Back at the Guild, the living room felt pleasantly quiet without the others in it.

  Dain shut the door with his heel, shrugged his satchel off his shoulders, and dropped before the dining table with a heavy groan. Afternoon light slanted through the balcony window, striping the room in pale gold, and it made the glass jars on the table gleam faintly.

  “Alright,” he muttered, rubbing his creaky joints. “Brains first.”

  He clapped his hands once, and the air in front of him swirled until the reddish-purple portal opened.

  As Belara’s pale hands slipped out of the portal, he nudged three of the four brain jars forward.

  “Hey, Belara,” he said. “Good to see you again. Anything going on inside the Divine Museum?”

  The pale hands shook as if to say ‘get on with it already’, so he coughed and tapped the jars.

  “I’d like a Cognitum-Class relic this time,” he said. “These are steelplated scorpion queen hivemind brains. Obric calls them the roaches of the mines, but roaches wish they were half as intelligent as steelplated scorpions. These brains are highly empathic—the queens can telepathically link their thoughts and senses to their children—so I’d like these to go center-stage. As for the base offerings…”

  He reached into his Void Archivist’s Satchel, and—with a small flourish that would’ve impressed any buyer on Corvalenne’s streets—drew out three iron-grey keys and set them down in a neat row. They were long and narrow, teeth cut in swirly academic sigils, and their handles engraved with faded Ostravian script. He couldn’t read them, but he knew they were Ostravian—only the golden-haired across the sea wrote this messily on their designs.

  “These beauties are academy gate keys from the Old Ostravian Empire,” he said, unable to stop himself from sounding a little smug. “They’re authentic antiquities I found stashed away in the local materials store. In the old times, they were used for grand faculty halls and archive doors, which means lots of history and lots of minds went in and out of them. They’re high quality. Well-preserved. Given their history of being around bright minds, I thought they might ground the brains nicely as base offerings.”

  The nearest hand pinched one of the keys up, turning it slowly to catch the light. Another hand hovered over the queen brains, fingers tapping thoughtfully against the glass.

  “As for side offerings…” He dug around in the satchel again, then dropped a small leather pouch onto the table. When he untied it, fractured quartz shards spilled out like a handful of cloudy ice. “Fractured quartz shards,” he said. “I will admit, I’m not sure why most mental-type beasts have quartz shards found in their brains after dissection, but the fact that they’re there means they should boost the efficacy of Cognitum-Class relics in general. I figured you’d like them.”

  Belara’s hands went still.

  For a heartbeat, they hovered over the arranged offerings—three brains at the center, keys in a row, quartz scattered like salt—then, in a blur, the hands swept everything into the portal.

  Dain leaned back and rubbed his sore neck while he waited.

  “Please be a useful cursed relic,” he murmured. “Something to help me read people better. Or track someone. Preferably both.”

  Waiting never got easier with Belara. Time around the portal always felt elastic, every breath stretching longer than it usually seemed to. He listened to the muffled bustle of the Guild outside, the creak of the building settling in the coming storm, and the distant clank of someone dropping armor down the hallway. That might just be Kargun dropping his gauntlets, but he couldn’t be sure.

  Then the portal swirled brighter as the hands emerged, three of them holding a key.

  These didn’t carry the academic grey of the originals. These keys were blackened iron, edges slick with a faint, oily sheen of purple that twisted in the light. Each was also ringed with tiny, overlapping teeth that looked uncomfortably like ridged vertebrae, and the Ostravian script had also been carved away and replaced with an unfamiliar script written in what seemed like ice—but whatever the words meant, the heavy, intimidating pressure wafting off the keys filled the room anyways, making his shoulders tense.

  The hands set the three keys on the table in a clean row, then withdrew as he reached out and brushed one with his fingertips.

  ***

  Name: Darkmind Key

  Type: Active Cognitum-Class Cursed Relic, Common-9

  Attribute Addition: None

  Ability Description: When stabbed into someone, the key holder will be able to directly experience the person’s darkest core memories over a period of time. This does not work on people that are more than ten grades higher than this relic. The activation cost is 20 mana, and the relic will shatter once it is used.

  However, the holder will also directly inherit the traumas sustained by the original person after reading their memories completely.

  ***

  The cursed effect hit him in the gut.

  After reading someone’s darkest core memories, he’d inherit their traumas.

  That is… spectacularly awful.

  And spectacularly useful at the same time. There was that old merchant’s adage: ‘a man is shaped as much by the nights that broke him as the dawns that saved him’. If a man’s brightest memories would tell him someone’s ideals, then the darkest ones would tell him their truth—and the Darkmind Keys would hand him that truth on a platter.

  … At the price of carving their wounds into his own bones.

  A cold shiver slid down his spine. Belara, in all her divine generosity, had once again handed him something brilliant and deranged in the same breath. If he used these recklessly, he’d crumble long before he ever cornered the one-eyed, but if he used them carefully—and only the one-eyed, provided he could get close enough to one of them to stab the key into their bodies…

  That could be a perfect read on them.

  He couldn’t deny their worth.

  So he pocketed the keys carefully as if they might disappear, and a moment later, he pushed a glass bottle alongside the wrapped slabs of scorpion meat forward. “Thanks for the keys. I still have offerings for you, though, so could I get a Manabrew Potion first?”

  The hands vanished with his offerings and returned in the blink of an eye with a fizzling purple potion, which would give eight mana and point-four mana regeneration at the cost of making his joints heavier for one more day.

  He didn’t think he’d be doing any adventuring work for a little while longer to rest his body, and considering it was now his seventh week on the road—and he’d only drank six potions so far—he could easily drink a seventh potion now without having to fear for any repercussions.

  He downed the potion quickly and felt heat blooming beneath his ribs.

  ***

  Name: Dain Sorowyn

  Grade: Common-9

  Cursed Title: Collector

  Title Ability: Eye of Belara

  Acquired Skills: None

  Might: 14 (+6)

  Swiftness: 13 (+3)

  Resilience: 12 (+1)

  Clarity: 25 (+1)

  Mana: 100/100 (+3.4/hr)

  Relics: Windscar Prosthetic Arm (Common-7), Bloodlight Eye (Common-2), Firelight Oreblade Cane (Common-9), Silverplume Wingcloak (Common-6), Void Archivist’s Pouch (Uncommon-2), 3x Darkmind Key (Common-9)

  ***

  “You can leave for now, but please don’t go to sleep just yet,” he murmured, wincing as even tilting his head made his neck bones creak a little. “I’m not quite finished today.”

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Belara’s hands lingered outside the portal, fingers tapping together in a gesture that said ‘what is it?’

  In response, Dain picked up the glass case on the floor beside him, plopped it onto the table, and unlatched the lid. The assortment of loose metal components immediately spilled out: jointed brass limbs, featherlight alloy plates, carved core-housing shaped like a tiny ribcage, and plenty of other strange-looking parts that required patient assembling.

  The pile of metal on the table looked less like a future relic and more like someone had gutted a clockwork menagerie over his dinner space. In any case, an instruction scroll lay beside the heap, weighed down by a curved beak-plate. He unrolled the scroll, skimmed it once, and scowled.

  I’m not reading this.

  The handwriting was cramped, the sentences ran together in one long, breathless mess, and the diagrams… well, they looked as if someone had drawn them while falling down a flight of stairs.

  Still, the general idea was clear enough: build the shell, insert the mechanical core, and offer it to Enmar, Smith of the Artifice Wing. In his case, though, he’d be offering it to Belara.

  Sighing, he cracked his neck and set the scroll aside.

  I was a carpenter before I was a merchant.

  I don’t need an instruction scroll.

  His silverplume wings unfurled from his back in a soft rustle, feathers gleaming. He flexed them once. “You two, help me out,” he said. “No pecking, no mischief. You’re extra hands today.”

  One wing curled forward as if offended by the implication. The other simply nudged a brass limb towards him in tacit agreement, and—sensing the assembly process was likely going to take a while—Belara closed the portal so he could call upon her at a later time.

  With that, he started.

  Years of repairing furniture, fixing wagon wheels, and occasionally disassembling toy houses in Corvalenne’s back alleys had taught him one thing: parts usually made sense if you understood weight, balance, and where stress wanted to travel. He picked up a jointed limb, inspected the grooves, then matched it to a socket on the core housing, listening for the right click. A hinge pin followed. Then another.

  Hours blurred. Afternoon light shifted over the table, inching from bright to mellow. He chained tiny cogs into a spine, adjusted the angle of shoulder joints, and muttered under his breath whenever something refused to fit.

  “That lock clasp goes… here? No, if I hook it there, the rotation will jam.” He scratched his head, pulled the assembly apart, turned two pieces around, and tried again. “Alright. Here… I think?”

  His wings worked almost on instinct. One held a gear steady while he tightened a screw. The other balanced a plate so he could line up holes. Occasionally they knocked something over and he snapped at them, but they settled quickly, more focused than they had any right to be.

  Still, there was only so far carpentry instincts could take him.

  By the time the window shadows lengthened and the sun was about to dusk, he sat hunched over a half-completed torso, eye twitching. The ribcage that’d house the mechanical core refused to align with the neck column. Every time he thought he had it, the hinge for the head would stick out at a ridiculous angle.

  He tried another configuration. The neck still sat wrong. He tried flipping the connecting brace. Wrong again. Eventually, he let his hands fall away from the construct and closed his eye, willing inspiration to appear.

  Just then, footsteps and the smell of fried dough reached him, followed by Anisa barging through the living room. “We are back! And before you say anything, yes, we brought some snacks for…”

  She stopped short as she noticed the half-assembled construct on the table.

  Then she blurred across the room in a single, breezy stride and leaned over his shoulder before he could even hide the mess of parts.

  “Oh, this looks delightful,” she said, voice brightening. “Are you building something? May I assist?”

  He didn’t look up. “You’ll probably cause more harm than—”

  A chair scraped. She was already sitting beside him, expression prim as a scholar presenting her thesis while Yasmin stood behind her chair. “Nonsense. My father spoiled me with far too many figurines when I was younger. I assembled dozens of intricate ones with tiny interchangeable hands, so I can absolutely help.”

  Dain almost groaned, but she was already reaching for a gear with delicate fingers, so he surrendered and shifted aside to make room.

  The two of them fell into a rhythm surprisingly quickly. His wings handled the fiddlier pieces, acting like impatient assistants, while Anisa murmured little observations about misaligned joints and crooked slots as if she’d studied metalwork her entire life.

  Yasmin hovered behind them, arms folded, but an unmistakable smile tugged at her normally stern mouth.

  “I’ll fetch dinner,” she said. “You two work on… whatever this is.”

  Thirty more minutes passed with them bent over the table, hands brushing as they scrambled for screws or debated which hinge belonged where. At some point, Yasmin returned with a tray of battered flatbread, roasted yam, and seasoned poultry skewers. They ate between tightening locks and hammering stubborn clasps, until finally—

  The last cog slid into place.

  Both he and Anisa exhaled the same exhausted breath.

  “Alright,” Dain muttered. “Moment of truth. Leave the room for a second so I can use my Altar, will you?"

  Anisa arched a brow. "And why can we not watch you open it? Where is your Altar, anyways?"

  And oh, he really, really thought about just telling the two of them about Belara. Yasmin, at least, was someone he'd judged would probably not make too much of a fuss about his ability to open portals whenever he wanted, but even if Anisa would, it was probably worth it to give her a decent explanation. At this point, he needed people in his corner—really in his corner—who could help corroborate his stories whenever it came to explaining where he was getting his relics from.

  But... maybe not now.

  Tomorrow, he thought to himself. I'll get my story straight tonight, think about how they might respond, and tell them when the time is right.

  For now, he just shooed the girls off. "I've reduced its size so it can fit under my cloak without looking suspicious, but I'd still rather not let you see, so scram."

  Anisa frowned one more time, and Yasmin mirrored her. They definitely knew he was still hiding something, but they respected his want for secrecy and stepped out of the room nevertheless, closing the door behind them.

  That, more than anything, was proof enough to him that they could truly be trusted.

  He clapped once, and Belara’s portal unfurled once again.

  “Here, Great Belara,” he said, pushing forward the assembled construct shell, the mechanical core, the last hivemind brain, and an entire mound of silverplume feathers he’d bought from the relics store. “You know what I’m going for. I'd prefer a construct that could read my mind, but… I trust you. Give me something useful.”

  The pale hands snatched everything inside.

  A heartbeat passed.

  A second heartbeat passed.

  Then—one by one—the hands emerged again, placing not a single item, but two onto the table before retreating back into the portal.

  The first item was his metallic construct: a small three-horned owl with silverplume wings, its eyes made of deep violet glass.

  The second item was a silver owl mask.

  Dain blinked.

  ***

  Name: Silverplume Owl Construct & Mask

  Type: Passive Implement-Class Cursed Relic, Common-9

  Attribute Addition: None

  Ability Description: The holder can command the silverplume owl construct to do their bidding. When wearing the mask, the holder can see through the construct’s eyes. The passive drain is 2 mana regeneration per hour.

  However, the silverplume owl construct is sentient, and it may not heed the holder’s commands if it is not properly taken care of.

  ***

  … So I can see through the owl’s eyes while I’m wearing the mask?

  And the owl’s sentient as well?

  The owl immediately confirmed this with a mechanical whirr, hopping onto his shoulder with shocking dexterity. It tilted its head once—then it began ruthlessly pecking at his hair.

  “Ow! Stop—”

  His wingcloak immediately flared in outrage, silverplume feathers puffing up as if affronted, and the wings swatted at the owl. The owl struck back with a metallic chirp. The wings flapped again. The owl retaliated harder.

  “Ow, holy shit—Belara, why—just—can you help me out a little—”

  The portal closed without mercy, and—hearing the feathery commotion—the two girls outside promptly barged back into the room. Yasmin’s shock aside, Anisa’s eyes went round with delight.

  “Oh! It lives!”

  Dain wrestled lightly with the owl as it clicked and fussed at his hair, the tiny metal talons tapping against his shoulder. His silverplume wings—traitorous things—went perfectly slack the moment the girls turned, feigning utter lifelessness with impeccable timing. Sentient? Them? Never. They were the picture of innocent fabric and feathers.

  Anisa only laughed harder. “Your relics are delightfully bizarre,” she said, leaning in to poke his owl. “Every time you get a new relic from out of nowhere, I fear and admire you in equal measure.”

  He snorted. “It’s not that strange. It’s just—hey—stop pecking—” He tried to gently nudge the owl back into place, but it leaned forward again, inquisitive as a scholar and twice as relentless.

  Alright, maybe it was a little strange. And it was strange as well that he received a mask when he hadn't even offered one as a base offering. Maybe the vision link was the ability granted by the hivemind brain as a main offering, and Belara decided to make it manifest in the form of a mask simply because it'd make him more thematically… cohesive?

  Whatever the case, as he reached for the mask and slid a thumb along the cool silver surface, excitement flickered in his chest. If he could see through the owl’s eyes, that meant scouting, tracking, vigilance—everything he needed to finally get ahead of the one-eyed.

  This could be the edge he’d been praying for—

  Gong!

  But the world cut him off.

  A sudden crash of bells thundered across Braskir, deep and iron-throated. These weren’t the half-rhythmic patterns of shift changes or ore-hauling hours that he’d grown used to hearing every few hours or so. These weren’t even the sharp clangs for fire warnings, which seemed to be rather common in mining towns.

  This was something else.

  All three of them jerked their heads towards the balcony at once.

  Beyond the Guild, every great brass bell along the walls of the town was swinging in frantic unison, and Anisa’s expression sharpened as she listened, every trace of playfulness gone.

  “That three-three-three ringing pattern means an emergency,” she said grimly.

  “Emergency?” he said.

  “Yes. When the three-three-three bells are rang, all guardsmen and soldiers are to immediately report to their garrisons by the walls.” She paused, turning to grimace at him. “And all healthy, battle-ready adventurers are to report to the local Seeker’s Guild immediately.”

  here with 20 advanced chapters, and the link to the Discord server is , which has exclusive daily facts about the world, galleries of the maps, and announcement channels where readers may get early access to new stories!

  follow/favorite/rating! It'll help me out a ton!