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Kraken blood smeared. Firefly heart crushed and stirred. Now to drop it two millimeters from the left and… POP.

The arcane lock shuttered when Harlow pulled the lockpick from its innards.

With a slow, gratifying sigh, she looked down at her hand to a bit of smeared blood, not hers, but it bothered her not as well as everyone in the high seats way above her.

It took seconds for her to cast a quick, basic spell that every wizard learned first, to clean up the mess.

She stepped backward to admire her work, much like the last few months where she had been devoting herself entirely to magical locks… more so breaking them.

Normally pioneering new techniques were saved for higher-class spellcasters; Harlow allowed herself a reprieve from the last three years of normal studies to chase this exact indulgence.

Harlow Hedgewater from all appearances was a wizard.

Any missteps or lack of knowledge were blamed on the simple fact that she was a student of the magical arts.

It was entirely unknown, save a very select few, that her… inadequacies, were not of her misunderstanding but that she was trained for the blade and not the wand.

Harlow Hedgewater was a thief.

A rogue by any other classification, but a thief at her best.

Most of those in her guild chased coin, or pursued the general mysterious nature that a thief exuded, which could be alluring and downright sexy, but she did it for the satisfaction.

When she was unlocking something impossibly complex like a wizard’s chest, sneaking past a grouping of highly trained guards, or mixing the right ratio of potion, Harlow would feel a gentle warmth, much like a tiredness, that would spread to her chest and release an ache.

This ache for more was only pacified for a short amount of time, so she had to keep busy and nothing so far in her life kept her as busy as masquerading as a wizard.

The large demonstration hall sparkled naturally with its polished white stone and hoards of gilded furniture.

Even the three stories of tiered seating were edged in decadence.

This hall was specifically for passing exams, testing magical theory, and for anyone that required quite an audience.

For today’s showing, it was mostly students from higher classes perfecting their master term projects.

Much to the chagrin of those watching, Harlow grabbed the chest and refused to open it in front of anyone.

She much preferred to keep her secrets.

A man three years her junior but two classes higher than her, whose name she had deemed unnecessary to remember, glared daggers at her from the ledge directly above her.

Harlow offered him a quick salute of thanks and sauntered off with her winnings.

It was his arcane lock spell she broke, and now he must go back to the drawing board with less than a week until his class’s finale showing.

Such a setback wouldn’t be such an issue if it wasn’t the only spell his family passed down to him that they hadn’t yet sold out.

He now had to make a name for himself.

Or not.

Harlow’s shoulders dipped in a slight shrug.

Who was she kidding? With residuals from previous spells that his family had made for public use, he would still live the high life and want for nothing.

Some whispers reached Harlow’s ears, which was not surprising because wizards were NOT good at whispering.

From what she could gather, they were gossiping about how they thought it’s unfair that she used a more practical method to pick the arcane locks when she should be using 00% spellwork.

But it wasn’t in the rules and she knew all the loopholes.

Harlow exited as slowly as she could, letting them get in all the whispers that they wanted.

Quite a few of them were older than her, but even those that were past their thirties still acted childish.

Being practiced in magic seemed to give them a false sense of superiority.

“Spare the streets and spoil the wand”, as they said.

Harlow adjusted her grip on the chest and heaved it over to her other hip, letting the other side of the hall get their fill of it.

A few eager sets of eyes stared it down as if they could will it to reveal itself.

The Wizard Guild filled chests like these to ensure the student didn’t tamper with anything outside their listed spellwork.

Inside could be rotten eggs, a mimic, a 2,000-year-old scroll.

Harlow wouldn’t let them see.

A lady must have her secrets and as for wizards, they could go fuck themselves.

The stone hallway was empty and cold.

Why it was cold when there were spells for heating, Harlow didn’t know.

She thought it was more about ambiance and how she never met a wizard who didn’t like a little show.

She bent her fingers in a cascading effect and pulled them apart quickly, opening a small dimensional hole where she kept her things that she refused to carry.

In her pocket, a feather disintegrated, leaving an oddly moist clump of dust in its wake.

Magic all came from somewhere and for opening her catch-all, the reagent was a singular feather.

The dust was an unfortunate side effect of the process.

She couldn’t stand touching it so she just continued to shove more feathers in there without cleaning out the dust.

That’s a problem for later me when I run out of pockets and wizard robes have SO MANY POCKETS, she thought.

It was one thing that she was envious rogues hadn’t caught onto yet.

With Harlow’s love for picking locks sated for now, she cracked her neck from side to side and rubbed her upper back with as much force as she could muster.

The suns were going down, and everyone was out on the streets to head home or to taverns to pregame for the upcoming celebration week.

But not Harlow.

She’d have the library to herself and that’s something that didn’t happen often here.

Talkisha held the region’s most extensive wizard towers.

It was where the “higher education”

for spellwork was located.

Most came here to gain specialties and to work among peers.

So, it stood to reason that the Grand Library was always full and bustling but at night before a weekend… well, that was the best time to try and grab some tomes being returned early.

Which was what Harlow was banking on.

If there was one benefit for the small city here being occupied by mainly wizards it was that everything was always SO CLEAN.

Automated spells whisked away trash and dirt in moments and there were always newcomers looking to test spells on trash.

The beige stonework was repeated throughout all the towers and the Grand Library.

Blue banners with the city’s emblem hung everywhere.

She passed between two of them as she entered the library and the doors opened unassisted.

It was quiet, eerily so.

Runework was scattered throughout to deaden any excess noise so getting used to not hearing footsteps but seeing a crowd down a hallway took Harlow ages to adjust.

Magdalanous stood ready at the front desk, never sitting (Harlow had tried to catch khem so many times that she’d given up).

Kher short black bob was tucked behind kher ears today.

Harlow brought her hands up to gesture that it looked rather fetching.

Khey returned a quick thank you with khers.

Khey leaned forward and slid a stack of books in her direction and her stomach dropped for a moment.

All her holds.

At one time? Seriously? Harlow wouldn’t possibly get them all done in time, but she refused to not check them out.

She gulped and leaned the stack against her chest to look for the study corridor with the least amount of people.

Gods below, Harlow wished she could just put them in her catch-all like the chest but if she did, Magdalanous would find out and she Did.

Not.

Want.

Kher.

Wrath.

Khey’d been there since the library’s construction… and hadn’t aged a day … and the knowledge and skill khey possessed was, if she spoke honestly, unattainable.

There were only a few wizards near Magdalanous’s class and even they watched themselves extra closely for any missteps.

Magdalanous was a Spellsaven class, which was really the highest rank you could go, but khey refused to go by it.

Something about khey existed before the classification system so khey said khey opted out.

Which reminded Harlow to look for Lithon, a rather unclassifiable mage.

He should be around there somewhere…

In Lartenovia, anyone, no matter what career or classification they went into, must take on a mentee or apprentice if they reached a certain rank.

Society was built on continuing teaching knowledge and growth.

Lithon had never complained about his mentor, which was a testament to his patience.

Because of his skillset he was a floater between mages and wizards.

Being a mage meant, unless there were special circumstances, you couldn’t apprentice to a Spellsaven class.

Lithon did, however, complain about everything else.

And Harlow loved it.

He was her rant buddy and there was nothing like unloading something you needed to get out of your system.

In turn they never spoke about it again outside the library walls.

She found an empty study area.

It was always empty so it wasn’t exactly surprising.

Wizards loved to donate their work to the library and it was almost a rite of passage, so naturally the place was full up on biographies, recipes, histories, and published spellwork.

But over there, that was where bardic tales were kept.

Labeled “fiction,”

of course, as the very fact bards wrote it means it was likely to be embellished and therefore not accurate.

Harlow enjoyed the tales.

She thought a lot of fellow scholars forget the lessons found within, embellished or not.

That even their own thought experiment at that moment of conception was but fantasy itself until proven.

With her back against the corner, she was able to spot Lithon come flying into the room which was concerning in of itself.

Lithon didn’t run. Always walked at a “leisurely” pace. He said it made him feel like he was giving the appearance he’s too busy for nonsense. Which was ridiculous. He loved nonsense. That and Magdalanous would surely grapple anyone who ran in these halls.

“Quick Harlow, we got to go.”

His chestnut brown waves are frizzy… unlike him... and his silken robes are disheveled like he had quickly thrown them over his normal, extravagant thorincloth ensemble. Golden eyes flecked with olive green stared her down until she slowly rose.

“What’s going on?”

It was bit hard to speak with the noise suppression spells in effect but at least no one would be able to overhear them.

“You got a summons from Him.”

Lithon pushed his sleeves up to his elbows, revealing his dark umber forearms that were rather toned for being a wizard. Sleeves back meant business. Secret business.

Lithon was the one of the few people in the city that was fully aware that Harlow was not who she seemed to be. And the Him could only mean her Guild Master.

“Was it a happy summons or an I’m-angry-with-you summons?”

Harlow gathered all the tomes on top of each other. Gah, now she had to return all her holds before she got to read them. Truly tragic.

“I don’t believe He has ever been happy in his life.”

Lithon grumbled and led her quickly back to the front desk.

Magdalanous was just down the hall leading the way with a student in tow so Lithon hopped behind the counter to log the books back in and place them in to-be-put-away section. Even with such a pressing matter, he wasn’t going to risk Magdalanous’ wrath.

“OK… let’s go go go.”

They speed walked out the front and once outside it became a bit of a competition where she had no idea where they were going but had to try and be slightly ahead.

It seemed his path was heading towards Sanctuary, and when they turned left at the end of the road, it was fully confirmed.

Sanctuary was the original settlement area here and now served as a large courtyard of various open portals.

These portals led to different cities over the region.

As much as she’d like to directly port to her Guild Master, portal transportation was heavily monitored and regulated.

Sometimes even in a city of mages, wizards, sorcerers, and the like, you had to follow the rules.

Harlow grimaced.

She didn’t like it, but here she was.

There wasn’t a line for their destination, so they were able to speed walk right through and she held her breath as they entered.

Harlow knew it was superstitious, but she couldn’t help it.

The act of it always put her on edge.

And when they emerged, she could see that even a well-traveled mage like Lithon felt the same way by the discoloration of the pressure from his hand that he left on her arm.

He let go and she rubbed the spot, thankful that it wasn’t hard enough to leave any bruising on her russet skin.

The capital city was too large, too dirty, and way too busy for its own good.

But Harlow absolutely loved it as much as anyone who had fallen between the cracks of a society that still said it had no cracks in society.

It rose from the cliff faces as if naturally carved but by the various tones of stone texture, it couldn’t have been natural.

Stone from all over the continent was brought there to symbolize different peoples coming together.

To show oneness through diversity.

Large multicolored fabric awnings stretched from peak to peak, causing shadows to dance among the lower buildings, giving its citizens shade and protection from the constant light drizzle of this region’s weather.

Some districts utilized these shades as planters, which encouraged the full-sun-loving plant varieties to thrive.

The docks were well traveled and even with several layers of magic and constant attending to it was the oldest-looking area of the city.

There was a market that extended the length of the docks and several ships that floated around selling wares, food, cultural passes, and so forth.

It was the most expensive market in the city.

Although the capital was home to many and impressive, those who didn’t wish to leave their boats to shop were waited on hand and foot. They paid well for the services and often maybe a little too much.

With the clientele generally having loose purse strings it made sense that the Thieves’ Guild grew out of a side entrance.

Close enough to keep an eye on the goings-on and yet far enough to sneak away if needed.

Several of the businesses here looked away during some roguish interactions so that perhaps their goods wouldn’t be targeted.

Lithon left her at the door; no way he was going in.

Although he had access, he wasn’t a guild member, just on the payroll.

He did Harlow the honor of not leaving until she at least went in.

Harlow wasn’t worried.

She was old and she was tired, not nervous of a meeting with the Guildmaster.

She just wished she could have taken a bath before or gotten something to eat on the way.

Either way she took relief knowing that the Guildmaster wouldn’t have summoned her to waste her time like other council members.

Harlow thought they got lonely a lot.

He was standing behind his desk and she nodded as she closed the door behind her.

Lithon sucked his teeth yet simultaneously gave her the sign for good luck/you got this.

“Good. You’re here.”

He tossed a paper on the desk and a large smile broke over his face.

“Yes, queue the parades, I have returned.”

Harlow gave it a little gusto and pantomimed a trotting horse but then she winced, realizing she was being a bit too weird. “And what is the cause for you to roll out the welcoming mat?”

She gestured at the small rug at the edge of the seating area. It was pitiful but he said it was good luck, so she stepped gingerly on it to show her respects… to the carpet, she guessed?

“Someone died.”

Words that were sad at first notice, but the smile on his face and the excitement in his eyes changed that to something a little more positive.

“Ah dang, hate how that sneaks up on ya.”

Harlow coughed to clear her throat and ran her tongue over her teeth.

“An apprentice.”

He dangled the words out in the open.

“Yes, well, hazard of the job, eh?”

She didn’t take the bait. Apprentices died all the time, nothing special. Sad, but not special.

“Daggerroot’s apprentice.”

He fluttered his hand about as if it meant less than it should, testing her.

“Oh.”

Her eyes widened and she started nodding to hype herself up. This is what she’d been waiting for. Well, not so much the death, but the opening left by the corpse… wait, no… that sounded wrong… The available position left by the corpse. Yeah, that was better.

“Yes, ‘oh’ indeed’.”

He was practically beaming as if it was something he personally arranged. Possible.

“How much time do we have?”

She began to run the numbers of who she knew from Talkisha that would likely be referred for the job.

“None.”

And that smile fell. A serious demeanor took over him faster than an open window at winter.

“Excuse me?”

She meant it. Harlow was offended.

“I called in some… favors. You’re in. You leave tonight.”

He grinned and the iridescent tooth he spent a year’s earnings on sparkled at her. It mocked her.

“Oh-okay. Yeah. This is good. Yeah, I got this.”

Harlow rocked on her knees like she was gearing herself up for something but instead just a series of creaks and cracks. Gah.

Guildmaster was used to her. After all, he and about 8 others raised her. He began to peel a grapefruit and portion it out on a plate.

“W-wait... how’d they die?”

Harlow stood completely still with her head tilted like an inquisitive dog.

“Got turned inside out.”

He took the grapefruit pieces and used his thumbs to press the back of it, forcing the juicy insides to burst their way out.

Fuck.