THE AETHERBORN

As soon as their conversation about the forest ended, Uncle's expression shifted, his eyes glinting with something sharp and calculating. "Let's play a game," he said, his tone light but carrying that familiar edge that always made Thorne uneasy.

Thorne wanted to groan but knew better than to show any frustration. Uncle’s games were never just games. They were tests. And failing usually came with harsh consequences. No use trying to get out of this, he thought, bracing himself.

Uncle leaned back, his posture relaxed, but his eyes glittered with expectation. "Our 'good friend' Lord Durnell managed to strike a deal with the merchant from the capital. What does that mean for Alvar City?"

Thorne groaned aloud before he could stop himself, immediately regretting it as Uncle’s gaze hardened. He squirmed under that stare, knowing that the “games” were more like riddles he was forced to unravel, always with a lesson hidden beneath the surface. Why does he care so much about these nobles and their petty politics?

"Uh… He’ll be rich?" Thorne blurted, offering the first thing that came to mind.

Uncle didn’t respond, his face unreadable. Thorne could feel the expectation mounting, pressing on him. More, I need to give him more. He quickly scrambled for what he knew about Lord Durnell. The noble was one of the three powerful families in the city, and with the baron rarely present, it left the lesser families to squabble for dominance. Durnell, Ravencourt, Thornfield—names that barely mattered to someone like Thorne in the slums. But Uncle cared.

And if Uncle cared, that meant it mattered.

Thorne took a breath, trying to piece it all together. "Money means power. If Lord Durnell gets rich, he’ll have more influence. The balance of power between the three families will shift."

Uncle’s eyes gleamed with approval, encouraging Thorne to keep going.

"With more money, he can buy support, maybe even sway some of the city guards. The other families, Ravencourt and Thornfield, won’t like that. They’ll either try to stop him or make their own moves to maintain their standing. If they stay divided, it could mean open conflict… or they'll unite to cut Durnell off before he gets too powerful."

Uncle nodded, a small smile of satisfaction creeping across his face. "Very good, Thorne. You're starting to see the bigger picture. Yes, Durnell's deal with the merchant shifts the scales, and the other families will have to react. Whether they unite or move separately, this instability is ripe for us to exploit."

Thorne frowned, uneasy. "So… what do we do? Are we going to take advantage of the chaos?"

Uncle’s smile widened, the kind of smile that always made Thorne feel like a pawn in some bigger, unseen game. "Precisely. We will reach out to each family, feel them out, and see how they plan to respond. Then, we either offer our services to the highest bidder or play them against one another."

Thorne’s unease grew. For the first time, he felt like he was beginning to grasp just how far Uncle’s influence spread, how deep his manipulation ran. This wasn’t just about survival or petty tricks in the streets. This was a game of power, control. And Uncle was very good at playing.

Uncle leaned forward, his voice low and serious. "Remember, Thorne, in this city, knowledge is power. The more we know, the more leverage we have. And the more leverage we have, the more control we hold over these so-called noble families."

Thorne nodded, though inside, he felt disconnected. Why do I care about these noble games? he thought. I’m just an orphan from the slums. What do their power struggles have to do with me?

But before he could reflect too much, Uncle opened his ledger again, flipping through the pages, his finger tracing across names and figures. The soft sound of the paper turning seemed to fill the small attic with tension.

"Thorne," Uncle said without looking up. "I have a task for you."

Thorne's stomach clenched. "What is it?"

Uncle’s finger stopped, and he lifted his gaze, eyes gleaming with intent. "You’re going to break into the Thornfield estate and steal a letter from Lady Elara Thornfield. The house crest is a rose—easy to recognize."

Thorne’s eyes widened. The Thornfields? They’re one of the most powerful families in the city! "The Thornfield estate? But Uncle… I’ve never done something like that. They’ve got guards and… other protections." He tried to sound confident but knew the panic was seeping into his voice.

Uncle’s expression darkened for a brief moment before softening, though his tone was no less serious. "I know it’s a big task, but I have faith in you. You’ve already infiltrated Lord Durnell’s estate. This will be easier. The Thornfields are away tonight."

"Tonight?" Thorne echoed, his mind reeling. Why tonight?

"Yes. It has to be tonight. Time is running out, and we need that letter if we’re going to take advantage of the situation." Uncle’s voice was calm, but there was urgency in his eyes.

Thorne hesitated, the weight of the task pressing down on him. He was good, but was he good enough for this? Still, he knew there was no saying no to Uncle. "Alright," he muttered, finally. "I’ll do it."

A dark gleam flickered in Uncle’s eyes. "Good. At least you’ll get away from Sid’s wrath for one night."

Thorne shuddered at the mention of Sid. Small blessings. "Yeah, I guess that’s something," he muttered.

Uncle closed the ledger and stood, placing a firm hand on Thorne’s shoulder. "You can do this, Thorne. Use everything you’ve learned. Be smart. Be cautious."

Thorne nodded, swallowing down the nervousness bubbling up inside him. "I will, Uncle."

But deep down, even as he agreed, he knew one thing for certain: this was just the beginning.

*

Thorne perched on the roof of a nearby building, watching the Thornfield estate below. The manor wasn’t as grand as Lord Durnell’s, but it held a quiet, worn dignity. Its weathered stone walls were veined with creeping ivy, and the slanting rays of the setting sun cast deep shadows across the grounds. Ornate statues, their faces softened by time, stood like silent sentinels along the stone pathways. A large, wrought-iron gate marked the entrance, its black bars twisted into an elaborate design that spoke of a bygone era of wealth and status.

He'd been observing the place for hours, memorizing the patterns of the guards and the few servants that remained inside. Earlier, a rotund man and a thin woman adorned in gems—both of whom Thorne had eyed with interest—had left the manor with a boy around his age, dressed in expensive clothes. Since their departure, the place had been almost deserted, save for a couple of guards making predictable rounds.

Thorne's fingers toyed with the magical bones in his pocket, their faint aether glow shimmering in the dimming light. He had tried to sell them earlier at the market, but the offers had been insultingly low. These bones are worth more than a few coppers, he thought bitterly. He just didn't know the right people to sell them to. That’s when Jonah came to mind. The scrappy boy always had connections and could haggle with merchants in places Thorne wouldn’t dare go. Maybe Jonah knew someone who would pay their true worth.

A plan began to form. If Jonah could sell the bones, we could split the profit, Thorne mused. And maybe, just maybe, they could move out of that rundown shack. He wasn’t sure where this sudden urge to help came from, but Ben’s quiet smile flickered in his mind, and he felt a pang of something unfamiliar—something like loyalty.

Shaking off the thought, Thorne shifted his attention back to the estate. The guards’ movements were painfully predictable, their rounds so monotonous it was almost laughable. He noted the timing, the gaps between patrols, the blind spots. By now, he had a clear sense of when to strike.

Satisfied with his observations, Thorne climbed down from the rooftop and melted into the city streets. The sun dipped lower, painting the sky in deep hues of orange and pink. Time to move.

He found Jonah and Ben near the docks, the warm light of the setting sun casting long shadows over the water. Jonah was deep in conversation, his words sharp but hushed, while Ben stood by, nodding or shaking his head in silence. The air was thick with the smell of saltwater and fish, but Thorne had grown used to it.

Jonah spotted him first, his eyes narrowing with curiosity—and a touch of hostility. "Well, well, if it isn't the royal brat. What do you want this time, Thorne?"

Thorne smirked, masking his nerves. "I need your help, Jonah. Remember those bones I showed you? I think you know the right people to sell them to."

Jonah raised an eyebrow, intrigued but cautious. "Yeah, I remember. So, you finally want to make a deal? What's in it for me?"

"We split the profits," Thorne said. "You get a cut, I get a cut. Easy."

Jonah considered it, his eyes narrowing as he weighed the offer. After a beat, he shrugged. "Alright, Thorne. Deal. But don’t think this makes us friends. I still think you're a spoiled brat."

Thorne chuckled. "Fair enough. But there’s more. I’m planning on heading back to the forest soon. We could make this a regular thing—find more valuable stuff, split the take."

Jonah’s expression shifted, disbelief creeping across his face. "You're serious? You’re actually planning on going back to that forest?" He let out a low whistle. "You’re crazier than I thought, kid."

Thorne shrugged, but Jonah’s interest was already piqued. "If you bring back more bones like these…" Jonah’s eyes gleamed with excitement despite his efforts to stay aloof. "Yeah, I’m in."

Ben, standing quietly nearby, gave Thorne a thumbs-up, a wide grin spreading across his face. His silent approval felt like an unspoken bond forming between them, and Thorne couldn’t help but feel a swell of satisfaction. With Jonah and Ben’s help, he might have found a way to earn steady money without resorting to stealing or begging.

But for now, his focus had to be on the task ahead.

"I'll be back soon," Thorne said, a tinge of nervousness creeping into his voice as the weight of the night’s mission settled on him. "Wish me luck."

Jonah frowned, suspicion lacing his tone. "Why? What are you up to? Are you planning to rob some rich bastard and you didn’t invite me?"

Thorne bit back a laugh. If only he knew.

"No," he said quickly, not wanting Jonah or Ben anywhere near the Thornfield estate tonight. His mind raced, searching for an excuse, then a brilliant lie came to him. He adopted a pained expression, letting his acting skill kick in. "Sid’s training me tonight. He’s pissed I missed yesterday’s session. He’s gonna make me pay for it."

Jonah and Ben winced, both boys instinctively recoiling at the mention of Sid’s name. They knew all too well the kind of brutality the rogue was capable of.

"Good luck with that," Jonah muttered, shuddering. "Rather you than me."

With a nod, Thorne left the docks and made his way back toward the Thornfield estate. The city darkened around him, lanterns flickering to life as the longshoremen began lighting them. Shadows grew longer, and the streets grew quieter. Thorne’s pulse quickened as he approached his target, his mind honing in on the task.

The estate came into view, the dark outline of its weathered stone walls bathed in the glow of the street lamps. Thorne climbed back onto the rooftop across the street, crouching low as the night breeze tousled his hair. The glow from the estate’s windows cast faint golden light into the surrounding gloom.

Staring down at the quiet manor, he couldn’t help but think, How the hell did I get myself into this?