Thorne had entered the mansion expecting someone, anyone, to greet him. The servants, ever-present and diligent, usually appeared the moment he stepped through the door. But tonight, the grand hall was empty, silent. It was peculiar, but given the chaos in the city, it wasn’t much of a surprise. The aether wave had shaken everything, including the well-oiled machine that was Uncle’s household.

  Still, the quiet was a relief. The last thing Thorne wanted was conversation or questions. His body ached, the deep wounds from the panther battle still gnawing at him despite the health potion Jonah had given him. All he craved was a soft bed, and the chance to lose himself in sleep.

  The usual pomp and circumstance was gone—no servants appeared to help him, no greetings of “Master Thorne.” It felt strange, almost unnerving, but he welcomed the solitude. He washed up in silence, grimacing with each movement as his tender wounds pulled tight. Most of his injuries were nearly healed, but some, deeper and fiercer, still lingered.

  His core felt better, too—mending, bit by bit, though still fragile. His mind wandered back to the explosion, the aether, the Lunaris Panthera. He swallowed hard, pushing the memories aside. Soon, he thought, everything would return to normal. He just needed time.

  Thorne collapsed into bed, the feathered cushion cradling his head like a long-lost friend. Sleep took him the moment his eyes closed.

  *

  He woke early the next morning, blinking into the soft light that streamed through the windows. His body still ached, but it was a dull throb rather than the sharp pain from the night before. To his surprise, he felt… good. Lighter, almost. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this at ease.

  Whistling softly, Thorne dressed in a casual burgundy shirt, tucking his pendant beneath the fabric. His footsteps echoed as he descended the grand marbled staircase, the mouth-watering scent of breakfast already drawing him downstairs. Matilda, ever the diligent cook, had clearly been hard at work since dawn. The smells of fried dough, warm meats, and fresh bread floated up to him.

  As he reached the bottom floor, he spotted a servant carrying a plate of sugared fried dough. She blushed when she saw him, offering a nervous smile before scurrying away. Thorne barely registered her reaction. His mind was too focused on the food, the table already set for what looked like a feast.

  The grand dining table was covered with dozens of plates—savory meats, fresh pastries, fruits, cheeses, and sweets piled high, enough to feed a small army. Thorne grabbed a plate and filled it with reckless abandon, his appetite ravenous after the events of the previous day. He sat down, halfway through his first plate of food when the door creaked open.

  Uncle appeared, trailing behind him a few sleepy servants. He hobbled inside, his clothes wrinkled and his eyes heavy with fatigue. It was rare to see him so disheveled, as though the night had been too much even for him.

  Uncle yawned deeply, blinking at Thorne as though he was surprised to see him. “You’re awake,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes.

  Thorne nodded, raising his fork with an easy smile, though beneath the surface his mind was anything but calm. His Mask of Deceit was in place, as it always was in Uncle’s presence. “I could say the same to you,” he remarked casually, his voice betraying none of the wariness he felt.

  Uncle sat heavily at the head of the table, and a servant immediately stepped forward to fill his plate. He let out another yawn, rubbing his temples as if to dispel the fog of sleep. Thorne studied him from the corner of his eye. Uncle’s normally sharp demeanor was dulled by exhaustion, but that only made the man more dangerous in Thorne’s eyes.

  "Rough night?" Thorne asked, his tone light, though he already knew the answer.

  Uncle grunted as his plate was placed before him. "You don’t know half of it." He grabbed a syrup-soaked pancake, stuffing it into his mouth with little grace. "I see you’re alright," he added, his eyes narrowing as he scanned Thorne’s body with sudden sharpness. The fatigue didn’t dull his perceptiveness, and Thorne could feel those eyes lingering on his healed wounds, as if searching for something deeper.

  Thorne shrugged, careful to keep his voice even. “I was with Jonah and Ben in the attic. It was scary, but we were safe.” The lie slid easily off his tongue, his Acting skill smoothing over any cracks in the story, while his Echoes of Truth gave it just the right amount of conviction.

  Uncle stared at him for a long moment, the silence stretching between them. It was hard to tell whether he believed the story or was simply filing away the information for later. His expression remained unreadable, and Thorne’s heart beat just a little faster as he waited.

  After what felt like an eternity, Uncle shoved another pancake into his mouth. “You left the guild,” he stated flatly.

  Thorne’s stomach tightened, but he kept his expression neutral, his voice nonchalant. "I did," he replied with a shrug. "For good."

  Uncle’s response was as casual as it was surprising. “That’s fine. You’ll still go through your last trial and become a full member, but as far as I’m concerned, you’ve gained whatever you needed to gain.”

  Thorne blinked. For a moment, he wasn’t sure how to react. Uncle was being far too… relaxed about the situation. Thorne had expected a reaction, something more pointed, but Uncle seemed unbothered. His mind raced, wondering if this was some kind of trap, a test to see how Thorne would respond. Uncle rarely did anything without purpose, and his casual demeanor only heightened Thorne’s wariness.

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  The servant returned, this time with a carafe of wine, pouring a full goblet for Uncle, filling it to the brim. Thorne’s eyes twitched, though he quickly buried the reaction. Wine this early? It wasn’t unusual for Uncle, but it still seemed excessive, especially after a long night.

  They ate in silence for a while, Uncle shoveling food into his mouth as if he hadn’t eaten in days. It wasn’t just hunger, Thorne realized—it was indulgence. Uncle had always been a man who consumed everything around him—resources, people, and, most recently, Thorne’s time and presence.

  And lately, Thorne had noticed a shift. He had become more than just another tool for Uncle’s schemes—he had become someone Uncle counted on. It unsettled him in ways he didn’t quite understand. Their relationship had evolved, but not in a way Thorne had expected. There was something suffocating about being pulled deeper into Uncle’s orbit, knowing that each step forward made it harder to escape.

  “The aether phenomenon couldn’t have come at a worse time,” Uncle muttered between mouthfuls.

  Thorne set his fork down carefully, bracing himself. This was no idle conversation. Uncle wanted to talk, which usually meant venting his frustrations—and Thorne had become the one to hear them. When Thorne had become that person for Uncle was unclear, but lately, Thorne had the sense that Uncle saw him as a confidant, someone to unload his troubles onto.

  “I was in a meeting with Lord Thornfield last night,” Uncle continued, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “The man’s a weasel—fidgety, unpredictable. He knew I wanted something from him the moment I walked in.”

  Thorne listened silently, his eyes fixed on his uncle. “He knew someone helped Lord Durnell take control of the city. He just didn’t know it was me. Well… last night, he found out.”

  “And of course, everything had to come crashing down at the worst possible time.” He took a long swig from his goblet, his eyes flashing with frustration. “The wave hit right when Thornfield was starting to see reason. The fool thought I was the one responsible for the explosion. Started throwing accusations, threatening me. If it weren’t for the Lost Ones, he might’ve lost his mind.” His eyes darkened. “It took a squad of Lost Ones to restrain and calm him down.”

  Uncle shook his head, his expression sour. “And then the whole city went mad. I was all over the place, putting out fires—both literal and figurative. Gang leaders tried to seize the chaos, shipments were disrupted, and peculiar phenomena tore through my establishments.” He sighed, leaning back in his chair and taking a long drink from his goblet.

  Thorne remained silent, though his heart pounded in his chest. Uncle’s words hit too close to the truth. If only you knew how right you are, Thorne thought, doing his best to keep his face neutral.

  “And what about you?” Uncle asked suddenly, his eyes sharper than before. “What skill did you get?”

  Thorne’s instincts screamed at him to stay calm. He couldn’t tell Uncle the truth about his aetheric abilities—those were far too dangerous to reveal. His mind raced, and he settled on a half-truth. “I gained a skill that lets me blend into any environment, regardless of light levels.”

  Uncle’s eyebrows shot up, his near-gone hairline disappearing beneath his forehead. "That’s a powerful skill," he said, sounding genuinely impressed.

  Thorne nodded, inwardly relieved that the vague explanation seemed to satisfy Uncle for the moment. Technically, it wasn’t a complete lie. Stealth had been part of his arsenal for some time. But still, Thorne had learned long ago that Uncle had a knack for detecting deception. He wasn’t sure if it was a skill or sheer intuition, but his Echoes of Truth helped circumvent it, though not entirely.

  “So, it’s true?” Thorne asked, trying to redirect the conversation. “Everyone got a new skill last night?”

  Uncle hummed in confirmation, his eyes distant as he considered the implications. "It appears so. I hate when complications throw a wrench into my plans." He muttered to himself, lost in thought. "You may find some opportunity amid the chaos," Thorne offered carefully.

  Uncle nodded absently. "Maybe. But I don’t like not knowing all the variables. What caused the phenomenon? Was it natural? Or did someone cause it? If so, what was the purpose?" His voice grew more frustrated. "Was the goal achieved? Or will it happen again? Too many unknowns."

  Thorne fought to keep his expression neutral as Uncle spoke, each word cutting closer to the truth. The questions hung in the air. He could feel Uncle’s frustration growing, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on both of them. Uncle liked control, and the aether wave had thrown everything into disarray.

  A knock at the door broke the tension. Uncle tensed, glancing toward the entrance with narrowed eyes. “Come in,” he barked.

  Arletta entered, her face as calm and unreadable as ever. She bowed slightly to Uncle before turning to Thorne. "Young Master," she greeted him, her formality almost mocking.

  Thorne nearly laughed at her sudden politeness, but he kept his face blank.

  Uncle grunted. "What is it?"

  "Master," Arletta said, her voice steady. "There’s been an incident at the docks. You’re needed immediately."

  Uncle cursed under his breath. "Another problem?" he growled.

  Arletta nodded. "Yes, Master. It seems more serious than before. It’s not just another gang leader."

  Uncle heaved himself up from the chair with a string of curses, turning to Thorne with a final glance. "You have one week to prepare. You’ll be making your debut in Alvar society as Thorne Silverbane next week."

  Thorne’s stomach flipped, but he kept his face impassive.

  "Make sure he’s ready," Uncle muttered to Arletta before storming out of the room.

  "It will be done," Arletta replied, bowing once more as Uncle disappeared.

  Thorne remained seated, his heart still hammering in his chest. The silence that filled the room felt heavy, oppressive, like the weight of the entire mansion was pressing down on him. He reached out for another grape, his hand trembling slightly as his mind raced.

  Level 82

  His Veil Sense had finally managed to get a proper read on Uncle, and the number sent a chill down his spine. He had always known his uncle was powerful, but this? This was something else entirely. Uncle’s influence and cunning were already formidable, but to possess such raw strength? It was beyond anything Thorne had expected.

  What does that mean for me? The thought surged to the forefront of his mind. He had been playing this game, carefully navigating the intricate web of manipulation and power that surrounded Uncle, but now, with this knowledge… How could he ever truly be free of him?

  Thorne felt sweat bead at the back of his neck as the weight of the revelation sunk in. Uncle had been hiding his strength—of course he had. That was his way, always keeping his cards close to his chest, always a step ahead. How much more had he concealed from Thorne? How many layers of power and control did Uncle possess that he hadn’t even begun to reveal?

  Level 82

  The number echoed in his mind. His uncle wasn’t just a schemer, a manipulator—he was an apex predator in a world that had just become far more dangerous.

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