Morning sunlight spilled across the rooftops of the city, bathing the waking streets in a soft, golden glow. The storm from the previous day had long since retreated, leaving the stone roads mostly clear, though the scent of damp earth and ozone still lingered. Along the edges of the gardens, the soil remained dark and heavy—a quiet reminder of the chaos that had swept through the alleys only hours before.
Greyhaven was already churning with life. Merchants unrolled their awnings, and a carriage rattled down the cobblestone road outside the orphanage, its wheels splashing lightly through the lingering puddles.
Inside the dormitory, the world felt calm again. Tomas sat near the open window, leaning back lazily in a wooden chair with his legs stretched out. One arm hung over the side as he watched the quiet morning with a satisfied sigh. "Peaceful," he murmured to himself.
Down the hallway, the rhythmic sound of footsteps preceded a door creaking open. Arin walked into the room, his hair damp from a bath and a towel hung loosely around his waist. Water droplets tracked down his shoulders, glistening against his skin.
The orphanage bathrooms were a notorious battlefield of soap and impatience, especially with teenagers vying for the limited space, but Arin had managed to sneak in before the morning rush. He stopped in front of the small, pitted mirror hanging on the wall and simply looked at himself.
At nearly fifteen, he was already finding his frame—slender but well-built, with straight shoulders and the faint, lean lines of muscle beginning to show across his chest. He stood about five feet eight inches, but he could tell he wasn't done growing yet. As he studied his reflection, his mind drifted back to the narrow alleyway and the yellow eyes of the goblin.
He clenched his fist, watching his knuckles whiten. "I was weak," he whispered.
Behind him, Tomas glanced over lazily. "You are currently alive, Arin. In my professional opinion, that's usually considered a win."
Arin didn't answer. His thoughts had drifted further back—past the goblin, past the orphanage, to a tall figure standing beneath the banners of a noble hall.
He remembered Lord Kael Valcrest. His father had been a towering man, his broad shoulders draped in a heavy cloak and his long dark hair tied neatly behind his head. A thick beard framed a jaw that looked like it had been carved from granite, and his dark blue eyes carried the visible weight of a hundred battles.
Young Arin had once stood before him, struggling to hold a wooden training sword that felt like it was made of lead. Kael had crouched down, placing a firm, calloused hand on Arin's shoulder.
"You carry the blood of Valcrest, Arin," his father had said, his voice deep and steady.
"It's too heavy," young Arin had complained.
Kael's gaze had hardened, though not with anger. "Strength is not a gift, son. It is a duty. A Valcrest does not grow strong for glory or the cheers of a crowd." He tapped Arin lightly on the chest, right over his heart. "We grow strong so that when danger appears… we are the ones still standing."
The memory faded as Arin exhaled slowly, the phantom weight of the wooden sword replaced by the chill of the morning air.
"You're staring at yourself like you're about to challenge that mirror to a duel," Tomas noted, breaking the silence.
"Just thinking," Arin said, reaching for his clothes.
"A dangerous activity," Tomas replied.
Before Arin could respond, the door swung open without a knock. Tomas nearly tumbled out of his chair.
"Miss Martha!" Tomas yelped, clutching his chest. "You should really consider the concept of privacy!"
Martha stood in the doorway with her arms crossed, looking completely unimpressed. "I've raised twenty of you. I've seen worse," she said flatly. She ignored Tomas's theatrics and looked at Arin, who was quickly pulling on a shirt. "Both of you, come to my office. Now."
Tomas blinked. "Why? Are we in trouble? Again?"
"A City Watch officer is here to see you," Martha said calmly.
The boys exchanged a quick, wary glance before following her down the hall.
Inside the office, Captain Dorian Halborn sat comfortably in the chair across from Martha's desk. He was alone today—no guards, no heavy armor, just the steady presence of a man who knew exactly how much power he held. When the boys entered, he offered a faint, respectful smile.
"Good morning," Halborn said.
"Morning, Captain," Tomas replied, taking a seat on a stool. Arin followed suit, sitting with a quiet, observant posture.
Halborn reached into the pocket of his blue coat and placed two small wooden boxes on the desk. They were beautifully crafted, their lids carved with the image of a soaring griffin. Martha tilted her head, her curiosity getting the better of her. "What is this, Captain?"
"The City Watch has reviewed yesterday's incident," Halborn explained, folding his hands. "We decided that such bravery should not go unacknowledged."
Tomas leaned forward, his eyes widening. "Oh, I like where this is going."
Halvorn opened the first box. Inside rested a small, polished badge shaped like a shield, featuring a silver griffin at its center. "This is a Meritorious Badge," Halborn said. "Presenting this to the Adventurer's Guild will carry significant weight when you apply for registration. It's a mark of proven character."
Tomas gasped as if he'd been handed a crown. "You mean… we're officially heroes?"
Halborn chuckled. "In the eyes of the Watch, yes." He then reached into his coat again and placed four silver coins on the table. "And a small stipend for your service. Two silver coins for each of you."
Tomas stared at the silver as if it were dragon gold. "Miss Martha," he whispered, "I believe I am now a man of legendary wealth."
Arin elbowed him in the ribs, but he couldn't help the small tug of satisfaction in his own chest.
The news of the Captain's visit had already leaked. Outside the office door, a half-dozen children were pressed against the wall, trying to catch a stray word. Mira was at the front, her messy hair sticking out in every direction as she hissed at the others to be quiet.
Behind them, Lyra leaned against the wall with her arms folded. She wasn't pressing her ear to the wood, but her eyes were sharp, tracking the boys the moment they stepped back out into the hall.
By the time they reached the dining hall for breakfast, the story had mutated into something epic. A swarm of children surrounded them immediately.
"Is it true?"
"Did it really have three heads?"
"Did you jump off a roof to stab it?"
Mira scrambled onto the bench beside them, her eyes wide. "Tell us! Tell us everything!"
Tomas, never one to waste an audience, puffed out his chest. He stood up on the bench, folding his arms with the dramatic flair of a seasoned bard. "The goblin appeared from the shadows," Tomas began, his voice dropping into a gravelly baritone. "Its yellow eyes burned with ancient rage… its rusty blade was thirsty for blood!"
Several of the smaller children gasped, clutching their spoons. Arin quietly dipped a piece of bread into his pea soup and muttered, "You were running, Tomas."
Tomas didn't even blink. "The creature let out a horrible war cry and charged at us like a demonic beast!"
"What did you do?!" a boy shouted.
Tomas pointed dramatically at himself. "I stood my ground."
Arin muttered again, "And then we both started running for our lives."
Tomas shot Arin a brief, suffering glare before continuing his tale of wind slashes and narrow escapes. "And then," Tomas said, lowering his voice to a whisper, "Arin looked at me and said he needed time. So I stepped forward… with the courage of a true warrior… and I told him: You have one minute."
The table went silent. A younger girl whispered, "That's so cool…"
"Yes," Tomas nodded solemnly. "It was. And then Arin blasted the monster's head off."
Every head turned toward Arin. He nearly choked on his bread, feeling the sudden weight of twenty pairs of staring eyes. "It was just… rune magic," he muttered awkwardly.
Across the table, Lyra remained quiet. While the others were lost in Tomas's theater, her gaze moved between the two of them with clinical precision. She wasn't just listening; she was reconstructing the fight, and Arin could tell she was starting to see the real logic beneath the drama.
Later that afternoon, during the practice session, Lyra approached them on the veranda. "So," she said simply. "Show me."
Tomas blinked. "Show you what? My hero badge?"
"The spells you actually used," she said. "No stories. Just the magic."
"Oh, gladly," Tomas said, stepping forward. He launched a rock projectile, then followed it with a sharp wind blade that whistled through the air. Lyra watched, then lifted her hand. A sphere of water formed, rotating with incredible speed before she fired it. It traveled further and hit the target harder than Tomas's rock.
Tomas stared at the wet impact mark. "Okay… that was impressive."
"We should practice together," Lyra said, looking at both of them. "And study. If goblins are getting into the city, we need more than one trick."
Arin nodded. "Agreed."
That night, Arin sat by the window, the soft glow of the lantern illuminating his rune book. He flipped through the pages until his eyes landed on a complex diagram: The Electric Rune.
"If I had this yesterday…" he whispered.
He leaned back, his mind already troubleshooting the limitations of his current "hardware." Paper runes were single-use and fragile. They were like scripts run on a slow processor that burned out after one execution. He needed something reusable. Something integrated.
"A glove," Arin realized, jumping to his feet. "Tomas! I need a glove."
Tomas looked up from his bed, squinting. "What? Why?"
"I'm going to run an experiment."
"Do it outside," Tomas said immediately.
"Why? Don't you trust me?"
Tomas crossed his arms. "I like having a ceiling. I think you're going to blow up half the orphanage."
Arin grabbed a fingerless leather glove from his trunk. "Relax. It's a controlled test."
"If the roof disappears, I'm telling Martha it was your fault," Tomas warned.
Arin drew the rune carefully on a piece of paper first, placing it on the small wooden table. Tomas leaned as far back as he could. Arin took a deep breath and pushed a thread of mana into the ink.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then—CRACK!
The paper tore in half as a violent, jagged spark erupted from the center. A bolt of blue electricity shot across the room like a miniature lightning strike, slamming into the window. The glass cracked with a loud, sharp snap.
Both boys froze, staring at the spiderweb of fractures in the pane. Slowly, Tomas turned his head to look at Arin.
"…I told you," Tomas said flatly.
Arin looked at the broken window, then back at the glove in his hand. He offered a sheepish, lopsided grin. "Okay," Arin admitted. "Maybe a little further outside next time."