Morning had barely broken over the Greyhold Compound, yet tension hung as thick in the air as the smoke from its chimneys. Ruth felt it in the way the laborers loitered about, avoiding their workstations, in how the guards shuffled their feet instead of standing firm. Dejection clung to them like soot from the forges—dark, smothering, and difficult to scrub away. The embers of last night's failure still burned hot in Ruth's chest, and she was determined to stoke them into something useful.

Her boots echoed sharply against the stone as she strode through the courtyard, waking up the sleepy guards who had already congregated in the early light. The workers—blacksmiths, tanners, and traders alike—lingered at the edges, their voices hushed but anxious. They had all heard the news. The Shy and a pack of kobolds had escaped.

She reached the center of the yard and turned, eyes sweeping over those gathered. Their faces reflected unease, exhaustion, and worst of all—doubt. That doubt needed to be properly directed.

She took a breath, then let her voice ring out, shrill and commanding.

"Look at this mess!" she barked. "Last night's incompetence will cost us dearly! A bunch of runts made fools of us. You fine with that?"

Her words sliced through the murmurs. Heads turned. The workers' eyes grazed over the remnants of the failed chase—muddy footprints, scattered crates, overturned barrels, the scent of nervous sweat lingering in the air.

Ruth continued, pressing forward with controlled fury.

"The Shy were always a risk. We bound them with too loose a chain, and now they've snapped it!"

She let the weight of her words settle before delivering the next blow. The crowd shifted uneasily.

"And the kobolds?" She probed with a cunning edge. "Turns out they aren't as simple-minded as we thought. Some of them can think well enough to flee the nest."

One of the smiths, a burly man with soot-streaked arms, crossed his arms. "The lizards are still laying, aren't they? We still have most of them."

Ruth rounded on him. "For how long?" she shot back. "What happens when they decide they won't give their eggs up without a fight? What if they stop laying eggs altogether?"

A few nods rippled through the group. Someone coughed. A tanner scratched the back of his neck, muttering, "Without those little Shy ones churnin' out the little bits, production's gonna take a big hit."

She let the silence stretch before stepping closer, lowering her voice so only those nearest could hear.

"Rhiannon thinks she can make up for their loss with magic tricks," she hissed. "But my beloved sister, brilliant as she is, tends to get too distracted by her pet projects to see what's happening right under her nose. She's always been more interested in her experiments than in the people who keep this place running. And now, we're paying the price for her distractions."

Someone in the huddle whispered back. "What do ye reckon we do, Miss Ruth?"

Ruth harrumphed, a conspiratorial smile cracking the hardness of her face. "Well, even if she won't do something about it, doesn't mean we can't."

From her window, Rhiannon watched the assembly unfold. Her sister was stirring the workers into something dangerous. That much was obvious.

The overseer was no fool. She had expected unrest after the escape, but she had underestimated just how quickly Ruth would seize upon it. That was her miscalculation. She wouldn't make another.

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. She already knew who it was. "Enter."

The door creaked open, and Ruth stepped inside, her face a roiling mask of barely contained exasperation.

"You're screwing things up, Rhiannon," Ruth burst in, as bluntly as she dared.

Rhiannon didn't turn. "What things?" she asked calmly.

"Don't play games with me," Ruth snapped. "The Shy are gone. And by not acting more forcefully, you're letting them get away with embarrassing us, jeopardizing the entire operation."

Rhiannon finally turned, fixing her sister with an expression of calm detachment. "But one of them—Veyran—is still here, assisting me on an undertaking significantly more rewarding than mere clockworks," she pointed out. "If I were truly 'letting them get away,' he wouldn't be."

"You know what I mean," Ruth arched an eyebrow at the mention of the Deepshy's name. "So, you're on a first name basis with the little rat already, eh? I'm sure he helped them escape. I should break his legs for it."

"And what, pray tell, would that accomplish?" Rhiannon countered.

"It would send a message!" Ruth shot back. "One you refuse to hammer down. Do you even see what's happening? The workers don't trust you anymore. They're watching you, sister. Wondering how much longer you'll keep this place together."

Rhiannon's lips curled into the barest hint of a smile. "Do they, now? Let them wonder, if it keeps them occupied."

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Ruth narrowed her eyes. "You think this is funny? Or are you just too wrapped up in your little amusements to see the danger?"

"As you have before, I believe you misunderstand me, sister," Rhiannon rebutted, shaking her head. "That's always been your problem, Ruth. You see force as the only solution. But force is messy. And short-sighted."

She stepped closer. "I don't need to rule through fear," she affirmed. "I rule through carefully weighing which decisions are worth my direct intervention for the most positive outcomes. And you, dear sister, are leaning towards the negative."

For a fraction of a second, Ruth faltered. But then she snarled, "We'll see about that."

She turned on her heel and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

Rhiannon exhaled slowly, then looked back out the window. The workers below were still uneasy, huddling nervously in clusters.

She would have to move carefully.

"Are you awake now, Deepshy?" she called out across the room.

Veyran sat up from his hiding place behind the velvet-covered pillow. He kept his breathing steady, though the weight of past events pressed against his chest like the hard grip of a human hand.

The others were gone. He had acutely felt their absence the moment he awoke in Uiska's literally gilded cage. The only sounds he heard now were human. No more whispered conversations in Shy, no more snarky quips from Sela, or Mara's soothing reassurances.

He had secured their escape. And yet, here he was, alone among enemies, bound not by chains but by the cold calculation of a woman who now determined his fate.

Across from him, Rhiannon sat at her desk, fingers steepled beneath her chin. She hadn't addressed him directly in some time, letting him settle into his new circumstances at his own pace. It didn't feel like this was either more due to either indifference or concern, but more like a test.

Finally, she exhaled. "You heard my sister. So, your friends have managed to let themselves out…"

Veyran lifted his gaze. "So I've gathered."

"You knew they would," she continued, tone detached. "You knew, and yet you sat here playing your little magic games with me."

Veyran bowed his head contritely, "We had a deal. And if I had left, I wouldn't have the pleasure of your company."

Her mouth twitched, amusement flickering in her expression before vanishing beneath something harder. He had not lied to her about magic. That was why she had kept him. Why she had made the bargain. Because he could teach her something no human could.

"I should be furious," she mused. "Ruth certainly is. She's been barking about punishments all morning. Bone breakings, lashings—very dramatic." She waved a hand as if brushing away an insect. "And yet, here you are. Whole. Untouched. Do you know why?"

Veyran's heart pulsed faster, but he ended up lifting his head slightly. "I'm your new curiosity?"

"Because I see value," Rhiannon corrected. She leaned forward slightly, her gaze sharp as a dagger's edge. "And you, little Deepshy, are not a thing I will carelessly discard."

She let that settle before standing, opening her drawer to reveal the large arclith stone in its box. She trailed her fingers over its surface, unwittingly channeling some of its charge. "The workers grow uneasy. My sister schemes. Everything is shifting, Veyran. Which means… it's high time for a reinvention."

She turned back her full attention to him, unclasping the cage door. "Time to teach me your magic."

Veyran stepped up on the pillow and put his hands on his hips. From this vantage point, he was roughly eye to eye with the overseer.

"How would you like us to start?"

Magic was all about control. Veyran had always known this. It wasn't just about raw power—it was about understanding the limits of what energies could be drawn, shaped, or released.

And Rhiannon was a woman who thrived on control.

She watched him intently as he adjusted his stance atop her desk, feet firmly planted on a stack of ledgers he was using as a platform, hands hovering over the arclith.

"The first thing to understand," Veyran began, "Is that magic is an exchange… a negotiation between your will and the energy available. You don't command it. You direct it."

Rhiannon folded her arms. "That's a poetic way of putting it. But impractical as a lesson."

Veyran grinned. "Pardon my… wordplay. I merely tried to put into simpler terms what has become instinctive to us in the Deep."

He closed his eyes briefly, letting the warmth of the stone's power pulse against his palm. "Think of it this way. Each shard holds a charge of energy, ready to be utilized. With the proper focus, you can coax it to apply itself to your desired purpose."

Rhiannon didn't react, but he could sense the impatience humming beneath her composed exterior.

"Show me," she demanded.

He lifted a hand, whispering the Control Flames cantrip as he let the magic trickle outward. A small ripple of energy shimmered through the air, stirring the candle's flame. It flared brighter, taller—then steadied, its glow casting a richer hue across the room.

Rhiannon stared intensely into the fire. "And the amplitude of these effects… they're dependent more on your will, or on the charge?"

"It's a balance," Veyran replied. "The charge amplifies what's already possible. The candle burns naturally, but with magic, I can shape that burn. Direct it."

He lifted a single finger. The flame stretched sideways, dancing toward Rhiannon as if drawn by invisible threads. She did not flinch.

"Fascinating," she murmured. "What else can you do?"

Veyran let the flame return to normal. "Aren't you more curious about what you can do?"

Like a cat led to cream, Rhiannon perked up at the challenge. "I thought you'd never ask."

"Let's start with something less… ambitious," Veyran cautioned.

By ingratiating himself with the overseer, he had managed to buy time for himself, and by extension, the other Shy. That much was clear.

Rhiannon was an intelligent woman, one who saw magic not as an abstract wonder, but as a tool. That made her dangerous, but also predictable.

She would want to master the basics first, more practical applications. She wouldn't waste her time on esoteric theories or unproductive experiments. That meant Veyran could curate what she learned. Teach her just enough to see him as indispensable. But never past the point that would make her come close to even the least impressive Deepshy master.

That balance would be delicate. One misstep, one slip of the tongue, and she might realize how much he was holding back.

And then, well—she may not be as keen to shield him from her sister's ire.

By the time their lesson ended, Rhiannon sat back in her chair, fingers lightly drumming against her desk. Her eyes narrowed as she studied the Shy.

"You're a liar," she said suddenly.

Veyran blinked. "Pardon?"

"You said the other Shy, the Sunshy, know nothing about magic," Rhiannon mused. "And yet, you deny helping them. I doubt they could have slipped past Ruth and the guards without any form of magical assistance. So, which is the truth?"

Veyran tensed but tried to act casual, shrugging. "They… may have come up with a few tricks on their own. And they had the pika and the kobolds helping as well…"

Rhiannon tapped Veyran's head with her finger as he sputtered over his excuses, ruffling his slicked back coif. "You're a smooth talker, for sure. A dangerous trait, that."

She sighed, reaching for the arclith stone once more, her fingers tracing idle patterns across its surface just before she latched its box shot. "You'll teach me again tomorrow," she said. It wasn't a request.

Veyran bowed his head slightly, masking his relief. "Of course, Rhiannon."

As she dismissed him, he climbed down from the desk, using the drawers and shelves as handholds, moving back toward the cushion and cage where he had been given leave to rest.

He had survived another day. Gained another inch of trust. The game may have changed, but the score was far from decided. And if he played it right, he might just be able to rewrite the rules.

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