Chapter 33

The clang of metal echoed softly through the workshop, a rhythmic sound that could be almost soothing—if you weren't the one doing the work. I wiped the sweat from my brow, my fingers tracing the final rune onto the sleek surface of the armor I'd been working on for the better part of two weeks with the other sets. The scales, harvested from the hide of a reptilian monstrosity I'd butchered on the thirtieth floor of the tower, shimmered in the dim light of the rune lamps hanging overhead. It was a beast unlike any I'd fought before, its strength matched only by its ferocity, and now, its very skin was becoming something far more valuable: profit.

Profit. The thing that fueled so much of what I did these days. Sure, the fighting practice was nice—the tower gave me plenty of that—but when it came to expanding my powers, honing my rune skills, and pushing the boundaries of what magic could do, it wasn't about throwing punches. It was about finding the right combination of runes and materials, creating something that defied expectations. Something that would sell.

I stepped back and admired my handiwork. The armor was a thing of beauty, not just for its reptilian scales, but for the meticulous runeweaving etched into every plate. The runes weren't just slapped on like some amateur's backyard enchantments; no, these were advanced sequences—designed to reinforce the structure, enhance the wearer's speed, and provide a layer of defensive magic that would laugh in the face of most incoming attacks. I smiled to myself. It was one thing to survive the tower, but it was another to take its spoils and turn them into something that made climbing easier for others—and far more lucrative for me.

This wasn't the only piece I'd crafted. In the corner of the workshop stood five other sets, each one unique but integrated with weapons that matched the armor's design. Aetius, my dealer of choice, had been pestering me to produce more for his clientele, so here I was, churning out masterpieces while also sharpening my own skills. The deal was simple: I was paid a flat fee per item, but my reputation was growing. If I wanted to increase that fee—and I absolutely did—I needed to ensure every set was a work of art. And by work of art, I meant something that would make the next wannabe hero survive two floors more than they thought they could.

My eyes flicked to the timepiece on the wall. It was nearly time to meet Aetius. I let out a sigh, wiping my hands clean on the cloth draped over my workbench, and began to pack up. The newly finished armor slipped easily into my stone inventory space, where it would remain in stasis until I chose to retrieve it. One of the better features of rune-based storage: time inside the space didn't move, so everything I stored came out as pristine as when I put it in. A useful trick when you didn't feel like lugging armor through the streets like a blacksmith's apprentice. I then took all the inventory into the storage space that I was about to sell.

Before I left, I ran my fingers over the runes etched into the doorframe of the workshop. It was heavily warded—unbreakably so, at least in my opinion—and if anyone tried to breach the wards, they'd be in for a nasty surprise. No, this workshop was my fortress, and I didn't intend to lose it to some lowlife hoping for a quick score.

I stepped out into the fading light of the late afternoon, the streets of the city buzzing with activity. The tower loomed nearby, a massive stone monolith two hundred meters square, its presence dominating the skyline like some ancient deity watching over its flock. Adventurers bustled in and out of its massive entrance, each one with dreams of fortune, glory, or, in most cases, survival. I'd been in their shoes once—well, not really, but I could imagine how they felt.

The tower was both a blessing and a curse, offering endless opportunity but also serving as a grim reminder of mortality for those not sharp enough to handle its challenges. I, of course, had handled them—thirty-five floors and counting—but there was no room for complacency. Complacency, as I liked to say, was a luxury for people who didn't mind dying early.

The street I found myself walking down was one of the wealthier areas, polished stone pathways lined with grandiose buildings that screamed wealth and privilege. Despite the allure of marble columns and vine-covered balconies, I veered off the main road. Walking along the front streets was for people who enjoyed flaunting themselves. Me? I preferred the less conspicuous route.

The back streets were a different world. Narrow, dimly lit, and filled with the steady hum of servants and slaves going about their business. These streets were functional, all grit and no glamour—perfect for avoiding attention. I made my way through the winding alleys until I reached a familiar door. It belonged to Aetius, the dealer who specialized in luxury goods—goods like my rune-enhanced armor.

I knocked, the sound of my fist echoing against the wood. Within moments, the door creaked open, and I was greeted by one of Aetius's servants. He was a thin, pale man with a nervous energy about him, his hands twitching as he gestured for me to follow. I did, not bothering with pleasantries.

The interior of the mansion was predictably opulent, filled with decadent furnishings and enough expensive artwork to make a nobleman blush. Aetius had always enjoyed living in excess, and it showed. I was led through the grand hall and into a smaller, more private room where Aetius himself awaited. He was young, but his eyes were old—too old, in fact. There was something unsettling about the way he looked at people, as though he'd seen more of the world than anyone his age should have.

He rose from his seat as I entered, a smile spreading across his face. "David, always a pleasure."

I gave him a curt nod, not in the mood for small talk. "I've got the goods. Let's get this over with."

Aetius's smile widened. "Ah, ever the pragmatist. Well, let's see what you've brought me today."

I reached into my inventory and retrieved the newly finished sets of armor, placing them carefully on the floor before him. Aetius's eyes gleamed with interest as he ran his fingers over the scales, admiring the craftsmanship. He didn't need to say anything—his expression spoke volumes. This was exactly what he'd been hoping for.

"This," he said slowly, "is magnificent."

I shrugged, as though it were nothing. "Just another day in the workshop."

Aetius chuckled, his fingers tracing the runes along the armor's surface. "You're too modest. This set will fetch a high price. My clients will be thrilled."

"And I assume my cut will reflect that?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course, of course," Aetius replied smoothly, though there was always a hint of amusement in his tone when it came to money. "You'll be compensated generously, as always."

I nodded, knowing full well that "generously" in Aetius's terms was a relative concept. Still, the man paid better than most, and I had no complaints as long as the gold kept flowing.

As we discussed the finer points of the sale, I found my mind wandering back to the tower. It was strange, really, how much time I spent there now. What had started as a challenge—a test of my abilities—had turned into something else entirely. The tower provided materials, money, and endless opportunities to improve my craft. It also provided something else: combat practice. With every level I climbed, I honed my skills, developed my body's powers, and pushed myself to new limits.

But there was something more, something nagging at the back of my mind. The higher I climbed, the more I felt like the tower was testing me—not just physically, but mentally. There was a strange sense of foreboding with each new floor, as though the tower itself was watching, waiting to see if I could handle what it threw at me next.

"Thinking about the tower, are we?" Aetius's voice broke through my thoughts, his eyes glinting with that all-too-familiar curiosity.

I shrugged, slipping back into my usual nonchalance. "Just wondering how long I'll keep finding it interesting."

He laughed softly, his gaze lingering on me for a moment. "Well, when it stops being interesting, you'll know. The tower has a way of weeding out those who don't belong."

I smirked. "Lucky for me, I'm not easily bored."

Aetius leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. "No, I suppose you're not. But be careful, David. The tower may be profitable, but it's also dangerous. Don't let your arrogance get the better of you."

I gave him a sharp look, not appreciating the lecture. "Arrogance and confidence often get mistaken for each other."

"True," Aetius conceded with a small nod. "But it's a fine line."

"Good thing I'm good at walking it."

Aetius sat across from me, his fingers idly tracing the rim of his wine glass as he spoke. "You know, your work's starting to cause quite the stir," he said, the gleam in his eyes betraying just how much he relished that fact. "I've got people knocking on my door day and night asking for more of your rune armor and weapons. And these aren't just any customers. We're talking high-end buyers—people with deep pockets and even deeper egos."

I leaned back in my chair, the leather creaking softly under me. Aetius's opulent office was, as always, a testament to excess. Gold filigree on the walls, rare tapestries from distant lands draped over the windows, and a collection of artifacts that probably had more stories behind them than half the city combined. All that wealth and status packed into one room, and yet, here he was, excited like a kid who'd just found a shiny new toy in the dirt.

"Funny how that works, isn't it?" I mused, my voice casual. "It's not the quality they care about—not really. It's the fact that they can wave around something no one else has. Status symbols wrapped in runes."

Aetius smiled, the kind of smile that said he knew exactly what I meant. "Exactly. They want to feel special, like they're wearing a piece of magic no one else can touch. And you've got them hooked. I even heard one of the guild officers muttering about you the other day. Not in a bad way, mind you—they're more than happy to turn a blind eye as long as we keep using the proper channels. Guild stamps, official transactions, all that nonsense. As long as it looks legitimate, they'll look the other way."

I couldn't help but smile at the irony. "So, as long as appearances are met, we can carry on selling high-end, heavily rune-enhanced weapons and armor without so much as a slap on the wrist?"

Aetius chuckled softly, leaning forward. "Oh, the guild knows exactly what's going on. They just don't care. Why would they? The higher the quality of gear in circulation, the more prestige it brings to their name. And prestige—well, that's the only currency that really matters in this city."

He wasn't wrong. Prestige was the great currency of our world, more valuable than gold in certain circles. People weren't buying the gear because they needed it—they were buying it because it made them look untouchable, invincible even. And if the guild's stamp was on it, all the better. It gave them the appearance of legitimacy while feeding their desire for power.

"That's the way of the world," I said, allowing myself a dry chuckle. "People want to believe in the illusion. Give them what they want, and they'll pay whatever price you ask—so long as the illusion remains intact."

And why not? As long as everyone was happy—clients got their ego-boosting gear, the guild kept their hands clean, and Aetius and I raked in the gold—there was no reason to complain. I'd long ago come to terms with how things really worked. It wasn't about right or wrong; it was about maintaining the balance of appearances. As long as you played the game and didn't tip the scales too much, no one cared how you won.

Aetius nodded, clearly pleased with himself. He always liked these conversations, the ones where we both acknowledged just how hollow the whole system was while profiting off it at the same time. "Well, I have to say, David, your reputation is growing. Not that you'd want the attention, of course. You've done a fine job staying in the shadows."

"That's the plan," I said, watching as Aetius reached into his pocket.

He fumbled for a moment before pulling out his storage device—a clunky, outdated thing compared to mine, but it got the job done. With a flick of his wrist, a large chest appeared on the table between us, its iron hinges groaning under the weight of whatever was inside. He popped it open, revealing a gleaming pile of gold coins, each one larger than the standard currency most people used. These were the big coins—the kind that had the satisfying heft of serious wealth.

"You're becoming quite the rich man in a short amount of time," Aetius said, his voice laced with amusement as he began counting out the gold. He was methodical about it, stacking the coins into neat piles like a banker making an official deposit.

I shrugged. "Don't worry about me. I'm going to need much more than this before I'm satisfied. There's no shortage of demand for what I do, so I don't see the supply drying up anytime soon."

Aetius looked up, raising an eyebrow. "Ambitious, aren't we?"

"Ambition has nothing to do with it," I replied, my tone casual but firm. "It's just business. People always want more—more power, more status, more ways to prove they're better than the next person. And as long as that's true, I'll keep giving it to them."

Aetius chuckled again, clearly enjoying this exchange. "True enough. And as long as you keep giving them what they want, we'll both continue to profit."

He finished counting the gold, sliding the hefty pile toward me. I pocketed it without much fanfare, the weight of the coins disappearing into my rune-enhanced storage space. Convenient, really. Time and space didn't touch anything inside, so whether I left the gold there for a day or a decade, it would come out just as pristine.

"Speaking of giving people what they want," Aetius said, settling back into his chair, "I've had a few custom orders come through. Connections of mine—people with very particular tastes."

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Custom orders, you say? And what exactly are these 'particular tastes' looking for?"

Aetius waved a hand dismissively, as though the details were just formalities. "Oh, you know how it is. They want gear that makes a statement. Armor that's not just functional but also... commanding. They want to walk into a room and have everyone know who's in charge."

"Vanity armor," I said, my lips curving into a smirk. "Easy enough. But I assume they want more than just looks?"

"Of course," Aetius replied, his grin widening. "They want the best of both worlds—something that offers real protection and magical enhancement, but also something that looks like it belongs to a king."

I considered it for a moment, my mind already working through the possibilities. Vanity armor was simple, but there was potential here. I could push the designs further—add runes that would amplify not just defense, but presence. Create something that radiated power and confidence, even if the person wearing it lacked both. The illusion of strength, after all, was often as good as the real thing.

"I can make that happen," I said finally, my voice confident. "But it'll cost them. And not just in gold. If they want something truly unique, I'll need access to materials they might not be willing to part with."

Aetius's eyes gleamed with interest. "I'll relay that message. Trust me, they'll be more than willing to pay for exclusivity."

He poured himself another glass of wine, swirling the liquid thoughtfully before taking a sip. "You know, David, you could be doing a lot more with your talent. Why limit yourself to armor and weapons? You've got the skill to craft things far beyond what most people can even imagine."

I met his gaze, leaning forward slightly. "And what exactly are you suggesting?"

Aetius shrugged, a sly smile playing on his lips. "There are people out there—powerful people—who would pay a fortune for certain... enhancements. Not just armor or weapons, but things that could tip the scales in more subtle ways. You've already proven you can work wonders with runes. Why not expand your horizons?"

I considered his words carefully, my fingers drumming lightly on the armrest of my chair. He wasn't wrong. There was potential to go beyond just armor and weapons. Runes were versatile, and I had barely scratched the surface of what they could do. But there was a fine line between pushing boundaries and stepping into dangerous territory. Custom orders for high-profile clients were one thing, but delving into the kind of work Aetius was hinting at? That came with risks—risks I wasn't sure I wanted to take.

"Maybe," I said, my tone noncommittal. "But for now, I'm content to stay in my lane. Armor and weapons keep me busy enough."

Aetius chuckled, raising his glass in a mock toast. "Fair enough. But if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me."

I stood, pocketing the last of the gold and glancing toward the door. "I'll keep that in mind. In the meantime, keep the orders coming. I'll have more for you soon."

With a final nod, I turned and made my way out of the room, the weight of Aetius's words lingering in my mind. Expand my horizons? Maybe.

The streets outside were alive with the evening bustle—servants rushing to finish their errands, adventurers swapping stories of their latest conquests, and merchants haggling over the day's prices. It was all so predictable, so... human.

I could've gone back to the workshop, thrown myself into some long hours of rune etching, and maybe even squeezed out another masterpiece before nightfall. But frankly, I'd been staring at scales and symbols for days, and the lure of dealing with bureaucracy and backdoor negotiations seemed almost... refreshing. Almost.

Lady Valeria of House Livius had taken particular interest in my "situation," which was a polite way of saying the city's bureaucratic machine was choking the life out of my business arrangements with the governor. She had been gracious enough to tell me I needed to "cultivate my own ways around the system," which, in noble-speak, was code for you're not connected enough, darling. Now that I had some significant coin in my pocket and my "secret" reputation was gaining traction in higher circles, I figured it was time to check in with her. Make sure the wheels of power started turning in my favor.

I pulled out the small slip of parchment she had given me. The address was elegantly scrawled in neat, flowing handwriting that practically screamed wealth and influence. I knew the neighborhood—inner city, close to the palace. Of course, it would be close to the palace. Valeria always had her fingers in the pie of power, working an angle, no doubt. That woman was a predator, and politics was her jungle.

As I weaved through the streets, I couldn't help but notice the stark contrast between the outer city—filled with merchants, adventurers, and the occasional cutpurse—and the inner city. Here, everything was polished. The streets were wide, the stonework flawless, and the air carried a faint scent of jasmine from the carefully maintained gardens. The kind of place where every blade of grass had probably been curated by a committee.

I reached the mansion Valeria had been staying at, and it was exactly what I expected: vast, imposing, and fortified enough to survive a minor siege. High stone walls, lined with iron spikes at the top, wrapped around the property like the protective embrace of privilege. The gate was manned by guards dressed in House Livius's deep green livery, and they eyed me with the kind of suspicion that told me they'd seen too many people trying to slip past with clever stories and flattery.

"Name?" one of them asked, his voice about as warm as the iron gates behind him.

I didn't bother with pleasantries. "David Goodchild. I'm expected by Lady Valeria."

The guard's eyebrows lifted ever so slightly—recognition, maybe?—before he motioned to the other man by his side. "Wait here." He disappeared inside for a moment, leaving me standing in the quiet of the manicured streets. A few moments later, he returned, giving me a slight nod as the gate creaked open. "You may enter."

I stepped inside, and the transformation was immediate. The mansion's inner courtyard was a sprawling masterpiece of decadence. Marble fountains gurgled softly, the water sparkling in the late afternoon light. Vibrant flowerbeds lined the pathways, and the air smelled faintly of citrus and roses. In the center of the courtyard, a massive garden spread out, filled with trees that looked like they'd been plucked from some ancient, enchanted forest and transported here just to impress guests.

Subtle as always, Valeria. I thought with a smirk.

A servant led me through the garden and into a more intimate section of the grounds. There, seated in the dappled shade of an intricately carved stone pavilion, was Lady Valeria herself, along with a woman I recognized as her sister-in-law, Cecilia. They were both elegantly dressed, sipping what appeared to be tea and nibbling on light pastries—because, of course, rich people don't eat actual meals. It's all dainty snacks and complicated drinks that taste like wealth and dissatisfaction.

"David," Valeria called out, her voice smooth and practiced, the kind of tone that could probably soothe a tiger or start a war, depending on her mood. "So good of you to come. Please, join us."

I made my way over, my boots sinking slightly into the impossibly soft grass as I approached the pavilion. Valeria rose to greet me, her tall figure moving with the fluid grace of someone who had been raised on etiquette and formality. Her dark hair was pulled back in an elaborate updo, pinned with emeralds that matched the deep green of her gown. Cecilia, on the other hand, was more relaxed, her honey-blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, dressed in a lighter, more casual robe. Despite the difference in their appearances, they shared that same sharpness in their eyes. A family trait, I supposed.

"I trust you found the place easily enough?" Valeria asked, motioning for me to take a seat.

"Not difficult," I replied, my tone casual but respectful. "The mansion practically announced itself."

Valeria's lips curved into a knowing smile as she took her seat again. "Yes, subtlety was never House Livius's strong suit."

"Neither is humility," I added, letting a hint of sarcasm slip into my voice.

Cecilia chuckled softly, her eyes flicking to her sister-in-law. "He's not wrong, Valeria. Your house has never done anything quietly."

Valeria gave a small, elegant shrug. "When you're in the business of power, you don't have the luxury of being quiet."

"And speaking of power," I said, leaning forward slightly, "I think it's time we talked about how I can get around this city's bureaucratic... nonsense."

Her eyes sparkled with amusement. "Ah yes, the system's delightful little delay. I take it the red tape is still strangling your business deals?"

"Strangling would be putting it lightly," I replied dryly. "I've tried pushing things along the official channels, but that's gotten me nowhere. Now, I've got enough coin to grease the right palms, but I need to know where to apply the pressure."

Valeria's smile grew. She loved this—these little negotiations where she got to play the part of the puppeteer. "You're fortunate, David. I've always had a soft spot for those who recognize the value of... direct action."

She set down her tea cup and folded her hands in her lap. "I'll make a few inquiries for you, of course. But you're going to need to ingratiate yourself with certain key figures if you want to speed things along."

She looked at me with those sharp eyes, the kind of gaze that could slice through any pleasantries and get straight to business. Her expression was unreadable, but I could sense the undercurrent. Valeria was someone who always had an agenda, and today, I was part of it.

"Firstly, David," she began, her voice smooth but with an edge that hinted at something transactional, "we need to settle accounts. When we arrived in this city three weeks ago, I had to grease quite a few palms to ensure your documents from the governor's office were even glanced at. Without that, we'd both still be in the cold."

I had expected this. Valeria wasn't the type to do something out of the goodness of her heart, not unless that heart was made of gold and could be sold for a profit. She was the kind of woman who always kept track of favors like an accountant balancing the books. If you owed her, you paid—one way or another.

I leaned back slightly in my chair and gave her a dry smile. "You know, Valeria, you have the cold, calculating heart of an accountant. I'd almost admire it, if it weren't so predictable."

Her lips curled into a smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. "And yet here we are, discussing what's owed. Funny how that works."

I took out my money pouch. As I counted, I could feel her watching me, probably amused that I was going through the motions, but the thing about people like Valeria is they expect precision. They like knowing everyone around them follows the same cold logic they do. In her world, appearances may be everything, but numbers? Numbers don't lie.

Once the last coin was tallied, I glanced up at her, meeting her gaze with a raised eyebrow. "It's all there, but somehow I think you enjoy this a little too much. What's the psychology behind that, Valeria? Is it about control? Or is it that sense of satisfaction you get when everything falls exactly into place?"

She leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other with the kind of grace that suggested she had been born into this life of wealth and power. "David, if you're trying to psychoanalyze me, you're wasting your time. I want what's owed to me. That's all."

I smirked. "Oh, it's never just about the money with people like you. It's about proving a point. You enjoy the process of collecting, because every payment is a reminder of how essential you are. A psychological pat on the back, if you will. A well-deserved one, of course, but let's not pretend it's just a numbers game."

Her smile grew, and for the first time, it felt genuine. "You're right, of course. But then again, you knew that already. What I want—what I expect—is the respect that comes with the deal. And that respect, David, comes from settling your debts."

I nodded, giving her the pouch. "Fair enough. Consider the debt settled."

There was a beat of silence before she spoke again, her tone lighter now, almost conversational. "You know, David, you're not wrong about the psychology behind it. Women like me—we've learned to navigate the world through calculated moves. Men might like to think they're in control, but it's often the quiet, unseen debts and favors that really tip the balance of power."

I couldn't help but laugh. "Ah, so it's the art of quiet manipulation. And here I thought you were just helping a friend out."

She shrugged, her eyes glinting with amusement. "I am helping a friend. But friends are more useful when they know how to repay a favor."

A transaction, clean and simple, but the true currency was far more complex than just gold. As much as I enjoyed the dance of power between us, it was time to stop wasting breath and start making things move.

"Now that I've settled the account," I said, my voice dry, "shall we get back to the business of greasing the wheels of bureaucracy?

Valeria nodded, amusement still twinkling in her eyes. "There's no time like the present, David. The bureaucrats have a talent for turning the simplest things into an endless slog of paperwork and lost forms, but with the right push... well, things can move quickly enough."

She rose from her seat with a smooth grace that belied the steel in her demeanor. "I'll need you to be dressed properly for this. Impressions matter. Change into something that shows you're not to be trifled with."

I couldn't help but let a grin tug at the corner of my mouth. She spoke as if this whole world wasn't built on illusions, on dressing up reality to fool those foolish enough to believe in it. Still, I knew the game, and Valeria was a master at playing it.

I followed her instructions and slipped away to a small chamber, a room tucked away in the mansion's many hallways, and pulled out my best set of clothes. Not just fine fabric, though the quality of the tailoring spoke for itself—no, this attire was something more. Each piece was subtly inscribed with protective runes, invisible to the untrained eye but pulsing with latent power. There were dangers in this city—political and otherwise—and it never hurt to be ready for anything.

The black tunic I slipped on looked simple, unassuming even, but its woven threads held wards that could repel low-level magical attacks. The deep green vest I paired with it was both stylish and reinforced with runes that dulled anyone's attempts to manipulate my mind. This was a city of influence, after all. People like to play games, and they rarely play fair.

By the time I returned to the courtyard, Valeria was waiting. I should've known better than to be surprised by how striking she looked, but there she was, a vision in emerald silk. The gown was perfectly tailored, hugging her figure in all the right places without being too ostentatious. And yet, beneath that effortless elegance, I could sense something more—runes, subtly inscribed and enhancing her already formidable beauty. She knew how to use what nature gave her, and with a touch of magic, she was irresistible.

Well, not to everyone. My defensive runes dulled most of the effect, leaving me free to appreciate her aesthetic power without falling under her sway. Still, credit where it's due: the woman was an artist, weaving magic and allure as easily as she navigated the political maze of the city.

"Ready?" she asked, her voice light, but there was something in her gaze—an understanding, perhaps, that we were about to step onto a stage where every word and gesture would be calculated.

"Ready as I'll ever be," I replied, offering a half-smile. "Lead the way."

We exited the mansion, the warm afternoon air carrying the scent of garden blooms as we approached the waiting carriage. The driver, dressed in the same immaculate livery as the guards, tipped his hat as he opened the door for us. Valeria stepped in first, her movements as fluid as the silk she wore, and I followed, settling into the plush interior.

As the carriage began its journey through the city, I found myself gazing out the window at the passing streets. We were heading back toward the heart of the city's bureaucracy—the very same maze I had wandered through on my first full day here. The Ministry of Internal Affairs loomed in my memory like a bureaucratic nightmare, a building designed to grind down even the most determined of souls with endless corridors, stacks of parchment, and the faint but persistent smell of stale ink.

I glanced at Valeria, who seemed content to enjoy the ride in silence. She was always composed, always in control, and I had to admire her ability to navigate this city's treacherous waters with such finesse. But beneath that composed exterior, I knew she thrived on power. This wasn't just a visit to smooth things over with a few officials—this was an opportunity for her to assert her influence in yet another corner of the city's labyrinthine power structure.

"What's the plan when we get there?" I asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

She turned her head slightly, one eyebrow arching. "Plan? We're going to make them see that their best interests align with ours. It's really quite simple, David—people don't move unless they believe it's in their interest to do so. My job is to make them realize just how beneficial moving quickly will be."

I chuckled softly. "Let me guess. You dangle a few favors in front of them, they nod and smile, and suddenly forms get signed in record time."

Her lips curled into that dangerous smile again. "Exactly. But it's not just the favors—it's the appearance of power. They need to believe that we can make their lives better or... worse."

"Isn't that always the way?" I muttered, glancing out the window again as the buildings began to grow taller, more imposing.

The building that delt with administration detail of the city loomed ahead, a hulking mass of stone and iron that had all the charm of a fortress designed to keep people out—or worse, keep them in. The city's bureaucratic center was nothing short of a labyrinth, where documents went to die and decisions took years to crawl through the system.

As we disembarked from the carriage, I felt the weight of the building pressing down on us like a physical force. The entrance was just as I remembered it from my first visit—massive double doors that looked like they'd been built to withstand a siege. We were greeted by a clerk whose face showed the distinct lack of joy one only finds in government service.

"Lady Valeria," the clerk began with a bow, his voice devoid of warmth. "It's a pleasure to welcome you back to the Ministry."

Valeria gave him a gracious nod, her tone polite but with an edge that indicated she wasn't here for pleasantries. "The pleasure is mine, of course. But I believe we're both aware of why I'm here."

The clerk swallowed visibly and gestured for us to follow him inside. As we walked through the corridors, I couldn't help but feel like we were walking deeper into the belly of some great beast—one that thrived on red tape and inefficiency. But today, we weren't here to be swallowed whole. Today, we were here to cut through the mess and get things done.

Beside me, Valeria moved with her usual grace, the kind that came naturally to someone who knew exactly how much power she wielded. She looked spectacular, of course, in a deep emerald dress that seemed to ripple like water with each step. It was the kind of dress that turned heads, not because of its extravagance but because of the way it commanded attention. Valeria didn't need flashy jewelry or over-the-top designs—she was her own statement, enhanced ever so slightly by subtle runes woven into the fabric that made her beauty just a touch more captivating. And I could feel those runes working. It was almost like a warm, gentle pulse of energy, but my own protective wards dulled the effect enough to let me see clearly.

She wasn't just walking into this building. She was about to bend it to her will.

A clerk met us at the entrance to another section of the building, his face that bland, unbothered expression of someone who had long ago given up on caring about anything beyond his next meal. He greeted Valeria with a shallow bow, his eyes darting to me for just a moment before returning to her.

"Lady Valeria," he said in a tone that suggested he used her name the same way he might recite the date—automatically, without thought. "The Minister will be pleased to see you."

I doubted that, but Valeria just smiled, her lips curving in that way that suggested she already knew she'd won before the game even started. Without a word, she slipped a small purse of coins into the man's hand, so smoothly I almost missed it. The clerk's eyes barely flickered as he pocketed it with the same practiced ease, and he led us inside without further comment.

As we moved through the winding corridors, the oppressive atmosphere of the Ministry settled in around us like a cloak. The walls were lined with shelves of parchment—miles and miles of it, no doubt—all filled with the kind of useless, soul-sucking details that kept places like this in business. Each hallway seemed to twist in on itself, like some kind of labyrinth designed to make you lose all sense of direction. Fitting, considering this place was where hopes came to die.

Eventually, we were led to an office near the back of the building. The door was marked with a brass plate that read Minister Almont, Internal Affairs. The clerk knocked once before opening the door, motioning for us to enter.

Inside, the office was everything you'd expect from a man who'd built his career on slow, deliberate manipulation. The walls were lined with bookshelves filled with leather-bound volumes that looked like they'd never been opened. In fact, the entire place was more a display of wealth than any real indication of work being done. Expensive artifacts adorned the shelves—rare statuettes from faraway lands, a marble bust of some long-forgotten figure, and an oil painting of the city that took up one entire wall, its frame dripping with gold leaf.

And behind the enormous oak desk sat Minister Almont, a man who looked like he'd been born in that chair and hadn't moved since. He was impeccably dressed, of course, in robes that seemed to scream "I'm important," without being garish. His black hair was slicked back, and his sharp eyes fixed on Valeria as she entered, his face splitting into what I could only assume was his attempt at a warm smile.

"Lady Valeria," he said, rising from his chair with the kind of deliberate slowness that suggested he wasn't used to being interrupted. "It's always a pleasure to see you."

Valeria returned the smile, though hers was far more practiced and convincing. "Minister Almont, you flatter me," she said, her voice a perfect blend of charm and authority. "I do hope we haven't disturbed you."

"Not at all," he replied, motioning for us to take a seat in the plush chairs across from his desk. "I always have time for you. And your... companion?"

I gave him a nod, not bothering with formalities. The man didn't care who I was; he cared about what I represented—money, power, and the opportunity to make both. Valeria and I settled into our seats, and I could feel the weight of the conversation about to begin. This wasn't going to be a quick chat.

"Minister," Valeria began smoothly, "I believe you've been handling a certain set of permits for my associate here. Mr. Goodchild has been waiting rather patiently, but as you know, time is of the essence."

Almont's eyes flicked toward me briefly before settling back on Valeria. "Ah, yes. The permits. I'm afraid the process has been somewhat... complicated. You understand how these things are. There are protocols to follow, forms to process, and, of course, certain approvals that take time."

I almost rolled my eyes. This was the same nonsense I'd heard a dozen times before. If Almont was anything, he was predictable. But Valeria? She was anything but predictable.

She leaned forward slightly, her voice taking on a more intimate tone. "Minister, I think we both know that time is something we can't afford to waste. Surely there's a way to expedite the process. After all, these are just... formalities, aren't they?"

Almont shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable but not willing to show it. "Well, Lady Valeria, there are certain... requirements that need to be met. You understand that we must maintain the appearance of due process."

Ah, the appearance of due process. The code was as old as the city itself—nothing really mattered except that it looked like it did. It was all about keeping up the facade. Behind closed doors, everyone knew that money made the gears turn, but out in the open? They needed their little charade.

Valeria smiled again, that slow, predatory smile that said she knew exactly how to play this game. "Of course, Minister. We wouldn't want to do anything that might undermine the integrity of your office." Her hand brushed the edge of the desk, fingers gliding over the polished wood as if she were tracing a delicate pattern. "Perhaps there's a way Goodchild could... assist in meeting those requirements. Quietly, of course."

Almont didn't miss a beat. He was used to this kind of negotiation, and he leaned back in his chair, feigning thoughtfulness. "Well, I suppose there might be a way to speed things up. But, you understand, there would be certain... additional costs involved. To ensure everything proceeds smoothly."

I had to bite back a laugh. Additional costs. It was a bribe, but spoken in that delicate bureaucratic language that let everyone pretend they were above such things. Valeria met my eyes briefly, her expression calm, before turning back to Almont.

"I'm sure Mr. Goodchild is more than willing to cover any... expenses that may arise," she said, her voice sweet as honey. "A small price to pay for efficiency."

I pulled out a small pouch from my coat, the weight of the coins inside unmistakable. Without a word, I placed it on the desk, the sound of metal clinking as it settled into place. Almont glanced at it briefly before reaching for a small storage device hidden in one of the desk drawers. With a smooth motion, the pouch vanished, absorbed into the device with a soft hum.

"Excellent," Almont said, his smile widening ever so slightly. "I'll make sure the credentials are processed immediately as they have just come back from the palace. It should only take a few minutes. You're welcome to wait here."

With that, he stood and exited the room, leaving Valeria and me alone. The moment the door clicked shut behind him, I let out a low breath, leaning back in my chair.

"That was... efficient," I remarked dryly, though I wasn't surprised.

Valeria gave a soft laugh, reaching for a glass of water that had been left on the table. "Everything in this city runs on money, David. The more you have, the easier things become. As you rise through the ranks, you'll find that the amounts only get bigger."

I glanced at the door, still closed, and shook my head slightly. "It was a lot of gold, though. At this rate, I'll need a vault to keep up."

Valeria shrugged, unconcerned. "You're paying for speed. And in this world, time is far more valuable than money."

Before I could respond, a knock came at the door, and a young woman entered, carrying a tray of drinks and small pastries. She was dressed in the typical garb of a servant—simple, muted colors, nothing too extravagant. But the careful, quiet grace with which she moved told me she was well-trained.

"Please, enjoy some refreshments while you wait," she said softly, placing the tray on the table between us before retreating back into the shadows of the hallway.

As I reached for a cup of juice, I couldn't help but marvel at how everything here operated under the veneer of civility and formality, all while money exchanged hands behind the scenes. Every smile, every gesture, every transaction—it was all part of the same elaborate performance. And I was becoming a part of it.

Valeria sipped her drink, her eyes flicking toward me with that familiar gleam of amusement. "You're learning, David. But remember, this is only the beginning. As you climb higher, the stakes will increase, and so will the costs. But so will the rewards."

I nodded, taking a sip of my drink. The taste was delicate, refined, but there was a bitterness beneath it, just like everything in this city. And Valeria was right—the higher I climbed, the more I'd need to give. But if there was one thing I understood, it was that in a world like this, you either paid the price or became the price.

And I had no intention of becoming anyone's currency.

Minister Almont re-entered the room with a briskness that almost suggested he'd done something productive while he was gone. His smile, however, gave the game away before he even spoke. There was a bit too much satisfaction in it—too much of the smug certainty of a man who believed he had everything under control.

To my surprise, he was holding the documents I'd been waiting for. His fingers were delicately placed on the thick scroll, like a magician about to unveil his greatest trick. But I knew better. He wasn't about to pull a rabbit out of his hat; he was pulling gold out of mine.

"Ah, Goodchild," he said, placing the papers neatly on the desk in front of me, the wax seals and palace stamps gleaming under the lantern light. "It seems everything is in order. I was just about to send for you—the credentials are finalized, and the necessary rune has been applied to ensure its authenticity. As you know, the city's magic prevents forgeries. You are now officially recognized as a certified rune weaver of great renown. I just... expedited the final process. "

Expedited. Now that was a word with weight in this city. It sounded so formal, so proper, but it really meant the wheels of bureaucracy were greased by a little "extra incentive." The permits had probably been gathering dust in some forgotten corner of this massive building until I provided that little push.

But fine. I had the papers. That was what mattered. I picked them up, running my fingers over the thick parchment, feeling the texture of the runes embossed in the paper, the magic thrumming faintly beneath my fingertips. The magic wasn't for show—it was a safeguard. No one could fake these credentials, not with the city's enchantments protecting official documents. In this place, appearances and authenticity went hand in hand, even if the process to get there was a tangled web of corruption and bribes.

"Very impressive work, Minister," Valeria chimed in, her voice dripping with polite amusement. "I'm sure Goodchild is most grateful for your... swift handling of the matter."

Almont nodded, clearly pleased with himself for a job well extorted. "It's always a pleasure to assist a distinguished member of our city's... growing elite," he said, with the careful pause of a man who knew exactly what kind of game he was playing. Then, in a tone that was a little too casual, he added, "By the way, there's an event being hosted in a few days. A gathering of some of the more... influential citizens of our fair city. I'm sure you and Lady Valeria would be most welcome there."

I met Valeria's eyes for a moment. I had no doubt this was part of the deal. An invitation to one of these events wasn't just a social gathering—it was a place where the powerful watched each other like hawks, testing for weaknesses, making deals in the shadows, and trading favors disguised as conversation. And, naturally, now that I was officially recognized as a rune weaver of "great renown," it was expected that I'd show my face.

Valeria, ever the diplomat, smiled gracefully. "We'd be delighted, Minister. It's always good to keep up appearances, after all."

"Indeed," Almont replied, his grin as thin as the veneer of integrity that held this entire city together. "I'll make sure your names are added to the list. I'm sure you'll find the company most... stimulating."

He didn't need to say it outright, but the message was clear enough. This wasn't just an invitation to rub shoulders with the powerful—it was another test. A way to see if I could hold my own in the treacherous waters of the city's elite. And like every step I'd taken so far, it would cost me. Not necessarily in gold this time, but in something more valuable—reputation, influence, and the ever-looming promise of more favors to repay.

Almont stood, clearly signaling that our business was concluded, and Valeria and I rose as well. He gave us a slight bow, though it felt more like a subtle reminder that, despite the transaction that had just taken place, he still held certain cards. "I look forward to seeing you both at the event," he said, his tone filled with the kind of self-satisfaction that only comes from a job well manipulated.

"As do we," Valeria replied, and I could almost hear the faint amusement in her voice. She loved these little exchanges, the way power and influence were traded like pieces on a chessboard.

As we exited the office, I couldn't help but shake my head slightly. "That was... a lot smoother than I expected," I muttered, glancing at the documents in my hand.

Valeria raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a small, knowing smile. "Everything here runs on money and favors, David. You'll learn that soon enough. The real skill isn't in handing over the bribe—it's in making them think you've done them a favor by giving it."

"I did notice that I'm apparently the one who should be grateful," I said dryly.

Valeria laughed softly, the sound as smooth as the silk she wore. "Exactly. And trust me, the more valuable you become, the more expensive the favors get. Consider this your first real lesson in how things operate around here."

We made our way out of the Ministry, the grand columns and polished marble now seeming even more oppressive than they had when we first arrived. As we walked down the steps, I glanced at Valeria, her expression still as serene and composed as ever. She thrived in this environment, where everything was a game of leverage and power.

"Do you think they ever get tired of it?" I asked, more to myself than to her.

"Tired of what?" she replied, her tone curious but not entirely surprised.

"The constant game. The bribes, the power plays. Doesn't it ever wear on them? On you?"

Valeria's smile was subtle, but there was a hint of steel behind it. "It's not a game to them, David. It's survival. The difference is, they've convinced themselves that they're playing it out of choice. As for me? I enjoy it. The trick is not to let it wear on you—let it fuel you instead. Every move, every favor traded, is another step closer to controlling the board."

I studied her for a moment. She wasn't wrong, of course. In this city, power was everything, and the only way to stay ahead was to make sure you were always the one moving the pieces.

As we reached the waiting carriage, Valeria paused for a moment, turning to me with a thoughtful expression. "The event Almont mentioned—it's more than just a gathering of the elite. It's a place where alliances are made, deals are struck, and reputations are solidified. You'll be expected to make an impression."

I raised an eyebrow. "Is that your way of telling me not to embarrass you?"

Her smile widened, a flash of amusement in her eyes. "David, if I thought you were going to embarrass me, I wouldn't have brought you this far. But be prepared—everyone there will want something from you. Just make sure you take more than you give."

"I'm getting the hang of that," I replied, stepping into the carriage after her.

As the wheels began to turn, carrying us back toward the heart of the city, I glanced out the window at the passing streets. This place was a living, breathing machine, powered by gold and ambition, and I was just another cog in its mechanism. But I was learning. And soon enough, I wouldn't just be a cog. I'd be the one turning the gears.

Valeria leaned back in her seat, her expression thoughtful but satisfied. "The documents are done. You've got your credentials. But this is only the beginning."

As we settled back into the carriage, I could feel Valeria's mood shift, subtly but unmistakably. The transaction with Minister Almont had gone smoothly—almost too smoothly—and now she was playing her next move, as she always did.

She glanced at me, her expression unreadable for a moment, and then said, "You'll need to visit the Rune Weavers' Guild next. And you'll have to handle that one on your own, I'm afraid." She waved her hand in a vague gesture of weariness, though the gleam in her eyes betrayed no actual fatigue. "I've done quite enough today. I'll drop you off, but I need to return to my own affairs."

I gave her a wry smile, recognizing the subtle power play for what it was. Classic Valeria. She wasn't about to make it seem like she was at my beck and call. No, she had to maintain the appearance of control, of being her own woman—aloof, above the petty errands of a man like me. It was part of her allure, I suppose. That finely tuned balance of appearing both available and distant, as though she might help you, but only if it served her interests.

And I didn't mind. Let her have her small victories. It was all part of the game, and we both knew it.

"Of course," I replied, keeping my tone light, casual. "Wouldn't want to overwork you. I'll manage the guild myself."

She smiled, the kind of smile that held just enough warmth to make you feel appreciated, but not so much as to give you any real sense of security. "Good. I knew you'd understand." Then, with a soft sigh, she leaned back into the cushions of the carriage, letting her eyes drift closed, the picture of regal detachment.

As the carriage rolled through the streets of the city, I stared out the window, watching the world pass by. The Roman-like architecture of the inner city loomed on all sides—tall, imposing, and utterly indifferent to the lives buzzing beneath it. Great stone columns supported the weight of centuries of power, their surfaces weathered but unbroken. Statues of gods and heroes dotted the squares, their expressions as cold and distant as the people who built them.

I couldn't help but think about Valeria's subtle maneuvering. Women like her were always making these little moves, asserting their independence in ways that felt almost performative. I'd seen it time and again—women insisting they weren't beholden to anyone, while still needing to play the same game the rest of us played. Perhaps it was a way to preserve a sense of autonomy in a world that often sought to control them. Or perhaps it was something deeper—some psychological need to maintain the illusion of power, even when that power was being constantly negotiated.

Appearances, I mused. Everything in this city was about appearances, wasn't it? The grand facades, the polite conversations, the quiet exchanges of gold behind closed doors. Even the relationships, the alliances we formed—they were built on the fragile foundation of perception. Valeria's independence was just as much an illusion as the power she wielded. And yet, illusions could be powerful in their own right.

The carriage came to a slow stop, pulling up in front of the Rune Weavers' Guild. The building was a marvel of architecture—vast and imposing, with the same towering columns that defined so much of this city's aesthetic. It looked more like a temple than a guild hall, a place where the divine mysteries of runecrafting were guarded and passed down to those deemed worthy. The columns stretched up into the sky, their surfaces inscribed with runes that hummed faintly with power. Each rune was perfectly etched, radiating magic in waves that pulsed through the air like a heartbeat.

As I stepped out of the carriage, I couldn't help but take a moment to admire the place. This wasn't just a building—it was a fortress. The walls were thick, built from heavy stone blocks that seemed to absorb light, casting the entrance in a cool shadow. Runes of protection were woven into every inch of the structure, shimmering faintly beneath the surface. I could feel the magic thrumming through the stones, a low, steady hum that spoke of ancient enchantments designed to keep intruders out and secrets in. The defenses were subtle but undeniably powerful—anyone foolish enough to try and break in would be lucky to leave with their limbs intact.

"Impressive," I muttered to myself, as I approached the massive bronze doors that marked the entrance. Each door was etched with a series of runes so intricate they seemed to dance across the surface, shifting subtly as I approached. It was the kind of detail only a trained eye would notice, the work of a master rune weaver who understood the art of blending function with form.

Valeria watched me with a faint smile from the carriage, not bothering to step out. She wouldn't, of course. This was my task, and she had already made it clear that her part was done. Still, she lingered, her eyes tracking my movements with the calm confidence of someone who knew exactly how much influence she had.

"Well, David," she called out lazily, reclining against the velvet cushions, "do try not to offend anyone too important in there. You're making quite a name for yourself—let's not ruin it by stepping on the wrong toes."

"I'll do my best," I replied dryly, giving her a mock salute. "Wouldn't want to upset the wrong bureaucrat."

With a soft chuckle, she waved me off, and the carriage pulled away, leaving me standing in front of the guild's massive doors. For a moment, I just stood there, staring up at the building and the intricate runes that shimmered along its surface. This was the heart of rune weaving in the city, a place where knowledge was guarded jealously, and where power was measured not in gold or titles, but in the skill of one's craft.

I took a deep breath and pushed open the doors.

Inside, the air was cool and thick with the scent of incense. The guild hall was cavernous, its vaulted ceilings disappearing into the shadows above, where faint lights glimmered like distant stars. More columns lined the interior, each one inscribed with ancient runes that glowed softly in the dim light, their magic woven into the very stone.

The reception area of the Rune Weavers' Guild was a scene of orchestrated chaos—people bustling about, papers and scrolls in hand, talking in hushed, urgent tones. It was the sort of place where everyone wanted to look busy, even if they were doing absolutely nothing. I stood there for a moment, taking it all in.

At least my attire was on point. The finely tailored clothes Valeria had insisted I wear set me apart from the riff-raff who occasionally trickled in. I looked like I belonged here—like someone who could drop a pouch of gold and barely blink. That helped, though I'd always thought it strange that so many powerful organizations insisted on surrounding themselves with opulence and pretty faces. The Rune Weavers' Guild was no different.

As I approached the reception desk, I was greeted by exactly that: a pretty face. The young woman behind the desk was a vision of polished professionalism, her smile perfectly calibrated, with just the right amount of warmth and efficiency. She was stunning, no doubt, but I couldn't help but wonder why every front-facing person in organizations like these seemed to look like they'd been plucked from the same mold. The "appearances matter" rule was on full display here.

She smiled sweetly at me, though I could see the gears turning behind her eyes. I was new—someone she hadn't seen before, but dressed well enough to deserve attention. The look she gave me wasn't one of awe, but of careful appraisal. A gatekeeper doing her job.

"Good morning, sir. How may I assist you today?" she asked, her voice smooth and practiced, with the faintest hint of curiosity.

I returned the smile, though mine probably held more cynicism than warmth. "I'm here to finalize my membership with the Rune Weavers' Guild. David Goodchild." I emphasized my name, hoping it had started to carry a bit more weight after the paperwork ordeal I'd just gone through.

The confusion in her eyes was immediate, though she hid it well. She was pretty, sure, but it was clear her real role here wasn't decision-making. Her purpose was to smile, greet, and pass things along to the people who actually ran the show. She blinked, and there was a brief flicker of hesitation before she recovered.

"One moment, please, Master Goodchild," she said, her fingers deftly flipping through a thick ledger, though I could tell she wasn't exactly sure what she was looking for. After a moment of polite, meaningless page-turning, she gave me another smile—this one tinged with relief. "I'll need to direct you to someone who can assist with your membership process. If you'll follow me, I'll pass you up to one of our senior clerks."

Up the food chain, I thought. Smart move. Pretty faces were fine, but when it came down to real matters, you always needed someone who could actually get things done.

I followed her through the maze of hallways, passing by more than a few members of the guild, each one wrapped in robes that marked them as either apprentices or masters of their craft. Every now and then, I caught glimpses of powerful rune circles etched into the floors and walls, their magic faint but undeniable. This place wasn't just an office—it was a fortress of knowledge and magic.

After a series of confusing turns and polite smiles, we arrived at another office, and I was introduced to a senior clerk—an older man with sharp, beady eyes who looked as though he'd spent most of his life bent over a desk, scrutinizing documents. He greeted me with a curt nod, barely looking up from the scroll he was inspecting.

"You're here for membership, I take it?" he asked without preamble, his voice clipped and efficient.

"That's right," I replied, holding up the papers I'd received from the Ministry. "I have all the necessary approvals."

He finally looked up, his eyes narrowing slightly as he scanned the documents I handed over. I could see the moment his demeanor shifted—a flicker of recognition passed over his face. Suddenly, I was no longer just another hopeful applicant. The Ministry's stamp had that effect on people.

"Very well," he said, rising from his chair and motioning for me to follow. "You'll need to undergo a brief assessment of your skills before we can finalize the membership. Standard procedure."

I nodded, suppressing a sigh. Of course, it was standard procedure. Nothing in this city was ever straightforward, even after you greased all the right palms. Still, I had expected this. There was always some kind of hoop to jump through.

The clerk led me to an open courtyard in the center of the guild, where a few other hopefuls were already gathered, practicing their runes in the warm sunlight. The air here was thick with the hum of magic—runes written on the ground, glowing softly as they responded to the touch of their creators. It was impressive, in its way, though I wasn't exactly here to be impressed.

A master weaver—a tall, thin man with a face like a hawk—approached me, his eyes sweeping over me with the same cold calculation that I'd seen a dozen times today.

"You're Goodchild," he said, more statement than question.

"That's right," I replied, meeting his gaze.

"You're to demonstrate your abilities," he said, folding his arms across his chest. "No more than five minutes. The guild doesn't waste time on grand displays."

I gave him a tight-lipped smile. "Good thing I'm not here to waste anyone's time."

He didn't smile back. Typical.

I stepped forward into the center of the courtyard, feeling the eyes of the other weavers on me. This was the part where they judged whether I was worth the effort of welcoming into their esteemed ranks. No pressure.

The courtyard was wide, open, with a large rune circle etched into the stone at its center. I knelt down, placing my hands on the cool surface, letting the familiar pulse of magic flow through my fingers. I closed my eyes for a brief moment, visualizing the runes I needed—ones that would show enough skill without being too flashy. I didn't want to show all my cards, after all.

As I began to etch the runes, the symbols appeared in the ground before me, glowing softly at first, then growing brighter as I shaped them with precision. Each curve, each line was drawn with purpose, the magic responding to my touch like an old friend. I could feel the energy building, crackling around me as the runes formed a delicate lattice of power.

The courtyard was silent, save for the faint hum of the magic. When the final rune settled into place, the circle flared briefly, a burst of light shooting upward before dissipating into the air. I stood, dusting off my hands as I looked back at the master weaver.

He studied the runes for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, finally, he gave a small nod.

"Acceptable," he said, the faintest hint of approval in his voice. "You pass."

I didn't bother hiding my smirk. "Glad to hear it."

The assessment over, I was directed back to the senior clerk, who seemed to have lost some of his earlier briskness. "You'll need to pay the membership fees now," he said, motioning to a waiting servant who held out a ledger for me to sign.

Naturally. I handed over yet another pouch of gold, watching as it was whisked away with the efficiency that only a guild could manage. More money exchanged, more signatures, and finally, I was a member of the Rune Weavers' Guild.

The whole process had been exhausting, but at least now I was officially recognized. A small victory, but in this city, every victory counted.

After the formalities were concluded, I found myself sitting in a lavish waiting room just outside the guild master's office, entertained by the soft sound of a lute player in the corner and a platter of fresh fruit and delicacies laid out on a nearby table. Clearly, I was important enough not to be kept waiting in silence—but not quite important enough to be granted immediate entry.

I leaned back in the plush chair, plucking a grape from the platter and popping it into my mouth. The sweetness lingered on my tongue, but my mind was already elsewhere. This had been a long day of jumping through hoops, smiling at the right people, and dropping more gold than I cared to count. But I had made it. I was in.

The lute player strummed another gentle chord, the music mingling with the quiet murmur of the guild around me. I closed my eyes for a moment, savoring the brief peace, but my thoughts never fully rested. I wasn't naive. I knew the games had only just begun.

The door to the guild master's office opened with a soft creak, and a well-dressed servant appeared, bowing slightly as he gestured for me to enter.

"Master Goodchild," he said, his voice respectful but carefully measured. "The guild master will see you now."

I stepped inside, steeling myself for whatever awaited me on the other side. The room was just as opulent as I expected—grand, but with an edge of danger that made me instantly alert. Everywhere I looked, there were artifacts: some beautifully crafted, others half-finished and brimming with barely-contained magic. Dangerous toys for dangerous minds.

But the man behind the desk wasn't what I had imagined. He was young—well, young in appearance, at least. Fit, muscular, the kind of man who looked like he'd just finished training, not hours poring over rune scrolls. His eyes, though, were old. That kind of ancient, world-weary gaze that only comes from living too many lives, seeing too many things. It was a common trait among the elite who dined regularly on monster meat, the enchanted food that slowed aging and restored youth, albeit at a price most people weren't willing to pay. Or couldn't afford.

He was finishing what looked like a hearty meal of exactly that—a thick slab of monster meat seared to perfection, its juices pooling on the plate like the blood of something that had put up a very good fight before succumbing. Typical. The elites didn't just eat for sustenance; they devoured symbols of power. It was all about the game.

The guild master looked up from his meal and gave me a nod, polite but measured. "David Goodchild," he said, his voice smooth, carrying just the right amount of authority without being overtly threatening. "I've been expecting you."

I returned the nod, stepping further into the room. "Guild Master," I replied, keeping my tone neutral but respectful. "I appreciate the opportunity to meet."

He wiped his hands on a cloth napkin before tossing it aside, leaning back in his chair with the casual grace of someone who knew exactly how much power he held. "I've read the recommendations that came through with your application," he began, gesturing to a parchment on his desk. "The leader of that small border town... quite the glowing report. Most impressive—if true."

I bit back a sigh. Of course. The test in the courtyard hadn't been enough to prove anything to someone like him. That was a formality, a hoop to jump through. No, this was where the real evaluation began. He wanted to see if I could hold my own, if I was more than just another weaver with inflated tales of glory.

I gave him a half-smile, leaning casually against the back of the chair across from his desk but not sitting down. "I imagine you've seen a lot of recommendations cross that desk," I said, my tone light. "And I'm sure most of them don't live up to the hype."

The guild master chuckled, the sound low and amused. "You'd be surprised how many do. But then, there are always those who think a few fancy runes and a bit of flash can get them through the door."

"I'm not here to flash," I replied. "I'm here to work. The test in the courtyard was... well, let's just say it wasn't exactly designed to push anyone who's spent more than a year with a rune stone."

He raised an eyebrow, a glint of interest in his eyes. "You found it simple?"

"Underwhelming," I corrected. "Effective for separating the amateurs from the craftsmen, but not exactly a challenge for anyone looking to do something more... meaningful."

The guild master's lips quirked upward, a small, approving smile. "I appreciate your honesty, Goodchild. So, what exactly is it that you're looking for? You've passed your tests. You're now a member of the guild, officially. But I get the sense you didn't go through all of this just to collect a badge and call it a day."

I met his gaze evenly. "You're right. I'm here because I'm interested in how things really work. Specifically, how master-level rune-weaved items have been appearing on the market lately—armor, weapons, enchantments that go beyond the usual guild-sanctioned projects."

His eyes didn't waver, but I could tell he was paying close attention now. "Go on."

I took a seat this time, leaning forward slightly. "I've seen a few pieces out there. Beautiful work, no doubt. But there's something curious about them. They bear the mark of the guild, but there's a... let's call it a 'stamp of convenience' to them. Rushed, but not in the crafting. Rushed in the process. Like someone's getting these items out quickly, without going through all the proper channels."

The guild master's smile widened, just a fraction, and he steepled his fingers. "You have a sharp eye."

"It's what I do," I said, matching his tone. "And I'm not here to call anyone out. In fact, I'm interested in helping streamline that process."

He tilted his head, considering me for a moment. "You're suggesting that you could be of assistance in this... matter?"

I shrugged, but there was nothing casual about the conversation anymore. "Let's not dance around it. We both know the guild has rules—rules that can sometimes get in the way of progress. What I'm suggesting is that I understand the need for flexibility. For discretion. You want to move product, I want to work. And I'm very, very good at what I do."

For the first time since I'd walked into the room, the guild master's gaze sharpened. "And you think you're good enough to be part of that process?"

I smiled. "I think some of those master-level pieces you've seen recently might have my fingerprints on them already."

The silence that followed was thick, but not uncomfortable. He was weighing my words, measuring me. This was the moment of truth—either he saw the value in what I was offering, or this conversation would end quickly and probably not in my favor.

Finally, the guild master leaned back in his chair, nodding slowly. "Interesting. Very interesting. You've been busy, then."

"I prefer productive," I said. "I've made my way here, and I've done more than just practice my craft. I've seen how the market works, and I've seen the opportunities that come with a bit of... flexibility."

He drummed his fingers lightly on the edge of the desk, his expression thoughtful. "Flexibility. It's a dangerous word in a place like this, you know."

"It's also a profitable one," I replied, not missing a beat. "The market's hungry for high-level rune work. The kind of work that doesn't come with strings attached or mountains of paperwork to climb. There's room to move faster, to adapt. And that's where I come in."

The guild master smiled, a slow, deliberate smile that told me I'd hit exactly the right note. "You've made your case, Goodchild. I like initiative, and I like someone who knows how to read between the lines. You might just fit in here after all."

I leaned back in my chair, feeling the tension in the room ease slightly. "Glad to hear it. I didn't come here to waste time, and I'm not interested in the politics. I'm interested in the work. And if that work helps both of us, then it's a win all around."

The guild master nodded again, his eyes still sharp but no longer suspicious. "I think we understand each other, then. Welcome to the Rune Weavers' Guild, David. I suspect we'll be seeing more of each other in the days to come."

"Looking forward to it," I said, standing and offering my hand.

He took it, his grip firm and solid. "You'll receive your first official commission soon. But keep your ear to the ground. There are other, more... unofficial opportunities that might come your way."

I smiled. "I'll be ready."

As I turned to leave, the guild master's voice stopped me at the door. "Oh, and Goodchild?"

I glanced back.

"Be careful. The kind of flexibility you're talking about... it has a way of attracting attention. Not all of it welcome."

I nodded, acknowledging the warning. "I'll keep that in mind."

With that, I left his office, the door closing softly behind me. The weight of the conversation still hung in the air, but I felt lighter, more focused. I had what I came for—a foothold in the guild, an understanding with the master, and, most importantly, a path forward.

As I made my way back through the winding halls of the guild, past the robed weavers and the ever-present hum of magic in the air, I couldn't help but smile to myself. The city, the guild, the power plays—it was all starting to click into place.

Valeria had been right. This place ran on power and influence, but there were other currents beneath the surface. And now, I was starting to swim in them.

Stepping out of the guild's grand entrance into the cool evening air, I couldn't help but feel the weight of the rune stamp in my hand. It wasn't much to look at—just a small metal seal, intricately engraved with my official mark as a certified rune weaver. Simple, yet powerful. This little trinket represented more than just a title—it was my ticket to the inner workings of the guild, the key to unlocking the kind of influence that people would kill for.

The sun was low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the cobbled streets, and for a moment, I stood there, watching the last few stragglers hurrying home. My thoughts drifted to Aetius. Now there was a man who understood the game better than most. A dealer, a fixer, someone who always seemed to know which strings to pull and which palms to grease. He'd been moving some of my rune armor under the table for months now, putting his own guild mark on it to keep it off the official books. The guild's stamp of approval on my work had been nice for appearances, but I knew the real power lay in the unofficial channels, the ones that weren't written down anywhere.

I needed to see him tonight. He'd want to know about the deal I'd just struck with the guild master, and more importantly, how it would affect our little side business. Aetius wasn't the kind of man you left in the dark—not if you valued your life, or at least your ability to do business in this city.

Hailing a cab, I stepped inside the small carriage and gave the driver Aetius's address. The ride was quick, but not exactly comfortable. The streets were narrow, the carriage bouncing over uneven cobblestones as we sped through the city. As we passed the bustling marketplaces, now starting to quiet down for the night, I couldn't help but feel a flicker of amusement. All those merchants, selling their wares to survive another day, while people like Aetius and I played a different game entirely. They traded in coins; we traded in influence.

Soon, the cab pulled up outside Aetius's house, though calling it a house was an understatement. It was a mansion, a sprawling estate tucked away in one of the wealthier districts. It stood tall and imposing, its stone façade gleaming in the fading light. But as usual, I wasn't headed to the front door. No, I made my way to the back, where the servant's entrance was discreetly hidden behind a hedge.

The servant who greeted me was the same one who'd let me in earlier that day, and his surprise at seeing me again was poorly concealed. "Back so soon, Master Goodchild?" he asked, his brow furrowing slightly.

"Afraid so," I replied with a smirk. "Business waits for no man."

He nodded, stepping aside to let me in. "Master Aetius is in his usual room. I'll take you to him."

The servant led me through the dimly lit halls of the estate, the heavy silence punctuated only by the soft click of our footsteps on the polished marble floors. We passed rooms filled with expensive furnishings, rare tapestries, and artwork that would make most nobles green with envy. Aetius was nothing if not a man of refined tastes, but none of it mattered to him. His wealth wasn't for showing off; it was a tool, just like everything else in his life.

When we reached the familiar sitting room, Aetius was already there, lounging in a high-backed chair with a glass of wine in hand. He looked up as I entered, raising an eyebrow in amusement. "Twice in one day, David? To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"

I smiled, stepping forward and tossing the rune stamp onto the table between us. The small, metal seal clinked softly against the wood, but the significance of it was much louder. Aetius's gaze flicked to the stamp, his expression shifting from amusement to something closer to irritation.

"So," he said slowly, his voice carrying the faintest edge, "you've got your guild stamp. Guess you don't need me anymore."

There it was. Aetius didn't like feeling expendable, and this little trinket in front of him had just made it seem like I could do my business without him. But he'd underestimated me. That was part of the fun.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic, Aetius," I said, settling into the chair opposite him. "I actually need you more than ever."

His eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't interrupt. He knew better than to speak until he understood the whole game.

"I had a... chat with the guild master," I continued, leaning back in my chair and folding my arms. "He's very keen on me producing certain items—commissions, if you will. High-level work, but not the kind they want to publicize. You know how it is—powerful people like their little favors done discreetly."

At that, Aetius's eyes lit up. The irritation vanished, replaced with the calculating gleam I was used to seeing from him. "Favors for people in power," he mused, swirling the wine in his glass. "Now that sounds interesting."

I nodded. "Exactly. The kind of work that stays off the record. The guild will give me the commissions, but they don't want to be directly involved. And that's where you come in."

Aetius leaned forward, his interest piqued. "I assume you want me to move these items for you, as usual?"

"Not quite," I replied, my smile widening. "I want you to handle the connections. The guild wants plausible deniability, so they'll send the commissions through back channels. You'll work with your network to get the orders to me, and then handle the delivery once the items are ready."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. "So, I get to act as the middleman between the guild and the powerful clients who need these 'favors' done. You'll create the items, and I'll ensure they reach the right hands without anyone being the wiser."

"Exactly," I said. "It keeps everyone happy. The guild gets their projects done without getting their hands dirty, I get to focus on the work, and you... well, you get a nice cut of every deal that passes through your hands."

Aetius sat back in his chair, the faintest smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "David, you always were a clever one. This... arrangement could be very profitable indeed."

I shrugged modestly. "It's all about knowing where the opportunities are, Aetius. And this city? It's full of them."

For a moment, he said nothing, simply watching me with those sharp, calculating eyes. Then he drained the last of his wine and set the glass aside, nodding slowly. "Very well. I'll start working through my contacts. I imagine there will be no shortage of people interested in your... services."

"Good," I said, standing up. "I'll leave the details in your capable hands. Just make sure the commissions come through discreetly. I'd rather not have anyone poking around asking too many questions."

Aetius stood as well, clasping my hand in a firm shake. "Leave that to me, David. You focus on the work. I'll take care of the rest."

As I turned to leave, I couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. The plan was in motion, and now that Aetius was on board, the real work could begin. As I stepped back out into the night, the cool breeze brushing against my face, I felt the familiar thrill of being one step ahead. The game was on, and this time, I wasn't just a player—I was setting the rules.

The cab ride back was quiet, the city now bathed in the deep blue shadows of twilight. I thought back to my conversation with the guild master, the subtle exchanges, the way he'd measured every word. Power in this city wasn't about brute force. It was about influence, about knowing the right people and pulling the right strings. And now, with Aetius in place, I had a hand on some very important strings indeed.

As we pulled up outside my workshop, I paid the driver and stepped out, looking up at the building that had become my home in this city. I entered the workshop, the familiar smell of wood and metal greeting me like an old friend. The rune stones on the shelves glimmered faintly in the dim light, their magic waiting to be called upon. I ran a hand over the surface of my workbench, feeling the cool, smooth grain of the wood beneath my fingers. There was something satisfying about this—about knowing that the power to shape the world was right here, in my hands.