Plans.

We all make them.

When done well, we agonize over every detail, map out every contingency, and consider every variable. We layer them like an intricate house of cards, placing each element just so, confident in our architectural brilliance. And then, inevitably, reality happens.

Adom understood this principle better than most. His strategy with Crimson Scale had been meticulously orchestrated—a pressure campaign of escalating defeats designed to corner them until they made a fatal mistake. Each move calculated, each response anticipated. Push Deroq's guild into increasingly desperate positions. Strip away their allies. Undermine their contracts. Whisper just the right rumors in just the right ears. All while keeping his own hands seemingly clean.

The auction house was to be the masterstroke. Every major merchant guild from across the Empire had representatives present. The Inspector himself was in attendance. Even the Archmage had deemed the event worthy of his presence. The perfect audience for Crimson Scale's final, reputation-destroying blunder.

See, in merchant circles, diffamation is practically a death sentence. One's reputation isn't merely valuable—it's the only currency that truly matters. Contracts, handshakes, promises—the entire economic ecosystem functions on the bedrock of reliability. Break that, publicly, and you might as well close up shop and take up goat herding in the northern provinces.

And so, to openly accuse a merchant of a crime without any proof was often suicide.

Adom had anticipated angry words. He expected Deroq to lash out verbally, to make wild, unsupported allegations that would be quickly dismissed by the assembled dignitaries. That would have been sufficient. That would have been perfect.

What he hadn't anticipated was the disruptor.

Not that disruptors themselves were unusual. Quite the contrary.

Although very expensive, in high society, any merchant with half a brain carried one, just as they might carry a handkerchief or a pocket watch. In a world where magical artifacts could shift the balance of power in an instant, only a fool traveled without some form of nullification protection. They were defensive tools, commonplace as walking sticks at a gathering of the elderly.

Deroq, like everyone else in the room, would have naturally assumed Cass was wearing at least three layers of protective artifacts. Standard practice for someone of her standing, especially someone who'd recently dodged assassination. The shields wouldn't be visible—ostentatious displays of defensive magic were considered rather gauche in polite society—but they would absolutely be present.

So to draw one, to actually activate a disruptor in the Grand Aurium Auction House, with the explicit intention of using it offensively against a guild leader? That was like bringing a butter knife to dinner and suddenly attempting to perform open-heart surgery with it. It wasn't just inappropriate—it was lunacy.

Never in his most exhaustive contingency planning had Adom imagined Deroq would be quite so... enthusiastically self-destructive. There were knights present. Imperial guards. Private mercenaries. No fewer than seven mages of respectable power. And witnesses. Endless, impeccably credentialed witnesses.

Deroq managed precisely three steps before the binding spells hit him. Not one or two—forty-three distinct magical restraints, by later count, all triggered simultaneously with such force that the air itself seemed to crystallize around him. The Archmage's contribution alone would have held a rampaging manticore. The others were, perhaps, overkill.

But then, no one had ever accused the magical community of subtlety.

So Deroq remained frozen in place, suspended in a web of magical restraints that glowed with dozens of distinct patterns. But while his body was immobilized, his mouth unfortunately remained functional.

"Release me!" he bellowed, spittle flying from his lips. "This is outrageous! They're the criminals here!"

Around him, the auction house had transformed into an impromptu armory.

No fewer than twenty-seven blades had been drawn—everything from ceremonial daggers to enchanted longswords. Eight archers from the Auction House security detail had arrows nocked and aimed directly at his chest. Three battle mages stood with spells crackling at their fingertips, ready to unleash devastation at the slightest provocation.

Really, really overkill.

"I demand to be released!" Deroq continued, oblivious to the overwhelming force arrayed against him. "You're all blind! Can't you see what they've done?"

The Archmage, Sir Gaius, sighed deeply. With a casual gesture, he dismissed his own binding spell—a cascading blue lattice that had formed the backbone of Deroq's restraints. The remaining spells held firm as Sir Gaius simply returned to his seat, apparently deciding this particular circus wasn't worth his continued participation.

Lord Evanstar, owner of the Aurium Auction House, approached Deroq with the careful deliberation of someone inspecting a particularly disgusting insect. His silver-threaded robes rustled as he came to a stop three precise paces away.

"In five hundred years," Evanstar said, "no one has ever attempted violence within these walls." He adjusted his emerald cufflinks with exquisite disdain. "And you chose to dishonor my establishment in the presence of the Archmage himself."

Deroq's eyes darted around frantically. "You don't understand—"

"Silence," Evanstar cut him off. "You will speak when addressed and not before. Your behavior has brought shame upon your guild, your seat, and yourself."

From the seventh row, Master Heracles Hatus rose to his feet. The Imperial Inspector adjusted his spectacles as he approached, notebook already in hand.

"Fascinating," Hatus said, examining Deroq like a specimen under glass. "I came tonight expecting to observe standard guild politics. Instead, I witness a 50th seat representative attempting murder in public." He made a show of consulting his notes. "Before we address the attempted violence, let's discuss your earlier assertions. You stated—quite emphatically—that the Wangara Guild orchestrated the destruction of your warehouse. What evidence supports this claim?"

Deroq's face contorted. "It's obvious! The timing—"

"Circumstantial," Hatus interjected, scribbling in his notebook. "Continue."

"They've undermined our contracts, stolen our clients—"

"Competition is not evidence of criminal activity." Hatus looked up from his notes. "Do you have witnesses? Physical evidence? Anything tangible that would stand before an Imperial tribunal?"

Across the chamber, Cass sat with one hand pressed against her chest, her breathing still uneven. The color had drained from her face, but her composure was rapidly returning. Artun stood beside her, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of a short sword that hadn't been visible moments before.

"Are you alright?" he asked quietly.

Cass nodded, her eyes never leaving Deroq. "He actually tried to—" She stopped, collecting herself. "I didn't think he'd go that far."

The golem remained in a protective stance, its frame poised to intercept any threat. Through its eyes, Adom watched the scene unfold with a mixture of satisfaction and concern. This was better than he'd hoped, but also more dangerous.

"They've orchestrated everything!" Deroq was shouting now, his voice cracking. "Ask your precious Archmage! Those communication crystals—they're using them to coordinate attacks against us!"

Hatus raised an eyebrow. "The communication crystals that the Banking Guild purchased three hundred pairs of this morning? The ones the Imperial Treasury is currently evaluating for official use? Those communication crystals?"

"Yes! That's how they did it!"

"I see." Hatus made another note. "So your claim is that the Wangara Guild—established less than one month ago—has developed a revolutionary communication technology, sold it to multiple reputable organizations, deployed it to destroy your warehouse through some unspecified means, and then came here tonight to... what? Spend six million gold just to deny you an artifact?"

Put that way, even Deroq seemed to recognize how absurd it sounded. "I—you don't understand—"

"No, I believe I understand perfectly," Hatus replied, closing his notebook with a snap. "Lord Evanstar, I've seen enough for my report to the House."

Evanstar nodded gravely, then turned his attention back to Deroq. "You have brought violence into my house. You have threatened the life of a guild leader in front of witnesses. You have disturbed the peace of this gathering and insulted the dignity of the Archmage with your barbarity." He made a subtle gesture, and the security forces tightened their circle. "You will be removed from these premises and held until the City Watch arrives to formally detain you."

"No!" Deroq screamed, struggling uselessly against his magical bonds. "Tresh, tell them! Tell them what really happened!"

All eyes turned to Tresh Mavarin.

The Crimson Scale guildmaster rose slowly from her seat. She straightened her crimson robes, touched a hand briefly to her silver-streaked hair, and then stepped into the aisle.

"Guildmaster Mavarin," Evanstar acknowledged with a curt nod. "Have you something to add to these proceedings?"

Tresh surveyed the room, meeting the stares of dozens of merchant guild representatives, nobles, and mages. Her gaze lingered briefly on Cass before returning to Evanstar.

"Lord Evanstar," she began, "the Crimson Scale Guild extends its deepest apologies for the unconscionable behavior displayed here tonight." She walked forward, each step measured and deliberate. "My second-in-command has overstepped his authority in the most grievous manner possible. There can be no excuse for his actions."

Deroq stared at her, his expression crumpling. "Tresh, no—"

"Be silent," she commanded, not even looking at him. "You have said quite enough."

She stopped beside Evanstar, standing straight-backed and proud despite the humiliation of the moment. "As Guildmaster of the Crimson Scale, I take full responsibility for the conduct of those under my command. The stress of recent setbacks is an explanation, not a justification. We will, of course, accept whatever consequences the House of Merchants deems appropriate."

Hatus watched her carefully. "You understand, Guildmaster Mavarin, that those consequences may include a review of your guild's seat."

"I understand," she replied without hesitation.

"And what of these allegations?" Hatus pressed. "Do you stand by your subordinate's claims against the Wangara Guild?"

Tresh didn't flinch. "The Crimson Scale Guild makes no formal accusations at this time. We reserve the right to present evidence through proper channels should any become available."

It was masterfully done—acknowledging Deroq's error while leaving open the possibility that he wasn't entirely wrong. A political tightrope walked with perfect balance.

Evanstar seemed unimpressed. "Regardless of allegations, there remains the matter of attempted assault. Your second-in-command must be detained pending investigation."

"I request that he be released into my custody," Tresh said smoothly. "I will personally ensure—"

"After what we've witnessed?" Evanstar cut her off. "Absolutely not. He will remain in custody until—"

"I won't press charges."

All eyes turned to Cass, who had risen from her seat. She stood straight, her initial shock replaced by a composed determination.

"Excuse me?" Evanstar said, clearly surprised.

"I said, I won't press charges," Cass repeated, louder this time. "The Wangara Guild has no interest in pursuing this matter further."

Through the crystal, Adom's voice came softly. "Perfect."

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Tresh's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "And why would you be so... magnanimous, Guildmaster Drake?"

Cass met her gaze evenly. "Because this isn't about revenge. It's about business." She gestured to the multiplier artifact, still sitting on the auction block. "I got what I came for. The rest is just... noise."

Artun suppressed a smirk beside her. "Generous of you," he murmured. "Very dignified."

Evanstar looked between the two guildmasters, clearly displeased. "While I appreciate your forbearance, Guildmaster Drake, this man attempted violence in my establishment. That cannot go unpunished."

"Perhaps," Hatus interjected thoughtfully, "a compromise. Mister Dwayne Deroq will be banned from all future Aurium events and fined an appropriate sum for the disruption. The Crimson Scale Guild will post a substantial bond guaranteeing his future good behavior. And this incident will be noted in my official report to the House of Merchants."

He looked to Tresh. "Would these terms be acceptable to you, Guildmaster Mavarin?"

Tresh inclined her head slightly. "They would."

"And you, Lord Evanstar? Would this satisfy the honor of your establishment?"

Evanstar didn't seem entirely pleased, but he nodded stiffly. "It will suffice. The fine will be one million gold, payable immediately."

A ripple of whispers spread through the audience. One million gold—on top of the auction expenses and after losing the multiplier—would be a crippling blow to Crimson Scale's already strained finances.

Tresh didn't blink. "Agreed."

With another gesture from Evanstar, the binding spells on Deroq began to dissolve one by one. As the last restraint faded, he collapsed to his knees, his face streaked with tears.

"Tresh, I'm sorry," he sobbed, reaching for the hem of her robes. "I didn't mean to—"

"Get up," she said quietly, her voice cold enough to freeze flame. "We're leaving."

Two Crimson Scale officers helped Deroq to his feet. His earlier fury had evaporated, replaced by the hollow look of a man who suddenly realized he had destroyed everything he'd worked for.

As they began to move toward the exit, Tresh paused beside Cass. For a moment, the two women simply regarded each other in silence.

Then Tresh gave her the smallest of nods before continuing on her way.

The Crimson Scale delegation filed out of the auction house in silence, leaving behind a buzz of excited conversation as attendees dissected what they'd just witnessed.

"Well," Artun said brightly as he returned to his seat beside Cass, "that was exciting. Do you think they'll serve refreshments now, or shall we just continue with the auction as if nothing happened?"

Cass shot him a look.

"What?" he asked innocently. "I'm just saying, after attempted murder, bidding on enchanted dinner plates seems a bit anticlimactic."

Through the crystal, Adom's voice came. "It worked even better than we planned. With that scene in front of the Imperial Inspector, their seat is as good as lost."

"And Tresh?" Cass asked under her breath.

"She's dangerous," Adom admitted. "More dangerous now that she has nothing to lose. But we've accomplished what we came for."

Artun stretched casually, ignoring the stares from nearby attendees. "So, shall we collect our absurdly expensive multiplier and call it a night? Or would you like to stick around and see if anyone else tries to kill you?"

Cass sighed. "Let's finish what we started."

*****

The streets of the merchant district felt eerily calm after the chaos of the auction house. The golem led the way while Artun walked beside Cass, his casual demeanor belied by the alertness in his eyes as he scanned every alleyway and rooftop they passed.

"That was quite a performance back there," he said, breaking the silence as they turned onto a quieter street lined with elegant townhomes. "I particularly enjoyed the part where you declined to press charges. Very magnanimous. Very... calculated."

Cass shot him a sidelong glance. "It was Adom's idea. It worked, didn't it?"

"Beautifully," Artun agreed. "Tresh looked like she'd swallowed glass when you took the high road. Nothing stings quite like unearned mercy."

They stopped before a handsome three-story building with a freshly painted blue door. Unlike the cramped apartment in the dregs where Cass had been living just weeks earlier, this was a proper residence—solid, respectable, and most importantly, secure.

The golem moved to unlock the door.

The interior of the townhouse was elegant but not ostentatious—polished hardwood floors, tasteful furniture, and enough space to actually breathe.

The golem took up position near the window, its head turning as it surveyed the street outside.

"All clear," Adom's voice came through the communication crystal still tucked into Cass's purse. "No signs of pursuit or surveillance."

Cass exhaled slowly, some of the tension visibly leaving her shoulders. "What a night."

"Yes, attempted murder does tend to liven up an evening," Artun said, dropping onto a plush armchair without waiting for an invitation. "Are you alright? Really alright, I mean."

The question caught Cass off guard. "I'm fine," she said automatically.

Artun raised an eyebrow. "You nearly had your magical artifact disrupted by a desperate man in front of half the merchant elite of Arkhos. 'Fine' seems a bit understated."

"He wasn't going to succeed," Cass said, though her hand unconsciously moved to the protective amulet at her throat.

"No," Artun agreed, his tone growing serious. "Because even if your protections failed, I would have reached him before he reached you." He leaned forward, all traces of flirtation gone. "I want you to know that. I wouldn't have let him touch you."

Cass stared at him for a beat too long. "Was that from your standard repertoire of heroic declarations, or did you compose it specifically for tonight?"

Artun blinked, momentarily thrown off balance.

"I'm touched," she continued dryly. "Truly. Next time perhaps you could throw in something about defending my honor with your life. That always works in the plays."

"Only a few?" Cass asked, the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips.

"Well, more than a few," Artun admitted with a sigh. "I've been told I have a talent for irritating the wrong people."

"I can't imagine why," Cass said dryly.

Artun clutched his chest in mock offense. "You wound me, Guildmaster Drake. And after I so gallantly offered to defend your honor tonight."

"Is that what that was? Here I thought you were just showing off."

"I'm excellent at multitasking," Artun replied with a wink. "Defending honor, showing off, annoying Adom—I can do it all simultaneously."

Despite everything, Cass laughed—a short sound that seemed to surprise even her.

"I should go," she said, moving toward the staircase that led to the upper floors. "We'll discuss next phases tomorrow, Adom."

The golem nodded.

Cass paused on the first step, looking back at Artun. "Thank you," she said again, this time with more warmth than before. "For tonight."

Then she was gone.

Artun watched her disappear down the corridor with his arms crossed and a small, wistful smile playing at his lips.

"Damn," he said softly. "What a woman."

The golem beside him shifted slightly—Adom's voice now crackling through the communication crystal embedded in its chest.

"I don't think she likes you," Adom said flatly.

Artun scoffed, tilting his head. "Pshh. For a guy who's supposed to be so old, you really have no experience with women, do you?"

“I didn’t exactly have time for that, back then,” Adom replied, a touch defensive. “Apocalypse. Plague. Wars. You know. Distractions.”

Artun chuckled. "Right. Well, let me give you a little lesson then."

He turned to the golem as if speaking directly to Adom's face.

"Not all women are the same, obviously—but a lot of them? They won't tell you outright that they like you. Especially ones like Cass. Smart, composed, proud. You gotta look for the subtle cues."

He held up a finger, counting off.

"One—she didn't shut me down. At all. That's already saying something."

"Two—she tolerated me moving my chair. Nobody else could've gotten away with that stunt."

"Three—and this is unfair advantage—I have heightened senses. When I caught her glass and handed it back? Her heart rate increased. I heard it. And her pupils dilated when I kissed her hand."

He grinned, tapping the side of his head.

"Trust me. She's interested."

"You're insufferable."

“Confident,” Artun corrected. “It’s different. Write that down.”

*****

Adom finally ended the connection, letting out a deep sigh as he slumped back against his pillow. The golem would stay at Cass' place tonight, just in case. She probably didn't need the protection—Crimson Scale would be too busy licking their wounds to try anything so soon—but better safe than sorry.

He glanced across his dorm room where Zuni was curled up in his makeshift nest, tiny chest rising and falling with each breath. The quillick had arranged a collection of soft fabrics into something resembling a bird's nest, with a small hollow in the center where he now slept. His spikes lay flat against his body, twitching occasionally as he dreamed of whatever quillicks dream about.

The plans were going smoother than expected. Deroq's spectacular implosion at the auction house had accelerated their timeline considerably. At this rate, they'd secure the merchant guild seat within the month.

Adom's stomach rumbled, reminding him he hadn't eaten since lunch. What to eat? The dining hall would be closed by now. He could raid his small stash of preserved foods, but nothing there seemed appealing.

Maybe after all this merchant business was done, he could take a break. Let Cass handle the day-to-day operations while he focused on classes and training. Lots of training. His body had grown soft with all these meetings and planning sessions. And food. Lots of food. Proper, nutritious meals instead of whatever he could grab between crises.

The communication crystal on his desk shimmered with a soft green light—someone calling.

Adom sighed. This late, it could only be Cass or Valiant. He briefly considered ignoring it, but the light pulsed more insistently.

"Fine, fine," he muttered, reaching for the crystal. "Hello?"

"What do you mean, 'hello'?" Valiant's voice came through, high-pitched and slightly confused.

"It's what you say when you answer a communication crystal," Adom explained, rubbing his eyes.

"Is that a rule you invented?" Valiant asked. "Because nobody told me about it. Is it in the manual? I don't remember seeing it in the manual."

Adom suddenly remembered that this technology was new to this era. Of course there wouldn't be established protocols yet.

"Yeah, I just invented it," he admitted.

"Oh." Valiant paused, considering this. "It's weird, though. Why not 'greetings' or 'speak now' or 'your message has been received by the illustrious ears of'—well, whoever you are. Or maybe something mysterious like 'the shadows hear you' or—"

"Valiant," Adom cut in. "What did you call me for?"

"Oh! Right. Sorry." Valiant cleared his throat. "Tam reported in not long ago. He's established himself pretty well at Crimson Scale. Nobody suspects anything so far."

"That's good."

"Yes, very good. Very, very good. He says Deroq is completely out of favor now. They've basically confined him to his home until things settle down. But that's not the important part."

Adom sat up straighter. "What's the important part?"

"Marco is with the Crimson Scale," Valiant said, his voice suddenly hardening. "He's working for them directly."

Adom dropped into his desk chair with enough force that Zuni stirred in his nest, spikes briefly standing on end before settling back down.

"Are you sure?" Adom asked quietly.

"Am I sure? Am I sure?" Valiant's voice rose indignantly. "Of course I'm sure! Tam saw him. Spoke to him. It's definitely Marco. The same Marco who killed my uncle. The last of my family."

"I thought Marco would have left the city," Adom said, more to himself than to Valiant.

"Well, he didn't," Valiant snapped. "And now he's helping Tresh and the Crimson Scale. Tam says they're using him for his knowledge of the underworld. He knows all the smuggling routes, all the black market dealers."

Adom frowned. He didn't really see what Marco working with the Crimson Scale would complicate. But still, surprises in the final stages of his plan were most unwelcome.

"I want him," Valiant said, his normally cheerful voice gone cold. "I want revenge for my uncle."

"Don't be an idiot," Adom replied sharply. "We stick to the plan. Marco isn't going anywhere."

"I know that," Valiant said. "I trust you. I know you'll give me my shot at him when the time is right."

"Then what's the problem?"

"I want to be ready when that time comes." Valiant paused. "I want you to give me the electrical powers you promised."

Adom blinked. "I never promised you electrical powers."

"Really?" Valiant sounded genuinely surprised. "I could have sworn... maybe it was implied? Or maybe I just really, really wanted you to, and then convinced myself you did?"

"That seems more likely."

"Well, either way," Valiant pressed on, "I need those powers. Please, Adom. Marco killed my uncle right in front of me. Crushed him while I watched from a hiding place. I was too weak to do anything then. I don't want to be weak when I face him."

"Valiant, it's not about being weak or strong. Magical enhancements aren't toys, they're—"

"I know they're not toys," Valiant interrupted. "I've spent my life surrounded by people who could break me in half with their bare hands. I know exactly what power means."

The raw emotion in Valiant's voice caught Adom off guard.

"I just want a fair fight," Valiant continued, his voice quieter now. "One chance to face him as an equal. Is that so much to ask?"

Adom sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Look, magical enhancements are dangerous. They could kill you if not properly calibrated. And even if they don't, they hurt. A lot. During the procedure and for days afterward. You saw what it did to me, right? I almost died."

"I don't care," Valiant said stubbornly. "I can handle pain."

"There's also the fact that you're, well..."

"A mouse?" Valiant supplied. "Yes, I noticed that. Hard to miss, really, what with the fur and the tail and all."

"Your physiology is different. The procedure would have to be modified. There are risks—"

"There are always risks," Valiant cut in. "But you can do it. I know you can. You're literally the smartest person I know, and I know some really, really smart people. Well, maybe not as smart as you, obviously, but still pretty smart. Like, surprisingly smart for—"

"Valiant."

"Sorry. Rambling again." He took a deep breath. "Please, Adom. This matters to me. More than anything."

Adom looked over at Zuni, still peacefully sleeping. The little quillick had shown such trust in him from the beginning, a trust Adom wasn't always sure he deserved. Valiant showed that same trust, believing Adom could give him the power he needed to face his uncle's killer.

Could he really refuse?

"Fine," Adom said finally. "But we do this my way. Controlled environment, extensive testing beforehand, and if at any point I think it's too dangerous, we stop. No arguments."

"Yes! Thank you!" Valiant's excitement practically vibrated through the crystal. "When can we start? Tomorrow? Tonight? Right now?"

"Not tonight," Adom said firmly. "I need to prepare, design the modifications for your specific physiology. Give me a few days."

"A few days," Valiant repeated, clearly trying to mask his disappointment. "Right. Of course. That's... that's fine. Totally fine. Completely understandable."

"Valiant?"

"Yes?"

"Just so we're clear, this doesn't mean you can go after Marco right away. We still follow the plan. Understood?"

There was a brief pause. "Understood," Valiant said finally. "I'll wait for your signal. I promise."

Something in his tone didn't entirely convince Adom, but it would have to do.

"Get some sleep," Adom told him. "We'll talk more tomorrow."

"Sleep? Who could sleep at a time like this? I'm going to be electrical! I wonder if my whiskers will spark? That would be amazing. Or maybe my tail will glow. Or maybe—"

"Goodnight, Valiant."

The connection ended, leaving Adom alone with his thoughts. He glanced at his ever-growing to-do list, and sighed as he added one more item:

Electrical enhancement procedure for mouse physiology.

This was going to be interesting.