloak that fluttered behind him. The other was shorter, more compact, carrying a heavy-looking leather satchel held tight against his chest.
The taller thief glanced back, his eyes widening as he saw the armored squad closing in. He shouted to his partner, and they doubled their speed, plunging into a narrow, winding alleyway that ran parallel to the stagnant canal.
"They're taking the side routes!" the lead guard yelled, his heavy boots thumping against the cobblestones. "They're trying to lose us in the ruins of the middle wall!"
The guards did not slow down. They split into two teams, using their knowledge of the octagonal layout to cut off the escape routes. Herold ran with the lead guard, his eyes locked on the fluttering grey cloak ahead.
The thieves rounded a corner, but the guards anticipated the move. Two guards sprinted down a parallel lane, hoping to cut them off at the alley's exit near the canal bridge. The taller thief, realizing they were being cornered, spun around. A small, jagged piece of metal appeared in his hand. He hurled it toward a nearby stack of wooden crates containing dried fish.
The crates tumbled forward with a loud crash, a chaotic heap of splintered wood and loose cargo spilling across the narrow alleyway, creating a sudden, jagged barricade.
"Cowards!" the lead guard spat, vaulting over the mess with surprising agility for a man in heavy plated armor.
Herold followed, his boots clearing the debris. They emerged on the other side just as the thieves reached a dead-end wall near the outer gate's canal lock. The two guards who had split off were already waiting, spears leveled.
The thieves were trapped.
The taller one turned, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He raised the metal shard again, his eyes darting between the armored men closing in on him. "Stay back! We didn't do nothing!"
"The mithril in your bag says otherwise," Herold said, stepping forward, his voice low, dangerous, and dripping with cold fury.
The shorter thief was huddled against the stone wall, his satchel clutched tight to his chest. He looked terrified, his eyes darting toward the deep water of the canal.
The lead guard stepped forward, his spear leveled. He did not speak, but his presence exerted a palpable pressure—a manifestation of his authority and the absolute certainty of his strength. It was a force that seemed to fill the narrow alley, freezing the thieves' muscles with instinctive fear.
The taller thief hesitated, his hand trembling. Looking at the cold, unwavering focus of the guards and the spears pointed at his chest, he let the metal shard fall to the stone with a dull clatter.
"We were just trying to get out," the shorter one whimpered, sliding down the wall. "We didn't mean no harm."
"Harm is a matter of perspective," Herold said, stepping forward to reclaim his pouch from the satchel. He opened it, confirming the presence of the single piece of mithril and the five gold coins. Everything was there. "And right now, my perspective is that you're going to have a very long, very uncomfortable stay in the city's depths."
The guards moved in, expertly binding their hands with thick cord. "A mithril thief," the lead guard muttered, shaking his head in disgust. "You lot really don't know when to quit, do you? Stealing from an Academy escort in a city ruled by the Furifurs."
As the thieves were led away, the adrenaline began to fade, leaving a quiet, heavy stillness in the alley. The lead guard exhaled, wiping sweat from his brow as he looked up at the towering, layered masonry of the outer wall.
"You're lucky we caught them here," the guard said, looking at Herold. "This city is a brutal manifestation of its own history. Look around—three concentric octagonal layers. It's a testament to expansion and decay. The inner wall, once the heart, is just a foundation for the castle now. The middle wall succumbed to the last great siege, leaving only the outer wall to stand as the true boundary. It's a structure built on collapse, where every stone feels heavy with the weight of lost eras."
Herold listened, then nodded. They had the money. They had the supplies. The theft had been resolved, and the city's guards had proven their efficiency.
But as they walked back toward the main street to rejoin Arthur and Cellis, Herold couldn't help but feel that the city of FuriFur still held more secrets than its layered walls could contain. They had recovered their funds, but the true cost of their journey was yet to be paid.