“Could the famed vineyards of Limrod nurture not only divine wines, but the very essence of the city’s remarkable artistic and intellectual flowering? At first glance, such a connection might seem mere romantic fancy. Yet consider: The same rich soil and ancient traditions that birth the world's most celebrated vintages might well cultivate the minds of those who dwell in their shade. This theory finds its strongest champion in Ilgast of Limrod himself, who—not unlike his homeland’s intoxicating wines—possessed layers of complexity that both enlightened and transformed those who encountered his work. Perhaps, then, Limrod’s wine serves as more than mere drink, but as a metaphorical elixir, steeping its citizens in an intellectual and creative effervescence that transcends the ordinary?”

  – Ixval Celost, Unexplained mysteries and their explanations

  They ran for as long as they could, for as long as their legs could carry them. Until they could no longer. As they had to catch their breath at a secluded spot in a shaded alley, Irthal prayed that they had shaken their pursuers. But even if, so what? The immediate threat may have been gone, but their defeat stung. And tensions ran high.

  Panting, Mythas was the first to voice her frustrations. “How could you have been so blind, Irthal! A pretty girl just has to look sideways at you and you instantly lose your mind,” she spat, throwing her hands in the air. “Now we’ve lost the bloody pendant because of you!”

  From Irthal’s side, Lurgon chimed in, surprisingly in line with Mythas for once, albeit with a more reserved tone. “You know, Mythas is right on this one, Irthal. You fell right into her trap.”

  “Right into her lap, you mean!” Mythas snapped. “I hope the five minutes of fun were worth it.”

  “I know that! I do,” Irthal retorted, hands clenching into fists. “Do you think I’m stupid? That I wanted any of this to happen?”

  “Alright, that’s enough.” Sam interjected, before Mythas could give him the obvious answer. Would not be the first time Sam prevented one of their disagreements from being resolved with fists instead of words. Not that it brought her much love during the moment itself.

  “We’re all upset,” she said, “and we could play the blame game all day long. Maybe tomorrow we can all be reasonable and agree to share the blame. But now, we need to focus on what we can do, not what’s already been done.”

  “What we can do now?” Mythas echoed, eyes narrowed and sarcasm dripping from her words. “Well, yeah, what can we? Irthal said we needed that thing, Sam. Last time we broke into a guarded warehouse to get it back, what will we have to do this time?”

  “And why is that, Irthal?” Sevastian asked suddenly, drawing their gazes as he kept his eyes fixed on Irthal. “You’ve never really explained why this amulet is so vital. What do we even need it for? Don’t we just need to sail to the Glimmering Shore and fill our pockets? Look, I get that this amulet is somehow important to you, but we could just pick another adventure, if this ruins Sevastha. I’d bet we’d be halfway to the Crimson Reef before anyone would know we’re gone.”

  Irthal sighed, running a hand through his hair. He had known this conversation would come. It was inevitable. If he was honest with himself, he was surprised to have come this far before anyone pressed him for the truth. Sam’s unquestioning loyalty and Lurgon’s uncaring nonchalance had certainly gone a long way. But, given the circumstances, his crew deserved to know the whole truth. Maybe it would even be a welcome relief, to finally share it all with his friends.

  But before Irthal could so much as open his mouth, footsteps echoed behind him in the empty alley. He snapped to attention and motioned his friends to prepare themselves for another attack. They fanned out to the sides of alley, weapons ready, when a familiar figure staggered around the corner.

  “…Lurian?” Mythas uttered in disbelief. She lowered the point of her dagger by a fraction. Her gaze flicked to the bloody cut on Lurian’s forehead and the bruises that bloomed on his once-handsome face. “We thought you were...”

  “Dead?” Lurian finished the sentence with a bitter chuckle as he leaned against the stone wall for support. Something was off. The way he held his side like he had trouble breathing. Maybe a bit closer to death than it seemed. Lurian’s eyes were glazed with pain, yet they still radiated fierce determination like a feverish fire. “They left me for dead. Guess I was better at playing corpse than they thought.”

  “Lucky you’re good at something,” Mythas muttered under her breath.

  “What happened back there?” Sam asked, worry creasing her forehead. “Those were clearly street thugs. But that guy in the robe... was he Elevated? How is that possible? That must be illegal.”

  Lurian gave a nod, face twisting in contempt. “Gravell’s not just Elevated. He’s Euphemius’ puppet, a tool to keep his men in line. If there ever was someone that controlled Limrod’s underworld, it’s got to be Euphemius. And everyone in his organization has to worship Gravell like a god.” His voice held a note of disdain. “Euphemius makes sure everyone knows who holds the leash. He controls Gravell, he controls them.”

  Irthal’s mind spun. “But how does he control Gravell? Couldn’t the man just squish him and take over the gang?”

  “That’s what everyone thinks at the beginning.” Lurian grimaced. “Word is that Euphemius has a system that informs the Tetrarchy of a certain illegal Elevated upon his death. Seems like Gravell doesn’t want to risk that.”

  “So, what about Ocelia?” Mythas interrupted hesitantly, her eyes flicking toward Irthal. He caught her glance for but a moment. And nearly winced at the intense trails of betrayal he found there.

  Lurian’s face turned hard, the playful light that had been there when they first met on that sunny day in the theater district entirely extinguished now, as if it never existed in the first place.

  “Oce really was my sister,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. His words were interspersed with a wheezing sound, like he had just run a great distance. “We were desperate... needed the money that Euphemius promised. But this...” His gaze flattened. “This isn’t what we signed up for. I’m done. With all of this. Now, I just want revenge, and I think you might want your amulet back. Maybe we can help each other?”

  Lurian’s proposal hung in the air, as he eyed them all in turn, grief writ large across his face. Irthal studied the man. Here was a broken man. Lurian must have truly loved his sister. Now, nothing remained. He looked over to his crew, gauging how his friends judged Lurian and his proposal.

  Finally, Sevastian stepped forward and broke the silence. Irthal remembered that he had lost his sister too, when he was very young. Sharks, during a fishing trip. After that, he had never again joined his father on his boat. “Trust isn’t cheap, especially not after your little stunt,” Sevastian said with a wary edge. “But we share a common enemy for now. I’m willing to trust you that far.”

  “We do,” Lurian agreed, a grim determination settling on his face. “And I can bring you to where they’re hiding, to Euphemius’ headquarters. I’d bet that they brought your pendant there.”

  Irthal perked up at this, feeling a treacherous glimmer of hope rise within him. He could see that he was not the only one. This was the chance they needed. Irthal exchanged a glance with his crew, seeing the eager gleam return to the eyes of his friends. The decision passed, unspoken but unanimous.

  “All right,” Irthal finally responded, holding Lurian’s gaze. “Let’s do this together then. For our amulet, and for Ocelia.”

  Their unlikely alliance formed—the sailors and the bereaved thief who tricked them—they followed Lurian, as he led them through the labyrinthine streets of Limrod. Step by shuffling step, he led them away from the eastern quarter, past the vibrant theater district, and toward the looming silhouette of a grand mansion at the outskirts of the city—the Villa Marcellus, den of Euphemius, as their guide had called it.

  “That’s not just some summer residence, Lurian,” Irthal blurted out, “this is a fortress! Waves take me, there must be at least a dozen guards on those walls.”

  “Right,” Lurian began and winced while he pressed a hand against his side. His face had paled considerably since they set out from the alley, but his eyes remained sharp. “After Oce and me got invited here, I talked to some friends. Didn’t feel right about the whole thing even then and I wanted to have options. Apparently, Euphemius’ guards change shifts every full hour. I guess that’s our best chance to get in unseen.”

  “Are you sure you can do this, Lurian?” Sevastian asked. They had all noted Lurian’s pain. It was bad when he joined them. It had only gotten worse during their trip.

  “Oce was my sister,” Lurian nodded. “My only family. I owe this to her.”

  Irthal grasped his shoulder, though he was a bit shaken by how unsteady the man seemed. “We’ll get through this, Lurian. Together.”

  As they hid behind a garden wall, they had sent Sam to survey the perimeter of the mansion. Now, she just made her way back along hedges and turned to the group. “So. There’s a service entrance at the back, less guarded. If we can get past the wall, we might have a shot.”

  “Agreed,” Irthal said. “Mythas, Lurgon, you’re on distraction duty. Create a commotion over at the east wing. That’ll draw the guards. Sam, Sevastian, help Lurian get over that wall. Everyone, let’s get ready.”

  Tense minutes ticked by as they waited for the guard shift change. Finally, there was a resounding gong, followed by silver bells ringing in a bright melody. With a deep breath and a shared nod, Irthal moved. The others—except for Mythas and Lurgon— followed close behind.

  A few heartbeats later, he heard a loud crash from across the compound, followed by curses. The guards on their section of the wall looked at each other, cursed vigorously, and started to jog toward the commotion. Good job, Lurgon, he thought.

  Irthal was proud of his friends tonight. Everyone focused on their role, fueled by nothing except purpose and vengeance. The surrounding night was quiet, protecting them like a blanket, only pierced by the watchful eyes of the moon above. He thought the wall would be their greatest obstacle, yet they ascended it in a near instant. Even hauling Lurian across did not slow them down much. Those countless hours of climbing masts paid off unexpected dividends. A short dash across the inner courtyard, and they reached an unassuming door. As Irthal opened it, Mythas and Lurgon—both madly grinning—came running from the courtyard. So far, so good.

  And just like that, they were inside the Villa Marcellus.

  They moved like shadows, sticking to the narrower corridors and pausing at each corner, senses heightened to an almost painful degree. With some worry, Irthal noted how much Lurian slowed them down. Yet they needed him. The only map of this place they had, was the—admittedly rough—map that lived in Lurian’s memory.

  Despite the high stakes involved, each turn unraveled yet another layer of the mansion’s opulence to Irthal—gilded tapestries adorned the walls, exotic furnishings filled lavish rooms. All connected by an endless procession of dimly lit hallways. Lurian, despite his evident pain, led them ever forward, dodging guards and keeping them to the shadows. Irthal got the distinct impression that he had not been Ocelia’s and Lurian’s first attempt at thievery.

  “Here,” Lurian finally whispered in a raspy voice as he pointed at a vaulted door. “That’s where Euphemius keeps his precious collections. Friend of mine recently bragged that he snatched the job of guarding this vault. Good man, but a bit of a drunkard.”

  Irthal nodded and glanced back to make sure the others were in position. “Well, let’s hope he doesn’t decide to make his round now. Lurgon, you’re the best at picking locks. Do your magic. We’ve got your back.”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  Lurgon simply nodded and pulled out a set of intricate tools from his pocket, fingers immediately dancing over the lock with practiced ease. Seconds went by feeling like an eternity, each tick of the large clock in the hallway increasing the weight on Irthal’s shoulders.

  Until, finally, the door creaked open and revealed a room bathed in moonlight, filled with shelves upon shelves. Though it was a small miracle that Irthal even spotted the shelves themselves, littered with boxes, crates, and large envelopes as they were. He imagined the precious artifacts and sparkling jewels that they might hold. Though none could have shone brighter than his pendant, sitting arrogantly on a velvet cushion in the center of the room. Everything else was forgotten in an instant.

  With a surge of satisfaction, Irthal rushed in and grabbed the pendant, hand trembling slightly. He relished the familiar coolness of the metal in his hand. Now, to get out as unnoticed as they had entered. He smirked. Easy as pie, right?

  “Wasn’t that a bit too easy?” Sevastian asked confused. “I mean, the guy leads a huge gang in a big city and we just walked in here?”

  Lurian turned to Sevastian and fixed him with his sunken eyes. “Thing with Euphemius is not that you cannot steal from him but rather that people don’t. Or, if they do, they tend to not live long enough to tell the tale. Not a pretty sight, usually.”

  Sevastian swallowed hard.

  Creeping back through the mansion—fraught with close calls with patrolling guards—took a toll on their nerves. Lurian seemed to weaken with every step. His breath came in ragged gasps now and his eyes, which had been so alert previously, were glazed with pain. Nevertheless, he pushed on, refusing any offers of support from his unlikely allies.

  “I remember this corridor, we’re almost there,” Mythas hissed, her eyes darting to every shadow as she gripped her weapon tightly. Irthal was not sure whether her words were meant to reassure herself or them. Probably both.

  But she was right in one thing. They just needed to cross this large entrance hall and then they would be in the hallway with the servant’s exit. Almost done. Yet, just as the sweet scent of freedom neared—practically in sight of the mansion’s exit—a voice echoed through the grand hall. Irthal’s heart sunk all the way into his stomach.

  “Well now, what do we have here?” The words were drenched in a chilling mirth. Slowly, ever so slowly, Irthal turned on his heels to face the speaker.

  Euphemius.

  Of course, Irthal had only ever heard of the man, but the man that now faced him—an expensive-looking suit draped over a rotund, bent figure—could only be one person in Irthal’s mind. Beside him, Gravell stood protectively, almost immediately assuming a ready stance as they all turned. Euphemius’ eyes, cold and calculating like a snake’s, briefly skimmed over the group before they came to rest on the pendant, still safely tucked away in Irthal’s hand.

  “Ah, my little treasure, back so soon?” he taunted. Then his gaze moved to Lurian. “And you. I see you’ve brought some friends this time. Tragedy, that with your sister. Gravell just told me about it.”

  Around Irthal, his friends were slowly backing away as the man talked, using the opportunity to inch closer toward the exit. Only Lurian stood frozen, hands shaking, his weakness forgotten for a moment. Yet, for some reason, Irthal found his gaze lingering on Euphemius. Something was off. He could not put a finger on what, exactly. Just that, underneath all the gold chains, the silken suit, the air of menace, there was something familiar about the man.

  Painfully familiar.

  The way Euphemius moved, the distinctive curve of his smile, that cold gleam in his eyes—they all reminded him of someone. But who?

  “No...” Irthal breathed suddenly, voice barely a whisper.

  All of it could have been written off as mere coincidence, perhaps, just a freakish similarity that played tricks on Irthal’s mind. But there was one last detail that was the final nail in the coffin.

  It was the rings.

  Three gold bands on his left hand, each one decorated with a differently colored gem. Purple, blue, green. Gaudy things, really. But he only knew of one man in the whole world who did that. A man who should, by all accounts, rest on the bottom of the ocean with his ship. But here he was, alive and well, ruling Limrod from the shadows.

  Euphemius smile faltered momentarily as he noticed Irthal’s gaze and followed it to his own hand. Belatedly, he hid his beringed hand in his pocket and locked eyes with Irthal. A chill ran down Irthal’s spine as the crime boss’ eyes narrowed slightly, an inscrutable expression playing on his face.

  The man known as Euphemius was just about to open his mouth when Lurian, with a sudden surge of energy, lunged forward. “For Ocelia!” he roared, dagger aimed straight at Euphemius.

  Irthal stood frozen. It was all happening so fast. Just watching the tragedy unfold, his own shout of warning coming far too late.

  Gravell, on the other hand, was quicker. With a mere sweep of his hand, Lurian’s momentum halted abruptly as he collapsed under his own weight. He struggled to rise, fighting against an invisible force. Suddenly, Lurian was lifted off the ground. For a moment, the man was simply hovering in the air. Then, Gravell slowly flipped his hand.

  “No!” Irthal cried, but his protest was cut short as Gravell, brows knotted in concentration, manipulated the space above Lurian. There was a sickening crunch as Lurian was crushed from above and sent crashing back to the ground, blood pooling around him on the tiled floor.

  The whole spectacle had given Euphemius time to call for more guards. A few heartbeats later, four armed men jogged around the corner, taking in the bloody scene. Irthal saw brief flashes of horror cross some of their faces but it quickly melted into grim tension. In a single instant, they drew their weapons and positioned themselves in a protective semi-circle around their master. Blocking Gravell’s line of sight.

  With a snarl of fury, the Elevated unleashed his power in their general direction. The air in the corridor started to shimmer. He felt inexplicably drawn to the distortion, as if his body just wanted to step into it. But then Irthal watched it crash blindly into a column to his side, tearing down one entire side of the hallway. Almost immediately, parts of the ceiling followed, raising a cloud of dust that obscured all sight.

  “We have to go!” Sevastian shouted, breaking the spell. Screened by the falling debris, they bolted for the exit, leaving behind a furious-sounding Euphemius and the fallen body of Lurian. More rumbling sounds followed them as they raced down the last corridor.

  Once outside the mansion’s grasp, Irthal plunged into the night, feet pounding against cobblestone. Soon, they had put considerable distance between them and Euphemius’ headquarters and yet they still ran, not daring to stop. He led them through the city, trying to stay off the main roads and stick to alleyways and side streets instead. Every few blocks he would make them halt, looking out for signs of pursuit. Yet Irthal had a feeling that Euphemius did not even feel the need to pursue them. This was his city. If he wanted to find them, he would.

  “We need to find a safe place to hide,” Mythas said eventually, holding her sides while she leaned against a wall, her breath coming in ragged gasps. “Can’t keep running forever.”

  “I know,” Irthal replied as he scanned their surroundings. They were somewhere in the artisan district now, the sounds of hammers and heated negotiations everywhere around them. He looked in the direction of the harbor. “I bet our ship will be the first place they come looking for us. So, I guess we need to stay hidden in the city for now.”

  “And Euphemius?” Sam asked with a pleading look in her eyes. “What do we do about him? He’ll find us eventually.”

  Irthal hesitated for a moment before he spoke. He was sure about this, was he not? He had only seen the man from afar after all, many years ago. If he had made a mistake on this… But no, the rings were no coincidence. Could not be. Irthal took a deep breath. “Euphemius... isn’t Euphemius.”

  “What are you talking about?” Sevastian asked, thoroughly confused. Beside him, Lurgon sat slumped against the dirty alley wall, massaging his sides.

  Irthal nodded, more to himself than to his friend, “Okay, I know this will sound crazy. But you know the man we’ve just seen as Duke Embrez.” He held up his hands. “I don’t know either how that’s possible. He must have somehow faked his death, back in the Trifelt, and made his way here.”

  There was a moment of stunned silence. Irthal could tell this was the last thing they had expected to hear. He could hardly fault them.

  “That’s impossible, Irthal,” Mythas exclaimed, “You’ve gone mad. Embrez is dead. Has been for almost a decade. We’ve seen it. By the sea, we’ve been at his funeral!”

  “I know it sounds far-fetched but I’m sure about it,” Irthal insisted. “Those rings... I recognized them. They were the same one Embrez used to wear. No doubt about it. He must really love them to have kept them all those years, even here.”

  “But... why?” Sevastian finally voiced the real question that hung in the air. “Why would he...?”

  “Maybe he thought the war was lost. I don’t know,” Irthal admitted, “It doesn’t matter now. We need to stay hidden. The only difference is that we’re in even more danger than we thought. Nobody here wants to fall into the hands of the Bloody Duke.” Brief impressions of Lurian’s fate flashed through Irthal’s mind as he spoke.

  For a moment they were silent, each dwelling on their own thoughts about the pirate lord and his unexpected survival. Then, finally, Sam spoke up, “Alright, then we’ll need to find an actual place to hide. Regroup, plan our next move. That sort of thing.”

  “Wait a second. Before we hide, we need to warn the rest of our crew,” Irthal said, voice brooking no argument as he directed his gaze at Mythas. “Rickel and the others are targets—just like us—especially if they’re seen anywhere near the ship. I don’t want them to be harmed because of this.”

  But Mythas was already nodding in agreement. “I’ll go find them. They should be near the shipyard—I think they’re gathering supplies for our repairs.”

  “Lurgon, you go with her,” Irthal ordered, ignoring the disgruntled glance the two of them exchanged. “No one goes alone, not now,” he added quickly, staving off the protest taking form on Lurgon’s face. Irthal was relieved to see the burly sailor nodding reluctantly, before he left with Mythas to find their crew. He watched them go, then turned to Sam and Sevastian. “And we need to find a safe place for us to lay low.”

  Irthal took them through the city as covertly as he could, all senses strung up as he flinched at every sound and movement. It was a tense hour or so before they finally found a rundown inn near Grimward at the edge of the city, far from the lavish mansions and upscale districts they had started from. Though Irthal still did not trust the shady innkeeper to keep their presence a secret for long. Not when there was coin involved. But they had little choice, for now. So he sent a runner to the harbor, a dirty boy they had found on the street outside, to get word to their friends.

  As they waited, the scruffy room seemed to close in on them, the silence punctuated only by the ticking of an old clock downstairs, amplifying their unease. All they could do now was sit around and hope their friends would return safely. And even then, what were they to do next? Whom could they really trust in this city?

  The door to their rented room creaked open, pulling Irthal from his thoughts. For crazed moment, he was sure that Embrez’ people had found them. His hand frantically searched for his sword. But then the door opened and Mythas and Lurgon slipped in, faces shadowed and clothing torn. The incipient panic dropped from Irthal like a blanket, leaving behind only exhaustion and a hollow relief.

  “Found them,” Mythas started after she caught her breath. “They were by the shipyard, just as I thought.”

  Lurgon grunted and slid down against the wall. A fresh cut on his forehead bled freely, trickling down his face. “Didn’t go without a fight though. Euphemius’—Embrez’—thugs were already there.”

  Sevastian rose to get a cloth to clean Lurgon’s wound. Sam, meanwhile, focused on Mythas. “Did they recognize you?”

  Mythas cast a meaningful glance toward Lurgon’s bleeding head. “Yes, Sam, they did. We had a bit of a scuffle, as you maybe can see,” she replied and revealed a bloody tear in her sleeve. “Anyway, we got away and told the crew to lay low.”

  Irthal took in the sight of his worn-out friends. Not a day ago they had been celebrating, and now this. Limrod was not exactly on track to become his favorite city. “Did they understand the situation?” he asked. “They won’t try any stupid things?”

  “We told them everything,” Mythas nodded, eyes weary, “About the pendant, Gravell, and... Euphemius. They were shocked, of course, but they got the message all right. They’ll stay out of sight for a while. Though it’s not as if they’d recognize any of them, as long as they stay away from that ship.”

  “Well, that’s good to hear,” Sam sighed and let the tension in her shoulders evaporate a little at the news about their crew.

  “So, what now, Irthal?” Lurgon questioned and winced immediately afterward as Sevastian started to cleaned his wound. “We’re in hiding, as we decided. But Embrez has this city in his grip. The people down at the docks… they didn’t even blink when his goons attacked us. Everyone here would betray us sooner or later—for loyalty, fear, or greed. Or some combination of the three, it doesn’t matter. They’ve got our ship. No chance of pulling another escape like back in Olban. We’re backed into a corner here.”

  For a moment, Irthal was silent. He looked at his crew. His friends. They were battered, tired, and on the run. Slowly but surely, the thought that adventure did not only mean exciting encounters and wondrous sights was burrowing its way into each and every one of them. It was hurting them—he could see it—both as individuals but also as a team. Yet, Irthal was heartened as he saw that there was still fire in those eyes, a determination to see this journey through to the end.

  And they had the pendant. All they ever truly needed, if Irthal was concerned.

  So he paused, looking at each face around him, gauging their resolve. “We’re leaving Limrod. First thing tomorrow morning. By foot,” he declared, allowing his words to sink in.

  Silence. It was Lurgon who broke it with a disbelieving snort. “By foot? You’re serious about this?”

  “It’s the safest way,” Irthal nodded, “Embrez’ men will be watching the ports, the main roads, our ship. Only one way left. We’ll go unnoticed on foot in the countryside.”

  “Yes,” Sevastian chimed in, concern etched onto his face, “because no sane person would go north on foot. Have you looked at the maps? It’s a damn long journey from here to any other city, Irthal. Not exactly like a stroll through the theater district.”

  “I know,” Irthal said, tone softening. “I know it’s a lot to ask of you all. But it’s the best chance we’ve got. The best chance to survive.” He saw them exchange sour-looking glances but no one spoke up. They knew he was right.

  “We’ll leave through Miregate with the fishermen and trek up the coast, northward,” Irthal continued and produced a worn map from one of his pockets. He spread it out on the table. “This won’t be easy—we’ll have to avoid the main paths for a good while, to stay unseen. But there are smaller cities and ports along the Galesong coast, if this map is any accurate. We can get a boat, maybe even a ship, to take us further.” He traced the journey with his finger. “To the north is another city, Dormil, in the foothills of the Tailfins. I reckon we can get a real ship there, for the last leg of the journey.”

  “But, until then, we’ll be on foot and off the grid,” Irthal finished and looked at each member of his crew. His family, for all that mattered. “Are you with me?”

  Slowly—despite the exhaustion, the uncertainty, the fear—they all nodded. One by one by one. Irthal felt pride swell for their unwavering loyalty. They were in this together, till the very end. Not even gods could stop them.