Three Pies and a Sweet

Alistair's expression turned serious again, the mischievous glint in his eyes vanishing as if it had never been there. With determined steps, he crossed the room to the massive bed in the far corner. He climbed onto the perfectly made sheets with ease, then, staring at the wall ahead, murmured with a faint smile:

"Time for Indiana Jones..." He glanced back over his shoulder, golden eyes sparkling with excitement. "Come on, Kenneth. Let's go on an adventure."

Kenneth, though clearly reluctant, sighed and climbed up after the young Lord, adjusting his cloak and trying not to wrinkle the noble fabric. The contrast between them was almost comical — the tiny heir of Duskweld bursting with childlike enthusiasm, and the ever-stiff bodyguard doing his best to maintain decorum.

Alistair knelt near the headboard and leaned against the wall, rapping his knuckles lightly against a specific spot.

"Here. Come, check this out," he said, pointing with mock seriousness.

Kenneth leaned in, tilting his head for a better look. He was just about to say something when Alistair, quick as a cat and twice as mischievous, gave him a hard shove.

"Hey, wha—?!" was all Kenneth managed before his head disappeared into the wall with a muffled crunch of shifting wood.

With an excited leap, Alistair shouted, "Let's gooo! Slide time!" And without a moment's hesitation, he launched himself into the hidden opening.

Beyond the wall, a narrow passage revealed a polished stone slide glowing faintly with the shimmer of ancient enchantment. Kenneth's muffled yelps echoed through the tunnel as he tumbled down.

"LORD ALISTAIR! YOU— OW, MY BACK!"

But Alistair just howled with laughter, arms raised like he was on a roller coaster.

"AAAAH! I MISSED THIS!" His contagious laughter echoed down the tunnels. "When we get back, I'm building one of these! With crazier turns!"

The flickering magical lights overhead added a chaotic funhouse glow to the descent. Despite himself, Kenneth couldn't help but smile faintly — Alistair was genuinely having the time of his life.

As they slid down, Alistair's thoughts turned inward, focusing on his unique ability.

'Pathfinder wasn't meant for reading circuits,' he mused, the enchanted wind rushing past his face. 'That was just a bonus. Circuits are just... a kind of path. But my power is more than that.'

He could see routes. All of them. Forgotten paths, sealed doorways, destroyed passages, magical trails or physical corridors — they all glowed before him like strands of light. The true power of his gift was revealing hidden directions — long-lost possibilities.

'The only problem... is that they all appear at once,' he thought, frowning. 'Like dozens of maps unrolling in my head simultaneously. I'll learn to filter them out someday…'

The slide began to level off, their speed slowing. Kenneth's frantic cries faded into grumbles that echoed off the tunnel walls. Then, after one final soft curve, the pair were launched through a narrow exit — and landed with a whump in a pile of old, worn-out cushions.

— POOF!

"Ugh... my dignity..." Kenneth groaned, half-buried in the dusty cushions, trying to recover his sense of decorum as he fixed his rumpled collar.

Alistair landed beside him, laughing so hard that tears streamed from the corners of his golden eyes.

"AAAHAHAHA! That was amazing! Even better than our last adventure!" he said, wiping his eyes with his sleeve, still breathless from laughter.

He glanced around the new room, eyes gleaming with excitement, and theatrically spread his arms wide:

"Welcome to phase two, Sir Kenneth!"

Kenneth gave a tired huff, though a faint smile hid behind his disapproving expression. With some effort, he got to his feet.

"Young Lord... I sincerely hope phase three involves fewer head injuries…" he muttered, finally giving in to the silliness, with a hint of irony.

Alistair winked at him, grin still tugging at his lips — but suddenly, his expression shifted. His eyes turned toward the massive tunnel ahead, and the playful glint vanished, replaced by a sober stillness.

"If only... we weren't on a mission," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. The lighthearted tone evaporated into the echoing chamber, replaced by the quiet weight of responsibility.

Kenneth stepped forward, standing shoulder to shoulder with the young lord. Without a word, he mirrored Alistair's stance — upright, alert, yet deferring to Alistair's lead. Both knew Kenneth couldn't guide them; the traps were invisible to him. Just as Alistair could see them, but lacked the reflexes or strength to avoid them alone. That's why they moved together — as equals, as partners in this quiet exploration.

The tunnel ahead stretched long, narrow, and dim. Its walls were built from uneven stone blocks, blanketed with thick cobwebs that shimmered faintly in the light. It was clear no human had set foot here in decades — maybe centuries. The old sconces were empty, their candles long since melted away, leaving only rusted holders and the faint metallic tang of time in the air.

Luckily, near the tunnel's entrance, a few discarded torches remained. Each man took one, lit them with the magical lighter Kenneth always carried, and pressed on. The flickering flames cast dancing shadows along the damp stone.

Alistair walked in silence, eyes sharp, his mind humming with the glowing threads of possibilities revealed by his ability. But something felt off...

"No traps so far?" he thought, brow furrowed. The threads were there — tangled and ancient — but unmoving. Dormant.

Unexpectedly, Kenneth seemed to sense it too. His eyes scanned the corridor with wary precision, one hand hovering near the hilt of his sword.

"It's... too quiet," he murmured, finally breaking the silence after nearly half an hour.

And then, looming before them, rose a colossal door. Carved from obsidian-like stone and etched with faded arcane markings, it radiated a presence that felt almost sacred. In its center, engraved in perfect relief, was the crest of the Grand Duchy of Phoenix: two intertwined phoenixes — one with blazing red wings, the other cloaked in icy blue flames. Their eyes, masterfully carved, seemed to stare straight into the soul of anyone who approached.

Alistair stopped before it, gaze locked on the ancestral symbol.

"I think we've arrived," he said quietly, but with conviction.

Kenneth gave a single nod, his expression grave, prepared for whatever lay beyond.

The silence before that door was heavy — like the world itself was holding its breath, waiting.

Alistair stepped closer, golden eyes studying every crack and faded inscription. He wasn't a master of traps or mechanisms, but his knowledge and experience gave him a solid foundation. And of course, there was his gift.

He closed his eyes briefly, calling on his inner vision. Blue and golden lines began to emerge in his mind — faint currents of diffuse energy. It looked like a disjointed tapestry.

"There are circuits here..." he muttered under his breath, not daring to disturb the solemn air. "But they're all dormant. No power."

He opened his eyes and looked back at his companion. "Kenneth, you can push the door."

Kenneth nodded without hesitation. He stepped up to the massive slab and placed his hands against the cool, rough surface, fingers spreading over the phoenixes' engraving.

He pushed.

Nothing.

The door didn't budge.

Frowning, Kenneth grounded his stance, knees bent like a soldier squaring off against an old rival. This time, he pressed with greater force — and that's when it began.

A blue energy began to form around his hands, at first like mist, then gaining density. The light raced up his arms, threading under the skin like streaks of lightning, until it enveloped his entire body.

Alistair watched from a few steps away, silent. A faint smile played at the corners of his lips.

'I never get tired of this... Sometimes I wonder why Kenneth is just a squire and not a knight already if he can use aura.'

Aura. The raw, unfiltered manifestation of will. Unlike magic, which flowed from mana and harmony with the world, aura was something deeper. It was the soul, refined by battle, forged in hardship, shaped through training... or survival. It was the weapon of the relentless.

Kenneth's body now pulsed with that power. His muscles tensed beneath his shirt, veins standing out like taut cables. The air around him shimmered faintly, warping the light.

With a tight grunt, he pushed again.

The door groaned.

A deep sound, like the echo of stone being dragged through the earth's core, rumbled down the tunnel. Inch by inch, the colossal door began to shift. Ash that had gathered along the base scattered with the vibrations.

Kenneth gritted his teeth, his face flushed from the strain. His boots slipped slightly on the stone floor, but he didn't yield. Alistair remained beside him.

After what felt like minutes rather than seconds, the gap was wide enough for them to pass through.

Kenneth stepped back, breath ragged, resting his hands on his knees.

"Hhh... I still think... we should really consider... doors with handles," he muttered between gasps.

Alistair gave a soft chuckle through his nose, but his gaze had already drifted into the darkness beyond the cracked doorway — alert, curious... and slightly unsettled.

Two minutes of rest passed — just enough for Kenneth to catch his breath and gather what was left of his dignity — before they crossed the threshold.

"Kenneth, close it," said Alistair without looking back.

Kenneth let out a long, weary sigh.

"So that's why you let me rest first," he muttered to himself with a crooked smile.

He walked back to the massive stone door and, summoning his strength once again, pushed it shut. A muffled THUD echoed through the chamber, sealing them off from the corridor behind.

And the moment the door clicked into place — both men noticed it.

Their torches were suddenly useless.

The room was already lit — not by ancient magic or mystical glow, but by iron candelabras, elegantly forged and dust-free, as if someone had cleaned or replaced them just moments ago.

The space was wide, refined in its design, but understated. Unlike the grandeur of the outer door, this place felt... intimate. Private.

Then, a voice broke the silence.

"You scared me, Car—" it began in a nervous whisper, then jumped in pitch. "Alistair! I thought you were my brother's vassals! You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

The childlike voice echoed through the halls just before its owner appeared. The footsteps were hurried, almost impatient, and soon a small figure emerged from the shadowed back of the chamber.

A girl with striking crimson eyes, laced with flecks of gold that shimmered in the candelabra light. Her red hair was long, slightly wavy, and bounced wildly with each step. It was a little disheveled — as if she'd just woken from a nightmare or spent hours hiding. Still, there was something fiercely noble about her — an intensity beyond her years.

She was dressed with elegance, though her gait betrayed urgency. Two younger attendants followed quietly behind her, exchanging wary glances, like they feared a misplaced word could set the whole room ablaze.

She stopped abruptly in front of Alistair, her eyes wide, a mix of relief and tension in her gaze.

"But... thank the stars it's you," she sighed, her tone softening. "Thanks for coming so quickly."

Alistair watched her silently for a moment before smiling — not with his lips, but with his eyes, the subtle spark of recognition shared by old accomplices.

"You really are a terrifying person," Alistair said softly, almost tenderly — like someone admitting a truth that was both delicate and inevitable.

She paused. Silence. A vein pulsed in her temple.

Her eyes, once filled with relief, now gleamed with barely contained irritation — not explosive, but the sharp-edged kind of anger reserved for someone who knows the provoker all too well, and realizes that reacting would only give him more ammunition.

Alistair simply folded his arms, casually, the corners of his mouth tugging into that familiar mischievous grin.

"You still owe me three pies and a sweet. Which means your debt just got bigger."