After the battle of Lake Pcid marked the end of the tutorial-like early-game, the game slipped into its long, meandering stretch of mid-game. From time to time, the order would come down from His Majesty to deploy to distant border fiefs—simple assignments meant for grinding experience.

  But the real meat of the mid-game y in four css advancement quests:

  * The Saintess, rooting out corruption in the Church, and graduating from figurehead to a being truly worthy of her title.* The Rogue, settling the ancient feud between the Thieves' Guild and the Mercenary Guild, as well as a personal vendetta.* The Mage, finally breaking free of the Tower's clutches, and becoming the first Sage in a thousand years.* And finally, the Hero—forced to confront an increasingly paranoid Crown Prince.

  The pyer could start any of these quests as long as the right conditions were met, and even run several in parallel. But the order in which you did them varied the difficulty and conditions for completion, sometimes by absurd degrees.

  Therefore, barring challenge runs, each veteran pyer settled into their own rhythm. Personally, I always started by doing the Rogue's path. The Crown Prince's favorability was notoriously fickle—loosely tied to the burgeoning reputation of the hero party—but once his suspicion took root, it infected everything. Controlling the flow of information was key.

  Rocher, however, was going in blind. I didn't trust whatever random order he might happen upon. Left to chance, we could fall into any number of pitfalls.

  If I wanted to maximize our odds of success, it was better to take matters into my own hands.

  "Cire, tell me you're not about to do something stupid again."

  Seraphine pressed her fingers against her temple. By the time we'd confirmed the meeting details, night had fallen. We walked back toward the castle gates together, the path lit by the soft glow of nterns.

  "Whatever do you mean?"

  I feigned ignorance. After much begging, she had promised—pinky-sworn—not to tell the others.

  Of course, I knew what I was pnning was reckless. But if I wanted Evelyn's css advancement quest to trigger first, I couldn't just sit around waiting for Rocher to stumble into it.

  All it took was to commission one job with the Thieves' Guild. If any of the others came along, it would only invite questions that I wasn't prepared to answer yet. The less I had to lie, the easier it was to keep everything straight.

  I was still running through contingencies when we reached the castle gate—only to find Rocher waiting there.

  His presence caught me off guard. I'd deliberately left him and Evelyn alone, hoping the proximity might nudge their retionship along. He'd had so little time to court anyone since the chaos at Castle Greymane, and I thought maybe that was why he'd been so… attentive to me tely. Better that he redirect that energy toward the heroines.

  Once we came into view, Rocher stepped forward to meet us halfway.

  I shot a nervous gnce at Seraphine. She looked ready to explode, but thankfully held it together.

  I exhaled in relief. Looked like she was going to keep her promise after all.

  "So? Did you find what you were after?"

  "Yup." I nodded brightly. "It's adorable. You'll love it for sure."

  "Well, Sera. Let's see it then. Maybe we can get Cire a matching set." He grinned, teasing.

  Seraphine crossed her arms.

  "We didn't end up buying it," she muttered. "Because she got mugged."

  His jaw tightened. "Cire—"

  For a heartbeat, something fierce fshed in his eyes—quick, tightly leashed, gone before I could name it.

  "That's not true! Well... not completely." I scrambled. "I still had enough for a deposit. The merchant said she can hold it for two weeks."

  He gently cupped my face and sighed. I froze as his eyes searched mine.

  "I'm not asking about the gift," he said quietly. "I'm asking if you're okay."

  I covered his hands in mine, trying to sound steady. "I'm fine. Really. I'll just have to trouble you for a little more cash. You can deduct it from my next stipend."

  But he didn’t let go right away. His thumb brushed my cheek—warm, steady—and the guilt pricked sharper than I wanted to admit.

  He trusted me. And here I was, plotting behind his back. I tore my eyes away from his, hoping he didn't glimpse the falseness behind them.

  That night, I y awake listening to Lumiere's soft breathing. We'd decided to room together for old time's sake.

  All evening, she’d sulked about not getting invited to the shopping trip, and the silent treatment sted until sleep finally took her. In my heart I promised I’d make it up to her—after I handled tonight's affair.

  With careful silence, I rose and geared up, then slipped into the corridor. The castle was quiet, shadows stretching long across the stone. My pulse quickened, but my feet carried me with purpose.

  When I got to the gate, I rapped softly on the guardhouse door. The guardsman answered, and I pulled down my hood to mouth a silent hello. He regarded me with a knowing nod; by now he'd recognized me as a member of the hero party and gave me my due trust. He raised the portcullis.

  In just a few moments, I was on the Royal Road again. By day it bustled with carts and commerce, but under moonlight it was transformed—golden bricks shimmering faintly, glowing like a path id just for me.

  I turned down a side street, humming the rhyme I'd written to keep my bearings.

  Six streets south and eight streets west,seek the sign of the argyle crest.

  The old tavern sagged under its own weight, its chimney coughing smoke into the chill night air. Raucous ughter seeped through the walls, spilling mirth into the night.

  The door groaned as I pushed it open. Heads turned, but I ignored them, too focused on the particurs of the ritual.

  Show your token, speak no word,the barkeep hears what's left unheard.

  The kids had given me a hawk-embzoned silver badge to show I was a potential client. I squeezed between rge backs and waited nervously for the bartender's attention.

  He met my gaze with his one good eye, and at once I slid the badge across the counter. The bartender’s frown lingered, then softened into a curt nod. His crooked finger pointed toward a dimly lit table in the corner.

  Find the table, old and marred,its grain still bears the cut and scar.

  Brushing past two bulky men who smelled of ale and soot, I slid into the booth, setting down my bag with a clink. For such a crowded tavern, this one table was conspicuously empty.

  I examined the countertop. Sure enough, a jagged gouge marred the wood, its grooves catching the mplight. There was no mistaking it—the fixer's mark.

  Count your fingers—five, then three,and drink to luck and secrecy.

  I gestured to a server, performing the requisite hand signal and ordering a "drink"—the name of which I'd never heard before.

  As I waited, I whispered a small prayer in order to steady my nerves.

  Just one night and it would be over. Just pnt the seed and return to the comfort of my bed.

  I exhaled, hoping I'd done everything right—only to notice the tavern had gone silent. Not expectant. Not curious. Hostile—like the room itself was holding its breath.

  Do each step true, and you shall see,the Guild will share their trade with thee.

  The st verse echoed in my mind as a balding man slid into the booth opposite me. The ice in his copper-colored drink clinked softly in his hand. A cross-shaped scar—identical to the one carved into the table—ran down his cheek, glinting like a drawn bde in the mplight.

  In the heavy quiet, he snapped his fingers. Conversation erupted again, the tension dissolving as quickly as it had formed.

  My stomach dropped. It hit me all at once.

  Every soul in this tavern answered to him.

  But speak amiss, or make a scene—The Guild remembers where you’ve been.