Theros was too loud.
Cale sat in a quiet corner of a bustling market square, hidden near a pillar, fingers pressed hard against his temples. He'd tried to use his vision. To reach Rosanna. To search.
But the city was alive. Too alive.
Voices. Thoughts. Footsteps. Magic. Whispers.
Every time he opened the gate in his mind, he was flooded with noise. Sights overlapping. Futures overlapping. A hundred possibilities cramming into his skull until he nearly screamed.
It had been easy to look into things when he did it back in Aleric's manor. Was that because the place was not as populated as Theros is?
Emis curled lazily on a fruit crate beside him.
"Trying to force the vision is like drinking from a river with your mouth wide open," the Yvelin said.
"I have to find her," Cale muttered. "I have to."
Mira, perched on a roof beam above them, finally added,"Theros eats clarity. You need precision. A way to filter."
Mira had been accompanying them on their journey after Aleric asked her to. Apparently, he was worried about Cale going to the capital. Although Cale was already with Emis, Aleric still sent Mira to them.
Cale took a breath. Then another.
He couldn't do this alone. Maybe he should ask the people around. No—scratch that. How would they know the location of someone who was held prisoner? Cale thought of getting help. Then—
Regan.
The name struck like lightning.
He was here. Aleric had said so. Safe. In the capital. And if anyone could help navigate Theros, it would be a noble son like Regan Caerleth.
"Regan! I could ask him. He's a noble, right? So he'll be familiar with this place." Cale said, a little too excited. Then a sudden thought hit him.
But how do I find him?
"You think nobles just walk the streets wearing nameplates?" Emis quipped.
Cale gave him a look.
Then Emis actually grew serious. "Ask around. Watch. The Caerleth name isn't unknown. And you, my dear Oculen, have better instincts than most."
Cale stood.
"Then we start there."
He didn't notice the shadow that slipped from a rooftop as they walked.
________________
Across the city, high above in the terrace of a different estate, Emilia sipped from a glass of dark wine.
The twisted bat returned.
She took the object it carried—wrapped in velvet, small, familiar.
Rosanna's knife.
She remembered it well. Emilia had pried it from Rosanna's hand herself after the girl was subdued. She had kept it, not out of sentiment, but calculation.
Now was the time to use it.
"Place it," she whispered to one of her men. "In the market square. Near the path he always takes. Make sure he sees it."
She smiled faintly, lipstick back in place.
"Let's see how predictable you are, boy."
_________________
Cale began his search for Regan by doing the only thing he could think of.
He asked.
"Excuse me," he said to a nearby merchant who was selling roasted chestnuts. "Do you know where I could find someone named Regan Caerleth?"
The man squinted at him. "You mean Lord Regan Caerleth?"
Cale blinked. "Uh... yes."
The merchant laughed. "Son, you don't just knock on the Caerleths' door. That's one of the oldest noble houses in the kingdom. What business do you have with them?"
Cale hesitated. "He's... a friend."
The man gave him a once-over—his face a bit skeptical, then shrugged. "See that tower over there?" He pointed down the street to a structure crowned with curling spires and a glowing red sigil in the shape of a burning sword. "Follow the flame banners. Big estate with bronze salamander statues in the front. Can't miss it."
"Thanks," Cale said quickly.
He hurried off.
Mira circled overhead.
"A brilliant strategist, undone by street signs," she mused.
"He's improving,"Emis said from his shoulder, sounding almost proud. "Still green, though."
They followed the path past ornate shops and slow-moving carriages. Sure enough, the estate loomed in the near distance—wrought iron gates shaped like licking flames, the Caerleth crest shining proudly above the entrance.
Cale slowed as they approached.
He had no idea how nobles greeted each other.
Do I just... knock?
But before he could decide what to do, something else caught his eye.
Near the side of the path, carefully set on a low stone pedestal as if accidentally dropped and then left—was a knife. He almost dismissed it. But he looked a little bit closer.
He suddenly stood alarmed, because it was not just any knife.
Rosanna's knife.
Cale froze. The air around him thinned.
It couldn't be.
But it was.
He remembered it well. The way she gripped it. The way she had slashed at the guards. The way she'd tossed it to him during their escape.
It was her.
A message.
Emis jumped down from his shoulder.
"You see it too."
Cale nodded. "She's close. Or... someone wants me to think she is."
Emis's ears twitched. Mira's wings beat once.
"We have to get to Regan fast. We don't know what will happen to Rosanna if we don't find her soon," Cale said. His expression was a mix of determination and urgency.
Cale approached the Caerleth estate's main gate, the iron warm to the touch from the day's lingering heat.
He looked around—no guards in sight.
Just as he was about to knock against the ornate bronze crest on the gatepost, a creaky voice called out.
"You there. What business do you have with House Caerleth?"
An old man stepped out from the side post. He was hunched but sharp-eyed, dressed in a uniform so crisp it could have been starched with magic.
"I'm here to see Regan. Regan Caerleth," Cale said.
The man raised a brow. "You know Lord Regan?"
Cale nodded. "He's a friend."
The man blinked slowly. Then his face turned stony. "Go home, kid."
Cale frowned. "I'm not going anywhere until you let me in."
"You can wait there until your bones are dust," the man snapped. "Doesn't change protocol."
Cale crossed his arms and sat down cross-legged just in front of the gate. If they think he would just turn around and walk away as they told him to, then they are in for a rude awakening. Besides, Cale was starting to run out of time.
The old man stared.
"What are you doing now?"
"Waiting."
"Boy, are you dense?"
"No. But I'm not lying either. If you don't believe me, ask Regan. He'll confirm it."
The man shook his head in disbelief and turned to walk back to the post.
Cale didn't move.
Even when the sun began to dip and night rolled in, casting long shadows across the stone-paved street.
Still, he waited.
Still, he watched.
And high above, behind velvet curtains, unseen eyes watched back.
_____________
Regan buttoned the cuffs of his evening shirt with a sigh.
Dinner.
He hated dinner.
Not because the food was bad—the chefs at the Caerleth estate were renowned across the district.
But because dinner meant sitting quietly, listening to the clinking of cutlery and the soft hum of conversations that never included him. It meant his father glancing over him like an overlooked ledger, and his sibling pretending he wasn't there at all.
Still, House rules were House rules. No eating in rooms. No skipping meals.
He opened his door, prepared to endure another evening of social suffocation.
As he moved down the hall, the faint voices of two estate servants caught his attention. They stood at a side corridor, not noticing his approach.
"Still out there?" one of them asked.
"Since noon," the other replied. "Crazy, isn't it? A kid just sitting by the gate all day. Won't move."
Regan slowed his steps, not enough to make noise.
"What does he want?" the first asked.
"Claims he knows young Lord Regan. Wants to see him."
Regan stopped.
His first instinct was to scoff. Foolish. Everyone knew you didn't just walk into a noble estate. Even he wouldn't have dared such a thing if the situation were reversed.
But that name...
He asked for me?
Regan lingered in the shadow, heart caught somewhere between curiosity and disbelief. Who in the world...?
And then, a name lit like a candle in the dark.
"Cale...?"
He turned on his heel.
Dinner could wait.
Regan ran. His body was moving on its own.
He dashed past startled servants, down velvet-carpeted halls and through the inner courtyard. The words clung to him—he's still waiting.
Cale.
It had to be Cale. Who else could it be? Regan had no other friends his age, no other visitor who would sit through an entire day just to see him. Not one.
He burst out through the inner atrium and crossed the long, cobbled walkway to the front gate.
The old gatekeeper was there, looking startled as Regan skidded to a halt.
"Open the gate," Regan said, breath short.
The old man hesitated. "Young Lord Regan, I can't—"
"I said open the gate," Regan snapped, louder than he intended.
It was the first time he'd ever raised his voice like that in the estate.
The gatekeeper blinked at him, then nodded and scrambled to unlatch the bolts.
The gate creaked open.
And there he was.
Cale Varn, looking exhausted, wind-swept, a little gaunt—but upright.
Regan stared at him.
Then, without thinking, the words came out.
"You are an idiot, aren't you?"
And he smiled.