The front doors of the Acolyte’s Guild clicked shut behind them, muffling the lingering mutterings of mages.
Ray let out a dramatic sigh. “That place is a magical disaster waiting to happen.”
Nick adjusted the cuffs of his hoodie. “Seemed like a normal college campus. Just, y’know—plus magic.”
The courtyard outside was bright and brisk, the air crisp with late-morning coolness. Cairel was waking up fast—vendors wheeling carts into position, apprentices hurrying across stone paths, a group of armored soldiers jogging in formation along the main road. The scent of freshly baked bread and chimney smoke drifted on the breeze.
Ray’s nose twitched. She sniffed the air like a bloodhound, spun on her heel, and pointed down one of the side streets. “We can find chocolate pastries over there.”
Nick squinted at her. “Seriously?”
She gave him a flat look. “You heard the scammer. He wants pastries. And you were going to bend over backward and give him whatever he wants, right?”
He shrugged. “A reclusive master of magical knowledge asks for chocolate? That’s not a scam—that’s tradition.”
Ray started walking, nose still in the air like she was tracking prey. “He probably gets free pastries from students all the time. It’s a long con.”
“Then it’s a con I’m happy to be a part of,” Nick said, following her into the winding side street. “Worst case, we end up with some extra chocolate. I’m sure we’ll survive.”
The street curved through the lower market district, narrower and more colorful than the main roads. Flags fluttered between balconies. Market stalls were just opening for the day, with merchants rolling out bolts of fabric, setting up spice jars, or dusting off crates of fruit. The smell of cinnamon and citrus mixed with morning smoke.
Ray paused at a street corner and pointed toward a squat building with a curled iron sign swinging above the door.
The Toasted Truffle.
“There,” she muttered with satisfaction.
A bell jingled as they stepped inside. The interior was warm and golden, the walls lined with shelves of baked goods and little enchanted displays that kept the chocolate warm without melting it. A glass counter curved around the far side, stuffed with pastries of every variety—glazed, dusted, filled, and stacked like edible treasure.
Ray stared at the tower of treasures, mouth agape, not noticing a thin line of drool collecting at the edge of her lips.
Nick leaned toward her. “Still think it’s a scam?”
She nodded absently.
Behind the counter stood a stocky woman with flour on her apron and a scar over one eyebrow. She looked up from boxing pastries and smiled. “Morning! What can I get you two?”
“Half a dozen of your best chocolate pastries,” Nick said. “And maybe two of those cream tarts.”
“Sure thing,” the baker said. “You’re lucky. Most of the morning rush hasn’t hit yet.”
As she boxed up the pastries, the quiet hum of conversation drifted from a nearby table where a few locals sat nursing steaming mugs of dark coffee.
Nick wasn’t trying to listen, but the words found him anyway—low and casual, like the sort of gossip you could hear anywhere.
“—went up after midnight. Whole place lit up like a bonfire.”
“Seriously?”
“The place didn’t stand a chance. I heard there’s nothing left.”
“No survivors?”
“Not even the dogs.”
“Yeesh.”
“Some folks say it’s Dallin’s will. Punishment for selling strength to the highest bidder.”
Nick’s hand paused over his coin pouch. Just for a second.
Ray glanced toward the voices, one brow raised.
“Divine punishment,” someone muttered behind a sip of coffee. “That’s what you get for fighting for money.”
The baker handed over the wrapped box with a smile. “Still warm. Best eaten soon.”
Nick handed over the payment and offered a polite smile to the baker. “Appreciate it.”
“Don’t let these sit too long,” she said. “The chocolate sings when it’s soft.”
Ray cradled the box like a priceless artifact. “I’m looking forward to it…” she muttered, enchanted.
Nick motioned toward the door. “Let’s find a place to sit before you start worshipping the pastries in public.”
Ray followed him out, already picking out which one she was going to eat first.
They slipped back out into the sunlight, box in hand and warm air brushing their faces like a lazy blessing. The sounds of the marketplace trailed behind them as they meandered through quieter streets, veering toward the district’s riverside edge.
Ray clutched the box to her chest like a stolen treasure. “I swear, if someone tries to rob us, I’ll murder them so hard.”
Nick shook his head, but the corners of his lips tilted upward.
They turned a corner and entered a small park tucked between tall stone buildings. Ivy crawled up the walls, and a pair of stone benches faced a modest fountain bubbling softly at the center. A few sparrows flitted through the trees, and somewhere nearby, a distant bell marked the turning hour.
Ray made a beeline for the bench in the sun and dropped into it with a satisfied sigh. She popped open the box, carefully selected one of the chocolate pastries, and took a slow, reverent bite.
Her eyes fluttered shut. “Oh my gods.”
Nick sat beside her and unwrapped one of the cream tarts, giving it an appraising look. “Well, it’s better than rations…”
They ate in silence for a while—the awkward kind, where both felt uncomfortable but neither wanted to be the first to break it.
Eventually, Nick stretched his legs out and rested an arm along the back of the bench. “We’ve got two weeks.”
Ray licked chocolate from her thumb. “Until what?”
“Until Jantzen respawns,” he said. “Which means we’ve got a limited window to get established. Figure out who’s running things in this city, what they want, and what we’re going to do about it.”
She eyed him sidelong. “Sounds boring.”
Nick gave her a look. “I bought you a chocolate croissant. What the hell are you complaining about?”
She held up a half-eaten pastry. “I’m only doing this because you’re making me learn healing magic. It’s emotional compensation.”
“Sure,” he replied. “Glad to know that you’ll cave at the proper chocolate-to-trauma ratio.”
Ray blinked. “You think chocolate makes me more obedient?”
“If the shoe fits…”
“What do shoes have to do with anything?”
Nick took a bite of his tart. “It’s called a metaphor—an advanced technique utilized by many to pretend they received a proper education, but actually they’re usually just movie references.”
She frowned. “So the shoe isn’t real?”
“Nope. I stole it from a movie,” he replied, completely deadpan.
Ray stared at him for a long moment, then slowly turned back to her pastry. “Humans are weird.”
“Everybody is weird. It’s the people who claim to be ‘normal’ that are lying.”
They sat there for a little while longer, the chocolate slowly disappearing and the silence settling in—not awkward this time, just easy. The park around them was peaceful in the late-morning lull between bustle and stillness. Birds flitted between the ivy-covered walls.
Across the square, a pair of armored soldiers walked past a mural painted onto a stone wall—a towering deific figure, muscles bulging, arms outstretched, lifting a wounded comrade toward the sky. The style was dramatic, reverent. Someone had left offerings at the base of the image: bread, coins, a broken spear laid with surprising care.
Ray followed Nick’s gaze. “Is that…?”
“Dallin,” Nick said. “God of Strength.”
“That shadowy thing we fought in the dungeon?”
He shrugged. “That’s the name people gave it.”
Ray glanced at the mural again. “Doesn’t look like the thing we saw.”
“No,” he said quietly. “It doesn’t.”
There was a long pause—just long enough for the sound of the fountain to feel loud.
Then he took another bite of his tart. “Statues always lie. People worship the image they want to see.”
Ray stared at the offerings—especially the broken spear. “You don’t like him.”
“I don’t know him,” Nick said. “That’s the problem.”
She chewed her lip. “So… what do we do if he shows up again?”
Nick didn’t answer right away.
Then, slowly, he said, “We make sure we’re ready next time.”
She looked down at the chocolate smudges on her fingertips, then wiped them on her sleeve. “You really think that thing was a god?”
“I’m thinking it wanted people to believe it was,” he said. “In my books, that’s far worse.”
Ray was quiet for a long moment. She glanced at the box in her hands, then held it out. “Want a pastry?”
Nick blinked. “You’re offering me food?”
She shrugged. “You bought it. Besides… you’re grumpy when you’re hungry.”
He took it, smiling. “The references continue.”
“…huh?”
Nick glanced at the dwindling box between them. “Save one for Rambalt, by the way. We’re not showing up empty-handed.
Ray made a face but nudged one pastry aside. “Fine, he can have one.”
They packed up the box—now down to just two pastries—and stood from the bench.
Ray wiped her hands on her thighs. “So… what now?”
Nick scanned the streets. We walk. Watch. Keep our ears open. If something’s happening in this city, I want to know who it’s happening to… and who’s letting it happen.”
They strolled through the park’s archway and down a broader lane that opened into one of Cairel’s public gathering squares. It wasn’t especially crowded, but a small group had gathered near a raised platform where a woman in crimson-trimmed robes was speaking with rising fervor.
Her voice echoed across the square, sharp and vindictive.
“—and still we suffer. Still we fall. Why? Because we’ve grown soft. Because we allow monsters to walk among us, collared but unpunished!”
Ray slowed. “What the hell is this?”
Nick didn’t answer. He was already listening.
The woman’s face was flushed, her voice ringing off the stone. “The gods gave us dominion! Dallin grants us strength, Jocelyn grants us beauty and order, and Loki teaches us to root out deception—but we defy them! We let the enemy live! We harbor them in our cities! And we dare to call ourselves faithful?”
She thrust a hand toward the gathered onlookers. “And what is worse than letting a beast roam free? Binding them. Feeding them. Giving them work. To enslave a monster is to consort with the enemy—to welcome corruption into your home. It is a betrayal of divine will!”
There were murmurs in the crowd. Some nodded. Some shifted uncomfortably.
“She’s a crazy person,” Ray muttered.
Nick’s eyes didn’t leave the speaker. “She’s planting seeds.”
“What kind of seeds?”
“The kind that grow into justifications,” he said quietly.
The crowd had grown, drawn in by the speaker’s fire. Some watched in silence, others nodded in grim agreement. A few muttered under their breath, frowning—but no one stepped forward.
Until a calm voice cut through the fervor.
“That’s enough.”
Heads turned as a woman in finely tailored military garb strode into the square. She was older, broad-shouldered, and carried herself like a woman used to giving orders—and having them followed. Her cloak bore the insignia of House Rovar.
“Who’s that?” Ray whispered.
Nick narrowed his eyes. “Someone close to the duke, probably. Watch how people react to her.”
The speaker faltered. “Commander Aldric, I—I meant no disrespect. Only to warn—”
“You speak of monsters like they are nothing but beasts,” Aldric said. Her voice was not raised, but every syllable carried. “But you forget that strength is not measured only by who you destroy. It is measured by who you protect.”
There were murmurs in the crowd again—different now. A shift in momentum.
Aldric stepped up to the platform, facing the speaker directly. “Do not preach division in the name of the gods. Dallin does not bless cowards who attack the weak. And make no mistake—slavery, monster or not, is weakness.”
Ray blinked. “Wait… so she’s against slavery too? But the other one’s more against it?”
Nick watched the commander carefully. “You could say that, but there’s more nuance to it than that.”
The speaker paled slightly. “I meant only to rally the faithful—”
“You meant to spark a fire you couldn’t control,” Aldric said coolly. “This city is already dry tinder. I suggest you walk away before you burn with it.”
The crowd was silent.
Then, slowly, the speaker stepped down, gathering her robes and vanishing into the crowd.
Aldric didn’t wait for applause. She simply nodded once to the onlookers and turned, walking back the way she came, flanked by a pair of silent guards.
Nick frowned. “Well. That just made things more complicated.”
Ray glanced at him. “You think she’s on our side?”
He shook his head. “I think she’s on a side. But we should learn what that side is.”
“Why bother?” she asked. “You think this place is worth saving?”
Nick didn’t answer at first. His eyes followed Commander Aldric’s retreating form.
“Maybe,” he said at last. “I’d wager if we looked into the history of this world, there are at least two or three major wars every hundred years or so. Every few generations, something burns—and everyone pretends to be surprised. Judging by the peace and comfort this place seems to have, we’re probably due for another major war soon.”
He turned away.
He wasn’t sure if the other gods were watching.
But he was.
Ray didn’t respond. She just fell into step beside him, quiet for once.
The crowd behind them was already starting to forget.
Project Knightfall 