"I mean... this. All of this. You. The capital. The coin. The training." He looked at his hands—still calloused, still thin, but stronger than they’d been a week ago. "It feels like a dream."
Lucian sat on the other bed, leaned back against the headboard, and closed his eyes. "Dreams don’t leave you sore in the morning."
"I’m not sore."
"You will be. I’m adding sprints tomorrow."
Finn groaned. But he was smiling.
---
They went out again after sunset.
The capital at night was different. Softer. The blue streetlamps cast everything in a gentle glow. Music drifted from somewhere—a string instrument Finn didn’t recognize. Laughter. Conversation. The clink of glasses.
"This is where rich people have fun," Finn observed.
"This is where everyone has fun. You just haven’t seen it before."
They passed a restaurant with outdoor seating. People in fine clothes ate food that smelled like heaven. Finn’s stomach growled. Lucian pretended not to hear.
Then they passed an alley.
Not the kind Finn was used to. This one was clean, well-lit, with a flowerpot at the entrance and a sign that said something about a private garden. But movement caught Finn’s eye. Someone was leaning against the wall, half-hidden in shadow.
A boy. Around Finn’s age, maybe a year older. His clothes were expensive—dark blue coat, silver buttons, leather boots that had never seen mud. His hair was the color of wet sand, styled in a way that probably took an hour to perfect.
He was watching them.
Finn kept walking. So did Lucian.
"Hey," the boy called out.
Finn stopped. Lucian stopped too, turning his head just enough to acknowledge.
"You’re new," the boy said, pushing off the wall. He walked toward them with the easy confidence of someone who’d never been punched in the face. "I know everyone who comes through this district. I don’t know you."
Finn glanced at Lucian. Lucian’s expression hadn’t changed.
"We’re passing through," Finn said.
"Passing through where?" The boy circled them slowly, hands behind his back. "The Academy is the only thing worth passing through to. And you don’t look like Academy material."
Finn’s jaw tightened. "What’s that supposed to mean?"
"It means your clothes are cheap, your boots are worn, and you walk like you’re expecting someone to stab you in the back." The boy stopped in front of Finn, tilting his head. "Street rat, right? From the outer districts?"
"Finn," Lucian said quietly. A warning. Or maybe just a reminder.
Finn took a breath. "What’s it to you?"
The boy smiled. It wasn’t a friendly smile. It was the smile of someone who knew exactly how much power he had and enjoyed showing it off.
"Nothing," he said. "Just curious. We don’t get many street rats in this part of the city. The guards usually... redirect them."
"Maybe the guards are lazy tonight."
"Maybe." The boy’s eyes shifted to Lucian. Lingered. "Your bodyguard is quiet."
"He’s not my bodyguard."
"No? Then what is he?"
Lucian spoke. His voice was calm, flat, uninterested. "I’m his teacher."
The boy’s eyebrows rose. "Teacher? Of what?"
"Everything."
A pause. Then the boy laughed—a short, sharp sound that echoed off the buildings. "You’re funny. I like funny people." He extended a hand. "Dorian Ashford. Third son of House Ashford. Pyromancer. Second-year Academy student."
Finn stared at the hand. He didn’t take it.
Dorian’s smile didn’t waver. "Not a talker, then. That’s fine. I talk enough for both of us." He let his hand drop. "What’s your name, street rat?"
"Finn."
"Just Finn?"
"Just Finn."
Dorian nodded slowly, like he was filing the information away for later use. "Well, Just Finn, welcome to the capital. Try not to get yourself killed. It’s bad for property values."
He turned and walked back toward the alley, hands in his pockets, whistling a tune Finn didn’t recognize.
Finn watched him go. His fists were clenched.
Lucian watched too. His expression hadn’t changed, but his eyes were sharper now. Tracking. Measuring.
"I don’t like him," Finn said.
"You’re not supposed to."
"He’s going to be a problem."
"Probably." Lucian started walking again. "But not tonight. Tonight, we sleep."
Finn followed, still looking over his shoulder. Dorian had disappeared into the alley, but Finn could still feel those eyes. Watching. Measuring.
"Lucian," he said.
"Hm?"
"What’s a pyromancer?"
"Fire mage. Specializes in combustion, heat control, thermal manipulation." Lucian glanced back at him. "Why?"
"Just wondering."
They walked in silence. The blue lamps glowed. The music played. Somewhere behind them, a boy named Dorian Ashford smiled in the dark and wondered what kind of teacher dressed like a beggar and walked like a king.
He intended to find out.