Three years later

Three years had passed since Thorne had finally been allowed to use his skills freely. The brutal training and deadly trials had never let up, leaving only 21 recruits still standing.

Thorne had played his part in thinning the herd, having killed two of his classmates. Both had tried to kill him first, but his response had been swift, merciless—exactly as he'd been taught. Their new skills had made the remaining recruits even more dangerous, and for the first few months, nearly everyone had tried to kill each other.

Cliques had formed, lines drawn in the sand, and every group had attempted to wipe out the others. Thorne and his friends had mostly been spared—no one dared to challenge him directly. Even Marcus, who had grown bolder with time, seemed hesitant to launch an outright attack. But Thorne knew Marcus was plotting something; he could always be found whispering in dark corners with his two accomplices, Sera and Caelan.

Despite the tension, Thorne's skills had progressed, though his character level had stagnated. The lack of frequent combat had stunted his growth, and he had managed to gain only a handful of levels.

Opportunities for real battle were scarce; the occasional dive into the catacombs was too few and far between to make a difference.

When given a free day, Thorne preferred to spend it with his friends rather than hunting in the wilderness. But recently, things had started to pick up. The guild had begun sending them on missions, and for the first time in a while, Thorne had the chance to kill again.

As he chewed thoughtfully on his dinner, he found himself oddly disturbed by the realization that the thought of killing brought him a strange satisfaction. What's wrong with me? he wondered briefly, before the thought was interrupted.

"What's wrong, honey?" Matilda asked with a small smile, her hand propping up her chin as she watched him. "Do you need to go to the toilet?"

Thorne huffed a laugh, the morbid thoughts dissipating as if they'd never been there. "Nah, I was just thinking about something," he replied, spearing another piece of the tender lamb Matilda had prepared for him as a farewell gift. "You've outdone yourself once more," he added with a satisfied moan as the meat practically melted in his mouth.

Matilda beamed with pride. "Wait until you see what I have for dessert!"

Thorne's eyes lit up with anticipation. "Don't tell me..." he began, his voice trailing off in excitement.

Matilda's smile widened as she stood up and crossed the empty kitchen. She grabbed a checkered towel and carefully retrieved a blueberry pie. Thorne laughed in delight, his mouth already watering. "Woman, you are spoiling me rotten!"

Matilda placed the pie in front of him, and Thorne dived in immediately, momentarily forgetting all about the lamb. "Someone has to," she muttered. "If it were up to me, I'd lock you in this manor and never let you out."

Thorne hummed in amusement, his mouth full of pie. "Promises, promises," he teased.

When he swallowed, he looked at her more seriously. "You didn't have to do all this, you know. You didn't have to stay up so late." With a teasing smile, he added, "Your husband must be lonely," waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

As expected, Matilda blushed furiously and swatted at him with her towel. "You fiend!" she exclaimed, but then her expression softened into something more serious. "It's your first time out of the city," she said quietly, her voice lowering into a whisper. "Those missions could be dangerous. I worry..."

She bit her lip, and Thorne saw the genuine fear in her eyes—not fear of him, but for him. His heart skipped an irregular beat, the unusual sensation catching him off guard. He reached across the table and took her hand, meeting her gaze with an intensity that made her breath hitch.

"Don't worry, I'll be fine," Thorne said, his voice firm yet gentle. "I'll be cautious."

Matilda nodded, but the worry in her eyes didn't dissipate. Thorne released her hand, feeling a strange need to distance himself, as if continuing to touch her would somehow taint their pure relationship—one of the very few he still held onto. "Uncle has trained me well," he said, letting the words hang in the air before adding, "too well. I won't be in any danger."

Matilda looked at him as if he were still a small child, needing her protection. "Your friends will be with you to protect you, right?" she asked, her voice tinged with motherly concern.

Thorne rolled his eyes, a slight smirk playing on his lips. "Only Rhea will be coming. Jareth and another guy—you don't know him."

Matilda's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What about your girlfriend?" she demanded.

Thorne sighed in resignation. "I told you, she's not my girlfriend. She's..." He hesitated, frowning as he tried to find the right words. What exactly was Rielle to him? A friend? Something more? It was true that over the past year, their relationship had shifted, with them spending most nights alone in their secret room. But he couldn't exactly call it a relationship, not in the traditional sense. The dark, deadly tunnels of the guild weren't the place for such things.

"Whatever she is," Matilda pressed, "why won't she be there to protect you?"

Thorne slumped back in his chair, exasperation creeping into his posture. It hadn't crossed Matilda's mind that he was the one protecting his friends, not the other way around. "We don't choose which missions to take; we're simply assigned," he explained, trying to keep his tone patient. "Rielle just returned from her own. Vance as well."

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Matilda bristled, planting her fists on her hips in a show of defiance. "I should go talk to Uncle about this. How are you supposed to go into danger without someone trusted to—"

Thorne sat up abruptly, his voice turning cold and definite. "You will do no such thing!" he snapped, surprising Matilda with the force of his words. Feeling guilty, he softened his tone and continued, "What I mean is, Uncle shouldn't be bothered with such trivial things."

Matilda nodded, though her eyes remained unsettled. The two of them sat in silence, Thorne finishing his meal while Matilda watched him, her presence comforting yet tinged with unspoken fears.

"Enough with the food," she said after a while, breaking the silence. "Even though your appetite for my cooking is endearing, you've had enough. You ate with Uncle earlier too—you'll explode if you eat any more."

Thorne burped and nodded, rubbing his full stomach. "You're right," he admitted, stifling a yawn. "I'll pack the rest of the food for your journey," Matilda offered, but Thorne was already half-asleep, his eyes drooping as exhaustion crept in.

"You shouldn't have gone out tonight," Matilda chastised gently. "You have to get up early!"

"I had to say goodbye to my friends," Thorne defended himself, his words slurred with drowsiness.

"Now shoo," Matilda said, waving her towel at him playfully, though there was concern in her eyes. "I'll have Maria wake you an hour before dawn. Go rest!"

Thorne dodged her towel with a grin, then leaned in to give her a warm hug. "Thank you," he whispered, the sincerity in his voice clear as he kissed her on the cheek.

Matilda hugged him back, her own voice soft and full of worry. "Be careful," she whispered.

Thorne nodded, feeling a warmth in his chest that he hadn't felt in a long time. He stepped back, giving her one last smile before turning and walking out,

Thorne walked down the grand hallway of the manor, his footsteps echoing off the polished marble floors. The opulent surroundings had become familiar to him, almost like a second home. When he wasn't in the guild, this manor was where he spent his time, indulging in the luxuries that Uncle's wealth afforded. Tonight was no different. After spending the evening with Matilda, Thorne headed to his room, the one reserved for him every time he left the cold, dark corridors of the guild.

The room was lavishly appointed, a stark contrast to the harsh, brutal world he had grown accustomed to. The walls were paneled with rich, dark wood, and heavy velvet drapes hung from the tall windows, their deep navy color adding warmth to the space.

A massive four-poster bed dominated the room, its frame carved with intricate designs of mythical creatures, and the silk sheets shimmered in the soft glow of the ornate chandelier overhead.

A thick, plush rug covered the floor, its intricate patterns a blend of deep blues and golds, and a large fireplace crackled gently, casting flickering shadows that danced across the room. A gilded mirror stood against one wall, reflecting the opulence of the space, and a grand armoire, inlaid with mother-of-pearl, held his belongings.

Staying at the manor, eating meals, and talking with Uncle had become the new normal for him. But as he entered his room and closed the door behind him, the slight smile that had lingered on his face faded away.

The moment he was alone, the Mask of Deceit that he wore so effortlessly slipped away, revealing the cold, impassive expression that had been molded during the years of brutal training. His face, now devoid of any warmth or emotion, was a true reflection of what he had become.

Thorne began to change out of his clothes, his movements efficient and practiced, as his mind drifted back to the upcoming mission. He calculated the variables and potential threats with the same precision he applied to everything else. The fact that Rhea was joining him was not reassuring; if anything, it had him on edge. Things had changed, and trust was a luxury he no longer afforded anyone in the guild—not Rhea, not Vance, not even... Rielle.

Jareth, on the other hand, was the one person Thorne didn't worry about. The man was too honorable for his own good, a trait that in any other context might have been admirable. In Darius, that quality had been a strength, something to be respected. But in Jareth, it was a liability, a weakness that could get them all killed.

And then there was the other guy, Corwin, the one Thorne instinctively knew would be a problem. The name left a bitter taste in Thorne's mouth. Corwin was a threat, and Thorne was certain that he was planning to kill him during the mission. The thought didn't frighten him; it simply meant he had to be prepared.

As he packed his things for the journey, his eyes caught his reflection in the gilded mirror across the room. The small pendant around his neck glinted in the firelight, drawing his attention. He paused, staring at his reflection, and for a moment, he allowed himself to reflect on how much he had changed—both physically and emotionally.

The boy who had once been full of life and curiosity was long gone, replaced by a young man who had been shaped by violence and survival. He had grown into his looks, becoming strikingly handsome, with sharp, angular features that gave him a predatory air.

His dark hair fell in loose waves around his face, and his eyes, a piercing blue, were cold and calculating, always watching, always assessing.

His body had filled out with lean muscle, the result of endless hours of training, and his skin, once fair, now carried a subtle, otherworldly glow—a faint reminder of what he truly was beneath the human facade.

Thorne stepped closer to the mirror, his hand reaching up to grasp the pendant around his neck. The small, seemingly insignificant piece of jewelry was more than just an accessory; it was a tool, a weapon that he had learned to wield with deadly precision. He focused on the aether coursing through the pendant, allowing himself to take control of its flow. Slowly, he decreased its output, letting just a small glimpse of his true self seep through.

The change was subtle but unmistakable. His features became more refined, his eyes more intense, their color shifting to a brighter, more unnatural shade of blue. His skin took on a slight luminescence, and his presence in the room seemed to grow, becoming more commanding, more magnetic. This was who he truly was, beneath the layers of deception and disguise.

Thorne had learned to use this ability to his advantage, to let a hint of his true nature slip through whenever he needed to seduce or unbalance someone. He loathed using his looks and his secret heritage for such things, but he had come to understand that in this world, any weapon, no matter how distasteful, was worth wielding.

With a sigh, Thorne released his hold on the pendant, allowing the aether to resume its normal flow. His features returned to their usual handsome but human appearance, and the room seemed to shrink back to its original size. He turned away from the mirror, the weight of his reality settling heavily on his shoulders once more.

He finished preparing for the journey, his movements automatic as his mind continued to churn with thoughts of the mission ahead. Finally, with everything in place, he slipped under the silk sheets of the massive bed, the softness of the mattress doing little to ease the tension coiled within him.

Thorne stared up at the canopy, the flickering light from the fireplace casting shadows across the ceiling. He knew sleep would come, but not easily. The world he lived in now was one of constant danger, where every step could be his last. But that was the life he had chosen, and he would navigate it with the same cold, calculated precision that had kept him alive this long.

With a final sigh, Thorne closed his eyes, letting the exhaustion of the day and the weight of his thoughts pull him into a restless sleep.

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