The cart rumbled through the streets of Valewind, its wooden wheels clattering over cobblestones polished smooth by centuries of foot traffic. As they climbed higher into the city, Thorne took in the sights around him, his eyes wide with a mixture of awe and unease.

Valewind was more fortress than city, its structure built into the side of a large hill, tiered and fortified at every level. The road spiraled upward, each tier marked by a gate and a new layer of defenses, making it clear that this city was designed to withstand a siege.

Valewind's streets were a stark contrast to the cramped, dirty alleys of Alvar. The buildings here were grand, with tall stone facades, intricate carvings, and vibrant banners hanging from windows.

Every corner seemed to whisper of wealth and power, from the gleaming metalwork on the gates to the neatly trimmed gardens that lined the streets. Thorne could see people walking about, their clothes a riot of colors, rich fabrics adorned with jewels that sparkled in the fading light. Unlike the hunched and weary people of Alvar, these citizens stood tall, their movements confident, their faces clean and well-fed.

As the cart ascended, Thorne noticed something else—an unusual concentration of aether. It was subtle at first, but as they moved higher into the city, the aether grew thicker, clinging to certain buildings like an invisible mist. Some doors glowed faintly, windows shimmered as if a barrier lay just beneath the surface, and the occasional statue or fountain pulsed with a quiet, magical energy. He realized that Valewind wasn't just fortified with stone and steel—it was fortified with magic as well.

In the cart, the atmosphere was tense. Rhea sat rigidly with her back turned to Thorne, her posture a clear message that she wasn't interested in speaking to him. The anger rolled off her in waves, her body language making it clear that she felt betrayed or at least deeply dissatisfied with the role she had been assigned. Thorne could sense her frustration, but there was no point in trying to speak to her now.

Corwin, on the other hand, was a picture of nervous energy. He stared blankly at the passing buildings, his lips pressed into a thin line as he bit down anxiously. Every so often, his fingers would slip into his traveling cloak, touching something hidden within. Thorne's eyes narrowed as he watched the motion, unease prickling at the back of his mind.

Jareth was the only one who seemed focused, his expression businesslike as he absorbed the details of their surroundings. Jareth was the first to break the silence. "Where are we heading?" he asked, his tone direct.

Sid, seated at the front of the cart, turned slightly to address them. "The guild has already made reservations at an inn. Impersonating a noble has to be believable, so they chose one of the better establishments. But with the ball coming up, most inns in the city are fully booked. We had to make some compromises."

The cart passed through another gate, the iron portcullis lifting slowly to allow them passage. Thorne glanced up at the towering walls as they entered the next tier of the city. The streets here were narrower, but still bustling with activity. Market stalls lined the road, their colorful awnings shading an array of goods—exotic fruits, finely crafted weapons, and rare spices that filled the air with a heady aroma. The people here were wealthier still, their clothes even more elaborate, their jewelry more extravagant.

Thorne tried to focus on Sid's words, but his attention kept drifting back to Corwin. There was something off about him today. The way his fingers kept slipping into his cloak, the way he seemed to be holding something back—Thorne didn't like it. He had learned to trust his instincts over the years, and right now, they were screaming at him to keep a close eye on Corwin.

Sid's next words jolted Thorne back to the present. "I won't be staying with you," Sid announced, his tone as serious as Thorne had ever heard it. "And I won't interfere in your mission in any way. You'll be on your own."

All four recruits turned to look at their trainer, the weight of his words sinking in. Sid's expression was unreadable as he continued. "Your rooms are already settled. You'll find everything you need for your mission there—clothes, armor, weapons, whatever is necessary to embody your roles. My advice is to read your briefs in detail, especially you, Thorne. You'll be scrutinized the most. But remember, eyes will be on all of you as newcomers."

Rhea's bitterness broke through her silence. "Even us, the lowly guards?" she demanded, her voice sharp.

Sid looked at her impassively. "Who do you think will complete the tasks when Thorne is surrounded by nobles? You may even be tested by others—guards or drunken nobles looking to prove themselves. They might not want to offend a potential ally directly, so they'll go after you. You must be on your guard."

Sid turned his gaze to Corwin. "You, however, will have the most freedom to move around. Servants are overlooked, and you'll have plenty of chances to snoop around."

At first, Corwin's expression was one of anger, his lips pressed into a thin line. But as Sid's words sank in, his look turned calculating. Thorne could almost see the wheels turning in Corwin's mind as he considered the opportunities this role would give him.

Sid's voice grew harder. "Once the mission is complete, you must escape immediately. Don't linger or give anyone the chance to discover what you've done."

As the cart rattled over another uneven patch of road, Thorne's mind raced. The mission was far more complex than he had initially thought, the stakes higher than he'd ever faced. He felt out of his depth, the enormity of the task pressing down on him like the weight of the city itself.

Finally, Thorne spoke up, voicing the doubts that had been gnawing at him since they left the guild. "This mission has a lot of demands. It's obviously crucial to the guild. Why weren't older, more experienced recruits selected instead?"

Jareth gave a slight nod, clearly sharing Thorne's reservations. The cart climbed higher still, the sounds of the city bustling below them as they reached another tier.

Sid looked at Thorne for a long moment, his gaze unreadable. Then, with a voice as cold as steel, he replied, "You'll find out in time… if you're successful."

The cart rolled to a stop in front of an inn that was unlike any place Thorne had ever seen. The street leading up to it was paved with smooth stones, arranged in a careful pattern that guided the eye towards the grand building at its end. Lush, flowering vines crawled up the walls of nearby houses, their bright blooms adding splashes of color to the scene. Lanterns hung from ornate wrought-iron posts, their soft light casting a warm, golden glow over the cobblestones. The air was filled with the scent of jasmine and freshly baked bread, a far cry from the musty, smoke-filled streets of Alvar.

The inn itself was beautiful, its stone walls covered in ivy that had been carefully trimmed to allow for the building's elegant features to shine through.

The entrance was framed by tall, arched windows made of stained glass, each pane depicting scenes from Valewind's storied past. Above the double doors, a sign carved from dark wood and inlaid with gold lettering proclaimed the inn's name: The Golden Stag.

Thorne hopped down from the cart, his boots landing with a soft thud on the stone street. Sid motioned for the driver to move on, and with a brief nod, the man flicked the reins, guiding the donkey-drawn cart away from the inn and down a side street, disappearing into the growing twilight.

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For a moment, the four of them stood in silence, taking in the inn's grandeur and the bustling street around them. The sound of laughter and lively conversation spilled from the open windows of the inn, mingling with the clink of glasses and the occasional burst of music from a bard strumming a lute near the hearth. Patrons, dressed in fine clothes, passed by with easy smiles, their eyes glancing curiously at the newcomers but quickly moving on.

"Well," Jareth finally said, breaking the silence. "I suppose we go in."

Rhea hesitated, her eyes darting towards Thorne before quickly looking away. Corwin fidgeted with the edge of his cloak, his body hunched over, as if afraid to be seen in public. Thorne felt a similar uncertainty gnawing at him, but he pushed it aside. They had a mission, and the first step was getting settled.

"Let's go," Thorne said, his voice firmer than he felt. He led the way towards the inn's grand entrance, the others following close behind.

As they stepped inside, they were immediately enveloped by the warmth and noise of the inn's common room. The interior was just as luxurious as the exterior promised. Rich tapestries adorned the walls, depicting scenes of great battles and mythical beasts. The wooden beams above were dark and polished, supporting a high ceiling that gave the room a sense of openness despite the crowd.

The common room was packed with patrons, their conversations a loud, cheerful hum that filled the air. A roaring fire crackled in a large stone hearth at one end of the room, its flames casting flickering shadows across the polished wood floor.

Long tables were crowded with people, some deep in conversation, others laughing over mugs of ale or plates of food. The bard's music added a melodic backdrop to the lively atmosphere. Serving girls weaved through the throng with practiced ease, balancing trays laden with drinks and platters of roasted meats.

Thorne took a moment to absorb the scene, the atmosphere a strange blend of opulence and activity. It was a far cry from the grim, tense taverns of Alvar, where patrons kept to themselves, wary of thieves or worse. Here, the mood was light, and the patrons seemed genuinely at ease.

They stood near the entrance, unsure of their next move. The opulence and liveliness of the place was slightly overwhelming, especially for Thorne, who had never set foot in such a grand establishment. Even Rhea, usually so confident, seemed out of place, her gaze flicking around the room as if searching for a sign of what to do next.

Jareth took a deep breath and approached the large counter at the far end of the room, where a portly man with a neatly trimmed beard and a jovial expression was chatting with a pair of well-dressed patrons. The man looked up as they approached, his eyes quickly assessing them before a broad smile spread across his face.

"Welcome to The Golden Stag!" the innkeeper greeted them with a warm, booming voice. "How can I assist you today?"

Jareth hesitated for a moment, stumbling slightly over his words as he tried to respond. "We're here on behalf of..."

Thorne stepped in smoothly, picking up where Jareth faltered. "Lord Thorne Silverbane," he said confidently, using the fictional name from his brief. The name rolled off his tongue with ease, as if he had been born to it.

The innkeeper's eyes widened slightly, and a hint of fluster crept into his expression. "Ah, Lord Silverbane! We weren't expecting you so soon," he stammered, quickly regaining his composure. "Your rooms will be ready shortly, but in the meantime, why not enjoy some of our special dishes? The chef is known for his roasted pheasant and spiced wine."

Thorne exchanged glances with the others, sensing their reluctance. They had hoped to get settled quickly, but it seemed they would have to wait. The inn was luxurious, but the atmosphere was tense among them, each of them aware of the importance of maintaining their cover.

"Thank you," Thorne said, giving a polite nod. "We'll take a table and wait."

The innkeeper nodded eagerly, gesturing towards an empty table near the hearth where the bard was playing. "Please, make yourselves comfortable. I'll have the kitchen prepare something special for you."

Reluctantly, the four of them moved towards the table, the lively atmosphere doing little to ease the tension between them. As they sat down, no one was in the mood to talk. Rhea, still fuming, refused to meet Thorne's eyes, while Corwin's nervous energy manifested in the way he kept tapping his fingers on the table.

They sat in silence, absorbing the lively, yet foreign atmosphere. The inn's warmth and comfort were at odds with the unease that gripped them, each of them lost in their own thoughts as they waited for their rooms to be prepared.

A serving girl soon approached with a tray, setting down plates of roasted pheasant, bowls of rich stew, and goblets of spiced wine. The food smelled delicious, but the four recruits barely touched it, their minds too preoccupied to appreciate the meal.

Thorne picked at his food, his thoughts racing. The grandeur of the city, the inn, and the mission ahead all felt overwhelming. He had been trained for many things, but this—this was a whole new world, one that he was usure how to navigate.

As the minutes ticked by, the tension at the table remained thick, none of them willing to break the silence. The lively tunes from the bard's lute were the only sounds that filled the gap.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the innkeeper returned, his smile now strained as he approached their table. "Your rooms are ready," he announced, bowing slightly. "If you'd like, I can show you to them now."

Thorne nodded, grateful for the chance to escape the crowded room. "Yes, please."

The innkeeper led them up the grand staircase. The noise of the common room faded into a distant murmur, replaced by the softer sounds of the upper floors—the creak of wooden beams, the rustle of curtains stirred by a faint breeze. As they reached the third floor, Thorne felt the tension in his shoulders ease slightly, the quieter atmosphere helping him to regain some composure.

Stopping before an intricately carved wooden door, the innkeeper turned to Thorne with a respectful nod. "This will be your room, Lord Silverbane," he said, pushing the door open with a flourish.

Thorne stepped inside, and the innkeeper closed the door behind him, offering him some privacy. The room was opulent, a close second to his own room, in Uncle's manor. The walls were paneled with dark wood, polished to a shine that reflected the flickering light from the hearth. A large, canopied bed dominated the room, draped in rich fabrics of deep crimson and gold, with pillows piled high against the headboard.

To one side of the room, a tall wardrobe stood next to a full-length mirror and writing desk sat near the window, upon which rested a quill and inkwell, along with several sheets of fine parchment. The window itself was framed by heavy curtains, tied back to reveal a view of the courtyard below, the twinkling lights from the inn's garden casting soft shadows against the walls.

At the foot of the bed, Thorne noticed a small chest—simple, yet sturdy, its brass fittings glinting in the firelight. Curious, he knelt down and unlatched it, lifting the lid to see what was inside.

Inside, neatly arranged, were several pouches of coins, far more than Thorne had ever seen in one place. He picked up one of the pouches, feeling the weight of the coins inside, the reality of his new role settling in.

Beneath the pouches was a small, velvet-lined box. Opening it, Thorne found a signet ring, its polished surface engraved with the emblem of the noble house he was to impersonate—House Silverbane. The ring was heavy, the craftsmanship exquisite, designed to be both a symbol of power and a tool to seal important documents.

Next to the box was a rolled-up piece of parchment, sealed with a wax emblem matching the one on the ring. Thorne broke the seal and unrolled the parchment, skimming through its contents.

It detailed the history of House Silverbane, a fictional lineage created by the guild, filled with facts and important information he would need to know to maintain his cover. The parchment listed allies, enemies, and notable figures within the house, along with key phrases and traditions that would lend authenticity to his performance.

After committing as much as he could to memory, Thorne set the parchment aside and turned his attention to the wardrobe. Opening it, he found an array of finely made clothes—tunics, trousers, cloaks, and doublets, all in the rich fabrics and vibrant colors he had seen nobles wear during his time on the streets, begging for a few coins. The garments were tailored perfectly, each one a show of wealth and status.

Thorne sighed. How had he come to this? From a street urchin in Alvar, begging for scraps, to impersonating a noble in one of the wealthiest cities in the kingdom. It felt surreal, like a dream that could turn into a nightmare at any moment.

He flopped onto the bed, the soft mattress sinking beneath him. The new role he had to play felt overwhelming, and the fact that he had to cooperate with Rhea and Corwin made things even more difficult.

Hours passed as Thorne lay on the bed, his mind racing with thoughts of the mission ahead. The distant clamor from downstairs began to wane, replaced by the softer sounds of the inn settling into the quiet of the night. Eventually, he sat up, his instincts telling him that it was time to act.

Thorne focused his keen hearing to monitor the rooms of Rhea, Jareth, and Corwin. He could sense their presence, the faint sounds of their breathing assuring him that they were asleep. When he was certain that the others had turned in for the night, he decided it was time.

Moving with the silence he had perfected during his training, Thorne eased the door open, careful not to make a sound. He stepped out into the dimly lit hallway, the soft glow from the sconces barely illuminating his path. He closed the door quietly behind him, making sure not to alert Rhea or Corwin.

With light feet, he began to descend the stairs but as he reached the halfway point, a sudden sound made him freeze.

"Where do you think you're going?"

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