It was no wonder Spindlegrad was constantly at war. Were Agon in their place, he would march to battle just for the excuse to leave this wretched land.

  Despite it being early morning, the sky did little more than turn a slightly lighter hue of grey. Agon let out a heavy sigh, his eyes shifting from the endless pall of weeping clouds to where the Fox wore that little grin, and her prey wore his scowl.

  He watched them quietly, his massive footsteps flattening loose stones into the mud as he observed Talos desperately trying to convince himself he was never going to forgive her.

  Eventually, Nomi noticed his gaze and smiled up at him.

  “What are you looking at, old man? Reminiscing the glory days?”

  Talos’s eyes shifted to Agon as well, curious for his counsel.

  “Thinking about the mission,” Agon rumbled. “I don’t see your smile vanish like that often, Fox.”

  The Fox paused for a moment, her grin becoming a bit more brittle.

  “Mhm. I don’t like Zylichor. I’ve been there before.”

  “Any insights for us?”

  “...I mostly hope Lillik convinces Rinerva not to take us there. Our party can take it, but… it’s a special kind of stress when a child who was playing in the street a moment prior tries to inject you with mutagens.”

  Despite the levity with which she presented the information, her hand drifted to Talos’s arm. She pinched his sleeve, holding the rough fabric tight between her thumb and knuckle as she spoke.

  Talos either didn’t notice, or was pretending not to—allowing her the comfort despite his anger.

  Agon’s expression darkened.

  “How old are you, Fox?”

  “Don’t you know it’s rude to ask a lady her age?” she hummed playfully, though the sound was hollow against the rain. “Turning twenty-two this winter. Gonna get me a gift, old man?”

  Agon let out a heavy breath. Another damn reason to hate Spindlegrad.

  “Then when you went to Zylichor... how old were you?”

  “Hm. Fourteen? I think?”

  Neither Talos nor Nomi looked put off by the fact. To them, it was normal. But the Thulite was obviously disturbed, letting out a low, disgusted rumble in his chest.

  He had seen it firsthand in the war, of course. But the reality sat heavier in his gut now that he knew the Fox. Always bright, always playful. He wondered how many he had robbed of a smile like that before they ever had the chance to grow old.

  “Agon, you’ve fought High Witches and Matriarchs. Any advice?” Talos asked, pulling the older man from his dark thoughts.

  “Aye. Leave them for the war engines.” Agon shook his head. “You’ve seen Lillik. They’re nearly unkillable when they’re gorged on potions. Whatever you do, it has to be lethal, or it usually don’t take.”

  “If they’re that overdosed, usually another potion will overload the nervous system,” Nomi added, holding up a finger. “Usually.”

  “Or you just open a vein,” Agon grumbled, eyeing Talos’s scars. “Let the magic bleed out on the pavement. Brutal way to handle a mage.”

  “It’s efficient, not brutal,” Nomi corrected, breezing past the judgment. She made a playful show of sawing at Talos’s arm with her fingers. “Unless you’re a null, potions saturate the blood. Can’t keep the magic in the blood if the blood won’t stay in the veins.”

  Talos batted her hand away, his expression unamused.

  “...You’re knowledgeable on killing your own kin,” Agon noted, his voice flat.

  “I’m knowledgeable on killing everyone,” she replied with a note of amusement. “Why do you think Lillik chose me personally?”

  “Ain’t you sisters?”

  “Coven sisters,” Talos corrected, pulling his dagger free and checking the edge as they walked.

  “Yep. I was taken into Lily’s coven when she became a High Witch and chose a bodyguard. Foxes and Spiders have a long history.”

  Agon was silent for a moment, watching the Fox curiously. Eventually, she glanced over at him.

  “Something on your mind, old man?”

  “Zylichor,” Agon grumbled. “Those were Bats in the war. Counter-intelligence. Hunters. They always hunted down our spies. Doesn’t that put you at risk?”

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Nomi gave him a small grin, all teeth and violence.

  “It lets them find me. But finding me isn't the same as killing me. Besides, even if Rinerva hates it, if she pairs me with Tal, we should be nearly untouchable. Assuming he doesn’t let his guard down and get himself drugged by a thrall or something.”

  Agon could see it happening. The lad always had a soft spot for street rats.

  “How much of the town do you think is going to be enthralled?” Agon asked heavily.

  “...Hard to say. Hopefully not more than ten percent.”

  Talos turned from the conversation, ducking his head to push through the heavy doors of the blacksmith, eager to escape the rain—and perhaps the conversation. Heat and the smell of coal spilled out into the street, but Agon remained outside, letting the door swing shut behind the Rethnian.

  He looked down at the girl.

  “You gonna be alright, Fox?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” she asked, her chin tilting up reflexively.

  “Even I have places I don’t ever want to go back to.”

  Nomi’s bravado faltered. She looked at the closed door, watching the orange flicker of the forge light through the cracks, before that smile returned—though with a bit less energy.

  “Yeah. I don’t like Zylichor. But I’ll be alright.” She tucked her arms into her cloak, pulling it shut around her. “And even if he won’t let me get too close right now... Tal will be there.”

  “Aye. I suppose so.” Agon shifted his weight, the mud squelching under his boots. “Maybe keep him out of trouble this time, instead of dragging him into it?”

  Nomi hummed thoughtfully, a spark of her usual mischief returning to her expression.

  “I’ll consider it.”

  Agon hummed, the low rumble vibrating in the damp air and making Nomi’s small frame shudder. He followed her inside, watching her split off toward the racks of anti-magic tools.

  He turned to Talos. Between the giant’s mass and the creaking floorboards, stealth was impossible as the floorboards groaned angrily under his weight.

  “...I was thinking of another longsword,” Talos murmured, staring at the rack.

  “Aye. Seems to be what you have the most experience with.”

  “I’m more familiar with gladiatorial weapons. But I swapped to the longsword to avoid getting too close. But now…”

  Talos reached out and picked up a heavy shortsword. It was a brutal thing, broad and tapered for thrusting rather than slashing. His fingers naturally shifted through different grips. Experimenting with the experience only someone who’s held a hundred swords can do.

  “You put yourself in a lot of danger, lad,” Agon noted quietly.

  “The range I’ve been fighting at lately? Reach doesn't matter. If they’re already on top of me, a longsword is just a lever for them to break my wrist.” Talos gripped the hilt tight. “I’ll be more effective with this.”

  “...Aye.”

  The blade flashed in the forge light as the lad tested the weight, slicing the air with a short, vicious arc before raising it to inspect the edge. Even if he didn’t want to admit it, the brutal weapon looked right at home in his hands. It matched his scars.

  He picked up a small buckler, frowned at it, and tossed it back onto the pile. It was too defensive. Instead, he reached for a short spear, testing its balance with a nod.

  “This will help with aberrations.”

  Talos didn’t flinch when Nomi draped herself over his back, resting her chin on his shoulder to look at the weapons. For a heartbeat, the lad leaned into the contact—before he stiffened, as if realizing what he was doing.

  He twisted away sharply, dislodging her.

  Nomi let out a small, amused huff, landing lightly on her heels.

  “A shortsword and a spear? Going back to your roots, Tal?”

  Agon listened silently, leaning against a workbench. Roots. The comment confirmed his suspicions. The lad fought like he was used to a crowd screaming for blood. The old warrior found their interaction amusing, though he kept that thought behind a stoic mask.

  “Maybe,” Talos grunted, refusing to look at her. “Might serve better at close range.”

  “But Agon should be frontlining soon anyway,” Nomi countered, her tone light but probing. “Once he has his plate, you won't need to be inside their guard.”

  “Then I’ll buy a longsword when he does. For now, I need options.”

  Nomi chewed her lower lip for a moment, watching him with a tilted head.

  “Mm. Well, why not throwing needles instead of the spear?”

  “Never used them.”

  “I’ll teach you.”

  She offered a small, hopeful smile. It was clearly an attempt to buy time with him, a transparent excuse to bridge the gap. It would also keep him further from the frontlines.

  Talos considered it. It was an extremely effective weapon; they’d all watched the Fox slaughter anything with a windpipe using nothing but a flicker of silver.

  “...It doesn’t work with where I’m fighting,” Talos replied after a long moment.

  Nomi nodded, masking the disappointment instantly. She shook her head with a small pout.

  “Your loss. I think it would’ve been effective.”

  She wandered off deeper into the store, turning her back to them to examine a rack of tools. Agon and Talos moved to the counter to pay, the heavy coin purse thumping against the wood.

  “...You still blame her?” Agon asked, his voice low enough to be lost under the ring of hammers.

  “Hard not to.”

  “Aye. And you’re in the right. But are you willing to lose her over it?”

  “I should be.”

  “That’s not what I asked, lad.”

  Talos didn’t reply. He didn’t meet the Giant’s gaze.

  He paid the smith in silence, fastening the heavy shortsword to his hip and slinging the spear across his back. The weight felt familiar, grounding him in the physical world while his mind drifted.

  “We’re headed back, Fox.”

  Agon waved at Nomi, raising his voice just loud enough to be heard over the din of the hammers.

  “I’m gonna take a minute and keep shopping,” she called back, leaning against a display case. “Order me some breakfast when you get back, mm?”

  “What do you want?” Agon asked.

  Nomi’s eyes flicked to the Rethnian, her expression unreadable.

  “Tal knows what I like.”

  Agon watched Talos freeze, his hand heavy on the iron latch of the door. The challenge hung in the air between them. Finally, the lad offered a single, stiff nod before pushing the door open and stepping back out into the clammy morning air, Agon following close behind.