The traps had been set. Wanora's voice rang sharp but relaxed as she informed Hank, "The traps have been set up. Just like I made it public, you will go outside the manor today for a visit, alright?"
Hank stood beside her in his formal suit, pristine and unwrinkled despite the weight of responsibility on his shoulders. He gave a simple nod. "Please catch the thief."
She sighed, already tired. "We will just go now."
Without further ceremony, Hank was escorted outside. The manor resumed its rhythm. Staff members moved like clockwork gears, ticking forward into routine.
In the kitchen, Gars was not making anything special—he wasn't known for culinary grace. The man's idea of cooking was boiled vegetables and over-salted meat, but he still tried. He was hunched over a pot of slightly burnt stew, muttering under his breath. "Why the hell does it always stick…?" He gave the pot a gentle nudge. It didn't help. He turned his nose up to the air, sniffing with that beastly precision of his. Something was off. Something not stew-related.
Wanora sat by the safe room. She didn't move for a full hour. No one disturbed her. The silence thickened as twilight crept in. When the dusk shadows began to fold into the corners of the room, she activated her Clarion.
A whisper of otherworldly energy flickered through her veins. Her eyes sharpened—not physically, but in the realm of perception. Through her Clarion of Vision, the walls thinned like silk, revealing the silhouette of someone moving strangely. Sneaking. Getting closer.
She stood.
The doorknob twitched.
The door creaked open.
"Stop right there or I'll burn you to the ground," Wanora said without raising her voice. Flames spiraled in her palm, casting deep orange light across her face.
A small imp shimmered into existence behind her with a snort of amusement.
The thief flinched.
And then ran.
But Gars had already stepped in, blocking the path from behind. His shirt still smelled like overcooked stew.
He'd followed his nose—and, it wasn't food-related.
The figure skidded to a halt. A sharp, slightly girlish voice escaped. "OUT OF THE WAY!"
She turned invisible mid-motion and lunged to punch Gars out of her way.
He didn't even blink.
He caught her fist mid-air.
Wanora flicked her hand forward. The thief's cloak burst into flame. The shimmer fell away, revealing a hooded girl. The artifact, now useless, crumbled into ash.
The imp let out a high-pitched laugh and grabbed her like a cat pouncing on a mouse.
"WAIT! PLEASE DON'T KILL ME! PLEASE!"
Wanora narrowed her eyes at the imp. "Leave her."
The imp grumbled but obeyed.
"I-I just need to get one thing, please. I'm not stealing."
"You have been stealing, though," Wanora said, voice like a tired teacher catching a repeat offender.
"N-No! I've only been taking what's ours. These filthy people took my father's treasury after accusing him of treason! He was executed long ago. I've only been trying to get back what was taken… but—" The girl hesitated, then looked up. "But if you can let me take one thing, I'll give you everything else."
Wanora studied her, unmoved. "And what's that?"
"That." The girl pointed at the safe. Her fingers shook, but her voice was firm.
Wanora stepped aside. The thief—no, the girl—approached and opened the safe using nimble, trained fingers. She took only one thing: a shining jewel that caught the last of the daylight like a frozen flame.
Wanora's eyes widened. That jewel—its shape, its glow—it was similar to the one she saw at the Auction House. But the color… it was different.
"Wait. What is this? Do you know?"
The girl's hand froze in place.
"Please, just don't take this away."
"I don't care. Just tell me—what is this?"
"T-This? It's a Jewel of the Sunken Crown."
Wanora stilled. The name rang in her ears. Sunken Crown… That was the name mentioned back then, too.
"There was another jewel like this in the Auction House. How many are there in total?"
"Fi-Five," the girl stammered.
"And where are the rest?"
"Still not found. Or somewhere—I don't know. The Sunken Crown is a mysterious crown requiring five jewels to gain access to the Sunken Dynasty. It's said to be lost to time, but… whoever can find it and sit on the throne… will be the ruler to the dynasty."
"Yea…" Gars chimed in with a shrug. "I know the story."
Wanora turned toward him slowly. "It's just a myth, right?"
"Yes," he replied after a beat. "But if it's something people are looking for… let's not consider it a myth."
Wanora's brows creased. She looked down. Something in her expression darkened.
"You will find the other jewels and bring them to me. I won't take them from you. I just don't want a certain someone to get her hands on them. You get it?"
The girl looked surprised. Then nodded.
"Sure."
The tension in the room began to lift. The thief—Sylv—had finally told them her name before the interrogation had begun, but it echoed louder now in the quiet aftermath.
Later, she returned every stolen treasure. Hanks, satisfied, that nothing was stolen handed Wanora a heavy sum in reward.
Wanora, kept everything else she'd gotten from Sylv for herself.
And Gars, who still couldn't cook stew right, went back to the taskhand kitchen when he reached home with a new goal in mind—this time, he'd try baking. Maybe cinnamon buns wouldn't burn as easily.