Thorne sat at the small table in his room, the late afternoon light casting long shadows across the wooden floor. The others—Jareth, Rhea, and Corwin—were gathered around him, each holding a copy of their assigned tasks for the evening.

Everyone was tense and uneasy, the weight of the night's mission hanging over them like a storm cloud.

Jareth was the first to speak. "We need to be clear on the objectives," he began, his voice steady and calm.

"Thorne, you'll handle the social aspect—getting close to the targets and making sure you're seen by the right people. Rhea and I will stick close to you as bodyguards, but we'll also keep an eye out for opportunities to locate the envelope or take out the target. Corwin…"

He turned to the shifty-eyed boy, who had been uncharacteristically quiet. "You'll be responsible for stealing valuables for the guild. Servants aren't often noticed, and you'll have the best chance to slip into restricted areas."

Corwin nodded, his eyes flicking up to meet Jareth's before quickly darting away. "I'll do what it needs to be done," he muttered, his voice carrying an edge of something Thorne couldn't quite place.

Thorne leaned back in his chair, studying the faces of his companions.

Rhea's expression was a mixture of determination and frustration, likely still brooding over the fact that she would mostly stay on the sidelines.

Jareth remained focused, his body language betraying little beyond his usual professionalism.

Corwin, however, was difficult to read—his typical nervous energy subdued, replaced by a strange calmness that made Thorne's instincts prickle.

"Remember," Thorne said, letting his voice take on the authoritative tone he'd been practicing, "we need to be in and out without drawing too much attention. This mission is about precision, not chaos. Stick to your roles, and we'll get through this."

Rhea nodded, though there was a flicker of doubt in her eyes. Jareth grunted in agreement, while Corwin's lips curled into a faint, almost mocking smile.

With the plan laid out, the others dispersed, leaving Thorne alone to prepare.

He stood in front of the mirror, eyeing his reflection critically. Over the past few days, he had come to appreciate the finer things in life—the luxurious fabrics, the intricate designs of his clothing, the way they made him feel as though he truly belonged among the nobles he was meant to deceive.

Yet, despite the growing ease with which he wore these trappings, there remained a part of him that felt out of place, an imposter in these gilded halls, like he was still the homeless orphan he once was.

He reached up, his fingers brushing against the small silver pendant that hung around his neck. The pendant was a constant reminder of his family, of his past, and the secret he kept close to his heart.

Thorne grasped it between his fingers, feeling the steady hum of aether coursing through it. He had long since learned to control the flow of aether, using it to subtly enhance his appearance—just enough to make him more alluring, more captivating, without revealing too much of his true nature.

Tonight, however, he wanted something more. The stakes were higher, the dangers greater, and he needed every advantage he could muster. Slowly, Thorne began to manipulate the aether within the pendant, dialing back the flow until he felt a shift in his appearance. As he looked back at his reflection, he saw his features sharpen, becoming more defined, more striking. His eyes took on a brighter, almost ethereal glow, and his skin seemed to emit a faint, otherworldly light.

For a moment, Thorne was mesmerized by the transformation. His appearance was no longer just enhanced—it was transcendent, as if he had crossed a threshold into something beyond human. His features had taken on an almost mystical quality, too perfect, too radiant, as if he were a being of pure magic rather than flesh and blood.

But even as he marveled at the change, Thorne knew it was too much. Anyone would see through the illusion, and even those without magical senses would find his appearance unsettling, perhaps even terrifying. The last thing he needed was to draw that kind of attention.

With a sigh, he began to dial back the aether flow, carefully adjusting it until he struck the right balance. His reflection now showed a young man of striking beauty, with an aura of subtle charm that would capture attention without raising too many questions.

His eyes retained a faint glow, just enough to make others linger on his gaze a moment longer than they should, while his features remained sharp but grounded in the realm of the believable.

Thorne reached for the silver brooch he had impulsively purchased earlier that day—a small sapling with two symmetrical leaves. It had caught his eye during his shopping trip with Alden, a rare moment of sentimentality breaking through his carefully constructed facade.

The brooch reminded him of his mother, though he couldn't quite place why. Perhaps it was the simplicity of the design, or the way it seemed to hold a quiet strength despite its delicate appearance.

As he pinned the brooch to his lapel, he thought back to that morning with Alden. The young noble had been unusually quiet, a stark contrast to his usual chatter. In fact, Alden had been so subdued that Thorne had forgotten he was there more than once, only to be startled by his presence when he spoke up. It was unlike Alden to be so unobtrusive, and now, in the silence of his room, Thorne couldn't help but wonder if there had been something more to it.

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Shaking off the thought, Thorne turned to the wardrobe, his eyes scanning the array of finely made clothes hanging inside. He selected a dark, tailored suit, the fabric soft and expensive against his skin. The jacket was a deep shade of midnight blue, almost black, with subtle silver embroidery along the cuffs and collar.

He paired it with a crisp white shirt and a silk cravat, tying it with practiced precision. The outfit was completed with polished black boots and a matching waistcoat that hugged his frame perfectly.

Finally, he combed his hair back, the dark strands gleaming under the soft light. The reflection staring back at him was one of refinement and poise, his features sharp and regal.

He had come a long way from the boy who had begged for coins in the dirty streets of Alvar. Now, he looked every bit the noble he was pretending to be, his posture exuding confidence and authority.

But as he adjusted his appearance, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing. Jewelry, perhaps. Alden had suggested it earlier, pointing out how the right accessories could elevate one's status among the elite. But Thorne had been reluctant, uncomfortable with the idea of adorning himself with anything more than the brooch.

With a final glance in the mirror, Thorne was satisfied with his appearance. He had perfected the art of deception, masking the turmoil beneath with a veneer of charm and sophistication. Tonight, he would need every bit of that skill to navigate the dangers that awaited him at the ball.

*

The journey to the fortress at the highest point of Valewind was made in a rented carriage, a necessity to maintain his noble façade. As they ascended the winding roads, Thorne gazed out of the window, taking in the breathtaking view of the ancient city below.

Valewind was built like a fortress, its architecture reminiscent of a bygone era when it served as the last line of defense against the neighboring elven kingdom. The city rose in tiers, each level connected by steep, narrow streets that wound their way up the hill. The buildings were tall and imposing, constructed from heavy stone that had weathered countless years of conflict.

The streets were clogged with carriages, each one vying for position as they inched their way upward. Drivers shouted at one another in frustration, their voices mingling with the clatter of hooves on cobblestone.

The air was thick with anticipation, as nobles dressed in their finest garments peered out of their windows, eager to reach the palace at the summit. Thorne watched as they passed through the different tiers, each level more opulent than the last.

The lower tiers were crowded with commoners going about their daily lives, while the upper tiers were reserved for the wealthy and powerful, the ancient families who had lived there for generations. Their grand homes and lush gardens standing in stark contrast to the cramped streets below.

As they neared the top, the view became even more breathtaking. From this vantage point, Thorne could see the entire city spread out beneath him, a vast labyrinth of streets and alleys crisscrossing between the sturdy walls that encircled each tier.

The palace itself was a sprawling complex, its towers reaching high into the sky, each one offering an unobstructive view of the city and the surrounding countryside. The fortress-like structure loomed over Valewind, a reminder of the city's storied past. The walls were impossibly thick, studded with watchtowers and battlements that spoke of the countless battles fought to protect this last bastion of the kingdom.

Thorne's heart pounded as the carriage rolled to a stop in the expansive courtyard of the ancient palace. The towering structure loomed above them. This was the highest point of Valewind, where the elite gathered, far removed from the grime and desperation of the lower tiers.

The palace, both fortress and monument, overlooked the city with a commanding presence, its walls lined with torches that flickered in the twilight, casting long shadows across the cobblestone streets.

The courtyard was bustling with activity. Nobles dressed in elaborate finery exited their carriages with practiced grace, their laughter and conversation filling the air. Groups gathered in clusters, exchanging pleasantries and discussing the evening ahead. The scene was vibrant, full of life, but beneath the surface, Thorne could sense the undercurrents of rivalry and ambition that ran deep in this world.

Thorne stepped out of the carriage, his polished boots touching the ground with deliberate precision. The crisp evening air kissed his face, and he took a moment to steady himself, adjusting his jacket and smoothing his cravat.

As he moved toward the entrance, his companions fell in line behind him. Rhea and Jareth, clad in armor that was both functional and finely crafted, flanked him as his bodyguards. Corwin, dressed in the plain garb of a servant, lingered a few steps back, his eyes scanning the crowd with a mix of apprehension and calculation. Thorne could feel the tension among them, the silent understanding that tonight would be a test unlike any other they had gone through as the Lost Ones.

The grand entrance to the palace was a sight to behold. Massive doors, intricately carved with scenes of battle and victory, stood open, allowing the steady stream of guests to flow inside. Guards, clad in ceremonial armor, stood at attention, their expressions stern as they checked invitations and ensured that only those with the proper credentials were admitted.

Thorne approached the guard at the entrance and produced the invitation the guild had secured for him. The guard took the parchment, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized the fine print and the seal. Thorne held his breath, knowing that the slightest mistake could unravel everything. But after a tense pause, the guard nodded and stepped aside, allowing him entry.

As they passed through the gates, the grandeur of the palace unfolded before them. The interior was a marvel of architecture and design, with vaulted ceilings, marble columns, and chandeliers that sparkled with a thousand crystals. The walls were adorned with statues depicting ancient kings, standing sentinels over the overindulgent nobles.

The crowd inside was just as impressive as the palace itself. Nobles from across the kingdom had gathered, their attire a dazzling display of wealth and status. Women in gowns of silk and velvet, encrusted with jewels, moved gracefully among the throngs of men dressed in tailored suits and military regalia. The air was thick with the scent of perfume and cologne, mingling with the soft notes of music that floated from the grand ballroom.

Thorne paused at the entrance to the ballroom, turning to give one last set of instructions. His voice was low, meant only for the ears of those closest to him. "Remember your roles. Rhea, Jareth, you know what to do. Corwin... You do... You. I'll handle the rest."

He was about to turn and enter when he noticed Alden standing just behind him. Thorne's heart skipped a beat—how had Alden approached without any of them noticing? His presence was so unobtrusive, so quiet, that even Thorne's finely honed instincts had missed him.

Alden greeted him with a smile, though there was an intensity in his eyes that Thorne found unsettling.

"Thorne," Alden said, his tone as smooth as ever. "I was wondering when you'd arrive. Shall we?"

Thorne nodded, his expression carefully neutral as they stepped into the grand ballroom together. The space was vast, with high ceilings and tall windows that offered a panoramic view of the city below.

The room was bathed in a warm golden light, the chandeliers casting a soft glow over the polished marble floors. Nobles mingled in clusters, their conversations punctuated by the clinking of crystal glasses and the soft strains of the orchestra playing in the background.

For a moment Thorne simply stood there watching the display of excess and wealth with a dazed expression. Guests passed him by, waving, smiling or greeting someone and for a moment Thorne felt like he didn't belong.

He wanted to run.

But the night was just beginning, and he had a mission to complete.

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