THE AETHERBORN

Thorne hopped from rooftop to rooftop, feeling the wind sting his face with each leap. His body was screaming for rest, but he had to keep moving. He needed to put as much distance between himself and the Thornfield estate as possible. The noble quarter was mostly silent now, with only a few stragglers walking the streets. The tall, ornate buildings stretched like shadows beneath the moonlight, offering him a perfect escape route.

Beneath him, the cobblestone streets were quiet except for the occasional clatter of hooves or the murmur of late-night conversations. He saw warm light flickering behind the windows of luxurious homes. Some were dimly lit by the soft glow of candles, while others had the eerie light of enchanted crystals—something only the wealthiest could afford.

As he leaped across the rooftops, he caught glimpses of the lives inside. One house revealed a family, gathered around a long dining table, their faces illuminated by candlelight as they shared a meal. Another window showed a man slouched in an armchair by a crackling fire, reading a thick leather-bound book. For a brief moment, Thorne felt a tug of longing, but he shoved it down, refocusing on his goal. He didn’t have time to daydream about lives he’d never have.

His chest heaved with each breath, his lungs burning from the effort, but his mind raced even faster. Satisfaction and exhaustion clashed inside him. He’d done it—he’d found the letter. He was alive. But now, he needed to get to his uncle. His body begged for rest, every muscle aching from the strain of the night’s work, but the fear of disappointing his uncle kept him going. That fear was stronger than the pain.

Just a little longer, he told himself. His uncle had said the letter was important, and failure wasn't an option. The consequences of that would be far worse than a few hours without sleep. As much as he wanted to collapse onto his bed, he had to make this delivery first.

He landed on another rooftop, his feet slipping slightly on the tiles. The shock of it sent a jolt of pain through his legs, and he collapsed onto the roof for a moment, breathing hard. Below, a drunk man stumbled out of a tavern, clutching a bottle of something that reeked even from this height. Except for him, the streets were mostly empty.

Thorne rubbed his face, trying to think. It was late. His uncle could be anywhere. He often made rounds at his various establishments—places Thorne wasn’t allowed to visit. They were off-limits. Only for grown-ups, his uncle had said. But Thorne wasn’t stupid. He knew the real reason. Those places were dangerous, and he had no business being around them.

Still, there was a chance his uncle might be at one of them. Or he could be at home. That was safer. His uncle's house was his best bet—at least he knew where it was.

With a groan, Thorne pushed himself to his feet and continued moving. His body felt heavier with each step, exhaustion pressing down on him like a weight. He leapt to another rooftop, then another, cutting a direct path toward the merchant district. His legs screamed in protest, but he ignored the pain.

Within minutes, he reached his uncle's house, at the edge of the noble quarter. The building was three stories tall, looming over the other structures. Even though it didn’t have the grand gardens or glowing crystals of the noble houses, it was still far nicer than the shacks near the fish market where Thorne lived. It looked imposing, with its stone walls and iron-trimmed windows.

Two guards stood outside the front doors, their expressions blank but their posture alert. They were dressed in heavy armor, the kind that was meant to intimidate as much as protect. When they saw Thorne approaching, their eyes narrowed.

The taller of the two guards, a man with a face like stone, sneered down at him. "What do you want, street rat?" he spat, his voice dripping with disdain.

Thorne straightened up, trying to mask the exhaustion in his body. “I need to see my uncle. It’s important,” he said, his voice firm despite the exhaustion creeping into it.

The shorter guard, stockier but just as unpleasant, crossed his arms and smirked. “Street rats aren’t welcome here. Go back to the gutter you crawled out of,” he said, his eyes gleaming with amusement at Thorne’s desperation.

Thorne’s patience was wearing thin. His chest burned from running, his legs shook with fatigue, and now these two idiots were standing in his way. "Please!" he said, his voice rising with frustration. "I have something important to give him!"

The tall guard stepped forward, shoving Thorne hard in the chest. He stumbled backward, landing painfully on the cobblestones. A fresh wave of anger surged through him as he pushed himself back to his feet. His hands balled into fists, and his face twisted in frustration.

“I need to give something to my uncle!” he yelled, his voice cracking from the effort. He didn’t care about keeping calm anymore. He was done playing nice.

The guards just laughed. "Your uncle, huh? Who might that be?" the short one jeered, his eyes glinting with malice. "The king of beggars?"

Thorne opened his mouth to shout back when, out of nowhere, an older woman with a stern, no-nonsense look appeared from the side of the house. She was dressed in a crisp black dress, her hair pulled back in a tight bun. Her sharp gaze snapped to the guards, making them stand to attention as if someone had lit a fire under them.

“What’s going on here?” she demanded, her voice cold enough to cut through steel.

The tall guard cleared his throat, looking suddenly less sure of himself. “This boy claims he has business with the master, ma’am.”

The woman turned her piercing gaze on Thorne. Her eyes scanned him up and down, taking in his dirt-streaked face and ragged clothes. “And who is your uncle, boy?” she asked, her tone just as icy as before.

Thorne brushed off his clothes and stood up straighter, trying to look like he belonged there. "My name is Thorne, ma’am. My uncle... he’s the master of this house.”

Her eyes lingered on him for a moment longer, her expression unreadable. Finally, she gave a curt nod and turned on her heel. “Follow me,” she said, not bothering to check if he was behind her.

Thorne let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and hurried after her, his legs still shaking from the effort of running through the city.

The guards exchanged confused glances, their suspicion clear, but neither said a word as Thorne followed the woman through a weathered side door into the house. Inside, the air shifted instantly, cooler and scented with something faintly sweet. They moved through narrow, dimly lit halls, and Thorne's eyes darted around, taking in every detail he could.

As they passed through the kitchen, Thorne couldn’t help but slow down to watch. Despite the late hour, the kitchen buzzed with energy. A heavyset, older woman stood like a commander, barking orders at several younger girls who scrambled to carry out her instructions. Serving girls, dressed in matching uniforms, loaded and unloaded silver platters overflowing with food that Thorne had never seen before—roast meats, exotic fruits, and delicate pastries that looked more like works of art than food. His stomach growled at the sight, reminding him of how little he'd eaten all day.

Thorne swallowed hard, hurrying his pace to keep up with the older woman, who strode ahead with an elegant but brusque step, her back straight as a sword. She never once glanced back to check if he was following.

As they moved deeper into the house, Thorne began to notice something strange. The house felt... off. His brow furrowed as he tried to pinpoint what was nagging at him. He hadn’t seen any expensive artifacts on display—no fine paintings, no grand statues, none of the rich trinkets that noble homes usually boasted. The rooms they passed through were sparsely furnished, almost bare, and the pieces that were there seemed more functional than luxurious. It lacked the warmth or grandeur he’d seen earlier in the night at other estates. No portraits of ancestors with somber faces hanging on the walls, no thick, plush carpets muffling his footsteps.

Did his uncle just move here? Or maybe... he just doesn’t have the coin to keep up appearances, Thorne thought to himself, puzzled by the stark difference.

They walked through several more rooms before the woman stopped in front of a large, ornately carved door. She glanced back at him for the first time since they entered, her face expressionless.

“Wait here,” she instructed curtly, before disappearing inside and closing the door behind her.

Thorne stood alone, the faintest gap in the door allowing the sounds from within to leak out. Laughter. Women giggling. Men speaking loudly, their words slurring together as if they’d had too much to drink. A flute played somewhere in the background, accompanied by a man singing off-key. The confusion he felt only grew as he tried to piece together what was happening inside.

What is going on in there? he thought, feeling uneasy as the moments ticked by.

When the door finally opened again, Thorne's eyes widened. He wasn't prepared for what he saw.

Inside, the room was filled with mostly naked women, draped in fine silks and lounging across well-dressed men. They danced provocatively, their bodies moving in time to the soft music playing from somewhere in the corner. Serving girls wove between them, offering drinks and strange, smoking concoctions that gave off colorful fumes. The men laughed, raising glasses of rich wine as they partook in whatever pleasure the night offered. The scene was so far removed from anything Thorne had ever witnessed, his face flushed, and he quickly averted his eyes.

A sharp cough from the older woman snapped him back to reality, and Thorne’s gaze darted around the room until it landed on his uncle.

His uncle’s presence seemed darker than the scene itself. He stood just outside the doors, his body slouched as though it barely supported him. His clothes reeked of smoke, and his skin had an unnatural red tint, as though he'd been standing out in the cold too long. His glassy eyes had trouble focusing on Thorne, but the intensity of his stare still made Thorne’s skin crawl.

“Why are you here?” his uncle demanded, his voice a harsh rasp. “Who gave you the right to enter my house uninvited?”

Thorne’s heart skipped a beat. “Uncle, I thought... I thought you would be happy to see me,” he said, his voice small, trying to hide the hurt creeping into his chest.

His uncle’s gaze darkened, eyes narrowing. “Happy?” He let out a short, cold laugh. “Boy, I’m running a business here, not a charity.”

The words hit harder than any slap. Thorne always believed—hoped—that Uncle cared for him in some way. But now, staring into Uncle’s cold, glassy eyes, he felt a pang of betrayal deep inside his gut.

“Now go,” his uncle said sharply, turning back toward the room’s debauchery. “I’m busy.”

Thorne's stomach twisted at the dismissal. Busy? He hadn’t thought he needed some sort of special invitation to come here. This was Uncle, wasn’t it? Family didn’t need permission. Desperate to explain himself, to prove he wasn’t wasting his uncle’s time, he stammered, “I-I managed to get it.”

His uncle froze, his entire demeanor shifting in an instant. He turned back toward Thorne, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “What are you talking about?” he snapped. “Speak clearly, boy! Do you have any idea what kind of business I am conducting here? You think you can just barge in as you please?”

Thorne’s heart pounded in his chest. He could see the anger brewing in his uncle’s eyes, and he knew he had to say something fast before things got worse. “The letter,” he blurted, his voice shaky. “I got the letter from the Thornfield estate.”

His uncle's face shifted from anger to surprise in an instant. "You got the letter?" he exclaimed, eyes flicking to the door, then to the room full of guests, clearly trying to process the news. Without another word, he grabbed Thorne roughly by the neck, dragging him out of the chaotic scene and down a dimly lit corridor.

Thorne stumbled, barely keeping up as his uncle shoved him into a small room. The door slammed shut behind them, leaving only the two of them in the enclosed space. His uncle turned, face a mix of disbelief and curiosity. "You actually did it," he muttered, almost to himself, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what was unfolding. "I didn’t think you could pull it off."

Thorne nodded, still catching his breath from the sudden rush. "Yes, Uncle. I did as you asked." He reached into his pocket, pulling out the letter with the wax seal bearing the emblem of House Thornfield. His uncle's eyes flicked to the bulge in Thorne’s pocket, lingering for a split second, but quickly zeroed in on the letter itself, his expression hardening into a mix of hunger and excitement.

With a swift, almost violent motion, his uncle snatched the letter from Thorne's hand, the force of it nearly tearing the delicate parchment. His eyes darted over the wax seal before he broke it, unfolding the paper with frantic energy. The room was deathly silent as he read, his eyes scanning the contents rapidly. After what felt like an eternity, a grin spread across his face—a grin that didn’t reach his eyes.

"You did well, Thorne," he said, his voice low, almost purring with satisfaction. "Very well indeed."

A wave of relief washed over Thorne, but it was quickly tainted by a lingering unease. His uncle's approval was something he had long sought, but something about the way he said it... it didn’t sit right with him. "Thank you, Uncle," Thorne replied quietly, unsure of what else to say.

His uncle's demeanor softened slightly, but there was a glint of something darker in his eyes, a sharpness that never left. "I apologize for my harsh words earlier. The situation is... delicate. I wasn’t expecting you to show up unannounced."

Thorne nodded, trying to understand. "I just wanted to get the letter to you as soon as possible."

"You did the right thing." His uncle placed a firm hand on Thorne’s shoulder, the grip hard enough to make him wince. "This letter... it’s more important than you know. You’ve done a great service tonight."

Thorne’s chest swelled with pride, but the feeling was quickly tempered by the weight of his uncle’s hand. It felt more possessive than affectionate, like his uncle was marking him as a piece in a game Thorne wasn’t fully aware of. "What happens now?" he asked, his voice quieter, the unease creeping back into his thoughts.

His uncle’s expression turned serious, his eyes gleaming with calculation. "Now, we use this letter to our advantage. With this... everything changes."

Thorne blinked, unsure of what his uncle meant. "I didn’t think I could actually manage to get the letter," his uncle continued, his tone somewhere between approval and disbelief. "I had already set plans in motion, but this..." He trailed off, staring at the letter in his hands as if it held the key to something much larger.

Then Uncle proceeded to ask Thorne questions on how he was able to get the letter. He recounted the events of the night, how close he came to failing, how others had also been after the letter. He left out any mention of aether or magic, keeping those details to himself. His uncle listened intently, his eyes sharp, absorbing every word, especially when Thorne mentioned the hooded figures who had also been searching for the letter.

"They had bandages on their hands, all of them," Thorne said, searching for anything useful to offer. "That’s all I noticed."

His uncle’s face darkened, his grip tightening painfully on Thorne’s shoulder. "Gravediggers," he spat, the word filled with venom. Thorne had heard of the gang before, though their activities were mostly on the other side of the city. The disdain in his uncle’s voice made Thorne shiver. Whoever the Gravediggers were, they weren’t just some common criminals.

His uncle stared at the letter again, then smiled, a twisted grin that sent a chill through Thorne. The tension in his face eased as though the Gravediggers were already forgotten. "Our only obstacle now is Lady Thornfield," he mused, more to himself than to Thorne. "And she’ll be an easy solution."

Thorne swallowed hard. He wasn’t sure what his uncle meant, but the gleam in his eyes told him it wasn’t anything good. The older woman who had brought Thorne inside remained by the door, her face unreadable as she stood statue-still.

"Have my carriage ready immediately," his uncle ordered, turning to the woman with an air of finality.

The woman hesitated, her eyes flicking toward the rowdy gathering in the other room. "What about your guests, sir?" she asked cautiously.

Uncle grimaced, his annoyance clear. "Fine, it can wait until morning, but I want the carriage ready by first light." He turned back to Thorne and continued, his voice softer but still commanding, "I will leave the city for a couple of days."

Seeing the confused look on Thorne’s face, his uncle waved the letter in front of him like it was a key to unlock a future only he could see. "Now that I know where House Thornfield’s true allegiance lies," he said, his voice brimming with self-satisfaction, "I can ensure that House Durnell succeeds. And when they succeed, I’ll make sure I rise with them."

Thorne’s curiosity was gnawing at him, and despite the tension hanging in the air, he couldn’t help but ask in a small voice, "How?"

His uncle hesitated for a brief moment, as if debating whether to share his plan. But then, with a smug grin, he decided to indulge Thorne. "Lord Durnell’s made a mess of things. Desperate to secure connections with the capital, he struck a deal he can't fulfill. That’s where I come in—I'll offer him a way out, a lifeline, but on my terms. Once I secure his trust, he'll owe me everything." His uncle paused, savoring the thought before adding, "All that’s left is a little negotiation with some shepherds. Simple work, but I’ll need backup."

He turned to the maid who had been silently observing. "Have my entire guard accompany me tomorrow," he ordered, his tone firm and cold. "We may need them."

The maid gave a sharp nod of acknowledgment, already moving toward the door. Then, with a glance back at Thorne, his uncle’s tone shifted. "Arletta, take the boy to the kitchen. Feed him as much as he can handle. He’s earned it."

Thorne blinked in surprise, still processing the sudden change in his uncle’s attitude. Just moments ago, the man had been furious, dismissive. Now, he was offering praise and a reward. It didn’t sit right with him, but the mention of food momentarily pushed the questions from his mind. He was starving, the events of the night catching up with him, and the thought of a warm meal made his stomach growl.

He opened his mouth to ask more, to press his uncle on the details of this deal, but the older man had already turned away, his attention fully absorbed by the ledger on the desk. The dismissal was clear. There would be no more explanations tonight.

Arletta, with a sharp nod, motioned for Thorne to follow her. He trailed after her, feeling a strange mix of pride, confusion, and a growing sense of unease. His uncle’s moods had swung wildly—from anger, to praise, to now cold indifference. Thorne couldn’t help but feel like a piece in a much larger game, one he wasn’t entirely sure he understood.